Chapter 13

Sirius paced Amelia's office like a caged Hippogriff, his boots thumping on the floor. Andromeda, perched nervously on the edge of her chair, watched him with growing concern. Neither of them noticed when the door creaked open—until Amelia swept in, followed by Moody and Shacklebolt, both of whom had perfected the art of looking serious and slightly annoyed.

"Well?" Sirius asked, stopping mid-stride. His tone was impatient, but let's be honest, he wasn't exactly known for his patience.

Amelia gave him a look that clearly said, Hold your horses, Black, and took a deep breath. "We've uncovered something big," she started, which made Sirius freeze like a kid about to be caught raiding the kitchen after hours. Andromeda, for her part, had already gone pale. This was not helping her anxiety levels.

"Bellatrix confirmed that her marriage to Rodolphus was enforced by a magically binding contract." Amelia's words hung in the air like a bludger aimed straight at the gut.

Sirius blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "Of course it was. But what's the catch?"

"Not just a marriage contract, Sirius," Amelia continued, eyes flicking between the two Blacks. "It also compelled her actions as a Death Eater. The kicker? She doesn't have the Dark Mark."

"Wait—what?" Sirius's jaw dropped. It wasn't his most dignified look, but hey, it wasn't every day you found out your evil cousin didn't volunteer to become Voldemort's number-one fan.

"She showed me her arms. Not a single snake tattoo to be found," Amelia explained, her voice steady but tinged with something close to disbelief. "Bellatrix said the Dark Mark has to be taken voluntarily, and her lack of it proves she wasn't acting of her own free will."

Andromeda gasped so loud, you'd think someone had just hexed the entire room. "So, she—she was forced?"

"Yes," Amelia confirmed, her voice somber but firm. "That changes everything. Bellatrix isn't just some deranged Death Eater—she was under her husband's control. And this could expose those who pretended they were under the Imperius Curse."

Moody snorted, crossing his arms like he'd been waiting to say something grim and prophetic. "About time. Lucius Malfoy's days of dancing around Azkaban are numbered." His good eye gleamed with satisfaction. Nothing made Moody happier than catching people who thought they'd gotten away with something.

Sirius scratched his head, his mind clearly racing. "So... what do we do now?"

Amelia met his gaze, her expression sharp with determination. "We start by annulling the contracts and working on Bellatrix's release. But we need to tread carefully. We'll need to gather more evidence to make sure the other Death Eaters face real consequences."

Sirius's hand disappeared into his robes and came back holding a crumpled parchment. "I've got the contract right here. Let's tear this thing apart."

Shacklebolt stepped forward, his presence as calming as ever. The man could probably talk a dragon into giving up its hoard. "We'll handle this by the book, Sirius. But rest assured, justice will be done."

Andromeda reached over and squeezed Sirius's arm, her voice quiet but filled with emotion. "Thank you. I don't know how we're going to fix all this, but... thank you."

Sirius gave her a crooked grin. "We're family. We may be messed up, but we're all we've got." Then, with a dramatic sigh that only Sirius could pull off, he added, "Besides, I'm not about to let Malfoy get away with anything. Ever."

Amelia rolled her eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face. "Right. Well, let's get to work then. We've got a lot to do, and the Ministry doesn't run on snark alone."

And with that, the group huddled together, ready to dive into the mess of contracts, conspiracies, and maybe even some much-needed redemption. They had a long way to go, but for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a flicker of hope that they could set things right. And if Sirius could annoy Lucius Malfoy in the process, well, that was just a bonus.

—

Sirius and Andromeda marched through the halls of Gringotts like they were on a mission—which, to be fair, they were. The polished marble floors practically reflected their anxiety, and if footsteps could echo with purpose, theirs were definitely doing that. Griphook, the goblin they'd worked with before, greeted them with a nod as they entered, his expression the same mix of disinterest and mild superiority that goblins seemed to specialize in.

"Welcome back, Mr. Black," Griphook said in a voice so calm it was borderline insulting. "And Madam Tonks. I see you've brought company."

Sirius gave a tight nod. "We need to finalize the annulments. Time's ticking."

Because, you know, Sirius loved to make things sound dramatic.

Griphook gestured for them to follow with the air of someone who had definitely seen it all. "Of course. This way."

