Arthur's hand hovered, then closed around the orb.
Cold. Smooth. It pulsed—once, twice—then cracked open in a shimmer of ghostlight.
A voice rose, not loud, but inevitable. Ancient.
In shadows deep, a boy shall rise,
Born to those who've known darkness's disguise.
In secrecy raised, marked by a scar's glowing light,
His heart shall guide his flight.
As destiny's veil begins to lift,
He'll face a future, a hidden gift.
Marked as an equal to darkness and dread,
With power untapped, he'll rise instead.
Two paths entwined, a fate unknown,
He'll face the Dark Lord, through trials alone.
He dropped the orb back onto the shelf with a cold clink.
"That story's already written," he muttered, half to himself, half to the dust-laden silence. "I'm living it."
Behind him, James groaned faintly on the floor — still unconscious, but twitching. A soft reminder of the chaos he'd caused to get in here.
Arthur turned away, brushing his fingers through his hair when a faint pulse caught his attention.
One orb. Near the end of the shelf.
Blinking.
A weak throb of silver-blue, like a dying heartbeat.
It wasn't glowing like the others. It was... reacting.
Arthur stepped closer, crouching low. There was no label. No description.
But then the glass shimmered, and a name appeared as if etched by a phantom hand:
Arthur Damian Reeves.
His breath caught in his throat.
He reached out slowly, as if it might bite.
The moment his fingers touched it—
The orb flared.
A rush of wind. A pressure behind his eyes. And then, the same voice — this time colder. No soft rhyme. This was prophecy made of iron and grief.
He was meant to fall before he could rise.
A life not meant to last beyond the cradle.
But death turned its gaze, and the dark lord's hand shaped a new fate.
The boy lived... and in doing so, broke the wheel.
A child spared, but not saved.
Marked not by mercy, but by disruption.
He shall bring change to prophecy itself—
An echo out of time, a danger to the threads that bind.
The Dark Lord is but the first shadow on his path.
Greater evils stir beneath the veil.
And he... he shall be the spark that either burns the rot or spreads the flame.
The voice stopped.
Arthur's hand trembled.
This wasn't a prophecy about surviving.
This was one about why he wasn't supposed to.
That his existence itself was a mistake.
Or a correction.
He looked at the orb again, its light now dimmed. Cold. As if it had told its truth and had nothing more to give.
Behind him, James stirred again.
Arthur didn't turn.
He just whispered, "So Voldemort's just the beginning."
And for the first time... he realized that maybe he was the real danger.
A cough broke the silence behind him.
Arthur turned sharply—James was propping himself up by one arm, squinting through the gloom.
"Ow," James muttered, wincing. "So... was it worth it?"
Arthur blinked, then allowed a small, tired smile.
"Every second of it."
James groaned, shifting upright. "Huh. Oh well…"
Arthur stepped over and offered him a hand. "C'mon."
James took it, hauling himself to his feet. He looked around at the shelves and dust and glimmering glass. "Now where's my wand?"
"I left it at the entrance," Arthur replied.
James raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly is the entrance?"
Arthur opened his mouth—then froze.
"I… I don't know," he admitted.
The hallway had changed.
The paths he'd taken had vanished like mist.
James tilted his head. "Let me guess... You don't know how."
Arthur nodded slowly.
James sighed. "Well then... let's find it."
They walked in silence at first.
Then James broke it. "So… where did you go?"
Arthur hesitated, then replied, "To my uncle's place. After I read Mum's letter."
James glanced at him. "What did they do to you over there?"
Arthur looked ahead, voice low. "It's a long story."
James smirked. "We've got time."
They rounded a corner—then stopped.
A familiar stone archway stood before them.
The entrance.
"Actually," Arthur said softly, "I don't think we do."
James frowned. "Still the matter of my wand."
"Don't worry," Arthur said, stepping forward. "I got you covered."
He held out his hand. Closed his eyes.
In his mind: Accio wand.
Cassian's voice echoed within him:
"Don't call it with your mouth. Call it with your will."
He reached deeper—felt the tug.
A rope winding through space.
He grasped it with his mind and pulled—
Let the magic flow from his core, through his arm, into his fingers—
Something shot toward them.
With a sudden snap, James's wand slapped into Arthur's hand.
Arthur turned and handed it to him.
James stared. "Huh. That's new."
Arthur shrugged. "You get used to it."
They pushed open the doors—and were instantly met with wands drawn.
Dozens of Aurors stood outside, tense and alert.
Arthur froze. James, however, strolled forward, adjusting his robes.
"False alarm," he called. "My ward here got away and got lost."
Murmurs rose. Wands lowered. Arthur exhaled.
James looked sideways at him. "You owe me."
Arthur just smirked. "Add it to the tab."
One of the aurors—a burly man with a crooked nose—narrowed his eyes. "Uh, sir. You're bleeding."
James reached up, fingertips coming away slick with red. "Huh. So I am."
There was a beat of silence before Arthur, almost too casually, said, "Yeah, that's... kind of on me."
Several heads turned.
