**St. Mungo's Hospital, Janus Thickey Ward**
Wanda stood beside Alice Longbottom's bed, her magical senses diving deeper, past the physical damage to something more fundamental. She was looking for the core of Alice's being—not her magical core, which was already mapped and fractured, but her *consciousness*. The essential self that existed beneath magic and body and pain.
It was a technique she'd learned the hard way, during her time with the Darkhold. The book had taught her to perceive souls, to understand how consciousness anchored itself to reality. She'd used that knowledge for terrible things—tearing through universes, possessing her variants, stealing America Chavez's power.
Now she was using it to heal.
*There.*
Alice's consciousness was like a flame—bright and fierce, but flickering. Surrounded by darkness that pressed in from all sides, trying to smother it. The Cruciatus Curse hadn't just damaged her body and magic. It had wounded her *self*, her sense of identity and safety and control.
But it was still there. Still fighting. Still *Alice*.
Wanda pulled back, turning her attention to Frank. His consciousness was easier to reach—he was awake, after all, his sense of self more firmly anchored. But when she touched it with her magic, she found similar damage. Fractures in his sense of safety. Terror lodged deep in his psyche like shrapnel.
"They're strong," Wanda said quietly. "Both of them. The damage is extensive, but their core selves—their consciousness, their identity—it's intact. They're fighting to heal."
Healer Strout moved to stand beside her. "You can sense that? Their consciousness?"
"Yes." Wanda chose her words carefully. "Where I'm from, we call it soul magic. The ability to perceive and interact with the essential self beneath the physical form. It's... rare. And dangerous if used incorrectly."
"Soul magic," Healer Strout repeated. "I've read about it in theoretical texts. Ancient magic, mostly lost. The kind of thing only a handful of witches in history have mastered." She studied Wanda with new intensity. "You're not just trained in healing magic, are you? You're something more."
"I'm someone who wants to help," Wanda said, meeting her gaze. "That's all that matters right now."
Before Healer Strout could press further, Alice stirred. Her eyes fluttered open—brown eyes, warm despite the pain in them—and focused first on the ceiling, then on Frank's bed, then on the strangers in her room.
"Sirius?" Her voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Is that... Sirius Black?"
"Hello, Alice." Sirius moved to her bedside, his expression gentle. "How are you feeling?"
"Like Bellatrix tap-danced on my nerve endings." Alice tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "They're saying we're going to be okay. That the Aurors got there in time."
"They did. You're safe now." Sirius gestured to Wanda. "This is Wanda Maximoff. She's the one who warned them about the attack. She saved you."
Alice's gaze shifted to Wanda, and something like recognition flickered in her eyes. "The woman from the papers. The one who brought in Pettigrew." Her eyes dropped to Harry, who was still on Wanda's hip, and her expression transformed. "Oh. Oh, is that—Harry?"
"It is," Wanda said softly. She moved closer, angling Harry so Alice could see him properly. "Do you want to hold him?"
"I..." Alice's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know if I can. My hands—the tremors—"
"I'll help." Wanda carefully transferred Harry to the bed, supporting him so he was sitting in the crook of Alice's arm, most of his weight held by the mattress rather than her damaged muscles. "There. See? You've got him."
Harry, for his part, seemed fascinated by Alice. He reached out and patted her face with one chubby hand, babbling something that might have been a greeting.
Alice laughed—a broken, wet sound. "Hello, Harry. I'm your godmother. I'm supposed to be taking care of you, but..." She looked at Wanda, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you. For saving us. For keeping him safe. Lily would have—she would have wanted him protected, no matter what."
"I know," Wanda said gently. "That's why I took him. Why I'm keeping him away from people who would use him or hurt him."
"Dumbledore," Alice said. It wasn't a question. "He means well, but he has a habit of... of making decisions for other people. Deciding what's best without asking."
"That's one way to put it," Sirius muttered.
Alice looked at him. "You're supposed to be in Azkaban."
"I escaped. With Wanda's help." Sirius moved to stand beside Frank's bed, and the two men clasped hands briefly—a gesture of solidarity, of shared trauma. "Peter confessed. I'm free now. Officially exonerated."