The group trailed behind the goblin, winding through Gringotts' maze of corridors. You'd think after a few visits, you'd stop getting creeped out by the place, but nope—those flickering torches and slightly damp walls still managed to make everything feel like you were about to stumble into a dragon's lair. Not that Sirius or Andromeda were scared. Definitely not.

Finally, they reached a private chamber that looked as ancient as magic itself. Griphook opened the door, and they stepped inside. The room was dimly lit—because of course it was—like they were about to start some dark wizard poker game. Ancient symbols were carved into the walls, and the table in the center looked like it could've belonged to Merlin himself.

Sirius slapped the scrolls onto the table with a little more force than necessary, while Griphook went all goblin-efficient, pulling a small, shiny box from a shelf. It looked old. Like, really old. Inside, a bunch of magical artifacts shimmered, because apparently no one at Gringotts did anything without using ancient glowing stuff.

"These are the tools required for the annulment ritual," Griphook said, sounding like he was introducing a lineup of Quidditch players. "Lord Black, you will need these to complete the process."

Sirius took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

The minute Sirius began the ritual, the room filled with this soft, eerie humming, like the magic itself was testing out its karaoke skills. The artifacts glowed brighter, and for a second, it felt like they were all standing in the middle of a mystical light show. Sirius's voice, thankfully, stayed steady as he recited the incantations, and honestly, it was impressive. Ancient magic wasn't exactly like brewing a cup of tea.

Andromeda watched the scrolls like they might explode at any moment, while Amelia and Kingsley stood by, looking serious and vaguely heroic, because that's just their default.

Finally, the glow faded, the humming stopped, and Sirius lowered his hands like he'd just run a marathon. He was pale but still Sirius, which meant he was already thinking ten steps ahead.

"It's done," he said, voice low and determined. He paused for effect—because, again, dramatic was his thing—before adding, "The contracts are annulled."

Griphook, still completely unphased by the ancient magic that had just filled the room, closed the box and returned it to the shelf. "The annulments have been recorded in the Gringotts ledger. The other parties will be notified immediately."

Amelia stepped forward, looking every bit like someone who could take on a Death Eater without breaking a sweat. "We need to move fast. Lucius Malfoy isn't going to sit around knitting sweaters when he finds out."

Kingsley gave one of his signature calm nods. The guy could probably stay cool in a burning building. "I've already arranged for Aurors to be stationed near Malfoy Manor. Narcissa will be safe."

Sirius turned to Andromeda, eyes blazing with the kind of determination that said, Let's go crash a Malfoy family reunion. "Time to get Narcissa out of there."

And with that, they were off, ready to face whatever—or whoever—Lucius Malfoy threw their way. And honestly, if it involved a lot of hexing and dramatic speeches, Sirius was more than ready.

---

At Malfoy Manor, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a Severing Charm. Narcissa paced the grand drawing room like a caged animal, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She felt it—the shift in magic. The annulment was done. It was only a matter of time before Lucius would catch on, and let's just say he wasn't going to take it well.

Draco, who had been sitting with his wide, anxious eyes glued to his mother, practically jumped out of his skin when the front doors flew open. He looked at her, his voice tight with worry. "Mother, what's happening?"

Narcissa spun around, her gaze landing on Sirius and Andromeda, who had just swept into the room looking like they meant business. She shot Draco a quick, reassuring smile that did nothing to ease the panic in his face. "Everything will be alright, Draco."

You know, classic mom line for everything's about to get wild.

"Sirius, Andromeda," Narcissa breathed, relief washing over her. "You did it. You annulled the contract?"

Sirius gave her a sharp nod. "Yep, you're free now, Cissy. But we've gotta move, like, yesterday. Lucius is going to blow a fuse when he finds out, and trust me, you do not want to be here for that."

Narcissa hesitated for just a second before nodding. She wasn't a fool. "You're right. We need to leave."

Draco, bless him, was doing his best to keep up, but the kid was looking more confused by the second. He glanced between his mother and their sudden reinforcements, fear creeping into his voice. "Where are we going? What's happening?"

Andromeda, always the sensible one, crouched down to his level. "We're taking you and your mum somewhere safe, Draco. Just stick with us, alright? We've got this."

