The news spread like wildfire. A Crumple-Horned Snorkack, right there in Hogwarts. The rumors spread quickly through the corridors. Students, young and old, poured toward Luna Lovegood, eyes wide with disbelief, curiosity, and—more surprisingly—guilt.
There it was, nestled comfortably in a conjured enclosure by the Ravenclaw Tower: a creature of peculiar proportions, with curling, spiraled horns and a shimmering hide with strange purple color. Luna, holding it in her arms with an smiling expression, repeated the same words to everyone who came to gawk:
"Dante Malfoy found it in the forests of Russia and gave it to me."
For years, she had been laughed at. Her stories dismissed, her claims ridiculed. And yet, here it stood—living, breathing, undeniable. Some students, faces pale with embarrassment, muttered apologies under their breath, shuffling away after offering her a few hesitant words of remorse. Others stayed longer, marveling at the creature.
The Gryffindor trio heard about it by lunchtime. Ron had been halfway through stuffing a chicken leg into his mouth when Seamus burst into the Great Hall.
"Oi! Have you lot seen it yet?"
"Seen what?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"The bloody Snorkack! Luna's got one! Says Dante Malfoy found it!"
Ron nearly choked. "Oh, come off it," he coughed out, pounding his chest. "You're telling me that nutter actually—?" He stopped, staring at Hermione and Harry, who were already standing. "You're going?"
"Of course we are," Hermione said. "Aren't you?"
So they went, pushing through the crowd, until they were face to face with the very thing Ron had sworn was a myth.
"Well, I'll be damned," he whispered. He rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly, as if expecting it to disappear the second he stopped believing in it. "It's real."
His awe, however, was short-lived. The wonder drained from his face, replaced by a flush of irritation. He turned sharply toward Luna.
"So let me get this straight. Dante's willing to trek all the way to Russia for this, but he won't even set foot in St. Mungo's for Ginny?"
A flicker of hesitation crossed Luna's face. She touched the Snorkack's smooth skin absentmindedly. Then, in a quiet, knowing voice, she said, "Dante isn't in a good state."
The trio stiffened.
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help. But he told me… he's lived this life before. And he has no will to do anything anymore."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, but Ron's face only darkened further. "What does that even mean?"
Luna bit her lip. "He said I died before ever seeing this. And that Ginny… he saved her once before."
They didn't know what to make of her words, in the end they left with more questions than before. When they returned to their common room. The fire crackled weakly in the hearth, but none of them paid it any mind.
"This doesn't make sense," Ron finally muttered.
"But if it's true…" Hermione hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "If he really has lived through this before… maybe he's not just being cruel or indifferent. Maybe he's just… lost. Depressed."
Harry, staring at the flames, spoke softly. "How does something like that even happen? What did he see? What did he do?"
Ron let out an exasperated breath. "It doesn't matter," he snapped. "What matters is that Ginny is dying and he's refusing to lift a damn finger."
Hermione turned toward him, frowning. "But Ron, if he saved her once before…"
"Then he's not as evil as you think," Harry finished.
Ron's jaw clenched. He turned sharply, fists balled. "I don't give a damn what he thinks he did in his mind. All I know is that Ginny is dying now, and he's going insane."
___________
Dante sat in silence, his presence in Malfoy Manor more akin to a specter than a living being. The days bled into each other, indistinguishable and without meaning. Time was no longer something he acknowledged; it merely existed around him, moving forward with or without his consent. Two months had passed, and he remained unmoved, his world shrinking to the confines of his thoughts.
Narcissa watched him from afar, her heart aching for her son. She had always known Dante to be strong and proud, distant in his own way, but never like this. There was no arrogance in his silence, no pride—only emptiness. She had waited, hoping he would pull himself out of whatever abyss he had fallen into, but it was clear now that he wouldn't. So she took a breath, steeled herself, and stepped into his world.
"Dante," she said gently, yet firmly, as she entered his dimly lit room. He did not respond, but she knew he was listening. "I can't pretend to understand what you are going through. I can barely grasp what you told Dumbledore and Severus, what you claim to have seen and lived." Her voice wavered slightly, the weight of her own disbelief pressing against her. "But I do know this, I cannot watch you waste away like this."
