**The Next Day: Headlines and Horcruxes**
The Daily Prophet's morning edition looked like someone had taken the concept of "breaking news" and fed it through a printing press operated by people having collective nervous breakdowns about the fundamental stability of wizarding government.
The headline stretched across the entire front page in letters large enough to be read from the Hogwarts Express:
**"MINISTER AND MALFOY VANISH: MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE LEFT BY 'COSMIC ENTITY'"**
Beneath it, in smaller but still dramatically oversized lettering:
**"Educational Specialist Claims Responsibility for 'Comprehensive Lessons' in Government Ethics"**
Rita Skeeter had outdone herself with what was probably going to be remembered as either the most important piece of investigative journalism in wizarding history, or the most spectacular example of a reporter documenting the complete collapse of civilization while maintaining professional objectivity and possibly her sanity.
The article included a full reproduction of Drakor's message, complete with magical photography that made the elegant script seem to move slightly on the page, along with detailed descriptions of the pristine office that had been left behind like a museum exhibit about the consequences of poor political choices.
*"The office of the missing Minister shows no signs of struggle, violence, or magical combat. The only evidence of recent activity is the carefully arranged personal effects of both missing individuals and a message that appears to have been written with supernatural precision and possibly interdimensional humor..."*
In the Leaky Cauldron, the morning crowd had reached what could charitably be called "contained panic" and what more accurate observers might describe as "the beginning of systematic governmental collapse with a side of existential crisis about the nature of political authority."
"Cosmic entity," muttered a wizard whose morning routine of complaining about Quidditch scores had been completely derailed by discovering that their government might be under new management by something that existed on frequencies beyond conventional understanding. "Educational specialist. What in Merlin's name does that even mean?"
"Means someone's finally doing something about systematic corruption," replied a witch whose coffee had gone cold while she read details that made her reconsider her previous assumptions about the reliability of democratic institutions and the accountability of elected officials.
"Though I have to admit, the bit about chocolate digestives suggests whoever's responsible has very sophisticated standards for governmental snack management."
At a corner table, an elderly wizard was reading the article with the kind of horrified fascination usually reserved for witnessing historical events that would probably require their own category in future history textbooks.
"Says here they found Lucius Malfoy's walking stick arranged like a memorial," he said, his voice carrying the awe of someone who'd just realized they were living through either the greatest triumph of justice or the most spectacular example of systematic governmental reform through methods that definitely weren't covered in any constitutional framework.
"Along with Fudge's bowler hat, positioned with what the article calls 'mathematical precision and possible artistic intent.' Whatever happened in that office, it was planned by someone with very strong opinions about symbolic communication and proper administrative presentation."
Meanwhile, at the Ministry of Magic, emergency meetings were being held in offices that suddenly seemed inadequately protected against cosmic entities with strong opinions about governmental ethics and educational methods that involved permanent lifestyle changes.
Acting Minister Amelia Bones sat behind a desk that felt considerably less secure than it had yesterday, surrounded by advisors who looked like they'd all received news that their job descriptions were about to be updated to include "survival skills for supernatural governmental reform" and "crisis management for interdimensional justice operations."
"What's our official position?" asked Penny Wallaby, whose recent promotion to Senior Assistant to the Acting Minister had suddenly become either the opportunity of a lifetime or the most dangerous job in magical government, depending on whether cosmic entities appreciated proper bureaucratic procedures.
"That we're conducting a thorough investigation into the disappearance of Minister Fudge and Mr. Malfoy," Amelia replied with the controlled professionalism of someone who was trying to maintain governmental continuity while simultaneously preparing for the possibility that traditional authority structures had been permanently altered by forces beyond conventional political science.
"And that we're committed to the comprehensive reform programs that were initiated by the emergency Wizengamot session, regardless of... unusual developments in the implementation methodology."
"What about the message?" asked Kingsley Shacklebolt, whose Auror training had prepared him for many impossible situations but not necessarily cosmic entities who left polite notes about educational outcomes and snack management while systematically reconstructing governmental accountability.
"We're treating it as evidence in an ongoing investigation," Amelia said carefully, her voice carrying the tone of someone who was trying to balance official skepticism with the dawning realization that conventional investigative methods might not be adequate for cases involving interdimensional justice and educational specialists who operated outside traditional legal frameworks.
"Though I should note that the handwriting analysis suggests superhuman precision, the parchment includes magical enhancements that don't appear in any standard reference materials, and the overall presentation indicates someone with both extensive knowledge of governmental procedures and a rather sophisticated sense of humor about administrative reform."
