Date: Sunday, January 5th, 1986
Time: 03:41 AM (0341 Hours)
Location: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England
The winter air bit with cold steel precision in the still hours before dawn, and a thin layer of frost glistened across the manicured lawns of Privet Drive, hiding the secrets that festered behind closed curtains and under polished appearances. The suburban calm of Little Whinging masked the venom that lived within Number 4, and tonight...by pure chance or fate...a line of grim-faced professionals was about to uncover it.
The operation had not begun with Harry James Potter in mind.
A joint task force of the Surrey Police and the British Special Air Service...Tasking Force Orion...was conducting surveillance in response to a broader initiative against the rising heroin epidemic spreading through the southern counties of England. Vernon Dursley, a mid-level manager at a drill company, had appeared on the edge of suspicion...his name floated in connection with a dog-fighting ring and money laundering operation tied to a heroin distribution network. But the real red flag had been his sister, Marjorie Dursley, a brutish woman known to law enforcement for breeding and abusing fighting dogs, and suspected of hosting underground matches with ties to organized crime. Intelligence had suggested she was spending the weekend at her brother's home.
The raid was scheduled for pre-dawn, the kind of hour where criminals slept and mistakes died quietly. From his concealed position inside a converted van at the end of the street, SAS Commander Major Peter Holloway muttered into his throat mic, "Alpha Teams, confirm ready. Bravo Teams, breach on my mark."
On the screens in front of him, thermal imagery fed from scope-mounted units and drone overviews flickered green. The detached home at Number 4 appeared still.
"I don't like this neighborhood," grumbled Inspector Malcolm Reese of the Surrey Constabulary, seated beside Holloway, double-checking his Browning Hi-Power. "Too quiet. Bloody eerie." The countdown was silent. Only disciplined breaths and the faint shuffle of boots over pavement marked time.
TIME: 03:43 AM.
"Mark." A synchronized storm broke over Privet Drive. Shadows sprinted forward with rifles raised...British SAS soldiers in matte-black gear and dark face paint, armed with L1A1 SLR rifles and silenced Sterling submachine guns. A team of officers in dark blue uniforms with "POLICE" emblazoned across their backs followed close behind, tactical vests tight, shotguns and pistols drawn. Flashbangs shattered windows, and doors were breached with battering rams in practiced motions.
The sudden blast of shouts..."POLICE! ON THE GROUND! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!"...broke the silence like thunder.
Petunia Dursley screamed. Vernon Dursley swung wildly before being brought to the floor by two SAS soldiers with brutal efficiency. Dudley wailed, confused and terrified as officers swept him into protective custody. Marjorie Dursley, dragged from a spare bedroom reeking of dog sweat and blood, snarled obscenities even as officers cuffed her and her grotesque bulldog was subdued with tranquilizers.
But it was what happened next that would turn the operation on its head. Sergeant Thomas "Tommy" Keats, SAS point man and tracker, was clearing the ground floor when he paused at the narrow stairwell. A noise...barely more than a whimper...came from beneath it. A strangled, muffled voice. "I... It hurts… please…Help"
He stopped cold. The voice was tiny. Fragile. Desperate. "Got something," he called softly into his mic, kneeling down. He tapped on the door to the cupboard beneath the stairs. "Open up, it's okay. You're safe now. I'm here to help you." A child's voice, hoarse and terrified, rasped back. "I...I can't move... it hurts too much…"
Keats didn't wait. "Breaching small compartment," he reported before wrenching the tiny door open. Inside, curled and barely clothed, bruised and shaking, was a small boy. Pale. Gaunt. Bones pressing against skin. His emerald green eyes widened in terror before falling half-shut. "Oh God…" Keats whispered, his voice cracking. "Medic! I need a medic now!"
The boy was lifted out gently by gloved hands, his little arms twisted unnaturally. There were healing scars, fresh cuts, a deep laceration along his left thigh, and a swollen ankle. As paramedics and medics rushed in, Harry's eyes fluttered. He coughed blood, lips trembling.
"My... my name... Harry James Potter..." he mumbled, each syllable weak. "My mum's... Lily... Lily... Ev...Evans Potter..."
The attending medic's hand froze on the IV line he was about to place. His partner looked at him, eyes wide. "You say Potter?" he whispered. Harry, now barely conscious, whimpered through cracked lips, his voice barely audible.
