Chapter 18: Harry's BirthdayNotes:Apologies for the delay in posting the chapter, got busy with work and interview.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextMorning dawned slowly over Potter Manor, the light spilling gentle gold through the tall windows of Harry's bedroom, painting long bars across the worn oak floorboards. The heavy summer air carried the distant drone of garden bees and the occasional chirp of a startled bird, while thick curtains billowed slightly in the soft morning breeze. For once, the world felt quiet—the kind of calm reserved for moments when time pauses just long enough to catch its breath.
Harry lay still on his feather-stuffed mattress, eyes fluttering beneath the weight of a night's deep sleep. He was unusually late waking, despite the familiar chorus of garden sounds and distant activity in the manor. There was a comfortable ache to his limbs—a residue of yesterday's dancing, conversations, and exuberant laughter at Neville's fourteenth birthday party. He could still feel the rhythm of music in his chest and the faint ache of twirling too fiercely under the rose-colored lanterns in the garden.
Sirius's voice echoed faintly from somewhere down the hall, punctuated here and there by a chuckle or the flipping of a newspaper page. Harry smiled softly and turned onto his side. The polished wood of the bedpost caught a stray sunbeam and gleamed. Even the old family sigils carved over centuries into the beams seemed to shimmer with a quiet welcome, as if the manor itself approved of the growing warmth in its newest master's heart.
A knock, gentle but sure, came at the door. Before Harry could call out, Twisty's small, eager face appeared, flanked by her bushy elf hair and bright eyes. "Master Harry, it is a good morning. Twisty has prepared your breakfast here today, for you must be well-fed. Yesterday's festivities were long, and today is special, is it not?"
Harry smiled, sitting up slowly on the bed. "Yes, it's… my birthday."
Twisty bowed deeply. "Fourteen years old, Master Harry. Nearly a proper young wizard, Master Sirius used to say."
At that moment, Sirius shuffled into the room, wearing a rumpled dressing gown and carrying his ever-present cup of tea. His tousled hair looked freshly ruffled by the summer winds as he leaned against the doorframe. "Nearly, indeed," he said with a warm grin that crinkled the corners of his sharp eyes. "Though at fourteen, you'll always be my godson, even if you're threatening to outgrow me."
Harry laughed lightly. "You'll never get rid of that title, and your advice isn't unwelcome, though I might not always admit it."
"I'm like a shadow, then," Sirius replied seriously, stepping into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Always there when you need me, lurking in the corners otherwise."
Twisty entered carrying a tray laden with a feast: fluffy scrambled eggs shimmering with herbs, golden bacon crisped at the edges, fried tomatoes bursting with juice, and thick slices of warm toast folded into the aroma. A pot of steaming tea sat beside it, the faint scent of chamomile and mint mingling warmly.
Sirius smiled. "Looks like Twisty is spoiling you royally today. You earned it after last night's dancing—although I have to say, seeing you nearly topple Daphne during the quickstep was… eventful."
Harry groaned playfully. "She's swift — it caught me off guard."
"Not as swift as Mrs. Tonks during the tango. She nearly took out Madam Longbottom's rose bushes—and impressed the veterans with her footwork."
Harry's eyes twinkled as he picked at his eggs. "I'd say you were right up there in nearly causing some chaos, too."
"It's called flair," Sirius answered, raising his tea cup. "And it's hereditary."
Harry clinked his fork against his mug with a smile and stared out the window. The garden beyond was washing in mid-morning light, the roses still fragrant and some petals adrift in a soft breeze. It felt like a different world from the cold, locked cupboards of his earliest birthdays—a world threaded with friends, magic, and the promise of change.
Sirius caught the faraway look in his godson's eyes and said quietly, "You know, today's no politics. No grand debates or solemn handshakes. Today is about you, kid. About laughter and cake and those moments that remind us why we fight."
Harry nodded quietly. "That's what I need—some fun that isn't just a moment before another storm."
Sirius smiled knowingly, "Exactly. Because from now on, the storms will come, but they'll meet a united front. We start building it today."
Harry's heart filled with cautious hope. Fourteen years had passed since he'd come into the world, and more than a month since his life had been irrevocably altered by death's interference. This birthday felt like more than the simple mark of age—it was a milestone on a path he chose to walk, one forged with friends, family, and the strength of old houses bending toward new futures.
He took a sip of tea, the familiar warmth spreading through him like a promise.
By the time Harry had finished his birthday breakfast and dressed for the day, the manor had begun to hum with a purposeful sort of energy. Twisty was moving between rooms in short, urgent bursts of activity, levitating dusters and polishing frames while humming cheerfully under her breath. Out in the hall, the scent of fresh flowers mingled with the faint aroma of Twisty's baking; somewhere on the ground floor, Harry could hear a soft whoosh every few minutes — one of the enchanted cleaning charms Sirius had set off to give the place a festive shine.
A light rap at the door announced Sirius, who lounged into the room already dressed for company, his deep blue robes[—]freshly pressed[—]falling neatly over polished dragonhide boots. "Right, birthday boy. Guest list today runs to two very important people and both of them have been informed that we are, in fact, picking them up because, security measures or not, I refuse to let them come via the night bus."
Harry grinned. "Told them myself yesterday night. I said either you or Twisty would drop by to collect them."
"Oh, you did, did you?" Sirius smirked. "I'm taking Hermione, since her parents have never seen a member of the Black family in such impeccable fashion. And Twisty has volunteered to fetch Luna — says she quite likes a trip to Ottery St Catchpole and the Lovegoods' kitchen, apparently."
Harry laughed. He could picture Twisty gladly accepting one of Mr. Lovegood's bizarre teas and discussing household charms with Lysandra Lovegood as if it were the most ordinary pairing in the world.
"I told them there's no safe Floo for visitors," Harry added, following Sirius down the staircase. "Not until we're sure none of the Ministry's network tracers could piggyback on them. Hermione asked why, of course."
"What did you say?" Sirius asked as they reached the summer room, where Twisty was charming ribbons of gold light to weave between the rafters.
"That it's part of the anti-tracking web Ragnok's people helped us set up. And that if she saw the runes, she'd be tempted to 'optimise' them — which is why she shouldn't."
Sirius's bark of laughter echoed off the walls. "That'll earn you the famous Granger glare later."
Harry shrugged, smiling. "Worth it."
