FicWad

The news of Harry Potter’s death spread quickly through the group of trees, cutting through the night air like a chilling wind carrying the Death Eater’s menacing voice. Arthur stood rigid among the shadows. His heart pounded against his chest, the deep rhythm matching the pulse of the forest, yet his stomach churned with a vice-like grip of despair.

The clear, starlit night contrasted sharply with the uncertainty brewing within him. As he watched Hagrid crumble beside Harry’s lifeless form, Arthur felt the weight of the world settle heavily on his shoulders. Hagrid’s anguished cries pierced the stillness, filling the empty spaces of the forest with raw grief. “Y-yeh told me yeh’d be okay this time!” The giant’s familiar voice cracked, and Arthur could see his enormous hands tremble as he brushed against Harry’s face—a face now shrouded in stillness, like the fallen leaves that lay scattered at their feet.

Arthur’s eyes brimmed with tears, reflecting the shimmering starlight, yet they held a darkness deep within. The memories of laughter and boldness he’d shared with Harry flashed before his eyes: the time they’d discussed Muggle topics, Harry’s love towards his family, and his determination in the face of the darkest threats. It all felt so distant now, like the fading afterglow of a sunset.

Hagrid pulled the blanket over Harry, a futile gesture that seemed to only deepen the sorrow enveloping them. Still, Arthur remained rooted to the spot, consumed by anger and self-blame. How could this happen? How could they have allowed it to slip through their fingers when so much was at stake? “I should have been there,” he whispered to the trees, though he knew they carried no answers.

Molly stood nearby, her frame shaking as she sobbed into her hands. Each wail from Hagrid felt like a dagger to her heart. Their family, once vibrant and full of hope, now echoed with the painful silence of disbelief. Arthur was aware that he should comfort her and hold her tight, but the heaviness in his chest rooted him in place, allowing the pain of the moment to wash over him.

And then there were the Death Eaters, the horrendous spectres of victory, basking in their triumph from the shadows. Arthur could almost hear their laughter drip like poison into the air. Unlike him, they did not mourn. Instead, they celebrated—a cruel juxtaposition to the grief surrounding them, like a dark shadow preying on their lights. The thought of Harry’s death, giving way to their gloating, sent fury surging through Arthur’s veins.

“Slughorn,” Arthur murmured, glancing toward the potions master, rendered speechless and lost in a daze among the chaos. His eyes seemed to withdraw into the distance, glistening with unshed tears, lost amidst a sea of despair. The man’s shock mirrored Arthur’s own, knotting their hearts together in a silent camaraderie of grief.

Yet, amid this whirlwind of sorrow, Arthur’s mind flashed back to the last moments before he’d left Shell Cottage for the Forbidden Forest. The weight of his decision began to unravel in his thoughts. Did the ritual fail? What had come in the wake of their hurried departure? As panic gripped him, thoughts of Ron, Ginny, and Hermione pierced through the fog of despair like an arrow. Where were they now, and what fate had befallen them in his absence?

An overwhelming sense of anxiety, raw and gnawing, took hold. He bit down on his lip to suppress the swell of emotions threatening to erupt. Taking a deep breath, he tried to anchor himself in reality, to quell the dread that clawed at his insides. “They aren’t dead,” he told himself, the thought barely buoying him up across the surging tide of terror that sought to drown him. It provided a thread of comfort, a fragile lifeline, amidst calamity.

Just when Arthur thought he couldn’t bear the weight of his worries any longer, a voice shattered the deafening silence that hung in the air.

“What a magnificent evening it has turned out to be!” Yaxley exclaimed, his voice dripping with a blend of joy and malice. The sound cut through the solemnity around them, sharp and grating. Arthur’s heart sank deeper into the abyss of his anguish as he heard the glint of triumph in Yaxley’s words. “At long last, The-Boy-Who-Lived is dead!”

Laughter ensued, a cacophony of cruel mockery from the assembled Death Eaters. Arthur’s hands tightened into fists as he fought the almost overwhelming urge to leap from his spot and confront them. The twisted joy they derived from Harry’s death clawed at his insides, igniting a fresh wave of anger and grief.