"Good," Frank said hoarsely. "That's... that's good. You deserve that. After everything." He looked at Wanda. "Thank you. For saving him too. For saving all of us."
"You're welcome." Wanda hesitated, then decided to be direct. "Healer Strout, would you mind if I examined them? Magically, I mean. I'd like to get a better sense of the damage, see if there's anything I can do to help."
Healer Strout looked between the Longbottoms. "It's up to them. Frank? Alice? Are you comfortable with that?"
"She saved us once already," Alice said. "I trust her." She looked at Wanda. "Do what you need to do."
Wanda nodded and pulled out her wand. She'd practiced this—how to make her chaos magic look like diagnostic spells, how to channel it through the wand in ways that seemed normal to magical observers.
"*Revelio vulnera*," she said, moving her wand in a slow, deliberate pattern over Alice.
Red mist—easily mistaken for the normal red glow of diagnostic magic—flowed from her wand and sank into Alice's body. To Healer Strout and the others, it would look like a standard injury-revealing charm. But what Wanda was actually doing was far more complex.
She was mapping Alice's entire existence. Body, magic, consciousness. Every fracture, every wound, every place where the Cruciatus had torn through her.
The nervous system was the most obvious damage. The curse had overloaded Alice's pain receptors, essentially burning out the pathways that transmitted sensation. That's what caused the tremors, the hypersensitivity, the inability to sleep without potions.
The magical core was more subtle. The Cruciatus didn't just cause physical pain—it disrupted magic itself. Alice's magical pathways were fractured, bleeding power, unable to properly channel spells. That would make even simple magic exhausting, maybe impossible, until it healed.
And the consciousness—the soul—that was the deepest wound. The Cruciatus Curse was designed to break people. To destroy their sense of self, their ability to feel safe, their fundamental trust in reality. Alice had been tortured while her baby cried in the next room. That kind of trauma didn't just heal with time.
But Wanda could see the path to fixing it. All of it.
She could rewrite Alice's nervous system, restore the pathways to their pre-curse state. She could heal the magical core, seal the fractures, make Alice whole again. And she could even touch the consciousness—carefully, gently—and remove the worst of the trauma, the parts that would otherwise haunt Alice for the rest of her life.
The only question was: should she?
This kind of healing—reality-warping, soul-deep intervention—it was dangerous. Not physically, but ethically. Wanda would essentially be rewriting part of who Alice was. Removing memories, altering experiences, changing the fundamental shape of her consciousness.
She'd done that before, in Westview. Had rewritten hundreds of people without their consent, trapped them in roles she'd assigned, taken away their agency and choice.
She'd sworn never to do that again.
But this was different, wasn't it? She wouldn't be controlling Alice, wouldn't be forcing her into a role or stealing her identity. She'd just be... healing trauma. Removing pain that served no purpose, that would only make Alice's life harder.
*Is that really different, though?* a voice whispered in her mind. *Or is it just another excuse to play god?*
"Wanda?" Sirius's voice, concerned. "Are you okay?"
Wanda realized she'd been standing frozen, her wand still raised, red mist swirling around Alice for far longer than a normal diagnostic spell would take.
"Sorry," she said, lowering her wand. The mist dissipated. "I was just... making sure I had a complete picture."
"And?" Healer Strout asked. "What do you see?"
"Extensive nerve damage, as you already diagnosed. Magical core disruption—the pathways are fractured, bleeding energy. And psychological trauma lodged in the consciousness itself." Wanda met Healer Strout's eyes. "The physical damage will heal with time and proper treatment. The magical damage will take longer, but it can be repaired with specialized spells—I can teach you the ones I know, if you'd like. But the psychological trauma... that's the most difficult. That requires either extensive Mind Healing over months or years, or..."
"Or?" Healer Strout prompted.
"Or intervention at the level of consciousness itself. Soul magic, to remove or transform the traumatic imprints before they become permanent." Wanda turned to Alice. "But that's your choice. I can do it—I have the skill and power. But it would mean letting me touch your mind, your memories, your essential self. It's invasive, even if my intentions are good."
