Date: Sunday, January 5th, 1986
Time: 10:30 AM
Location: Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom
Concurrent Location: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England
The sun had fully risen over London by the time the brass-knobbed doors of the Royal Communications Office at Buckingham Palace opened, revealing a press briefing room unlike any seen since the days of wartime address. Dark wooden paneling framed the room, adorned with the insignia of the Royal Household. Rows of reporters filled the chamber, many of them hastily recalled from rest, their voices hushed, pens still, cameras prepped but unmanned.
It was not just the journalists who sensed that something extraordinary had taken place...it was the sudden declaration of a royal press blackout that had first signaled the scale of it. And now, the blackout was being lifted… with conditions.
Sir Geoffrey Wren, the Queen's Royal Secretary, stepped up to the lectern with crisp composure, dressed immaculately in a charcoal morning suit, tie fixed with a silver pin bearing the House of Windsor's crest. He was flanked by two senior members of the Metropolitan Police, one from Special Branch and the other from SO14 Royalty Protection, and a military liaison from Task Force Orion, still in full field dress.
The room went dead silent as the clock struck 10:30. Sir Geoffrey adjusted his notes but did not read from them. Instead, he lifted his gaze directly to the room.
"This morning," he began, "Her Majesty the Queen wishes to inform the people of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth of a matter of the most personal and national importance. In the early hours of January 5th, during a scheduled operation conducted jointly by Surrey Police and elements of the British Army, where four individuals were taken into custody at Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Those individuals have been identified as Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley nee Evens, Marjorie Dursley, and Dudley Dursley."
The murmurs began instantly, but Sir Geoffrey raised his hand, silencing them with a look.
"During the course of the operation, which initially targeted suspected illegal narcotics activity and unlawful animal abuse, law enforcement personnel discovered a five-year-old child in a locked cupboard beneath the staircase of the house. The child was identified shortly thereafter as Harry James Potter...the biological grandson of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, and the son of the late Lily Rose Evans-Potter, Her Majesty's daughter by blood, and of the royal household prior to her marriage."
At that, the room became entirely still. Some reporters went visibly pale. Others dropped their pens in stunned silence. The presence of Royal Blood had not been rumored, leaked, or even whispered prior to this hour.
"The child was found with visible signs of physical trauma, including broken bones, untreated lacerations, and symptoms consistent with long-term neglect and abuse. Immediate medical intervention was administered by military medics on site, and the child was evacuated while on route to a normal hospital that the name was found out and then under royal protection the hospital and route was to St Mary's Hospital in London, where he remains in recovery."
Sir Geoffrey paused. The emotion in his voice was measured but present.
"Her Majesty was present during his awakening and has confirmed beyond any doubt that the child is her grandson. Harry is stable, safe, and surrounded by those who love him. No further details regarding his long-term care will be provided at this time. The Crown's priority is the boy's full recovery and restoration to a life of dignity, safety, and peace."
One hand from the press pool rose tentatively. Sir Geoffrey acknowledged it. "Is the Royal Family prepared to comment on why the child was placed with the Dursleys at all? Was there no system in place to protect him after his parents died?"
Sir Geoffrey's voice tightened. "The Queen herself was led to believe, as were certain others in the government, that the child had died alongside his parents during the attack on the family's private estate in Godric's Hollow. No official inquiry into the child's welfare was opened because there was, tragically, no belief that the child had survived. We now understand this to be a grievous misjudgment, and steps are already underway to determine how this information was withheld and by whom."
Another hand rose. "What charges are the Dursleys facing?" The senior officer from the Special Branch, Commander Robert Allerton, stepped forward. "The charges currently filed include, but are not limited to: child abuse, unlawful imprisonment, grievous bodily harm against a minor, obstruction of justice, and participation in a narcotics and illegal animal fighting ring. The four individuals are currently being held under maximum security at a secure facility in London while evidence is compiled. Due to the nature of the charges and the status of the victim, bail has been denied and the request of the Queen never to be given."
Sir Geoffrey stepped forward again. "In accordance with Her Majesty's wishes, the Palace will not comment at this time on any unverified rumors, including conspiracy theories surrounding the child's heritage beyond the facts stated. No mention will be made of the more unusual circumstances surrounding his rescue. The Queen wishes this moment to remain grounded in truth, dignity, and above all, privacy for her grandson."
At that, Geoffrey folded his hands and nodded once. "This is a day of sorrow, but also of hope. A child once thought lost has been found. And as of this hour, the Crown stands united in ensuring his protection." And with that, he stepped down, the air left behind charged with a strange blend of reverence and stunned awe.