Turning away from him, Yaxley’s gaze fell upon the Weasley family, his eyes alight with malicious delight. “This is a moment I’ve been waiting for,” he gloated, addressing Slughorn, who sat forlornly on the ground nearby. “Even though he was already as lifeless as a doornail.”

The mention of Harry’s body sparked a chill in Arthur’s veins. Hagrid, standing like a mountain amidst the chaos, emitted a feral growl. His usually warm eyes were now filled with rage, a darkness that Arthur had rarely seen in the gentle giant. Hagrid’s fists were clenched tightly, knuckles a ghostly white, a testament to the turmoil brewing within.

Yaxley, on the other hand, appeared nonchalant in the face of Hagrid’s increasing anger. He continued to converse with the other Death Eaters, who eagerly eyed Harry’s motionless form. “What should we do with him?” Yaxley asked, with a hint of malice in his voice. “Shall we follow the Dark Lord’s example and subject the boy to cruel games as he did during his last attempt to end his life here?”

As Arthur pondered the possible motives behind Yaxley’s cryptic words, the members of the Weasley family shared perplexed glances amongst themselves. The meaning behind Yaxley’s mention of “cruel games” eluded Arthur, causing a sense of unease to settle within him. This feeling only heightened when he observed the look of fear in Hagrid’s eyes, signalling to Arthur that there was a significant cause for concern.

“Don’t you dare touch him! H-Harry’s—” Hagrid stammered, his voice breaking, revealing a vulnerable side that sent a pang of sympathy through Arthur. The sight was harrowing. Hagrid loved Harry like a son, and the loss was tearing him apart.

“Come now, half-breed,” Yaxley taunted, savouring Hagrid’s fury like a fine wine. “We cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of playing with the boy. He’s as good as dead anyway, so what harm can a little Cruciatus curse do? He won’t even feel it, right?”

Arthur could feel the heat of Hagrid’s anger radiating through the air. Every mocking word from Yaxley was like a dagger, piercing further into the heart of their grief. Anguish rose within him; a tumultuous wave threatened to drown him. He wanted to act, to shout, but fear kept him rooted in place.

““Yeah,” Rookwood sneered. “He’ll be nothing but a useless, dead wizard as we toss him around like a ragdoll.” The Death Eater’s laughter echoed, and Arthur felt bile rise in his throat. The nasty, distorted sound was like a slap against the raw wound of their loss.

“You’ve got what you wanted, so leave him alone!” Percy shouted, his face twisted in rage. The weight of his distress was palpable, shared among the Weasley family as they huddled together. George leaned heavily against a tree, bloodied and battered, but anger coursed through him as he looked fiercely toward Yaxley.

“Must you really desecrate the dead just to gloat?” George retorted, disgust staining his voice. Arthur admired George’s courage as he grappled with his pain, finding a way to channel it against the darkness surrounding them.

Yaxley’s eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure, their intensity making Arthur shiver. “Surely your painful memories of our prior sessions have taught you something,” he said, savouring George’s fear. “You know full well our intentions for the Chosen One. Though the Imperius Curse may no longer be viable, it’s a small price to pay.” His eyes flickered with a cruel light, hinting at a more sinister plan.

The crowd of Death Eaters buzzed in anticipation. Yaxley leaned closer to the huddled group of friends and family, relishing their dread with every sinister word. “Shall we proceed, then?” Macnair asked eagerly, twisting his wand, his grin malevolent enough to make Arthur’s stomach churn.

“Get away from him!” Hagrid roared, his voice deep and resonant, yet laced with desperation. Arthur knew that the gentle giant was not speaking for himself alone but for all of them. A fierce protector, his heart was weighed heavily by the loss of his beloved friend. “If yeh dare ter cast a spell, I swear—”

The dark laughter of Yaxley rang out again, a sound laced with mockery and delight. “Such rage,” he noted gleefully. “I like it! Shall I provoke you further?”

Like marionettes pulled by unseen strings, the Death Eaters straightened, anticipation crackling in the air. Arthur could feel the tension tightening like a coiled spring, and he leaned forward, resisting the urge to cry out.

