The Stormborn Chapter 20

Nymphadora Tonks didn’t like Diagon Alley anymore. Not after what happened two years ago. The mory clung to her like cold fog—cloying, persistent, and impossible to shake.

She rembered the snow that day, fluttering softly over cobblestones, her own laughter as she and her friends dashed through the narrow streets, buying cauldron cakes and whispering secrets behind striped shop awnings. It had been a joyful day—until it wasn’t.

She never saw them coming.

One second she was turning toward Madam Malkin’s to look at enchanted boots, and the next—a curse struck her back, numbing her limbs with an icy grip. She hit the pavent, unable to scream, her body frozen under the Body-Binding Curse. Then ca the invisibility cloak, dropped over her limp form like a burial shroud. She heard whispered voices—n—four of them. Rough hands grabbed her, dragging her away. Her vision was locked on the crooked awnings and twinkling lights of the alley, fading fast as they slipped her into a carriage beyond the bounds of the magical ward.

She was gone before anyone noticed.

If it hadn’t been for him, she didn’t know what would’ve happened. She didn’t even know his na. Just that he was young. A child, maybe five or six years younger than her. Dressed in muggle clothes and eyes that—

She would never forget those eyes.

Electric blue. Like lightning frozen in glass. A wand in his hand. A whisper of fury in the air. And chaos— lightning magic more powerful than anything she had ever seen, he made her captors burned to powder.

Then he disappeared before she could say a single word.

And from that day forward, Diagon Alley had beco a place of ghosts.

Now, two years later, her parents—Androda and Edward Tonks—insisted she go back. She was fifteen now, a student at Hogwarts, nearly grown, they said. “You can’t hide from the world forever,” her father told her gently.

So, that morning during Christmas break, the three of them arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.

It was warm inside the pub, filled with laughter and clinking cups, and slled of buttered bread and roasted at. But Nymphadora still felt cold.

Androda kissed her temple. “Go explore, love. Pick out sothing nice for yourself. We’ll be here when you return.”

“Two hours,” her father added, glancing at his pocket watch. “Don’t dawdle.”

She nodded mutely, clutching her pouch of coins like it was a lifeline. Her boots clicked softly as she stepped out into the magical alley she once adored.

The world had moved on without her.

Children tugged on parents’ sleeves, begging for enchanted snow globes. Witches haggled over phoenix feathers. A vendor summoned floating candied plums that danced in the air.

But Tonks kept her head down, fingers twitching. Her wand was within easy reach, and her eyes constantly scanned every corner. Every alley mouth. Every shadow.

She barely lasted an hour before she found herself back at the Leaky Cauldron, heart pounding and hands numb.

Her parents were still at the table near the hearth, chatting over steaming bowls of stew.

“I... I’m done,” she muttered, sliding into the booth.

“You were quick,” Androda said, concerned.

Tonks didn’t answer. Her eyes were drawn elsewhere.

At a corner table near the wall sat two children—just children. A boy and a girl, maybe ten at most. The girl was bushy-haired and bright-eyed, holding a fork like it was a quill, asking questions even as she chewed. The boy listened calmly, nodding, occasionally responding with short smiles.

And then the boy looked up.

Tonks froze.

Those eyes.

The sa blue lightning.

He looked older now, broader in the shoulders, and more composed than any nine-year-old had a right to be. But the eyes were unmistakable. And his wand, visible as it peeked from his cloak, humd faintly with power. Not ordinary magic. Sothing deeper. Wilder.

It’s him.

The boy who had saved her life. Who had appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly.

“What’s wrong, Nym?” her father asked, noticing her stillness.

“Nothing,” she murmured quickly, ducking her head. “Just... I think I saw soone I know.”

She dared one more glance.

The boy was laughing now, talking to the girl with a warmth that made her chest ache. The girl touched his wrist, smiling shyly. They looked like... friends.

Real friends.

Tonks clenched her fists beneath the table, conflicted.

She didn’t know who he was or where he’d co from, but he had risked sothing for her once—magic that powerful didn’t co without cost.

And now he was here, eating lunch like any normal child, while she sat cloaked in fear.

He’d given her a second chance.

Maybe it was ti she found out who he really was.

She watched quietly as the two finished their al and stood to leave, the boy pulling up his hood just before they stepped out the door.

The two children laughed softly, paid for their al, and quietly slipped out the back of the pub—not toward Diagon Alley, but into the Muggle World exit near Charing Cross Road.

Tonks rose from her chair instinctively, eyes fixed on the door that slowly clicked shut behind them.

Tonks stood, too.