Penny's quill was moving frantically as she took notes that would probably require their own security classification and definitely weren't going to make her job any less complicated.
"Should we be concerned about additional... educational experiences... for other government officials?" She asked, her voice carrying the careful tone of someone whose career advancement suddenly seemed considerably less important than personal survival during systematic reform campaigns.
"I think," Amelia said with the diplomatic precision of someone who'd just realized that honesty might be the best policy when dealing with cosmic entities who apparently had access to detailed information about governmental corruption, "we should focus on implementing the reforms that were already approved by the Wizengamot, and hope that demonstrates sufficient commitment to ethical governance to satisfy whatever standards are being applied by our... educational consultant."
---
Back at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the morning's entertainment was watching Drakor examine Tom Riddle's diary with the focused attention of someone who was about to enjoy what he considered a particularly excellent breakfast.
"Interesting craftsmanship," Drakor said, his voice emerging through Harry's features as he held the innocuous-looking black journal that had been used to maintain political control through possession and magical compulsion. "Fifty years of accumulated dark magic, systematic corruption of government officials, and what appears to be quite substantial magical knowledge preserved in soul fragment form."
The diary was radiating malevolent energy that made everyone in the room except Harry take several steps back, but Drakor examined it with the clinical interest of someone who'd encountered enough fragmented souls to develop professional opinions about their preparation and nutritional value.
"This piece is considerably more developed than the locket," he continued, his otherworldly voice carrying the satisfaction of someone who'd just discovered that lunch was going to be more interesting than initially anticipated. "Decades of active use, regular interaction with living subjects, extensive magical operations. Very robust flavor profile with complex notes of political corruption and systematic abuse of power."
"Please tell me you're not doing restaurant reviews for soul fragments," Sirius said, though his voice carried more amusement than actual concern about cosmic entity dining habits and their impact on systematic justice reform.
"Educational analysis," Drakor corrected with dignity. "Understanding the full scope of what these artifacts have been used for helps inform the comprehensiveness of the justice that needs to be applied to everyone who's been complicit in their deployment."
Before anyone could respond to this cheerful promise of systematic accountability, Drakor opened the impossible mouth that had consumed Dementors, Death Eaters, and government officials with equal efficiency and educational thoroughness.
The diary's reaction was immediate and considerably more dramatic than previous Horcrux encounters had been. Tom Riddle's voice erupted from the pages with the kind of imperious authority that came from someone who'd been systematically controlling people for decades and wasn't prepared to stop just because some cosmic entity had opinions about educational methodology.
*"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!"* the diary shrieked with the full force of fifty years of accumulated dark magic and systematic megalomania. *"I AM IMMORTAL! I HAVE CONTROLLED MINISTERS AND MANIPULATED GOVERNMENTS! YOU CANNOT—"*
"Oh, please continue," Drakor said conversationally, his cosmic voice carrying the patient tone of someone who'd encountered this type of personality before and found it more tedious than intimidating. "I'm fascinated by your political theories and governmental management techniques. Do go on about immortality and systematic control. I have time."
The Horcrux made a desperate attempt to escape by trying to possess the nearest available host—which happened to be Kreacher, who was serving tea with his usual enthusiasm for household management and family drama.
But the attempt at possession encountered something the soul fragment wasn't prepared for: a house-elf who'd spent decades dealing with dark magic, had recently been liberated from systematic psychological oppression by the removal of a Horcrux from his own household, and had developed very strong opinions about proper treatment of family members and guests.
"Kreacher serves the Noble House of Black!" the house-elf announced with the kind of righteous fury that suggested he was personally offended by someone attempting to use him as a host for magical parasites. "Kreacher does not serve fragments of pathetic dark wizards who split their souls like children breaking toys!"
The possession attempt rebounded spectacularly, sending tendrils of dark magic careening around the library like confused supernatural tentacles looking for something to possess and finding nothing but people who were either cosmically protected, magically resistant, or just too irritated by systematic oppression to be intimidated by adolescent dark lords having tantrums.
"Most impressive," Drakor said with genuine appreciation, catching the rebounding magical attack and absorbing it along with the rest of the soul fragment in one smooth, cosmic gulp that somehow managed to be both civilized and absolutely educational.
"Mmm," he continued, his voice carrying the satisfied tone of someone who'd just enjoyed a particularly complex meal that had also solved several long-standing problems, "Fifty years of political manipulation, systematic governmental control, and just the right amount of megalomaniacal delusion to provide depth to the dining experience. Very educational indeed."