Molly was held back by Bill’s firm grip as she fought against him. “You despicable scum!” she shrieked, every bit of maternal fury erupting from her as she struggled to protect Harry. Arthur could see the grief in her eyes, each moment stretched into an eternity, filled with despair and defiance.

Yaxley smirked at his eager followers and threw his arms wide, as if inviting the darkness to join in his celebration. “Let’s begin, shall we?” The echo of his voice melded with the rustle of leaves, creating an unsettling harmony that sent chills down Arthur’s spine.

Draco, standing a distance away, appeared far less enthusiastic. He leaned against a gnarled tree, arms crossed and gaze distant. “This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time or place for such antics,” he remarked, casting a cautious glance toward Yaxley, who was already revelling in the malicious atmosphere.

Yaxley pivoted, eyes narrowing dangerously as they locked onto Draco’s uncertain grey ones. “This is the perfect time! You must be mad to think otherwise!” he hissed, the flickering torchlight dancing off his sneering face. “Now is the time for entertainment. Don’t you want to have a turn at him?” His finger pointed accusingly at Harry Potter, who lay motionless in the clearing, a grim scene that lurked with injustice.

Draco scoffed, the sound mocking yet strained. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he replied slowly, but the spark of eagerness in his voice was eclipsed by a shadow of inner conflict. He glanced sidelong at the Weasley family, who were lined up in mute anguish, each face reflecting disbelief and dread.

Yaxley rolled his eyes, impatience creeping into his demeanour. “So, what’s holding you back?”

Draco sighed heavily, and with a glance around at the surrounding trees, he began to pace. “If you truly want to further humiliate Potter in public, why not do it in a place like Diagon Alley, where crowds can witness it all?” The suggestion slipped from his mouth with a veneer of composure, but it betrayed his own apprehension.

Molly’s shoulders quaked as realisation struck. She locked eyes with Draco, her fury blazing like a wildfire in dry brush. “How dare you!” she screamed, her voice cutting through the night like a knife. Her heart was pounding, and for a moment, she was a dragon protecting her egg.

Yaxley’s disinterest was palpable as he raised an unimpressed brow, but Draco continued to press on, emboldened by a flicker of hope. “Can’t you see? You need a larger stage to show off our true triumph! I promise you, it will be well worth it! Unless, of course, this rabble pleases you.” His hand gestured dismissively at the Weasleys, who glared back in collective defiance.

The atmosphere hung heavy with anticipation, and Yaxley paused, his confidence in question. The Death Eaters surrounding them released exasperated sighs, disappointment simmering in their eyes at the prospect of being denied entertainment.

Arthur, breaking free from his stunned silence, felt the heat of anger surge through his heart. “How could you do this, Draco?” he demanded, fists clenched. “Harry saved your life! How could you betray him like this?” The words were raw, laced with disbelief and hurt.

Draco’s expression hardened. “I already paid for my debt, Weasley,” he shot back coldly, his stare cutting like ice. “Potter’s dead. There’s nothing left for you here.” He glared, his wand flicking with practiced ease. “Take your son, and leave. Your business here is done.” With a swift motion, he freed Arthur from the curse and summoned the Weasley wands into his palm with a flick of his wrist.

In an instant, Arthur was freed, but it was as if gravity itself weighed him down. He trembled as he approached Molly and the children, feeling the crushing weight of despair. “You expect us to simply leave like this?” Molly’s voice quivered, incredulous. “Do you really think we’ll just walk away without a fight?” Her fierce gaze pierced through the darkness, locking onto Draco with unyielding defiance.

“No!” Hagrid protested, his gigantic figure looming large. “If we’re leavin’, we’re takin’ Harry’s body with us!” His voice boomed with authority, trembling with raw emotion.

Draco flushed with rage, his patience snapping to a breaking point. “Are you all deaf?” he spat, anger cascading through him. “I said your dealings with us were over! Take your brat and leave!”

Molly stood rooted to the spot, bewildered and defiant in the face of the darkness swirling around them.