They were almost out the door when—CRASH!—the sound of something smashing into a million pieces echoed down the hallway. And there, with perfect dramatic timing, was Lucius Malfoy, looking like someone had just told him his prized peacocks had flown the coop.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his voice booming through the manor. "How dare you come into my home and take my wife?"

Sirius, never one to miss an opportunity to make an entrance, stepped forward, wand ready and a smirk that practically screamed, I'm about to make your day worse. "The contracts are annulled, Lucius. Cissy's free to go. Now, I suggest you stand down, or this is going to get messy. For you."

Lucius's eyes narrowed into angry slits. He raised his wand, probably thinking about all the curses he wanted to throw at Sirius, but before he could so much as say "Expelliarmus," Kingsley Shacklebolt and a squad of Aurors stormed in like they were busting a dark wizard poker game.

"Drop your wand, Malfoy," Kingsley said, cool as a cucumber. "It's over."

Lucius glared at the Aurors like he was trying to set them on fire with his mind, but after a few tense seconds, he seemed to realize that, yep, he was totally outnumbered. With a dramatic sneer, he lowered his wand, clearly furious that this wasn't going to end in an epic showdown.

Meanwhile, Draco was clinging to Narcissa, his face pale with fear and confusion. "Mother, what's going on?"

Narcissa knelt down and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be alright, Draco. We're leaving now."

Sirius shot her a look that said, Yeah, like right now.

They hustled out of the manor, the Aurors keeping a close eye on Lucius, who was probably plotting a dozen ways to get back at them (though none of them involved actually winning). Once they were outside, Narcissa took a deep breath, like she'd just shrugged off the weight of a hundred years' worth of bad decisions.

Draco looked back at the manor, torn between relief and confusion. "Mother… where are we going?"

Narcissa smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it wasn't forced. "Somewhere safe, Draco. Somewhere we can be free."

Sirius grinned, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "You're family, Cissy. And the Blacks? We take care of our own."

And with that, they disappeared into the night, leaving Malfoy Manor behind like a bad memory—one that was about to get a lot worse for Lucius.

---

Back at the Ministry, things were tense. In Amelia Bones' office, the usual level of chaos had been cranked up to eleven. Amelia stood behind her desk, hands planted firmly on the surface like she was bracing for impact, while Sirius, Andromeda, Kingsley, and Moody gathered around in various states of concern. Meanwhile, Narcissa sat off to the side, still trying to process her sudden freedom, and Draco was stuck to her like a shadow, his eyes wide and taking in every unfamiliar detail like he was waiting for a rogue hippogriff to jump out from behind a filing cabinet.

Amelia cleared her throat, bringing everyone's attention back to the situation at hand. "With Narcissa safe, we need to focus on Bellatrix." Her tone was as serious as a Dementor's weather report. "We've got enough evidence to prove she was forced into her actions. It's time to start the process to secure her release."

Mad-Eye Moody, ever the ray of sunshine, rolled his magical eye around the room like it had its own agenda. "You better be careful, Amelia," he said in that classic gravelly voice that made you think of dark alleys and sketchy deals. "The Death Eaters who got off by claiming they were under the Imperius Curse? They're not gonna sit back and let Bella walk free. If they find out she's talking, they'll make sure she doesn't talk at all. This whole thing hinges on her testimony."

Amelia nodded, her expression unreadable but definitely not carefree. "We'll need to act fast. Kingsley, I'm putting you in charge of coordinating with Azkaban's guards. Bellatrix needs protection—around the clock."

Kingsley, who had the calm and collected vibe of someone who could defuse a troll situation while sipping tea, nodded. "Consider it done. No one's touching her on my watch."

Sirius, who had been uncharacteristically quiet (probably still mentally high-fiving himself for getting his family out of Malfoy Manor), finally spoke up. "I'll contact the Order. We can back you up, provide extra protection. Maybe even throw in some dramatic rescues for good measure."

Andromeda chimed in with a nod. "We should also start reaching out to trusted members of the Wizengamot. The more support we can gather before this goes public, the stronger our case will be."

Amelia's gaze swept across the room, clearly appreciating the teamwork but also looking like someone who just remembered she had five deadlines tomorrow. "Alright, let's get moving. Time is not on our side."

With that, everyone sprang into action—or, in Moody's case, grumbled about how much could go wrong while limping toward the door. Draco, still glued to his mother, looked up at her, his face a mix of confusion and awe.

