The moment Chris stepped through the manor's threshold, he shed his traveling cloak and called for Jilly. His trunk could wait; the potion could not. Within seconds, the house-elf appeared with a soft pop, her eyes gleaming with understanding before Chris could even voice his request. Weeks of careful brewing had brought the Malediction's Bane to its most critical stage, and though he trusted Jilly implicitly, some aspects of the potion required his personal touch.
"Master is home," Jilly said, giving a small bow. "The potion awaits your inspection. Jilly has maintained the brewing schedule precisely as instructed."
"Take me to it," Chris replied, already moving toward the central staircase. "Has there been any unexpected colour shift or fluctuations?"
"None, Master. The shimmer remains consistent, and the magical is stable." Jilly's voice carried a note of pride as she led him not up the stairs, but toward the eastern wing of the manor. "Jilly thought it best to utilise the Requirement Room for the potion. The ambient magic provides ideal stability."
Unlike Hogwarts' Room of Requirement, which had been created based on Merlin's one, the Ambrosia version was far older, designed and built by Merlin himself. While Hogwarts' room adapted to the immediate needs of its users, the Ambrosia variant retained configurations for longer periods, perfect for complex magical processes requiring consistent conditions.
Jilly stopped before an ornate door that hadn't been visible moments before. The dark wood gleamed with inlaid silver runes of containment and purification, ancient symbols shifting slightly as if alive. Chris pressed his palm against the center panel, and the door swung inward silently.
The space beyond had transformed into the most sophisticated potions laboratory Chris had ever seen. Gleaming silver workbenches lined the walls, their surfaces unmarred by the typical cauldron burns or ingredient stains of conventional brewing stations. Crystal vials in graduated sizes stood in perfect rows, each filled with rare substances glowing with inherent magic.
But the centrepiece commanded immediate attention: a single golden cauldron hovering six inches above a controlled blue flame that burned without fuel. The potion within pulsed with its own light, a shimmering liquid that existed somewhere between silver and blue, occasionally rippling with threads of pure white energy that formed intricate patterns before dissolving back into the whole.
Chris approached it reverently, feeling the magic emanating from the brew in gentle waves. He circled the cauldron once, observing from every angle before leaning closer to inhale the vapor. The scent was complex, the sharp tang of phoenix tears, the earthy depth of unicorn horn, and beneath it all, the subtler notes of midnight-blooming asphodel.
"Perfect viscosity," he murmured, more to himself than to Jilly. "The opalescence indicates the phoenix tears have fully integrated with the base solution."
"The final addition of unicorn horn powder began three days ago," Jilly explained, gesturing to a delicate silver funnel suspended above the cauldron. "One gram every eight hours, as specified. Two doses remain before completion."
Chris nodded, drawing his wand. With careful precision, he cast a diagnostic charm above the surface of the potion. Glowing numbers and runic symbols appeared in the air, displaying the brew's magical properties, its resonance frequency, and stability metrics. He studied them intently, comparing the results to the mental calculations he'd been refining on the journey home.
"The curse signature recognition needs strengthening," he decided, rolling up his sleeve. "I'll need to add more of Astoria's blood."
Jilly moved efficiently to a nearby shelf, retrieving a crystal vial with an ornate silver lid containing the remainder of Astoria's blood.
Chris nodded, accepting the vial. "Three drops only, at the exact center of the surface."
Holding the vial above the cauldron, he allowed exactly three drops to fall into the shimmering liquid, each landing with perfect precision at the center point. The potion responded immediately, pulsing with increased luminosity as ripples spread outward from the point of contact.
Chris closed his eyes, concentrating on Astoria's magical signature, which he had memorised during their study sessions together. He channelled that memory through his own magic, directing it down into the potion, creating a bridge between the cure and its intended recipient. The brew began to swirl of its own accord, the threads of white energy growing more pronounced, weaving themselves into complex knots that resembled the structure of a blood malediction before unravelling again, a visual representation of how the potion would identify and sever the curse.
"Now the unicorn horn," he instructed, opening his eyes. "The final two doses must be added while the potion retains the memory of Astoria's signature."
Jilly adjusted the silver funnel, releasing precisely one gram of iridescent powder into the swirling mixture. The potion flashed briefly, absorbing the ingredient, its color deepening to a more intense silver-blue.