“Enough!” Slughorn exclaimed, startling everyone. His face burnt with unrivalled rage as he glared at the perplexed Weasleys, prompting Molly to back away several steps. “All of you,” he said loudly, “be rational! Can’t we just be grateful that George is alive? Think about his safety if you stay.”

Yaxley leaned into the chaos, a satisfied sneer plastered across his face. “Finally, someone’s speaking sense here,” he chortled, as if George and Harry’s lives were mere pieces on a chessboard. “Just get it over with!”

Bill’s face contorted in horror as he pleaded with his family, “What about Harry? We can’t simply abandon him with those despicable Death Eaters!”

Draco, his back straight and wand firm, seemed to relish the power he wielded, drawing George to his feet. But George swayed dangerously, his face as pale as the moonlight that struggled to penetrate the shadows. They approached the Weasleys slowly, along with Yaxley, Rookwood, and Macnair, as Slughorn had done. Ignoring the wild pleas of Molly, Arthur, and Hagrid, who had gathered to block his path, Slughorn scooped Harry up in his arms and marched towards Draco.

“Horace, please, I beg of you, reconsider,” Molly cried, tears spilling like raindrops in a storm. Her voice was a fragile thread, unravelling under the strain of their predicament.

“I have no choice, Molly,” Slughorn said heavily, his gaze imploring. “I couldn’t save Harry, but we still have a chance to save George.”

“No!” Arthur shouted, desperation bubbling in his chest. “We can’t abandon Harry.” The words erupted before he could rein them in, and he caught Molly’s eye, the look of anguish mirrored in both their faces. “We have time to think this through.”

Slughorn’s shoulders slumped, and Arthur saw a flicker of regret cross his features, like a dying ember. “Time is running out.” The professor’s words hung in the air like a solemn decree, an inescapable truth that filled Arthur with dread.

He glanced at Harry—his lifeless body, too still against Slughorn’s chest. The cold grip of reality squeezed Arthur’s heart. Choosing one son over another felt like a betrayal etched deeper than any dark magic could inscribe.

“Horace, please, I’m begging you.” His voice trembled, caught in the whirlpool of his emotions—fear, love, loyalty. “Isn’t there another way?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Molly’s cries reverberated around them, the sound echoing in the tense atmosphere as Hagrid and the Weasleys watched on in silent anguish. Slughorn stopped a few feet away from Draco, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders as he prepared to take the final, desperate gamble.

Yaxley fixed a sinister gaze on Slughorn as he carried Harry’s limp body, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He cruelly twirled his wand in anticipation, setting Arthur’s heart racing with fear. Slughorn took a deliberate step towards Draco, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. Time seemed to slow down as they assessed their next moves, leaving Arthur on edge.

In a sudden, unexpected turn of events, chaos ensued as Draco’s voice pierced the night with a commanding yell: “NOW!”

Yaxley’s expression twisted in shock and confusion when the night was shattered by war cries resonating from the edges of the forest. Arthur, knowing the sounds all too well, felt his heart race as he stood, frozen for a moment.

In the distance, a horde thundered through the undergrowth. The illusion of peace in the clearing was demolished in an instant. Draco, realising the immediacy of the situation, impulsively pushed George in Slughorn’s direction, sending him stumbling into the vibrant chaos of the night. Without a second’s pause, Molly and Arthur sprang into action, their motherly and fatherly instincts kicking in as they helped George regain his footing, their worry mirrored in the anxious eyes of their sons Bill, Percy, and their friend, Hagrid.

A cool breeze swept through the clearing, ruffling Arthur’s hair and raising his senses. He felt the chill wrap around him, but it was more than the temperature; it was the dread that had settled into his stomach. He caught sight of Harry suddenly lunging forward, his wand raised defiantly at Yaxley. The sight of the boy he had considered a second son steeled Arthur’s resolve. Harry’s body, once frail, now seemed to radiate determination.

“What the—” Yaxley began before Harry’s voice sliced through the darkness, shouting a spell that could send chills down anyone’s spine: “Expelliarmus!”