Twisty bustled over, bobbing. "Master Harry, Miss Hermione's room is ready — I put books on magical house history on her desk, and placed the new quilt Madam Longbottom sent in the wardrobe. For Miss Luna, her bed has the window seat you asked for, and I put a vase of fresh moonflowers beside it."
Harry followed her to check the last details. Hermione's guest room smelled faintly of ink and parchment — Twisty had even added a set of note-taking quills charmed never to blot. Luna's room overlooked the back orchard, the sunlight catching the pale petals in the vase so they seemed to glow.
"You think this is enough for a small visit?" Harry asked, a hint of uncertainty edging his voice.
Sirius clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Kid, this puts my old family's 'state visits' to shame. Two good friends, a safe home, and no Ministry stooges? It's perfect."
Harry took one last glance through Luna's window to the long green stretch beyond. "Alright, let's get ready. Bring them here, and we'll do this right."
"On it," Sirius said. "Give me twenty minutes to charm the Grangers into liking me instantly. Twisty, you can race me back with Luna."
Twisty's ears perked. "Twisty will win," He declared merrily, popping away with a snap.
Harry shook his head with a quiet laugh, feeling that strange, warm anticipation bubble up in his chest. Today wasn't just about cake and candles; it was about bringing the people who mattered most into the centre of this new life.
Harry had just finished making a final pass through the summer room — straightening one slightly lopsided garland of phoenix‑shaped lights — when a sudden thump against the windowpane made him start. He glanced up, half-expecting Hedwig's familiar white silhouette, but instead, perched with all the excitement of a new courier, was a small owl with striking curious eyes.
It wasn't Errol — that old family bird would never have survived the trip in such sprightly form — and it took Harry a moment to remember why. This must be the new owl Sirius got Ron... after Scabbers disappeared. The owl had a look that was curious and excited, as though it would get the job done but wanted food and care first.
"Come on in, then," Harry murmured, unlatching the tall window.
The owl hopped onto the sill, then the writing desk with a single beat of its wings. It extended one leg, the parcel cord neatly tied and its beak clicking softly in a way that reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley when she was trying not to laugh. Strapped to the bird's leg was a small brown‑paper package, and beside it, a folded letter sealed with a blob of Weasley‑red wax.
Even before he undid the fastenings, the rich fragrance hit him — cinnamon and sugar, with a hint of nutmeg. Twisting the paper open revealed an assortment of what could only be Mrs. Weasley's baking: stout little cupcakes with thick swirls of icing, and golden muffins dusted with sugar crystals.
Sirius, arriving in time to catch the scent, arched a brow. "If that's from Molly, I'm confiscating the lot on grounds of godfatherly privilege."
Harry said. "You can have one only if it's not potioned." He set the cakes on the low table and unfolded Ron's letter.
"Hey Mate,
Happy Birthday, mate! Fourteen, huh? You're catching up to me — but not in height, obviously. Mum made me write this before I dug into the treacle tart (claims I can't have sugar until I've done something "productive"), so here goes.
Hogwarts summer homework is mental this year. You'd think they want us to give up our holidays entirely — which would be fine if we could hex the lot of them, but apparently that's "frowned upon." I'm saving all my worst essays so we can compare how bad they are when we're back.
We have to get you over for a Quidditch match before term. Fred and George are already boasting they've "re‑engineered" the garden pitch. No idea what that means, but it's probably illegal.
Family update: Ginny's her usual self — spends hours in her room, probably writing those loopy poems again. Percy's even worse than last summer, if you can believe it; I swear he's got his nose further up the Ministry's backside than a Ministry chair. The twins haven't stopped pranking me since I got home, and Mum's trying to pretend it's "character‑building." Bill's due in from Egypt next week, and Charlie's visiting too, so it's going to be chaos. You'd like it.
Mum insisted on sending food "since those Muggles probably aren't feeding you much." I told her you'd be fine, but you know how she is.
Enjoy the cakes, and don't let your birthday get nicked by boring stuff.
– Ron"
Harry had a ghost of a smile before he'd reached the end, that big, familiar grin Ron's mix of sarcasm and loyalty always pulled out of him. He couldn't help lingering on the part about Mrs. Weasley's assumption — the old ache that came with remembering past birthdays at the Dursleys flickered briefly, but it was chased away quickly when he recalled how they have betrayed him in the future, potioned him and Hermione to stay away from each other. It was a bitter pill.
Sirius leaned one hip against the table, skimming the letter over Harry's shoulder. "'Not letting your birthday get nicked by boring stuff.' I would have liked this Ron only if he and molly weren't dumbledor's supporters."
Harry set the letter down and broke a muffin in half, handing a piece to Sirius. "He's predictable in the best way."
Twisty popped her head in just in time to swipe a cupcake. "Miss Hermione is ready to be fetched, Master Sirius, and Miss Luna says she is 'detecting good birthday air' at the Manor."
Harry grinned, "Then let's get them here then."
The tiny owl had barely taken off again — wings beating strong against the bright summer air — when another burst of purposeful movement swept through the manor. Bootsteps in the entrance hall, the creak of the great front door, and Sirius's familiar voice calling up the stairs:
"Passenger number one has landed safely! And she comes bearing suspiciously book‑shaped packages."
Harry stepped into the hall just as Hermione emerged from behind Sirius, cheeks flushed from the warm day, her hair a little wind‑tousled. She smiled broadly when she saw him. "Happy birthday, Harry!" Her hands were full: a neatly wrapped gift, and a small paper bag that smelled faintly of chocolate.
Before he could reply, a loud pop echoed from the drawing room, and Twisty appeared, grinning from ear to enormous ear. "And passenger number two has arrived — straight from the Lovegoods' kitchen. Miss Luna sends greetings… and biscuits."
Luna followed, dreamy as ever, balancing a tin painted with charmingly lopsided dirigible plums. Her silver‑grey robes shimmered faintly with enchantment, and there was a smudge of cobalt paint on one cheek. "Happy birthday, Harry. I painted something for you, but you'll have to guess what it is before you open it."
Harry laughed, looking between them and feeling that same warm knot in his chest he'd felt since this morning. "You both made it. Come on — the summer room's ready."
Inside, the room looked transformed. Twisty's phoenix‑shaped candles floated in lazy spirals above the table, their golden light shifting and feathering like living flame. Garlands of green and bronze ribbon ran between the rafters, trailing tiny starbursts. On the central table, an impressive spread of brunch dishes steamed invitingly: little pasties, fruit tarts, and a chocolate cake still faintly warm from the oven.
