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Chapter Text

Harry Potter was sitting in his home in London, holding little teddy Lupin. He just been found in the orphanage after Andy's mysterious disappearance. Where they found Andy had left him there instead of giving him to Harry as was his right as Godfather. He had just turned four and was proudly showing everyone who his mother was. Loud cries echoed through the room as Harry rocked him to sleep in the nursery's rocking chair, with little stars twinkling on the ceiling. Magical wolves danced along the walls, accompanied by a jaguar as black as night with glowing green eyes. Singing filled the room as Harry sang to his little teddy, unaware that his magic was responding to another's, as he laid the teddy in the crib.

**Hush, my dear one,  

Sleep serenely,  

Now, my lovely  

Slumber deep.**

**Mother rocks you,  

Humming lowly,  

Close your eyes now  

Go to sleep.**

**Angels hover,  

Ever nearer,  

Looking at your  

Smiling face.**

**I will hold you,  

Close enfold you,  

Close your eyes now  

Go to sleep.**

**Lovely darling,  

I will guard you,  

Keep you from all  

Woe and harm.**

**Slowly, gently,  

I will rock you,  

Resting sweetly,  

On my arm.**

**May you slumber,  

E’er so softly,  

Dream of visions  

Wondrous fair.**

**I will hold you,  

Close enfold you.  

Close your eyes now  

Go to sleep.**

**May you slumber,  

E’er so softly,  

Dream of visions  

Wondrous fair.**

**I will hold you,  

Close enfold you.  

Close your eyes now,  

Go to sleep.**

Winky popped in with a letter from Gringotts for her master, Potter. "Letter for Master," said Winky, handing over the letter. Harry opened it to read:

**Lord Harebellen Orion Potter-Black**

Your presence is requested at Gringotts immediately. There is a situation that calls for you here.  

Best regards,  

Ragnok  

Sighing, Harry ran his hand down his face and asked Winky if she could keep an eye on Teddy while he went to the bank. As Harry flooed into Gringotts, he bowed to the goblin teller. "Greetings, Master Teller. I have a meeting with King Ragnok." "Follow me, Lord Potter-Black," the teller replied, leading him down the long hall, past door after door, until they reached a huge glass door adorned with stained glass murals of jewels and the crest of the goblin king. After knocking, they heard a voice say, "Come in."

Walking into the room, Harry saw the goblin king and a young Tom Riddle, about five years old, sitting in a chair. Bowing, Harry said, "Greetings, King Ragnok. May I know why I was called here tonight?" 

"Sit down, Lord Potter-Black. We have much to discuss," Ragnok replied. Harry took a seat next to the small child, who was staring at him as if he might hurt him. He remembered that at this time, little Tom was suffering in Wool's Orphanage.

"Hello," Tom said softly. "What's your name?" 

"Hello, little one. My name is Harebellen, but you may call me Harry. What's your name, sweet child?" Harry asked. 

"My name is Tom Riddle," said little Tom.

Looking up at the king, Harry was anxious to understand how this was possible. The king sighed and stated that an inheritance test would reveal what they needed to know about both of them.

"Seven drops of blood each, please," Ragnok instructed.

"May I help you with this little cut?" Harry asked Tom.

Nodding, Tom held out his hand to Harry, who nicked a little cut on his thumb while hearing Tom count to seven. Harry smiled and healed Tom's thumb before doing the same to his own.

**Inheritance Test**

**Name:** Tom Marvolo Riddle  

**Age:** 5  

**Born:** December 31, 1926  

**Location:** Wool's Orphanage, London, England, Great Britain  

**Time Travel:** 05/05/1998  

**Parents:**  

- Tom Riddle Sr. (father)  

- Merope Riddle (née Gaunt)  

**Blood Status:** Half-blood  

**Titles:** Heir  

- Slytherin  

- Gaunt  

- Peverell  

**Blocks:** 30% core  

**Potions:** Loyalty to Albus Dumbledore  

**Abilities:**  

- Parseltongue  

- Parselmagic  

Sighing, Harry looked over Tom’s results and was surprised by the low number of blocks and potions, knowing these were Dumbledore's favorite combinations.

**Inheritance Test**

**Name:** Harebellen Orion Potter-Black  

**Age:** 20  

**Born:** July 31, 1980  

**Parents:**  

- James Charles Potter  

- Regulus Arcturus Black  

**Blood Status:** Pure-blood  

**Titles:**  

- Potter  

- Black  

- Peverell  

- Lahey  

**Blocks:** 40% magic block (removed)  

**Potions:** Love potion keyed to Ginny Weasley (removed)  

**Loyalty:** Keyed to Albus Dumbledore  

**Mate Bond:** Peter Hale (Werewolf)  

**Abilities:**  

- Carrier  

- Parseltongue  

- Parselmagic  

- Necromancy 

Chapter Text

Sighing, not knowing what to make of his titles, I only knew about two out of four. Harry looked at the Lordships, wondering where some of them could come from. Potter was easy, coming from his mother, James. Black was easy, coming from his father, Regulus. The other two, he did not know.
“May I ask where the lahey lordship comes from?” Asked Harry, "Which ministry would it be under?"
"Lahey lordship comes from the American ministry and is stationed in Beacon Hills California where the blacks have a few stores and an apartment building under their name and the Lahey family line has two houses in California one in Italy." Said Ragnok. "From your bearer's side of the family."
“California?” said Harry. “Was no one else in line?”
Laughing and softly King Ragnarok said "Yes a 14-year-old werewolf named Isaac Lahey he doesn't know that he has magic through his blood our guess is that it has been blocked"
“Is he the heir?” Said Harry
“He is the heir but does not know his father's line in the wixen world, as his father came from squibs. From what we found out, he and his father are all that's left of the line, and his father is abusive after his older son died not much is known about his mother,” said Ragnok.
“So I could potentially adopt 3 children, two tonight, if you'll allow me to call my house elf Winky,” Harry said.
Ragnok nodded his permission, and Harry called softly, "Winky."
With a small pop, the house-elf appeared, wringing her hands nervously. "Master Harry called for Winky?"
"Yes, Winky. I need you to go home and pack bags for myself and Teddy. We'll be traveling to America—to California. Pack for an extended stay, at least a month. And please let Kreacher and Dobby know what's happening. Ask them to secure the London house."
"Winky will do this right away, Master Harry!" She disappeared with another pop.
Harry turned back to Ragnok, his hand unconsciously moving to rest on Tom's small shoulder. The child had been watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. "I assume there are guardianship papers that need to be signed?"
"Indeed." Ragnok slid two sets of parchment across his massive desk. "For Tom Marvolo Riddle, the papers are straightforward—magical adoption with full parental rights. Time travel complicates matters, but since he arrived in our time as a child with no living guardians in this era, custody defaults to the nearest magical relative." He tapped one gnarled finger on Harry's inheritance test. "Through the Peverell line, that's you."
Harry scanned the documents carefully. Everything seemed in order—full adoption rights, name change optional, heir status transferred to the Potter line unless Tom reclaimed his own titles at majority. He signed with steady strokes.
"And for young Mr. Lahey," Ragnok continued, producing a thicker stack of parchment, "the situation is more delicate. His father is alive, if abusive. We'll need to build a case for magical custody based on the endangerment of an heir and the suppression of his magic. I've already begun the proceedings with the American Ministry's Department of Magical Child Welfare."
"How long will that take?" Harry asked, concerned about creasing his brow.
"With the evidence we have? A week, perhaps two. In the meantime, you'll need to establish yourself in Beacon Hills. The Lahey lordship comes with properties there—a safehouse would be appropriate given the circumstances." Ragnok's smile showed too many teeth. "I've taken the liberty of having the main Lahey estate prepared for your arrival. It's been empty for fifteen years, but the wards are still strong."
Harry nodded slowly, his mind already racing ahead. California. A mate bonds to someone named Peter Hale. A werewolf, according to his inheritance test. And now potentially three children to care for—Teddy, Tom, and Isaac Lahey.
"Master Harry?" Tom's small voice broke through his thoughts. "Are... are you really going to take me with you? You're not sending me back to the orphanage?"
Harry's heart clenched. He knelt down beside Tom's chair, meeting the boy's dark eyes—so different from the red-eyed monster he'd faced in the graveyard, in the Chamber, in his nightmares. This was just a child. A frightened, lonely child who'd been given a second chance.
"I'm taking you home, Tom," Harry said firmly. "You're going to be my son, if you'll have me as your parent. You'll have a brother named Teddy—he's four, just about your age. And we're going to go somewhere new, somewhere safe, where no one will ever hurt you again."
Tom stared at him for a long moment, then launched himself forward, wrapping small arms around Harry's neck. Harry caught him automatically, holding the trembling child close as silent sobs shook his small frame.
Over Tom's dark hair, Harry met Ragnok's knowing gaze.
"The mate bond," Harry said quietly. "Tell me about Peter Hale."
Ragnok leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Peter Hale is a werewolf from one of the oldest packs in North America—the Hale pack of Beacon Hills. He's currently thirty-two years old, though that may mean little to you given your own... unique circumstances." The goblin's expression grew more serious. "Six years ago, there was a fire. The Hale house burned with most of the family inside. Peter survived, but he's been in a coma ever since, kept alive in a long-term care facility."
Harry's breath caught. "A coma? For six years?"
"The mate bond should help," Ragnok said. "Your presence, your magic—it may be exactly what he needs to wake up. Mate bonds are powerful, Lord Potter-Black, especially between a magical and a supernatural creature. The bond recognizes what each of you needs, what each of you can offer."
"And his family? The survivors?"
"His nephew, Derek Hale, and his daughter, Cora Hale, though she's believed to be dead. Derek is twenty-four and has been... adrift, from what our American contacts tell us. The fire destroyed him almost as surely as it destroyed his family."
Harry closed his eyes briefly, still holding Tom. Another broken family. More people who'd lost everything to violence and hatred.
Maybe he could help. Maybe that's what the mate bond meant—not just romance or destiny, but the chance to help heal, to build something new from the ashes.
"We'll leave tomorrow," Harry decided. "Tonight, I need to explain things to Teddy and get Tom settled. Winky will have everything ready."
"One more thing," Ragnok said, sliding a small velvet pouch across the desk. "This is a emergency portkey, keyed specifically to the Beacon Hills preserve. If you need to leave London quickly or if there's any trouble, it will take you directly to your new home. The activation word is 'sanctuary.'"
Harry pocketed the portkey and stood, lifting Tom into his arms. The boy had stopped crying but hadn't let go, his face pressed against Harry's shoulder.
"Thank you, King Ragnok," Harry said formally, bowing as much as he could while holding a child. "For everything."
"Thank Fortuna, Lord Potter-Black. She's the one who brought young Tom back to this time, and she's the one who's given you a mate bond strong enough to cross species and ocean." Ragnok's expression softened slightly. "Go. Build your family. And when you've settled, we'll discuss the matter of young Isaac Lahey properly."

I'll continue the story with the blood adoption and the reveal of their new names:

"Before you leave," Ragnok said, pulling out an ornate silver dagger and three crystal vials, "the blood adoption should be completed tonight. It will strengthen both boys, remove the remaining blocks and potions, and give them the full protection of your family magic."
Harry nodded, settling Tom—soon to be someone new—more comfortably on his lap. "What do I need to do?"
"Seven drops of your blood into each vial, then three drops from each boy. Speak the adoption words clearly, and Lady Magic will do the rest." Ragnok's expression was solemn. "Be prepared—she may choose to rename them. Blood adoption of time travelers is... unique. Magic has a way of rewriting what was into what should be."
Harry pricked his finger, letting seven drops fall into the first vial, then the second. Tom watched with fascination as Harry gently took his small hand again.
"It's okay," Harry murmured. "Just three drops this time."
Tom barely flinched as the dagger nicked his thumb. Three drops of blood fell into the first vial, and immediately the liquid began to glow with golden light.
"I, Harebellen Orion Potter-Black, Lord of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter, Black, and Peverell, do claim Tom Marvolo Riddle as my son and heir. By blood and magic, by choice and love, I bind him to my house and heart. Let magic witness and seal this bond."