Concurrent Location: 4 Privet Drive, Surrey
Time: 10:31 AM
Inside what had once been the meticulously kept home of Vernon Dursley, crime scene tape now fluttered in the breeze, fluttering alongside a Union Jack hastily hoisted above the mobile command post out front.
A convoy of dark vans marked Metropolitan Police and Army Special Investigation Branch lined the street in front of a House. Dozens of investigators in gray and green swept through every room. Bagged evidence was already being loaded into crates: boxes of syringes, stacks of unmarked bills, and folders full of surveillance photographs. Dog kennels, chains, and bloody cages had been excavated from the garden shed. The smell lingered, even with the windows wide open. But most chilling of all was the cupboard where the lost prince was kept.
The tiny space beneath the stairs, no wider than a broom closet, had been marked, photographed, and measured. The mattress was a flattened piece of foam stained by time and suffering. Small scribbles on the wall...most likely Harry's...marked the height of someone growing up in the dark.
A quiet fell over the room as a young constable stood there, knuckles white around the edges of his clipboard. "I... I can't believe this," he whispered. "A prince. In this place." The supervising officer placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"Not just any prince, lad," he said quietly. "He's our prince. And now he's going home with his true family." The world had not yet heard of the Bands of Eternity, nor the Soulstone that pulsed beneath Harry's blanket. The public would never know the names Elana, Hermione, Fleur, Dora, Susan, or Gabrielle...not yet. Their place remained sacred and secret, hidden behind the veil of duty, magic, and blood.
But the world would know this: Harry James Potter has lived and was alive. And with the power of the Crown behind him, He would never be hidden again.
Time: 02:14 PM
Location: St Mary's Hospital, Royal Quarters, London, United Kingdom
The room was quieter now, its tempo changed from urgency to gentle rhythm. The machines no longer beeped in frantic warning; the medical staff had eased into their silent routine, drifting in and out as needed with the quiet reverence one afforded sacred places. For the first time since his rescue, the royal suite felt like a place of healing...not just of the body, but of the soul.
Harry James Potter, seated upright in his hospital bed with pillows propping him up, stared down at the smooth white bandages wrapped around his legs. The medical scans...done using a mix of standard X-ray and experimental enchanted imaging devices smuggled quietly into the hospital under the Queen's direct authority...had shown what the attending physicians could barely believe…and that is both of Harry's legs had healed incorrectly over the years, the bones twisted and fused out of alignment for years.
Dr. Marsden had said it softly that morning, not out of detachment, but heartbreak. "We have to re-break them. To give him a future, we must first undo the pain he was forced to survive at the cost of more pain but it needs to be done." And so they had.
Now his legs were splinted, healing correctly at last, but Harry was left unable to walk. The Queen had ordered a handcrafted wheelchair made in one day's time...fitted to his size, his comfort. But at this hour, it stood unused in the corner, Harry was not alone.
The six girls who shared his soul now sat in a crescent around his bed. Some on chairs, some on the edge of the mattress, one curled close at his side. Each wore her Band of Eternity upon her left wrist, the golden bands inscribed in Ancient Veela script, with names that now shimmered softly like breath on cold glass: Harry James Potter, Elana Hogwarts, Hermione Jean Granger, Fleur Isabelle Delacour, Nymphadora Tonks, Susan Bones, Gabrielle Delacour.
Elana sat in a chair nearest his pillow, regal yet kind, her pale hand resting near his shoulder. She was older than time, and yet when Harry looked at her, he didn't see age. He saw home. "I still don't understand why I feel so warm when you're near," he murmured, his voice a soft rasp...tired, but curious. Elana's voice carried the weight of knowing and the gentleness of a lullaby. "Because I am part of your bond, Harry. When your soul cried out, mine answered. You were never truly alone."
Hermione, seated to his right with a book balanced on her lap and a hand resting on his arm, smiled warmly. "We were always with you...even when you didn't know us yet. I used to feel you when I'd wake up scared. Like someone needed me."
"I did," Harry whispered, his green eyes meeting hers. "I remember hearing your voice in the cupboard sometimes. You told me stories when the dark got too big." with a smile she said "I remember,", her voice thick with emotion. "You always listened."
Fleur, ever radiant even in the modest hospital light, leaned forward from the chair near the end of the bed, her Veela aura soft and protective. "You are stronger than you know, mon cœur. You should not have had to survive that way. But you did. And now we are here to carry you through the rest."
