Chapter Text
Chapter 46: Cold Comforts
As much as Saeviour was looking forward to the Holidays, and getting away from everyone, escaping the whispers and stares every time he walked by through the corridors or in the Great Hall. It just meant that he was one day closer to dealing with his father’s wrath and that was not what he wanted to deal with.
He’d been tempted to sign McGonagall’s list and stay at Hogwarts. But it was too late now. Besides, he was fairly certain that his father would have come to the castle anyways. It was the only reason why he hadn’t yet, likely because break was so near.
God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to just go back to his manor, to spend hours playing Quidditch in the cold until the weather made it impossible to do so. To be able to feel the wind beat across his face, his fingers going numb and turning red, but at least out there, he wouldn’t have to deal with his father’s wrath, or deal with anyone else for that matter.
That he didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to be anything but fast and free.
But he knew he shouldn’t be able to get used to that, or to be able to do something fun much longer.
The Dark Lord was back.
Death Eaters had escaped from Azkaban.
Everyone expected him to stop them. To bring peace to the wizarding world.
He had too.
He couldn’t fail.
It was all on his shoulders.
And he wouldn’t fail.
It didn’t matter that the last two years had nearly broken him. That he’d made mistakes- too many. That he’d come dangerously close, nearly paralyzing his lower half- close to being broken.
Or the fact that he had revealed his darkest secret.
One that he kept hidden for so many years, because he knew just how badly it would be to let it slip out. Yet, he did so only a couple of days ago, and he noticed the shift in how people looked at him.
No. None of that mattered.
Because in the end, he was still the one they needed.
The weapon. The symbol. The savior.
And symbols didn't crumble.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to fix any of this. He wasn’t even sure it could be fixed. No matter what he did, it would never be enough, not until the war was over. Not until they were gone.
Perhaps that was why he couldn’t enjoy the train ride back to King’s Cross. Why he couldn’t bring himself to join in the festivities when Neville, Ron, and some of the other Gryffindor boys gathered in their compartment.
Ron had tried to rope him into a game of Exploding Snap, nudging him with a grin and a challenge. But Saeviour had only offered a weak smile and a quiet shake of his head.
Ron had taken the hint, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Maybe that was worse.
The silence pressed in as Saeviour sat by the window, unmoving, eyes fixed on the frostbitten countryside rushing past in a blur of gray and white. The landscape looked cold. Empty. Just like he felt.
Doubt curled tight in his stomach, cold and familiar. He hadn’t defeated anything. Not really. And until he did, until Voldemort was gone, truly gone , he didn’t deserve rest. He hadn’t earned it.
But what if he couldn’t do it?
What if all of this- the sacrifice, his training and his instincts- wasn’t enough?
What if he broke?
He exhaled slowly, fogging the glass before him.
He didn’t even know what he’d say to his father. What lie could cover the truth? There was no good ending. Just damage control.
The train pulled into King’s Cross, and Saeviour knew that he couldn’t bite the bullet anymore.
Parents swarmed their children with cheerful sniffles, and happy smiles from all around. Hugging and giving each other embraces. Saeviour stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking around the station until he finally spotted his father.
James was easy to spot. Leaning against a pillar, glasses slightly askew, hair as messy as ever. He looked like an older version of Saeviour, minus the warmth. His face was unreadable.
Saeviour’s stomach twisted.
“I missed you, Dad,” he said quietly.
“I missed you too, Saeviour.” The words were flat. Automatic. There was nothing behind them.
“Are you ready to go?”
Saeviour nodded, his heart sinking in his chest.
Time to face the music.
He took his father’s arm, and they Apparated to the manor. As soon as his feet touched the foyer, James turned on him.
“What were you thinking, Saeviour?” James snarled.
“Dad, I-”
“Do you have any idea how badly you messed up with that little stunt of yours? Do you know what I heard from the Ministry? Parseltongue , Saeviour? When exactly were you going to mention that you speak it?”
“It was an accident… it just happened…” Saeviour muttered.
“Just happened?” James advanced, furious. “You forgot to mention that you’ve been hiding one of the darkest magical abilities out there? You accidentally forgot that?”
“I didn’t forget,” he said through clenched teeth. “It slipped out. I didn’t want that snake to attack- what kind of hero would I be if I just stood there and let it happen?”