The vial erupted in brilliant gold and silver light, swirling up and around Tom. The boy gasped as the magic washed over him, through him. Harry held him close as the light intensified, then slowly faded.
Tom—but not Tom anymore—blinked up at Harry with eyes that were still dark but now held flecks of green. His magic felt different, cleaner, stronger.
"How do you feel?" Harry asked softly.
"Different," the boy whispered. "My name... my name is Grayson. Grayson Felix Potter-Black." Wonder filled his voice. "That's my name now. My real name."
Harry pulled him close. "Hello, Grayson. Welcome to the family."
Ragnok passed over the new inheritance test, and Harry read it with growing amazement. Lady Magic had done more than just adopt Grayson—she'd completely rewritten his timeline. Born December 31, 1994, not 1926. Five years old now, not nearly seventy years in the future. And most importantly—the loyalty potion and core blocks remained, but they could be removed now without the taint of dark magic that would have corrupted an adult Tom Riddle.
"We'll get those blocks and potions removed properly," Harry promised, pressing a kiss to Grayson's dark hair. "I won't let Dumbledore's poison touch you."
"Master Harry!" Winky popped back in, making Grayson jump. "Winky has packed everything and—oh!" She caught sight of the boy in Harry's arms. "Master Harry has gotten another little one!"
"Winky, this is Grayson Felix Potter-Black, my son," Harry said with a smile. "Grayson, this is Winky. She's going to help take care of us."
Grayson stared at the house-elf with wide eyes. "You have a house-elf? A real one?"
"We have three," Harry corrected gently. "Winky, Kreacher, and Dobby. They're family, Grayson. Never servants—family."
Winky's eyes welled up with tears. "Master Harry is too kind to Winky!"
"Now," Ragnok interrupted, "we need young Teddy here for his adoption as well. Lord Potter-Black, you've been raising him as his guardian, but Lady Magic may have other plans."
Harry's heart clenched. "Winky, can you bring Teddy here? Make sure he's wrapped warmly—tell him Papa needs him for something important."
"Winky will fetch little Master Teddy!" She vanished with a pop.
Grayson looked up at Harry curiously. "Teddy is going to be my brother?"
"Yes," Harry said firmly. "You'll both be my sons. Both be brothers. A family."
Minutes later, Winky returned with a sleepy Teddy bundled in a blanket, his hair a soft brown with streaks of turquoise—always changing with his moods and dreams.
"Papa?" Teddy mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Winky said you needed me?"
"Come here, cub," Harry said, opening his other arm. Teddy climbed into his lap beside Grayson, eyeing the other boy with curiosity.
"Who's that?" Teddy asked.
"This is Grayson," Harry said gently. "He's going to be your brother. But first, we're going to do something very special. I'm going to adopt you properly, Teddy. Make you truly my son, not just your godfather."
Teddy's eyes went wide. "Really? I can be your real son?"
"You've always been my real son in my heart," Harry whispered, throat tight. "But now we'll make it official. Magic will know. Everyone will know."
The second blood adoption went more smoothly. Teddy held out his hand bravely, watching his three drops of blood mix with Harry's seven. When Harry spoke the words—the same binding, loving words—the magic that rose up was silver and gold and shifting through every color imaginable, just like Teddy's hair.
The light was gentler this time, perhaps because Teddy was already so connected to Harry through love and time and care. But when it faded, the boy in Harry's arms had changed too.
"Elijah," Teddy—Elijah—breathed out. "My name is Elijah Ashton Potter-Black." He looked up at Harry with eyes that now held the same green flecks as his brother's. "I'm really yours now, Papa."
"You always were," Harry whispered, holding both boys close. "You both always were."
Ragnok cleared his throat, though his eyes were suspiciously bright. "The final inheritance tests, Lord Potter-Black."
Harry read through them all, his heart swelling with each line. Grayson Felix Potter-Black—pure-blood, heir to Slytherin, Gaunt, and Peverell through Harry's own lines now. Elijah Ashton Potter-Black—pure-blood, heir to Lupin and Black, with abilities that would make him extraordinary.
And his own test, updated with two children listed. Two sons. His sons.
"The blocks and potions on Grayson will need to be removed carefully," Ragnok said, all business again. "I recommend doing it here, now, while we have the proper facilities. The loyalty potion especially—it was likely keyed to Dumbledore's magical signature through time itself. Removing it incorrectly could damage the boy's mind."
Harry nodded, tightening his arms around Grayson protectively. "Do it. Do whatever needs to be done to make him free."
An hour later, both boys were sleeping peacefully in conjured chairs, wrapped in warm blankets. The ritual to remove Grayson's blocks and potions had been intense but successful. Harry could feel the difference in his son's magic—brighter, stronger, no longer suppressed or poisoned.
"You'll need to register the adoptions with the Ministry," Ragnok said, "but I'd recommend doing so from America. The British Ministry is still very much under Dumbledore's influence, and questions about where young Grayson came from would be... complicated."
"Agreed," Harry said tiredly. "We'll register with the American Ministry once we're settled in Beacon Hills."
"Then everything is in order." Ragnok stood, extending his hand in the goblin fashion. "May your family prosper, Lord Potter-Black. May your sons grow strong and true. And may your mate bond bring you the happiness you deserve."
Harry clasped the goblin's hand firmly. "Thank you, King Ragnok. For everything."
"One last thing," Ragnok said, pulling out a final piece of parchment. "Information on Peter Hale, his family, and the supernatural situation in Beacon Hills. You'll need to understand what you're walking into."
Harry took the parchment, scanning it quickly. Werewolf pack politics, the Argent hunters, the fire six years ago, Derek Hale's whereabouts (mostly unknown), and Peter's condition at Beacon Hills Memorial.
"There's also this," Ragnok added, handing over a small card. "The name of a local supernatural veterinarian—Dr. Alan Deaton. He's an emissary, someone who advises packs on magical matters. He may be able to help you navigate the werewolf world."
Harry pocketed both items. "I'll contact him once we arrive."
"Then safe travels, Lord Potter-Black. And welcome to your new life."
Harry gathered his sleeping sons, one in each arm, and called for Winky. As they prepared to leave Gringotts, he looked down at Grayson and Elijah—his sons, his family—and felt a fierce surge of protective love.
California awaited. A mate bonds with a man in a coma. A potential third son being abused. A whole new world of supernatural politics and dangers.
But for the first time since the war ended, Harry felt hope. Real, genuine hope for the future.
"Let's go home, boys," he whispered. "Let's go find our family."

Chapter Text

Dawn was breaking over London when Harry finally returned home with his sleeping sons. Winky had outdone herself—the house was pristine, bags were packed and organized by the door, and Kreacher and Dobby were waiting in the entrance hall.
"Master Harry!" Dobby squeaked, bouncing on his toes. "Dobby is so happy! Master Harry has brought home two little masters!"
Kreacher's expression was more reserved, but Harry could see the approval in the old elf's eyes as he examined the sleeping boys. "The House of Black continues," Kreacher said with satisfaction. "Master Regulus would be proud."
"Help me get them to bed," Harry said softly. "We have a lot to do today before we leave for America tomorrow."
Once Grayson and Elijah were tucked into the guest room—soon they'd need proper rooms of their own in California—Harry sat down at his desk and pulled out parchment.
Luna,
I need you to come to Grimmauld Place this morning. Emergency family meeting. Bring Neville if he's available. Something wonderful and terrifying has happened, and I need my sister.
Love,
Harry
He sent the letter off with his owl, then wrote a nearly identical one to Hermione. Within twenty minutes, both witches had sent return owls confirming they'd arrive by 9 AM.
Harry used the time to shower, change, and check on his sons. Both were still sleeping soundly, Elijah's hair cycling through colors in his dreams while Grayson clutched a pillow like it might disappear.
His sons. The thought still made his heart clench.
At precisely 9 AM, the floo flared green twice in quick succession. Luna stepped through first, dreamy as ever in a dress covered in moons and stars, followed immediately by Hermione in sensible jeans and a jumper.
"Harry?" Hermione started, concern evident. "What's wrong? Your letter—"
"Nothing's wrong," Harry said quickly, then paused. "Well, everything's changed, but nothing's wrong exactly."
Luna tilted her head, studying him with those perceptive silver eyes. "You have new Wrackspurts around you. Happy ones. And your magic feels... fuller. Like you've found missing pieces."
Trust Luna to see right to the heart of it.
"Sit down," Harry said. "Both of you. This is going to take some explaining."
He told them everything—the letter from Gringotts, meeting young Tom Riddle pulled through time, the inheritance tests revealing his true parentage and his mate bond, the blood adoptions and new names, the Lahey lordship in California and the abused heir who needed rescuing.
Hermione's expression went through shock, confusion, calculation, and finally landed on fierce protectiveness. "You adopted Tom Riddle. A five-year-old Tom Riddle from 1926."
"I adopted Grayson Felix Potter-Black," Harry corrected gently. "Tom Riddle doesn't exist anymore. Lady Magic herself renamed him, gave him a new birthday, made him mine."
"And Teddy—Elijah now," Luna said with a soft smile. "He must be so happy to truly be yours."
"He is," Harry said, throat tight. "They both are. But Hermione, Luna—I need your help. We're leaving for California tomorrow, and I have so much to do before then."
"California?" Hermione blinked. "Tomorrow? Harry, that's incredibly sudden—"
"I have a mate bond with a werewolf who's been in a coma for six years," Harry said flatly. "My presence might wake him. And there's a fourteen-year-old boy being abused who's my heir and doesn't even know he has magic. I can't wait, Hermione. Every day I delay is another day Isaac suffers and Peter stays trapped."
Hermione's expression softened. "Oh, Harry. Of course. What do you need?"
"Everything," Harry admitted. "Clothes for two growing boys. Books—children's books, magical primers, anything that might help Grayson since he's from 1926 and missed so much. I need to set up my accounts with the American Ministry. And..." He hesitated. "The boys want pet snakes. Both of them are Parselmouths now, through the blood adoption."
Luna's eyes lit up. "A shopping trip! How wonderful. And you'll need protection charms for the new house, blessing rituals for fresh beginnings, and probably some calming draughts for when the boys get overwhelmed by all the changes."
"I'll make a list," Hermione said, already pulling out a notebook. "Clothes, books, supplies—Harry, what about schooling? Grayson will need to learn reading and writing for this time period, and both boys are young enough that—"
"I'll homeschool them for now," Harry said. "At least until we're settled and I understand the situation in Beacon Hills better. There might be magical schools in America they can attend later, but right now they need stability more than formal education."
"Sensible," Hermione approved. "Right. Let's wake the boys, get them fed, and head to Diagon Alley. We have a lot of shopping to do."

An hour later, Harry stood in Diagon Alley with Elijah on his left, Grayson on his right, and Luna and Hermione flanking them like protective aunts. Both boys were wide-eyed and overwhelmed—Elijah because he'd never been allowed to shop properly before, always getting hand-me-downs and necessities, and Grayson because the world of 1999 was so different from 1926.
"Where do we start?" Harry asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed himself.
"Clothes first," Hermione said decisively. "Madam Malkin's. Both boys need complete wardrobes—play clothes, formal robes, sleepwear, the works."
Madam Malkin took one look at the two children and immediately went into grandmother mode, cooing over them and measuring them with quick efficiency. Grayson was fascinated by the enchanted measuring tapes, while Elijah kept changing his hair color to match different fabric swatches.
"Growing boys need room to grow," Madam Malkin declared. "I'll charm everything to adjust as they get taller. And for California weather—lots of light cottons and linens, yes? With warming charms for the evenings."
An hour and several hundred galleons later, they had two complete wardrobes being delivered to Grimmauld Place.
"Books next," Luna suggested. "Flourish and Blotts has a wonderful children's section."
The bookstore was Grayson's favorite so far. His eyes went huge at the towering shelves, the floating books, the reading nooks filled with cushions.
"Can I really pick any books I want?" he asked softly, as if afraid Harry might say no.
"Any books you want," Harry confirmed, heart breaking a little at the wonder in his son's voice. "As many as you'd like."
Hermione helped Grayson select beginning readers, picture books about the modern world, and simple magical primers. For Elijah, she chose slightly more advanced readers, books about metamorphmagi, and several picture books about magical creatures.
"And these," Luna said, floating over with an armful of storybooks. "Every child needs fairy tales. The Muggle ones and the magical ones."
Harry added history books, atlases, and several journals for drawing and writing. By the time they left, they'd purchased over fifty books and arranged delivery.
"Now the important part," Harry said, grinning at his sons' excited faces. "The Magical Menagerie."
The shop was warm and smelled of hay and cedar shavings. Owls hooted from perches, Kneazles prowled in their enclosures, and in one corner, behind warded glass, a collection of snakes dozed in heated terrariums.
Both boys made a beeline for the snakes.
"Hello," Elijah hissed in Parseltongue, pressing his hands against the glass. "Are you sleeping?"
A small garden snake lifted its head, tongue flickering. "Warm here. Comfortable. You speak?"
"We both speak," Grayson said, crouching down beside his brother. "We're looking for friends. Snakes who want to come live with us."
The shopkeeper hurried over, eyes wide. "Parselmouths! Both of them? My word, how rare!"
"Do you have snakes suitable for children?" Harry asked. "Nothing venomous, nothing too large. Companion snakes."
"Oh yes, yes!" The shopkeeper was already opening the terrarium. "I have two young corn snakes, siblings actually. They're very docile, excellent with children. And they've been listening to your boys—I think they're interested."
Two snakes, one rust-colored and one golden, slithered forward.
"You want child-friends?" the rust-colored one asked.
"Yes," Elijah said immediately. "I'm Elijah. This is my brother Grayson. We'd take good care of you."
"Promise?" the golden snake asked.
"Promise," Grayson said solemnly.
The snakes seemed to confer, then both nodded—as much as snakes could nod.
"We'll come," the rust-colored one decided. "I'm Ember."
"I'm Sunbeam," the golden one added.
Twenty minutes later, they left the Menagerie with two corn snakes in magically climate-controlled traveling cases, along with everything needed for proper snake care—terrariums, heating stones, food supplies, and care books.
"Can we name them?" Elijah asked excitedly.
"They already have names," Harry said with a smile. "Ember and Sunbeam. They introduced themselves."
Both boys looked delighted by this.