"I whacked him round the head when he grabbed me," Arthur added, a sheepish grin tugging at his face—one he didn't know he was capable of.
A young female auror near the back raised a brow. "You play Quidditch, kid?"
Arthur blinked. "No, don't think it's for me."
"Pity," she said. "If you can make Potter bleed, you'd make one hell of a Beater."
Laughter rippled around them. Another auror muttered, "Yeah, he's got a pretty thick skull too. Tough to crack."
James gave them all a dry look as he straightened his coat. "Alright, pack it up, comedy club."
"More like blew past every turn," Arthur muttered.
James shot him a sideways glance, then turned to a younger auror near the front. "Reed, you're covering for me. I'm taking the kid home. If anyone asks, this was a training exercise gone very, very sideways."
Reed gave a half-salute. "Sure thing, boss."
James gestured for Arthur to follow, and as they walked off, Arthur leaned in slightly and whispered, "Still can't believe they bought the 'whack on the head' thing."
James smirked, low enough for only him to hear. "Well, considering you actually flung me into a wall, I'd say we both got lucky."
Arthur shrugged. "You were in the way."
"And you're in so much trouble."
"Worth it," Arthur said, and for the first time, he meant it.
The door slammed open, and the air inside the Potter home instantly thickened.
James stepped in with Arthur behind him, both silhouetted in the dim porch light. Lily was on her feet before they could take two steps.
"James—!" she cried, half relief, half panic. She threw herself at him, clutching his coat like if she let go, he'd vanish again. "You've been gone for days. What happened? Where—?"
She stopped when she saw Arthur. Bruised. Quiet. Eyes heavy with something no one understood yet.
Before she could speak again, Harry came from the sitting room. His expression was unreadable. The twins peeked out from behind Remus, and Sirius—arms crossed—was watching everything, tense and silent.
Harry didn't say a word.
He just stepped forward and punched Arthur straight in the face.
CRACK.
"That's for worrying my mother."
Gasps filled the room. Elena clutched her little sister tighter.
"Harry!" Lily shrieked, rushing forward—but James caught her arm.
"No," he said softly, eyes on the boys. "They need this."
Harry was breathing hard now.
Before anyone could react—
THWACK. A second punch landed, this time square in Arthur's gut. He doubled slightly, sucking in air.
"That's for worrying my father," Harry snapped.
Arthur straightened, wincing, then wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. He met Harry's burning gaze and didn't flinch.
"I deserved that," he said, voice dry.
A beat.
Then a smirk crept into his voice. "But if you want me to feel it, you're gonna have to do better than that."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't tempt me."
"I already have."
THUMP. Another to the shoulder. "That's for everyone else."
He went again.
"That's for running off."
One more. "That's for being an ass!"
Arthur flinched—but just barely. He stared at Harry. Let the fury burn. But unconsciously, his dark side was creeping out.
Then as Harry drew back for another swing— Arthur caught his fist
Firm. Unshaking.
His voice was low. Sharp.
"For once in your life, Harry…" he said through gritted teeth, "…shut up."
And then Arthur slammed his own fist into Harry's gut.
WHUMP.
Harry stumbled backward, collapsing on the floor with a gasp, wind knocked clean out of him. Everyone stood frozen.
Even Sirius blinked.
James muttered, "Yup. They're talking."
Lily looked horrified. "James!"
"I said they needed this."
Remus just sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Boys and their fists."
Arthur finally exhaled and looked at Harry, still on the ground.
"Now we're even."
He turned, brushing past the others. "I'm going to shower."
And with that, he disappeared up the stairs, leaving a stunned silence behind.
Then, from the floor, Harry coughed and said hoarsely:
"…He hits really hard."
Arthur didn't make it far up the stairs before the voices drifted in behind him.
He slowed, just out of sight on the landing.
Sirius's voice, sharp and tired:
"Elena, please get your brother out of here."
Turning to the rest:
"Are we seriously just going to overlook the fact that he disappeared for two bloody weeks?"
Remus replied, calmer but weary:
"You saw the look in his eyes, Sirius. Something happened. Something big."
Lily's voice cracked faintly—she hadn't spoken until now:
"He was gone. No notes. No owl. Nothing. Every day we thought—" she cut herself off, breath hitching. "What if he didn't come back?"
Silence.
Then James, firm but worn:
"He did come back."
"Yeah, with a prophecy glowing around his name and my godson knocking him flat like a Quidditch Bludger." Sirius snapped. "I want to know what the hell happened to him that lets him take down a full-grown Auror and pull a wand from across the bloody building like it's nothing."
Arthur's hand tightened on the stair rail.
Then Lily again, softer. "He was scared. Still is. You saw it too."
Remus's voice followed.
"We'll ask him. But not now. Let him breathe first."
Another silence.
Arthur didn't wait to hear more. He turned, went up the remaining steps, and shut the bathroom door behind him.
He leaned on the sink for a long moment, staring at his own reflection.
Cuts. Bruises. Shadows under his eyes.
