~ Harry's POV ~
The portraits in the Keep rarely shouted unless someone had blown up a hallway again—or Tilly was about to turn someone inside out for tracking mud onto her polished floors.
But when one of the Peverell ancestors nearly knocked over the frame in their urgency and hollered, "Get to the main library—NOW!" Harry's heart nearly stopped.
He didn't bother asking why.
He didn't run. He apparated straight to the centre of the grand Peverell library, senses on high alert.
"Ignotus?" he called.
"Ignotus—what's going on? Where's Shikamaru?"
"Harry!" Ignotus called from the far end of the library, his painted brow furrowed with concern. "It's Shikamaru!"
Harry's heart seized.
"What happened?"
"Back of the room! The Pensieve! He—he didn't know what it was—he knocked a cabinet and tried to clean it—get in there, Harry!"
He was already gone before the portrait finished.
Harry sprinted toward the back room of the library, his boots thudding against the polished stone floors. The doors flew open at his approach with a sweep of magic, and his heart clenched violently at the sight that met him.
Shikamaru.
Standing on the edge of the Pensieve, small fingers still buried in the swirling surface of silvery memory.
His face—his sweet face—was pale and slack, his lips parted in a dazed breath. His eyes were pitch-black. Absorbing. Focused on a world Harry could no longer touch from the outside.
"No…" Harry whispered, chest twisting. "No, no, no…"
He couldn't just pull Shikamaru out. He knew better—knew what kind of damage that could do to a developing mind, to any mind. For all Harry knew, he'd already watched dozens of memories. Time moved differently in the Pensieve—it could have been hours inside, even if only minutes had passed outside.
"Ignotus—how long?" Harry asked sharply, not looking away from Shikamaru.
Harry stared at the boy. His hands trembled at the thought of which memories fell.
Please let it be something small. Please let it be a birthday memory, or the cupboard…
But his gut told him otherwise.
The liquid shimmer of the Pensieve was like a mirror rippling with cold light. Harry pressed a hand to its surface, inhaled once, twice.
And dove in.
Harry landed softly.
The golden light of memory stretched around him in familiar warmth, the lull of waves brushing up against a white-sand beach.
The cove.
His cove.
And there, standing barefoot in the sand, clad in soft white cotton trousers—was him. Just after he died, blinking against the sun.
Harry exhaled, already knowing where they were. Limbo.
But then he turned—and saw a small shape a few feet away, crouched in the sand. Pale, wide-eyed.
Shikamaru.
Watching it all.
Watching him.
The boy was trembling, curled forward with his hands clutched in the sand as if anchoring himself to something solid. His mouth moved silently—words Harry couldn't quite hear over the distant crash of waves—but his eyes were full of raw emotion.
Oh, Shika…
Shikamaru didn't even react at first—his gaze still fixed on the space where Harry and Ignotus stood. He looked… overwhelmed. Like someone who had witnessed a thousand lifetimes of grief in mere moments.
Harry reached his hand out and placed it on his small shoulder.
"Shikamaru," he whispered.
The boy turned his head slowly and the moment his eyes met Harry's, all of his restraint shattered.
"Maashah…" he breathed.
And then he lunged.
He collided with Harry's chest like a cannonball, throwing his thin arms around his neck with surprising strength. The sobs tore out of him with force, trembling against Harry's ribs.
"You're real—you're really real—you're not dead—you're here—"
Harry's throat ached.
He wrapped his arms around the boy and held him like he was the most precious thing in existence.
"Hey, hey—it's okay," he whispered, gently rocking him. "It's already happened. You're safe. I'm here."
"I don't want to see anymore," Shikamaru choked out. "I don't want to watch—I just want to go home…"
"Then we'll go home," Harry promised, voice tight with emotion.
He pressed a kiss to Shikamaru's hair, letting the boy cling to him like a lifeline.
"Don't look, Shikamaru," he murmured as he turned away from the rest of the memory. "It's not meant for your eyes. Not yet."
Shikamaru only nodded, face still buried in Harry's shoulder, trusting him implicitly.
Harry felt the memory unravelling around them, soft golden light blooming at the edges of his vision, swallowing the shoreline, the sun, the waves.
~
Harry staggered as they emerged from the Pensieve, the weight of memory still pressing behind his eyes. He cradled Shikamaru against his chest, the boy sniffling quietly into his robes, fists still twisted into the fabric as though terrified that letting go would mean losing him again.
"I've got you," Harry whispered. "I've got you, Shika."
His knees gave out, and he knelt carefully beside the Pensieve, holding the boy tighter.
"It's over now. I'm here."
Ignotus's voice echoed from the portrait on the wall.
"He'll be okay," the old ancestor said quietly. "Curious. Stubborn, like you."
Harry didn't look up. "He's just a kid," he said hoarsely. "He shouldn't have seen any of that. Any of it. I should have never left them in the library, I should have put them in the vault."
"And yet, he did. You haven't had to share the Keep with anyone, you're didn't think to hide all of it. It's not your fault," Ignotus said softly.
Harry's chest ached as he felt Shikamaru's small hand fisting against his chest, clinging tighter, even though the worst was over.
Harry bowed his head and whispered into the boy's hair. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't want you to ever see that side of me. Not ever."
