The corridors of St Mungo's smelled of antiseptic potions and old magic, sharp, clean, and faintly bitter. The walls whispered softly as healers moved briskly from room to room, robes rustling like cautious birds.
Dumbledore walked at the front of the group, his pace unhurried but purposeful.
Behind him came Molly Weasley, hands clasped tightly in front of her chest, eyes red-rimmed but blazing with worry. Arthur walked beside her, face pale and thoughtful, fingers twitching as though he wished he were holding a wand already raised in defense. Bill followed, shoulders tense, dragon-hide boots silent against the tiled floor.
Harry's friends stayed close together.
Hermione's stride was too fast for the corridor, fear sharpening her movements. Ron's ears were red, jaw clenched, knuckles white as he forced himself not to bolt ahead. Ginny said nothing, eyes fixed forward with the quiet intensity of someone who had already decided she would not break—not here.
They turned a corner.
And there, outside a private ward, two figures stood like sentinels.
Sirius Black leaned against the wall, arms folded, hair hanging loose around his face. His usual restless energy was gone, replaced by a taut stillness that spoke of fear barely contained. Beside him sat Remus Lupin, hands folded in his lap, expression weary but steady, eyes lifting the instant they approached.
Molly gasped softly.
"Sirius… Remus…"
Sirius pushed himself upright in two strides. "He's alive," he said immediately, voice hoarse. "Before anyone asks."
Relief crashed through the group like a wave.
Hermione covered her mouth. Ron sagged slightly, bracing himself against Ginny's shoulder. Ginny closed her eyes for half a second, then opened them, fierce and focused.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "May we see him?"
Remus nodded and pushed open the door.
Harry lay propped against white pillows, sunlight spilling across the bed from a high window. Bandages wrapped his forearm, chest, and shoulder; faint golden runes glimmered beneath the gauze, stabilizing enchantments humming softly.
He looked… smaller.
Paler.
But his eyes, when they opened, were sharp and very much alive.
"Hey," Harry croaked.
Ron made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and crossed the room in three steps. Hermione reached Harry at the same time, careful hands hovering, not quite touching as if afraid he might vanish.
"You absolute—" Ron began, then swallowed. "You scared us half to death."
Harry's mouth twitched. "Sorry."
Ginny stepped closer, eyes searching his face. "Don't do that again."
Harry met her gaze. "I'll try."
Molly burst into tears and hugged him carefully, murmuring frantic, half-scolding reassurances. Harry awkwardly patted her shoulder, wincing slightly.
"Easy, Molly," Sirius said gently, though his own hands trembled where they rested on the bedframe. He leaned in close, voice low. "You did good, pup. Bloody brilliant."
Remus cleared his throat. "How are you feeling, Harry?"
"Tired," Harry admitted. "Sore. Hungry."
"That's a good sign," Remus said softly.
In the corner of the room, Amelia Bones stood with two Aurors, reviewing silvery threads of memory drawn into crystal vials. She looked up as Harry shifted.
"Mr Potter," she said, stepping forward. "On behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I want to thank you for your cooperation and wish you a swift recovery."
Harry nodded. "Did you… get everything?"
"We did," Amelia said. "Your memories corroborate the Aurors' findings entirely."
Her expression hardened briefly. "This investigation is far from over, but you've done more than enough for now."
She inclined her head to Dumbledore, then turned crisply and left with her team, the door clicking shut behind them.
Silence settled.
Remus spoke quietly. "For those wondering—Harry sustained curse burns, magical exhaustion, and a partial backlash from elemental manipulation. Nothing permanent, thank Merlin."
Ron swallowed. "And… the rest?"
Remus hesitated, glancing at Harry.
Harry nodded.
"He told me enough," Remus said. "The ritual. Voldemort's return. The duel. The… casualties."
No one spoke for a moment.
Sirius exhaled slowly. "Three Death Eaters dead," he said. "Merlin help us."
Harry stared at the ceiling. "They didn't leave me a choice."
"No," Dumbledore said gently. "They did not."
The next morning, Hogwarts awoke to shock printed in black and white.
The Daily Prophet lay on the Great Hall tables, its headline screaming:
THE DARK LORD RETURNS... HARRY POTTER LIVES
Photos shifted beneath the text, Harry's battered form being lifted by Aurors, the shattered graveyard, a blurred image of Voldemort's shadowed silhouette mid-battle.
The article was exhaustive.
Harry's account.
Auror testimony.
Confirmed deaths: Walden Macnair. Jugson. Nott.
Voldemort's injuries: severe, destabilizing, retreat forced.
And then,
A second column.
MINISTER FUDGE ACCUSED OF SUPPRESSION AND NEGLIGENCE
Gasps rippled through the Hall as students read aloud in hushed tones. The article detailed Fudge's attempt to silence Crouch Jr, the unauthorized Dementor, and his immediate departure from the scene.
Gryffindor erupted into furious muttering.
"He tried to cover it up!"
"Again!"
"They always do!"
Hufflepuff sat in stunned silence, Cedric's empty seat a quiet reminder of how close they had come to tragedy.
Ravenclaws read intently, already analyzing implications.
Slytherin was… quiet.
Snape stood at the staff table, face unreadable, eyes lingering on Harry's name in print.
McGonagall folded the paper slowly, jaw tight with pride and rage intertwined.
Dumbledore looked out over the Hall, hands folded, gaze distant.
Across Britain, the wizarding world reacted.
Some with fear.
Some with denial.
Some, with resolve.
And for the first time in a long while, the truth had not been buried.
Harry Potter had stood against Voldemort.
And the world could no longer pretend otherwise.