The late afternoon sun hung low as Rose and Helios stood outside a neat suburban house with trimmed hedges and polished brass numbers on the gate. It was unmistakably a Granger residence — orderly, tasteful, quietly affluent without being ostentatious.
Helios studied it for a moment longer than necessary. In another life, another timeline, he had visited this place under very different circumstances. Hermione's parents had always struck him as kind but distant people, professionals whose demanding schedules had gradually widened the emotional gap between them and their daughter. Hogwarts, with all its dangers and wonders, had become Hermione's real home long before she ever admitted it aloud.
But today they weren't here for nostalgia or parents. They were here for Hermione herself.
Rose shifted nervously beside him before finally pressing the doorbell. The chime echoed faintly inside the house. For a few seconds nothing happened, and Rose's shoulders seemed to tighten with anticipation.
Then the door opened.
A middle-aged woman with kind but slightly tired eyes stood there — Hermione's mother, unmistakable even across dimensions. She wore casual clothes and held a dish towel in one hand, clearly interrupted mid-task.
"Yes?" she asked politely.
Rose stepped forward immediately. "Hello, Mrs. Granger. I'm Rose Potter — Hermione's friend from school. I was hoping to see her."
Recognition flickered, followed quickly by something more guarded. Helios noticed the subtle shift — polite distance, the kind adults adopted when protecting family privacy.
"Oh," Mrs. Granger said gently. "Hermione isn't here, dear. She left a few days ago to stay with another friend. Ron Weasley, I believe."
The words landed harder than Rose expected. Helios saw it instantly — the faint slump of her shoulders, the disappointment she tried to mask.
"I… see," Rose murmured.
Mrs. Granger seemed to sense the emotional undercurrent because her tone softened. "You're welcome to come in for tea if you'd like. It's warm outside, and you must have travelled."
For a split second, Helios thought Rose might accept. But she shook her head.
"No, thank you. I actually have to head back soon."
Her voice was polite but tight.
Mrs. Granger nodded understandingly. "Well, if you do get in touch with Hermione, tell her we said hello."
"I will."
They exchanged brief farewells before the door closed quietly.
Silence followed as Rose and Helios stepped back onto the pavement.
The disappointment now showed clearly on Rose's face. She didn't cry, didn't complain — but the quiet hurt in her eyes said more than words would have.
They walked a short distance before Helios spoke gently.
"Do you know where Ron lives?"
Rose shook her head immediately. "Not exactly. And even if I did… wizarding homes are heavily protected, especially now. With Voldemort back, the Weasleys would have layered wards everywhere. Ron's older brother Bill is a professional ward breaker. If anyone can make a house impossible to find casually, it's him."
Helios nodded. That assessment matched his own knowledge perfectly.
"So even if we went searching," she continued, "we'd probably just wander in circles."
"Sounds likely."
They arrived back near Privet Drive shortly after, the shift in mood noticeably heavier than when they'd set out earlier.
Rose kicked a small pebble along the pavement as they walked.
"I thought she was with some muggles relatives," she said finally. "where she won't be able to write letters in a parchment and send it via owl."
Helios chose his words carefully.
"Sometimes people pull away because of strange reasons. Not necessarily of you — of the situation."
"That doesn't make it easier."
"No," he agreed quietly. "It doesn't."
They reached the familiar park bench and sat down. The evening air had cooled slightly, and distant sounds of traffic blended with birds settling for the night.
"You know," Helios said after a moment, "friendship isn't always symmetrical. Sometimes one person shows up more than the other for a while. Doesn't always mean the bond is broken."
Rose looked sideways at him. "You really believe that?"
"I've lived it."
That seemed to reassure her more than any elaborate explanation could.
A small smile returned to her face — tentative, but genuine.
"Well," she said, "even if Hogwarts friendships are being weird right now, at least I've got one solid friend this summer."
Helios smiled back.
"That counts for a lot."
As he walked her back toward Privet Drive once more, he made a silent promise to himself: whatever else changed in this tangled timeline, he wouldn't let Rose face isolation the way he once had.
And sometimes, simply being there was the most powerful magic of all.