"The timing is perfect," Chris observed, watching the diagnostic runes shift and realign. "It will complete its maturation exactly twenty-four hours before we arrive at Greengrass Manor."
"And the stability will hold for transport?" Jilly asked, already preparing crystal vials with protective enchantments.
"Yes," Chris confirmed. "Once the final unicorn horn is added and the potion completes its last transformation, it will remain stable for up to seventy-two hours. More than enough time for the first dose, with the remaining two preserved under stasis charms for the follow-up treatments."
He moved to a workbench where three ornate vials waited, each crafted from crystal infused with stabilizing runes. "Three doses, as required by the protocol. The first to identify the curse and begin separation, the second to sever it completely, and the third to heal the magical core afterward."
Jilly nodded, her expression solemn. "Jilly has prepared everything as Master instructed. The potion will be ready for bottling on Christmas Eve morning."
Chris cast one more diagnostic charm, confirming the potion's progress. The shimmering liquid continued its gentle pulsing, now synchronized with what would be Astoria's heartbeat, had she been present. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned, the cure for an "incurable" curse nearly complete, ready to save a young girl whose life had barely begun.
"Excellent work, Jilly," he said quietly, genuine appreciation in his voice. "Your precision has been invaluable."
The house-elf straightened proudly. "Jilly is honored to assist. The young Miss Greengrass will be well again."
Chris watched the potion's hypnotic swirling, thinking of Astoria's bright eyes and eager questions, the shadow that had hung over her since birth soon to be lifted. "Yes," he agreed softly. "She will."
...
With the Malediction's Bane safely progressing under Jilly's watchful eye, Chris turned his attention to the other project he'd promised to research over the holiday. "Bouncy," he called, and within moments the energetic house-elf appeared, vibrating with eagerness to serve.
"Master Chrissy called for Bouncy!" the elf exclaimed, his large ears flapping with excitement. "What can Bouncy do for Master today? Bring tea? Fetch lunch? Clean the super-duper big chandelier?"
Chris smiled at the elf. "I need you to bring me the texts on Animagus transformations from the restricted section of the library. The ones in the locked cabinet with the silver bindings."
Bouncy's eyes widened to impossible proportions. "The shiny-shiny books from the special case? The ones that sometimes growl when touched?" Without waiting for confirmation, he disappeared with a crack, returning seconds later with a stack of books that seemed impossibly large for his small frame. "Bouncy brought them all! One tried to bite, but Bouncy was too quick-quick!"
"Thank you, Bouncy," Chris said, carefully taking the stack. "That will be all for now."
The house-elf bowed deeply before disappearing again, leaving Chris alone with the ancient tomes. He spread them across his desk, examining each cover with reverence. These weren't the standard texts available at Hogwarts or even in many pureblood households. The oldest, bound in silvery leather, bore the title "Metamorphosis of the Magical Self" in runes so old they predated modern wizarding language. Another, thinner volume was simply titled "Becoming Beast" in faded gold lettering, its pages edged in a substance that gleamed like crushed gemstones.
Chris opened the oldest text first, its pages releasing the odd scent of dried herbs and musty parchment. He began to read, carefully translating the archaic language in his mind as he absorbed the knowledge within. Hours passed as he took meticulous notes, cross-referencing information between the various sources, building a comprehensive understanding of the transformation that few modern wizards possessed.
By mid-afternoon, a clear picture had emerged. The texts described not one but three distinct paths to achieving the Animagus transformation, each with its own requirements, difficulties, and results. Chris leaned back in his chair, reviewing his notes with satisfaction.
"The Ritual," he murmured, tapping the first section of his notes. This method was the quickest but most basic approach. It involved a ceremonial circle drawn in silver powder, specific incantations performed at precisely midnight during a quarter moon, and the consumption of a relatively simple potion containing the essence of the animal most likely to match the wizard's inner nature. The entire process could be completed in a single night, but the resulting transformation had significant limitations. The animal form would be an ordinary representation of the species with little to no magical enhancement, and the wizard would retain less of their human consciousness while transformed, making the experience more instinctual than intellectual.