They settled in, Sirius theatrically ushering the girls to the table and handing Harry the first gift — his own. The box was wrapped in black parchment with silver script: For when talking isn't enough, and knowing matters more.
Inside lay a beautifully kept, framed mirror, its surface swirling faintly — one of a pair. Alongside it, a set of dog‑eared notes bundled in old twine: pages covered in sketches of animal outlines, transformation theories, and little scribbled jokes in James Potter's looping hand.
"They're the mirrors James and I used in the Marauders' days," Sirius explained, a rare softness in his tone. "And those notes… we wrote them together when we learned Animagus magic. You may not need them yet, but… they're yours now. Part of your history, a connection to your father and me."
Harry traced the edge of the mirror, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thanks, Sirius. Really."
Hermione's gift came next: a sleek broom‑servicing kit, each tool neatly secured in a leather roll. "I know you've been flying with what amounts to a school‑issued toolkit. This one's… professional. I even added a jar of resin polish that can repel rain and keep dust from sticking to the bristles."
"Trust you to give me something useful," Harry teased, but his grin was genuine.
Luna slid her gift over, a square canvas wrapped in brown paper. "No peeking at the back," she warned. When he pulled the paper away, Harry saw a vibrant, whimsical painting: the three of them sitting on a wildflower hill under a sky full of improbable creatures. The brushstrokes were loose but full of movement, each of their faces rendered with warm affection.
"It's… brilliant," Harry said, still staring.
Neville's gift arrived by owl mid‑brunch — a finely tooled wand‑holster charmed for quick‑draw, with a small note about "practical defence and looking the part." He wasn't sure if Neville meant duelling style or effectiveness, but he appreciated both.
Other parcels had come too:
From Susan: a charmed quill that could switch ink colours with a tap.
From Daphne: a compact potions kit stocked with rare ingredients.
From Tonks: a Protego badge that gave a slight shield boost when worn.
From the Tonks family: a warm note and a book of magical household charms.
They lingered over food and stories — Hermione ribbing Harry about his waltz with her at Neville's party ("You were counting the steps, weren't you?"), Luna describing a 'birthday Crumple‑Horned Snorkack' she was convinced had trotted past Potter Manor that morning, and Sirius spinning tales from his and James's school days that made Hermione alternately horrified and fascinated.
By the time plates were empty and the candles had lazily begun to descend toward the tabletop, Harry felt full in every way — stomach, yes, but also heart.
The summer sun drifted lower toward the horizon, gilding the edges of Potter Manor's windows in molten gold. By the time they carried the remains of the cake plates back inside, that lazy, amber light filled the rooms through the high archways, making the air itself seem warm enough to touch.
Hermione was curled up in an armchair by the fire despite the summer heat — perhaps more for the comfort than necessity — paging through one of the Animagus theory books Sirius had fetched to accompany his gift. Luna had drifted to sit cross‑legged on the thick rug near the open French doors, humming quietly as she sketched something into a small, battered notebook.
Harry, meanwhile, sat at the big walnut desk in the study. The space smelled of ink and old paper, the kind of scent that carried more than a hint of history. A blank piece of parchment lay before him, the first of many, and his trusty quill was already poised above it.
"Letter‑writing on your birthday?" Sirius asked from behind as he set two butterbeers down beside the desk with a clunk. "You really are becoming respectable."
Harry smirked. "Only if thanking people for making today brilliant counts as respectable."
He started with Neville — thanking him for the wand holster. Then came Susan, Daphne, Tonks, and the Tonks family, each note tailored to the little gift and the thought behind it.
Ron's letter took a bit longer. Harry kept it warm and friendly, teasing him about bringing his "A‑game" if the Quidditch rematch happened, and thanking him (and Mrs. Weasley) for the cakes. He skirted carefully around any personal details of his living situation — no mention of Sirius, no mention of the manor — just vague lines about "keeping busy and safe over the summer." He told himself that this is for the best, he knew that when the goblet fiasco will happen, his friendship with Ron will end.
Sirius slid into the armchair opposite with a faint grunt, holding his butterbeer up in a lazy toast. "To being fourteen," he said, "and dangerous only in the right ways."
Harry clinked his bottle against his godfather's. The fizz and malted sweetness bit pleasantly at the back of his throat, and for a while they just sat in companionable silence; the kind that didn't need to be filled.
Twisty popped her head in, ears bouncing with quiet excitement. "Master Harry's guests' rooms are ready. Fresh quilts, flowers, and the warding charms you asked for. Miss Hermione's and Miss Luna's rooms are next to you Master Harry."
Hermione looked up from her book. "So we're staying the night, then?"
Harry smiled. "If you don't mind. We can keep talking tomorrow, take our time with some plans — and maybe not just the serious ones."
Luna tilted her head, considering. "I think the moonflowers in the garden room open just after dawn. I'll see them from my window."
Sirius chuckled. "Guess that means breakfast for three extra people tomorrow. Twisty, we'll need the feast version."
The night slipped into something softer. They moved from the study to the small sitting room by the library, where they sprawled out on couches and cushions, telling more stories from Hogwarts — the ridiculous and the brave — and speculating about what the year ahead could bring. Hermione, predictably, had a list already half‑formed in her mind; Luna spoke in riddles that somehow managed to offer kernels of insight. Sirius dozed in his chair for a while, waking only to chime in with some wry Marauder wisdom.
The candles in the small sitting room had burned low, their flames steady in the hushed calm. Hermione had taken her book and a yawn back toward her room, Luna following a minute later with her pudding box, murmuring something about "listening for moonflowers."
Sirius stretched like a well‑fed Kneazle and gave Harry a lazy salute before heading to his own rooms further down the corridor.
Harry lingered a moment in the doorway, watching the fire shrink to embers. The manor felt safe and still, an old heartbeat he could almost match his own to. He blew out the last candle, turned toward the short hallway that led to his bedroom — Hermione's and Luna's rooms right next door — before heading that way.
POP!
A loud crack split the quiet and made Harry's wand leap into his hand before he could think. And then he saw him.
"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby's enormous eyes shone almost as bright as the phoenix‑candles had earlier, his long ears quivering with excitement. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, clutching a wobbly wrapped bundle that looked suspiciously like a tea‑cosy. "Dobby is sorry to be popping in so late, sir, but… HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
Harry's surprise melted into a grin. "Thanks, Dobby. You nearly gave me a heart attack."