The Scottish air carried a crisp salt-tinged breeze as Helios knelt inside the newly completed greenhouse of Black Manor. Sunlight filtered through the enchanted glass panels overhead, warm enough for cultivation but shielded from harsh weather.
The structure was one of the last additions to be finished — sturdy stone base, magically reinforced glass, irrigation charms humming faintly beneath the soil beds.
Helios preferred working there. It grounded him. After years of war, politics, deception, and constant vigilance, tending plants felt almost peaceful. Magical seeds rested in small labelled packets beside him — dittany, moonmint, silver nettle, and several rarer herbs Hermione had once insisted every prepared wizard should know how to grow.
He paused briefly, pressing soil gently over a row of seeds.
"Grow well," he murmured, half habit, half charm.
A familiar ripple brushed against the Manor wards moments later. Helios didn't even reach for his wand; he recognized the magical signature instantly.
Sirius.
Helios stood, brushing soil from his hands just as the greenhouse door opened. Sirius stepped inside, wind-tousled hair and relaxed grin immediately brightening the already sunlit space.
"Merlin, this place gets more impressive every time I visit," Sirius said, looking around appreciatively. "And it smells better than Grimmauld Place right now, that's for sure."
Helios chuckled softly. "Crowded?"
"That's putting it mildly."
Sirius dropped into one of the greenhouse chairs, stretching his legs.
"You'd think we were hosting a wizarding convention. Order meetings every other night. Aurors coming and going. And now the Weasleys moved in after the Burrow attack, so it's chaos full-time."
Helios' hands stilled briefly over the next seed packet.
"The Burrow was attacked?"
"Yeah," Sirius confirmed. "No casualties thankfully. Whoever attacked didn't stick around long. And no Dark Mark either — clever move. Makes it easier for the Ministry to spin it as an 'unfortunate magical accident.'"
Helios' jaw tightened slightly. That matched patterns he remembered: Voldemort shifting tactics, avoiding overt signals while rebuilding strength.
"And the Muggle attacks?" he asked quietly.
"Same story," Sirius replied. "Strange fires, unexplained disappearances, 'gas leaks,' structural collapses. Ministry's running overtime to keep the Statute intact."
Helios nodded grimly. "Classic destabilization strategy."
Sirius eyed him thoughtfully. "You talk like you've studied war extensively."
"History interests me," Helios said smoothly.
Technically true.
Sirius accepted that easily enough and continued.
"But honestly, the biggest challenge right now isn't Voldemort — it's domestic logistics. Molly Weasley has basically taken command of Grimmauld Place."
Helios allowed himself a faint smile.
"That sounds familiar."
"You've met her before?"
"Heard about her from Rose," Helios said diplomatically, though his previous-life memories painted a much clearer picture. Molly Weasley meant well, unquestionably, but she also had a strong instinct to organize, advise, and occasionally overstep.
Sirius laughed quietly.
"She means well, I know that. But suddenly I've got someone rearranging my kitchen, deciding meal schedules, assigning cleaning rotations… I swear she forgets it's technically still my house."
Helios raised an eyebrow playfully. "Technically."
"Alright, your renovated house," Sirius corrected quickly. "But you get my point."
"I do."
"And honestly," Sirius added, more softly, "it's kind of nice too. Lively. Safer for everyone being together. Just… a bit overwhelming sometimes."
Helios understood that duality perfectly. Community brought strength, but also noise, politics, expectations.
They talked for another hour — lighter topics mostly. The Manor's progress. Sirius' gradual adjustment to being openly involved with the Order again. Small anecdotes about Rose's latest letters.
Eventually, Sirius stood.
"I shouldn't stay too long," he said reluctantly. "If anyone notices I'm disappearing regularly, questions start. And I'm not quite ready to explain this place yet."
Helios nodded.
"That's wise."
Sirius hesitated, then clapped his shoulder warmly.
"Thanks, kid. This place… it's a good refuge. And you're doing alright, you know? Despite everything."
Helios smiled faintly. "So are you."
Moments later Sirius stepped outside, transforming smoothly into his large black dog form before slipping beyond the outer wards. Helios watched until the magical signature faded completely.
Then he returned to the greenhouse.
More seeds waited.
More quiet growth to nurture — something steady amid the gathering storm.