“You could have waited for a professor to intervene! Instead, you played the savior and did something reckless- again. ”
“Aren’t I the savior?” Saeviour snapped.
James paused. “Well, yes. But that’s not the point-”
“No? Then what is the point?” His voice was rising now. “You and everyone else want me to be the savior, but the moment I am , it’s wrong? Because it wasn’t convenient? Because I used that part of me?”
James’s jaw clenched. “You know what? We’re done here. Go unpack. We’ll talk later.”
And just like that, James turned and walked away, leaving Saeviour alone in the foyer.
…
The fireplace roared in the background, crackling and snapping as flames devoured the brittle wood. The warmth it cast did little to soothe the dark tension that hung in the air. Nagini lay curled near the hearth, content now, her long body stretched lazily across the stone floor. She’d been furious earlier, hissing and whining when he refused to let her feast on one of his more… disappointing Death Eaters. He’d pacified her with a fresh rat instead- though in hindsight, he should have let her have the man. At least then the lesson would’ve been permanent.
Tom Riddle sat in an armchair near the fireplace, his fingers steepled and his eyes closed. He was trying, truly trying, to enjoy a moment of silence. His temple throbbed, a steady ache born from hours spent dealing with failure, excuses, and idiocy. The quiet crackle of the fire was the only sound he welcomed.
Then the wards shifted.
A ripple of magic brushed against his senses.
A second later came the whoosh of the Floo.
His jaw clenched. The headache behind his eyes flared.
Of course it would be him .
Tom didn’t open his eyes as Harrison stepped through the green flames. But he didn’t need to look. He could feel the boy’s energy entering the room- dark, chaotic, shimmering in anger and vengeance.
Tom sometimes wondered if taking the boy under his wing had been a mistake. Not because Harrison was incapable. Far from it. The boy’s loyalty was ironclad, his intelligence razor-sharp, and his magic… well, nearly a match for Tom’s own.
But there was a madness to him. A subtle, coiling thing that surfaced in the way he smiled too easily, spoke in riddles, and treated violence like a joke shared only between them. The boy could potentially be a Dark Lord. But on days like today- after too many hours dealing with incompetent followers- Tom did not have the patience.
Still, dangerous things, when controlled, made for useful tools.
Even if they were maddening.
“This had better be important,” Tom muttered, voice low with warning. “Or I’ll hex you into next week.”
From behind him came the lazy hum of amusement.
“Ooh, someone is in a testy mood,” Harry commented, in an amused voice. “But you’ll enjoy this news.”
Tom didn’t respond immediately. He finally opened his eyes, fixing Harrison with a narrow gaze as the boy strolled into view, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Grinning like he’d set something on fire and was waiting for the explosion.
“You know,” Harrison said lightly, “something interesting happened at Hogwarts.”
Tom exhaled slowly through his nose. “If you make me guess, I will curse you.”
“Touchy,” Harrison said, but his grin widened. “All right, fine. You’re going to love this: the Boy-Who-Wouldn’t-Die? He’s a Parselmouth.”
The room went still.
Tom stared at him, expression unreadable, “That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too,” Harrison offered, taking a seat next to him, his green eyes glinting in amusement, “But I saw it. Heard it. Lockhart- the idiot he is- decided it’d be a brilliant idea to host a dueling club. Draco summoned a snake. And just about when the snake was ready to strike, Potter stopped it. Spoke to it. Right in front of everyone.”
Tom sat back, stunned in silence for a second before he recomposed himself.
“That’s impossible,” Tom breathed.
“I couldn’t believe it either.” Harrison gave a small, mirthless laugh. “All those years I thought it was just me. Whispering to snakes because no one else listened. And then he does it. Effortlessly. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
He smirked. “I wish I’d seen his father’s face. The horror. The denial. Must’ve been delicious .”
But Tom wasn’t listening anymore. Not really.
Two boys.
Same Muggleborn mother. A Light-aligned father.
And both Parselmouths.
No. No, that couldn’t be.
The Potters were an old Light family. Up until the Evans girl, they’d been pureblood for generations. No link to the Gaunts. No known descent from Salazar Slytherin.
Tom had traced the line himself. Meticulously. There was nothing .
Unless… unless there was something dormant. A squib ancestor? A forgotten branch?
But no, Parseltongue didn’t skip . It clung . It was inherited .