Alice looked at Frank, then at Harry sleeping peacefully in the crook of her arm, then back at Wanda.
"Will it hurt?" she asked quietly.
"No. You won't feel anything during the process. And afterward, you'll remember the attack—I won't take that from you—but the terror, the sense of helplessness, the nightmares..." Wanda paused. "Those I can remove. Or at least transform them into something manageable. Something that doesn't control you."
"Can you do the same for Frank?"
"Yes. If he wants it."
Frank and Alice looked at each other for a long moment, having a silent conversation. Finally, Frank nodded.
"Do it," Alice said. "Please. I don't—I can't live the rest of my life terrified. Can't be a mother to Neville if I'm constantly reliving the worst moment of my life. If you can help us—really help us—then please do."
Wanda felt something loosen in her chest. They were choosing this. Giving consent. Asking for her help rather than having it forced upon them.
That made all the difference.
"Okay," she said. "But not here. Not now. This kind of healing requires time, preparation, privacy. And I need to be absolutely certain I won't cause any harm." She looked at Healer Strout. "How long before they're stable enough to leave St. Mungo's?"
"Physically? Another week, maybe two. But the psychological symptoms—"
"Will be addressed," Wanda said firmly. "I'll need to study curse damage more thoroughly, learn the proper healing protocols, make sure I understand exactly what I'm doing. But in two weeks, if they're willing, I'll perform the healing. Properly. Carefully. With their full consent and understanding."
Healer Strout looked like she wanted to object—to argue that this kind of magic was too dangerous, too uncertain. But she also looked at Frank and Alice's hopeful expressions, at the possibility of real recovery rather than years of trauma management.
"I want to observe," she said finally. "I want to see this soul magic, understand how it works. If you're truly capable of healing curse damage at the level of consciousness..." She shook her head. "That could change everything. Not just for the Longbottoms, but for every curse victim in this hospital."
"Then you're welcome to observe," Wanda said. "I'll teach you what I can. But Healer Strout—this magic comes with a price. It's not something to use lightly, and the temptation to go too far, to fix too much..." She met the healer's eyes. "That's a line I've crossed before. A line I'm trying very hard not to cross again."
"Noted," Healer Strout said. "But if you can help even one patient fully recover from the Cruciatus Curse, it will be worth studying."
Harry chose that moment to wake up fully and begin fussing. Alice tried to soothe him, but her trembling hands made it difficult.
"Here," Wanda said gently, reclaiming Harry. "You need rest. And we should go—we've been here longer than fifteen minutes already."
"Will you come back?" Alice asked. Her voice was small, vulnerable. "Will you bring Harry?"
"Of course. As often as you'd like." Wanda smiled. "And in two weeks, we'll do the healing. I promise."
"Thank you," Alice whispered. "Thank you so much."
---
They left St. Mungo's an hour later, after Wanda had examined Frank as well and had a lengthy discussion with Healer Strout about magical theory. Sirius was quiet during the journey back to the cottage, his expression thoughtful.
Finally, as they stepped through Wanda's portal into Agnes's garden, he spoke.
"That was incredible. What you did—sensing the damage, explaining it, offering to heal it..." He shook his head. "You're remarkable, you know that?"
"I'm terrifying," Wanda corrected. "I have the power to rewrite people's minds, Sirius. To remove memories, alter consciousness, change who they fundamentally are. That's not remarkable—that's dangerous."
"But you're not doing it without permission," Sirius pointed out. "You asked Alice and Frank. You gave them a choice. That's the opposite of what you did before—in Westview, you said."
"Giving them a choice doesn't make the power less dangerous. And it doesn't mean I'm not tempted to use it in other ways." Wanda shifted Harry to her other hip. "What if I could remove Voldemort's Horcrux from Harry just by rewriting his consciousness? What if I could make Dumbledore forget about us, stop looking for Harry? What if I could change Peter's memories so he never betrayed James and Lily in the first place?"
"Can you do those things?"