"My grandmother is... Elizabeth Alexandra Mary... Queen Elizabeth the Second... I want my grandmother... where is she...?"
The ambulance team went silent. Across the radio net, Keats' body mic picked up the words as they spilled out of Harry's mouth. Inside the command van, Major Holloway dropped his pen. Inspector Reese's jaw slackened. "Repeat that transmission," Holloway barked into the radio. "Is this verified?!"
"Sir," Keats responded with urgent calm, "the boy identified himself as Harry James Potter. He named Lily Evans Potter as his mother. Then said... Queen Elizabeth II is his grandmother." Holloway's training kicked in like ice water to the face. "All units, situation has changed. Status of the rescued child is Royal Family. Initiate Protocol Windsor. I repeat, Protocol Windsor is now in effect."
He slammed his palm down on the encrypted line to HQ. "Get me Royal Protection Command and reroute the ambulance to St. Mary's Hospital in London. I want military escort. Now."
Within minutes, two Westland Lynx helicopters from the British Army Air Corps diverted from nearby exercises, streaking over the southern countryside with eight heavily armed soldiers each. At the same time, two sniper teams equipped with the Accuracy International Arctic Warfare rifle, newly introduced for testing, took overwatch positions around St Mary's ambulance bay.
Blue lights flashed. Sirens screamed. Streets were cleared as the ambulance carrying Harry sped toward London. Inside, the medic kept a gloved hand gently on the child's chest, monitoring his shallow breaths.
"Harry?" the medic asked softly, fighting the tremor in his voice. "Do you remember your mum?" A faint smile. "She... she sang... she smelled like flowers... told me Gran would always protect me…" Then silence. His small head rolled to the side. Monitors beeped.
The medic swallowed thickly. "He's out. Keep him stable!" As the convoy approached central London, the Royal Household was already in motion. Queen Elizabeth II had been alerted. Her grandson...the one she had lost through tragedy and silence...had been found. And the world was about to learn the truth of the boy who lived, not just as a wizard...but as the heir of a crown.
Time: 04:19 AM
Location: St Mary's Hospital, Praed Street, London, W2 1NY, United Kingdom
The silence before the storm came not in the form of weather, but in the sterile hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the mechanical rhythm of an early morning hospital ward. The Emergency Department at St Mary's Hospital moved with its usual tempo...quiet, measured, even tired. The graveyard shift nurses poured coffee into paper cups stained with inked fingerprints and exhaustion. Security guards near the lobby chatted softly about football results, while Dr. Alastair Hunt, the on-call trauma surgeon, flipped through a chart near the trauma bay, half-reading, half-daydreaming of his warm flat and the tea kettle he'd left beside the stove.
Then the red phone rang. Not just any Red phone but the Royal Line Red Phone. A thick, matte-black and Red rotary telephone affixed with a brass label: "Sovereign Emergency Priority – Royal Family Only."
It hadn't rung in decades. A nurse's hand trembled slightly as she picked it up. "St Mary's Hospital. Royal Line One." The voice on the other end was clipped, precise...British Army, upper command.
"Royal Line One, This is Tasking Force Orion, Emergency Royal Extraction Detail. We are inbound with a critical subject. Priority One. I repeat, Priority One. Passenger is a male child, age five. Name: Harry James Potter. Confirmed maternal bloodline: Lily Rose Evans-Potter, daughter of Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor. The Queen. The boy has invoked Her Majesty by name. Current condition: severe trauma, possible multiple fractures, internal bleeding. We are en route from St George's and will arrive in six minutes. Escort detail includes two Lynx helicopters, four SAS close protection, and eight Royal Military Police. Acode Red has been declared by Royal Command Authority. Initiate full lockdown."
There was a pause...a sharp inhale on the line from the nurse. The receiver slipped slightly in her hand as her brain tried to catch up. "Ma'am, did you receive?"
"I...I heard you," she whispered. "Jesus Christ. It's him. It's the boy..." She dropped the phone back onto its cradle like it had scalded her. In two strides, she slammed her palm against the red button on the wall that read: EMERGENCY SECURE – CODE RED.
A klaxon tone blared across the hospital corridors, silencing conversations and halting movement. The intercom crackled to life. "This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Code Red. All staff to emergency lockdown stations. Secure all entrances. Trauma Bay Alpha One is being prepped for incoming Royal Emergency. ETA: five minutes."