Harry got his own to teach the boys parsalmagic when they are older. A majestic adult runespoor named Zahhak after a figure from Persian myth, a serpentine king with two snakes growing from his shoulders.

Their final stop was the apothecary, where Hermione insisted on stocking Harry up on healing potions, calming draughts, Dreamless Sleep, and various other essentials.

"You're going into unknown territory with two small children," she said firmly. "You need to be prepared for anything."
By the time they returned to Grimmauld Place, it was late afternoon. The house was full of packages and parcels, all neatly organized by the house-elves. Grayson and Elijah were exhausted but happy, clutching their snake cases carefully.
Luna helped set up the terrariums in what would temporarily be the boys' room, while Hermione made tea and sandwiches.
"You're really doing this," Hermione said quietly, watching Harry help Grayson transfer Sunbeam into his new home. "Moving to America, starting completely over."
"I have to," Harry said simply. "Everything I learned today—my real father, my mate bond, these boys who need me—it all points to California. To Beacon Hills."
"What about the British Ministry? The Wizengamot? Your seats in government?"
"I'll maintain them through proxies. You, if you're willing. And Neville." Harry looked at his best friend seriously. "Hermione, I need someone I trust to represent the Potter and Black interests here. Someone who won't let Dumbledore manipulate things while I'm gone."
Hermione's eyes sharpened. "The blocks and potions on your inheritance test. Dumbledore did that to you."
"And to Grayson, when he was still Tom," Harry confirmed. "I can't stay here, Hermione. Not where Dumbledore has so much power. Not where he can hurt my sons."
"Then I'll do it," Hermione said fiercely. "I'll be your proxy. I'll protect your interests. And if Dumbledore tries anything..." Her smile was sharp. "Well, he'll learn that I've gotten very good at political maneuvering."
Luna drifted over, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "The Nargles say California will be good for you. There's family there—the kind you choose, not the kind forced upon you. And your mate bond will be beautiful once it's awake."
"Do you See something?" Harry asked quietly. Luna had precognitive abilities she rarely discussed.
"I See a house full of laughter," Luna said dreamily. "Children and wolves and magic all tangled together. I See you happy, Harry. Finally, truly happy. And I See a man with blue eyes who will love you fiercer than fire."
Harry's breath caught. "Peter."
"Peter," Luna agreed. "Though it will be complicated at first. Comas tend to make things complicated."
Despite everything, Harry laughed. Only Luna could make a six-year coma sound like a minor inconvenience.
That evening, after Hermione and Luna had left with promises to visit soon and to handle the British magical government, Harry sat with his sons in their temporary room. Grayson and Elijah were in pajamas, faces washed, teeth brushed. Ember and Sunbeam were settled in their terrariums, already sleeping.
"Papa?" Elijah asked softly. "Are you scared? About California?"
Harry considered lying, then decided his sons deserved honesty. "A little," he admitted. "It's a big change. A whole new country, new people, new everything. But mostly I'm excited. We get to start fresh, all three of us. We get to be a real family."
"And I don't have to be Tom anymore," Grayson whispered. "I can just be Grayson. Your son."
"My son," Harry confirmed, pulling both boys close. "Both of you. Always."
"Tell us about the werewolves," Elijah said, snuggling into Harry's side. "Tell us about our new home."
So Harry told them what he knew—about Beacon Hills, about the Hale pack, about Peter sleeping and waiting. He told them about Isaac, the brother they hadn't met yet but would help save. He told them about the house they'd live in, with its wards and protections.
And as his sons' breathing evened out into sleep, Harry looked out the window at the London night sky and thought about California sunshine.
Tomorrow, everything will change.
Tomorrow, they'll go home

Chapter Text

The portkey activated at precisely 10 AM London time—2 AM California time. Harry held both boys close as the familiar hook-behind-the-navel sensation yanked them across the Atlantic. Winky, Kreacher, and Dobby had already gone ahead with the luggage, leaving Harry to manage two sleepy children and two drowsy snakes.
They landed in a clearing surrounded by towering trees. The air was different here—cleaner, sharper, tinged with pine and earth and something wild that made Harry's magic sing. Even at 2 AM, he could feel the power thrumming through the ground beneath his feet.
"The Beacon Hills Preserve," Harry murmured, recognizing it from Ragnok's descriptions. "We're here, boys."
Grayson and Elijah clung to him, eyes wide as they took in the dark forest around them. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
"Was that a werewolf?" Grayson whispered.
"Maybe," Harry said honestly. "Or maybe just a regular wolf. Either way, we're safe. Can you feel the wards?"
Both boys nodded. Even in their exhaustion, they could sense the powerful protective magic emanating from somewhere deeper in the preserve.
"That's our new home," Harry said. "Come on. Let's go see it."
He conjured softly glowing lumos and led his sons through the trees. The path appeared beneath their feet as they walked, recognizing the Lord of Lahey and guiding them home. After ten minutes of walking, the trees opened up to reveal a sprawling estate.
The Lahey House was beautiful.
Three stories of dark wood and stone, with wide windows and a wraparound porch. Warm light glowed from inside—the house-elves had clearly arrived and made everything ready. Gardens surrounded the house, currently overgrown but showing signs of former glory. And beyond the house, Harry could see a separate building—perhaps a guest house or workshop.
"It's like a castle," Elijah breathed, his hair shifting to an awed silver-blue.
"It's ours," Grayson said wonderingly. "Really ours?"
"Really ours," Harry confirmed. "Welcome home, boys."
The wards recognized him as he approached, rippling with welcome. The front door swung open before he could knock, revealing Winky bouncing with excitement.
"Master Harry! Masters Grayson and Elijah! Welcome home!" She ushered them inside quickly. "Winky and Kreacher and Dobby have prepared everything! Rooms for the little masters, kitchen stocked, beds made!"
The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. Hardwood floors gleamed under chandelier light. A grand staircase curved up to the second floor. To the left, Harry could see a formal living room with a massive fireplace. To the right, a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
"Master Harry should see the kitchen!" Dobby appeared, practically vibrating with excitement. "And the potions lab in the basement! And the dueling room! And the—"
"Tomorrow, Dobby," Harry said gently. "Right now, I need to get the boys to bed. Can you show us to their rooms?"
"Of course, Master Harry!" Dobby led them upstairs, past door after door, until he reached the end of the hall where two rooms sat across from each other. "These are the best rooms for little masters! Big windows, lots of light, and very close to Master Harry's room!"
Grayson's room was decorated in deep greens and silvers, with bookshelves already partially filled with the books they'd bought. His terrarium was set up near the window where Sunbeam could get morning light. The bed was enormous, covered in soft blankets.
Elijah's room mirrored it but in blues and golds, with his own bookshelves and Ember's terrarium. Both rooms had desks for studying, toy chests waiting to be filled, and most importantly—they felt safe. The wards hummed protectively through the walls.
"These are really ours?" Grayson asked again, as if he couldn't quite believe it.
"Really, truly yours," Harry said firmly. "And if you want to change anything—different colors, different furniture, anything—we can do that. These rooms are yours to make your own."
He tucked both boys into their respective beds, kissing foreheads and murmuring goodnight spells. By the time he checked on the snakes (both sleeping peacefully) and made his way to his own room, it was nearly 3 AM.
His room was the master suite—enormous, with its own bathroom, a sitting area, and windows overlooking the forest. But Harry barely noticed the luxury. He collapsed onto the bed fully clothed and fell into exhausted sleep.

He woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and the sound of children's laughter. For a moment, Harry was disoriented—this wasn't his room in London, wasn't Grimmauld Place—then memory returned in a rush.
California. Beacon Hills. Home.
He found his sons in the kitchen with Kreacher, who was making pancakes shaped like animals. Grayson had a snake-shaped pancake, while Elijah's was a wolf. Both boys were still in pajamas, hair messy, faces bright with happiness.
"Papa!" Elijah noticed him first. "Kreacher makes the best pancakes! Look, mine's a wolf like the ones we heard last night!"
"And mine's a snake like Sunbeam," Grayson added shyly. "Is it okay that we came down without waking you?"
"Of course it's okay," Harry said, ruffling both boys' hair. "This is your home. You can explore as much as you want."
After breakfast—complete with his own dragon-shaped pancake, courtesy of Kreacher's dry humor—Harry took the boys on a proper tour of the estate. The house was even larger than it had appeared at night.
The ground floor had the formal living room, the library (which made Grayson's eyes light up), a casual family room with a huge TV (Elijah was fascinated—he'd never seen Muggle technology before), a formal dining room, and a massive kitchen.
The second floor held the bedrooms—six in total, including the boys' rooms and his own. Harry mentally earmarked one for Isaac, when they could bring him home.
The third floor was an open attic space that had been converted into what looked like an art studio on one side and a music room on the other.
"Can I paint here?" Grayson asked quietly, staring at the easels and blank canvases.
"Of course," Harry said. "Do you like to paint?"
"I... I don't know. I never got to try, at the orphanage." Grayson's voice was small. "But I'd like to."
"Then we'll get you art supplies," Harry said firmly. "And lessons, if you want them. Same for you, Eli—is there anything you've always wanted to try?"
Elijah thought for a moment, his hair shifting through colors. "Music? Maybe piano?"
"Then we'll get a piano teacher." Harry looked at both his sons seriously. "Boys, I want you to understand something. You're not at the orphanage anymore, and you're not just surviving. You're my sons, and I want you to thrive. If there's anything you want to learn, any hobby you want to try, any dream you have—we'll make it happen. Okay?"
Both boys nodded, eyes suspiciously shiny.
The basement was equally impressive—a fully stocked potions lab (which Harry would definitely be using), a wine cellar, storage rooms, and yes, a dueling room with protective wards and cushioning charms.
Outside, the grounds were extensive. Overgrown gardens that had once been beautiful, a greenhouse that needed work, and the separate building Harry had noticed last night.
"That's the guest house," Winky explained. "Four bedrooms, full kitchen, sitting room. For visitors or for family who needs their own space."
Harry filed that information away. Perhaps Derek Hale might want it, once Peter woke up. If Peter woke up. When Peter woke up—Harry had to believe it would be when.
After lunch, Harry sat the boys down in the family room. "I need to go somewhere this afternoon. To the hospital, to visit Peter."
"The werewolf in the coma?" Grayson asked. "Your mate?”
Yes." Harry hesitated. "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if my presence will help him or if it will take time. But I need to try."
"Can we come?" Elijah asked hopefully.
Harry shook his head gently. "Not this first time. I need to go alone, to see what the situation is. But I promise, once I understand things better, you can meet him."
"What if he doesn't wake up?" Grayson's voice was very small.
"Then we'll try again," Harry said simply. "And again, and again, until he does. Mate bonds are powerful, Grayson. Even if it takes time, I have to believe it will work."

Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital was a modest building on the outskirts of town. Harry had dressed carefully—Muggle clothes, nice but not too formal, his wand hidden but easily accessible. He'd glamoured his scar, just in case, though he doubted anyone in California would recognize him anyway.
The receptionist looked up with a professional smile. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Peter Hale," Harry said, proud that his voice barely shook. "I'm... family. From out of town."
The receptionist's expression softened with sympathy. "Long-term care, room 237. Take the elevator to the second floor, turn right. But honey, I should warn you—he's been in that coma for six years. Don't expect too much."
"Thank you," Harry said quietly.
The elevator ride felt like it took hours. Harry's heart was pounding, his magic swirling anxiously under his skin. What if the mate bond was wrong? What if he couldn't help? What if—
Room 237. The door was partially open.
Harry took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The room was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring vitals. And in the bed, covered in a thin blanket, was Peter Hale.
Harry's breath caught.
Even in a coma, even with six years of stillness etched into his features, Peter was beautiful. Dark hair streaked with gray, sharp features, and even with his eyes closed, Harry could imagine the intelligence and cunning that would shine in them when awake. He looked both older and younger than his thirty-two years—aged by trauma, preserved by sleep.
"Hello," Harry whispered, moving closer. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter-Black, though I suppose that doesn't mean anything to you. I'm..." He paused, feeling foolish talking to an unconscious man. "I'm your mate. Apparently. The magical kind of mate, with a bond and everything. And I'm here to wake you up, if you'll let me."
No response. Just the steady beep of the heart monitor.
Harry pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. Carefully, hesitantly, he reached out and took Peter's hand. It was warm—werewolf temperature ran hot—but completely limp in his grip.
The moment their skin touched, Harry's magic surged.
It was like completing a circuit. Power flowed from Harry into Peter, golden and bright, seeking the spark of consciousness buried deep beneath layers of trauma and coma-sleep. Harry gasped as the mate bond snapped fully into place, no longer potential but active, alive, singing between them.
There you are, Harry thought, following the bond deeper. Come on, Peter. Come back. Your family needs you. I need you.
He could feel Peter's mind, distant and dreaming. Not dead, not gone, just... trapped. Buried under the weight of the fire, the pain, the loss. Hiding from a reality too terrible to face.
I know it hurts, Harry thought-sent along the bond. I know waking up means remembering everything you lost. But Peter, there's still so much to live for. Your nephew Derek is alive and needs you. There's a teenager named Isaac who needs protection. And I'm here—your mate, someone fate chose specifically for you.
And I have two little boys who would love to have another papa, Harry added, thinking of Grayson and Elijah. A family, Peter. We could build a family together, if you'd just wake up.
For a long moment, nothing changed. Then—
Peter's fingers twitched in Harry's hand.
Harry's eyes flew open. "Peter?"
Another twitch. Then Peter's eyelids fluttered.
"That's it," Harry encouraged, squeezing Peter's hand gently and pushing more magic through the bond. "Come on, wake up. Come back."
Peter's eyes opened.
They were blue—pale, striking blue—and completely disoriented. They fixed on Harry's face with the intensity of a predator, and Harry watched as confusion gave way to awareness, awareness gave way to shock, and shock gave way to something raw and desperate.
"You," Peter rasped, voice hoarse from years of disuse. "You're real. The dreams—I thought—"
"I'm real," Harry confirmed, throat tight. "I'm Harry. Your mate. And you've been asleep for six years, so please don't try to move too fast—"
Peter lunged.
It was clumsy and weak after six years immobile, but he managed to grab Harry's shirt and haul him closer. "The fire," Peter gasped. "My family—the pack—"
"Derek is alive," Harry said quickly. "Your nephew Derek survived. And I'm here, and we're going to figure everything out together, but first you need to calm down before you hurt yourself—"
"Derek," Peter breathed, and something in his expression shattered. "Oh God, Derek. He was just a kid, he blamed himself, I could hear him visiting and I couldn't move—"
"Breathe," Harry ordered, pulling his healer training from the war. "Peter, breathe with me. In for four, hold for four, out for four. Come on."
It took several minutes to talk Peter down from the edge of panic. By the time his breathing evened out, tears were streaming down his face and Harry's shirt was rumpled from being clutched.
"Six years," Peter said hoarsely. "I've been asleep for six years."
"Yes," Harry said gently. "But you're awake now. And we have so much to talk about, but first I need to call a doctor and—"
"No." Peter's grip on Harry's shirt tightened. "Not yet. I need—just give me a minute with you. My mate. I dreamed about you, did you know that? Didn't know what you'd look like, but I knew you were coming. Knew someone was coming to save me."
Harry's eyes burned. "I'm not sure I'm anyone's savior."
"You woke me up." Peter's blue eyes were fierce despite the tears. "That's enough."
They sat like that for several long moments, the mate bond humming contentedly between them, before Harry finally, reluctantly, pulled back. "I really do need to call someone. You've been in a coma for six years, Peter. You need medical attention."
"Fine," Peter grumbled. "But don't go far."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said with a small smile, and reached for the call button.
The next few hours were chaos. Doctors rushed in, shocked that their long-term patient was awake and alert. Peter was examined, questioned, hooked up to more machines. Harry stayed by his side through all of it, holding his hand, providing a steady anchor.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the doctors left them alone with instructions for physical therapy, nutrition plans, and warnings about taking things slowly.
"Six years," Peter said again, staring at the ceiling. "Everyone must think I'm dead."
"Your nephew visits," Harry said quietly. "I asked the nurses. Derek comes every few months, sits with you for hours. He never gave up hope."
Peter's eyes closed. "I need to see him. Need to tell him it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have stopped it—"
"You will," Harry promised. "But first, you need to know some things. About me, about why I'm here, about... everything."
So Harry told him. About being a wizard, about the mate bond revealed by his inheritance test, about his sons Grayson and Elijah. About the Lahey lordship and Isaac, the teenager being abused who didn't know he had magic.
Peter listened with growing astonishment. "Werewolves and wizards don't usually mix."
"Maybe we're the exception," Harry said with a slight smile. "The mate bond seems to think so."
"I can feel it," Peter admitted. "Like a golden thread connecting us. It's... intense."
"Is it too much?" Harry asked worriedly. "I can pull back, give you space—"
"No." Peter's hand found Harry's again. "It's the first thing that's felt right in six years. Don't pull back."
They talked until the sun began to set through the hospital windows. Harry learned about the Hale pack before the fire, about Peter's sister Talia who had been Alpha, about Laura and Derek and Cora. About the hunters and the suspicions about who set the fire.
And Peter learned about Harry's war, about defeating Voldemort and losing so much, about finding out his true parentage and escaping Dumbledore's manipulations.
"We're both pretty broken, aren't we?" Peter said wryly.
"Maybe," Harry agreed. "Or maybe we're both exactly what the other needs to start healing."
Peter studied him for a long moment. "I'd like to meet your sons. When I'm stronger."
"They'd like that too," Harry said softly. "Grayson and Elijah. They're four and five, and they're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"And Isaac? The Lahey heir?"
"Working on it," Harry said. "Ragnok—the goblin king—is building a case. Another week or two, and I should be able to bring him home."
"Home," Peter repeated. "The Lahey estate. I remember that house. It's been empty for years."
"Not anymore," Harry said. "It's full of life now. My sons, my house-elves, protective wards, and soon Isaac. And you, once you're released from here, if you want to stay with us."
Peter's expression was unreadable. "You're offering me a home? We just met."
"We're mates," Harry said simply. "That means something, even if we're still getting to know each other. And Peter... I know we're moving fast. I know this is all overwhelming. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, and whenever you're ready—for whatever you're ready for—I'll be there."
Something in Peter's expression softened. "You're dangerous, Harry Potter-Black. I can tell already. You make me want to hope again."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"After six years in a coma and losing everything?" Peter's smile was sad. "It's the scariest thing in the world. And I think I'm going to do it anyway."
Harry squeezed his hand gently. "Good. Now, visiting hours are ending soon, but I'll be back tomorrow. With food that's better than hospital food, and stories about the boys, and we can start planning what happens next."
"Okay," Peter said, then hesitated. "Harry? Thank you. For waking me up. For not giving up on someone you'd never met."
"Thank you for being brave enough to wake up," Harry replied. "Get some rest, Peter. Tomorrow's a new day."
As Harry left the hospital and headed back to the estate, the mate bond warm and content in his chest, he couldn't help but smile. Peter was awake. His family was safe. And for the first time in years, the future felt full of possibility instead of dread.
Tomorrow he'd bring the boys to meet Peter. Tomorrow they'd start building something new.
Tomorrow, they'd start becoming a family.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry woke to find both boys already awake and sitting on his bed.
"Is today the day we meet Peter?" Elijah asked, his hair a nervous yellow-orange.
"Can we really go to the hospital?" Grayson added, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
Harry sat up, pulling both boys close. "Yes, we can go. But I need you both to understand something first. Peter just woke up yesterday after six years asleep. He's going to be weak, maybe emotional. He's lost a lot—his family died in a fire, and he's missed years of his life."
"Like how I lost my old life?" Grayson asked quietly. "When I came through time?"
"Yes," Harry said gently. "Exactly like that. So we need to be patient and kind, okay? No running, no jumping on him, no overwhelming him."
"We'll be good," Elijah promised. "We just want to meet him. Our other papa."
Harry's heart clenched at the casual way Elijah said "other papa," as if Peter was already part of their family. "He might not be ready to be called papa yet," Harry warned. "He's still getting used to being awake, let alone having a mate with two children."
"That's okay," Grayson said. "We can call him Peter until he's ready."
After breakfast, Harry dressed the boys in their new clothes—Grayson in dark jeans and a green button-up that brought out the new flecks in his eyes, Elijah in khakis and a blue sweater that complemented his currently-turquoise hair.
"We look fancy," Elijah announced, examining himself in the mirror.
"We want to make a good impression," Harry said, straightening Grayson's collar. "Ready?"
Both boys nodded seriously.
Harry had already called the hospital and cleared the visit with Peter's doctors. They were concerned about overwhelming their patient, but Peter had insisted he wanted to meet Harry's sons.
The drive to Beacon Hills Memorial was quiet, both boys staring out the windows at their new town. Harry pointed out landmarks—the sheriff's station (where Sheriff Stilinski, Isaac's future legal guardian, worked), the school both boys would eventually attend, and the small downtown area.
At the hospital, Harry led his sons through the now-familiar halls to room 237. He knocked softly before entering.
Peter was sitting up in bed, looking significantly better than yesterday. Someone—probably a sympathetic nurse—had helped him shower and shave. He was still pale and too thin, but his eyes were alert and fixed on the door with intense curiosity.
"Peter," Harry said softly, "these are my sons. Grayson Felix Potter-Black and Elijah Ashton Potter-Black. Boys, this is Peter Hale."
For a moment, everyone just stared at each other.
Then Grayson stepped forward, extending his hand formally. "Hello, Mr. Hale. It's nice to meet you. Papa says you're his mate."
Peter blinked, clearly surprised by the formality, then shook Grayson's small hand. "Call me Peter. And yes, apparently your papa and I are mates. That's... still a lot to process."
Elijah was less formal. He walked right up to the bed, tilting his head and studying Peter with frank curiosity. His hair shifted from turquoise to a thoughtful purple. "You have sad eyes," he announced. "But Papa's going to make them happy again. He's good at that."
Peter's expression flickered—surprise, grief, and something that might have been hope. "Is he now?"
"Yes," Elijah said confidently. "He made our eyes happy. We were sad before, but now we have a papa and a brother and a home and snakes and everything."
"Snakes?" Peter looked at Harry questioningly.
"They're Parselmouths," Harry explained. "Both of them. They each have a corn snake—Sunbeam and Ember."
"Parselmouths," Peter repeated slowly. "You really are full of surprises, aren't you?"
"You have no idea," Harry said with a slight smile.
Grayson climbed onto the chair beside Peter's bed, still formal but warming up. "Papa says you were in a coma because of a fire. That sounds scary."
"It was," Peter said honestly, his voice rough. "I lost my family—my sister, my nieces, my nephews. Most of them, anyway. My nephew Derek survived, and maybe my niece Cora, though we thought she died."
"We lost family too," Grayson said quietly. "Different ways, but we understand. Papa says sometimes you can't get back what you lost, but you can build something new."
Peter's eyes snapped to Harry, something raw and vulnerable in his expression. "Your papa is very wise."
"He's the best," Elijah agreed, climbing up on the other side of the bed. "Are you really a werewolf? Can you show us your eyes?"
"Eli," Harry warned. "We talked about this—"
"It's okay," Peter interrupted. He looked at Elijah seriously. "I am a werewolf, but I've been asleep for six years. My wolf is... quiet right now. Weak. It might take time before I can show you."
"That's okay," Elijah said easily. "We can wait. We're good at waiting. We waited our whole lives for Papa to adopt us, and it was worth it."
Peter's expression did something complicated. He looked at Harry over the boys' heads. "You blood-adopted them? Both of them?"
"Yes," Harry said simply. "They're mine now. Completely and legally mine."
"Tell me about them," Peter said. "Not the magical history or the inheritance stuff—tell me about them. Who they are."
So Harry did. He told Peter about Grayson's love of books and art, about how he was shy but thoughtful, about his kindness and his careful way of approaching the world. He told him about Elijah's boundless energy and creativity, about his metamorphmagus abilities and how his emotions showed in his hair, about his fierce loyalty and protective instincts.
And as he talked, the boys chimed in with their own stories. Grayson told Peter about Sunbeam, about the books he was learning to read, about wanting to paint the forest around their new house. Elijah demonstrated his morphing abilities, cycling his hair through every color of the rainbow while Peter watched with genuine delight.
"You're remarkable," Peter told both boys. "Both of you. Your papa is very lucky."
"We're lucky too," Grayson said. "We have Papa, and each other, and Winky and Kreacher and Dobby, and our snakes, and now we have you too. If you want to be part of our family."
Peter's breath hitched. "I... yes. I'd like that. Very much."
"Good," Elijah said, snuggling against Peter's side. "Because Papa needs help with us sometimes. We're a lot of work."
"You are not," Harry protested.
"We are," Grayson said pragmatically. "But that's okay. Families are supposed to be work."
They stayed for two hours, talking and laughing and slowly getting comfortable with each other. Peter was clearly exhausted by the end—six years in a coma meant his stamina was shot—but he looked happier than he had yesterday. More alive.
As they prepared to leave, Elijah hugged Peter carefully. "We'll come back tomorrow, okay? And we'll bring you real food because Papa says hospital food is terrible."
"I'd like that," Peter said, hugging him back with trembling arms.
Grayson was more reserved, offering a handshake again, but Peter pulled him into a gentle hug too. "Thank you for giving me a chance," Peter whispered. "Both of you."
At the door, Harry lingered while the boys went to wait in the hall. "How are you really?" he asked Peter quietly.
"Overwhelmed," Peter admitted. "But in a good way. Your sons are... Harry, they're wonderful. How did you get so lucky?"
"I think we all got lucky," Harry said. "Finding each other. This mate bond—it brought us all together at exactly the right time."
"I want to be worthy of it," Peter said suddenly. "Of you, of them. But I don't know if I can. I've done things, Harry. Before the coma, and in my dreams during. Dark things. The wolf is... not always kind."
"Neither am I," Harry said simply. "I've killed Peter. During the war, after. I've made hard choices and lived with the consequences. We're both survivors of trauma, and we've both done what we had to do. That doesn't make us unworthy of happiness."
Peter studied him for a long moment. "You really believe that."
"I have to," Harry said. "Otherwise, what's the point of surviving? We lived through hell, Peter. We deserve to build something good now."
"Something good," Peter repeated softly. Then, before Harry could move away, he reached out and caught Harry's hand. "Thank you. For yesterday, for today, for giving me a reason to wake up."
Harry squeezed his hand gently, feeling the mate bond pulse warmly between them. "Thank you for being brave enough to stay awake."