“Where are you going?” her mother asked, frowning.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said vaguely, eyes still on the door.

Nymphadora Tonks burst through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, nearly knocking over a cloaked wizard on his way in.

She barely noticed. Her eyes scanned the narrow street, darting past the snowy cobblestones, the flickering lanterns, and the passersby.

Where did they go?

Then she saw it—the shimring purple triple-decker, screeching to a halt at the end of the road. The Knight Bus.

Her breath caught.

The two children—the boy and the girl—were standing before it. The girl looked a little nervous, but the boy stood tall and calm, speaking briefly with the conductor. A mont later, the door opened with a clang and hiss, and they began to board.

Nymphadora’s feet moved on instinct. She rushed forward.

“Wait!” she cried, her voice barely rising over the screech of the engine and the bustling sounds of the alley.

The boy looked back.

Just for a mont.

Their eyes t once again—and this ti, there was recognition.

His mouth curled into a faint smile. Not one of mockery or confusion, but of understanding.

“You… it was you,” she whispered, slowing as she reached the sidewalk.

The girl beside him turned to look, puzzled, but the boy kept his gaze on Nymphadora.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, sincere, cutting through the winter air. “Thank you for saving .”

The boy tilted his head. The Knight Bus conductor called out behind him, “Co along now, lad. We’ve got places to be!”

Still, the boy lingered at the top step.

Nymphadora took another step forward. “Tell your na.”

The boy’s smile widened, gentle and warm. “Harry,” he said. “Harry Potter.”

Then the door hissed shut between them with a tallic clang, and a heartbeat later, with a thunderous bang, the bus vanished in a blur of color and light.

The street was empty again.

Tonks stood frozen on the pavent, the cold seeping through her boots. Harry Potter. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be.

Yet… it had to be.

She let the mont replay in her mind again and again—his electric blue eyes, that calm confidence, and the way he had looked at her like he knew what she had gone through. No hesitation. No lies.

She slowly turned and walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, her heart pounding in her chest.

Inside, Androda and Ted Tonks were still seated at the corner table, now with two empty mugs and the faint aroma of spiced stew lingering in the air.

The mont Nymphadora stepped through the door, her mother stood up. “Where did you rush off to? You nearly gave a heart attack!”

“I saw him,” Nymphadora said breathlessly, brushing snow from her sleeves. “I saw him.”

“Who?” Ted asked, frowning.

“The boy. The one who saved that day in Knockturn Alley.”

Androda’s face tensed. “What do you an you saw him? Are you sure?”

Nymphadora nodded. “It was him. Sa eyes. Sa look. I didn’t recognize him at first—but when he looked at , I knew.”

Androda stepped closer. “Who was he?”

Nymphadora swallowed. “Harry Potter.”

There was a pause.

Then Androda laughed—cold and sharp. “That’s impossible.”

“I know what I saw, Mum.”

“I saw Harry Potter when you were a baby, Nymphadora. He had green eyes. Just like his mother. Every wizard who’s seen him—green eyes. Not blue. Not even close.”

“I know,” she said. “But maybe… maybe sothing changed.”

Ted looked uncertain. “Do you think the boy lied?”

“He didn’t,” Nymphadora said firmly. “I looked into his eyes. He wasn’t lying. And even if he was—I am sure it was him. He knew what happened. And the way he moved… the power he had even back then…”

Androda folded her arms, frowning. “And what—now he’s running around Diagon Alley under a glamour charm with so girl?”

“She’s a witch,” Tonks said. “I saw the girl too. She looked like a muggle, but the way she walked with him—she knew where she was going. I think she’s just new to it all.”

Androda’s brow furrowed, skeptical. “Still… you’re sure?”

“I asked his na,” Tonks said. “He told . He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t laugh. He just told .”

Ted exchanged a glance with his wife. “Could’ve been a glamour. Could’ve been soone pretending.”

“Then why would he look like he rembered ?”

The fire crackled in the hearth nearby as silence hung between them.

Androda finally let out a soft sigh, her stern expression softening. “You’ve been chasing this ghost for years, sweetheart.”

“He’s not a ghost,” Nymphadora said. “He’s real. He’s alive. And he’s not the boy the papers say he is. He’s sothing else.”

Ted rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Then you’ll find him again. And if he really did save you… he’ll rember you too.”

Nymphadora nodded, her fingers tightening into fists.

She would find him again.

She didn’t care if his eyes were green, blue, or gold.

She knew the truth.

The lightning-eyed boy who had once torn apart a room full of kidnappers with sheer will and raw power had a na now.