Shikamaru shifted slightly, still not looking up, but his voice—though muffled—was clear.
"You died to save them."
Harry's breath hitched.
"You're not a monster," Shikamaru said, a little firmer. "You're… Maashah. You're mine. You're a hero."
And Harry—
Harry cried.
Because in all the pain he'd endured and all the death he had seen—caused—he had never, ever, felt more loved than in that moment.
He held his child—his child—closer. And they both wept.
~
The night was quiet, blanketed in a hush that only the Keep knew how to hold. No dragons stirred, no creatures called from the trees, and the stars above shimmered like a silent chorus, too respectful to intrude. In Harry's room, there was only the sound of soft breathing.
Shikamaru lay curled beside him, clutching tightly to the front of Harry's robes like a child terrified the dream would slip away. And Harry… Harry didn't move. He just held the boy close, one hand stroking gently through his dark hair, the other resting protectively on his back.
He had wanted to say something—anything. But nothing had felt right.
So, he let silence speak for him. Let warmth say what words couldn't.
You're safe.
I'm here.
I love you.
Sometime in the early hours of morning, Shikamaru's grip loosened, sleep finally dragging him into the peace he so desperately needed. Harry didn't move until the first rays of sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains.
And even then, he only shifted to tuck the blanket more securely around his son.
His son.
Not by blood—not yet.
But in all the ways that mattered?
He already was.
~
Shikamaru stirred midmorning, blinking blearily and rubbing his eyes against Harry's chest before realising he hadn't slept in his own room.
He sat up slowly, cheeks immediately colouring in embarrassment. "Sorry…" he mumbled.
Harry raised an eyebrow, brushing a stray piece of hair from Shikamaru's face. "For what?"
"I didn't mean to… um… take your bed." His voice was small. "And the memories… It was an accident, I swear! I knocked them over, and I was trying to clean up—just get the bottles out of the water—and I didn't know…"
Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Shhh. It's okay."
"But—"
"No buts." He drew the boy into a one-armed hug. "If anything, it's my fault for leaving them out. I'm not used to having anyone else in my space." His fingers played with the edge of Shikamaru's sleeve. "It's been a long time since I shared my world like this."
Shikamaru nodded into his side, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.
"I didn't mean to see the things you didn't want me to see," he said quietly. "You looked so sad. You… you died."
Harry inhaled deeply. "I did."
Silence again. Heavy this time.
Harry rested his chin on top of Shikamaru's head. "If you ever want to talk about it—about anything you saw—I'll answer your questions. All of them."
"Even the bad ones?"
"Especially the bad ones," Harry said gently. "I keep those memories in the Pensieve to ease the burden. To give myself distance. But maybe it's time I stop doing that. Maybe this was a sign."
Shikamaru didn't speak for a long moment.
Then, softly, "Is it okay that I called you Maashah?"
Harry blinked, surprised. "More than okay."
He paused.
Then shifted, pulling back just enough so he could look Shikamaru in the eyes.
"You know… I told you once that Maashah means parent."
Shikamaru nodded slowly.
Harry chuckled. "I lied. Sort of."
The boy blinked. "Huh?"
"It doesn't mean 'parent'—not exactly. It means mother."
Shikamaru's eyes went wide.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "When Nox hatched, I was the first person she saw. She called me mother in Parseltongue—and all the dragons just… kept using it. I never corrected them."
"But you're not a girl."
Harry laughed, warm and easy. "Nope. But I've learned that parenthood isn't about gender. It's about love. About protection. About… being there."
Shikamaru looked down at his hands, quiet again.
Harry took them gently into his own.
"I know what your old mother did," he said softly, heart clenching at the faint tremble that passed through the boy. "And I want you to know—that will never happen again. I will never let anything like that happen to you."
Shikamaru's lip quivered.
"And I know your father isn't around anymore," Harry continued, voice thick, "but I want to give you something. A bond. A place. If you'd let me… I'd be honoured to adopt you. Properly. With magic and blood."
Shikamaru blinked, stunned.
"Like Teddy?"
Harry smiled. "Exactly. It won't erase your father. It just means I'd get to protect you the way I protect Teddy. It connects us. You'd be my son. Not just in my heart, but in blood, too."
Shikamaru stared for a long moment, eyes round, chest rising and falling like he couldn't quite catch his breath.
Then he threw himself at Harry.
"YES!" He cried. "I accept! I'll be the best son ever—I promise!"
Harry laughed, tears brimming in his eyes. He caught Shikamaru in his arms and spun him slightly, holding him tight, heart swelling to bursting.
"You already are, sweetheart," he whispered. "You already are."
Shikamaru giggled then and when Harry asked what was so funny, he just said, "Everyone in Takigakure were calling you mother."
Harry laughed then, loud and free.
~
That evening, as the sun kissed the horizon with shades of gold and amethyst, the ritual began.
They stood at the edge of the lake. The dragons perched around them like ancient statues—Altair's massive wings stretched protectively behind them, Lyra and her children gathered curiously, and Nox lounging nearby with her head close to Teddy, who was squirming excitedly in Tilly's arms.
Even Rigel hovered close, torn between Teddy and watching the ritual. The hatchling let out a chirping trill every few seconds, clearly hyped beyond belief.
The air was thick with magic.