"Probably. With enough power, enough focus..." Wanda looked at Harry, who was trying to grab her nose. "But I shouldn't. Because once I start rewriting reality to suit what I want, where does it stop? When does helping become controlling? When does protecting become imprisoning?"
Sirius was quiet for a moment. "I think the fact that you're asking those questions means you won't cross that line again. The people who abuse power—they don't worry about ethics or consent. They just take what they want."
"I hope you're right." Wanda headed toward the cottage. "Come on. Let's get Harry fed and figure out what comes next."
---
**Two Weeks Later**
**November 19th, 1981**
Wanda stood in a private room at St. Mungo's, preparing for the most delicate magical working she'd attempted since Westview.
Frank and Alice Longbottom sat in comfortable chairs, their hands clasped together. They'd been released from the main ward the day before, deemed stable enough for outpatient treatment. The physical damage had healed—Healer Strout was brilliant at her work—and the magical pathways had been partially repaired. But the psychological scars remained.
Until today.
"Last chance to change your minds," Wanda said, though she knew they wouldn't. "This is your choice. Always your choice."
"We want this," Alice said firmly. "We want to be whole again. To be the parents Neville deserves."
Wanda nodded. She'd spent the past two weeks studying, practicing, preparing. Had learned every healing spell in St. Mungo's library, had consulted with Mind Healers about consciousness and trauma, had even—carefully, under supervision—practiced on volunteers who had minor psychological injuries.
She was as ready as she'd ever be.
Healer Strout stood in the corner, along with two other senior Healers who'd been granted permission to observe. Sirius was there too, holding Harry, ready to step in if anything went wrong.
"Okay," Wanda said. "This will take about an hour. You'll feel a tingling sensation, maybe some warmth, but no pain. If at any point you want me to stop—"
"We won't," Frank said. "We trust you."
Wanda drew her wand and began.
The healing happened in stages.
First, she addressed the physical remnants—the nerve pathways that still carried echoes of pain, the muscle memory of trauma. Her chaos magic, channeled through the wand and disguised as advanced healing charms, flowed through Frank and Alice's bodies. Smoothing, repairing, restoring.
"*Vulnera sanentur*," she murmured, making the spell look traditional even as she did far more than traditional healing would allow. "*Nervos restituo. Corpus integro.*"
The physical healing took fifteen minutes. When it was done, Alice flexed her hands—steady now, no tremor—and Frank took a deep breath without wincing.
"Oh," Alice breathed. "I'd forgotten what it felt like. To not hurt."
"That's the easy part," Wanda said. "Are you ready for the rest?"
They nodded.
Wanda closed her eyes and let her consciousness expand. She touched Frank's mind first—gently, asking permission even though he'd already given it. His consciousness opened to her, and she saw the trauma lodged there. Bellatrix's laughter. The sensation of the Cruciatus tearing through him. The helplessness, the terror, the certainty that he was going to die.
Carefully—so carefully—Wanda reached into those memories and transformed them.
She didn't erase them. That would be wrong, would be theft. Instead, she... softened them. Took away the visceral terror, the body's panic response, the parts that would trigger nightmares and flashbacks. The memories remained—Frank would always remember being tortured, would always remember that night—but they became like old scars instead of open wounds. Painful to recall, but manageable. Survivable.
She did the same for Alice, working with even more care. Alice's trauma was deeper—she'd heard Neville crying while she was being tortured, had been unable to reach her son. That kind of maternal anguish was particularly potent, particularly scarring.
But Wanda understood maternal love. Understood the agony of being separated from your child.
She transformed that agony into strength. Reminded Alice's consciousness that she *had* survived, that she *had* protected her son by staying strong, that she *was* a good mother.
The healing took forty-five minutes total. When Wanda finally pulled back, opening her eyes, she was exhausted but satisfied.
Frank and Alice sat in their chairs, tears streaming down their faces—but they were smiling.
"It's gone," Frank whispered. "The fear—it's gone. I can remember it, but I'm not *in* it anymore. I'm not trapped."