Two doorways down, Hermione's voice called, "Harry? Is everything alright?" She appeared a second later, tying her dressing gown, with Luna padding softly beside her, her pale hair loose around her shoulders. Staying in the rooms right next to his meant they'd heard the pop instantly.
"Come in," Harry said, stepping back so they could join him in the hallway.
By now, Sirius had emerged from around the corner, hair mussed from his half‑retreat to bed. "What's the emergency, Dobby?" he asked, though he was already smiling.
Dobby turned in a small excited circle, as if he were about to burst. "No emergency, Lord Black, sir! Good news! Best news!" He clasped his hands under his chin. "Dobby has found it! The perfect place for Harry Potter's… big magic!"
Harry felt his pulse quicken. "You mean… for the Animagus transformation?"
The elf nodded so vigorously his ears flapped. "Yes, sir! Yes! This place is hidden and forgotten — no humans living there, no Muggle paths anywhere near! It sits where old leylines cross, sir, so the ground is singing with magic. The fog hides it from Muggle eyes, and the air… oh, Harry Potter, the air tingles like the first spell ever cast!"
Hermione's head snapped toward Harry, her eyes narrowing — not in anger, but in that you'd‑better‑start‑talking way she had. "Animagus transformation?" she repeated sharply. "When exactly were you planning to tell us, Harry? Because that's not exactly something you slip into conversation after tea and biscuits!"
Luna tilted her head, curious but smiling. "Yes, I'd have remembered hearing about that. It sounds… exciting."
Hermione folded her arms. "And risky! Very risky. Amazing, yes, but risky. And you haven't told us anything."
Harry opened his mouth, shut it again, rubbed the back of his neck. "Er… I was going to. Honestly. I just… forgot?" Even to his own ears, it sounded weak.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Forgot?"
"In the hubbub!" Harry said quickly. "Neville's birthday, the speeches, the dancing, then my birthday today… I didn't mean to keep it from you. I was going to say something."
Luna's dreamy tone made it just a little less of an interrogation. "I suppose it's alright. A surprise about something like that can be nice, as long as the surprise doesn't involve limbs vanishing."
"Well, now you both know," Harry said, trying for a winning grin that made Hermione roll her eyes but smile despite herself.
Hermione's eyes lit with curiosity, the sharp edge fading. "Leyline nexus points are extremely rare. How did you find it?"
"Dobby looked where others did not," the elf said proudly. "In folds and forgotten places. Dobby asked the old trees, listened to the sleeping stones. The magic wanted Dobby to find it… for Harry Potter."
"That makes sense," Luna murmured. "Places that want to be found will whisper to the right ears."
Sirius grinned. "Sounds like we're in for an outing. But not tonight — tonight, we sleep. Tomorrow, Dobby can lead the way."
Dobby handed over the bundle with a flourish. "Birthday cake from the Hogwarts kitchens, sir, with sugar letters for your name! It must be eaten before the moon sleeps."
Harry accepted it, laughing. "Thanks, Dobby. For the cake… and for finding the place."
"It is Dobby's honour, sir," the elf replied solemnly, before popping away with a last, beaming smile.
The three of them stood for a moment in the quiet — Sirius's hand on Harry's shoulder, Hermione and Luna just at his side — feeling the hum of promise in the air.
"Happy birthday, kid," Sirius said. "Looks like your fourteenth year is going to be… interesting."
Harry couldn't help but agree.
Chapter 19: Another DreamNotes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextThe manor was quiet.
It was a deeper kind of silence than normal — the sort that seeps into the walls and slows your heartbeat without you realising. Down the short hallway to his right, Hermione and Luna were already in their guest rooms beside his, wards softly humming to keep their rest undisturbed. Sirius's voice had faded hours ago, replaced by the occasional creak of the old house settling under the summer night.
Harry lay in bed staring out at the slice of moonlight cutting through the curtains. His birthday had passed in a blur — laughter over gifts in the summer room, political hints in Sirius's study, Dobby's sudden appearance to announce he'd found the site for animagus transformation. Now that the celebrations were done, the mix of exhaustion and adrenaline made it feel like every thought was floating just out of reach.
He shifted onto his back, forcing himself to relax. Slowly, the warmth of the blankets and the rhythmic sound of his own breathing became everything. And somewhere far away — or maybe deep inside — he felt that familiar pull. It wasn't like falling asleep. It was like being invited through a door only he could see.
His eyelids grew heavy. Potter Manor's ceiling faded. The air thickened into something richer — cool and warm at once, scented faintly of snow and fire. The world tipped, and the dream took him.
Black stone spread beneath his feet, smooth and flawless as obsidian. Above, a vast twilight sky arched in impossible colours — soft lilac melting into deep gold at the horizon — and in its expanse, snowflakes drifted lazily, each a tiny shard of light. Strangely, they never melted when they brushed the warmth on his skin.
He wasn't alone.
From the far end of the great stone plain, shadow gathered — thick, slow-rolling — and out of it stepped Death.
He could never mistake her. Even among all the enigmatic figures in his life, she had a presence entirely her own: utterly still, utterly certain, and beautiful in a way that made "beautiful" feel like an inadequate word.
Her hair caught his gaze first — startling, glowing white that almost seemed lit from within, each strand gleaming as it drifted in some unseen current; but at the very tips, that white faded unmistakably into deep black, as if the end of every strand had been dipped in cooled ash. The contrast was hypnotic — purity crowned in shadow.
Her eyes — molten silver, liquid and bright — held his without effort. A long gown of black and glaciersilver silk wrapped her in flowing lines, the fabric beaded faintly with constellations that shifted when she moved. Even the air around her felt changed, like the pause between a heartbeat and the next.
When she smiled, it was not the kind of smile one gives lightly. "You're doing well, Harry," she said, her voice resonant and low, edged with something both ancient and gentle. "Better than I'd dared hope… I'm proud of you."
It hit harder than he expected. Ariel Winter didn't seem the type to hand out praise as flattery; every word felt weighed, forged, and then offered.
"I… thank you," he managed.
Her steps toward him were unhurried — deliberate, yet never threatening. When she stopped, the silver of her eyes seemed to drink in the twilight around them.
"When your Animagus transformation comes," she said softly, "you must not resist the dragon."