Harry frowned slightly and looked down at his splinted legs. "I want to run with you," he said quietly. "But I can't even stand." Dora, lounging against the windowsill with her legs crossed and her hair shifting from black to strawberry pink, spoke with an affectionate smirk. "Well, I can trip over my own shadow, so you're in good company, cub."
Susan, ever steady, reached for his hand and gave it a light squeeze. "And when you're ready, we'll help you learn to walk the right way. On paths that aren't cruel." Harry looked at each of them, the weight of their eyes, their touch, their presence grounding him in a way he couldn't explain...not yet. Then he turned to Gabrielle, curled up at his side like a little sunbeam with wild golden curls and silver eyes filled with something far older than five years. "You... you didn't say much yet," Harry said gently. "But I remember you were always there when I cried." Gabrielle nodded solemnly, and when she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. "I still hear you when you hurt. Even now."
Harry's hand reached over and found hers. "I don't want to hurt anymore. Not ever again." Gabrielle nodded, scooting a bit closer, her band gleaming faintly in the quiet. "You won't. We're bound. That means I'll feel your pain... and you'll feel my love." Harry's chest quivered, and his fingers clutched her hand tightly. "I don't know what I did to deserve you all."
"You survived," Elana said, brushing his hair from his brow. "That was enough. You chose to live, even in the darkness. That choice pulled us to you." He looked around, voice barely above a breath. "Are... are there more of you?" Elana smiled gently, her tone reverent. "Yes. You are bonded to twenty, Harry. Some are still to awaken. But they will find you, as we did." Harry swallowed. "Will I be strong enough for them? For all of you?" Fleur leaned forward again and cupped his cheek. "You are already strong enough. You only need time to see it."
There was silence for a long moment as Harry's eyes traced the Soulstone that hung against his chest, nestled under the light hospital gown. It was warm. It always was. Even through the fabric. "It hums when you're all close," he murmured. "It's like... like a heart that isn't mine, but belongs to me." Hermione blinked away tears and nodded. "That's our bond, Harry. That's all of us. With you." His voice cracked then, just once. "Please... don't ever leave me."
And without hesitation, six voices answered in unison, as though bound by magic, blood, and truth. "We will Never Ever Leave You." Harry closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to feel. And for the first time in his life, he felt more than pain, more than fear. He felt love. He felt them, and he felt whole as one.
Time: 05:02 PM
Location: St Mary's Hospital, Royal Consultation Room, London, United Kingdom
The quiet grandeur of the hospital's royal wing held a stillness that few dared disturb. The late afternoon sun cast long golden bars of light through the tall windows, illuminating the polished floor and fine woodwork with a calm, almost reverent glow. Just beyond the doors to the room where Harry now rested peacefully, his soul-bound companions close by, another chamber had been prepared...private, silent, and solemn.
Inside, Queen Elizabeth II sat at the head of a long table, though she has forgone the formality of thrones or state regalia. Her tailored grey suit, subtle pearl earrings, and composed posture still radiated the quiet strength of the Crown, but in this room, she was not only monarch...she was grandmother. She had summoned the six bonded girls and their leader to speak not as the sovereign, but as the guardian of a child who had suffered too long and deserved something greater than the cold sterility of hospital walls.
Elana Hogwarts entered first, timeless and commanding, her long blue and silver robes flowing like mist across the marble. Following behind her in solemn procession came the five others...Hermione Jean Granger, Fleur Isabelle Delacour, Nymphadora "Dora" Tonks, Susan Bones, and the youngest, Gabrielle Delacour. Each bore the Band of Eternity upon her left wrist, the golden bands gleaming in the soft light, names inscribed in Ancient Veela script, united by one above all: Harry James Potter.
As the Queen stood, the room shifted. Not with magic, but something equally powerful...recognition. These girls, despite their age, despite the mystery that bound them, were not ordinary children. They were protectors of her grandson. And perhaps, in time, something even greater.
"I thank you all for coming," the Queen said softly, her eyes gentle but serious. "Please. Sit."
The girls moved respectfully to the set of chairs prepared, Elana seated nearest to Elizabeth, while Fleur sat beside her younger sister Gabrielle, instinctively protective. Hermione folded her hands carefully, her knuckles pale. Dora slouched slightly in her seat but watched the Queen with perceptive eyes. Susan sat like stone...composed and calm.
Elizabeth looked to Elana first. "I would speak plainly, Lady Hogwarts," she said. "Harry is safe here...for now. But a hospital, even a royal one, is no place for a child to heal long-term. Especially not one who needs...not just care, but warmth of that of Family." Elana inclined her head, her voice deep and melodic. "I agree with every bit of it . He needs more than medicine. He needs peace. Roots. Safety."