"Neither am I," Alice said. She looked at Wanda with wonder. "How? How did you do that?"
"Very carefully," Wanda said. "And with help." She nodded to Healer Strout. "Your team's work made this possible. The physical healing, the magical repair—all of that had to be in place before I could touch the consciousness."
Healer Strout was staring at Wanda like she'd just witnessed a miracle. "That was... I've never seen anything like that. The way you worked—it wasn't just healing, it was *transformation*. You didn't remove the memories, you changed their impact, their emotional weight." She shook her head. "How long would it take to teach someone to do that?"
"Years," Wanda said honestly. "Maybe decades. It requires a very specific type of magic and a level of control most people never achieve." She paused. "But I can teach you the theory. Give you enough understanding that you might be able to develop similar techniques with time and practice."
"Please," Healer Strout said. "Even if I never master it myself, having the knowledge in our archives could help future Healers."
"Then I'll write down everything I know," Wanda promised.
Frank and Alice stood—steady on their feet, no tremors, no pain—and moved to embrace each other. Then they turned to Wanda.
"Thank you," Alice said. "We can never repay you for this. You've given us our lives back. Given Neville his parents."
"You don't owe me anything," Wanda said. "Just... be there for your son. Love him. Raise him to be good and kind and brave. That's payment enough."
"We will," Frank promised. "And Harry—you'll bring him to visit? Let him and Neville grow up knowing each other?"
"Of course." Wanda smiled. "They're both war orphans in a way. Both children who survived impossible things. They should know each other. Be friends, if they want to."
Alice looked at Sirius, who'd been quiet this whole time. "And you're raising Harry together? You and Wanda?"
"We are," Sirius confirmed. "Someone has to make sure she doesn't work herself to death saving everyone in Britain."
"Says the man who's already tried to organize three rescue missions this week," Wanda said dryly.
"Rescue missions?" Frank's eyebrows rose.
"Sirius has decided we need to save every unfairly imprisoned person in Azkaban, expose every corrupt Ministry official, and personally hunt down every remaining Death Eater." Wanda rolled her eyes. "I keep telling him we need to pace ourselves."
"But there are people suffering," Sirius protested. "People who need help—"
"And we'll help them," Wanda said firmly. "But we also have a baby to raise. We can't save everyone all at once."
"We can try," Sirius muttered.
Alice laughed—a real laugh, bright and clear. "You two sound like an old married couple."
"We're not married," Wanda and Sirius said in unison, then looked at each other.
"Not married," Wanda repeated. "We're just... co-parenting. And life-partners. In a non-romantic, purely practical sense."
"Right," Frank said, his tone suggesting he didn't believe that for a second. "Purely practical."
Before Wanda could protest further, Harry decided he'd had enough of being held by Sirius and made his desires known with a loud cry. Sirius handed him over immediately, and Harry settled against Wanda's shoulder with a contented sigh.
"He knows who his mama is," Alice said softly. "He loves you."
"I love him too," Wanda said. "More than anything."
She looked down at Harry—her son, her purpose, her reason for being better—and felt that familiar warmth in her chest. The certainty that this—all of this, the healing and the saving and the slow building of a family from broken pieces—this was exactly what she was meant to be doing.
"Come on," she said to Sirius. "Let's go home. We have a baby to feed and probably several dozen owls waiting with mail about things we need to handle."
"The price of being heroes," Sirius said cheerfully.
"We're not heroes," Wanda corrected. "We're just people trying to do better than we did before."
"That sounds like heroism to me," Frank said.
Wanda didn't argue. Just held Harry close and let Sirius lead her toward the door.
Behind them, Alice called out: "Bring Harry next week! And yourselves! We'll have dinner!"
"It's a date!" Sirius called back.
"Not a date," Wanda muttered.
"Definitely a date," Sirius said, grinning.
Wanda didn't dignify that with a response. Just shifted Harry on her hip and stepped through the portal she'd opened, heading back to Scotland and the cottage that was slowly, surely becoming home.
And if her heart fluttered a bit when Sirius took her free hand as they walked through the swirling red mist, well. That was nobody's business but her own.