Harry's breath caught. "Merge with it?"
Ariel inclined her head. "Completely. If you do, it will be more than a form to wear — it will be a bond. It will guard you, not only from mind magics, compulsions, and potions… but it will strengthen you. Flesh, magic, spirit. Your strength, your health, your endurance — all will rise."
She didn't blink as she added, "The one within you is old — a primordial dragon. It remembers what your species has long forgotten. Lost magics. Ancient ways of shaping spellcraft. It will share them with you, if you let it."
His pulse thrummed in his ears. "And if I don't?"
She smiled faintly, like a teacher amused by a question she'd anticipated. "Then you will still be gifted… but you will always be less than you could have been. Remember this: The dragon does not become yours, Harry — you become its. And together, you will be more."
The silver in her eyes softened. Still striking, but kinder.
"If we speak of your fate, we must also speak of your heart," Ariel continued. "Your soulmates."
He swallowed; she noticed.
"You already think of them as allies," she said, "and you guard them as someone guards the precious. But they are more than allies, and more than precious. They are part of your fate — your anchor as much as any war you fight."
She stepped closer, close enough that the crisp scent of frost and lilies that clung to her gown curled around him. "If you spend all your youth planning and striking, fighting to rid the world of Voldemort's shadow and Dumbledore's chains, you will give your victories away to time. You will have nothing of these years to remember except battles and scars. Do not starve the part of your life that fights for love."
Her gaze pierced through him.
"Laugh with them. Flirt. Steal moments. Let them be your joy now — not just later."
Her tone changed — richer, almost playful. "There is more I can give you. Something no library will teach, but that your bond will require."
And before he could ask, she closed the space between them entirely. One hand lifted to cradle his jaw. His heartbeat stuttered.
When she kissed him, it was deliberate — slow, assured — and the world behind his eyes erupted.
Heat and light poured into him, not burning but thrilling, like the first rush of cold air after deep water. Thoughts that weren't his merged with his own: flashes of touches that spoke trust before desire, of looks that drew someone in without a word, of the rhythm between need and giving. He tasted laughter in it, and heat, and something older — the alchemy of love, lust, seduction, charisma, attraction, all twined and distilled.
She pulled back, her smile balanced on the edge of teasing and command. "Now you have the tools. What you do with them will define not just your fate… but theirs."
He was breathless. Processing. The knowledge throbbed behind his eyes, slipping into muscle memory, thoughts, instincts.
The world shifted. The black stone melted into silk sheets. The cold air warmed, touched by the scent of flowers, spice, and faint perfume.
They were there — all of them.
Hermione, Luna, Daphne, Tonks, Susan, and Fleur.
Their smiles were warm, but there was purpose in the way they approached. It wasn't just toward him; it was toward each other. A perfect, instinctive unity.
He felt hands on his shoulders — one set belonging to Fleur, the faint trace of her perfume curling around him — while in his sightline, Hermione leaned to kiss Luna, a slow, soft press that radiated down the bond so… he felt it. Susan tugged Daphne closer by the wrist, fingers trailing up her arm, and when Tonks' laugh brushed against his ear, he realised the sensations were all shared — any touch on one echoed in all.
The kisses hopped like sparks from him to them, from them to each other, and back again, until the dream was a tangle of warmth and skin, silk and laughter, intense and comfortable all at once. Possession, yes — but also the complete absence of anything but them. Time didn't exist; only they did, linked in a circle that no outsider could break.
The heat built in waves, every connection feeding the next, love and want woven so tight the weave couldn't be undone. This was what a true multi‑soulmate bond felt like: not separate threads, but a web of joined hearts.
It lasted until the first threads of dawn began to creep across the edges of their shared dreamscape.
The silk sheets softened into mist, the golden heat mellowed into a slow, steady thrum — but the intimacy never broke until the dream itself dissolved.
And it had not been Harry alone.
Every touch, every kiss, every stolen breath from the night had been theirs — shared not only with him, but with one another. Each of the seven, in their own corner of the sleeping world, had found themselves in the same intertwined vision. They had each felt their hands exploring, their lips meeting another's — sometimes Harry's, sometimes another soulmate's — and the ripple of contact had echoed through all of them.
Hermione had felt Luna's sighs as much as she felt her own; Fleur had known exactly how Daphne's heartbeat quickened under her fingertips, just as Daphne had felt the thrill of Tonks tracing invisible lines along the curve of Fleur's back. Susan's laughter, low and warm against Harry's ear, had vibrated in Luna's chest as if she were the one hearing it up close. The bond had made everything collective — desire, pleasure, whispers — all flowing through the web they formed.
It was sensual, yes, but also undeniably whole. They had not just been lovers in the dream; they had been one.
When the silken warmth and mingled breathing finally melted away, Harry's eyes opened to the soft grey light of early morning spilling through Potter Manor's curtains. The ceiling was familiar and steady above him… but everything felt different.
An electric clarity hummed through every nerve — as if the dream had attuned him to the emotions, desires, and subtle presences of each of the six women in ways words simply couldn't touch. More than memory, it was connection in its purest form.
And they felt it too.
In the rooms beside his, Hermione and Luna lay awake in their own beds, staring at the ceiling with flushed cheeks and parted lips, the remnants of the dream's touches and kisses still sparking in their minds. Miles away, Daphne rubbed slow circles on her arm where Fleur had kissed her in the dream — and blushed, alone in her room. Susan's fingers hovered over her own lips as if she could still taste Harry there… and another's. Tonks sat up in bed with hair shifting colours in lazy, drowsy waves, grinning at the phantom heat in her skin. Fleur, brushing her hair before an open window in France, paused mid‑stroke, a knowing smile curving her mouth as that shared warmth lingered deep in her chest.
They remembered. All of them. Not as some half‑forgotten fantasy, but as an experience that still pulsed faintly under the surface, stubbornly refusing to fade.
Harry lay still, letting the weight of it settle, knowing with absolute certainty that both paths ahead of him — the great fight awaiting him and the life worth living afterwards — now pulsed with the same heartbeat.
The bond wasn't a distant promise anymore. It was here, alive, and it had touched all of them.
Chapter 20: The Morning After and Animagus TransformationChapter TextThe manor was waking slowly. Pale light spilled into the summer room, turning the air golden. Outside, the roses still bowed under morning dew, and the wards thrummed quietly in the background.