“I’ll take care of this!” Draco shouted, filled with a courage that Arthur had rarely seen. “Accio wands!” Fifteen wands flew through the air, landing snugly in Draco’s grasp like scattered leaves returning to their tree. Every wand but Yaxley’s—for he retained his grip with incredible reflexes, crashing to the ground despite Draco’s forceful spell.

“Stupefy!” Draco’s voice rang out, his spells precise as he aimed at Macnair and disrupted his wicked intentions, sending him crashing into a nearby tree. The young Slytherin became a whirlwind of spells, his movements elegant and unnerving against the backdrop of chaos. Arthur’s heart swelled with a mix of pride and concern as he watched Draco fight, realising that even the most complicated stories were suddenly made clearer. He expertly dodged incoming spells, rushing to the Weasleys and tossing their wands back.

“There are not many of them left,” Draco quickly informed Arthur, eyes scanning the darkness for any flickers of movement. “I’m sure I’ve stunned most of the Death Eaters present here—at least the group that was here—but the rest are farther out.”

With a grave understanding, Arthur exchanged glances with Bill and Percy, their expressions a mixture of determination and resolve. They nodded, and the Weasleys took aim, readying their wands as they prepared to eliminate the scattered threats, refusing to allow a single enemy to escape.

Despite the chaos around him, Arthur’s mind was still trying to process the recent events. The sight of Harry alive and fighting Death Eaters with vigour shook him to the core. Harry’s appearance was surprisingly healthy, betraying no traces of his recent illness. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder how he had missed seeing Harry when Slughorn brought him to the forest. Was there something significant he had overlooked?

“Watch out!” Bill’s urgent voice broke through Arthur’s reverie, forcing him to dodge a spell that whizzed past his ear, barely grazing his shoulder. Reacting swiftly, the Weasleys dove to evade the incoming magical attacks, working in unison to shield each other from harm.

As Arthur sought Draco’s gaze, wanting reassurance that Harry was truly alright, his heart sank as he realised Draco had taken off in pursuit of the fleeing Death Eaters, leaving only the shadows behind. Arthur felt lost in the chaos, searching for that familiar figure amongst the darkened corners of the forest, but Harry had vanished, snatched away by the depths of the night.

Desperation gnawed at him. The clamour of battle roared around them, a symphony of spells and shouts, yet the silence where Harry had been carved a hole in Arthur’s chest.

Suddenly, a roar of fury erupted from behind Arthur, signalling the presence of an unknown threat closing in.

“DRACO!” Yaxley’s voice sliced through the thickened tension, laced with fury as he clutched his wand, his forehead creasing in desperation. “What have you done?!”

Arthur turned, muscles taut, instinctively gripping his own wand tighter.

However, Draco Malfoy, whose white-blond hair shimmered ominously in the fading light, seemed anything but concerned. “Oops, did I make a mistake?” he said with a nonchalant drawl. “I thought I was being helpful.”

“Helpful?” Yaxley spat, his eyes blazing with hatred. “Do you find this amusing?”

With a casual shrug, Draco replied, “What else would it be?”

Arthur’s heart raced as Yaxley bellowed, “Do you truly think you can do whatever you please? Taking down my Death Eaters one by one? I have more loyal followers than you realise!”

“Oh, please! Don’t give me that rubbish. We both know you only have a handful of supporters left,” Draco shot back, a smirk playing on his lips. “And most of them are now unconscious.”

Yaxley narrowed his eyes sharply. “Don’t underestimate our strength! I still have others stationed elsewhere, ready for my command.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Draco asked, his voice tinged with a sense of malicious satisfaction.

Yaxley’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Suddenly, a glimmer of relief flickered across his face when he noticed hooded figures emerging from the darkness. However, his sense of relief quickly turned to dread when he saw Aurors had captured Death Eaters, centaurs armed with bows and arrows, and Dumbledore’s Army making their presence known. A scream of rage escaped his lips.

With each exchange, emotions among the assembled wizards surged. Arthur recognised many faces from Gryffindor: Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell, who were friends with Fred and George through Quidditch, as well as their close friend Lee Jordan. Each of them clutched their wands steadfastly, filled with resolve, as they stood against the remnants of Yaxley’s battle-worn crew, agitating a sense of pride within Arthur.