House-elves peeked out through open windows, faces pressed to the glass. From the tower, Harry was pretty sure they were holding up a magical portrait to give the ancestors a better view.
Only in the Keep, he thought, amused.
He turned to Shikamaru, kneeling before him and taking his small hands.
"This is a sacred ritual," he began, his voice soft but firm, echoing the words Tazgira had once spoken when he had adopted Teddy. "A binding older than any human law—a vow that cannot be undone."
Shikamaru nodded, his eyes wide, full of solemn anticipation.
Harry drew the obsidian blade from his belt, its dark surface shimmering with runes. "It might sting a bit."
"I'm not afraid," Shikamaru whispered.
Harry smiled, proud.
He made a shallow cut across his own palm, then did the same to Shikamaru's smaller hand.
Then he pressed their palms together.
Golden light pulsed between them, the air humming like the string of a harp.
Harry closed his eyes and let his magic unfurl, deep and true.
"By blood and magic, by will and intent, I claim Shikamaru Nara as my blood-born son. With this vow, I bind him to my house, my heart, and my magic. So mote it be."
The magic surged.
A golden burst flared where their blood met, shooting upwards in a column of light that painted the lake in starlight hues. The dragons roared in unison, their voices echoing like thunder across the skies.
From the trees, magical creatures emerged—curious. Glowing birds fluttered near the surface of the lake. Bowtruckles climbed branches for better views. Fawkes and Hedwig soared above, singing in harmony.
Shikamaru's chakra stirred wildly in response to the magic, the energy racing through his body as if tasting something new—something ancient and familiar all at once. Magic sank into his bones, his blood, his being.
Something fundamental shifted inside him.
Harry felt it.
Felt the acceptance, the transformation. Shikamaru was no longer only chakra-bound.
He was magic-born now.
My son.
Harry opened his eyes, still kneeling.
The golden glow faded slowly, shimmering out into the dusk like dust on wind.
Shikamaru stared at him in awe, his hair a little darker, cheekbones a little higher and a barely there green sheen to his eyes.
And Harry smiled, eyes glassy with emotion.
"Welcome to the family," he whispered. "My son."
Shikamaru launched himself forward again, arms wrapping around Harry's neck as he beamed.
"I'm really your son now?"
"You always were," Harry murmured.
Cheers broke out behind them, dragons roaring, house-elves applauding, even Rigel flapping excitedly and nearly toppling Teddy in the process—Tilly catching the baby just in time and placing him in his crib.
Teddy, in retaliation, shrieked "SHIKA!" and launched his floating crib toward them.
Harry just laughed and pulled both his sons into his arms.
~
It had been two weeks since Harry had adopted Shikamaru, and the Keep had never felt so alive.
The halls hummed with laughter, footsteps pattered from one corridor to the next, and the soft ring of magical bells marked the hour as house-elves bustled about, smiling wider than ever before. Even the paintings seemed more vibrant—portraits of old ancestors chiming in cheerfully whenever Shikamaru passed.
And Harry?
Harry felt… whole. Despite the absence of his friends, his sister and godfather. He felt whole.
He was standing in his office that afternoon, sunlight pouring in through the arched windows. His mirror—carved from a single slab of silver-veined obsidian and mounted in a dragonbone frame—flickered to life with the runes he traced over it. He rarely used this one, but it was the only mirror that connected to ALL the others.
First to appear was Neville, his familiar broad smile flashing.
"Harry!" Neville beamed, the greenery of a greenhouse visible behind him. "You look like you've actually slept for once."
"Because I have," Harry grinned, then paused as the surface shimmered again—Theo and Blaise appearing side by side, the sound of the cove behind them, Grimbok's imposing visage looming behind them from a different mirror.
"There he is!" Theo drawled, adjusting his silk collar. "We thought you'd fallen off the edge of the world."
"Or taken up a vow of silence," Blaise added with a smirk. "Though you do look… suspiciously well-rested."
Grimbok grunted. "Soft. He's gone soft, clearly."
"Hello to you too, Grimbok," Harry said with a snort. "And I've not gone soft—I've just been busy."
"Oh?" Neville's brows rose. "Busy with what?"
That was when the door to the office opened with a quiet click.
Shikamaru ran in, cheeks flushed, hair slightly out of place, clutching one of his notebooks to his chest.
"Oh! Sorry!" he blurted, eyes going wide as he saw Harry was in the middle of a conversation. "I didn't mean to interrupt—"
"Come here," Harry said with a fond smile, waving him over. "You're just in time."
Shikamaru hesitated, then padded over to Harry's side, peeking into the glowing mirror.
"Everyone," Harry said, placing a gentle hand on Shikamaru's shoulder, "this is Shikamaru. My son."
The silence lasted half a second before—
"WHAT?!" Theo and Blaise shouted in unison.
Neville's eyes widened, jaw dropping. "Did you just—"
"Blood adopted?" Grimbok interrupted, leaning forward until only one eye was visible.
Harry nodded, his smile proud. "Yes. A couple of weeks ago."
"Harry!" Blaise nearly choked. "How do you just drop that on us without any warning?"
Theo faked wiping a tear. "Our baby boy's all grown up and has another son now."
Neville, meanwhile, looked close to tears. "That's… that's amazing, mate."
