The private ward at St Mungo's had a strange kind of silence. Soft golden healing runes drifted lazily above Harry's chest, their glow reflecting faintly off the white hospital curtains. The worst of the injury was already gone. The cursed gash that had once cut across his torso had sealed completely, leaving only a faint silvery line and lingering magical fatigue that the healers insisted required observation.
Harry personally suspected it required nothing more than rest, but no one in the room seemed inclined to accept his medical opinion.
Wanda had been pacing for nearly ten minutes straight. Back and forth. Back and forth. Each step controlled, yet charged with the kind of restrained fury that made the air feel heavier. Occasionally, tiny crimson sparks flickered around her fingers before she forced them away, the chaos responding instinctively to her mood.
Sirius leaned against the far wall, arms folded, expression stormy enough to rival a thunderhead. Remus stood beside him, quieter as always, but the tension in his posture made it clear he was just as unsettled. The three adults formed an unspoken protective barrier around Harry's bed.
Harry watched them all for a while before sighing softly.
"You're going to wear a trench into the floor," he said mildly.
Wanda stopped mid-stride and turned toward him. Her eyes were rimmed red — not from tears, Harry knew, but from anger she was barely containing.
"That boy," she said, voice deceptively calm, "was nearly killed."
"That boy," Harry replied dryly, "is sitting right here. Alive. Quite comfortably, actually."
"That is not the point."
"It usually is."
Sirius let out a rough laugh that held no humor. "Getting cursed in the chest in the middle of Diagon Alley isn't exactly routine, kid. You're downplaying it."
Remus spoke more gently. "And the aurors still haven't found anything. That's what worries us."
That single word — anything — seemed to echo in the room.
No witnesses.
No magical signature traceable to a wand.
No suspicious apparition.
It was as if the attacker had stepped out of nothingness, struck, and vanished back into it.
Wanda's hands clenched again. A ripple passed through the ward's protective charms, reacting instinctively to the surge of magic beneath her skin.
"That," she said slowly, "is why I am angry."
Harry studied her carefully. He understood the anger. More importantly, he understood the fear beneath it. But there was another concern weighing on him far more heavily.
"Mom," he said quietly, "please don't escalate this."
Wanda stared at him as though he'd spoken a foreign language.
"Someone tried to murder you," she replied, voice tightening. "And you want me calm?"
"I want you quiet," Harry corrected gently.
"That's the same thing."
"No. It isn't."
Harry shifted slightly on the bed, suppressing a wince. The healers had done excellent work, but curse injuries always left echoes. He ignored it and continued.
"If grandfather hears about this," he said carefully, "he won't see wizarding Britain. He'll see a threat."
Silence fell immediately.
"And Odin," Harry added, "doesn't believe in proportional responses."
Remus exhaled slowly. Sirius muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.
Wanda looked away first.
"He would destroy them," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"Entire communities."
"Yes."
"And he wouldn't even ask who was responsible first."
Harry didn't answer. He didn't need to.
They all knew.
Wanda's shoulders sagged slightly, the sharp edge of her anger softening into reluctant acceptance.
"I hate that you're right," she admitted.
Harry offered a faint smile. "So do I."
Sirius pushed off the wall then, the movement restless. "That doesn't mean we sit around doing nothing."
"We're not," Harry replied immediately. "We just don't announce what we're doing."
Remus nodded slowly. "A quiet investigation."
"Exactly."
Wanda resumed pacing, but slower now.
"The aurors are useless," she muttered.
"Some are," Remus said. "Some aren't. But they're bound by procedures."
"And politics," Sirius added grimly.
Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "And fear."
All three adults looked at him.
"Whoever attacked me knew where I will be in that time." Harry said.
"That means surveillance," Sirius said flatly.
"Yes."
"And someone close enough to wizarding circles to know your habits," Remus added.
Then Wanda stopped pacing completely and faced him again.
"You are not going back to that theatre," she said.
Harry blinked. Then he frowned.
"No."
The firmness in his voice surprised even himself.
Wanda's brows rose. "No?"
"No."
"Harry."
"It was one attack."
"One is enough."
"Not for me."
"You nearly died."
"I've nearly died before."
"You had power then!" she burst out.
The room went still.
Her voice shook now — anger tangled with fear.
"You had Asgardian strength. Chaos magic. The Lightning. Something. Now you only have a wand and healing stitches."
Harry looked away briefly.
"I still have myself," he said quietly.
"That's exactly what I'm trying to protect."
Sirius cleared his throat. "She's not wrong, kid. You're not invincible right now."
Harry shot him a look. "You too?"
"I prefer you alive," Sirius replied simply.
Remus added softly, "Power or not, caution isn't weakness."
Harry exhaled slowly.
"This is my life," he said.
"And you're twelve," Wanda replied.
"That hasn't stopped anything before."
"That was before your magic was suppressed."
That word — suppressed — stung more than the injury.
"I'm not defenseless," Harry insisted.
"You're vulnerable."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is to someone casting curses from behind."
Harry didn't answer.
Finally, Remus stepped in.
"How about a compromise?" he suggested.
Both Harry and Wanda looked at him.
"No public appearances for now," Remus said. "While we investigate. You can manage the theatre enchantments remotely."
Harry hesitated.
"And once we find whoever did this," Sirius added, "you decide what comes next."
Harry exhaled slowly.
"I don't like it."
"No one does," Sirius said.
Wanda gently squeezed Harry's hand.
"You're here two weeks anyway," she said softly. "Heal properly. Then we reassess."
Harry grimaced but nodded.
"Fine. Two weeks."
Wanda visibly relaxed.
"But I'm still finding whoever did this," Harry added firmly.
"Oh, absolutely," Sirius said. "We all are."
Remus nodded.
Wanda didn't argue.