Draco’s taunting voice echoed once more through the clearing, “You’re too late! You missed your opportunity to send the signal. They overpowered the hidden Death Eaters as soon as the Weasleys arrived.”

Confusion clouded Arthur’s mind as he scanned the scene. How had Draco orchestrated this plan without their knowledge? The boy had always been resourceful, but this was a level of cunning Arthur had never attributed to him.

Yaxley’s face morphed from fury to realisation. “How did you find out about this?”

“I had a communication device that alerted me instantly in case of any trouble,” Draco revealed with wicked satisfaction, his all-too-casual demeanour disarming. “It’s quite handy, you see.”

Yaxley furrowed his brow, confused. “A device? I didn’t see you speak with anyone or leave during our time in the forest.”

“I planned it all after you kidnapped the Weasley,” Draco said nonchalantly, as if they were talking over drinks. “Of course, you wouldn’t know, because you’re an idiot. Why did you choose the Forbidden Forest? Did you really think these creatures feared you?” He pulled out a round object—an unassuming coin that had been the linchpin of his revelation. “It’s rather clever, really.”

“I should have known better than to trust you!” Yaxley’s voice trembled, barely concealing his seething rage. “You and your family are treacherous fools!”

Draco’s smirk widened as he took a step closer to Yaxley. “I knew you would fail the moment you agreed to our plan. It was all too easy.”

The anticipation in the air thickened, and Arthur’s breaths quickened. Yaxley, teetering on the edge of his sanity, looked ready to unleash chaos. “You’ll regret turning against me!”

“Do I look like I have any regrets?” Draco retorted, his triumphant tone slicing through Yaxley’s fury. “Because I’ll relish defeating you while you rot in Azkaban!”

Arthur could feel the atmosphere shift; he sensed that the tide was turning. But just as the darkness threatened to envelope them, Yaxley raised his wand to unleash a curse—an inexplicable dread filled the air. Without warning, a voice rang out, breaking through the tension. “Stupefy!”

A jet of red light shot from a wand, striking Yaxley before he could finish his incantation, and he crumpled to the ground. Arthur turned in surprise to see Harry stepping forward, wand at the ready, determined and unyielding as ever.

Draco moved toward the fallen Yaxley with measured steps, a gleam of triumph radiating from his eyes. “A piece of advice, Yaxley,” he said, grinning widely now. “You should be more selective in choosing your allies.”

As Aurors arrived to apprehend Yaxley and the remnants of his Death Eaters, an unexpected surge of relief washed over the forest. Yet, as Yaxley glared defiantly at Draco, Arthur realised that this time, the destruction of fear and animosity brought forth a different kind of magic—the magic of choice, growth, and perhaps, redemption.

The clearing in the Forbidden Forest was eerily quiet after the centaurs had galloped away. Kingsley, with his calm demeanour and striking presence, had promised the Weasley family that help would arrive, but no one was prepared for the scene unfolding before them: Draco, the boy who had caused them so much strife, was kneeling before them. His silver-blond hair shimmered in the light, contrasting the shadows that clung around him—shadows of doubt and fear, perhaps.

Arthur, beset by curiosity and concern, blinked in disbelief. He exchanged a glance with Molly, whose eyes widened in shock. They had spent years defending their family from Draco’s jibes and the animosity sown by his family, and now here he was, bare and vulnerable, awaiting their judgement.

“I... I didn’t mean it,” Draco confessed, his voice low, yet earnest. His pale face was tinged with a light flush that spoke of embarrassment mingled with remorse. “Despite my previous harsh words aimed at Potter and your family, I didn’t really mean them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. The Weasleys stood transfixed, their hearts racing. Arthur felt a swell of emotions crashing like waves against his better judgement. No one in their family, least of all Draco Malfoy, had ever been so bold as to admit fault, let alone apologise.