Shikamaru beamed, cheeks pinking. "Hello," he said in slow, careful English. "Is good to meet you."
"Oh, he's precious," Blaise whispered, clutching at his heart. "Can we keep him?"
"Already keeping him," Harry said with a grin. "He's mine."
Grimbok let out a low rumble of approval. "Strong blood. Good instincts. He'll be a fine heir."
Shikamaru blinked up at Harry. "Heir?"
Harry ruffled his hair. "You'll find out when you're older."
The group laughed, and for several minutes, it was just warmth and light and questions being tossed around. Theo asked about the adoption ceremony. Blaise demanded to know exactly what the magical effects were. Neville asked if Shikamaru liked plants. Grimbok simply said, "Teach him how to wield a sword," which caused Shikamaru to look delighted and Harry to groan.
After a while, Shikamaru yawned loudly, barely trying to cover it with a hand.
Harry smiled. "Nap time."
"A nap?" Blaise teased. "What has he done to you, Harry? You used to be allergic to sleep!"
"Turns out," Harry said dryly, "sleep is easier when you're not constantly fending off political sabotage or assassination attempts."
Blaise laughed. "So you're telling me the kid's good for you?"
Harry didn't hesitate. "The best."
~
Later, as Shikamaru dozed on the couch wrapped in a blanket, Harry began scribbling some updates in his schematics journal.
Shikamaru stirred and murmured, "How's the mirror work?"
Harry looked up and smiled. "Ah, runes and artifact construction. Old magic."
Shikamaru perked up immediately, blinking sleepily but curious. "Like the one on your hand? With the gateway?"
Harry nodded. "Exactly. Those runes are part of the gateway system. Before, I could summon Nox directly by opening the gateway in the sky—but now that the Keep is anchored, I have to rework the old framework, add another entrance. Can't just will her to my side anymore."
"So you're making… new doors?"
"Gateways," Harry corrected gently. "I'm designing a handful—so I can scatter across the nations in secret. Safe escape routes. Backup plans. One will go in the dragons mountain—anchored to a rune on my palm."
Shikamaru blinked. "You're so smart."
Harry gave him a pointed look. "But still can't beat you at shogi."
"Nope," Shikamaru said proudly.
They played again that afternoon.
Harry lost.
Again.
~
Three days later, just as the Keep settled into another evening of quiet comfort, something shook the foundation.
Not literally—but in the way the air seemed to tighten.
Tilly appeared beside Harry mid-sentence, wringing her hands.
"M-Master Harry—" she squeaked. "Forgive me —Tilly didn't know he was here, Tilly swears! Tilly would have stopped her—!"
Harry blinked. "Stopped who? Tilly, breathe."
The poor elf twisted her fingers harder.
"Winky, Master. She—she…"
It took a full five minutes of coaxing to get the full story, and then another two before Harry let her pop him down to the lower levels.
To the dungeons.
Harry had only been down here once. The air was cold and stale, lit by enchanted torches that barely flickered.
No one came here. No one needed to.
Tilly led him to a far cell, her small shoulders hunched with guilt.
And there—curled against the stone wall, skin pale and body thin—was Barty Crouch Jr.
Alive.
Asleep.
Breathing.
Harry stared.
Tilly tugged on his sleeve. "Winky said—she said she saw him fall. On the battlefield. But he turned on the Dark Lord, Master. She said he fought for you. That she saw him nearly die. So, she—she saved him. Put him to sleep like master padfoot. And she didn't want to hide it, but then you didn't come back for a whole month and—"
"Enough," Harry said quietly.
He called Kreacher.
The old elf appeared with Winky in tow—sobbing, trembling, whispering apologies like prayers.
"Winky is sorry, Master, Winky is loyal—Winky didn't mean—Winky couldn't let him die, not like that—not when he turned—"
"You had FOUR months, Winky," Harry snapped, his voice low but sharp. "Four months to come clean."
She wept harder, kneeling on the stone.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kreacher. Can you wake him from the stasis?"
"Yes, Master," Kreacher rasped.
"And remove Winky from the Keep. She is no longer permitted contact with Barty Crouch Jr. She is to work exclusively with the Potter elves. In the greenhouses. No more main house duties. She is not to answer Barty's calls or enter his cell. Understood?"
Kreacher bowed deeply. "Understood."
"Winky," Harry said, turning to her. "This is your punishment. You're not to hurt yourself. You're not to harm others. But you will reflect on what you've done. I understand your need to save him, but my sons live in this house, and if your stasis failed…"
Winky nodded, face buried in her hands. "Yes, Master."
Kreacher vanished them both.
Leaving Harry standing alone with Tilly.
And the sleeping man in the cell.
He stared for a long time.
Barty Crouch Jr. was alive.
And now… Harry had to figure out what the hell he was going to do about it.
~
Harry hadn't slept well.
Not for lack of comfort—his bed at the Keep was possibly the most luxurious he'd ever known. Nor because of Shikamaru, who still slept curled up beside him like a contented kitten, fingers twisted in Harry's robe as if afraid he'd vanish again.
No. It was because of what waited down below.
The dungeons were cold, shadowed, and rarely used for anything more than storage these days. But now, Barty Crouch Jr. was there. Alive and silent.
Harry had Kreacher wake him the night before, under strict instructions: no speaking, no news about the Keep, nothing that could give Barty context about where he was.