The Queen's expression turned thoughtful. "There is a suite in Buckingham Palace. Originally intended for Charles's youngest, had he chosen to have more children. It has remained unused, preserved in design and spirit. It has a private garden. High security. Separate wings for companions or staff. I'd like to offer it...to him…To Harry…As his home."
She paused, her voice deepening with emotion. "I would also offer residence to all of you," she said, glancing at each of the girls with quiet reverence. "Separate quarters at first, appropriate and tailored to your needs. But close. Safe. Connected. So that he is never without your presence. I want your thoughts. Truly."
Elana placed her palm on the table, her golden band pulsing softly with warm light. "I trust you," she said without hesitation. "And your blood runs through his veins. The bond recognizes kinship in you. The Soulstone pulses when you enter the room."
Elizabeth nodded, her voice a thread of hope. "Then may I give him what his parents never could? A home with both our worlds watching over him?" Hermione was the first to speak next. Her voice trembled at first but found strength with each word. "I think he'd like that. He needs sunlight. Real food. A library. Blankets that don't smell like dust. But more than that...he needs to feel wanted. A room built for him, not like one he was stuffed into for god and magic knows how long."
Fleur nodded. "He will sleep better surrounded by love than stone walls. I know this in my Veela heart. We will keep him safe, but so must the land around him. A palace is not a prison, if it is filled with people who love him."
Gabrielle said nothing. She simply nodded and leaned her head against Fleur's shoulder, clutching her own wrist where the band pulsed with a rhythm that matched Harry's breath. Dora leaned forward. "As long as I don't have to curtsy every day, I'm in." That drew a faint smile from the Queen. Susan spoke last, her words quiet and certain. "If this is the place where he will find peace… then we'll follow him there. It's not the walls. It's the intent that matters."
Elizabeth felt the tears at the corners of her eyes, though none fell. "Then I will begin the preparations immediately. The room will be named not just for Harry, but for the family that now surrounds him. You are not his guests. You are his bound. You are welcome in our House."
Elana placed her hand over her heart. "We accept. And we shall protect him as fiercely as the Crown." The Queen stood, and slowly, the girls followed. She met each of their eyes, not as a monarch, but as a matriarch. "Then let us give the world a message: the boy who lived shall not be forgotten, or pitied, or used. He shall rise...and he shall be loved."
The Bands of Eternity shimmered in golden light. The Soulstone pulsed softly through the door behind them, where Harry still rested. And the first true home of the Soul-Bound Heir began to open its gates.
Time: 04:45 PM
Location: From St Mary's Hospital to Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom
The air over London carried a peculiar kind of stillness, as if the very city had paused to listen. An icy breeze swept through the streets, fluttering Union Jack flags hanging from lampposts and balconies. Church bells chimed the quarter-hour, and through radios, television sets, and the whispered buzz on pavements, a single name moved like a current: Harry James Potter.
The nation had not been told the whole truth, but they had been told enough: the grandson of the Queen had been found alive...rescued from cruelty and confinement. And today, under the early winter twilight, he would be transported to Buckingham Palace, not as a symbol, not as a secret, but as a child reclaimed.
The armored Rolls-Royce Silver Spur Limousine, retrofitted by Royal engineers with a compact medical bed and fold-out monitoring equipment, waited just outside the private entrance to St Mary's Hospital. The deep navy paint gleamed, polished to perfection, the royal standard already fluttering above the rear door. Beside it, a convoy of four military Land Rovers, two unmarked MI5 vehicles, and a Metropolitan Police motorcycle escort were arranged in precision. Officers in dress uniform and Military Police in olive-drab battle dress stood to attention along the perimeter, radios clipped to their chest rigs, Sterling submachine guns and Enfield L85A1 rifles slung discreetly.
Inside the hospital, just beyond the press barricades and double glass doors, Queen Elizabeth II stood silently at the foot of Harry's hospital bed. The boy lay still, drowsy from his latest round of healing salves and potions, his legs still bound in splints beneath the soft weight of a handmade tartan blanket. The Soulstone beneath his chest pulsed gently...its warmth a constant comfort to him now, hidden from view beneath his white shirt.