"That makes three," Harry said with satisfaction, his own voice mixing with Drakor's as his cosmic partner settled back into passive observation mode. "Four more to go, and then Tom Riddle's immortality project becomes permanently discontinued."
"Speaking of which," Ted said, looking up from the legal documents he'd been reviewing with the focused attention of someone whose systematic reform campaign was about to encounter some very practical logistical challenges, "we need to discuss the Hufflepuff cup in the Lestrange vault."
"Bellatrix should have access," Sirius said, his voice carrying the authority of someone who understood pure-blood inheritance law better than most people and had spent considerable time thinking about how to turn traditional systems to the advantage of justice rather than oppression.
"With both Lestrange brothers dead and the marriage contracts nullified, she inherits their family assets, including vault access and whatever dark artifacts they've been storing for safekeeping."
Bellatrix's expression carried the kind of cold satisfaction that came from someone who was about to use traditional inheritance law to systematically dismantle the very networks that had oppressed her for over a decade.
"The vault contains more than just the cup," she said, her voice taking on the clinical precision of someone who'd been magically compelled to participate in enough Death Eater operations to develop comprehensive knowledge of their resource management and artifact storage systems.
"Gringotts Vault Seven-One-One has been used as a storage facility for dark artifacts, stolen magical objects, and what amounts to a comprehensive archive of Death Eater operations spanning several decades."
"Including evidence of crimes that were never prosecuted, financial records of payments to government officials, and correspondence that documents systematic corruption throughout the Ministry," she continued with growing satisfaction.
"Everything we need to complete our systematic reform campaign and ensure that everyone who's been complicit in maintaining oppression faces appropriate consequences."
"A comprehensive archive of governmental corruption," Ted said with the kind of professional excitement that suggested he was looking forward to building legal cases that would fundamentally restructure wizarding society, "stored in one of the most secure locations in magical Britain, accessible through traditional inheritance law."
"It's almost poetic," Sirius observed with satisfaction. "Using their own systems against them. Traditional pure-blood inheritance giving us access to evidence that will destroy traditional pure-blood political influence."
"Plus," Harry added cheerfully, his voice carrying information that Drakor had acquired through cosmic digestion and systematic absorption of dark wizard intelligence, "according to the memories I've absorbed, the vault's security systems were designed by people who never imagined that cosmic entities might be interested in traditional banking services."
*"Gringotts security is quite impressive by conventional standards,"* Drakor observed with cosmic amusement, his mental voice carrying the tone of someone who'd encountered security systems throughout the galaxy and had developed professional opinions about their relative effectiveness. *"Dragons, curse detection, anti-theft enchantments that would challenge most conventional magical approaches."*
*"Unfortunately for their security design, cosmic entities aren't bound by conventional magical limitations, and I've recently acquired a taste for hoarded treasure that's been accumulated through systematic oppression and human rights violations."*
"You want to eat dragon gold?" Harry asked, though his voice carried more curiosity than concern about cosmic entity dietary preferences and their impact on traditional banking systems.
*"I want to eat anything that's been acquired through systematic abuse of power,"* Drakor replied cheerfully. *"Dragon gold that's been stored by families who practice magical slavery definitely qualifies as ethically problematic treasure that would benefit from redistribution to more deserving recipients."*
"Such as?" Bellatrix asked, though her tone suggested she was already anticipating the answer and looking forward to it.
*"Victims of systematic oppression, families whose children have been abused by governmental negligence, house-elves who've been providing loyal service without proper appreciation or compensation,"* Drakor listed with the satisfaction of someone who'd already planned comprehensive reparations for decades of accumulated injustice.
*"Plus funding for ongoing reform campaigns, educational programs about proper ethics and human rights, and maintaining proper chocolate supplies for cosmic entities engaged in systematic justice operations."*
Kreacher appeared with a fresh tray of tea and what appeared to be celebration cakes that had been prepared by someone who took both baking and systematic justice very seriously.
"Kreacher has been listening to plans for visiting Gringotts," he announced with the kind of joy that suggested he was looking forward to participating in what sounded like the most interesting household business in decades, "and wishes to note that house-elves have traditional access to goblin banking facilities for conducting family business on behalf of Noble Houses."
"Meaning?" Ted asked, though his legal mind was already beginning to process the implications of traditional magical creature privileges and their application to systematic reform campaigns.