It had taken effort to remain detached—to not let his guilt twist the decision. But Harry had spent too long learning the hard way: kindness without caution was how people got killed.
And now, the morning after, he stood outside the dungeon door, tray in one hand, purging potion in the other.
He exhaled through his nose, his boots echoing against the ancient stone. His free hand brushed across the barrier ward, deactivating it.
The door groaned open.
Barty was sitting up, half-covered in the blanket Kreacher had provided. His hair was longer than Harry remembered—matted and clinging to his temples. He looked thinner, gaunt, eyes sunken but alert. He hadn't spoken to anyone, not even the elf.
And when Harry entered, his presence in the dim torchlight, Barty blinked and sat a little straighter, his back brushing the stone wall behind him.
"…This doesn't look like a Ministry holding cell," he said warily.
Harry said nothing.
He simply conjured a chair and sat down in front of the cell, placing the tray and potion carefully on the stone floor between them. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching Barty like one might a wounded, feral animal.
"I'm… assuming you're not here for pleasantries," Barty said after a moment.
"No," Harry replied.
Silence stretched between them again, and the air grew heavy.
"I know what you did," Harry said finally, his voice low. "Draco told me about the last few meetings you attended. About what Snape had you taking. Obedience potions—compulsions. You were under the Imperius as well, weren't you?"
Barty flinched. It was small—but telling.
"Draco said you cracked," Harry continued. "Tried to kill Voldemort. Saved one of the kids during the final assault."
"I…" Barty's mouth opened, then closed. He swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the potion on the floor. "What's that?"
"A purging draught," Harry said. "Standard detoxifier. It'll clear out any lingering compulsions or poisons. You'll want to take it before eating anything."
There was a pause.
"Am I a prisoner?" Barty asked carefully.
Harry tilted his head. "That depends."
Barty stared down at the vial. "You didn't answer me earlier. Where are we? You said this isn't a Ministry cell."
"It isn't."
"Then—?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Harry said flatly. "Drink the potion."
Barty gave a bitter smile. "I assume saying 'no thank you' isn't an option."
Harry arched a brow.
"…Right." Barty picked up the vial, uncorked it, and sniffed. "That's a real purging draught."
"I don't poison people, Crouch," Harry said, irritated. "Just drink it."
Barty's jaw tensed, but he drank the contents in one go, coughing slightly from the bitterness. Harry conjured a bucket a moment before the gagging began.
The next five minutes were filled with retching and hacking, and Harry remained stone still through it all, not speaking. He simply watched. Assessing.
By the time Barty slumped back, shivering slightly and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, his hands were trembling.
"…It's gone," he whispered.
"What?"
"The weight. The haze. It's… Merlin, how long have I been taking those?"
Harry offered no sympathy. "Long enough to forget how to think for yourself."
Barty gave a weak, bitter laugh. "Yeah. Sounds about right."
Harry levitated the tray into the cell, setting it gently beside him. "Eat. Slowly."
Barty didn't need to be told twice. He tore into the bread like a starved man, pausing only to drink deeply from the jug of water.
Harry waited another five minutes, letting him get at least halfway through the meal before speaking again.
"You're in a strange position," Harry said at last. "I don't know if I trust you. I don't know if I can trust you."
Barty wiped his mouth. "I didn't expect you to."
"But I do know what I saw," Harry continued. "And what others have told me. You fought against him. You tried to kill Voldemort."
"I would have succeeded," Barty said, voice low, "if his wards hadn't triggered."
"…Why?"
Barty looked up sharply. "What?"
"Why did you do it?" Harry asked. "You were his loyal dog. His fanatic. Why try to kill him?"
Barty's expression twisted. "Because he killed Regulus."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Harry's brows furrowed. "Regulus Black?"
Barty nodded slowly. "He was my best friend. My real friend. He tried to leave the Death Eaters and was murdered for it. Voldemort said it was a lesson. I never found his body."
Harry's stomach churned.
"No one believed me," Barty said hoarsely. "Everyone thought I was just another psycho. Maybe I am. But I suddenly remembered and—I snapped during that meeting."
Harry sat back in his chair, folding his arms. He didn't speak.
"I know I've done horrible things," Barty said. "Things I can't undo. But that doesn't mean I didn't want to make it right at the end."
"You'll be questioned under Veritaserum," Harry said after a beat. "If your answers satisfy me, I'll consider letting you out of the cell."
"…Consider?" Barty echoed.
"Yes," Harry said flatly. "Because I have people here. I'm not risking them for sentimentality."
Barty gave a wry smile. "Fair enough."
Harry stood. "I'll be back tomorrow."
"Wait—" Barty leaned forward slightly. "Where are we? You said the Ministry can't reach us?"
Harry paused.
Then, very quietly, "We're not on Earth anymore."
Barty's eyes widened. "What…?"
Harry didn't explain further.
Instead, he waved his hand, reinforcing the containment wards, and stepped back from the cell.
As he turned to go, he conjured an extra blanket, floated it in after the food tray, and left a single book atop the pillow.
Understanding Magical Ethics.
Barty blinked at the title.
"Don't say I never gave you reading material," Harry muttered over his shoulder.
Then the dungeon door creaked shut.