Chris turned to his notes on the second method: "The Potion." This was closer to the approach described in modern texts, though with crucial refinements lost to contemporary wizarding knowledge. It required carrying a mandrake leaf in the mouth for a full lunar cycle, collecting untainted dew under specific astrological conditions, and brewing a complex potion that had to be consumed during a lightning storm. The process took months rather than a single night, but resulted in a stronger connection between the human and animal aspects. The Animagus form produced would be a superior specimen of its species, and the wizard would retain their human thinking while transformed.
The third method, simply labelled "The Meditation" in his notes, was the most intriguing. Unlike the other approaches, it required no external potions or rituals. Instead, it demanded intense internal magical work, daily deep meditation focused on connecting with one's magical core and inner animal nature, continued over the course of a full year, or less if the person connects to their inner animal quicker. The practitioner would gradually forge a direct, conscious link with their animal aspect, ultimately achieving transformation through pure magical will rather than external catalysts. The results, according to the ancient texts, were remarkable: the Animagus form would manifest as a magical version of the animal, possessing enhanced abilities beyond its mundane counterparts. The wizard would retain full human consciousness while transformed, and with practice could even access some of the animal's innate magical abilities while in human form.
"Fascinating," Chris whispered, imagining the possibilities. The meditation path was clearly superior in results, but its difficulty and time requirements would make it challenging for teenagers with regular school demands. He considered each of his friends, trying to match them with the most suitable approach.
Hannah would likely prefer the ritual, straightforward, predictable, with clear steps to follow. Her practical nature would appreciate the structured process, and she might not mind the more basic result. Susan would probably gravitate toward the potion method, more complex but well-documented, offering a balance between effort and reward that suited her methodical personality. Hermione would be torn between the potion and meditation approaches, her academic perfectionism pushing her toward the superior results of meditation while her practical side recognized the time constraints of their school schedule. Daphne was harder to predict, her Slytherin ambition might drive her toward the superior method, but her pragmatism might recognise the value of the more efficient potion approach. But then again, perhaps they all will surprise him.
For himself, however, the choice was clear. The meditation path, with its focus on internal magical development and superior results, aligned perfectly with his goals. With his unique circumstances, an adult mind in a young body, previous life experience, and considerable magical knowledge, he could manage the demanding requirements better than his friends.
He gathered his notes into a neat stack, already planning how to present the options to the study group when they returned to Hogwarts. He would explain all three methods thoroughly, allowing each person to choose their own path based on their comfort level and abilities. He would support whatever decisions they made, providing guidance regardless of which approach they selected.
But in the privacy of his study, surrounded by the ancient wisdom of his ancestors, Chris made his own choice. He would walk the path of meditation, the challenging journey toward the deepest form of magical transformation. Not because it was the most powerful, though it was, but because it represented the truest expression of what magic should be: an internal journey of discovery and growth, rather than merely the application of external forces.
He closed the ancient books carefully, his mind already beginning the first steps of the meditative process, reaching inward toward the core of his magic where his animal self waited to be discovered.
...
The Bones family Floo connection flared emerald green as Chris stepped through, brushing a light dusting of ash from his formal robes. Bones Manor's drawing room greeted him with warmth both literal and figurative, a cheerful fire crackling in a massive stone hearth, illuminating a space that balanced elegance with comfort. Overstuffed armchairs upholstered in deep burgundy surrounded a polished oak table, where a silver tea service gleamed in the firelight. Susan rose immediately from her seat, her face brightening at his arrival, while her aunt Amelia, the formidable Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, set aside a stack of parchments and offered a welcoming smile.
"Right on time, Mr Emrys," Amelia noted with approval, her monocle catching the light as she inclined her head. "Punctuality is a virtue too often overlooked in wizards these days."
"Chris, please," he reminded her gently, extending a wrapped package tucked under his arm. "And I wouldn't dream of being late for Bones Manor's famous afternoon tea."
Susan stepped forward to take his coat, her movements carrying a hint of nervousness that hadn't been present at school. Here, in her family home, with her formidable aunt present, their dynamic shifted slightly, not uncomfortably, but noticeably.
"We've got all your favourites," she said, gesturing toward the table where the tea service sat surrounded by a selection of seasonal treats. "Cinnamon-spiced scones, cranberry tarts, and both chamomile and Earl Grey."
Chris settled into the offered armchair, taking in the tasteful holiday decorations that adorned the drawing room. Evergreen boughs wound with subtle enchanted ribbons that shimmered like freshly fallen snow lined the mantelpiece, while a modest Christmas tree stood in the corner, its ornaments family heirlooms rather than gaudy baubles.
