And this is it for this story.

As always, I hope you have enjoyed the journey. Thank you all for continuing to read my work and support me.

The next tale, 'The Reaver's Legacy', will begin being uploaded in the next few days, so do follow etc to be notified of the release.

For now, I bid you adieu.


Potter Defeats The Dark Lord!

By Rita Skeeter

Igor balked as he read the headline, his mouth falling agape in disbelief as his hands began to tremble. He'd done it. Potter had really done it.

For almost a year now, the former headmaster of Durmstrang had been in hiding, not daring to leave the house Harry Potter had allowed him to stay in from fear that the Dark Lord's followers were looking for him.

It had been month after month of living in paranoia, of reliving the nightmare he had endured at the hands of Barty Crouch Jr and looking at the scars and what remained of the fingers that had been taken.

Igor had never been a particularly emotional man, but times had been trying recently, and as the news began to set in and he was flooded with relief, he cried for the first time in as long as he could remember.

It was over, and he was finally free.

"Thank you, Potter," he whispered.

There was no pretence that he had been reluctant to accept the boy at Durmstrang when he had visited with Cassiopeia Black, but Igor was not too proud in this moment to admit that he had been wrong.

Accepting Potter at Durmstrang had been the best thing he'd ever done, and now, he could once again enjoy freedom.

He had no intention of returning to his former post.

No, now was the time to start a new chapter in his life.

Igor had no idea what he would do, but when he did, he would be able to pursue it without the worry that he would be visited by those who wished him harm.


The dead had been cleared and the Ministry was working on ensuring all that had fallen during the battle were identified, many already having been done so by those in attendance.

Despite the victory, it had come at a heavy cost.

Along with Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, Professors Sinistra and Sprout, and Alastor Moody had all been killed. Among them had been several Death Eaters, Aurors, and members of the Order of the Phoenix.

The injuries too had been high with many requiring transportation to St Mungo's for treatment, some being life-changing in nature. Some were also unlikely to recover at all.

As most had in the wizarding community, Harry had spent much of the past few days at Hogwarts assisting where he could.

For the most part, the inside of the castle had been untouched, but the grounds themselves had been left in a terrible state.

Hagrid, who was in mourning for his arachnid companion and the man he looked up to, had busied himself with his duties and tending to the trees at the edge of the forest that had been destroyed in the skirmish there.

"The people are crying out for him to be buried here," a tired Cassiopeia murmured.

Harry shook his head.

"He wouldn't want that," he replied. "Dumbledore would want to be buried with the rest of his family."

"Aberforth said the same."

The man had arrived during the battle, having been informed of it whilst manning the bar in the Hog's Head.

Although he had shown little emotion at the death of his older brother, Harry could see that he was saddened by the loss.

The two evidently did not get on well, but Aberforth Dumbledore was not unlike the rest of wizarding Britain who were feeling the sting of Albus's departure.

"Then that is where he will be buried," Cassiopeia decided before wrapping her arms around him.

She had been more affectionate since the fighting had ceased.

Harry understood that the plan he had concocted with Dumbledore had been rather cruel to those that cared for him, but absolute secrecy had been necessary.

Still, he felt guilty for whatever heartache any had experienced because of him.

Lucinda had been rather furious with him, and Sirius and Remus had also given him a piece of their mind.

Cain had been more understanding and had simply pulled him into a tight embrace, and Harry was certain that both Ana and Eleanor had wanted to curse him.

Much to his relief, they had not done so, but the blonde had promised that she would not forget it.

Harry could only shake his head as the memory of her threat surfaced.

"Harry?" a familiar voice broke into his reverie.

He turned to find Ana only a few feet away, her expression almost apologetic as she struggled to find the words to say what she wanted to.

"Go home, Ana," Harry urged as he took her by the hands. "I think you've seen enough of the wizarding world to last you a lifetime."

Ana breathed a sigh of relief as she nodded.

"I have," she agreed, "but…"

"But nothing," Harry cut her off. "You have done more for me than I could have ever asked of you. Just don't be a stranger. It won't be the same without you."

Ana threw her arms around his neck and all but squeezed the life out of him.

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully. "Will you come and visit again?"

"As often as you like," Harry assured her with a smile.

Ana returned the gesture before reaching into her pocket and removing a shrunken golden sword.

"Take it."

"I can't take that, it's yours."