That evening, after the boys were in bed, Harry sat in his study reviewing the documents Ragnok had sent over. The case for magical custody of Isaac Lahey was building nicely—evidence of abuse, documentation of blocked magic, proof that Harry was the legal Lord of the Lahey line.
But there was a problem.
"Master Harry?" Kreacher appeared in the doorway. "Kreacher is sensing distress from the Lahey boy. The wards around his home are... troubled."
Harry was on his feet immediately. "Show me."
Kreacher led him to the magical map room—a feature of the estate Harry hadn't fully explored yet. On the wall, a large enchanted map showed Beacon Hills and the surrounding area. The Lahey house was lit up with pulsing red warning lights.
"When did this start?" Harry demanded.
"Ten minutes ago," Kreacher said. "The boy's magic is crying out. It knows his Lord is near and is calling for help."
Harry didn't hesitate. "Stay with the boys. If I'm not back in an hour, contact Ragnok and Sheriff Stilinski." He grabbed his wand and the emergency portkey, then apparated to the edge of the Lahey property.
The house was a small, run-down place in a questionable neighborhood. Lights blazed from inside, and Harry could hear shouting—a man's voice, angry and slurred.
"—ungrateful little shit! I give you everything and this is how you repay me?!"
A crash, like something being thrown.
Harry's magic snarled. His heir was in there, being hurt, and every instinct in his body demanded he intervene.
He cast a silent disillusionment charm and crept closer to the window. What he saw made his blood boil.
A teenage boy—Isaac, had to be—was cowering against the wall, one arm raised defensively. He was tall but thin, with curly hair and terrified eyes. Blood dripped from his nose.
A large man—Isaac's father—loomed over him with a raised fist.
"You're just like your brother," the man snarled. "Weak. Pathetic. Maybe I should lock you in the freezer again, teach you some respect—"
Harry had heard enough.
He blew the door open with a blast of magic, striding in with his wand raised. "Step away from the boy. Now."
Isaac's father whirled around, drunk and furious. "Who the hell are you? This is my house, my son—"
"Stupefy," Harry said coldly. The man dropped like a stone.
Isaac stared at Harry with wide, shocked eyes. "What—how did you—"
"Are you Isaac Lahey?" Harry asked, keeping his voice gentle despite the rage still singing through his veins.
"Y-yes," Isaac stammered. "Who are you?"
"My name is Harebellen Potter-Black, but you can call me Harry. I'm a wizard, Isaac, and I'm the Lord of the Lahey line. Which makes you my heir." Harry moved closer slowly, not wanting to spook the terrified teenager. "And I'm here to take you home."
"Home?" Isaac's voice cracked. "I don't understand—wizards aren't real, magic isn't—"
"It is," Harry said firmly. "You have magic in your blood, Isaac. It's been blocked, suppressed, but it's there. I can feel it. And your magic has been crying out for help."
Isaac looked at his unconscious father, then back at Harry. "You just... knocked him out. With a stick."
"A wand," Harry corrected. "And yes. He was hurting you, and I won't allow anyone to hurt my family."
"Family?" Isaac whispered. "But I don't even know you."
"You will," Harry promised. "Isaac, I know this is overwhelming. I know you're scared and confused. But I need you to trust me for just a few minutes. Can you do that?"
Isaac hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Good. First, pack a bag—clothes, anything important to you. We're leaving."
"But my father—when he wakes up—"
"Won't be a problem," Harry said grimly. "I have lawyers, Isaac. Good ones. And I have evidence of what he's done to you. He's not going to hurt you again."
Isaac moved mechanically to his room, stuffing clothes into a backpack. Harry watched the unconscious father, casting binding spells to keep him out cold until authorities could arrive.
"I'm calling Sheriff Stilinski," Harry said, pulling out his phone—a concession to Muggle America that Hermione had insisted on. "He's going to handle the Muggle side of this while I handle the magical side."
The call was brief. Sheriff Stilinski—who Ragnok had already contacted about the situation—agreed to come immediately.
"Is there anyone you want to say goodbye to?" Harry asked Isaac as the boy emerged with his bag. "Friends, other family?"
Isaac shook his head. "My mom died when I was young. My older brother died a few years ago. There's no one."
"There's me," Harry said firmly. "And my sons—your cousins. And Peter Hale, who's going to be part of the family. And eventually, if we're very lucky, Derek Hale and maybe Cora. There's a whole family waiting for you, Isaac."
Isaac's eyes filled with tears. "Why? Why would you do this for me? You don't know me."
"Because you're mine," Harry said simply. "Blood of my blood, heir to my house. And because no one—no one—hurts a child and gets away with it. Not on my watch."
Sheriff Stilinski arrived ten minutes later, taking in the scene with practiced calm. "Mr. Potter-Black?"
"Sheriff," Harry greeted. "This is Isaac Lahey. His father has been physically abusing him—as you can see from the current injuries. I've documented everything magically, and I'm pursuing custody through both Muggle and magical channels."
The Sheriff nodded, moving to check on the unconscious Mr. Lahey. "I'll need statements from both of you. And child protective services will need to be involved—"
"Already handled," Harry said. "I have emergency custody papers from the magical government, and my lawyers are filing with Muggle courts tomorrow. Isaac is coming home with me tonight."
"Just like that?" Isaac said faintly. "Is it that easy?"
"When you have enough money and the law on your side? Yes," Harry said. "And Isaac—I have both."

An hour later, after statements had been taken and Mr. Lahey had been arrested, Harry led Isaac through the front door of the Lahey estate.
"This is home," Harry said simply. "Your home, your family's legacy. Welcome back, Isaac."
Isaac stood in the entrance hall, staring up at the chandelier with tears streaming down his face. "Is this really mine? My family's?"
"Yes. The Lahey line has owned this estate for over a hundred years. It's been waiting for you."
Winky appeared, taking one look at Isaac's tear-stained, bruised face and immediately bustling into action. "Oh, poor young master! Winky will draw a bath, and make food, and prepare a room—"
"Thank you, Winky," Harry said. "Isaac, this is Winky, one of our house-elves. She's going to help you get settled tonight, and tomorrow we'll talk about everything—your magic, your place in the family, what happens next."
"I can't believe this is real," Isaac whispered.
"It is," Harry promised. "You're safe now, Isaac. You're home."
He left Isaac in Winky's capable hands and went to check on his younger sons. Both were sleeping peacefully, unaware of the drama that had unfolded. By tomorrow, they'd have another brother.
Harry sat in the rocking chair in Elijah's room, watching his son sleep and thinking about the family they were building. Two small boys rescued from tragic pasts, a teenager saved from abuse, a werewolf waking from a six-year sleep.
None of them were conventional. None of them were undamaged.
But they were family. And that was enough.

The next morning, Harry woke to chaos.
"PAPA!" Elijah's voice echoed through the house. "THERE'S A STRANGER IN THE KITCHEN!"
Harry bolted out of bed, wand drawn, only to find Elijah and Grayson in the hallway staring at Isaac, who was frozen with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth.
"It's okay," Harry said quickly, lowering his wand. "Boys, this is Isaac Lahey. He's going to be living with us now. Isaac, these are my sons—Grayson and Elijah."
"You have kids?" Isaac asked, bewildered.
"I told you I had sons," Harry said. "Though I suppose in all the chaos last night, details were sparse."
Grayson studied Isaac with serious dark eyes. "Are you hurt? Papa, he has bruises."
"He was hurt," Harry said gently. "But he's safe now. And we're going to take care of him."
"Like you take care of us?" Elijah asked.
"Exactly like that."
Elijah's hair turned a determined orange-red. He marched up to Isaac and held out his hand. "I'm Elijah Ashton Potter-Black. This is my brother Grayson Felix Potter-Black. You're our cousin, which means you're family now. And family means no one hurts you anymore."
Isaac stared at the small, fierce four-year-old, then at the equally serious five-year-old behind him. "You're... really okay with this? With me just showing up?"
"Papa saved us too," Grayson said quietly. "We know what it's like to be scared and alone. But we're not anymore, and now you won't be either."
Isaac's composure cracked. He set down his toast and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Harry moved quickly, wrapping an arm around the teenager. "It's okay. Let it out. You're allowed to feel this."
To his surprise, both younger boys moved in too, hugging Isaac from either side with fierce determination.
"We've got you," Elijah said firmly. "You're pack now."
"Pack," Isaac repeated through his tears. Then he laughed, slightly hysterical. "I'm a werewolf and you're wizards and apparently I have magic and this is the weirdest week of my life."
"It gets weirder," Harry said with a slight smile. "We're going to visit Peter at the hospital today—he's a werewolf too, and my mate. And then tomorrow, we're going to start teaching you about your magic."
"And you can meet our snakes!" Elijah added. "They're very nice."
"Snakes," Isaac said faintly. "Of course there are snakes."
"Parselmouths," Grayson explained seriously. "We speak snake language."
Isaac looked at Harry with slightly wild eyes. "Is my entire life going to be this insane now?"
"Probably," Harry admitted. "But you'll never be bored. Or alone. Or hurt. So I think it's a fair trade."
Isaac was quiet for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay. I can do this."
"You can," Harry agreed. "Now, let's have breakfast, and then we'll go meet Peter. He's going to love you."
"How do you know?"
"Because," Harry said simply, looking at his three boys—because that's what they were now, all three of them—"you're family. And family always loves each other, no matter what."