The hospital turned from soft efficiency into military precision in seconds. Metal security shutters began rolling down over the emergency entrances. Nurses secured gurneys and wheeled patients to protected hallways. The Chief of Emergency Medicine, Dr. Helen Marsden, marched through the double doors of the trauma center, white coat flaring behind her.
"I want Trauma One cleared and prepped! Crash cart stocked. We go full royal protocol. Senior surgical team in the bay now. All hands...gloves, scrubs, no exceptions." A porter tried to ask, "Doctor, who's coming in?" Helen's voice was taut. "The Queen's grandson."
The words hit like a lightning bolt. In 1986, such a thing shouldn't have even been possible. But there it was. And the sovereign red phone never ever LIED. Out in the dim streets of London, blue lights pulsed against rain-slicked cobblestones. A dark green military ambulance...distinct from civilian NHS vehicles...came screaming around the bend, flanked on all sides by military police on vintage Triumph motorcycles, headlights blazing. Above, the distinct thup-thup-thup of two Westland Lynx helicopters echoed across the night sky, slicing through low cloud as their gunners kept overwatch.
Inside the ambulance, Corporal Robert "Bobby" Keegan gripped the oxygen mask against the boy's face, keeping his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his throat.
"I need you to stay with me, little one, alright?" he said, adjusting the IV as the vehicle bounced over a pothole. "You're doing so well. Just hold on, Harry." The boy groaned weakly, barely able to lift his eyelids. "I'm tired…"
"You can't go to sleep yet, lad," said the paramedic beside him, a woman with short, dark hair streaked with grey. "Not till we get you to proper care. Can you tell us your name again?" A faint whisper. "Harry...James…Potter."
"And your mum?"
"Her…Full…Name…Is... Lily...Evans...Potter…Windsor" Keegan froze for just a moment before nodding to the medic. "He's consistent. Memory's still holding." Then came the words that stopped the blood in both their veins. "My...grandmother is...Elizabeth Alexandra Mary...Queen Elizabeth the Second... I want... I want my Gran...Please"
Keegan's hand jerked away from the monitor. The radio on his shoulder barked...every SAS, police, and helicopter crew had heard the same phrase transmitted again from his body mic. The boy's identity wasn't just whispered anymore. It resounded through the comms like a gunshot through glass.
At St Mary's, as the ambulance pulled into the back emergency bay, armed police and military officers fanned out in practiced motion. Two snipers perched on opposite rooftops tracked every movement through the scopes of their Accuracy International Arctic Warfare rifles, scanning for threats.
As the rear doors of the ambulance burst open, a stretcher was yanked out and immediately rushed through a corridor lined with armed men. The trauma team surged forward, blue surgical gloves snapping onto pale hands. Dr. Marsden walked beside the stretcher, eyes locked on the boy. "Vitals?"
"BP 85 over 47. Breathing shallow. Cracked ribs, broken arm, puncture along the thigh. Possible concussion. He's slipping," replied Keegan. "Get me a full panel and prep for exploratory surgery," she ordered. "Has the Palace been notified?"
"Yes, Doctor," said the hospital director, who had arrived only minutes before, still in a bathrobe beneath his coat. "The Queen is already en route under armed convoy. ETA twenty minutes."
Inside the bay, monitors began beeping. Machines hummed. Blood was drawn, oxygen levels read, and every inch of the boy's battered frame was cataloged by eyes that had seen war, but never something like this.
Dr. Marsden leaned close as they began cutting away the boy's ruined clothes. "Harry," she said gently. "You're safe now. We're going to fix you." His lips moved, barely audible. "Gran... said she'd find me…" And then he fell into unconsciousness.
All around him, the hospital came to life like a fortress under siege...but this time, the siege was to protect a child. A child born to magic, born to royalty. A child the world thought lost.
Time: 04:46 AM
Location: St Mary's Hospital, Praed Street, London, W2 1NY, United Kingdom
The distant thunder of engines broke through the stillness surrounding the hospital's rear entrance like a wave crashing against stone. Not the wailing of ambulances nor the swift chop of rotor blades, but the deep, unmistakable growl of armored Rover P5B limousines and MOD Land Rovers tearing down Praed Street under full police escort. The convoy rolled with deliberate, formidable weight...headlights cleaving through morning fog, windshields glinting under street lamps, tires humming low against damp tarmac.