Harry sat at the breakfast table with a mug of tea cooling in his hands. Across from him, Hermione sat unusually quiet, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her cup. Beside her, Luna nibbled on a scone, humming softly, her pale hair catching the light.
Every so often Hermione's gaze lifted to his, holding a warmth that was more than casual, lingering just a beat before she looked away with the smallest smile. Luna's serene, knowing eyes shifted between them, her fingertips brushing Hermione's hand in a silent, gentle affirmation. There was no need to speak aloud what they all knew—that the bond forged in the dream was still humming between them.
The silence wasn't awkward. It was full.
Sirius padded in, poured coffee, and gave them a look halfway between suspicion and amusement. "Morning, all… sleep well?"
Hermione coughed into her tea, Luna smiled serenely, and Harry prayed his ears weren't as red as they felt. Sirius smirked but said nothing, sauntering back out.
When he was gone, Harry set his mug down. "So… I guess we all—"
"—dreamed the exact same thing?" Hermione finished, her voice quiet but sure. Her cheeks warmed, but she didn't look away this time.
"I think it wasn't just a dream," Luna added softly. "It felt like… it was as real as this." She covered Harry's hand with hers, their fingers curling together.
Hermione's lips twitched into a small smirk. "Vivid is… one word for it," she murmured. Her voice made the bond hum between them, sparking memory.
Harry swallowed, smiling faintly. "Yeah. Same here."
They didn't need to say more.
Somewhere else:
Daphne – Greengrass Manor
Daphne woke with sunlight spilling over her pillow. The warmth in her skin made her pause before the dream came flooding back—Some French girl's lips grazing her shoulder, Bone's hand sliding into hers, Potter's breath at her ear while someone else kissed him. Every touch had felt like hers and theirs in equal measure. She lay there, fingertips brushing the same path that French girl's had taken in the dream, remembering the way the bond made every sensation echo through them all.
Susan – Bones Estate
Susan lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the remnants of the dream sparking in her mind. Harry's mouth on hers, Greengrass's caress, Hermione's breathless laugh, the sight of Luna's fingers threading through some French girl's hair—she'd felt it all as if she'd been at the center and the edge of it simultaneously. Her lips tingled as if they had truly been kissed moments ago. And maybe, in some bonded‑magic way, they had.
Tonks – Tonks Family Home
Nymphadora Tonks blinked into the soft lilac light of her room, hair flicking from pink to white to turquoise in dreamy waves. The smell of her mum's tea drifted up from the kitchen.
She flopped back onto her pillows with a grin. In the dream she'd kissed Harry, tangled in Luna's hair, drawn a laugh from Greengrass girl, brushed her lips over some French girl's neck. Everyone had been with everyone, no shyness, no hesitation—just the kind of wild closeness you could only get when magic itself wanted you bound together. She giggled into her pillow, face warm, then scrambled for her dressing gown as Andromeda's voice called up for breakfast.
Fleur – Delacour Estate
At her vanity, Fleur brushed her hair slowly, lavender from the gardens drifting in through the open window. The dream's heat still lingered: a green eyes guy meeting her kiss with equal hunger, bushy brown haired girl's lips on hers, a strange blonde haired girl's laugh against her skin, a busty red haired girl's fingers guiding her closer, a metamorphmagus's playful nudge before stealing a kiss. It hadn't been conquest—it had been unity. Every touch, hers and theirs, had felt like a single heartbeat. The magic of it still curled, warm and certain, in her chest.
Back to Harry:
In the kitchen at Potter Manor, Harry took another sip of his tea, staring at Hermione and Luna, with a little smile, while six distinct presences tugged gently at his awareness. The echoes of the dream still stirred in him—heat, closeness, the dizzying sense of belonging.
They had all felt it. He knew it as certainly as his own name. The bond was no longer possibility—it was alive. He had to make his move.
And whatever the future brought, they were his.
He was theirs.
All of them.
By the time Sirius returned to the kitchen, harry had finished his breakfast and tea, Hermione had moved from tea to her ever‑present notebook, and Luna was absently braiding a stem of lavender she must have picked from the garden.
Hermione closed the notebook, resolute. "We should call Dobby and get the full details of this leyline place. If it's really as perfect as he says, we shouldn't waste the day."
"Dobby," Harry called.
There was a familiar POP — and there he was: beaming, ears bouncing. "Harry Potter, sir! Miss Hermione! Miss Luna! Lord Black! Dobby has been ready since last night!"
Sirius said with coffee in hand. "Then let's have it."
The elf unrolled a glowing conjured map into the air. "Northern moors, past the old standing stones. No roads. Muggles cannot find it. Magic keeps it safe. There, in the center, three… maybe seven leylines cross. The ground hums like a dragon's chest."
Hermione's eyes lit up. "Seven? That's incredible…"
Sirius nodded. "We Apparate to the closest safe spot, then Dobby walks us in past the wards. I'll check for anything nasty lying in wait. Hermione, you double‑check his readings. Luna—eyes out for old ritual marks."
Harry grinned at Dobby. "Lead the way."
Mists spun in the wind as they arrived on the moor. The standing stones loomed like weathered sentinels, their pale, ancient runes almost swallowed by the years. In the middle lay a broad ring of lush moss streaked with black, glassy gravel. The air here felt thick and warm, trembling with quiet magic.
Sirius paced the circle, eyes on the horizon, wand loose but ready. "Clear. And I can feel the energy—like walking through treacle."
Hermione scanned with her wand, a sharp intake of breath at the readings. "Pure, clean ley‑energy. Stronger than any site I've ever read about."
Luna brushed her fingertips over the moss. "It's waiting to wake up."
Dobby gave Harry a small, colorful sock. "For luck Mr. Harry Potter Sir!"
As the group stood in the ancient clearing, the soft moorland wind carried the low hum of converging leylines beneath their feet. The wide circle of worn standing stones rose around them, shrouded in the soft mists that clung to the edges of the moor.
Sirius Black gave Harry a firm, steady nod, his dark eyes full of unwavering faith. "We all know you've faced this dragon before, lad. This isn't your first dance with it. We've seen your strength, your resolve. You're ready for this moment — the completion of what you started."
Hermione Granger stepped close to Harry, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You've learned more than most at your age, Harry. This union with the dragon is just the next part of your journey. Trust yourself, and trust the bond you share."