Chapter Text

The hospital staff were getting used to Harry's visits, but three children in tow raised some eyebrows. Harry had called ahead, getting permission from Peter's doctors for the extended visit.
"Remember," Harry told his sons as they walked down the hall, "Peter's still recovering. Isaac, he's going to be very interested in you—you're both werewolves, and he hasn't been around his own kind in six years."
Isaac nodded nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his new shirt. Harry had taken him shopping early that morning while the younger boys had breakfast with the house-elves. The teenager now had a full wardrobe and looked significantly better than last night, though the bruises on his face were still visible.
"Will he be mad?" Isaac asked quietly. "That I didn't know about being a werewolf? That I never shifted?"
"He won't be mad," Harry assured him. "If anything, he'll be relieved you never had to go through a first shift alone."
They reached room 237, and Harry knocked gently before entering.
Peter was sitting up, looking stronger than yesterday. He'd clearly had physical therapy that morning—there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and his color was better. His eyes lit up when he saw Harry, then widened at the sight of three children instead of two.
"Harry," Peter said, his gaze moving from Grayson and Elijah to Isaac and back. "You've been busy."
"Peter Hale, meet Isaac Lahey," Harry said, guiding Isaac forward gently. "My heir and newest family member. Isaac, this is Peter."
Peter's nostrils flared, scenting the air. His eyes flashed blue—just for a second, but enough. "You're a wolf," he said, surprised. "A young one. Barely fourteen?"
"Fourteen next month," Isaac confirmed, voice shaking slightly. "But I've never... I didn't know until Harry told me. I've never shifted."
"Blocked magic," Peter said, understanding immediately. He looked at Harry. "You said the Lahey line had magic in it."
"His wolf is suppressed by the blocks on his magical core," Harry explained. "Once we remove them properly—carefully—he'll be able to shift. But I wanted him to meet you first. To have someone who understands the wolf side of things, who can teach him what I can't."
Something vulnerable flashed across Peter's face. "You trust me with that? With him?"
"Yes," Harry said simply. "You're pack, Peter. Family. And Isaac needs guidance from someone who's been through it."
Peter was quiet for a long moment, studying Isaac with those too-sharp blue eyes. Then he patted the chair beside his bed. "Sit down, kid. Tell me about yourself."
Isaac sat hesitantly, while Grayson and Elijah climbed onto their usual spots on either side of the bed.
"There's not much to tell," Isaac said quietly. "My mom died when I was little. My older brother died a few years ago. And my dad..." He touched the bruise on his face unconsciously.
Peter's eyes flashed blue again, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. "Your father did that."
"Not anymore," Elijah said fiercely. "Papa stopped him. Isaac's safe now."
"Papa knocked him out with magic," Grayson added. "And called the Sheriff. Isaac's father is in jail."
Peter looked at Harry with something like awe. "You went full protective patriarch on him, didn't you?"
"Someone was hurting my family," Harry said levelly. "I dealt with it."
"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Peter muttered, but there was approval in his voice. He turned back to Isaac. "Okay, so here's what you need to know about being a werewolf. First—"
For the next hour, Peter talked. He explained the basics of wolf nature, the importance of anchor points to maintain control, the physical changes that would come with Isaac's first shift. He was patient and thorough, answering Isaac's nervous questions without judgment.
"You said anchor points," Isaac said. "What's that?"
"Something that keeps you human when the wolf wants to take over," Peter explained. "Usually it's an emotion—anger is common for young wolves, but it's not stable. Better anchors are love, loyalty, family. Things that ground you to your humanity."
"What's your anchor?" Elijah asked curiously.
Peter's expression flickered. "It used to be family. My pack. But after the fire..." He trailed off, then looked at Harry and the boys. "I'm still figuring that out. Learning new anchors."
"We could be your anchors," Grayson said seriously. "If you want. Papa says family is the strongest anchor there is."
"Does he now?" Peter's voice was rough with emotion.
"It's true," Harry said quietly. "After the war, after losing so many people—the only thing that kept me going was knowing I had to protect Teddy. Now Elijah. And Grayson. And Isaac. Family is what makes us human, Peter. What gives us reason to stay human."
Peter held Harry's gaze for a long moment. "You're building a pack, you know. Whether you realize it or not. A wizard leading a pack of wolves and magical children. It's unprecedented."
"Everything about our situation is unprecedented," Harry pointed out. "Might as well embrace it."
Isaac spoke up quietly. "When I shift for the first time... will it hurt?"
"Yes," Peter said honestly. "The first time always hurts. Your bones restructuring, your body changing—it's intense. But Isaac, you won't be alone. Harry will be there with his magic, I'll be there to guide you through it, and your cousins will be there to remind you who you are. We'll get you through it."
"You'll be there?" Isaac asked, surprised. "But you're still in the hospital—"
"Not for much longer," Peter said with satisfaction. "Doctors are talking about releasing me in a few days. Physical therapy, careful recovery, but I can do that anywhere. And if Harry's offering me a home..." He looked at Harry questioningly.
"The guest house is yours if you want it," Harry said immediately. "Four bedrooms, full kitchen, your own space but close to the main house. You can heal at your own pace, but we'll be right there if you need anything."
"The guest house," Peter repeated slowly. "Not... with you?"
Harry felt his cheeks heat. "I didn't want to presume. We're mates, yes, but we barely know each other. I thought you might want your own space to recover, to figure things out. But if you'd rather stay in the main house, there are plenty of rooms—"
"The guest house is good," Peter interrupted, but there was something soft in his expression. "For now. Close but not... overwhelming."
"Can we visit?" Elijah asked. "In the guest house? Or is it a grown-up only space?"
Peter smiled—a real smile, warm and genuine. "You can visit whenever you want, kid. All of you. It's not a guest house if it doesn't have guests, right?"
"Right!" Elijah's hair turned bright sunshine yellow with happiness.
They stayed another hour, talking and laughing. Peter told stories about the Hale pack before the fire—carefully edited for young ears, but enough to paint a picture of a large, loving family. Isaac listened with hungry intensity, clearly starving for knowledge about what he was.
Grayson asked questions about werewolf history, always the scholar. Elijah demonstrated his metamorphmagus abilities again, making Peter laugh when he turned his hair into a wolf-pattern gray and black.
It was comfortable. Easy. Like they'd known each other for years instead of days.
Finally, a nurse came in to remind them that Peter needed rest and physical therapy.
"We'll come back tomorrow," Harry promised, leaning down to squeeze Peter's hand. The mate bond hummed contentedly between them. "And I'll bring actual food. Kreacher is already planning a feast."
"I'll hold you to that," Peter said. Then, before Harry could pull away, he tugged him closer. "Thank you," he murmured, quiet enough that only Harry could hear. "For giving me a reason to fight my way back. For the boys, for Isaac, for all of this."
"Thank you for fighting," Harry whispered back. "We need you, Peter. I need you."
Peter's eyes darkened. "Careful, Harry. Keep saying things like that and I might start believing them."
"Good," Harry said firmly. "You should believe them. They're true."
As they left the hospital, Isaac was quiet until they reached the car. Then he spoke up, voice hesitant. "Peter's really okay with all of this? With me?"
"He's more than okay," Harry said. "Isaac, you're pack now. That means something to werewolves—it means everything. You're family, and Peter takes family very seriously."
"Even though I can't shift yet? Even though I'm basically useless as a werewolf?"
Harry pulled the car over and turned to look at Isaac seriously. "You are not useless. You're fourteen years old and you've survived things that would have broken most people. You're smart, you're strong, and you're pack. Your worth has nothing to do with whether you can shift or not."
"Papa's right," Grayson added from the backseat. "We're all different and we're all important. You being a werewolf is just one part of who you are."
"And the coolest part," Elijah added enthusiastically. "When you can shift, can we ride on your back?"
"Eli!" Harry protested.
"What? It's a valid question!"
Despite everything, Isaac laughed. "Maybe when I'm older and stronger. Deal?"
"Deal!"

That evening, after all three boys were in bed—Isaac in the room across from Grayson and Elijah, decorated in earth tones that Winky had somehow produced in mere hours—Harry sat in his study going through paperwork.
The custody papers were progressing smoothly. Mr. Lahey had been charged with child abuse and wasn't fighting the custody battle, probably because he knew he'd lose. The magical courts had already granted Harry full custody and lordship rights. The Muggle courts would finalize everything within a week.
Isaac was officially his.
Harry was signing the final documents when Kreacher appeared, looking unusually agitated for him.
"Master Harry, there is a young werewolf at the gates. He is demanding to see Peter Hale and will not leave."
Harry's heart jumped. "Derek."
"The wards say his name is Derek Hale, yes. He is very angry, Master Harry. Very volatile. But he is not trying to break in—he is simply... waiting."
Harry was already moving, grabbing his wand and heading for the door. "Stay with the boys. I'll handle this."
The Lahey estate's gates were impressive—tall iron wrought with protective runes. And standing outside them, bathed in the glow of the ward lights, was a young man who looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Derek Hale was twenty-four but looked older. Dark hair, dark stubble, a leather jacket despite the California warmth. His eyes were blue—beta blue—and filled with so much pain and anger that Harry's heart clenched.
"Derek Hale?" Harry called out.
Derek's head snapped up. "Who the hell are you? And why are the hospital nurses telling me my uncle checked himself out against medical advice to come here? To some stranger's house?"
"Peter didn't check himself out," Harry said calmly, approaching the gates but not opening them yet. "He's still at Beacon Hills Memorial. But he will be coming here when he's released."
"Why?" Derek demanded. "Who are you to him?"
Harry took a breath. This was going to be complicated. "My name is Harebellen Potter-Black. Harry. And I'm... this is going to sound insane, but I'm Peter's mate. His true mate."
Derek stared at him. "That's not possible. Mates are—it's rare, it doesn't just—" He stopped, taking a sharp breath. "You're lying."
"I'm not," Harry said gently. "I know this is a shock. I found out less than a week ago myself. But Derek, Peter's awake. After six years, he's awake and healing, and it's partly because of the mate bond."
"Prove it," Derek snarled. "Prove you're his mate.”

Harry could have shown him the inheritance test, could have explained the magical bond. Instead, he made a calculated risk. He opened the gates.
"Come inside. See for yourself. Smell my house, my things, Peter's scent that's already starting to blend with mine. I'm not afraid of you, Derek, because you're not a threat. You're family."
Derek's eyes flashed blue. "You don't know anything about me or my family."
"I know you've been visiting Peter every few months for six years," Harry said quietly. "I know you blame yourself for the fire, even though you were just a kid and it wasn't your fault. I know you've been alone and grieving and trying to survive. And I know that Peter's first priority when he fully recovers is going to be finding you and making sure you're okay."
Something cracked in Derek's expression. "He's really awake? This isn't some elaborate scam?"
"He's really awake," Harry confirmed. "And he's desperate to see you. The only reason I haven't called you already is because I didn't know how to find you. You've been staying off the grid."
Derek was quiet for a long moment, then slowly stepped through the gates. Harry could see him scenting the air, cataloging everything. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
"You smell like a pack," Derek said, confused. "Like family magic and wolves and... children?"
"I have three sons," Harry explained as they walked toward the house. "Two are four and five, blood-adopted. One is fourteen, my heir. The fourteen-year-old is a werewolf—a Lahey, related to me through old family lines."
"You adopted a werewolf teenager," Derek said flatly. "And you're mated to Peter. And you're a wizard, I'm guessing, based on the wards on this place."
"Yes to all of that," Harry confirmed. "I know it's a lot. Trust me, my life has been complete chaos for the past week. But Derek, all that matters right now is that Peter's alive and awake and he needs his nephew."
They reached the house, and Harry led Derek inside. The werewolf immediately tensed, taking in the scents and the space. Then his eyes landed on the photo Harry had already placed on the mantle—a picture from the hospital of Peter, Harry, and the three boys, all smiling.
"That's really him," Derek whispered. "He looks... alive."
"He is alive," Harry said. "Weak still, but getting stronger every day. He's been doing physical therapy, eating real food, talking and laughing. Derek, he wants to see you so badly. Will you come to the hospital tomorrow? Let me take you to him?"
Derek's hands were shaking. "What if he's angry? What if he blames me for not being there, for not stopping it—"
"He doesn't," Harry said firmly. "I've talked to him about you. He's terrified that you've spent six years blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault. He wants to help you heal, not punish you."
Derek's breath hitched. "I don't know if I can do this."
"Yes, you can," Harry said. "Because you're pack, and pack takes care of each other. And Derek—you're not alone anymore. You have Peter, and you have me, and you have three boys who are going to be very excited to meet their cousin."
"Cousin?" Derek blinked.
"Well, what else would you call the nephew of my mate?" Harry asked reasonably. "We're family now, Derek. Whether you like it or not."
For the first time, something like a smile flickered across Derek's face. "You're insane."
"Probably," Harry agreed cheerfully. "But you should see my family in England. This is tame by comparison."
Derek laughed—short and startled, like he'd forgotten how. "Okay. Okay, I'll come tomorrow. To see Peter."
"Good," Harry said with satisfaction. "Now, have you eaten? Kreacher can make you something—"
"Kreacher?"
"House-elf. Don't worry, he's family too. We're all family here."
Derek shook his head, but he was still almost-smiling. "You really are insane."
"You're the third person to tell me that this week," Harry said. "I'm starting to think it might be true."