Inside the hospital, the air had grown thick with tension. Security staff lined the entrance corridor shoulder to shoulder, armed with Enfield L85A1 bullpup rifles, recently issued but kept discreet. Plainclothes members of the Royalty Protection Group, under the command of the Metropolitan Police's SO14 division, flanked the hallways in tailored coats with radios pressed to their ears and Walther P5 pistols holstered under their jackets. They weren't merely guarding a VIP...they were securing the future of the Crown.
In Trauma Bay Alpha One, Dr. Helen Marsden leaned over Harry's unconscious body, her gloved hands steady even as her mind reeled. They had stabilized his breathing. He had three broken ribs, a fractured radius, a bruised lung, and deep tissue lacerations across his back and leg. But what silenced the room wasn't the extent of his injuries...it was the truth in his blood. Royal blood.
"I still can't believe it," she said softly, glancing at the small face resting against white hospital linen. "He's hers. He really is hers." A nurse nodded, voice thick. "You think the Queen will really come herself?" The doctor didn't get the chance to respond.
From the front entrance came the unmistakable hiss of hydraulic brakes, the heavy clunk of vehicle doors thrown open, and a call from the radio: "Royal One has arrived. Standby. Queen on approach." Every doctor, nurse, and soldier in the corridor stood taller. The hallway lights seemed brighter. And then, she came.
Dressed in a long, grey-blue wool coat with a matching hat that concealed her tightly coiled hair, Queen Elizabeth II entered the hospital not as a monarch gracing a public engagement, but as a grandmother seeking the child fate had tried to steal from her. Her gloved hands did not tremble. Her step did not falter. But the raw emotion swimming in her eyes betrayed her regal calm.
Two of her private secretaries and the head of her Royal Household followed behind, but she paused none for them. She looked only at the chief of security waiting near the double doors.
"Where is he?" Her voice was low and deliberate. A whisper of steel.
"This way, Your Majesty."
The Queen was led swiftly down the secure corridor, flanked by SO14 personnel and a military liaison officer. Her handbag rested neatly against her side. Her steps echoed against the polished linoleum, the world parting like a tide before her. As she entered the trauma ward, time seemed to hold its breath.
The machines beeped steadily. The oxygen hissed through the mask. And there he lay...pale, bruised, but alive. His small chest rose and fell like fragile glass. The Queen said nothing at first. She walked to his bedside, her gloved fingers hovering just above his curls. She removed her gloves slowly, carefully, and placed them aside. Then she leaned down, as every grandmother would, brushing a lock of matted hair from his forehead.
"Oh my dear boy…" she whispered, her voice breaking for the first time. "...You do look like her. You look just like Lily did when she was small." She pressed her lips gently to his temple, and then turned to Dr. Marsden.
"What is his condition?" she asked, her voice regaining that quiet command known to every prime minister and diplomat. The doctor, struggling to keep her composure, replied, "Stable for now. He's unconscious, but his vitals are holding. We had to reset a broken radius, and there's bruising along the ribs. Malnourishment, exposure... and other injuries consistent with prolonged abuse."
The Queen's hands clenched at her sides. "How long has he been like this?"
"We don't know. We found him locked in a cupboard under a staircase. The injuries suggest this wasn't recent."
Her Majesty stood silently for a long moment, then turned back to the child.
"I want every resource made available to him. Every test. Every protection. I will not lose him...not again."
"Of course, Your Majesty," the hospital director answered softly.
The Queen turned to her Private Secretary. "Contact the Prime Minister. Inform him the situation is now classified under Crown Protection. I expect a statement prepared for the public when I say so...not before. And see that MI5 and GCHQ secure all communications involving this hospital. I don't want a single reporter to know his name before I say it myself."
The room fell silent again. All eyes rested on the small figure on the bed. Then, unexpectedly, Harry stirred. "Gran…?" The Queen moved instantly to his side. "I'm here, my darling." Harry's eyelids fluttered. "You found me…" Tears welled in her eyes. "Yes. And I'll never let you go again." Then he drifted back into unconsciousness.
And in that moment, beneath flickering lights and silent prayers, the monarchy of the United Kingdom became not just a symbol of duty, but a family with one more child returned. The Crown had reclaimed its heir. And the world would never be the same.
Time: 06:12 AM
Location: St Mary's Hospital, Royal Quarters and 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England
As dawn crept over London, casting soft orange hues over the rooftops, the hospital wing reserved for the Royal Family had become both a sanctuary and a command center. Queen Elizabeth II had not left Harry's side for more than a moment, her fingers resting gently on the edge of his bed as he slept...his small form nestled beneath warm linen and flanked by heart monitors and an oxygen feed. The room had a quiet sacredness to it, though beyond the thick oak doors, the storm of a far greater reckoning was building.