And Harry exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
He'd survived a war, built a sanctuary, adopted two children, and anchored a whole magical world into place.
But somehow?
Barty Crouch Jr. in his basement might be the most complicated thing he'd ever dealt with
~
Harry had planned this out the night before.
He couldn't let Shikamaru or Teddy be anywhere near the dungeons for what was about to happen. The truth serum alone would be enough to dredge up horrors that didn't belong in the ears of children. Especially not Shikamaru.
So, after breakfast, Harry arranged for Tilly to take Teddy on a walk through the gardens and the dragon nesting cliffs, Rigel trailing behind them like an oversized puppy. Meanwhile, Shikamaru was left in the care of Ignotus, the portrait teaching him the basics of magical theory.
It was nearly noon by the time Harry descended the spiral stairs, past the polished stone of the grand halls.
The dungeon corridor was still as he approached. Wards shimmered faintly as he passed through them. The door to Barty's cell stood sealed with a lock only he could undo now.
He opened it with a flick of his hand.
Inside, Barty was already sitting on the edge of his cot, his posture surprisingly composed. He looked cleaner now, his hair tamed back, beard trimmed slightly. Kreacher must've seen to that—probably with the same sense of grumpy disdain he reserved for misbehaving guests.
"I take it today's the day?" Barty asked quietly.
Harry didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped into the cell, conjured a chair once again, and waved his hand with a subtle flick. Chains slithered out from the walls, binding Barty's arms and legs—not tight enough to cut circulation, but firm enough to hold him in place.
He didn't fight it.
Harry removed a small vial from the pocket of his robes. "Veritaserum," he said shortly.
Barty nodded once, accepting it without protest.
Harry uncorked the vial and stepped forward, placing three silvery drops on the man's tongue. Barty's eyes fluttered slightly as the potion took hold, but he remained still—head lowered in passive submission.
Harry took his seat across from him.
"Let's begin," he said softly, and the room seemed to hush in anticipation.
"What is your full name?"
"Bartemius Crouch Junior."
"How did your father break you free from Azkaban?"
"My mother," Barty said, voice dulled by the serum. "She convinced my father to swap us using Polyjuice. She took my place in the cell. I was placed under the Imperius Curse the moment I stepped out. My father used me as a house elf—stripped of magic and will."
Harry clenched his jaw.
"Who killed your father?"
"I did."
The admission was blunt. No flicker of remorse, no hesitation. Just truth.
Harry breathed in through his nose, he didn't really blame the man.
"Are you loyal to the Dark Lord Voldemort?"
"No."
"Why?"
"He killed my best friend."
"Why did you join the Death Eaters?"
Barty looked up slightly, voice flat but firm.
"My father was a horrible man. Abusive. He hated magic that wasn't controlled—hated me for wanting to be an academic and not a ministry worker. When Regulus was persuaded by his mother to join the Death Eaters, I couldn't let him go alone. I followed him."
Harry's brows drew together. "You followed Regulus Black?"
"Yes."
"Did you believe the anti-Muggle and Muggleborn sentiments?"
There was a pause.
"Yes and no," Barty answered. "I believed muggles should never find out about the wizarding world. Their wars and weapons… they'd destroy everything. But Muggleborns? They come into our world and try to reshape it into theirs. They bring their culture, their rules, then leave us behind. They dilute what makes us… us."
Harry didn't like it—but it wasn't entirely false. In fact, he agreed that muggles should never find out about the wizarding world. He was lucky really, that everyone in this world had the potential to use chakra.
He'd sat through enough Wizengamot sessions to know the damage done when magical secrecy was broken. Muggleborns who showed off magic, used it to climb social ladders, revealed themselves to spouses or governments. It was always a disaster.
"How did you find out about Regulus' death?"
"I overheard Bellatrix laughing about it," Barty said, eyes distant now. "She mocked him. Said sweet little Reggie betrayed her Lord. She was glad he was dead."
Harry clenched his fists. He empathised a lot more with Regulus after reading his journals, to hear about Bellatrix making light of it? He was glad she was dead.
"How old were you when you joined the Death Eaters?"
"Sixteen. Nearly seventeen. A few months after Regulus. We were still at school. We didn't get called to meetings until we graduated. But by then… it was too late."
"Did you enjoy being a Death Eater?"
"No," Barty said, voice trembling for the first time. "I was an academic. I liked spells. Theory. Regulus and I wanted out. But the Dark Mark… it senses disloyalty. You can't even think about leaving."
"Did you know about Voldemort's Horcruxes?"
"No."
"Did you participate in the torture of the Longbottom's?"
"No."
"Did you know why you were going there?"
"No. Bellatrix dragged me. She said we had a job to finish. When I tried to stop her… she stunned me. I woke up in chains."
Harry stared.
"Why did you go along with the plan during my fourth year?"
Barty hesitated. His head wobbled slightly now, the potion nearing its end.
"I… I wasn't in control. The Imperius for years—the potions… it all blurred. The Polyjuice made it worse. I forgot who I was. I think… I think someone kept dosing me. Even then. But I lost myself."
A strange lump formed in Harry's throat. That had sounded too raw to be anything but true.
The Veritaserum began to wear off—he could see the lucidity creeping back into Barty's gaze. So he asked the final question.