“How do two boys from the same Muggleborn mother and a Light-blinded father inherit a gift passed down from Salazar Slytherin?” Tom asked quietly.
Harrison shrugged. “We already know how I got it. As for him? I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Tom’s frown deepened. He hated not having answers.
“That’s all?” he asked. “Just Parseltongue?”
“Well,” Harrison said, almost too casually, “his scar always hurts when you’re around. But I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
Tom went still.
His mind reeled.
The scar hurt in his presence.
And the boy spoke Parseltongue.
No.
No, that couldn’t-
But magic was fickle. Unpredictable. Especially when souls were involved.
“What if…?” Tom didn’t finish the thought.
He didn’t want to.
“I don’t understand it either,” Harrison said with a shrug, standing. He moved back toward the fireplace, green flames already swirling. “But I thought you’d like to know.”
The Floo whooshed again, and he was gone.
Tom remained still, staring into the fire, mind spinning.
The scar. The Parseltongue. The night it all began.
Had something transferred?
Had a piece of him -
No.
That was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
…
Lestrange Manor was everything Ella had imagined it would be.
It took her a few weeks to adjust- weeks of wandering too far down the wrong corridor, and ending up in strange, echoing halls. The quiet unnerved her at first, as did the vastness. Sometimes, it felt like the manor wanted to swallow her whole. The memories, too, clung to the walls like ivy- heavy, unspoken things that weighed down the silence.
They haunted her parents most of all.
They tried to hide it, of course. But Ella noticed the way her mother always seemed to glance over her shoulder, or the way her father’s hand would twitch toward his wand (that they’ve managed to get during one of their shopping trips) at sudden sounds. As if they were constantly bracing for the moment when this peace would be shattered, when they would be dragged apart once more.
Ella didn’t blame them. She didn’t quite believe it either.
How were they truly home? In their manor, in peace, without anyone coming after them? No Aurors, no Dementors. No reason to hide. It all felt borrowed like a dream they’d wake from if they dared get too comfortable.
Still, even Ella knew this calm wouldn’t last. It never did. The world was holding its breath, waiting for the next war to strike.
She never missed the way her parents whispered at night, thinking she was fast asleep. Whispering that things were too quiet. That the Dark Lord hadn’t summoned anyone in weeks. That this lull felt less like peace and more like the deep, eerie calm before a storm. She wasn’t sure whether that silence meant safety, or something far more dangerous.
But she knew better than to trust stillness.
Soon, everything would change.
And war would break out. She knew it would. And she might lose them again.
But she didn’t have to think about that right now.
Yule was coming, and her parents were excited, genuinely excited, to celebrate their first Yule in years. There was some sort of eagerness in the air, something that felt like it had been long buried. Of what it meant to be together.
Her mama had begun planning a proper Yule fest weeks in advance, with a determined gleam in her eyes. She’d insisted on pulling out the old enchanted recipe scrolls, ones that haven’t been seen since Ella had been born. The house elves were busy polishing, baking, and weaving holly into banisters.
Her father spent hours by her side, quietly helping her sort through dusty boxes of decorations stored in forgotten rooms. Some still shimmered faintly with lingering magic- glittering snowflakes that never melted, floating candle orbs, and little carved stags that trotted on their own across tabletops. Others were crumbling with age, yellowed and soft-edged with time. They picked through them together, choosing the most beautiful ones to restore and the house-elves to hang around in the manor.
And then there were the shopping trips.
Her uncle would take her into the nearest magical city under layers of protective glamour spells, their appearances completely altered. They blended in among witches and wizards bustling through snow-covered streets, warm light spilling from the shop windows. Together, they explored every enchanting little shop that caught their eye- places filled with singing ornaments, hand-carved rune charms, and candied sweets wrapped in charm-sealed paper.
Ella especially loved the ornament stalls. She picked out delicate crystal stars that twinkled with light, enchanted snow globes that played soft melodies, and candles that flickered in soft, golden hues no matter the draft. Every object seemed to glisten when the light hit it just right, and she imagined the manor glowing with that same warmth.
During those trips, they would also linger in the sweet shops, the air thick with the scent of sugar and spice. Her Uncle always picked out his favorite treats- ice mice, cockroach clusters, Treacle Tarts, or anything related to chocolate, while Ella chose treats according to her whims, with whispered promises not to tell her parents how many she'd smuggled back in her pockets.