Back in Little Whinging, 4 Privet Drive remained sealed behind heavy police cordons and the guarded perimeter of a temporary mobile military HQ. A team of Special Branch officers and SAS intelligence personnel in grey windbreakers and olive-drab fatigues methodically combed through the Dursley home, now deemed a royal crime scene. It was during this search that Sergeant Malcolm Havers...an aging MI5 liaison known for his meticulous eye...called out from under the stairs. "I've got something here...trunk, old-style, leather-bound… magically sealed, I think." The young officer beside him blinked. "You believe in that sort of thing, sir?"
"I believe in what I can see and what's already landed in my lap tonight and the missing prince in the Hospital…," Havers muttered, brushing away a layer of dust. "...now help me shift it."
Together they pulled the large trunk from the back of the cupboard. It was heavier than it looked, the kind of artifact that seemed to resist touch, as if guarding its secrets. Its surface was etched with faded carvings, and a silver crest embedded in the lid glinted beneath their torches...the stylized lily flower of House Evans, encircled by a protective royal ward seal.
"No lock or key," muttered Havers. "But there's writing… here, on the brass clasp."
"To be opened upon the boy's 11th birthday. Contents for: Harry James Potter."
They shared a look.
"There's more beneath it...letters, sealed scrolls, and what looks like a velvet satchel," said the second officer, gently lifting them out.
"Pack it up carefully. We're bringing this straight to London...Her Majesty needs to see it." Havers paused, gaze fixed on the crest. "And something tells me this... this changes everything."
Location: St. Mary's Hospital – Royal Quarters
Time: 07:03 AM
In the reserved royal room, Elizabeth sat beside Harry's bed when the doors opened and Sir Geoffrey Wren, her Royal Secretary, entered with a solemn face. "Your Majesty… they've recovered a trunk. From the Dursley home. It bears Lily's crest." Elizabeth stood at once, her gloved hands folding together. "Bring it in."
Two officers wheeled the trunk inside. Accompanying them was Sergeant Havers, a file tucked under one arm, and in his other hand, a velvet pouch. A nurse quickly cleared a table, and the trunk was placed atop it with reverence. Elizabeth stepped forward, her fingers tracing the crest carved into the lid.
"It's hers," she said quietly. "My daughter's. She had this trunk at the…Academy...I remember now." She looked at the officers. "Open it."
Havers nodded. "Yes, ma'am." With a flick of ancient magic now responding to the royal bloodline in the room, the seal clicked open. The lid rose with a sigh, as if the trunk had been holding its breath for years.
Inside were layers of finely preserved items: school robes, spellbooks, and an envelope wrapped in deep blue ribbon marked "To My Son – On Your Eleventh Birthday." Underneath it was another envelope sealed in red wax with the Royal Cipher pressed into it.
"To My Dearest Mother – In the Event of My Death."
Elizabeth reached for it slowly, her hand trembling for the first time that morning. She broke the seal, opened the letter, and read it aloud, her voice soft but clear for everyone present: Dearest Mummy, If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you in this world. I beg your forgiveness for all I've hidden, but I had no choice. I went into hiding not to deny you, but to protect Harry, James, and the truth that magic has enemies who would tear apart everything we love. You knew the world of politics...magic is musch worse. I became a Potter by love, but I was always your daughter. That truth has never changed. Harry carries a legacy greater than we ever imagined. When he was born, ancient magic was invoked...older than wands or thrones. He was soul-bound that night, bound by the Fates to twenty who will walk through fire and history at his side. Four of them are not of our world...one you must watch closely and waite : Lady Elana Hogwarts. She is the soul of the school, the heart of our ancient bloodlines. She will protect them. She is their leader. She will be frist to appear before the Others. Each girl that will appear will be wearing a golden band on her left wrist...called the Band of Eternity. Harry's name will always appear first, followed by each bound girl as they are awakened to the bond. The writing is in Ancient Veela script...magic that cannot be broken by time, force, or death. I wanted to tell you in person. But the war came too fast and Hard. If he is found, if he is returned to you, then know this: my son is not only your heir...he is the future of our two worlds. Love always Your Daughter, Lily
Silence followed. Then, in one motion, Elizabeth folded the letter and set it on the trunk. Her voice was heavy with memory and pride. "She was trying to protect him. And we failed them both…but no more." A hush filled the room. Then a shimmer filled the air...magic old and slow-moving.