"Do you know the curse Bellatrix used on Sirius Black?"
"…No."
Disappointment flooded him.
"…But I can try to recreate a counter," Barty added quickly. "Let me see the memory—I know her casting patterns. I can try."
Harry exhaled slowly.
The silence lingered for a moment as the effects wore off. Barty sagged slightly, the chains clinking as he shifted.
Harry decided to put it all out there.
"You're in another world now," Harry said finally. "I performed a ritual to leave Earth. There is no Ministry of Magic here. We're in a pocket dimension—the Keep. Outside, the world has no magic. Only chakra, although it's very similar to magic."
Barty's face paled. "No magic?"
"None," Harry said. "Except for here. The Keep sustains itself with ancient enchantments."
Barty digested that slowly. Then looked up at him with something new in his eyes—resolve.
And then… he knelt.
The chains rattled, but he bowed his head to the stone, hands fisted over his heart.
"Let me serve," he said hoarsely. "I swear a binding vow—vassal to House Peverell, House Potter, House Black and House Slytherin. I swear myself to you, Lord Harrison James Potter-Black."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"You're the only one who stood against him, who sacrificed everything, who finished Regulus' dying task. You moved between worlds. I don't have a place anymore. Let me serve. Give me orders. Purpose. I'll protect your Keep. Your children."
Harry stared at him, heart in his throat.
"Do you know what that vow means?"
"Yes," Barty said. "More than the Dark Mark. This is soul-bound fealty. I become your vassal. Your burden, your blade."
"And you'll never be free again."
"I don't deserve to be," Barty whispered. "But I'd rather belong here—where magic still lives—than fade away in a world that never wanted me."
Harry closed his eyes.
He thought of Shikamaru. Of Teddy. Of Sirius in stasis. Of the quiet grief of Luna's absence.
He needed to protect them all.
Killing Barty would've been easier. Simpler. Cleaner.
But it wasn't right.
"Stand," Harry said softly.
Barty did.
"I accept your vow," Harry said, holding out his hand. "By the blood of my house and the magic of my name, I accept you, Bartemius Crouch Jr., as a vassal of my houses."
A golden pulse shimmered in the air between them as the vow snapped into place.
And Harry wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing.
He turned toward the door.
"…How am I supposed to explain this to the kids?" he muttered to himself. How am I going to explain it to Neville, he thought.
And Barty Crouch Jr., former Death Eater and broken soul, gave a small laugh behind him.
"I suggest honesty," he said. "Kids appreciate it."
Harry groaned.
And left the dungeon.
~
Introducing Barty Crouch Jr. to Shikamaru was… an event.
Harry had waited three days after the Veritaserum interrogation to even consider the notion, and even then, it was more of a calculated risk than something he was entirely comfortable with. But this was the new reality—Barty was now tied to House Peverell, bound by an unbreakable vow and living proof of a second chance that Harry wasn't sure he believed in yet.
Still, for all his wariness, Harry was nothing if not thorough.
Barty was moved to the far eastern wing of the Keep—technically the second library wing, lined with ancient tomes and dusty alcoves, where Ignotus and several less volatile portraits could keep an eye on him. He was given a small suite, comfortable, and enough scrolls and magical theory books to keep him occupied for the next decade.
He'd barely been there twenty minutes when Shikamaru walked in.
The boy skidded to a stop in the hallway, chest rising and falling rapidly, cheeks flushed from running. "Maa—!"
Harry, who'd just finished placing a protective ward around Barty's new quarters, turned toward him. "Shika?" he asked, immediately on edge. "What's wrong?"
The boy froze when he saw Barty standing behind Harry, hands tucked into his robe sleeves, expression blank but observant.
"I—uh…" Shikamaru flushed deeper. "I didn't know you were busy, Maashah. I'll come back—"
"Stay," Harry said gently, waving him over. "Come here, it's okay."
Shikamaru shuffled forward, clearly wary, his eyes locked on Barty the entire time. "Who's he?"
Harry exhaled slowly. "This is Barty. He's… a new addition to the Keep. He'll be staying here in the eastern wing."
Shikamaru's sharp gaze didn't waver. "Where did he come from?"
Harry almost laughed at that but managed to school his expression. "He has a complicated past," he admitted. "But he's under a magical binding, and this wing is heavily watched. His vow also won't allow him to hurt you or Teddy."
That seemed to reassure Shikamaru slightly, though he still watched Barty like he was measuring him for traps. "Is he from your world?"
"Yes," Barty answered in perfect Japanese, his voice smooth, calm. "You must be Shikamaru."
The boy flinched slightly, clearly startled that the stranger could speak his language.
Harry tilted his head. "Do you speak a lot of languages?"
"The Crouch's always had a gift for languages," Barty said simply. "And my grandfather insisted we learn at least five languages before the age of ten. It stuck."
Shikamaru narrowed his eyes. "You're not here to hurt us?"
"No," Barty said without hesitation. "I made a vow to your father. If I even think about hurting him—or you—I'll die."
Shikamaru blinked. "Oh. He's not my father —he's my Maashah."
Barty looked confused and just said, "I'm afraid I don't know that word."
That seemed to satisfy him Shikamaru —having got one up on the man— going by the little smirk on his face.