Ana snorted.

"Believe me, I won't ever have use for it again, not unless your lot try to invade us."

"Over my dead body," Harry murmured.

Ana offered him a pointed look.

"Exactly, so take it. I want you to have it."

Harry did so and watched as the blade grew in his hand.

"It's so light."

"It's made with elf magic," Ana explained proudly. "You're the only wizard in the world that will own an elf-made weapon."

"That is quite an honour."

Ana nodded before pressing her lips against his cheek.

"Thank you, Harry Potter."

"For what?" Harry asked confusedly.

"For everything," Ana chuckled. "For showing me that not all wizards will hate me for who I am. For always being there for me since I came into your world."

"Any time," Harry replied sincerely.

With that, she offered him a final smile before bidding fare well to the others.

When she was done, Harry watched as she made her way towards the gate of Hogwarts and vanish into the distance.

"She's gone then," Cain said sadly.

Harry nodded as Eleanor and Lucinda joined them.

"What about you lot, what will you do?" he asked curiously.

"I don't think we have decided yet," Cain sighed. "There's still a lot to do here. Who knows, maybe we will stay in Britain for a while. It might be nice without people trying to murder you all the time."

"Maybe," Harry agreed amusedly as he took Lucinda's hand.

"Well, like it or not, I suppose I'm stuck here," the vampire sighed. "I somehow ended up married to you, so, wherever you go, I go."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Harry quipped.

Lucinda hummed thoughtfully before squeezing his hand.

"I'm sure I will manage."


15 Years later

Lord Potter Welcomes Second Child!

By Rita Skeeter

It seems as though it was only yesterday that the news broke of the birth of the first Potter child being born to Harry and his wife Lucinda. Already, a little over a decade has passed since James Potter, named for his grandfather, graced us with his presence.

Now, I can exclusively reveal that his sister, Veronica Cassiopeia Potter was born in the early hours of yesterday morning, and both mother and baby are thriving.

We at The Prophet offer our congratulations to Lord and Lady Potter.

Alessia smiled as she read the news before cutting out the article and adding it to the scrap book she had collected over the years of photos and media snippets pertaining to Harry.

Perhaps it was odd to do so, but she didn't care.

She remembered the year she'd spent getting to know Harry fondly, and she was happy to see he had managed to make a life for himself. Even if it was with the vampire that had threatened her.

The memory brought a smirk to her lips.

"Potter again?" the irritated voice of her husband broke into her thoughts.

Alessia rolled her eyes.

Life had gone just about how she'd expected.

She'd been married off to the son of a friend of her father and spent much of her time wearing a false smile and exchanging pleasantries with other wives she could not stand the sight of.

Still, this was the pureblood way, for the most part.

"Harry was my friend," she reminded the man.

Her husband's left eye visibly twitched as it always did at the mention of Harry, and Alessia hid her smirk.

Antonio wasn't ever cruel to her.

If truth be told, he paid little attention to Alessia and their children, and she preferred it that way.

No, her husband wasn't a cruel man, but he often showed signs of envy, especially towards those who were much more successful than him.

Harry Potter was just that.

"Of course," Antonio chuckled. "Then why haven't I met him?"

"Was, Antonio," Alessia sighed.

Antonio hummed.

"Maybe you just wish he was your friend," he commented before taking his leave of the room, feeling rather pleased with himself.

"If only you knew," Alessia muttered.

She had been right as a teen.

The time she had spent with Harry had become what she looked back on to warm the cold lonely nights of such a marriage. It wasn't because she had been more attracted to Harry than she ever had to her husband, or that he was rich, famous, and sweet to boot.


Harry had been the only person, admittedly out of only two, who had made her feel wanted.

Alessia often wondered how different things would have been if she had taken a proposal to her father, if she had decided that when she left Durmstrang behind, she did not wish to leave Harry with it.

Perhaps they could have found a way to make it work.

She shook her head as she turned the page, landing on the photo The Daily Prophet had printed of Harry's wedding day.

Alessia smiled at it fondly.

Even if she had pursued it, she doubted very much so that she could hope to elicit such a beaming smile from him the way Lucinda did.

Alessia would have to simply be content with what she once had, and though it had been for but a blink of an eye, it was enough for her.


"You are just as bad as your father!" Lucinda chastised as she attempted to clean the mess from her son's robes.