Because somewhere out there, someone had taken a shot at her son.
And whether quietly or loudly, whether tomorrow or weeks from now, that mistake was going to have consequences.
The attempt to keep the Diagon Alley incident quiet lasted exactly three days.
After that, it exploded across the wizarding world like a poorly contained Firestorm Spell.
Harry didn't even realize how far the news had spread until the fourth morning at St Mungo's, when a nurse entered his private ward pushing a floating trolley stacked with parchment bundles instead of potion vials. The letters were tied in neat groups with enchanted ribbon, each bundle labeled by sender region.
Britain.
Continental Europe.
North America.
Even a small stack marked International Unknown Owls.
Harry stared at them.
"You're popular," the nurse said cheerfully, clearly unaware that popularity was the last thing Harry wanted right now.
Wanda looked murderous.
Sirius burst out laughing.
Remus sighed.
Harry groaned and sank back into the pillows.
"I wanted quiet recovery," he muttered. "Not an owl invasion."
Unfortunately, quiet recovery was no longer an option.
Word had spread through the Ministry first — curse signatures, auror mobilization, hospital secrecy. From there it leaked into Diagon Alley gossip, then into Hogwarts rumor mills, then to international magical communities faster than anyone had expected. Some people claimed Harry had been ambushed by Death Eaters. Others insisted it was a political attack linked to the ministry. A few dramatic versions claimed magical creatures were involved.
None of it was accurate.
That didn't stop people from asking.
Harry opened the first letter cautiously. It was from someone he didn't recognize — a witch from Manchester who had apparently never met him but felt compelled to send well wishes along with three pages of speculation about dark conspiracies.
The next letter came from a wizard in France offering protective amulets for a "discounted rate."
Then came fan mail.
Actual fan mail.
People he had never seen, never spoken to, never interacted with, writing about how relieved they were he survived, how inspiring he was, how worried they'd been. Some letters were heartfelt. Some were intrusive. Some were frankly absurd.
Harry read three before giving up.
"I don't even know these people," he said helplessly.
"That has never stopped public fascination," Remus replied gently.
Wanda, meanwhile, had begun sorting the mail with surgical precision, separating genuine concern from opportunistic nonsense. Any letter that smelled even remotely suspicious got set aside for Sirius to examine.
"Some of these," Sirius muttered while scanning a parchment with a detection charm, "feel more like fishing attempts than well wishes."
Harry nodded grimly. "Information gathering."
"Exactly."
But among the avalanche of unknown senders, two letters stood out immediately.
Hermione's.
And Draco's.
Harry opened Hermione's first.
Her handwriting — usually crisp and controlled — was slightly uneven, ink blotted in places as if written quickly.
Harry,
Why didn't you tell us immediately? We had to hear from someone else that you were attacked. Do you have any idea how frightening that was? Are you alright? Have the healers cleared you? Is it true the curse penetrated your shield? Please don't hide things from us again.
The letter continued for another page, filled with concern, practical questions, and an unmistakable undercurrent of anger.
Harry smiled softly.
Then he opened Draco's.
Draco's script was sharp and elegant as always, but the tone was unmistakably tense.
Potter,
If you think disappearing after being attacked without informing us is acceptable, you are mistaken. I understand secrecy. I do not understand recklessness. Next time, at least send a message.
Also, for Merlin's sake, stop getting yourself cursed in public places.
— Draco.
Harry chuckled quietly.
"They're worried," Remus observed.
"I know."
"And justified."
Harry didn't argue.
But the ripple effects hadn't stopped with letters.
At Hogwarts, the incident had turned Hermione and Draco into something close to minor celebrities overnight.
Hermione discovered it first.
She had barely stepped into the Ravenclaw common room when three younger students approached simultaneously.
"Is Harry Potter really your friend?"
"Did he fight off attackers alone?"
By lunch, the entire year group knew.
By evening, half the school did.
And most of the curiosity — particularly from the female student population — focused squarely on Hermione.
She endured it with increasing exasperation.
"I am not his spokesperson," she snapped at one particularly persistent third-year girl. "And no, I am not giving you details of his medical condition."
Draco, meanwhile, faced a different version of the same phenomenon.
Some students suddenly became far more polite. Others asked cautious questions about security, alliances, future plans. A few simply wanted proximity to perceived influence.
Draco hated all of it.
"They're insufferable," he complained in his next letter to Harry. "Half of them act as if knowing you personally grants political advantage."
Hermione added in her own follow-up note:
Also, apparently being your friend now qualifies me as someone worth interrogating about your personal life. Mostly by girls. Loud girls.
Harry winced sympathetically reading that.
He knew Hermione valued privacy deeply. The sudden spotlight wasn't something she enjoyed.
Back at St Mungo's, the letters kept coming.
Healers started joking about needing an extra owlery wing.
Even Andromeda wrote, expressing relief and offering to visit.
Tonks sent a short, characteristically blunt note:
Next time duck faster.
Despite everything, Harry found himself oddly touched.
Annoyed, yes.
Overwhelmed, definitely.
But also reminded that his life, however complicated, mattered to more people than he sometimes realized.
Wanda noticed the shift in his expression as he read.
"Too much?" she asked softly.
"A lot," Harry admitted.
"But not unwelcome?"
He shook his head slowly.
"No. Just… unexpected."
Sirius smirked. "Fame. Comes with the territory."
"I didn't ask for it."
"Doesn't matter. You earned it anyway."
Remus added quietly, "And sometimes people simply care."
Harry folded Hermione's and Draco's letters carefully and placed them on his bedside table.
Those, at least, felt grounding.
Everything else — the rumors, the attention, the speculation — was noise.
And now, with half the magical world watching, that unseen enemy would either retreat…
Or try again.
Author's Note:
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