Harry spent the next hour showing Shikamaru the wards around the East wing, explaining how they worked and why the portraits were under instruction to report anything suspicious. And while the boy still looked sceptical, he didn't press the matter further.
Barty watched all of it in silence, seated with a book in his lap, his posture tense but not hostile. In fact, he seemed all too understanding and it made Harry feel bad for the man.
Harry didn't miss the way Shikamaru stayed close to his side for the rest of the day.
~
A few nights later, Harry finally brought up what had been sitting on his chest for weeks.
He and Shikamaru were curled up in Harry's room, Teddy fast asleep beside them. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting golden light over the stone walls.
"I've been thinking," Harry began softly. "It's been nearly a month since we arrived. And the Keep is anchored now. The gateway in the dragon mountain is nearly finished. I thought… maybe it's time we keep going."
Shikamaru looked up from where he was playing with a wooden puzzle. "Keep going?"
"Exploring," Harry said, smiling. "We talked about it before. The other nations—Earth, Wind… maybe even further."
Shikamaru's eyes widened. "Really?"
Harry nodded. "I want you to see the world, Shika. I want us to travel, learn."
For a long moment, Shikamaru looked torn. Then he ducked his head. "I love it here," he whispered. "I really do. But the air's different. I can't feel chakra properly here. I think… I think I need to be around it. Just a little."
Harry's heart clenched. "Shika, why didn't you say something?"
The boy gave him a tiny, helpless shrug. "I didn't want to leave. I didn't want you to think I wasn't happy."
"Oh, sweetheart." Harry pulled him into a hug. "It doesn't matter where we are—as long as we're together."
Shikamaru's smile lit up the room.
The next few days were spent in a whirlwind of preparation.
Harry enchanted Shikamaru's backpack, making it featherlight and expanded with enough space to fit a small library. He created a shrinkable trunk for the boy to carry his scrolls and games. Food, rations, a miniature tent, emergency portkey. Everything was accounted for.
Harry had just finished carving the summonable portal rune into the palm of his own hand—one that would allow him to open a portal to the Dragons Mountain from anywhere in the world—when he had a thought.
"What about you?" he asked Nox during their final meeting at the dragon cliffs. "Are you still coming with us?"
Nox, lounging on a ledge with her wings curled in, blinked slowly.
"No," she said simply.
Harry froze. "What do you mean no? Are you okay?"
"I cannot leave," Nox said, tail flicking. "Not until I lay the egg."
Harry's eyes widened. "Egg?!"
Shikamaru, holding Teddy by the hand, gasped. "You're gonna be a parent?!"
Nox gave them both a look that could only be described as exasperated. "The egg is not for me. It is for you."
She pointed a clawed talon at Shikamaru.
The boy stared. "Me?!""You didn't bond with any of Lyra's hatchlings," she said coolly. "So, I will make one that will. All of mothers two-leg hatchlings need a dragon by their side."
Harry was stunned into silence. "Nox… are you sure?"
"She will not raise it," Altair chimed in, landing nearby with a graceful thud. "She doesn't want to be a mother. This is not a clutch. It is a gift."
"I am sure mother," Nox agreed.
Shikamaru walked up to her carefully, eyes wide. Then, with the newfound gift of Parseltongue from the blood adoption, he hissed softly, "Thank you. I'll be the best brother ever. I promise. I don't need a dragon, really, but… thank you. I'll love them forever!"
His voice cracked near the end.
Even Harry had to look away for a second, throat thick with emotion.
Nox huffed. "It will be strong. The second-best flyer behind me, obviously."
"I love you, too," Harry said dryly.
Lyra appeared next, her three grown children following at a distance. "We'll be here to watch the nest," she said. "But if you need another flyer—"
"I can summon you," Harry said, smiling. "I've nearly completed the new gateway for the mountain. It just needs a week to stabilise."
Shikamaru's eyes lit up. "So you can summon the dragons again?"
"Not Nox," Harry said gently. "She has to stay. But Altair and Lyra? Absolutely."
Harry turned to Rigel then—who was curled around Teddy like a winged bodyguard—and said, "You're staying too unfortunately."
Rigel pouted. "Someone has to look after father."
Then Shikamaru turned to Harry. "Didn't you say something about flying carpets?"
Harry blinked. "Oh, Merlin, I forgot I even had those! I'll have to go dig them out of the vault."
The night before their departure, Harry sat with Shikamaru and Ignotus in the Peverell Library. The massive family tree was displayed across the enchanted tapestry on the wall.
"See that?" Harry pointed, his smile proud. "Your name's right there. Right next to Teddy's."
Shikamaru's eyes sparkled. "I'm really part of the family…"
Harry reached over and ruffled his hair. "Forever."
Ignotus leaned forward, looking over Cadmus' line. "There," he said. "You see? Tsunade Senju and Tenzo. No death date listed."
Harry nodded. "They're still alive. I want to find them."
"Tsunade Senju is a legend," Shikamaru breathed. "She's one of the three Sannin! But she left the village years ago. She could be anywhere."
"Well," Harry said, smiling. "We'll just have to go on an adventure then, won't we?"
And as the moon rose high over the Keep, dragons roared a farewell in the distance, and wind stirred the forest canopy far below the cliffs, Harry felt the old anticipation bubble in his chest again.
Adventure awaited them.