The next morning, Harry brought Derek to the hospital. The werewolf was tense and nervous, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, but he didn't run. That was progress.
They reached room 237, and Harry knocked gently. "Peter? I have a surprise for you."
"If it's more hospital Jell-O, I'm going to—" Peter's voice cut off abruptly as Derek stepped into view.
For a moment, uncle and nephew just stared at each other.
"Derek," Peter breathed. "Oh God, Derek, you're really here."
"Uncle Peter," Derek's voice cracked. "You're really awake."
Then they were both moving, Derek rushing to the bed and Peter reaching out despite the IV lines and monitors. They crashed together in a hug that was six years overdue, both of them shaking with emotion.
"I'm sorry," Derek was saying, voice muffled against Peter's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, I should have been there, I should have stopped it—"
"No," Peter said fiercely, pulling back to grip Derek's face between his hands. "No, Derek, it wasn't your fault. You were seventeen years old and you were manipulated. The fire wasn't your fault, my coma wasn't your fault, and I will not let you carry that guilt anymore. Do you understand me?"
Derek's face crumpled. "I thought I'd lost everyone. Mom, Laura, Cora, you—"
"I'm here," Peter said firmly. "I'm awake and alive and I'm not going anywhere. And Derek, Cora might be alive too. I've had six years to think while I was trapped in that coma, and I'm not convinced she died in the fire. We're going to find out the truth, you and me. Together."
"Together," Derek repeated, like he couldn't quite believe it.
Harry quietly slipped out of the room, giving them privacy. He waited in the hallway, giving uncle and nephew time to reconnect.
After an hour, Derek emerged. His eyes were red but clearer than before, like a weight had been lifted.
"Thank you," Derek said quietly. "For waking him up. For giving him a reason to fight his way back."
"Thank you for not giving up on him," Harry replied. "For six years, you kept visiting. That meant something, Derek. Even if he couldn't respond, he knew you were there."
Derek nodded slowly. "He says you're really his mate. That the bond is strong."
"It is," Harry confirmed. "I know it's fast and strange, but Derek—I'm not going anywhere. Peter's part of my family now, which makes you part of my family too."
"I don't really do family anymore," Derek said, but there was less conviction in his voice than before.
"Maybe it's time to try again," Harry suggested. "Peter's going to need you while he heals. And my boys would love to have another cousin around. Especially Isaac—he's going to need guidance from born wolves when his magic is unblocked and he can finally shift."
Derek's eyes sharpened. "The Lahey kid. The one you adopted."
"My heir," Harry corrected. "And yes. He's a good kid, Derek. Been through hell, just like you. I think you two would understand each other."
Derek was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll... I'll try. For Peter. And for the pack we're apparently building whether I like it or not."
"That's all I ask," Harry said with a smile. "Now come on—let's get you fed properly. Kreacher will have lunch ready, and you can meet the boys."
As they left the hospital together, Harry felt the pieces of their strange family clicking into place. Three traumatized children, a werewolf waking from a six-year sleep, his grieving nephew, and one wizard trying to hold it all together.
It was messy and complicated and unconventional.
But it was theirs. And it was exactly what they all needed.

Chapter Text

Five days after Derek's reunion with Peter, the hospital finally agreed to release their miracle patient. Peter had been doing intensive physical therapy, regaining strength and mobility with the stubborn determination of a Hale and the accelerated healing of a werewolf. He still tired easily and had lost significant muscle mass, but the doctors agreed he could continue recovery at home.
Harry arrived with Derek to pick him up, leaving the boys at home with strict instructions from Winky to stay out of trouble.
"I give them twenty minutes before they're trying to 'help' set up your rooms," Harry told Peter as they waited for the discharge paperwork.
Peter laughed, the sound coming easier now. "I'm sure whatever chaos they create will be well-intentioned."
"That's what worries me," Derek muttered, but there was fondness in his voice. Over the past few days, he'd been gradually integrating into their strange family. He'd met the boys—Grayson's quiet intelligence and Elijah's exuberance had charmed him despite his best efforts to remain aloof. Isaac was harder; they circled each other like wary wolves, both damaged and uncertain. But they were trying.
The nurse arrived with a wheelchair, which Peter eyed with distaste.
"Hospital policy," she said cheerfully. "Everyone gets wheeled out, even miracle patients who wake up after six years."
"I can walk," Peter grumbled.
"You can barely stand for more than ten minutes," Derek countered. "Stop being stubborn and sit down."
Peter glared at his nephew but complied. "You've gotten bossy."
"I learned from the best," Derek shot back, and something warm passed between them—the easy banter of family, slowly rebuilding.
The drive back to the estate was quiet. Peter stared out the window, drinking in the sight of Beacon Hills. "It looks the same," he said softly. "But different. Six years of changes I missed."
"We'll catch you up on everything," Harry promised. "The town, the pack politics, everything that's happened. But not today. Today, you rest and settle in."
As they pulled through the gates, Peter's breath caught. "The Lahey estate. I remember this place from when I was younger. It's been empty for so long."
"Not anymore," Harry said. "It's alive again. Full of family and magic and chaos."
The boys were waiting on the front porch—clearly unable to contain themselves despite Winky's best efforts. Grayson and Elijah bounced on their toes with excitement, while Isaac stood slightly behind them, nervous but present.
"Peter!" Elijah shouted, his hair bright sunshine yellow. "You're home!"
"Welcome to the family estate," Grayson added more formally, but his eyes were bright with happiness.
Peter let Harry help him out of the car—pride warring with practical necessity—and stood looking at the three boys. "Thank you for the welcome," he said, voice rough with emotion. "It's good to be home."
"We prepared the guest house!" Elijah announced. "Winky and Kreacher and Dobby did most of it, but we helped choose colors and put books on the shelves and everything!"
"We weren't sure what you'd like," Grayson added anxiously. "But Papa said you liked reading, so we put in lots of books. And we made sure the bedroom faces the forest because Derek said wolves like to see outside."
Peter looked at Derek, who shrugged. "I might have given them some pointers."
"Come see!" Elijah grabbed Peter's hand carefully, conscious of his fragility. "We worked really hard!"
The guest house was a short walk from the main house—close enough for convenience, far enough for privacy. Winky had clearly outdone herself. The exterior was freshly cleaned, the gardens around it neatened, and warm light glowed from inside.
The interior was perfect.
The living room was spacious with comfortable furniture in earth tones, a fireplace already crackling merrily, and bookshelves lined with everything from classics to modern thrillers. Large windows overlooked the forest, just as Grayson had promised.
The kitchen was fully stocked—Harry could see Kreacher's touch in the organized pantry and the casserole already warming in the oven.
"There are four bedrooms upstairs," Harry explained. "The master suite is ready for you. The others are available for Derek, or for guests, or for whatever you need."
"Derek's staying here?" Peter asked, looking at his nephew with hope.
Derek shifted uncomfortably. "If that's okay. I've been staying in a crappy motel for the past few months. This is... better."
"Better than okay," Peter said firmly. "Derek, you're family. You're always welcome wherever I am."
They explored the rest of the house—two full bathrooms, a study, even a small workout room that Harry had hastily set up for Peter's physical therapy.
"The boys picked out the bedroom furniture," Harry admitted as they stood in the master suite. "I hope it's not too much."
The room was spacious with a massive bed covered in soft gray blankets, a reading chair by the window, and a desk. Personal touches were everywhere—a framed photo of the Hale family from before the fire that Derek must have provided, candles on the dresser, and on the nightstand, a children's drawing.
Peter picked up the drawing carefully. It showed five stick figures—one tall with black scribbled hair (clearly Harry), three smaller ones (the boys), and one with blue eyes (Peter). Across the top in careful child's printing: "OUR FAMILY."
"Grayson drew it," Elijah said proudly. "He's getting really good at drawing. That's you with the blue eyes because you're a werewolf."
Peter stared at the drawing for a long moment, then set it carefully back on the nightstand. "It's perfect," he said, voice thick. "All of it is perfect. Thank you."
"You're pack," Isaac said quietly from the doorway—his first words since they'd arrived. "Papa says packs take care of each other. So we wanted to take care of you."
Peter looked at the scarred fourteen-year-old who was still learning what family meant. "Come here, kid."
Isaac approached hesitantly. Peter pulled him into a careful hug, mindful of both their healing injuries. "Thank you," Peter murmured. "For welcoming me. For being brave enough to accept this crazy family. For being pack."
Isaac's breath hitched, and he hugged back fiercely.
Harry herded the younger boys out, giving Peter, Derek, and Isaac a moment. When they emerged twenty minutes later, all three looked more settled. More like a pack.
"There's food in the kitchen," Harry said. "Kreacher made enough to feed an army. And if you need anything—anything at all—we're right up at the main house. Day or night, just call."
"Or use the mate bond," Peter said, meeting Harry's eyes. "I can feel it, you know. Humming between us. If I concentrate, I think I could reach you through it."
Harry's cheeks heated. "Yes. The bond works both ways. If you're in trouble or need help—"
"I know," Peter said softly. "And Harry? Thank you. For all of this. For giving me a home, a family, a reason to keep fighting."
"You don't have to thank me," Harry said. "This is what mates do. What the family does."
As they walked back to the main house, Grayson slipped his hand into Harry's. "Peter's going to be okay, isn't he, Papa?"
"Yes," Harry said with certainty. "He's going to be just fine. We'll all make sure of it."