Amelia poured the tea with practiced precision, the stream of amber liquid arcing perfectly into bone china cups edged with the Bones family crest. "Milk? Sugar?" she inquired, every bit the proper hostess despite the intensity that never quite left her eyes.
"Just a splash of milk, thank you," Chris replied, accepting the cup. "How has the Ministry been? Quiet, I hope, with the holidays approaching?"
Amelia's lips twitched in a restrained smile. "The Ministry is never truly quiet, though the nature of the chaos shifts seasonally." She selected a scone, breaking it neatly in half. "December brings a particular brand of magical mischief, enchanted mistletoe gone rogue, Christmas crackers with excessive enthusiasm, the occasional cursed gift sent to settle old scores under the guise of holiday spirit."
"Aunt Amelia uncovered a smuggling ring last week," Susan interjected, pride evident in her voice. "They were importing illegal flying carpets disguised as Christmas tree skirts."
"Merely doing my job," Amelia said, though her straight posture suggested satisfaction. "Though I must say, the sight of Cornelius Fudge accidentally activating one during the Ministry's tree-lighting ceremony provided more entertainment than the hired carollers."
Chris laughed, picturing the Minister for Magic hovering helplessly above the ceremony. "I imagine that made the Prophet's evening edition?"
"Fortunately for Cornelius, I convinced Barnabas Cuffe that certain images might undermine public confidence in our leadership." Amelia's tone suggested this act of mercy might be leveraged at a future date. "The incident was reduced to a small mention on page six."
The conversation flowed easily as they enjoyed their tea, the formal setting gradually warming with genuine camaraderie. Amelia, despite her stern reputation, revealed a sharp wit and genuine interest in their studies. She asked perceptive questions about their classes, particularly Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"You won't believe the gossip about the new Defense professor," Susan said, leaning forward slightly as she added another spoonful of sugar to her tea. "Apparently, before coming to Hogwarts, he was working undercover in vampire communities in Eastern Europe. Hannah overheard Professor Sprout telling Professor Flitwick that he has a wooden hand because of a particularly nasty encounter with a vampire lord."
"Considering our history with Defense professors, I'm inclined to believe almost anything," Chris remarked, reaching for a cranberry tart. "Though I find it's the quiet ones you need to watch most carefully."
"A wise approach," Amelia nodded approvingly. "In my experience, those who boast of their adventures rarely had them, while those who truly faced darkness speak of it sparingly."
"Ancient Runes has been far more interesting than Defense this year," Chris offered, steering the conversation to safer topics. "Professor Babbling has been teaching us protection sequences that haven't been in common use since the 16th century. There's something fascinating about tracing symbols that wizards carved centuries ago for the same purposes we use them today."
"The continuity of magical knowledge," Amelia mused. "Something too often forgotten in our rush toward so-called progress. The Department could use more runic experts – our ward breakers rely too heavily on modern shortcuts that sometimes fail against truly ancient protections."
Susan glanced between them with amusement. "Before you two start drafting post-graduation employment contracts, perhaps we could enjoy Christmas Eve without career planning?"
Amelia chuckled, setting down her teacup with a soft clink. "My niece keeps me grounded, Chris. A valuable trait in both family and potential Aurors." She rose from her chair with unexpected agility for a woman of her position and bearing. "Speaking of Aurors, Susan, did I tell you about my recent encounter with Alastor Moody?"
What followed was an impersonation that revealed a side of Amelia Bones few ever witnessed. She hunched her shoulders, adopted a gravelly voice, and fixed them with an exaggerated suspicious glare through her monocle, which she'd repositioned to mimic Moody's magical eye.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" she barked, stomping one foot to approximate his wooden leg. "Don't trust that teacup, Bones! Have you checked it for poison? When was the last time you verified your niece isn't an impostor using Polyjuice? CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Susan dissolved into giggles, clearly delighted by this rare display of humor from her normally dignified aunt. Chris found himself laughing openly, the impression surprisingly accurate despite coming from the typically formal Department Head.
As their laughter subsided, Chris reached for the wrapped package he'd brought. "Before I forget, I brought something for you, Susan. An early Christmas gift."
Susan accepted the package with careful hands, her eyes bright with curiosity. Unwrapping it revealed a leather-bound book, its cover embossed with silver runes of protection and mental clarity.