Harry Potter.

The Knight Bus whooshed to a halt once again, this ti in the dense highlands of northern Scotland, where the sky always seed heavy with mist and the wind carried the scent of snow and pine. Harry stepped down quietly, hands tucked into his coat pockets, mind still drifting in the warmth of Diagon Alley.

He could already imagine the phone ringing tonight.

Hermione was insatiably curious—he liked that about her. There was a spark in her, a fire for knowledge that reminded Harry of the best kind of magic. Not spells or incantations, but wonder.

“Bet she’ll call before supper,” Harry murmured to himself with a small smile.

As he walked through the invisible barrier that led to the forest-cloaked manor, a flicker of blue light erupted ahead. Two wand blasts collided in midair—one red, one silver. Harry ducked instinctively, even though he was still twenty feet away from the dueling circle.

Sirius Black stood in the middle of the garden’s stone terrace, wand extended, breathing lightly. Across from him, Wanda Maximoff stood with a raised eyebrow, her fingers wreathed in scarlet chaos energy.

“You missed that last counter,” she said.

Sirius smirked. “No, I let you win. Ladies first.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips.

Harry stepped in with a teasing grin. “You two flirt louder than you duel.”

Sirius laughed and turned toward him. “Oi, I do not flirt—I'm just… courteous.”

Wanda gave Harry a sideways glance. “He’s been 'courteous' since breakfast.”

Harry set down his bag and plopped into one of the stone benches beside the dueling square. “Well, you look good together—when you’re not trying to hex each other into next week.”

Sirius chuckled, then paused. “So, how was the trip with Miss Bookworm?”

Harry leaned back, folding his arms. “It was good. She’s clever—figures out everything too fast. I think she’ll be brilliant when she gets her wand.”

Wanda approached, brushing a strand of red hair from her face. “Did you see her again? The girl you saved?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah… she was at the Leaky Cauldron. Recognized . Thanked before I left.”

Wanda's expression softened. “And how did that feel?”

Harry hesitated. “Strange. Like sothing from another life.”

She sat beside him, her eyes searching his face. “You should consider looking like Jas Potter again, at least when you’re in the wizarding world.”

Sirius’s smile faded slightly, and his eyes turned toward Harry—hopeful, but wary.

“You owe everything to Jas and Lily,” Wanda continued, “They’ll recognize the face. The na. And you’ll blend in easier.”

Harry tilted his head, thinking. “I’ve been practicing with the tamorphing ability. It's not perfect yet, but…”

“You’re already more advanced than anyone your age,” Sirius interrupted. “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Harry closed his eyes and let the change wash over him.

He had practiced this transformation in secret before—ever since discovering he could shift his features subtly. It wasn’t full shapeshifting, but he could bend the lines of his face, the cut of his jaw, the curve of his nose, even the color of his eyes.

A tingling sensation spread across his skin, like a dozen hot needles crawling beneath the surface.

Wanda and Sirius watched quietly as Harry’s features began to morph. His nose straightened and sharpened slightly. His brow narrowed. His eyes shimred from brilliant electric blue to the vivid, haunting green that had once defined Lily Potter. His hair darkened, tousled and unruly, falling across his forehead just like—

Sirius inhaled sharply.

“Bloody hell…” he muttered, stepping closer. “You—Harry—you look just like him.”

Wanda placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Perfect. That face will let you walk through their world unnoticed. Not as an Asgardian. But as one of their own.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked into Sirius’s face.

The older man’s voice faltered. “It hurt, you know. When you stopped looking like him. I didn’t say anything because I knew it wasn't your fault. But… seeing you like this again…”

“It doesn’t erase who I am,” Harry said gently. “But maybe it helps them accept who I’m becoming.”

Wanda nodded. “Exactly.”

“I’ll keep the green-eyed look for Diagon Alley,” Harry said. “But I want to stay when I’m here. With all of you.”

Sirius pulled him into a one-ard hug. “That’s all I ever wanted, pup. You, safe. You, strong. And you choosing your life.”

“Even if that life includes awkwardly watching you and Wanda dance around each other?” Harry quipped.

Wanda flushed slightly. Sirius groaned. “You’ve got your mother’s sass, I swear.”

Harry grinned, looking down at his hands—his skin now matching Jas Potter’s tone, his body cloaked in soone else’s legacy. Yet inside, he felt anchored. He chose this mask. It would be a tool, a way in. A bridge between two worlds.

But only a mask.

Because beneath the surface, Harry was still sothing more.

And sowhere deep inside, the thunder still rumbled.

Author's Note:

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