The six girls of his soul-bound sat close, clustered like stars around a small sun. Hermione, ever vigilant, gently adjusted his pillow and smoothed his hair with maternal care she didn't yet fully understand. Fleur watched the door, her protective instincts alive with Veela fire just beneath the surface. Dora shifted beside the wheelchair with her arms crossed, hair shifting subtly from black to navy. Susan murmured softly to Gabrielle, who clutched Harry's hand even as his eyes began to flutter open.
"I'm awake," Harry rasped, smiling up at them, his voice still soft but steadier than it had been before. "Is it time?" Elana nodded from where she stood near the foot of the bed, her presence as graceful and still as a painted figure of myth. "Yes, little one. It is time to go home."
Harry's gaze turned slowly to the Queen, whose eyes shone not with ceremony, but with the tempered love of someone who had already lost too much. "Will there be windows?" he asked. "Can I see the sky?" "Yes, darling," she said, her voice thick with restrained emotion. "And gardens. And books. And rooms full of warmth. All of it is waiting for you."
Nurses moved with practiced grace as the transfer began. Harry was lifted gently into a custom-fitted mobility cradle, positioned on a cushioned frame inside the limousine. Fleur and Hermione climbed in first, sitting on either side of him. Dora took the forward-facing bench, Susan beside her. Gabrielle, small enough to squeeze next to Harry's side, clutched his hand and refused to let go.
Elana entered last, eyes sweeping the sky as though to divine the winds. "The Soulstone is calm. The road will be clear." Outside, the streets of London had transformed. Crowds stood silently behind barricades and velvet ropes, clutching scarves and Union flags. Television cameras rotated slowly on tripods, broadcast vans humming softly from their generators. In upper-floor windows, elderly men in cardigans and children in pajamas watched from behind glass. Some waved…Some prayed…but every single one of them in England watched.
As the Queen exited the hospital with the soul-bound in tow, the quiet gave way to a gentle ripple of awe. The Sovereign was not being driven alone, nor as a ruler...but as a grandmother beside the future.
The limousine door shut with a soft click, and the motorcade began to roll. The journey from St Mary's Hospital to Buckingham Palace lasted only twenty-four minutes, but it was carried on every major news channel across the country. A BBC reporter narrated over grainy black-and-white footage from a helicopter camera, his voice filled with restrained emotion.
"...the vehicle you see below us is the customized Rolls-Royce belonging to the Crown, carrying the Queen, her grandson, and six companions believed to be part of his personal care group. Sources within the Royal Household confirm that this residence within Buckingham Palace will serve as the boy's long-term convalescence site..."
Far beneath the world of the cameras and broadcast vans, hidden among the crowds, stood a man with a tattered green robe and thick round glasses. He held a gold-plated Omniocular, peering intently at the car's occupants. Behind him, two other robed figures exchanged hushed words in rapid-fire whispers. "It's him," the elder of the two muttered. "Oh Merlin, help us…The boy's alive."
Inside the limousine, Harry lay against the cushions, Gabrielle curled beside him, her tiny hand wrapped around his. The low purr of the engine and the sway of the car lulled him, but his thoughts were not foggy...they were filled with light. "I never thought I'd leave that cupboard," he said softly. "But now… it feels like a dream." "It's not a dream," Hermione whispered. "It's real. We're real."
"I feel you," Harry said, turning his head gently to glance at each of them. "Even when I close my eyes. I feel your hearts... and your love." Elana, her hands folded in her lap, spoke as the motorcade turned onto Constitution Hill. "Soon you will walk again, Harry. But more than that...you will live." The car slowed as the Palace gates came into view, their gold and black iron swirling with royal crestwork. As the convoy entered, the gates shut behind them. The world outside remained. But Harry James Potter had come home.
Time: 05:42 PM
Location: Private East Wing, Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom
The Rolls-Royce Silver Spur limousine rolled to a gentle halt in the cobbled courtyard beneath the East Wing of Buckingham Palace, its engine purring softly as the Royal Standard flapped gently from the flagpole above. The last rays of the January sun kissed the palace façade in gold, casting long shadows across the stone walls that had stood for centuries. For generations, kings and queens had walked through these halls, but tonight, the heart of the monarchy was not a sovereign...it was a small boy with emerald green eyes, wrapped in tartan, and held in the arms of magic and destiny.
The Queen exited the vehicle first, flanked by her Royal Protection Officers. Her movements were brisk but dignified, her eyes fixed not on the crowd of attendants or the stately procession prepared for them, but on the rear door of the limousine as it opened under the careful hands of a palace aide. A royal footman stepped back with a respectful nod as Elana Hogwarts emerged first, her expression composed and noble, her posture straight as a spear. Following her was Hermione, who had helped reposition the soft blanket across Harry's lap, and then Fleur, who held a hand out for Gabrielle, lifting the smaller girl out with a protective arm.