Sometimes, she’d return to the manor and find her parents dancing in the parlor, thinking they were alone. Her papa would be humming a forgotten waltz, his arms curled around her mother’s waist. Her mother’s feet would glide across the polished floor like it was something they’d done a thousand times before. It made something ache in Ella’s chest with the longing. With the fragile beauty of something once lost, now tentatively returned.
She had never known holidays like this. Never knew her family like this, whole. Not behind prison bars. Not in hiding. Not in fear.
Just together.
And that’s how she found herself the morning of Yule, caught in the quiet hush of snow and something like hope.
When Ella awoke, the air in her bedroom felt strange, thick with silence and light. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. The heavy velvet curtains glowed faintly at the edges, lit from behind by something pale and soft.
She opened the heavy, violet, velvet curtains of her bedroom window, and gasped.
Snowflakes drifted gently over the rolling hills, transforming the landscape into a winter wonderland. The grounds of Lestrange Manor, usually so foreboding in its gothic vastness, were softened under a thick, glistening blanket of white. Trees stood like sentinels cloaked in frost, their branches lined in shimmering silver. The stone fountains in the garden were frozen mid-flow, their icicles glinting like crystal daggers in the pale morning light.
Ella pressed her hand to the glass, her breath fogging a small circle on the cold pane. Her fingers tingle slightly from the chill, but she couldn’t look away.
It was perfect.
Not just the view, but the feeling. That aching, quiet kind of wonder that made her feel like the world was actually filled with beauty once more.
She pulled on her winter robes and boots in a rush, not even bothering to fix her hair before slipping out of her room. The corridors were filled with the scents of spiced pastries and warm clove- the house-elves were already preparing the Yule feast. A few even wished her a soft “Happy Yule, young mistress” as they passed, their arms full of enchanted candles and platters.
She barely noticed. Her feet carried her instinctively to the courtyard, where the snow had fallen undisturbed. Everything sparkled, untouched. Icicles hung from the iron arches, the air crisp and sharp with cold.
Ella stepped out into it slowly, her boots crunching through the snow. She tilted her head back, watching the sky, white and endless, as snowflakes fluttered down. She lifted her hand, caught one on her palm, and smiled as it vanished instantly on her palm.
“It’s so pretty,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“That it is,” came a warm voice from behind her.
She startled, then turned, her heart skipping.
Harrison stood at the edge of the archway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black winter robes. His pale hair was dusted with snow, and though his face wore its usual unreadable expression, his eyes gave him away, the bright green eyes shining brightly under the grey light.
Ella blinked, stunned for a moment.
“Harry?”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Surprise.”
She stood frozen in the snow for a second longer, then gave up all pretense of dignity. With a delighted laugh, she ran to him, the snow scattering beneath her hurried steps. She flung her arms around his neck, and he caught her easily, steadying her with hands firm against her back.
“When did you get here?” she asked, voice muffled against his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he murmured, his voice close to her ear. “Besides… your mum insisted on making it dramatic. Said it would mean more this way.”
Ella laughed. “Of course she did.”
He pulled back slightly, brushing snow from her hair, eyes searching hers. For a heartbeat, the world and its tension disappeared.
“You’re really here,” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t miss Yule with you,” Harrison said softly. “Especially not your first Yule.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her voice trembled. “Do they know?”
“Of course.” He glanced back toward the manor. “Your mum looked pleased to see me. Honestly, I thought she was about to skin me alive.”
“She’s just glad you’re here,” Ella said gently. “You know you’re practically their son.”
Harrison shrugged, eyes flickering. “They raised me… not like I asked them to.”
“She’s happy to see you,” Ella said, her voice quiet. “You know they think of you as their son.”
Harrison’s smile faded slightly, his expression clouding. “They raised me,” he said with a shrug. “Not like I asked them to.”
“Harry…” she reached for his arm, but he pulled away gently, eyes distant.
“I’m fine,” he said.
She hated that word. Fine . He always said it like it meant don’t ask . Like it meant I’m not worth worrying over.
He never let himself want things. Never asked for comfort. He was always giving, never receiving, as though he didn’t think he deserved anything more.
But even heroes needed rest. Even boys raised in broken places needed warmth.
“Harry,” she said again, firmer this time.
“Ella,” he returned, his tone light, but his walls back in place.