"An Occlumency primer?" she questioned, running her fingers over the title.
"Not just any primer," Chris explained. "This one has been in my family's collection for generations. I've added my own notes in the margins, techniques that aren't covered in standard texts."
Susan opened the book, her eyes widening as she saw the neat annotations filling the margins of nearly every page, diagrams and explanations expanding on the original text.
"Mind protection is valuable for anyone considering a career in law enforcement," he added, glancing briefly toward Amelia, who was watching with keen interest. "And it's useful for anyone who values privacy in an increasingly intrusive world."
"This is..." Susan's voice caught slightly as she gripped the book to her chest, her eyes bright with emotion. "This is incredible, Chris. Thank you."
Amelia studied him with new appraisal. "A thoughtful gift, Chris. And an unusual one for someone your age to consider." Her tone suggested both approval and curiosity about his motivations.
"The most valuable gifts are those that last beyond the moment," Chris replied simply. "Knowledge and skills endure when other presents are forgotten."
The clock on the mantle chimed softly, reminding them of the passing time. Chris would need to return to Ambrosia Manor soon to check on the potion, but for now, he savored this moment of warmth and connection, so different from the solitary scholarly pursuits that often filled his days. Tomorrow would bring the Greengrass dinner and Astoria's first dose of the cure, but tonight was for friendship, for the quiet joy of shared conversation and genuine laughter in the warm glow of a Christmas Eve fire.
...
The Floo network deposited Chris in a reception room that exemplified old wizarding wealth, tasteful, understated, yet unmistakably expensive. Marble floors gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier that cast rainbows across walls adorned with ancestral portraits, their occupants watching him with curiosity. He stepped from the ornate fireplace with practiced grace, the vials of Malediction's Bane secured in an inner pocket of his formal robes, its weight against his chest a reminder of the evening's true purpose. The entire Greengrass family stood waiting, arranged in a perfect tableau of aristocratic composure that did little to mask the hope and anxiety radiating from them like heat from embers.
"Lord Emrys," Gareth Greengrass stepped forward first, a tall man with steel-grey hair and Daphne's ice-blue eyes, though his held a warmth that his daughter rarely displayed publicly. "Welcome to our home. We are honored by your presence this Christmas Day."
Before Chris could respond with the customary pleasantries, Amaranth Greengrass moved to her husband's side. Where Gareth projected controlled strength, Amaranth exuded elegant determination. Her dark blonde hair was swept into an intricate arrangement that highlighted her aristocratic features, and her piercing green eyes, mirrored in her younger daughter, fixed on Chris with intensity that bypassed social niceties entirely.
"Is it ready?" she asked, her voice steady yet threaded with an urgency that years of proper pureblood upbringing couldn't disguise. "The potion, did you bring it?"
"Mother," Daphne murmured, a gentle reproach for the breach in etiquette, though her own posture betrayed similar tension.
Astoria stood slightly behind her parents, her small hand clasped in her father's much larger one. She wore formal robes of emerald green that complemented her colouring but seemed to emphasize her fragility. Yet her eyes, meeting Chris's, held no fear, only trust and a quiet excitement.
Chris inclined his head respectfully to the family. "Lady Greengrass, I understand your concern. Yes, the potion is complete and with me." He reached into his inner pocket and withdrew a crystal vial containing the shimmering silver-blue liquid. The potion caught the chandelier light, sending prism-like reflections dancing across the room as if announcing its own magical potency.
Amaranth's composure fractured momentarily, her breath catching as she gazed at the vial. Gareth's hand tightened around his daughter's, while Daphne moved imperceptibly closer to her sister.
"Malediction's Bane," Chris explained, holding the vial where they all could see it. "The first of three doses required for the complete treatment. This one will identify the curse within Astoria's magical core and begin separating it. The second dose, administered one week later, will sever the connection completely. The third, after another week, will heal the damage to her core."
"And you're certain it will work?" Gareth asked, his tone respectful but direct, a father needing absolute assurance when his daughter's life hung in the balance.
"The potion has been brewed exactly according to the ancient formula preserved in my family's grimoires," Chris confirmed. "Every ingredient precisely measured, every step performed at the optimal astrological alignment. The final stage was personally calibrated to Astoria's magical signature."