From the velvet satchel came a golden pulse of light as Lady Elana Hogwarts appeared before them, stepping into the room as though crossing the threshold of time. Her figure was radiant, her presence commanding yet warm...shoulder-length silver-gold hair, long royal robes edged in midnight blue, and the aura of living enchantment in every movement.
"I heard the letter," she said softly, placing her hand over her heart. "Harry is safe. The bond is now reawakening." On her left wrist gleamed the first of the Bands of Eternity...a golden bracelet etched with delicate script. Harry James Potter.
Below his name, glowing faintly, the space awaited the names of the bonded. Soon, others would join. The prophecy was unfolding. Lady Elana bowed deeply to Elizabeth.
"I am Lady Elana of Hogwarts. Guardian of the Soul-Bound and Keeper of the Bond. I will serve as their protector and guide. He will not be taken from you again." The Queen, her voice still resonant with command, nodded. "Then let us make this promise together, Elana," she said, her hand resting over Harry's. "Whatever worlds we belong to, we stand united. And we will defend this child until our last breath."
And so, beneath the soft hum of hospital monitors and the magic that returned to the world that morning, the hidden truths of crown and wand were finally reunited in purpose. The heir had returned. The soul-bound were awakening. And the world...both magical and mundane...would never be the same again.
Time: 07:54 AM
Location: St Mary's Hospital, Royal Quarters, London, United Kingdom
The soft golden light of early morning filtered through the frost-covered windows of the royal hospital suite, bathing the room in a gentle radiance. The air carried a stillness that defied time...magic old and sacred threaded into every corner of the chamber where Harry James Potter lay in healing slumber, his tiny chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm. His young frame, still bruised by cruelty, seemed lighter now, as if the darkness that clung to him was being chased away by something greater.
Queen Elizabeth II stood at his bedside, flanked by guards and physicians, her face composed but her heart swaying under the weight of what she had seen and read. She watched the boy...the grandson she had lost once already...and held her breath for what would come next.
And then…they arrived. There was no flash, no dramatic storm of power, only a warm surge of light that rippled through the room like a heartbeat of the earth itself. The air shimmered in soft waves. The floor glowed beneath Elana Hogwarts' feet as she stepped forward from the magical veil, her robes brushing the edge of the stone tiles, her presence regal and eternal.
Behind her, five young girls emerged, each drawn by the threads of soul-deep destiny that wound through time and magic. Each bore the Band of Eternity upon their left wrist...solid gold, slender yet eternal, etched with names in flowing Ancient Veela script. The first name on every bracelet: Harry James Potter.
Lady Elana stood at the front, the leader of the soul-bound, and in her hands rested a jewel unlike anything the room had ever seen.
Cradled in her palms was a brilliant-cut, heart-shaped yellow diamond, 45.52 carats in weight, glowing with a warm, pulsing golden light as if it held a heartbeat of its own. Internally flawless, the gem was cradled in a frame forged from a hybrid of silver and gold, the edge of the setting adorned with etched runes that shimmered softly...protection glyphs, love seals, and soul-binding enchantments.
Suspended from a platinum chain inlaid with tiny fire opals, the necklace shimmered like starlight trapped in metal. As Elana held it aloft, the room filled with an ancient resonance...unspoken words, promises kept by blood and spirit.
Elizabeth's breath caught. Her voice trembled. "What…is that?" Elana turned toward the Queen, her silver-blue eyes filled with reverence and purpose.
"I am holding what is to be known as the Soulstone of the Bound. It was born from the first bond, and now, it shall anchor them all." She stepped toward Harry's bed, her expression softening. "This diamond is my gift…and the bond's seal. It will protect him and those who share his soul, from separation, corruption, and death."
Elana leaned down, her fingers delicate as falling snow, and placed the glowing necklace upon Harry's bare chest. The platinum chain settled across his collarbone, and the diamond rested just over his heart. The moment it touched skin, a light exploded out words.
A golden dome of radiant magic surged outward, washing across the room in a flash so intense that guards instinctively raised their arms. The doctors flinched back, instruments rattling on trays. Elizabeth did not move...her eyes remained locked on her grandson.