“You don’t have to keep pushing them away. They care about you. I care about you. You deserve-”
“Let’s go inside,” he said, cutting her off gently, already turning toward the manor.
She followed his footsteps, her boots crunching softly through the snow.. The manor loomed ahead, frost-kissed spires lingered, frozen waterfalls glistened from the light.
And there, just past the threshold, she saw them.
Her mama and papa stood near the entrance, smiles stretched across their faces, bright and open in a way she hadn’t seen in years. They looked like they were laughing, talking animatedly with someone-
Then she saw who.
Her heart leapt.
The Malfoys.
They were here!
Without thinking, Ella picked up her pace, breaking into a run just as Harry reached out to push the door open.
“I’ve missed you!” she called out, breathless, snow trailing behind her as she darted inside. “Aunt Cissa!”
Narcissa turned at the sound, her serene features softening instantly. “Ella, darling,” she said warmly, opening her arms. “How are you? I’ve missed you so much. Now, I’ll have to get used to not having any kids at home now.”
Ella laughed.
“I’m doing good,” She murmured. “Honestly, being here is different, but I like it here. I’m just happy that my parents are here now, right by my side. I’ve missed them.”
“Oh I know,” Narcissa murmured. “I’m just glad to see them out,” She looked up, and Narcissa expression changed.
“So this is where you ran off to,” Narcissa commented, looking at Harry with a blank expression on her face. “We’ve missed you. We were a little surprised that Draco didn’t ask for you to visit.”
Harrison shrugged, “I had some other plans that had to be attended.”
“Right…” Narcissa commented. “We just couldn’t just miss your first yule.”
“It’s our first Yule as a family,” Rodolphus added, joining in the conversation, “We’re just glad that you accepted our invitation… I know it really means a lot to my daughter and my wife.”
“You know we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lucius added. “It gives Narcissa an excuse to spoil her niece even more.”
“Excuse me, I don’t spoil anyone,” Narcissa grumbled.
Lucius snorted, “Draco?”
“Excuse me, he’s not spoiled. He’s just well-loved,” Narcissa protested.
Bellatrix let out a small laugh, “Come on you two…” She looked at both Harrison and Ella. “ Perhaps we should give these two some privacy and we can go have breakfast.”
“Bella!” Narcissa shrieked. “Are you trying to suggest that me and Lucius fight like an old married couple?”
“You are an old married couple,” Rodolphus muttered with a smirk.
“Speak for yourself,” Lucius drawled, offering Narcissa his arm. “I, for one, remain timeless.”
“Right,” Bellatrix looked around, “Come along children… Perhaps we could go find Draco… I don’t know where he disappeared, and find Rabastan.”
Ella beamed happily at her mama, and followed her. They walked through the manor, searching through the rooms- although they didn’t have to look far. Draco was wandering through the manor, with curiosity sparking in his gray eyes.
But Rabastan was a lot harder to find.
They checked through multiple rooms- the library, the music room, even his room, and yet they still couldn’t find him. More than twice, Bellatrix declared that she would hex him herself if he was actively avoiding the festivities.
Somewhere looking through the second floor, he appeared right behind them with a grin.
“Rabastan, where were you?” Bellatrix declared, “You weren’t trying to hide from the festivities from us now were you/”
Rabastan looked innocent and held his hands in the air.
“Who, me?” he said innocently, raising both hands. “I’d never . I was simply communing with ancient Yule spirits.”
Rodolphus snorted. “Sure you were. And next you’ll be claiming you ride with the Wild Hunt.”
“Did you want me too?” Rabastan offered a smile on his face. “I can if you want me too.”
“That’s enough, you two,” Bellatrix said with a smile on her face. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do with the two of you- both of you acting like children at times.”
“You love us,” Rodolphus said with a shrug.
“I only love you,” Bellatrix replied coolly.
Rabastan looked mock-affronted. “What about your daughter? Don’t you love her?”
“Of course I love her,” Bellatrix said at once. “She’s the only one here with any sense.”
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, but a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Of course I love my daughter,” she said, her voice softer now. “But you, Rabastan? You’re questionable.”
Rabastan clutched his chest dramatically. “Cruel, Bella. Wounding, even. I may need a pepper-up potion and a week in bed.”