"Meaning Kreacher can accompany the family to provide proper support for vault access, security consultation, and any additional household management that might be required during extended banking visits," Kreacher said with satisfaction.
"Also," he added with the kind of conspiratorial tone that suggested house-elves had their own approaches to problem-solving that probably weren't covered in any standard household management manual, "Kreacher knows several Gringotts house-elves who have very strong opinions about families who store dark artifacts and practice systematic oppression."
"The house-elf network," Sirius said with dawning understanding and growing appreciation for magical creature intelligence networks that operated independently of human supervision. "You've been coordinating with house-elves throughout magical society."
"Indeed, Master Sirius!" Kreacher confirmed with pride. "House-elves see everything, hear everything, and remember everything about the families they serve. The network has been documenting systematic abuse for decades, and is most eager to support comprehensive reform through whatever methods prove most effective."
"Including providing assistance for cosmic entities who require logistical support during banking visits that might involve educational experiences for security systems designed to protect ethically problematic treasure?" Harry asked, though his voice suggested he was looking forward to the answer.
"Especially that, Master Harry!" Kreacher said with enthusiasm that bordered on the supernatural. "House-elves have been waiting centuries for proper accountability regarding families who treat magical creatures and human beings like property. Very eager to assist with comprehensive justice operations."
As they prepared for what would probably be the most interesting banking visit in Gringotts history—involving cosmic entities, systematic justice reform, and traditional inheritance law being used to dismantle the very systems that had created it—Harry couldn't help but feel that their campaign for comprehensive reform was approaching its culmination.
Soon, they would have eliminated all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, secured evidence of decades of governmental corruption, and demonstrated that systematic oppression was met with appropriate consequences when cosmic justice was available as an alternative.
*"This is going to be beautiful,"* Drakor said with anticipation that practically radiated through Harry's entire nervous system. *"Comprehensive educational experiences for banking security, traditional inheritance law applied to systematic reform, and the kind of treasure redistribution that ensures proper reparations for victims of decades of accumulated injustice."*
*"Plus, I'm really looking forward to meeting dragons who've been guarding treasure accumulated through human rights violations. Very educational opportunities for expanding my understanding of cooperative magical creature relations and appropriate resource management."*
The revolution was almost complete. And if certain banking institutions were about to discover that cosmic entities had very creative approaches to traditional financial services, well, that was just going to make their systematic reform campaign more comprehensive and definitely more memorable for everyone involved.
---
Meanwhile, at Gringotts Bank, Senior Account Manager Bogrod was having what could charitably be described as "a morning of escalating administrative concern" and what more accurate observers might call "the beginning of the most complex banking crisis in goblin history."
The morning briefings had been... eventful. Reports of missing government officials, cosmic entities with strong opinions about systematic justice, and what appeared to be comprehensive governmental reform through methods that definitely weren't covered in standard political science textbooks had made every goblin in the building reconsider their assumptions about the stability of wizarding society and possibly the reliability of their existing security systems.
"Sir," said Junior Analyst Grindgot, consulting reports that were probably going to require entirely new filing categories, "we've received formal notice that Bellatrix Black—formerly Lestrange—will be accessing the Lestrange family vault today for estate management purposes."
Bogrod's expression carried the careful assessment of someone who'd spent decades managing complicated financial transactions and had developed professional instincts about when routine banking services were about to become significantly more interesting than standard customer relations typically warranted.
"Estate management," he repeated slowly, his voice carrying the tone of someone who suspected this was going to involve considerably more complexity than standard inheritance paperwork. "Following the recent... educational experiences... that befell both Lestrange brothers?"
"Indeed, sir," Grindgot confirmed, consulting documentation that had been prepared by someone who clearly understood both traditional goblin banking protocols and the need for very careful language when discussing clients whose family members had recently been consumed by cosmic entities for systematic oppression. "The inheritance transfers automatically upon the death of all male heirs, as per traditional pure-blood family contracts."
"And she'll be accompanied by...?" Bogrod asked, though his tone suggested he already suspected the answer and was preparing for banking services that would probably require consultation with specialists in supernatural customer relations.
"The Black family account manager indicates she'll be traveling with family members and... household staff," Grindgot said carefully, his voice carrying the diplomatic precision of someone who'd been trained to present potentially alarming information in ways that didn't cause immediate panic among senior management.
"Including what appears to be a house-elf with traditional banking access privileges, and possibly other individuals whose identity documentation may require... flexible interpretation of standard verification procedures."