Harry came next, lifted gently in his mobile cradle by two staff members, escorted on either side by Susan and Dora, who never let their eyes leave him. "I've never seen a place this big," Harry whispered, his head craning as he took in the towering walls, wide doors, and gilded archways overhead. "Is this... really all part of the house?" The Queen smiled warmly as she approached, her voice touched with both pride and affection. "Yes, my darling. And you don't need to call it a house. This is your home now. One wing of this palace is yours...and those you love...completely and forever."
A private lift, installed discreetly years ago for Her Majesty's aging mother, waited behind polished doors to carry them to the newly prepared suite. As it rose, Harry nestled deeper into his blanket, eyes wide. "I don't feel scared," he said quietly. "I thought I would." "That's because we're with you," Hermione said softly, holding his hand. "This place feels right."
When the lift opened, the corridor beyond was unlike the formal galleries of the main Palace. Here, warmth took precedence over grandeur. The walls were painted in gentle pastels...soft blues and muted greens...with a series of windows overlooking a private walled garden filled with winter roses and evergreens. The halls smelled not of wax polish or old stone, but of fresh linen, lavender, and a faint, unmistakable pulse of ancient magic.
The doors to Harry's personal suite opened with a whisper. The room beyond was not what anyone would have expected from a royal palace. It was gentle. Thoughtfully designed. A perfect balance between the wonder of childhood and the comfort of healing. The walls were painted a soft sky blue, with a white ceiling scattered in hand-painted gold stars. Along one side of the room stood a tall arched window with gauzy curtains that fluttered gently in the heated air. Across from it, a wide four-poster bed with a carved headboard of lions and griffins stood proudly, dressed in rich tartan and soft ivory sheets.
Two smaller beds, one on either side of Harry's, had been prepared as well...places for soul-bound sisters who might wish to sleep nearby. In the corner of the room was a sitting area with plush chairs and an elegant bookshelf already filled with children's tales, both Muggle and magical. A wardrobe made of deep oak stood near the wall, and a smaller table near the bed held a softly glowing crystal orb...a magical night light enchanted to pulse in time with Harry's heartbeat.
His voice trembled with disbelief. "This is... for me?" The Queen stepped forward, laying her hand gently on his shoulder. "It was built for you the moment we knew you were coming. Everything was chosen with love. From the colors on the walls, to the books on the shelf, to the soundproofed hallways that will let you sleep without worry. No more slamming doors. No more yelling. Only peace."
Elana walked slowly into the room, her eyes trailing across every detail with quiet approval. "It is worthy," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "It hums with magic...but only that which comforts." Gabrielle was already curled up in the soft window seat, cradling a pillow and peeking out the window. "It smells like flowers, cake, and safety."
Fleur stepped over to the bed and ran her fingers along the intricate carving on the headboard. "This wood is Veela-made," she said with quiet awe. "It will warm when he is upset and cool when he is calm." Dora, hands on her hips, grinned. "There's a loo through there with a tub the size of a pond. He's going to love it." Susan walked to the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers gently along the soft comforter. "And the floor doesn't creak. He'll never flinch again from footsteps."
Harry's hand moved instinctively to his chest, where the Soulstone...the magical heart-shaped yellow diamond representing the bond...rested just beneath his shirt, warm as ever against his skin. "It feels like it's glowing brighter now," he whispered. Hermione nodded, smiling. "That's because it's happy. It knows we're home."
The Queen stepped back, her voice quiet now. "This wing belongs to you and your bonded. No one enters without your leave. Your protectors will rotate discreetly. Your tutors will arrive in time. But for now...just rest. Just be. I will see to the world."
Harry looked around once more, eyes wide as saucers, and then turned to Elana. "I'm not dreaming, am I?" Elana walked forward, knelt beside his cradle, and pressed her hand to his chest. "No, Harry," she said with soft power. "You are awake...and this is the beginning of your new life."
And as Harry was gently lifted from the cradle into the warmth of his own bed, Gabrielle crawled onto the mattress beside him, curling close like a kitten. The other girls moved into their places, forming a protective circle...not of duty, but of devotion.
The Soulstone pulsed in soft rhythm. The Bands of Eternity glowed faintly across six wrists. The light of the setting sun spilled across the walls. And for the first time, Harry slept in a room made for him. Not as a prisoner, nor as a burden, but as the soul-bound heir he was always meant to be.