The sun was setting over the Black Lake, painting the water in shades of amber and rose.
Alisa sat on a flat stone near the shore, her knees drawn to her chest, watching the light fade. The air was cool and smelled of autumn—wet earth, decaying leaves, the faint mineral tang of the lake itself.
It had been a long couple of weeks.
She had helped Eleanor with her problem four times now, and she had apparently done the deed by herself twice.
Of course, she and Tonks had been going at it every day and were very successful in keeping those impulses down.
That was good, and all, but the weight of responsibility was settling heavier on her shoulders with each passing day. She wasn't trying to find out a cure for just herself now, but for Eleanor too…
She didn't know how to proceed.
She didn't hear the footsteps approaching until a voice spoke behind her.
"Mind if I sit?"
Alisa turned. Harry Potter stood a few feet away, hands stuffed in his pockets, his dark hair windswept, and his green eyes watching her with quiet concern.
"I—" She hesitated. "No. Go ahead."
He settled onto the stone beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. For a long moment, neither spoke. They simply sat together, watching the last of the sunlight bleed from the sky.
"I come here sometimes," Harry said eventually. "When I need to think. It's quiet."
"I can see why."
Another pause.
"You looked like you needed quiet, too," he added. "I wasn't going to bother you, but..." He trailed off, shrugging slightly.
"But?"
"You looked sad. Maybe tired." His voice was simple, unadorned. "I know what that feels like. Thought maybe you shouldn't be alone."
Something in Alisa's chest tightened. She wasn't used to this—someone noticing her struggles, offering company without expectation. In Russia, among the hunters, vulnerability was weakness. You dealt with your demons alone, or you didn't deal with them at all. And then, the actual demons dealt with you.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "That's... kind of you."
Harry made a dismissive sound. "Not really. Just—I know what it's like. Carrying something heavy. Pretending you're fine when you're not."
Alisa glanced at him. In the dying light, he looked older than his years—or perhaps just more worn. The weight in his eyes spoke of experiences no teenager should have had.
"Tonks mentioned what you've been through," she said carefully. "Voldemort. The prophecy. Everything."
A muscle in Harry's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Well. Tonks talks a lot."
"She cares about you."
"I know." He picked up a pebble, turning it over in his fingers. "It's just—sometimes I get tired of being the Boy Who Lived. The chosen one. The one everyone looks at and sees a symbol instead of a person."
"And what do you see when you look in the mirror?"
Harry was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: "Someone trying not to drown."
The honesty of it struck Alisa like a blow. She understood that feeling intimately—the constant struggle to keep your head above water, to function normally while something dark pulled at you from below.
She shivered.
"I know that feeling," she admitted.
Harry looked at her. Really looked, not the cursory glances they'd exchanged in passing. "Tonks said you were fighting demons in Russia. That something happened to you there."
"Something did."
"She didn't say what."
"I'm glad." Alisa pulled her knees tighter to her chest. "It's not something I talk about easily."
"I get it." Harry tossed the pebble into the lake. It skipped twice before sinking. "You don't have to tell me. I just—I wanted you to know that I understand. Having something inside you that you didn't ask for. Something dark. Something that changes everything."
Alisa's breath caught.
What is he talking about? He can't be—
"Do you actually have a connection to Voldemort?" she said, shocked. "Is that what you mean?"
Harry nodded, his expression tightening. "Oh, yes. I can feel him sometimes. In my head. His emotions, his thoughts—bleeding into mine. I had visions last year. Saw things through his eyes."
He laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Everyone acts like I'm this big hero, but half the time I'm terrified that I'm turning into him. That whatever piece of him is inside me is slowly taking over."
"It's not."
He looked at her sharply. "How would you know?"
"Because I can feel magical signatures. It's part of what I do—what I did, as a hunter." Alisa met his eyes steadily. "I felt you the first time we saw each other in the Great Hall. There's darkness in you, yes. A foreign presence. But it's not you. It's a parasite, attached but separate. Your core—your soul—is still your own."
Harry stared at her.
"You can tell that just by feeling?"
"Yes."
"That's..." He shook his head slowly. "No one's ever told me that before. Not like that. Not like they knew."
"Now you know." Alisa allowed herself a small smile. "You're not becoming him, Harry. You're fighting him. Every day, just by being yourself, you're fighting him. That takes more strength than you realise."
The tension in Harry's shoulders eased slightly. He looked back at the lake, but his expression had softened.
"Is that what you're doing?" he asked. "Fighting?"
"Every day."
"Does it get easier?"
Alisa considered the question honestly. "Some days it's easy. Other days, it's harder than ever. But you learn to keep going. You find reasons—people, purposes, small moments of peace. You hold onto those."
They sat in comfortable silence as the last light faded and stars began to prick the darkening sky.
龴ↀ◡ↀ龴
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Chapter 33: Glad you came
Chapter 34: Tonks IV
(and so on)