Narcissa, with a soft sigh, placed a hand on his head. "Don't worry, Draco. It's going to be alright."

Well, as "alright" as things can be when you're caught between a prison break, Death Eater revenge plots, and a family reunion. Just another day in the wizarding world, really.

---

Bellatrix sat in her Azkaban cell, staring at the damp stone walls like they might suddenly start offering advice. They didn't, of course. They just sat there, being walls. Classic Azkaban. But Bellatrix wasn't here for a spa day—she was here because life had decided to go full-on tragic novel on her, and now, all she had was a slim, shimmering sliver of hope. That, and the lingering smell of seaweed from the ocean outside. She tried to ignore the seaweed.

Freedom. It felt about as real as a vacation on the moon, but she clung to it with both hands. Her testimony—the testimony—was her one-way ticket out of this nightmare. The thought of taking down the people who had used her, manipulated her, and basically ruined her life? That gave her strength. Maybe even enough strength to survive this place for a bit longer. Maybe.

She shifted uncomfortably on the cold, hard bench—again, Azkaban didn't exactly come with cushions—and noticed something strange. More guards. A lot more guards. They were moving around like someone had thrown a party, and nobody had told Bellatrix she was invited. She squinted, watching them go by, hoping this meant something good. Maybe the wheels were in motion. Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to happen.

Of course, the uncertainty was eating her alive. She wasn't great at patience. (Or, like, waiting for anything. Ever.) But she had to keep it together, for herself, for Narcissa, and for the slim chance at a life that didn't involve dementors and walls that smelled like the inside of a fish tank. Because if there was a chance at freedom? She was taking it. And then she was running with it like a Hippogriff out of hell.

But until then, it was just her and her thoughts. And, unfortunately, those didn't always play nice.

—

Moody stomped his way to Dumbledore's office, grumbling under his breath about the various ways the universe seemed to enjoy making his life difficult. The door to the office, adorned with the sort of charm that probably made it look like a unicorn if you squinted just right, swung open at his knock. Dumbledore stood there, looking like a wizard who'd just had an epiphany about how awesome he was.

"Ah, Alastor! What brings you to my humble abode?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like he'd just discovered a new flavor of ice cream.

Moody didn't waste time on pleasantries. "We need the Order's help, Albus," he barked, his voice as gruff as a troll's bedtime story.

Dumbledore's eyebrows wiggled with curiosity, the man's whole demeanor radiating that annoying 'I've got everything figured out' vibe. "Assistance with what, exactly?"

"Well," Moody began, rolling his eye—because, of course, he had an eye that could rotate 360 degrees for dramatic effect—"Narcissa Malfoy's reached out to Andromeda Tonks for help ending her marriage to Lucius. Seems there's some magical contract business going on, courtesy of their father, Cygnus Black."

Dumbledore's face took on that look of deep thought, like he was pondering the meaning of life while sipping a cup of herbal tea. "Magically binding contracts? How fascinating," he mused, clearly picturing himself as the wizardly Sherlock Holmes. "What have you done so far?"

"We've got Andromeda and Sirius working on annulments at Gringotts," Moody continued, his voice edged with frustration. "But that's just the start. Bellatrix Lestrange, also tied up with a contract, says she was forced into her Death Eater gig. Unlike the rest of them, she doesn't even have the Dark Mark because it's supposedly voluntary."

Dumbledore's eyes widened in what was probably genuine intrigue. "Interesting," he said, his tone making it clear that he was one step away from declaring himself the smartest wizard in the room. "If Bellatrix's claims are true, it could undermine the whole Imperius defense many Death Eaters used to wriggle out of justice."

"Exactly," Moody agreed, giving Dumbledore a look that suggested he might just explode if the old man didn't take this seriously. "We need to confirm Bellatrix's story and gather solid proof to blow the Imperius defense out of the water."

"And what exactly do you need from me?" Dumbledore asked, like he was already planning his victory speech.

"We need the Order's help to protect Bellatrix and gather evidence," Moody said, his tone leaving no room for interpretation. "And none of your 'greater good' speeches this time, Dumbledore. You still owe me for what happened to Harry."