Luna Lovegood offered her serene smile, eyes bright with quiet certainty. "The bond between you and the dragon is strong. It remembers you as clearly as you remember it. When you open yourself to it now, it will be a union of equals, a joining long-awaited."
Encircled by their steady support and warm belief, any lingering doubts fled from Harry's mind. He took a deep breath, turned slowly toward the heart of the leylines, and knelt on the soft moss-carpeted earth.
His boots pressed lightly into the fertile soil humming with ancient magic. Closing his eyes, he released the last tether to the waking world. The breath of the moor, the pulse of the leylines, and the quiet strength of his friends settled around him like a cloak.
The trance embraced him fluidly, welcoming him like an old friend returning home. The shadowy void of the dream space shimmered with stars glowing in green and gold. From the darkness emerged the great dragon — immense and majestic — its scales deep obsidian, polished like liquid glass, each edged with a faint green-gold glow. The belly and throat bore matte slate-black plating built for resilience, and thin veins of leyline fire pulsed along crests and seams like molten metal.
Two majestic, back-curving horns tipped in pale silver crowned its head, and smaller crown-spikes trailed down its neck in perfect symmetry. Its vast, bat-like wings — membranes darker than the deepest night yet streaked with glowing green veins — unfurled with an almost thunderous snap, casting shadows across the dream horizon.
Molten emerald eyes met Harry's gaze with profound wisdom and recognition.
A resonant voice filled his mind:
"Harry James Potter… finally, we meet again."
A slow, deep relief flowed through Harry's chest. "I've missed you," he whispered, opening his arms within the dream realm.
"It was not that long ago when we met at first. And now you have grown, and we are ready," the dragon replied, leaning close so the scent of storm and ancient fire brushed his skin.
With total trust, Harry surrendered to the merging, stepping forward to become whole again. The power flowing between them was immense — a weaving of memory, magic, strength, and ancient wisdom. The dragon's presence filled every part of his being, wrapping him in a bond older than time itself.
"We are together at last. As one, we will face what is to come," the dragon vowed in a low, reverberating tone.
Back at the circle, the magic thickened and shimmered around Harry's shifting form. His first true transformation, born not out of fear or conquest but the transformation, began.
With Hermione's fierce embrace still warm in his memory, Luna's gentle strength buzzing in the air, and Sirius's steady confidence behind him, Harry moved forward into the power flowing beneath his skin — ready to become more than he ever was before.
The hum of the leyline circle deepened, vibrating through the very air. The ground itself seemed to exhale as the merging between boy and ancient beast reached its crescendo.
Around Harry, the moss shimmered faintly, responding to the pulse of power the leylines channelled into their chosen vessel.
"It is time," the dragon's voice thrummed — no longer separate from Harry's but resonating as one thought, one will.
Harry's breath came slower, heavier. Magic flooded outward in golden‑green currents, tracing molten patterns over his skin before solidifying into polished obsidian scales, each one perfect, edged in that faint ley‑born fire. Along his throat and belly, the plating shifted to a more muted slate‑black armour, each ridge built for power and endurance. Veins of luminous green‑gold magic pulsed in steady rhythm along his crests, horns, and down the base of his wings.
His eyes ignited — molten emerald with a halo of gold, the pupils narrowing to predatory vertical slits.
From his skull swept the silver‑tipped, back‑curving horns, and the crown‑spikes rippled to life in sequence down his neck, ending where wing‑roots pushed through his expanding shoulders. With a sound like storm‑sails snapping free, massive wings unfurled — their membranes so dark they devoured light, yet upon each stretch, glowing green veins lit them like lightning captured in glass.
Hermione's gasp was sharp, reverent. "Merlin's…"
Beside her, Luna's eyes glimmered as if she gazed upon a cosmic truth. "Oh, he's beautiful."
Sirius's mouth curled into a grin that was half‑awe, half‑pride. "Prongslet… you're a bloody dragon."
Harry's fingers — now clawed talons of black glass — flexed experimentally. A single wingbeat sent mist billowing out beyond the stone circle. The tail that uncoiled behind him ended in a diamond‑shaped blade, its edges flickering with ley‑fire.
Every sense was alive. He could smell the metallic tang of the standing stones, hear the minute rustle of a beetle moving beneath the moss, see every detail of the world with burning clarity — including the heartbeats of the three who stood at the circle's edge.
"You are feeling as I do, seeing as I see," the dragon's voice murmured in his mind. "From this day, we are inseparable."
Harry's great head dipped toward them, the emerald gaze locking with Hermione's. Recognition shone there — both human and beast were present. A deep, rolling purr rumbled from his chest — a dragon's way of saying I'm here. I know you.
Luna's smile deepened. "He still feels like Harry… and something more."
The combined instincts of man and dragon surged in Harry's veins, a singular urge whispering: Fly. Now the size of the dragon was not to be underplayed. Harry's dragon form was in total 500feet big, with each wing having a span of 200 feet.
He crouched low, talons gripping earth, wings folding then flinging outward in one colossal downstroke. The ground launched away beneath him; the gust from his ascent bowled Sirius's coat backwards and sent Hermione's curls streaming. Luna just tipped her face up, eyes closed, as the wind brushed over her.
The moment his claws dug into the moss and his wings reached their full span, Harry could feel it — the irresistible pull upward. The dragon inside wasn't suggesting flight, it was demanding it. And yet, the pulse of that instinct felt utterly natural, like stretching after a long sleep.
The leap was effortless.
One coiled crouch, every muscle tightening with stored power, then a surge up — his hind legs launching him skyward while the first wingbeat caught the air like a living sail. The sheer force of it drove a booming gust across the leyline circle, ruffling the grass and sending Sirius's coat snapping behind him.
Immediately, Harry understood something profound: flying wasn't like riding a broom.
On a broom, the flight was external — a controlled push and lean, with movement dictated by wood and enchantment.
As a dragon, the flight was his body.
The wings were not separate tools — they were part of his shoulders, muscles, and chest. Every flex, every shift of angle translated instantly into a roll, climb, or dive. He didn't think turn left — he simply looked left, and the great span shifted naturally, carrying him into a smooth bank.
The air felt alive against the membranes, whispering temperature and texture — warm updraft, cooler cross-breeze, strong gust rising ahead. He didn't just ride the air; he read it.
The speed was intoxicating.