"I am not," James denied with a familiar smirk.

It was bad enough the boy resembled Harry so closely, but for him to be just like him, even in his mannerisms, was enough to keep Lucinda on her toes.

James was as mischievous as Harry too, meaning not only was she kept busy trying to ensure he wasn't getting himself into trouble, but she also had to keep her wits about her just in case he tried to pull one of his pranks.

Nonetheless, Lucinda would tolerate it all if it meant that her son would not have to go away for school today.

It had not always been this way.


Motherhood had not come easily to Lucinda.

She had thought that getting pregnant would be the difficult part, but it was after she had given birth that she struggled. When she first looked at James, she felt nothing.

There had been no maternal instincts, no overwhelming feeling of joy nor any inclination to comfort him when he cried. Lucinda had merely felt numb and confused when Harry had wept with happiness.

Her husband did his best to understand.

Harry knew that vampires were not such emotional creatures, and he had stepped up. For the first year of James's life, it had been Harry who had cared for their son; feeding, bathing, teaching, and waking in the night to soothe him when the baby would cry.

To Lucinda, the entire thing made no sense, but that had all changed in an instant in a moment she would never forget.

They had just celebrated James's first birthday, well, everyone else had and Lucinda had been present, going through the motions of pretending to their friends that she truly cared.

Harry had worked tirelessly to prepare everything alone, and when all was said and done, he had been exhausted.

As ever, James had woken in the night, and ever the devoted father, Harry had tended to the boy, only James had continued to cry for several minutes after Harry had entered his room.

Lucinda remembered vividly how irritated she had been when she entered, but the scene that had greeted her had stopped her in her tracks.

Seated in a nursing chair, Harry sported a thick stubble that he'd not had time to remove, and bags under his eyes reminiscent of when Voldemort was at his peak and Harry did not sleep.

On his lap was James, sobbing as he reached for the bottle of milk Harry had been unable to give to their son before he'd passed out.

Relieving her sleeping husband of the boy and his snack, Lucinda watched as he drank hungrily, and then it happened.

She didn't know when she had started crying but the guilt she felt for how she had been unable to love her son for so long had set in.

Minute after minute, she simply looked into his eyes, the very same ones belonging to his father.

Even when James had finished drinking, Lucinda held onto him, pulling him tightly into her chest.

When Harry eventually woke, James had been sleeping for some time, and the sun was already beginning to rise outside the window.

"I'll take him," Harry yawned, holding out his arms.

Lucinda shook her head.

"No," she murmured. "I want to hold him a little longer."

The little longer did not end until James woke again and needed changing. Although Harry was confused, he had patiently shown her how, and even how to wash the boy and prepare his meals.

By the time the next evening had come around, everything felt different.

Lucinda still felt terrible, but as she tucked her son into bed and placed a kiss on his cheek, she finally knew what it was to want to be a mother, to be willing to give everything you had just to see your son smile.

End Flashback

Lucinda had been deeply concerned that it would be the same with their second child, but the moment Veronica had been placed in her arms, Harry's own look of worry had faded.

Immediately, she had held her daughter closely to her, and much to Harry's amusement, the girl had been there almost every moment since.

She too resembled Harry, and it wasn't until they visited Lucinda's parents and she had bemoaned that fact to them that they had shown her a photo of when Lucinda had been a small child, before she had been turned.

The resemblance between her and her daughter was uncanny, down to the green eyes Lucinda once had.

What had been an undeniable worry, though Harry had not mentioned it, was whether or not the children would suffer from vampirism.

Upon James being born, he was thoroughly checked by the healers who assured her that he showed no signs of it. However, at the age of five, he'd demonstrated that their thoughts were not completely accurate.

He'd never craved blood, not having been plagued with the thirst, but Lucinda remembered a particular incident where James had almost set fire to the kitchen when he'd insisted on making his own breakfast.

In a panic at discovering the frying pan on fire and James attempting to extinguish the flames with a cup of water, she had shouted, only for her son to flee the room in terror.

No one had ever shouted at him before, though that had certainly changed over the years throughout his many escapades.

Having tried to prevent him from leaving, Lucinda had been taken aback by the speed with which the boy had moved.

Since then, he had seemed to develop the very same physical strength vampires were known for, often showing off to whoever would pay attention by lifting things no human, let alone child should be capable of.