He whispered, almost too quietly for even the silence to hear:
"…I wasn't supposed to come back."
Arthur pushed the door open to his room—and immediately ducked.
FWUMP!
A blur of black and silver feathers collided with his shoulder and circled his head furiously.
"Elira—!" he groaned.
(Oh NOW you remember I exist?) she snapped in his mind, her voice sharp and offended.
She landed on the dresser, wings puffed and eyes narrowed.
(Do you have any idea what it's like being stuck here with nothing but biscuits, second-hand news, and Theo trying to braid my feathers?)
"I didn't plan on being gone that long," Arthur muttered, rubbing his temple.
(You didn't plan anything! You just vanished! I ought to peck your ears off—but I won't, because you clearly have enough brain damage already.)
A pause.
(And also because I missed you, you idiot.)
Arthur smiled faintly and reached out. Elira let him stroke her feathers—reluctantly.
Then he walked over to the window and stared out into the fading evening light. Trees swayed gently. Children's laughter echoed from the neighbor's yard. Somewhere, a wind chime sang.
He stared at it all, and for one fragile second, his thoughts split cleanly in two:
One half of him wanted to set the sky on fire, to scream, to break something until the world bent into shape.
The other half... was simply glad to be.... somewhere he could call 'home.'
The door creaked behind him.
Arthur didn't turn.
"I figured you'd come," he said.
Remus closed the door softly. "Well... it's tradition now, isn't it?"
Arthur chuckled, tired. "How many times have I landed in this house with blood on my face and a prophecy on my back?"
"Too many," Remus replied. Then he added gently, "But you always come back."
Arthur turned, finally meeting the man's eyes.
"What if one day I don't?"
Remus held his gaze for a long moment.
"Then we'll find you. And drag you home by the scruff if we have to."
Arthur looked down. "I broke so many rules. Hurt James. Left without a word. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. What if I'm not... meant to be here?"
Remus stepped closer, voice low but sure.
"You changed prophecy, Arthur. That doesn't mean you don't belong. It means the world hasn't figured out how to hold you yet."
Arthur kept his eyes on the window, but his voice was clear. "I went to meet Cassian. Like my mum said in her letter."
Behind him, Remus sighed. It was the kind of sigh that sounded like it had weight.
"I don't really know much about the Reeves," he admitted, walking slowly toward the bed and sitting on the edge. "But I do know they've got a heck of fire in their blood. It's the kind of magic that bites before it sings."
He gave Arthur a long, amused look.
"I could almost see it in you, you know. If you weren't such a—what's the word—moody, grumpy, dramatic little banshee half the time."
Arthur snorted. "Wow. Thanks, Dear Godfather. Very comforting."
Remus smirked. "Anytime."
Then his face softened again, his gaze turning thoughtful. "But in all honesty... it's not a bad thing. Fire, when used right, forges. And Arthur... the fact that you came back—even after everything—means there's more forge in you than burn."
Arthur swallowed hard, throat tight.
"I don't even know if I did the right thing."
Remus nodded slowly. "You may never be sure. That's the thing about choosing your own path. But you're not alone, Arthur. Not anymore."
Arthur's fingers curled slightly against the window frame.
"...Yeah."
Elira fluffed her feathers with a loud huff.
(Finally. Some adult supervision. Can you tell him to stop being an emotionally repressed chaos magnet?)
Arthur gave a half-smile. "She says hi."
Remus raised a brow. "Who?"
Arthur ran a hand through his hair, still watching the way Elira paced angrily along the windowsill, muttering under her breath in sharp hoots and clicks.
"She's mad I left her behind," he murmured, then added, almost too casually, "Apparently I can converse and understand animals."
Remus blinked once. Then gave a small, knowing smile.
"I guessed as much."
Arthur turned to him, caught off-guard. "You did?"
Remus shrugged. "Well, you've always had a strange way of looking at creatures since you came back for the summer. Not just observing — understanding. Like you're listening to something the rest of us can't hear."
Arthur looked slightly embarrassed, but Lupin went on, gentler now. "It's rare, Arthur. Not quite Parseltongue. Not quite Animagus. But something older. Wilder. The magical world used to call it 'Beastspeech' or 'Beasttongue' before it fell into myth."
Arthur frowned. "Cassian didn't mention that name."
"He wouldn't. Not unless he thought you were ready." Remus leaned forward slightly. "It's not just a gift. It's a bond. Animals don't lie. They don't pretend. And they remember. If you've got their respect… you've got something powerful."
Elira ruffled her feathers proudly.
(See? Finally someone with taste.)
Arthur rolled his eyes but chuckled. "Great. Now she's insufferable."
Remus smirked. "You're going to need her. And probably more than her, before this is all over."
Arthur's smile faded just a bit. "You think it's not over?"
Remus stood slowly, his gaze resting on Arthur with quiet weight. "I think whatever path you're walking… you've only just taken the first step."
He paused at the doorway.
"And if you ever need help figuring out the rest… you're not alone, Arthur. Not really."
Then he left, leaving Arthur alone with Elira and the stars outside.