Bogrod set down his reports and looked around his office, which had served as headquarters for managing complicated financial transactions for over forty years and had never once involved cosmic entities, systematic governmental reform, or educational specialists with strong opinions about treasure acquired through human rights violations.
"Grindgot," he said finally, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd just made a decision that was either going to be remembered as brilliant crisis management or the most spectacular example of banking customer service exceeding all reasonable professional boundaries, "I want our most experienced security team prepared for what I suspect is going to be either routine estate management or the most educational banking experience in our recorded history."
"Sir?"
"And send word to the dragon keepers," Bogrod continued, his professional instincts suggesting that traditional security measures might require supplemental support from creatures who'd developed strong opinions about treasure protection and possibly cosmic justice. "I have a feeling today's vault access might involve discussions about proper resource management and ethical treasure acquisition that go beyond standard banking protocols."
As Gringotts Bank prepared for what would probably be either routine inheritance services or comprehensive banking reform through methods involving cosmic entities and traditional magical creature cooperation, Bogrod found himself hoping that goblin security systems were adequate for protecting both their customers and their staff during what sounded like it was going to be a very memorable day in magical banking.
Either way, it was definitely going to be interesting for everyone involved.
—
The morning ferry from Calais to Dover carried what appeared to be an unremarkable collection of passengers: tourists heading home from continental holidays, business travelers consulting papers that probably contained information about markets and mergers, and one increasingly agitated werewolf who'd been reading British newspapers with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for people discovering that everything they'd believed about reality was apparently wrong.
Remus Lupin sat in the ferry's observation deck, surrounded by newspapers from the past week that painted a picture of systematic governmental collapse, cosmic justice, and what appeared to be the most spectacular campaign for social reform in wizarding history. His usually careful composure was beginning to crack under the weight of information that made his previous understanding of recent events seem laughably inadequate.
The headlines alone were enough to require therapy:
*"SIRIUS BLACK EXONERATED: NINE YEARS OF WRONGFUL IMPRISONMENT"*
*"THE BOY WHO LIVED: DECADE OF SYSTEMATIC ABUSE REVEALED"*
*"MINISTER AND MALFOY VANISH: COSMIC ENTITY CLAIMS RESPONSIBILITY"*
*"MARRIAGE CONTRACTS OR SLAVERY BONDS: INTERNATIONAL INVESTIGATION LAUNCHED"*
But it was the smaller articles—the detailed reporting about Harry's condition, the medical documentation of systematic neglect, the revelation that James and Lily's will had been ignored while their son was placed with relatives who'd treated him like an unwanted burden—that made Remus feel like someone had reached into his chest and systematically rearranged his internal organs while he was trying to maintain rational thought processes.
Harry Potter. James and Lily's son. The child he'd failed to check on, failed to protect, failed to even think about beyond the occasional guilt-ridden moment when he'd wondered if Dumbledore's placement had been appropriate.
For twelve years, Remus had been living with werewolf packs across Europe, telling himself that he was too dangerous to be around children, too unstable to provide proper care, too much of a burden to offer meaningful support to anyone, much less the son of his best friends who'd died protecting their child and trusting that the wizarding world would ensure his safety and happiness.
For twelve years, he'd convinced himself that staying away was the responsible choice, the mature decision, the selfless action of someone who recognized his own limitations and didn't want to inflict his problems on an innocent child.
For twelve years, Harry Potter had been living in a cupboard under the stairs, being systematically starved and abused by relatives who saw his existence as a personal insult to their way of life, while the adults who were supposed to protect him either ignored his welfare or actively conspired to maintain his suffering.
"Systematic abuse," Remus whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of ferry engines and conversations he wasn't really hearing. "Ten years. He was in that house for ten years, being treated like..."
He couldn't finish the thought, because there weren't adequate words for the kind of self-recrimination he was feeling about his role in abandoning the child who should have been his responsibility, his honor, his connection to the friends who'd died trusting that someone would ensure their son received the love and care they'd wanted him to have.
*Twenty years later, sitting with the same newspapers, reading the same headlines, and finally understanding the full scope of his failure to be the man James and Lily had believed him to be.*
The newspaper in his hands was the International Magical Tribune, whose coverage of British governmental crisis had been particularly comprehensive and had included details that made the scope of systematic failure clear to anyone with functioning empathy and basic reading comprehension.