It seemed then that their son had inherited something of Lucinda's heritage, but so far, only the positive aspects.

Whether Veronica would mature the same way remained to be seen, but it was certainly possible.

"Is Uncle Cain and Aunt Eleanor coming today?" James asked, pulling her from her musings.

Lucinda nodded.

"They will meet us at the dock," she assured the boy.

James had opted to follow in the footsteps of his parents and would be attending Durmstrang.

He'd been given the choice of which school he'd wanted, and unsurprisingly, he wanted to be just like his father.

"So much for rutting like a wolf," Harry snorted from over the top of his newspaper.

"Excuse me?" Lucinda asked confusedly.

"Cain," Harry chuckled. "He always said it wasn't in his nature to settle down. He said he'd spend his life rutting like a wolf."

Lucinda grimaced.

Cain and Eleanor had remained together.

Whereas Lucinda and Harry only had two children thus far, they already had four, affectionately referred to as their litter.

Eleanor did not appreciate the moniker for her children, but it seemed apt, and had stuck since Remus had said it only a few years prior.

"Mum, what does rutting mean?" James asked with a frown.

Lucinda shot Harry a glare.

"Nothing," she huffed. "Watch what you're saying, Harry."

James smirked in amusement.

"Is it the same thing that Sirius was talking about?"

Harry hung his head, though he could feel his wife's eyes boring into the top of his skull.

"I'll have a word with him, or I'll get Cassie to," Harry sighed irritably, scowling at his laughing son.

The woman that had raised him had remained as Minister for only another year after the war had concluded.

Upon stepping down, she had moved back to Greece, taking Kreacher with her.

Not that she didn't visit several times a week.

Perhaps she would never admit it, but she did miss England, and could not spend more than a few days without seeing Harry.

Her visits had only become more frequent when James had been born.

For Harry, Cassiopeia Black remained his rock, and as she had been nothing short of a mother to him, she was equally a grandmother to his children.

Still, she would be most unimpressed hearing James speak how he often did when she was not around.

The boy, as he was referred to when he misbehaved, liked nothing more than seeing Harry in trouble with Lucinda, a common occurrence at Grimmauld Place.

"You'd better," Lucinda warned. "I will not have James speaking like that degenerate."

"He's not so bad," Harry defended. "At least he's settled down now."

Lucinda hummed.

Sirius had finally married a witch he'd met at a quidditch match when James had been six.

He could still be rather vulgar, but Stephanie, a muggleborn a few years younger than him, kept him in line at least.

"Come on," Harry declared. "We'd best get this one off to school."

Lucinda glanced towards the clock and her heart sank.

She wasn't ready to say goodbye to James, but she knew she could not keep him home forever.

"Fine," she agreed unhappily. "Do you have everything?"

James nodded as he stood proudly in his Durmstrang uniform.

"My trunk is in my pocket, and my wand is in reach."

Harry smiled proudly as he ruffled his son's hair.

"Make sure it always is," he urged.

"I will," James assured him.

"Good boy. Come on, let's go before you miss the ship."

Lucinda took James by the hand whilst Harry readied the portkey and did not let go of it until the boy had to all but wrestle himself free of her grasp when it was time for him to board.

Even then, she spent another minute fussing over him, watched by Harry who could only shake his head in amusement.

Cain and Eleanor laughed as they greeted the duo and two of their children.

The others, into their teens now, had already made their way onto the ship.

"They grow up so quickly," Eleanor sighed as James bid them farewell.

Lucinda could only nod.

"One down, only one more to go," Harry offered.

"What if I decide I want more?" Lucinda replied.

Veronica was only a few months old, but the thought had crossed her mind.

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly and Lucinda rolled her eyes at him.

"I might consider it," she said airily.

"Ha, you'll have a litter of your own," Cain mocked.

"A coven," Eleanor corrected. "Vampires have covens."

"Same thing," Cain said dismissively. "What about us, shall we add another to the collection?"

Eleanor quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You should think yourself lucky I've not had you neutered already."

"Well, you do keep his balls in your purse," Harry quipped.

Cain scowled at him.

"You know, I think I've outgrown your jokes," he grumbled.

"I've outgrown your flea problem."

"I do not have fleas!"

"That's enough, both of you," Eleanor interjected irritably. "How is it that neither of you have managed to grow up?"