“I sincerely apologise for the tribulations that my parents and I have caused you,” Draco continued, his voice shaky now, the façade of pride crumbling. There were faint circles under his eyes—a portrait of unrest, sleepless nights, and an internal struggle that was both poignant and revealing.

The Weasleys remained speechless, caught in a whirlwind of past grievances and present realities. Draco Malfoy, humbled at their feet, was an image they never thought they would witness. Arthur took a tentative step closer, the warmth of paternal instinct urging him forward.

“Molly, we...” he hesitated, not quite sure how to navigate this unexpected encounter.

Molly, however, felt a tightness in her chest. The anger she had harboured towards Draco began to dissipate, replaced by the sadness evident in the boy’s troubled grey eyes.

“We never should have treated you the way we—” Draco’s guarded stance faltered. “None of this was fair to you. I am truly sorry,” he insisted, his voice cracking with an emotion he had rarely shown. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right.”

Arthur placed a comforting hand on Draco’s back, an embrace that was unexpected yet healing. “You’re forgiven, son,” he remarked softly, finding his voice again. “Let’s put this behind us and move forward.”

Draco blinked, momentarily stunned by their response. That single word—“forgiven”—seemed to hang in the air, transforming the space around them into something brighter, lighter.

“Of course, whatever you wish,” he replied, and for a split second, a tentative smile flickered across his face—the kind of smile that hinted at hope, even if it was still fragile.

At that moment, a voice chimed from the back. “I always thought you’d be an annoying ferret forever,” George quipped, traversing the delicate line of humour and sincerity. “But I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” Laughter erupted, cascading through the group like the first spring rain, washing away residual tension and fear.

Molly glared at George, her motherly instincts quick to protect, but a smile crept into the corners of her mouth despite herself. “That’s enough, George,” she chastised, though the reprimand hardly held weight amidst the warmth of the atmosphere.

“No, really,” George persisted, squaring his shoulders. “If he hadn’t changed his ways by now, I shudder to think of what I would be compelled to do to him.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the members of Dumbledore’s Army, and even Draco felt a prickle of apprehension at their collective unity—a unity that had once felt so foreign to him. “I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side,” he confessed under his breath. “My past experiences have already been rife with fear-inducing challenges.”

“‘Fear-inducing,’ you say?” Bill scoffed, a smirk dancing on his lips. His playful tone did little to veil the earnestness that lay beneath.

The sentiment of unity continued to grow within the group, evident in the words of a sturdy, fair-haired boy who spoke up. “With a formidable alliance of at least twenty of us united against a lone opponent,” he declared, his voice resolute, “he would undoubtedly face an insurmountable challenge.”

The air was punctuated with laughter once more as more voices joined in, echoing their collective stance. “Indeed, Ernie is spot-on,” a rosy-cheeked girl chimed in, her laughter bubbling up like a brook, infectious and bright.

Draco bowed his head, overwhelmed by the lively banter and the camaraderie forging around him. It was alien but strangely comforting. Once an outcast, he had stumbled into a world quite unlike his own—a world of healing, acceptance, and newfound friendship.

Arthur lifted a finger to hush them, his demeanour growing serious as he fixed his gaze on Draco. “So, how did this all come about?” he asked, a hint of resolve in his voice.

“It was Draco’s plan,” said Kingsley, his deep voice resonating with authority. Draco let out a sigh of relief as the minister spoke on his behalf. “Apparently, this was how he wanted to properly repay his life debt to Harry.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, an expression of confusion crossing his face. “What do you mean? Didn’t you already repay your debt by telling Harry about the cave in Ireland?”

Draco nodded curtly, his pale face betraying a flicker of vulnerability. “Yes, that was my original plan. But I felt it wasn’t sufficient. Saving a life is no easy task, but Potter risked his own to ensure my survival—even Weasley agreed to assist. The guilt was overwhelming. There was little I could do to repay Potter’s willingness to give up himself for me. So when I realised Yaxley had kidnapped you—” he glanced at George, “I knew I must act to repay my debt not only to Potter but also to the Weasleys.”

Arthur felt a swell of gratitude toward Draco, understanding the determination etched in his features, mottled by guilt and resolve. He saw a glimmer of a man trying to change, to atone, caught in the heavy cloud of his past.