One downbeat of his wings sent him slicing through the low mist like an arrow. Another and he was beyond the haze, breaking into open sky, the moors sprawled beneath him like a living map. The leyline glow still pulsed faint inside his wings, and he wondered if it was only visible to him — or if even the earth below could see the dragon's power crossing above.
From above, his senses sharpened even more.
He could see in detail beyond human range — the glint of a wet fox nose in the grass, the minute vibration of each leaf in the wind.
He could hear the faint rustling inside the heather where a hare took cover.
He could smell damp stone and the faint metallic trace of leyline magic rising from the ground.
And through it all was the constant thrum of strength — the knowledge that if he folded and dove, the world would blur around him until he snapped his wings open again, tearing a curtain of wind like thunder.
Harry had never felt freer. The human part of him wanted to laugh; the dragon part wanted to roar victory into the clouds. Together, they simply climbed higher, letting the land drop away until the standing stones were nothing but marks in a ring, and the people he loved were bright, familiar sparks — tiny, but never distant in his awareness.
Banking into a wide arc, the instinct to show them what this new form could do overtook him. He performed a slow, spiralling dive, controlling every motion so precisely it felt like a dance. When his claws finally struck earth again, moss tearing under the impact, his chest rose and fell with exhilaration rather than exhaustion.
The first thought that came — not from dragon alone, and not from human alone — was simple and absolute:
We were meant for the sky.
With every tilt, roll, and bank, the membranes thrummed — each movement instinctive, guided by knowledge the dragon had kept for ages. Harry's senses roamed: hunting‑sharp vision tracing a distant fox on the moor grass, a thermal draft rising from sun‑warmed stone, the cold kiss of high altitude around his wing edges.
On the ground, Sirius whooped like the sound might reach him. Hermione shielded her eyes against the bright sky, tracking the black‑and‑green silhouette as it curved in long, predatory arcs. Luna turned in a slow circle, watching as though committing each glide to eternal memory.
Circling lower, Harry flared his wings wide to slow, the air whistling between the glowing veins. The landing came with a controlled crash of strength — rear claws sinking deep into moss, wings mantling like a shield before tucking slowly to his sides.
Steam curled from his nostrils as he exhaled, a deep gust that stirred everyone's hair.
The bond to his friends pulsed warm, even in this massive new form. Ours, the dragon in him declared — not as possession, but as vow.
Harry lowered his head so all three could see his eyes. Emerald fire met human gaze once more.
Between thought and breath, the shared mind whispered to them all:
"We are whole. And this… is only the beginning."
He lingered for a heartbeat in the dragon's skin, looking at them through that molten emerald gaze, before letting the merge recede. It wasn't a push or a force — more like water sinking back into a deep, shared well.
The change shimmered over him in ripples of green‑gold light. Scales softened into skin, horns retracting, tail thinning into nothing more than a phantom weight at his lower spine. His body grew smaller with each breath until, with a final pulse of leyline magic, Harry was once again standing barefoot in the moss — windswept, flushed, chest rising and falling in the cool air.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The only sound was the wind turning through the standing stones and the distant rush of water somewhere beyond the moor. Harry stood in the circle, still barefoot on the moss, breathing slow and deep. Every inhalation carried scents and sounds he had never noticed before, each one stitched with the steady pulse of the dragon's presence humming in the background of his mind.
Hermione was the first to move. She walked straight up to him, her gaze sweeping over his face like she was memorising it all over again. There was awe in her eyes and something warmer beneath it.
"You looked…" She paused, a spark of a smile tugging at her mouth. "…incredible. I've never seen anything like it."
Harry felt his ears heat but didn't look away. "It felt incredible."
Luna drifted closer, her steps soft across the moss. "I could feel the air move around you. It was like the sky was part of your wings."
Sirius let out a low whistle, hands on his hips. "You weren't just flying, kiddo—you owned the air up there. I've seen some wild Animagus forms in my day but… Merlin's beard, this is something else."
Harry shrugged slightly, still flushed. "It's not just me," he admitted. "The dragon… he was guiding everything. We were doing it together."
Always, the dragon's voice murmured privately in his thoughts. He could feel it curling there in his mind — a sleeping giant that was, somehow, resting and watching at the same time.
Sirius stepped closer. "Alright, then here's the question… do you think you can control it? Change when you want to, hold it for longer?"
Harry flexed his hands, feeling the weightless strength still coiled inside. "I think so. It's strange — I don't feel tired, just… like I'm still moving even though I'm not."
Hermione's expression shifted into something thoughtful, already analysing. "We'll need to set up a day where we can figure out what else you can do, also flying without risk of being seen. And… test if those enhanced senses stay consistent in human form."
Luna's grin widened just a little. "And maybe we can find out if you can breathe fire."
Harry laughed, though he wasn't entirely sure Luna was joking.
Sirius clapped him on the back. "One step at a time — but make no mistake, Harry, what you've got here is beyond rare. You're going to need to learn how far you can push it… and how to hide it from the wrong eyes."
Harry glanced around the circle, feeling the bond with all three of them — and beyond them, the faint, warm threads of his soulmates far away. He could do this. Not alone. Never alone.
A cool gust traveled through the stones, lifting strands of Hermione's hair and tugging at his shirt. It carried the scent of the moor and the faint electric tang of leyline magic. For the first time, Harry understood something deep in his bones:
This wasn't just a form.
It was part of him now.
And this was only the first flight.
Hermione exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for the last five minutes. Sirius grinned in a way that was half‑pride, half‑relief. Luna only tilted her head and smiled softly, as though nothing about this surprised her at all.
Harry flexed his fingers — still half‑expecting to see talons — and blinked at how light they felt relative to the massive foreclaws he'd just commanded. Yet… the strength was still there, coiled and waiting, the dragon's quiet hum still settled behind his heartbeat. His senses, too, hadn't faded. He could smell the faint crushed‑grass scent clinging to Hermione's robes, hear a distant skylark's call beyond the hollow, feel the subtle leyline thrum through the soles of his feet.
Still with you, came the dragon's voice in his mind, quieter now, but steady. We do not part — we only rest.
Harry straightened, meeting Hermione's gaze, then Sirius's, and finally Luna's.
"I can still… feel everything," he said quietly, glancing to the horizon. "Like I'm still flying."
Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, pride bright in his eyes. "Good. That means it worked. And something tells me you're never going to be quite the same again."
Harry smiled faintly, feeling the truth of it settle in his bones — the dragon might rest, but it would never leave him.