"I have," Harry returned with a grin. "He's the childish one."

"You're the childish one," Cain replied quietly, though not quietly enough that his wife did not hear.

"Both of you shut up," Lucinda demanded. "If either of you wake her up, I will show you what a post-natal vampire can do."

Harry immediately fell silent, shaking his head as Cain opened his mouth to speak.

When she was certain they had listened, Lucinda nodded approvingly.

"Do you remember our first day?" Harry asked after a moment of simply observing the activity on deck.

"You told everyone that I promised to turn you."

"I did," Harry said with a grin. "Wait, what is that smell?"

Lucinda's pocket began to smoke, and as she looked down, the foulest aroma imaginable filled her nose.

"It's a dungbomb," she said dumbly, immediately looking towards the boat.

James offered them a cheeky wave before vanishing into the galley and Lucinda growled.

"Oh, I'm going to kill him!" she declared as she threw the offending article into the water, levelling another glare at Harry and Cain who were laughing uproariously.

Yes, their son was just like their father, and Lucinda had no doubt that he would be the cause of many headaches in the years to come.


Draco had not adapted to life well living as a muggle.

Without his magic, he was miserable, and the effects of the curse remained with him. When he wasn't feeling too fatigued, he could be found consulting tome after tome Narcissa had accumulated over the years in a bid to cure her son.

She'd even had the best healers check him over several times, all of them stumped by what was ailing him.

As such, Draco had become only more bitter, and though Narcissa would always love him unconditionally, there were moments she wished that Potter had killed him.

It would lessen the burden on her for one thing, and she could not deny that she had grown to resent him for what he had done.

When the news had broken that Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, Narcissa found herself unsurprised.

From the moment she had met him when he was on the cusp of manhood, Potter had been different. There had been a ruthlessness to him that many lacked, but also proven talent.

At every turn, he'd gotten the best of Lucius, and eventually had prevailed over the monster that had been Lord Voldemort.

In the back of her mind, she'd known he would be successful where others had failed.

Now, she lived as miserable an existence as her son, and that was unlikely to change.

She remained wealthy and had even managed to obtain a new elf to act as her servant, but no amount of gold or luxury could rid her of her ills.

Narcissa could never return home, and Draco would continue to be a burden on her life and conscience,

Unless Lord Greengrass managed to catch up with them.

Already they'd had to move three times to avoid such a fate.

Evidently, the man had not forgotten what Draco had done to his daughter and seemed to have made it his life mission to track him down.

Thus far, Narcissa had intervened, but the more time that went on and the more she grew to resent her son, the less likely she felt compelled to do so.

Perhaps next time she would not act, and then she may finally be able to live out her remaining years in relative peace.

Who knew what the future would bring, after all?


15 Years Later

Viktor watched as the team was flying drills, shaking his head in disapproval as one of the chasers fumbled the Quaffle. Bulgaria had never produced the best players overall but having secured three World Cup trophies throughout his career, there were certain expectations of the national team.

Viktor had retired from the sport a number of years ago now, unable to keep up with the physical demands of the game nor the younger opponents he faced.

Still, he was the most decorated player in Bulgaria's history, and the holder of several sporting records that would not easily be broken.

Now, he found himself coaching his fellow countrymen and women as they attempted to replicate the feats of better teams that came before them.

"They're still crap then?"

Viktor smiled as he heard the familiar voice of his goddaughter.

"Does your father know you're here?"

"He's here too," Veronica replied as she stepped next to him, frowning at the antics of the team. "Bloody hell, they really are crap."

Viktor could not disagree with her assessment.

"It's a shame you're not Bulgarian," he sighed. "You'd have a place on this team already."

"Well, it looks like I'll have to settle for a place on the Holyhead Harpies developmental team instead," Veronica replied.

Viktor paused before turning towards the girl, a rare, beaming smile spreading across his face as he grabbed her by the shoulders excitedly.


Veronica nodded, grinning in return.

"That is amazing news," Viktor gushed.

Just like Harry, the girl had proven to be an exceptional talent on a broom. Viktor had always wondered just how far Harry could have gone had he chosen to dedicate himself to the sport, but he'd had another calling in life.

Nevertheless, it hadn't prevented the man from encouraging his daughter from pursuing it, and both Harry and Viktor had spent many hours with Veronica in the air over the years.