---
**Agnes's Cottage**
**December 24th, 1981**
Christmas Eve arrived with snow.
Wanda stood at the kitchen window, watching fat white flakes drift down over the Highlands. Inside, the cottage was warm and bright—Agnes had decorated with holly and enchanted candles, and a small tree stood in the corner, hung with ornaments Wanda had transfigured from pinecones.
"He's going to love this," Sirius said, coming up behind her. "His first proper Christmas."
"I hope so." Wanda turned from the window. "Did you finish wrapping his presents?"
"Finished and hidden. Though I'm not sure why we're bothering—he's sixteen months old, he's not going to remember any of this."
"But we will," Wanda said. "And someday, when he's older, we can tell him about it. His first Christmas with his family."
Sirius smiled. "His family. I like the sound of that."
"Me too."
They'd settled into a rhythm over the past six weeks. Sirius had officially taken custody of Harry as his magical guardian, with Wanda listed as his primary caretaker. The Ministry had grumbled but couldn't really object—Sirius was Harry's godfather, and he had every legal right to determine the boy's living situation.
Dumbledore had grumbled too. Had sent multiple owls requesting meetings, asking about Harry's well-being, hinting that perhaps Harry should be enrolled in a magical school or at least have regular visits from Ministry-approved educators.
Wanda had ignored all of them.
Harry was happy. Safe. Loved. That was all that mattered.
"Do you think they'll come?" Sirius asked. "The Longbottoms, I mean."
"Alice said they would." Wanda checked the time—a clock she'd enchanted to actually work properly, unlike the bizarre magical clocks she'd seen elsewhere. "They should be here soon."
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door.
Wanda opened it to find Frank and Alice Longbottom standing on the doorstep, bundled against the cold. Alice was holding baby Neville, who was nearly the same age as Harry and already showing signs of his father's round face and gentle disposition.
"Merry Christmas!" Alice said, her smile bright and genuine—so different from the haunted expression she'd worn in St. Mungo's. "We brought pudding and presents and this little terror." She jostled Neville gently, making him giggle.
"Come in, come in," Wanda said, ushering them inside. "You're letting in the cold."
The next few hours passed in a happy blur. Agnes made mulled wine and gingerbread. The babies played together—or rather, Harry tried to eat Neville's toys while Neville stared at him in fascinated confusion. Frank and Sirius swapped stories about the war, their voices growing softer when they talked about James and Lily.
And Alice sat with Wanda, watching their sons with expressions of fierce maternal love.
"Thank you," Alice said quietly. "For everything. For saving us, healing us, giving us this."
"You don't have to keep thanking me," Wanda said.
"Yes, I do." Alice's hand found Wanda's and squeezed. "Before you healed us, Frank and I... we were talking about whether we could even be parents anymore. Whether we were too broken, too scared. Whether Neville would be better off with someone else."
"And now?"
"Now we're excited for his first Christmas. For watching him grow up. For being his parents." Alice's eyes shone. "You didn't just heal our bodies, Wanda. You gave us back our future."
Wanda's throat tightened. "I'm glad. You both deserved better than what happened to you."
"So did you," Alice said gently. "Sirius told me—not everything, but enough. About what you've lost. What you've survived. You're healing too, aren't you? By healing others."
"Maybe," Wanda admitted. "Or maybe I'm just trying to balance the scales. Do enough good to outweigh all the harm I've caused."
"That's not how it works," Alice said. "Redemption isn't a math problem. It's a choice you make every day—to be better, to do better, to keep trying even when it's hard."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is." Alice smiled. "But it's also worth it."
As if to prove her point, Harry toddled over—he'd been practicing walking for weeks now, and was getting quite good at it—and climbed into Wanda's lap. He settled there with a contented sigh, his thumb finding its way to his mouth.
"Mama," he said around his thumb. Not quite clear, but unmistakable.
Wanda's heart stopped. "Did he just—"
"He did!" Sirius appeared from the kitchen, grinning. "Harry's first word! Quick, Agnes, mark the calendar!"