“Then stop vanishing and maybe you won’t be so missed,” Rodolphus muttered, giving his brother a light thump on the shoulder before guiding Bellatrix gently forward with a hand at her back.
Their laughter lingered in the air like smoke curling from a warm hearth.
As the hours passed, the manor settled into a gentle golden calm. The scent of fir and spice clung to the air, and candlelight flickered in every corner. Time seemed to slow, folding into soft conversation and comfortable silence, the kind only found amongst family.
By twilight, everyone had gathered around the tree. Ella sat between her mother and Harrison, their shoulders brushing. Her father and uncle were deep in quiet conversation nearby, while Lucius and Narcissa sat near the fire, soft smiles on their lips as they gazed at each other, their hands clasped gently.
It was time to light the Yule log, then pass around presents. Ella had helped Draco sort them earlier, carefully handing each one out with laughter and teasing. Soon, the tree was surrounded by open boxes, scattered ribbons, and warm smiles. Tea was poured, a plate of sugared figs passed around, and the room bloomed with voices.
Stories flowed throughout the room, some lighthearted, others steeped in nostalgia. Rodolphus launched into a wildly exaggerated tale about the time he and Rabastan dueled in the drawing room as teenagers to settle who was the better duelist, an event that nearly ended with the manor going up in flames. Laughter rippled through the room as Rabastan groaned, protesting the embellishments.
Lucius followed with an animated recounting of Draco’s first snowball fight, describing every clumsy flurry and dramatic fall with theatrical flair. Draco’s face reddened with every word, while Narcissa rolled her eyes fondly, murmuring, “He was three, Lucius. Not leading a calvary charge.”
Across the room, Harrison and Ella exchanged quiet smirks at the familiar chaos.
But at some point, without her noticing, Harrison slipped away.
Ella didn’t notice his absence at first. She was mid-conversation, laughing quietly with Draco as the two of them snuck another chocolate croissant from the dwindling platter. Rabastan, ever persistent, was trying to coax her into choosing a favorite among his gifts. She dodged the question with ease- either by changing the subject, nibbling at the croissant, or hiding behind slow, deliberate sips of warm tea.
But during a brief lull, her gaze wandered across the room, and her smile faltered. A faint crease appeared between her brows as she scanned the familiar faces and realized one was missing.
Harry.
Of course, the adults were still deep in conversation, glasses of wine in hand, laughter mingling with candlelight. No one else seemed to notice he was gone.
Of course he’d disappeared. He always did.
She found him outside on the back patio, standing perfectly still beneath the silver wash of moonlight. His breath rose in pale clouds, misting in the cold night air, rising, then vanishing. He didn’t seem to pay attention that he was no longer alone, and continued to look beyond the distance.
“So this is where you disappeared to,” Ella said softly, stepping onto the patio. “Not that I blame you or anything like that.”
“You should go back inside,” Harrison murmured, eyes fixed on the dark horizon. “They’ll probably notice if you’re gone too long.”
“You should too,” she countered, gentler this time. “You’re important here too, you know.”
He didn’t respond.
“You brought me my entire family back,” Ella said, voice quiet with awe. “I don’t even know how many times I’ll be able to thank you for that.”
“It’s what you deserved,” he replied, hollow.
She turned toward him fully. “But what about what you deserve?”
When he said nothing, she pressed on.
“Why do you always do everything for me, but you never once do anything for yourself. Why do you never allow yourself to get close to anyone? Why, Harry?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because you’re worth protecting,” he finally said.
“And you’re not?” Ella asked, incredulous. “I just don’t get it. You never let anyone close. You devote everything to the Dark Lord’s cause, which is great and all, but why do you keep everyone at arm’s length. What are you so afraid of?”
“Ella, you don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?” she snapped, louder now. “You keep saying that, but you never explain. I’m not someone you always need to protect, Harry. You’re my brother- we’re practically like siblings. You don’t have to shield me from the horrors anymore. We’re not in that hellforsaken place. But even then, I’m not blind.”
Harry blinked, then looked away.
“Because if I fail…” His voice was low and shaking. “Then what chance do I have?”
He finally met her eyes.
“If I fail, I lose everything. Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve sacrificed. And all of it, for the Dark Lord’s cause, yes. But also for you. Because you’re the only thing I care about.”
His voice cracked. “If I let myself have something good… I’ll lose the only thing that ever mattered to me. I don’t want to lose you.”