"I am so proud of you," he offered sincerely.

It was rather eerie how much the girl resembled her mother. The more she grew, the harder it was to tell them apart. It was only the eyes that differed between them.

Even their mannerisms were the same.

"Go on then," the Bulgarian huffed amusedly.

Veronica didn't need telling twice, and before Viktor could blink, she was already atop her broom, flying laps around the training facilities.

At fifteen years old, Veronica was already better than most of the players he had at his disposal.

Was there a way of getting her to accept a Bulgarian citizenship?

"Don't even think about it, Krum," Harry's voice said warningly. "She'll be playing for England."

Viktor grinned, an expression that turned into a frown as he looked upon his oldest friend.

At a little over fifty-years-old, Harry did not look a day over twenty.

It was rather disconcerting to see how youthful he'd remained, still very much resembling the young man who'd appeared in every newspaper across the globe when he'd defeated Voldemort three decades prior.

It was quite the oddity, especially considering the terrible year he'd had since his Aunt had passed away.

Viktor would not pretend that he and Cassiopeia Black had spoken much. Her reputation as Grindelwald's most devout follower preceded her, and it was not something the Bulgarian could ever come to terms with.

To Harry, however, the woman had raised him since he'd been a babe, and her loss had taken its toll on him.

At the very least, he now seemed to be able to muster a smile of sorts.

Viktor laughed as he pulled the other man into a tight hug.

The two of them had reconnected after the war had finished and had remained firm friends since. They even occasionally paid a visit to the hot spring when either of them needed an escape from everything else in their lives.

"How are you?" Viktor asked.

Harry offered him a weak smile.

"I'm getting there," he replied sincerely. "She'd kick my arse if I kept moping around."

"She would," Viktor agreed.

They watched as Veronica flew circles around the Bulgarian team.

"She's good," Harry commented.

"She will be great," Viktor returned. "Maybe she will be able to do what you never did."

It had always been quite the sore point for Viktor that Harry had never pursued his talent.

Them facing off in a World Cup Final would have drawn a record crowd, and the duel between them would have undoubtedly been one for the ages.

"She'd probably beat both of us now, old man."

"Maybe," Viktor conceded, "but I can still beat you."

Harry raised an eyebrow towards him, his gaze shifting towards where the team brooms were kept.

"Fifty Galleons?"

Viktor grinned challengingly.

"Done," he agreed. "Let's show this lot how they should be training."

Harry chuckled as he patted Viktor's paunch.

"Don't get yourself a hernia, you prat."

Even after all these years, Viktor was not one to turn down a challenge, and as he took to the sky to face off with Harry Potter as they had countless times when they were teens, he felt thirty years younger.

As ever, both pushed the other to their absolute limits, but with Harry being fitter and younger, it was Viktor that was panting for air, sweating profusely, and without the Snitch when the contest was concluded.

"I'm still better than you," Viktor wheezed, reluctantly accepting the goblet of water Harry offered him.

"You keep telling yourself that, Krum. Are you hurt?"

Viktor shook his head as he looked up.

Harry had not even broken a sweat and was barely breathing heavily.

"Just my pride," he grumbled. "When did I get old, Harry?"

"When you finished being the best Quidditch player to ever do it."

Viktor smiled proudly, allowing Harry to help him to his feet.

"That's twice you've beaten me now."

"And it only took more than three decades to get the second one," Harry pointed out amusedly.

Viktor laughed heartily as the two of them were joined by Veronica who looked at them both in a mixture of awe and irritability.

"You are both idiots," she huffed. "Why can't you just be old and happy."

"Oi, we're not too old to enjoy Quidditch," Harry replied. "We were doing this long before you were even thought of."

"Exactly. Don't you think it is time you gave up?"

Viktor grinned sheepishly.

"No," he disagreed. "Maybe we should start a league for retired players. I bet it would be popular."

Veronica rolled her eyes the same way her mother did when something irked her.

"Honestly, what a couple of prats," she muttered before taking to the sky again.

"She's a lot like you," Viktor commented.

Harry nodded.

"But much more like her mother. It's frightening sometimes."

"I can imagine," Viktor murmured.

Lucinda was not a woman to be trifled with, and Veronica was very much taking after her in that regard.

The girl had not even finished school yet and she had carved quite the reputation for herself, much like Harry had.

"How is James finding the Wizengamot?"