Dumbledore's expression faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of something—maybe guilt or maybe just a minor inconvenience—crossing his face. But then he straightened up, his aura of 'I know best' returning in full force. "I understand, Alastor. I assure you, our priority is to right the wrongs and protect those who have been wronged."

With that, Moody nodded curtly, his eye already darting off to deal with the next crisis. Dumbledore watched him leave, clearly already envisioning himself as the hero of this particular saga.

—

Remus, Susan, and Harry huddled around the Invisibility Cloak, their eyes wide and their faces reflecting the kind of awe usually reserved for ancient relics or superhero reveal scenes.

"So, what's the verdict?" Remus asked, crouching next to them like a wise old guide in a magical quest.

Susan's tiny fingers traced the cloak's surface. "It's definitely old," she said, her voice bubbling with excitement, "but it's been kept in really good shape. There's definitely something special about it."

Harry nodded vigorously, his eyes practically glowing. "Yeah, it feels... different," he added, voice hushed. "Like it's got its own heartbeat or something."

Remus chuckled, his eyes twinkling with fondness. "It's been in the Potter family for generations," he said, leaning in as if sharing a state secret. "It's got some extraordinary properties."

Susan's eyes shone with curiosity. "Any stories about it?" she asked, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Remus grinned, his expression taking on a nostalgic glow. "Oh, loads," he said. "But there's one that's particularly... well, let's just say it's got a bit of everything: daring rescues, epic battles, and the sort of magic that makes you wonder if life's just one big fairy tale."

As Remus regaled them with tales of adventure and magic, Harry and Susan hung on every word, their imaginations running wild with visions of their own cloak-fueled escapades.

Meanwhile, Drakor, Harry's Klyntar Symbiote Dragon, lounged comfortably in Harry's mind, his thoughts a swirling mix of mischief and affection. Oh, this is rich, Drakor mused, listening to Remus spin his yarns like he's auditioning for the role of Most Dramatic Storyteller in a magical soap opera. And here I am, stuck in Harry's head, trying to keep my cool while he's got the attention span of a dragonfly on a sugar high.

Drakor's mental voice was a playful hum in Harry's thoughts. Hey, kiddo, think we should do a little digging into the Potter Family tree? Gringotts probably has some juicy info about this cloak. I bet there's a plot twist in there somewhere that could rival any of those epic tales Remus is spinning.

Harry's eyes lit up with the kind of excitement that usually means trouble—or a great idea. "That's a brilliant idea, Drakor!" he said aloud, not realizing he was mentally communicating with his dragon buddy.

Susan's eyes sparkled as she agreed. "Yeah, let's check out Gringotts! It's worth a shot."

Remus, still caught up in his storytelling, missed the mental exchange. "Gringotts it is then," he said, clearly pleased with their enthusiasm.

As they set off toward Gringotts, Drakor's thoughts were a mix of playful banter and serious intent. Time for some action! I bet this trip will uncover secrets that'll make everyone's jaws drop. Plus, it'll give me a chance to flex my dragon wings—metaphorically speaking, of course. We're going to make sure this cloak's history is as epic as the stories Remus is telling!

With their minds set on unraveling the mystery of the Invisibility Cloak, Harry, Susan, and Remus headed for Gringotts. Their hearts were full of excitement, anticipation, and just a touch of Drakor's playful mischief.

—

Diagon Alley was buzzing like a swarm of magical bees. Wizards and witches darted around, casting spells, bartering for potion ingredients, and just generally being chaotic. Harry, Remus, and Susan made their way through the crowd, headed for Gringotts—aka the "super ominous giant bank with more goblins than you could shake a wand at." Harry couldn't help but wonder if anyone had ever made it out of there with all their limbs intact.

Hey, don't worry about it, Drakor chimed in, his voice slithering into Harry's mind like a mischievous whisper. If things go south, I'll just... eat the goblins.

Harry mentally facepalmed. We're not eating any goblins, Drakor.

Okay, fine, Drakor huffed. But you never let me have any fun.

As they approached the grand entrance, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the massive white building. Gringotts always seemed to loom, like it was waiting for a dramatic entrance or maybe just to swallow you whole. The goblin guard gave them a suspicious side-eye—classic goblin move—but Remus handled it like a pro, speaking in that calm, collected way he had.

"We're here to ask about the Potter family tree," Remus said, totally polite. "We believe it might hold some clues regarding a family heirloom."