The six Bands of Eternity worn by the girls began to glow...each brighter than a flame, casting soft threads of magic across the room toward Harry's bed. Light linked them, golden strands weaving through the air like a celestial web of fate. Elana's voice rang softly in the surge. "He is ours. We are his. The bond is now fully awakened." As the light settled, the change was immediate...and miraculous.
Harry's cast disintegrated into silver ash, dissolving into the air. The bruises that marred his ribs vanished like they had never been. The swelling along his temple faded, the color returning to his cheeks. His skin, once ghostly pale, now glowed with the warm hue of healing magic.
The doctors gasped in unison. "What in heaven…"
"The Bands accelerate his recovery," Hermione whispered from her place beside Elana, her eyes wide in awe. "I...I feel it. I feel him. I feel all of us." Fleur stepped closer, her soft French accent rippling with emotion. "He is warm… I feel his heart beating with mine. This is not a bond of the flesh, but of the soul."
Her band shimmered...Harry James Potter, Elana Hogwarts, Hermione Jean Granger, Fleur Isabelle Delacour...each name etched in runes that flickered like living gold.
Beside her stood Susan Bones, her auburn curls catching the morning light, and next to her, the ever-shifting features of Nymphadora "Dora" Tonks, who had turned her hair soft lavender in a calming instinct. Both girls bore the Bands as well, faces filled with emotions none of them yet had words for.
And there, standing quietly near the Queen, was Gabrielle Delacour, only five years old like Harry. Her golden hair shimmered with the same ethereal glow as her sister's, her eyes wide with wonder and warmth. She too wore the Band of Eternity, and it glowed softly on her tiny wrist. She stepped toward the bed without fear and gently took Harry's hand in her own.
"I hear him," Gabrielle said softly. "In my heart. He calls us family."
The Queen, tears glistening in her eyes, slowly sank into the chair beside the bed. Her voice was fragile, almost reverent. "He was never alone...not truly. I see now that fate placed these girls around him long before any of us knew. And you..." she looked to Elana, "...you've ensured he was never unguarded."
Elana bowed her head. "The magic of Hogwarts, the legacy of your daughter, and the soul of this child...they are one now." Hermione stepped forward, lifting her wrist and letting Elizabeth see the shimmering band. "We are his," she said gently. "Forever. We're not just friends or companions. We are soul-bound. Lovers. For life. For magic. For eternity."
Harry stirred again...his fingers twitching slightly in Gabrielle's grip, his breathing deeper now, steadier. The diamond on his chest pulsed once, casting a golden glow that swept across each girl's Band, briefly illuminating the names like stars blinking in unison.
Queen Elizabeth reached forward and brushed Harry's hair from his brow once more.
"Then we protect him, together," she whispered, her voice becoming the Crown's command. "Let the world know… that my grandson is not only alive, but surrounded by love far older than any throne."
And as the soul-bound gathered around Harry's bedside...Elana leading them in silent promise...the bands on their wrists shimmered as one. The bond was sealed. The Heir of Crown and Wand had awakened. And the first circle of the eternal bond had come home.
Time: 08:21 AM
Location: St Mary's Hospital, Royal Quarters, London, United Kingdom
The light had faded to a soft golden hue, the warmth of it lingering in the air like the last rays of summer sun. The Soulstone of the Bound, the brilliant-cut 45.52-carat heart-shaped yellow diamond, still shimmered faintly as it rested against Harry's chest, cradled in a sleek silver-gold hybrid setting. The etched runes surrounding it continued to pulse gently beneath the thin platinum chain, their meaning ancient and protective. The gem had now nestled under the hospital gown laid gently over Harry's small body, hidden as it would always be...close to his heart, unseen but eternal.
The stone was more than jewelry...it was his bond. Not a Band of Eternity like the ones each of the girls wore on their left wrists. No, for Harry, this singular artifact was his connection, his soul's anchor to them all. It would remain with him always, hidden beneath shirts and uniforms, a quiet symbol of unbreakable unity.
Around the bed, the girls stood or knelt, forming a protective half-circle. Their golden Bands of Eternity glimmered faintly, the names glowing softly in Ancient Veela script:
Harry James Potter. Elana Hogwarts. Hermione Jean Granger. Fleur Isabelle Delacour. Nymphadora Tonks. Susan Bones. Gabrielle Delacour.