"He's a born politician," Harry chuckled. "He can talk his way around anyone. I think he prefers teaching, but he understands his duties."

Harry had passed on the Potter lordship to his son when he had turned twenty. It had given the young man something to focus on.

James had not known what he wanted to do when he'd graduated Durmstrang, which had left him at rather a loose end.

Much to Harry's relief, Minerva McGonagall had eventually sought a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and with James's exceptional talent with such magic, he'd been a welcome addition to the Hogwarts staff.

With Veronica looking more likely to play Quidditch professionally, that only left their youngest two children who were soon to enrol at Hogwarts, choosing differently from their older siblings.

Harry and Lucinda had been blessed with another girl and boy, separated by only a year in age.

Charlus had been planned when Lucinda could no longer mother Veronica the way she did, and Selina had come as quite the surprise, much to Harry's amusement.

Lucinda had been living in utter bliss with two babies to spoil with her affection.

"Life hasn't been so bad then," Viktor sighed contently. "Other than this year."

Harry nodded.

"I have no complaints," he replied.

Harry had spent much of his time in the post-war years devoted to the betterment of Britain.

For too long, it had been something of a stagnant country, and though it was a constant struggle to inspire change within the wizarding community, it was something he would not give up on.

The last thing Harry wanted was another radical insurgence of a group that would build up as much support as Voldemort had.

As such, Viktor was not surprised to learn that with the current Minister looking to retire at the end of this term, Harry would finally accept the nominations that had been thrown his way over the years.

Being the Minister was not something the man truly desired, but Viktor had no doubt his friend would make a fine leader.

For years to come, Britain would find itself in safe hands for the first time in recent history.

To Viktor, it had never been a question of if Harry would become the Minister of Magic, it had always been a case of when.

Having gained considerable experience in life, the Bulgarian could not help but agree with the general consensus of the British people that the time for Harry to accept the post was now.


5 Years Later

Eleanor held the goblet to her grandmother's lips, encouraging her to drink the offered water. The woman had been sick for a few years now, her body and mind not what they used to be.

It had been horrifying to see her deteriorate so quickly, and now, the healers believed she would not last much longer.

Eleanor had been named after the old woman, and it was a name she carried with pride despite the association with the infamous bank robber from the 1930s and 40s.

"Thank you, dear," Eleanor Sr said gratefully.

Eleanor tried to smile, but it was difficult to truly mean it now.

Her grandmother had always been so full of life, and it had never crossed her mind that she might pass on.

"You will have some visitors soon," she revealed.


Eleanor nodded.

"Harry and Lucinda are coming to see you."

Her grandmother frowned and shook her head.

"I do not know a Harry or a Lucinda."

Eleanor swallowed deeply as she looked towards Cain.

He had struggled to come to terms with what was happening to the woman, the two having grown close over the years.

"You do," Eleanor insisted. "Harry has been to see you several times now."

Her grandmother merely looked at her in confusion and scowled as a knock at the door sounded.

"I'll get it," Cain murmured.

Opening the door, Harry and Lucinda crossed the threshold, stopped by Cain as he whispered something to them.

Harry seemed to be immediately saddened, but approached the old woman, nonetheless, clutching a bouquet of her favourite flowers.

"Hello, Ms Summerbee," he said cautiously.

Eleanor looked towards her grandmother who wore an expression of wonder as she stared at the man.

"You look just like him," she whispered in awe.

Eleanor felt the same sadness seep into her whenever her grandmother would see Harry.

She had always claimed he looked like a man she once knew, but quickly became silent when the topic was pressed.

It had only gotten worse since she became unwell.

Harry merely took it in his stride now, leaned in and kissed the woman on the cheek.

"Harry Evans," he murmured.

Her grandmother nodded enthusiastically.

"Harry Evans," she sighed. "Your story is quite spectacular, but his…"

She broke off as she frowned.

"Tell me," Harry urged.

The woman shook her head.

"I don't really remember," she huffed, her eyes regaining a rare moment of complete clarity. "With my illness, it's hard to remember what's real and what never was. I did write it down, but I'm sure most of it is just my mind playing tricks on me."

"Would you let me read it?" Harry asked.

"I don't see the harm, mind, most of what is in there are just dreams I had. I know they can't be real because the war against Grindelwald didn't end that way. Maybe my mind has always been playing tricks on me," she added thoughtfully. "The book is inside the dresser. The brown, leather one."