The goblin grunted (because, of course, he did) but waved them inside, leading them through the winding corridors of the bank. Harry had to resist the urge to comment on the extreme dungeon vibes happening in Gringotts. It was like they went for "oppressive and intimidating" as a design aesthetic.

Seriously, this place could use a makeover, Drakor added. Maybe some lava pits, a few more skulls for decoration. Go big or go home, right?

No skulls. Just… let's focus, Harry thought, pushing down a laugh.

After what felt like walking through the labyrinth from that old David Bowie movie (Harry would never admit he watched it like, ten times), they arrived in a quiet room filled with ancient scrolls and books. The goblin guard motioned for them to sit and vanished.

Susan, ever the curious one, peered around at all the magical knick-knacks. "So, how long do you think this'll take?"

Remus shrugged, settling into one of the chairs. "With goblins, it's hard to say. Could be five minutes, could be five days."

Great, just enough time for me to start designing your new Gringotts look, Drakor joked, though there was a playful edge to his voice that told Harry he was half-serious.

Moments later, the door creaked open, and in strolled an ancient-looking goblin who could probably compete with Dumbledore in the "Most Likely to Know Weird Secrets" category. He introduced himself as Sharptooth (because, of course, his name was Sharptooth), and Harry had to mentally slap Drakor before he made a Sharpedo Pokémon joke.

"We're looking into the Potter family tree," Remus explained, "and hoping to find more information about an old family heirloom."

Sharptooth didn't blink. "The Potter family tree. Yes, that will take some time."

Harry shifted in his chair, nervous but curious. You think this is going to get weird?

Oh, it's definitely going to get weird, Drakor assured him. But hey, when does anything in your life not get weird?

Fair point.

Sharptooth eventually returned with a scroll that looked like it had been through several magical apocalypses. He carefully unrolled it across the table, revealing what was unmistakably the Potter family tree. The thing was massive. Names upon names, branching out in all directions. Remus and Susan leaned in, studying the intricate lines and connections.

"Look here," Remus said, tapping a name with his finger. "Hardwin Potter married Iolanthe Peverell."

Harry blinked. "Wait. Who?"

Susan gasped, like she'd just realized Harry didn't know who Beyoncé was. "The Peverells are tied to the Deathly Hallows!"

Harry frowned. "Uh, the what Hallows?"

Remus gave him a look that could only be described as the "I can't believe I forgot to explain this incredibly important thing" face. "The Deathly Hallows are three powerful magical objects," he said. "There's the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and—wait for it—the Invisibility Cloak."

Harry's eyes shot down to the cloak in his hands. Wait, you're telling me this old rag is one of the most legendary magical items ever?

Yup, Drakor chimed in. You've basically been wearing the wizarding equivalent of Excalibur as a bathrobe.

"Well," Remus continued, clearly enjoying Harry's flabbergasted expression, "if your ancestor married into the Peverell family, that means your Invisibility Cloak may very well be the one from the legend."

Harry stared at the cloak, feeling like he'd just discovered he was holding Thor's hammer or something. "So… this cloak could belong to Death?"

Susan nodded. "Exactly! You're connected to one of the most legendary magical families in existence. No pressure."

Harry felt a massive weight settle on his shoulders. He looked at the cloak with a mixture of awe and anxiety. So, great. No big deal, just holding a death-relic cloak passed down from my super-important wizard ancestors.

Drakor snickered. Better than a hand-me-down sweater from the Dursleys, am I right?

"Alright," Harry said, determined to keep it together. "What now?"

Remus smiled, clearly proud of how Harry was handling things. "Now, you carry this knowledge with you. The cloak isn't just a magical tool—it's part of your family's legacy. One that stretches back centuries."

Harry looked back at the tree. His eyes followed the names, the connections, the history all the way back to the Peverells. This wasn't just a cool cloak anymore—it was his link to something bigger, something ancient. Something powerful.

And don't forget, Drakor added, you've got me. Way cooler than any Hallow.

Harry grinned. You're right. They don't even know what they're missing.

As they left Gringotts, Harry felt a strange sense of calm mixed with excitement. Sure, being tied to the Deathly Hallows was a big deal, but with Remus, Susan, and even Drakor by his side, he felt ready for whatever came next.

After all, when had his life ever been normal?

---

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