Astoria stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the swirling liquid. "It's beautiful," she said softly. "Like captured starlight."
"When should we administer it?" Amaranth asked, already moving toward a nearby sofa as if preparing to begin immediately.
"After dinner would be best," Chris advised, carefully returning the vial to his pocket. "The first dose should be taken when Astoria can rest immediately afterward. She'll need to be lying down, as the potion will create a warm and slightly painful sensation throughout her body that can be disorienting if she's standing and it will start to expel the parts of the curse that have been detached. The process may cause some pain as the potion identifies the curse, nothing too severe, but it's better faced on a full stomach and in a comfortable setting."
Gareth nodded, decision made. "We've prepared a room upstairs with a bed and monitoring charms. After dinner, we'll proceed with the treatment." He turned to Chris, drawing himself up formally. "Lord Emrys, words cannot adequately express our gratitude. What you have done for our family, bringing hope where the finest healers at St. Mungo's could offer none, places us in a debt we cannot fully repay."
"There is no debt between friends," Chris replied simply, the phrase carrying particular weight in pureblood society, where debts and obligations were tracked with meticulous care. "Helping Astoria is reward enough."
Amaranth's eyes glistened briefly before she blinked away the emotion. "Nevertheless, the House of Greengrass acknowledges what you have done. Our families will be forever connected by this act."
Daphne caught Chris's eye, her usual composure slipping to reveal naked gratitude. Beside her, Astoria smiled, a genuine expression untainted by the worry that had shadowed her for years.
"Now," Gareth said, his voice lightening as he gestured toward an ornate set of double doors, "our Christmas dinner awaits. The house-elves have outdone themselves this year."
They proceeded through the mansion, passing through corridors adorned with tasteful holiday decorations, evergreen garlands interwoven with enchanted silver and gold ribbons, magical snow that sparkled but never melted, and the occasional fairy light that twinkled from usually dark corners. The dining room continued the theme of restrained opulence, a long table of polished mahogany set with fine china bearing the Greengrass crest, crystal goblets that seemed to sing softly when filled with wine, and floating candles that cast a warm glow over the feast laid before them.
As they took their seats, Chris placed at Gareth's right hand in the position of honoured guest, he observed the family dynamics with interest. Despite their formal bearing, the Greengrasses clearly cared deeply for one another. Gareth attended to his wife with small, solicitous gestures that spoke of decades of genuine affection. Amaranth's eyes frequently sought out her daughters, her gaze lingering on Astoria with a mixture of love and barely concealed fear that only a mother facing her child's mortality could understand. Daphne, seated beside her sister, maintained her public reserve but occasionally leaned close to whisper something that made Astoria smile.
The meal progressed through multiple courses, each more elaborate than the last, oysters in champagne sauce, chestnut soup with truffle oil, glazed duck with cranberry reduction, seasonal vegetables prepared with expert technique. The conversation remained deliberately light, touching on safe topics like Hogwarts traditions and plans for the remainder of the holiday. Yet beneath the pleasant exchange ran an electric current of anticipation, every clink of silverware bringing them closer to the moment when dessert would be cleared and they would proceed upstairs for the treatment.
Chris noticed Astoria eating less as the meal continued, her nervousness finally beginning to overcome her earlier confidence. When she set down her fork during the dessert course, leaving most of her Christmas pudding untouched, Daphne placed a reassuring hand over her sister's.
"It's going to be fine," she murmured, just loud enough for Chris to hear. "You'll be cured, and then you can focus on more important things, like beating me at Exploding Snap."
Astoria's smile returned, though smaller than before. "I've been practicing while you were at school," she warned. "Prepare to lose spectacularly."
The easy banter between the sisters seemed to ease the tension at the table. Amaranth watched them with softening eyes, while Gareth cleared his throat and raised his crystal goblet.
"A toast," he announced, his deep voice filling the dining room. "To Christmas blessings beyond what we dared hope for, to ancient knowledge preserved when needed most, and to Lord Emrys, who has brought healing to our family on this sacred day."
Five goblets rose in unison, catching the candlelight in a prismatic display that echoed the shimmering potion waiting in Chris's pocket. As they drank, his eyes met Astoria's across the table, her gaze clear and trusting. The weight of that trust settled on his shoulders, not as a burden, but as a reminder of why he had been given this second chance at life.