Harry nodded and approached the dresser, removing a thick tome.

"This is quite a long story," he chuckled as he flicked through the pages.

"All my own foolish imagination," Eleanor's grandmother sighed. "Pay no heed to it, young man. It is just the ramblings of a mad woman."

"Maybe," Harry murmured with a frown.

"What is it?" Eleanor asked curiously.

"These names," Harry returned. "Most of these are people I have heard of. My grandfather is mentioned, as is Arcturus Black. I can't say I know Reginald Yaxley, but I'm certain I've read his name somewhere. These were all alive during the war against Grindelwald and fought against him."

"What about Harry Evans?" Eleanor pressed.

Harry shook his head.

"No, it's not familiar, but my mother's name before she married my father was Evans. She's even mentioned towards the end of this. No, that's not possible."

"Ramblings of an old woman," Eleanor's grandmother said dismissively.

Harry did not seem convinced, and his frown deepened as he continued flicking through the book, eventually shrugging in confusion.

"You said that these were all dreams you had, Ms Summerbee?"

"I'm sorry, did you say something young man?" Eleanor's grandmother asked, her mouth falling agape as she looked towards Harry. "You look just like him, you know," she whispered in awe.

Harry looked towards Eleanor worriedly.

"It's getting worse," she explained.

Harry offered her a look of sympathy.

"I'm sorry," he offered sincerely. "I wish there was something that could be done."

Eleanor shook her head.

"There isn't," she muttered.

"They were dreams," Eleanor's grandmother suddenly declared. "Dreams that always felt so real."

"Then maybe they weren't just dreams," Harry said comfortingly.

"None of those things happened," Cain pointed out.

"Not here," Harry agreed, "but maybe they did somewhere else. If there's anything I've learned about magic, it's that we have barely begun to understand just what it can be used for. There are types of magic we cannot hope to comprehend. Maybe this is one of them."

"Do you really think so?" Cain asked sceptically.

Harry nodded.

"Why can't it be real?"


Many, Many, Years Later

Ana waited with her hands folded in front of her, watching the tree her guest would arrive via. As ever, the other elves who had grown used to Harry had accompanied her, with Illarion standing at her side.

True to her word, she had remained in the forest, leaving her home only on occasions that called for it.

She had attended Harry and Lucinda's wedding, visited when each of their children were born, and had attended the funerals of Cassiopeia, Sirius, Remus, and the rest of the group that had passed on throughout the years.

Other than those exceptional times, she had been amongst the trees where she belonged.

"My curiosity remains," Illarion sighed. "I cannot fathom how a human can live after almost seven centuries."

Ana smiled.

"I can assure you, there is nothing nefarious behind why Harry is still alive," she replied, "but it is his secret to tell."

Ana knew the circumstances of Harry's irregular longevity, and she suspected he only kept it from Illarion because he knew it irked him so.

Her very first and only remaining human friend had become something of a living legend in the wizarding world with many speculating as to how he yet lived.

Of course, being married to a vampire, most assumed he had allowed himself to be turned, but Harry had denied that rumour vehemently.

It was also whispered around that he had created a philosopher's stone for himself, a notion that Harry had not commented on.

For him, it was better that there was a mystery surrounding his existence, and though he now lived in something of obscurity for the most part, his presence never went unnoticed when he left his home.

For the best part of three centuries he had served the people of Britain, and the country had never been better since his long tenure.

Wizarding Britain had seen peace for so long, that none alive could even begin to comprehend the idea or experience of war.

"Here he comes," Ana murmured as she sensed a disturbance amongst the trees.

As expected, Harry arrived only a moment later, still looking no more than three decades old with Lucinda and their immediate children in tow.

Illarion had made them welcome some centuries ago, and they always accompanied him on his visits.

Of course, there were many generations of Potters that had come after them, many still alive and varying in ages.

The family had grown considerably over the many decades, but at the head, where he would remain was Harry Potter.

How long he would live, Ana dared not even hazard a guess. But if his current health and youthful appearance was anything to go on, she could only expect that the healer who had estimated around a thousand years had been considerably wide of the mark.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted the man warmly.

He offered her the same mischievous smile she had become accustomed to since they had been only eleven years of age.

Yes, there was many decades left in him yet.