Rose noticed the pattern.
At first she thought it was coincidence — Harry showing up two days in a row, then three, then almost every afternoon. But when an entire week passed without a single missed visit, curiosity finally outweighed politeness. They were walking along the familiar Surrey park path, sunlight soft through the trees, when she asked outright.
"You've been coming here every day," she said. "Not that I'm complaining… but why?"
Harry smiled easily, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. "Hogwarts starts soon. Once term begins, we won't exactly have the freedom to wander Muggle London whenever we want. Figured I'd make the most of it."
It sounded reasonable. Logical even.
Rose accepted the explanation outwardly, though part of her suspected there was something more. Harry often carried layers beneath simple answers, and she had learned not to pry too hard. If he wanted her to know, he usually told her eventually.
What she didn't know — what Harry carefully kept to himself — was the real reason.
Somewhere in the hazy timeline of his previous life, around this part of the summer, Dementors had attacked. Back then, he had been emotionally shattered: Cedric dead, Voldemort returned, friends distant, Ministry hostile. Dates blurred together. Trauma had a way of erasing calendars.
He couldn't remember exactly when it had happened.
Only that it had.
And this time, Rose would not face it alone.
So he kept showing up. Park visits, café trips, movie afternoons, long walks through quiet neighbourhoods. Normal activities masking vigilant watchfulness. Every gust of unnaturally cold air, every flicker in ambient magic, every shadow movement — he monitored it all.
Without telling her.
Because anticipation could be as frightening as the event itself.
On the day it finally happened, everything seemed ordinary at first. Dudley and his friends had briefly appeared earlier, but one glance at Harry — calm, unflinching — had convinced them to retreat quickly. Their departure left the park unusually empty.
Too empty.
Rose felt it first.
A sudden drop in temperature. Not the natural cooling of evening, but that creeping, suffocating cold she remembered from the graveyard. The kind that pressed on the chest and made breathing feel heavier.
"Harry…" she whispered.
He was already alert.
Three cloaked figures emerged slowly from the far path. Their movements were unmistakable. Their presence carried that familiar psychic pressure — despair, fear, draining warmth from the world itself.
Dementors.
Rose reacted instantly, drawing her wand with practiced reflex.
"Expecto—"
Harry's hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist.
"Wait."
Before she could protest, he stepped forward himself, wand raised.
He had expected to summon the elk Patronus he remembered from his previous life. That graceful, powerful stag had always represented his happiest memories — friendship, loyalty, hope.
But magic evolved with the wizard.
So when he cast the charm, the silver light that burst from his wand took a different shape entirely.
A massive black dog.
The Grim.
For a heartbeat, Harry was as startled as Rose.
The spectral dog stood tall, fur shimmering with silver brilliance, eyes fierce and protective. It looked strikingly like Sirius' Animagus form — Padfoot, but made of pure Patronus light.
Rose gasped softly. "That's…"
Before she finished, the Patronus surged forward. The Dementors recoiled immediately, their oppressive presence faltering. The silver Grim lunged once, twice, driving them backward with unmistakable authority until they vanished beyond the park's edge.
Warmth returned slowly.
Air flowed freely again.
Silence followed — broken only by Rose's uneven breathing.
Harry lowered his wand, still processing the unexpected Patronus form. Magic reflecting emotional priorities perhaps. Family. Protection. Belonging.
Footsteps hurried toward them.
Arabella Figg appeared, flustered, cardigan slightly askew, muttering under her breath.
"Typical Mundungus Fletcher," she grumbled. "Leaves his post for five minutes and Dementors decide it's a perfect time to visit."
She stopped when she saw them unharmed.
"Come along, Rose," she said urgently. "You shouldn't stay here."
Rose nodded, still shaken. Before leaving, she turned back toward Harry.
"You'll… contact me?"
"Soon," he promised.
She seemed reassured enough to go.
Harry watched until they disappeared from view. Only then did he Apparate quietly away, choosing discretion over lingering explanations.
By the time Rose reached Privet Drive with Mrs. Figg, an owl was already waiting on the fence.
Ministry seal.
Formal parchment.
And Rose's summer, which had finally begun to feel safe, shifted once more toward uncertainty.
Author's Note:
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