"I already am," Agnes called back.
Harry, oblivious to the excitement he'd caused, just snuggled closer to Wanda and closed his eyes.
"Mama," he mumbled again, drifting toward sleep.
Wanda held him close, pressing a kiss to his dark hair. "Yes, baby. I'm here. I'm always going to be here."
---
Later, after the Longbottoms had left and Harry was tucked into bed, Wanda and Sirius sat in front of the fire. Agnes had retired to her room, and the cottage was quiet except for the crackling flames and the soft sounds of Harry sleeping in the next room.
"This is nice," Sirius said. "Peaceful. Normal, almost."
"Almost," Wanda agreed. "Though I suspect the peace won't last. There's still too much to deal with."
"Like?"
"Like the Horcrux in Harry's scar. I've been studying it, and I think I'm ready to try removing it. Not permanently—not yet—but I can separate it enough that there's no connection between Harry and Voldemort's soul fragment. Then, when Harry's older and his magical core is more developed, I can extract it completely."
"How soon?"
"New Year's, maybe. I want to give him a few more days to grow, to strengthen." Wanda stared into the fire. "And I need to prepare myself mentally. This is delicate work. One mistake and I could hurt him."
"You won't," Sirius said with absolute certainty. "You're too careful, too skilled. You'll do it right."
"I hope so." Wanda leaned back. "What about you? Any grand plans for the new year?"
"Besides helping you raise a baby and occasionally rescuing people?" Sirius grinned. "I've been thinking about the rest of the Death Eaters. The ones who escaped justice by claiming they were under the Imperius Curse."
"Sirius—"
"I know, I know. We can't save everyone all at once." He held up his hands. "But we can be strategic. Gather evidence. Build cases. Make sure that when they do face justice, it sticks."
"That sounds remarkably mature and well-planned for you."
"Hey, I can be mature. When I want to be." Sirius's expression turned serious. "But really, Wanda—what's the long-term plan? We can't hide in Scotland forever. Eventually, people are going to want answers. About Harry, about us, about what we're doing."
"I know." Wanda had been thinking about this too. "I think... we need to be proactive. Instead of hiding and waiting for people to find us, we should control the narrative. Let people know that Harry is safe, happy, and being raised by people who love him. Make it clear that he's not available for gawking or manipulation."
"You want to go public?"
"Eventually. Not yet—Harry's too young, and we're still sorting out the Horcrux and other complications. But in a year or two..." Wanda shrugged. "We can't keep him isolated forever. He deserves to know his world, his heritage. He deserves to have choices."
"Just not the choices Dumbledore would give him," Sirius said.
"Exactly." Wanda stood and stretched. "But that's a problem for future us. Present us should probably get some sleep while we can. Who knows when Harry will decide 3 AM is a great time to be awake and screaming."
"Good point." Sirius stood too, but he didn't move toward the stairs. Instead, he caught Wanda's hand, his expression suddenly vulnerable. "Hey. I just wanted to say... thank you. For all of this. For giving me a second chance at life, at being part of Harry's world, at..." He trailed off, searching for words.
"At having a family?" Wanda suggested gently.
"Yeah. That." Sirius squeezed her hand. "I thought I'd lost that forever when James and Lily died. Thought I'd die in Azkaban, alone and forgotten. But you... you gave me something to live for again. Someone to protect and love and build a future with. I don't think you understand how much that means."
"I think I do," Wanda said quietly. "Because you gave me the same thing. A purpose. A family. A reason to be better instead of just being powerful."
They stood there for a moment, hands linked, the fire casting warm light over both of them. Then Sirius leaned in—slowly, giving her time to pull away—and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Goodnight, Wanda Maximoff," he said softly.
"Goodnight, Sirius Black," she replied.
He headed upstairs, leaving her standing by the fire. Wanda touched her forehead where his lips had been, feeling warmth that had nothing to do with chaos magic and everything to do with the strange, impossible man who'd become her partner in all of this.
*Not romantic*, she reminded herself. *Purely practical co-parenting.*
But even she didn't believe that anymore.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!