Each name burned with warmth...names that were no longer just words, but pieces of a living spell woven in magic older than Merlin, sealed in the moment their hearts had called to his.
Harry stirred once more, blinking slowly as the hazy remnants of sleep fell away from his eyes. His voice, still scratchy and tired, came out as a whisper, but carried a strength far beyond its pitch.
"I don't feel cold anymore…" Hermione, closest to the bed, leaned forward, tears gathering again in her eyes. "That's because we're here. We've got you now." Harry looked to her, his eyes locking onto hers with childlike curiosity and depth well beyond his age. "I know you. I dreamed of your voice." Hermione sniffled. "I've been waiting for you, Harry. For a long time."
His head turned slightly, and he saw Fleur next. Her golden hair glowed softly in the morning light, her Veela aura warm and enveloping, a radiance no lightbulb could mimic. Though her body was that of a young girl, her presence was timeless, deeply magical, and maternal in a way that made Harry instinctively feel safe.
"You're warm," he said softly, eyes wide. "Like fire and stars." Fleur smiled with a grace that no child should have, her voice delicate and musical. "I felt you crying in my dreams. I came the moment I could. You are precious to me, mon trésor (my treasure)."
Then came Dora, crouching beside the bed with a bright, reassuring grin. Her hair had shifted again...now soft rose-gold, an unspoken signal of calm and affection. "I'm Dora," she said with a playful wink. "And yes, my hair does change all the time. But how do I feel about you? That never will." Harry stared at her with fascination, then giggled...an honest sound, light and brief, but the first true joy to pass his lips in what felt like years. "You're funny. I think I like you."
Susan stepped forward next, offering the grounding presence that had always been hers. "I'm Susan," she said, kneeling by the bed. "You're safe, Harry. You're not going back to that cupboard. Ever." He blinked, staring at her, and for a moment the ghost of a memory flickered in his expression...dark, fearful, raw. But it passed. Her voice had driven it back. "You feel… like home," he murmured.
Then Gabrielle moved forward. Though she was only five like Harry, her aura shimmered brightly with the unmistakable power of a Full-Blooded Veela, pure and ancient. She took his hand delicately into hers, her skin warm and glowing faintly with the shared light of the bond.
"I'm Gabby," she whispered. "And I knew your heart before I saw your face." Harry turned to her slowly, mesmerized. "You feel like music. You held me when I was scared. I remember." with a smile she says "I never stopped and never will,", simply taking her hand into his unoccupied hand.
And then came Elana. She stood tall behind them all, her presence calm and ethereal, robes gliding as she stepped forward. She did not kneel. She only placed a hand above Harry's brow, her expression full of quiet majesty. "I am Elana of Hogwarts," she said softly, her voice like a lullaby. "You do not carry the Band, because your heart carries something far greater. The Soulstone is yours. It anchors all bonds, shields all who bear your name. It cannot be taken. It cannot be lost. You are the heart of the circle." Harry looked up at her and whispered, "It doesn't hurt anymore."
"No," she replied. "Because your soul is no longer alone."
He looked again to each of the girls, one after the other, seeing not just their faces, but feeling them...inside, as if they lived somewhere just beneath his ribs. "I feel...whole," he said slowly, with wonder in every single word. "Like I've always known you… even if I didn't know your names until now." Fleur reached down and gently adjusted the blanket over him. "It's the bond, mon cœur. You were always ours, and we were always yours. Destiny just waited until today to bring us together."
Harry turned to his grandmother then...Queen Elizabeth II, seated just beside his pillow with her hand still gently cradling his. The Sovereign's eyes were full of tears, not of sadness, but of solemn, overwhelming love. "I wasn't strong enough to find you sooner," she said, her voice cracking. "But they were. And now I see that you were never lost. Just waiting." Harry's hand gripped hers. "We're family, right?" She nodded, tears slipping free. "Always."
Harry let his head fall back to the pillow, his eyes heavy but peaceful. "Can I stay with them forever?" he whispered. "You already are," Hermione whispered, clutching his hand. "We're with you. Forever."
Around the boy, the Bands of Eternity pulsed in perfect rhythm with the Soulstone. The circle of magic, love, and fate had completed its first phase. And as Harry fell back into gentle sleep, the girls settled near him, drawn by a bond no power on earth could unravel. The boy who had once cried in a cupboard now slept in the arms of those who were bound to him by destiny itself. The heir of magic. The prince of a hidden crown. And now...the center of a family reborn.