Still, no response. She moved closer, kneeling beside him as she once had when he was a child, brushing strands of silver-blond hair from his face. "Why not try something new? Something that has no grand purpose, no weighty meaning. Just… something for fun." She searched his face for any flicker of reaction. "Try playing. Try doing something you once enjoyed, without expecting it to be anything more than a simple moment of joy."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Dante turned his gaze to her. His eyes ,haunted, hollow, held the echoes of many lifetimes. "I'll think about it," he said, his voice rasping from disuse.
It was not a promise, but Narcissa knew better than to press. She sighed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before standing. "That's all I ask." And with that, she left him alone once more.
Alone, but thinking.
Dante sat in the quiet, his mother's words lingering in the stagnant air. Try something new. Something he enjoyed. What had he once enjoyed? His mind drifted, unearthing memories that felt more like relics from a forgotten time. He had loved reading once, exploring the wide world. He had found wonder and joy in magic, pushing its boundaries, unraveling its mysteries.
But at some point, it had all shifted. His thirst for knowledge became a means to an end, a way to continue, to adapt, to shape the course of events. The joy of discovery had been buried beneath the weight of purpose and self indignation. He reads to see where to go from here. He stopped exploring for the thrill of the unknown but to find new things to use and do. Everything had become a function of purpose, and without his grand purpose, he had nothing.
His thoughts unraveled further, tracing the winding path of his existence. The choices he had made, the roads he had taken and abandoned. There had been a time when the mere thought of harming another human being was inconceivable to him. Now? Now he could kill without hesitation. The line that once defined him had blurred, then faded entirely. He is willing to abandon a child to their fate without a second thought. He could justify it, rationalize it, but he didn't care, he couldn't care less to even find a reason to himself let alone others, the truth.
And what of the world? A disappointment, he had called it. A place of repeated failures, stagnant and unchanging no matter how many times he had walked through it. But as his thoughts spiraled inward, a darker realization settled over him. If he was to call the world a disappointment, what did that make him? He, who had made the gravest mistake and the greatest failure. He, who had become the very thing he despised. If he continued like this—this hollow, indifferent shell—how was he any different from the hypocrites he condemned?
Nicolas Flamel.
The name surfaced unbidden, dragging with it a bitter taste. Flamel, who had clung to life for centuries, not out of purpose, not out of goodwill, but out of sheer inability to let go. A man who claimed to be wise yet lived in stagnation, lied and hoarded his immortality shamelessly, calling others out to hide himself. Was that what Dante had become? A man unwilling to see himself, yet pointing at others?
The thought unsettled him and for the first time since he was back, Dante's eyes flickered with a new will.
___________
Dante apparated in Ginny Weasley's hospital room at St. Mungo's with a soft crack, his sudden arrival startling Molly and Arthur Weasley, who had been keeping vigil at their daughter's bedside.
Arthur stood up immediately, his voice desperate. "Dante—please, we'll do anything—"
Dante ignored them, his face devoid of emotion as he stepped closer to Ginny's bed. The air in the room grew heavy, the temperature dropping sharply. Then, with a chilling whisper of movement, a Dementor phased through the wall, its tattered robes billowing silently.
Molly gasped, and Arthur instinctively drew his wand, his hand shaking.
"Stay still," Dante commanded without looking at them, his voice cold and final.
The two watched in horrified silence as Dante raised his wand. A translucent, flickering light—pale and weak—emerged from Ginny's body, hovering above her like a dying ember. At the same time, a much stronger, silver light pulsed beneath the Dementor's hood.
Dante cast a spell, and a blue light surged forward, crushing the Dementor's stolen essence. Slowly, he forced the stolen life force into Ginny's. The flickering light above her grew brighter, steadier, until finally, Dante guided it back into her body with a final wave of his wand.
He gave a slight nod to the Dementor, and it retreated, vanishing through the wall as silently as it had come.
"She'll be fine," Dante said flatly "A life for a life. Sirius Black is dead, so your daughter lives. That was your choice in a different time."
And with that, he vanished, leaving the Weasleys stunned. Before they could even begin to process what had just happened, a soft groan came from the bed.
Ginny stirred, her eyelids fluttering open.
"Mum… Dad…?" she whispered weakly.
Molly let out a choked sob, rushing to her daughter's side, while Arthur could only stare at the spot where Dante had stood.