*"Medical examination by Senior Healer Andromeda Tonks reveals systematic malnutrition consistent with deliberate food restriction over multiple years. Subject shows evidence of stunted growth, magical suppression due to physical stress, and psychological trauma consistent with long-term emotional abuse and systematic devaluation of personal worth..."*
Remus's hands were shaking as he read clinical descriptions of what had been done to Harry—not by enemies, not by Death Eaters, not by people who'd had any excuse for treating James and Lily's son with anything other than love and protection—but by relatives who'd been given the responsibility of caring for him and had decided that systematic cruelty was an acceptable approach to child-rearing.
And worse, it had all been preventable. James and Lily's will had explicitly forbidden placing Harry with the Dursleys. Sirius had been designated as guardian, ready to provide the love and protection that every child deserved. The whole tragedy could have been avoided if anyone had bothered to honor the wishes of parents who'd died protecting their son.
Instead, everyone—including Remus himself—had trusted Dumbledore's judgment without question, assumed that the Chief Warlock knew best, and convinced themselves that blood wards and the greater good were more important than actually ensuring a child's safety and happiness.
"I should have checked," Remus said aloud, his voice carrying the kind of self-recrimination that suggested twelve years of accumulated guilt was finally finding expression. "I should have visited, should have asked questions, should have insisted on seeing him. I should have been a better friend to James and Lily by being a proper guardian to their son."
A young woman at a nearby table looked over with concern, probably wondering if he needed medical attention or possibly just someone to listen to whatever personal crisis was causing him to have intense conversations with newspapers about systematic failure and child welfare.
But Remus wasn't really aware of other passengers or their potential concern for his mental state, because he was too busy processing the revelation that while he'd been living with werewolf packs and telling himself he was too dangerous to be around children, Harry Potter had been living in conditions that made werewolf pack dynamics look like a luxury resort with excellent customer service.
The detailed reporting about Harry's current situation was somehow both better and worse than the historical abuse. Better because he'd apparently acquired allies who were committed to his protection and wellbeing. Worse because those allies included something that news reports were calling "an ancient cosmic entity with strong opinions about systematic justice and educational methods involving permanent lifestyle changes for systematic oppressors."
*"...sources close to the Potter family indicate that young Harry is now under the protection of what can only be described as interdimensional forces committed to ensuring his safety and systematic reform of the institutions that failed him. Recent governmental changes suggest that these forces operate according to principles that prioritize actual ethical behavior over bureaucratic convenience or traditional social hierarchies..."*
Cosmic entity. Educational specialist. Someone or something that had apparently decided systematic governmental corruption required comprehensive reform through methods that weren't covered in any political science textbook and definitely violated several established principles about the proper relationship between citizens and their elected representatives.
But honestly, after reading twelve years worth of accumulated evidence about how thoroughly every adult in Harry's life had failed him, Remus found himself thinking that maybe cosmic justice was exactly what their society needed, regardless of how many laws of physics or governmental procedures it violated in the process.
The ferry's public address system crackled to life with the announcement that they were approaching Dover, and passengers should prepare for disembarkation and customs processing. Around him, people began gathering their belongings with the practiced efficiency of travelers who were looking forward to completing their journey and returning to familiar routines.
Remus gathered his newspapers with movements that felt somehow more purposeful than anything he'd done in twelve years. For the first time since James and Lily's death, he had a clear understanding of what needed to be done, where he needed to go, and why his actions mattered in ways that went beyond personal guilt or abstract principles about doing the right thing.
Harry Potter needed family. Real family who would choose to be present, to provide support, to demonstrate that he mattered to people who'd loved his parents and were committed to honoring their memory by ensuring their son received the protection and care he should have had from the beginning.
And if that family happened to include cosmic entities with strong opinions about systematic justice, well, Remus had spent twelve years living with werewolves who had their own approaches to dealing with people who threatened pack members. He was probably better prepared for supernatural family dynamics than most people.
The customs process at Dover was routine—magical travelers had their own procedures that were considerably more efficient than standard immigration, though they did require documentation that proved you weren't carrying anything that might disrupt local reality or pose existential threats to the resident population. Remus's werewolf registration was current, his travel documentation was proper, and he wasn't carrying anything more dangerous than twelve years of accumulated guilt about failing his best friends' son.
But as he stepped off the ferry onto British soil for the first time in over a decade, Remus Lupin realized that he was about to insert himself into what was probably the most complex family situation in wizarding history, involving systematic governmental reform, cosmic justice, and what sounded like comprehensive educational experiences for anyone who'd been complicit in child abuse or institutional failure.
And honestly, he was looking forward to it.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there