“As part of his ongoing probation,” Kingsley began again, “Draco reports to the Ministry every day. So he promptly notified the Auror Department about what had happened to your son.” Kingsley’s voice softened, filled with a touch of regret. “Even before we spoke in my office, Draco and I had already devised a plan that I purposefully kept from you. I apologise for the secrecy, but it was vital for the success of our strategy.”

Arthur felt the confusion tighten in his chest. “How was keeping me in the dark the right course of action?”

“Your reactions,” Kingsley replied. The straightforwardness of his answer left Arthur scrambling for clarity as he processed the implications, but before he could ask for more, Kingsley soldiered on.

“Draco came up with the idea of involving Dumbledore’s Army. He provided me a list of members, so we reached out to Neville. He was at St. Mungo’s when Yaxley made his announcement. Neville informed the rest of Dumbledore’s Army about the plan. Draco had insider information on where the Death Eaters would be in the forest because he’d suggested it to Yaxley.”

As Kinglsey spoke, laughter erupted among the DA members at the back, buoyed by Draco’s memory. “I still can’t believe Yaxley agreed to that plan,” Draco chuckled. “Was I really that convincing?”

“Not really,” George, Bill, and Percy chimed in simultaneously, their banter breaking some of the tension in the room.

“Focus,” Kingsley urged, guiding them back. “The centaurs played a crucial role in capturing the Death Eaters. They know the forest well, and with Draco’s anti-Disapparition charms set up, we were able to quickly outnumber them.”

“It’s never safe to wander these woods!” Angelina exclaimed, and George nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Exactly,” Kingsley smiled briefly. “When we apprehended the stationed Death Eaters, we knew you’d arrived when Seamus signalled us using enchanted coins.” He showed a fake galleon to Arthur and the rest of the Weasleys.

“Very clever,” Arthur noted appreciatively. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

A dark-haired young woman wore a silver necklace with a conspicuous “P” charm, nodded her head in approval. “Hermione was the one who came up with it,” she explained. “She thought it could help us stay connected.”

“Our plan was for Slughorn to intervene just in time,” Kingsley replied. “Before things went too far with Yaxley,” he added, attempting a weak smile as he glanced at the Weasleys. “It was a challenging task, ensuring Horace was prepared for it.”

“Prepared for what?” Molly prompted, curiosity perking up her features.

Horace smiled. “Let’s just say, it was an endeavour worth undertaking. I’ve never shed as many tears as I did tonight.”

Arthur frowned as memories of earlier that evening surged uninvited into his mind.

“We couldn’t risk you inadvertently exposing secrets,” Kingsley said. “Your reaction upon seeing Harry’s dead body and hearing Slughorn’s sorrowful cries.”

“You can’t imagine the relief I felt when I saw Harry alive and well,” Arthur admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

“Your performance was remarkable, Professor,” Percy said, admiration and respect mingling in his voice. “The way you acted had everyone consumed with concern.”

“Terrified,” Hagrid emphasised, his massive form encased in weariness. “S’pecially me. I really thought Harry had...” he trailed off, swallowing the words as memories toyed with his heart.

“Where’s Harry?” Molly’s voice cut through the fog of memories that plagued them all. Her scan of the forest found Harry playing with the wands of the captured Death Eaters. “There you are!” she exclaimed, rushing over, enveloping him in a tight embrace.

“Harry,” Arthur called softly, feeling the surge of relief wash over him. “We’re so glad you’re alright.” But Harry’s hesitant reaction confused Arthur. He couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong. “Harry?” he ventured gently.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley, but—”

“What’s wrong, dear?” Molly’s concern deepened, unmasking something unsaid.

Kingsley glanced at his watch. “Time’s up,” he announced ominously.

“Time’s up?” Arthur felt a pang of confusion when he looked at Kingsley. The collective tension shifted, leaving him and his family straining to connect the dots. As Arthur turned to face Harry again, he was taken aback by what he saw. He was no longer looking at Harry, but—

“Neville?”