Two Days Later
Harry stood in the basement ritual room with Isaac, Peter, Derek, and a very nervous teenager who was about to have his entire world change.
"You're sure about this?" Isaac asked for the fifth time. "Once my magic is unblocked, I'll be able to shift. And what if I can't control it? What if I hurt someone?"
"You won't," Peter said firmly. He was sitting in a chair against the wall—still building strength—but his presence was steady and sure. "Derek and I will be right here. The moment you shift, we'll help you through it."
"And my magic will keep the transformation contained if needed," Harry added. "Isaac, I've done this before. Removing magical blocks is delicate, but I know what I'm doing. And your wolf—once it's free—will recognize the pack. You won't hurt us."
Derek stepped forward, placing a hand on Isaac's shoulder. "You've got this, kid. And you're not alone. That's what pack means."
Isaac nodded shakily and lay down on the ritual circle Harry had prepared. Runes glowed softly around him—protection, healing, containment if necessary.
"This is going to hurt," Harry warned gently. "The blocks have been in place since you were born, suppressing both your magic and your wolf. When they come down, it's going to feel like something ripping free. But I'll be as quick as I can."
"Okay," Isaac whispered. "I'm ready."
Harry raised his wand, speaking the incantation in careful Latin. Golden light poured from his wand, surrounding Isaac, sinking into him. Harry could feel the blocks—thick, ugly things wrapped around Isaac's core, choking his magic and his wolf into submission.
Carefully, precisely, he began to unravel them.
Isaac gasped, back arching. "It burns—"
"I know," Harry said, voice steady even as sweat beaded on his forehead. "Stay with me, Isaac. Breathe through it. Peter, Derek—talk to him. Keep him grounded."
"Listen to my voice," Peter said immediately. "Isaac, focus on me. You're pack. You're Lahey. You're strong enough to handle this."
"Think about your anchor," Derek added. "What keeps you human? What matters most?"
"Family," Isaac gritted out. "Not being alone anymore. Having pack."
"That's right," Peter encouraged. "Hold onto that. Let it ground you while Harry works."
The blocks were coming apart now, unraveling strand by strand. Harry could feel Isaac's magic surging, desperate to be free after fourteen years of suppression. And beneath it, something wilder—the wolf, snarling and ready to break loose.
"Almost there," Harry muttered. "Just a little more—"
The final block shattered.
Power exploded through Isaac—magical and primal, human and wolf all tangled together. He screamed, body convulsing as his magic and his wolf fought for dominance.
"He's shifting!" Derek warned.
"Let him," Peter said. "Don't fight it, Isaac! Let the wolf come! We've got you!"
Isaac's body twisted, bones cracking and reforming. His screams turned to howls. Fur rippled across his skin, his face elongating into a muzzle. His clothes tore as his body expanded.
And then, where a teenage boy had been, stood a wolf.
Isaac's wolf form was beautiful—golden-brown fur, lean and young but strong, with bright amber eyes that glowed with intelligence and fear.
He snarled, backing against the wall, hackles raised.
"Easy," Peter said, his own eyes flashing blue in response. "Isaac, you're okay. You're safe. Look at me—I'm pack. Derek's pack. Harry's pack. We're not going to hurt you."
The wolf's gaze darted between them, confused and overwhelmed.
Derek took a careful step forward. "I know it's scary. I know everything feels wrong and too much. But Isaac, you're still you. You're still the kid who survived his father, who accepted magic, who became a pack. The wolf is just part of you—it doesn't control you."
The wolf whined, a sound of distress.
"Come here," Peter said gently, holding out his hand despite the distance. "Come to pack. Let us help you."
For a long moment, the wolf didn't move. Then, hesitantly, Isaac padded forward. He approached Peter first, sniffing cautiously.
Peter ran his hand through the wolf's fur. "There you are. Good. You're doing so well, Isaac."
Derek joined them, adding his scent and presence to the pack bond. "You're not alone. You'll never be alone again."
Harry remained back, letting the werewolves handle the wolf-to-wolf communication. But he could feel it through his magic—the way Isaac's panic was slowly easing, the way pack bonds were solidifying, the way the boy was finding his center.
After several minutes, the wolf began to shift back.
It was slower this time, more controlled. Isaac's form rippled and reformed, bones resetting, fur receding. When it was done, a naked, trembling teenage boy knelt on the floor.
Harry immediately conjured a blanket, wrapping it around Isaac's shoulders.
"You did it," Peter said proudly. "Your first shift. And you came back. That's huge, Isaac."
"I felt everything," Isaac whispered, voice hoarse. "The wolf—it was scared and angry and confused, but it also felt... right. Like a missing piece clicking into place."
"That's what it's supposed to feel like," Derek said. "The wolf is part of you. Not separate, not other—just you."
"Will it always hurt that much?" Isaac asked.
"The first few times, yes," Peter admitted. "But it gets easier. Your body learns the transformation, making it smoother. Eventually, shifting is as easy as breathing."
Isaac looked at Harry with tears in his eyes. "Thank you. For freeing me. For letting me be whole."
"You were always whole," Harry said gently. "We just removed the chains that were holding you back."
They helped Isaac upstairs, where Winky had prepared a feast—"Growing wolves need food, Master Harry!"—and Isaac ate like he was starving. The shift had burned through massive amounts of energy.
Grayson and Elijah were waiting anxiously in the kitchen, having been told to stay upstairs during the ritual.
"Did it work?" Elijah asked immediately. "Can Isaac shift now?"
"It worked," Isaac said with a tired smile. "Want to see?"
Both younger boys nodded enthusiastically.
This time, the shift was easier. Isaac's control was already improving. He transformed into his wolf form and let both boys pet his fur and exclaim over his size.
"You're so soft!" Elijah's hair turned forest-green with delight. "And your eyes are pretty!"
"Can you understand us when you're a wolf?" Grayson asked seriously.
Isaac shifted back—already getting the hang of it—and nodded. "Everything. I could hear everything you were thinking, almost. The wolf's senses are incredible."
"That's amazing," Grayson breathed. "Isaac, you're amazing."
Isaac's eyes went suspiciously bright. "Thanks, kid."
That evening, after the boys were in bed and Derek had gone back to the guest house with Peter, Harry sat in his study feeling accomplished. Isaac's magic was freed, his wolf was healthy, and their pack was growing stronger every day.
He was reviewing the documents about Grayson's titles—specifically the Slytherin and Gaunt lines—when he felt a pulse through the mate bond.
Harry? Peter's mental voice was tentative. Can you hear me?
Harry focused on the bond, pushing his awareness through it. I can hear you. Are you okay? Do you need something?
No, I just... wanted to try this. The bond. It's strange, being connected to someone this way.
Strange bad or strange good?
A pause, then warmth flooded through the bond. Strange good. Really good. Thank you, Harry. For everything today. For helping Isaac, for giving Derek and me a home, for building this family.
Thank you for being part of it, Harry sent back. Sleep well, Peter. We have a big day tomorrow—the boys want to take you on a tour of the preserve.
I'm looking forward to it. Another pulse of warmth. Goodnight, mate.
Goodnight.
Harry sat back, a smile playing on his lips. Their family was strange and unconventional, built from broken pieces and second chances.
But it was theirs. And it was exactly what they all needed.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks fell into a comfortable rhythm.
Peter grew stronger daily, his werewolf healing accelerated by pack bonds and proper care. He started joining them for family dinners at the main house, his dry wit and intelligence fitting seamlessly into their dynamic.
Derek remained wary but present, slowly learning to trust again. He and Isaac formed an unexpected bond—two wolves who'd survived abuse and loss, finding solidarity in shared pain.
Grayson thrived in his art lessons. Harry had hired a local teacher who came twice a week, and the boy's talent was obvious. His paintings of the preserve, his family, his new life covered the walls of his room.
Elijah discovered a love for music. The piano Harry had bought sat in the main house's music room, and Elijah spent hours picking out melodies, his natural talent shining through.
Isaac learned to control his shifts. With Peter and Derek's guidance, he could now transform at will, hold his wolf form for hours, and shift back without exhausting himself. His magic was growing too—small things at first, accidental levitation and sparks, but Harry was teaching him control.
And through it all, the mate bond between Harry and Peter deepened.
They hadn't acted on it physically—Peter was still recovering, and both agreed to take things slow. But they talked for hours, learning from each other. Peter told Harry about life before the fire, about pack politics and werewolf culture. Harry told Peter about the wizarding world, about his war, about the trauma he carried.
They were falling in love slowly, carefully, building foundation before passion.
One evening, three weeks after Peter's release from the hospital, Harry was putting the younger boys to bed when Grayson asked a question that had clearly been building.
"Papa? When is Peter going to move into the main house?"
Harry paused, tucking the blanket around his son. "What makes you think he will?"
"Because he's your mate," Grayson said logically. "And mates are supposed to be together. You love him—we can see it. And he loves you. So why does he live in the guest house?"
"Peter needs his own space while he heals," Harry explained gently. "The guest house gives him privacy and independence. He can come and go as he pleases—"
"But he's always here anyway," Elijah pointed out from his room across the hall. "He eats dinner with us every night. He helps Isaac with shifting practice. He reads us bedtime stories. He's already part of the family. Why not just make it official?"
"Because these things take time," Harry said. "Peter and I are still getting to know each other—"
"You know everything about each other," Grayson interrupted. "You talk for hours every night. You smile differently when he's around. Your magic is happier when he's close. Papa, it's okay to want him here. It's okay to be happy."
Harry's throat tightened. "When did you become so wise?"
"I've always been wise," Grayson said seriously. "You just haven't been listening."
"We like Peter," Elijah added. "We want him to be our other papa for real. Not just visiting papa, but living-here papa."
"I'll think about it," Harry promised. "But boys, this is between Peter and me. We need to figure it out ourselves, okay?"
Both boys nodded, but their expressions said clearly that they thought the adults were being unnecessarily complicated.
Later that night, Harry found himself walking to the guest house. He'd intended to check on Peter, maybe talk about tomorrow's plans.
Instead, he found himself standing at the door, heart pounding, trying to figure out what he actually wanted to say.
The door opened before he could knock.
Peter stood there in sleep pants and a t-shirt, hair rumpled, eyes warm. "I felt you through the bond. You've been standing out here for five minutes. Either come in or go home, Harry."
Harry stepped inside. "We need to talk."
"That sounds ominous." Peter moved to the kitchen, pulling out two beers from the fridge. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Harry said, accepting the beer. "I just... the boys asked me something tonight. About why you're still living in the guest house."
Peter's expression shuttered slightly. "And what did you tell them?"
"That you needed space. That we're taking things slow." Harry met Peter's eyes. "But Peter, are we taking things slow because we need to, or because we're scared?"
Peter was quiet for a long moment. "Both, probably. Harry, six weeks ago I was in a coma. My life was over, my family was dead, and I had nothing. Now I have you, three incredible kids, Derek back in my life, a home, a pack. It's overwhelming."
"Too overwhelming?" Harry asked quietly.
"No," Peter said immediately. "Not too much. Just... a lot. And I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Peter was quiet for a long moment. "Not too overwhelming?" Harry asked quietly.
"No," Peter said immediately. "Not too much. Just... a lot. And I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I'm not worth this—that I come with too much baggage, too much darkness. Harry, I spent six years trapped in my own mind. I thought things, planned things, that weren't... good. The wolf wanted revenge, wanted blood. Part of me still does."
Harry set down his beer and moved closer. "Peter, I killed a man when I was seventeen. Actually killed him, watched him die. I've used Unforgivables, I've tortured information out of Death Eaters, and I've made choices that haunt me every single day. We're both survivors of trauma, and we've both got darkness in us. That doesn't make us unworthy of happiness."
"You keep saying that," Peter said, voice rough. "But what if you're wrong? What if I hurt someone? What if the wolf—"
"Has three packmates who will anchor you," Harry interrupted firmly. "Derek, Isaac, and eventually more. You have a mate whose magic responds to yours. You have three children who adore you and see you as family. Peter, you're not alone in your darkness anymore. We'll carry it together."
Peter's eyes flashed blue, emotion overwhelming him. "I don't deserve you."
"Good thing it's not about deserving," Harry said softly. "It's about choice. And I choose you, Peter Hale. Baggage, darkness, and all. The question is—do you choose me?"
"Yes," Peter breathed. "God, yes. I chose you the moment I opened my eyes and saw you sitting beside my hospital bed. I just didn't know if I had the right to keep choosing you."
Harry reached out, cupping Peter's face gently. "You have every right. And Peter? The boys are right. You're already here every day. You already live with us in every way that matters. So why not make it official? Move into the main house. Be with us properly."
Peter leaned into Harry's touch. "Are you sure? Having me underfoot constantly, watching your every move with creepy werewolf senses—"
"I want you underfoot," Harry said firmly. "I want to wake up and know you're down the hall. I want the boys to be able to find you when they have nightmares. I want pack, Peter. Real pack, all of us together."
"Okay," Peter said, and something in his expression softened, opened. "Okay, I'll move in. But Harry—I want to do this right. Court you properly, not just move in because it's convenient."
"Court me?" Harry's lips quirked. "Is that a werewolf thing?"
"It's a Peter thing," Peter said, and suddenly his hand was on Harry's waist, pulling him closer. "I want to take you on dates. I want to make you dinner. I want to do all the normal relationship things we've been skipping because of mates bonds and chaos and children."
"I'd like that," Harry whispered, very aware of how close they were now, how Peter's warmth was seeping into him through the mate bond and physical proximity.
"Good," Peter murmured. "Then let's start now."
He leaned in slowly, giving Harry plenty of time to pull away. Harry didn't. Their lips met softly, carefully, a first kiss that tasted of beer and promise and coming home.
The mate bond sang between them, golden and bright and right.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing hard.
"Wow," Harry said intelligently.
"Yeah," Peter agreed, grinning. "Wow. And Harry? I'm definitely moving in tomorrow."

The Full Moon
Three days later, they faced Isaac's first full moon since his magic had been unblocked.
Harry had spent the afternoon preparing. The basement dueling room had been converted into a secure space—reinforced walls, cushioning charms, and wards that would contain a wolf but not harm one.
"Is all this really necessary?" Isaac asked nervously, watching Harry paint the final rune on the wall. "I've been shifting fine all week."
"The full moon is different," Derek explained, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "It pulls at the wolf, makes it harder to maintain control. Some wolves can resist it completely, but you're new. Better to be prepared."
"I'll be right here," Peter added, moving to stand beside Isaac. "The whole time. If you start to lose control, Derek and I will help ground you."
"And I'll be here with magic if needed," Harry said, straightening up. "But Isaac, I don't think you'll need it. You've been doing so well with your anchor. Just remember—family, pack, not being alone. Hold onto that."
Grayson and Elijah appeared at the top of the stairs, both in pajamas despite it being only seven PM.
"We want to help," Grayson said seriously.
"Absolutely not," Harry said immediately. "The full moon makes wolves unpredictable. You two are staying upstairs with Winky—"
"We can help from upstairs," Elijah interrupted, his hair shifting to determined orange. "We'll do a family ritual. All of us focusing on Isaac, sending him love and pack feelings through the bond. Luna taught us about pack magic, remember?"
Harry paused. Luna had indeed taught them some basics during her last visit, claiming that "pack magic works best when everyone contributes, even the small ones."
"He's right," Peter said slowly. "Pack magic is powerful. If the boys are sending positive energy, supportive feelings, it could actually help Isaac maintain control."
"From upstairs," Harry said firmly. "With Winky supervising and wards between you and the basement."
"Deal," both boys agreed quickly.
As the sun began to set, they all took their positions. Isaac sat in the center of the ritual circle, Peter and Derek flanking him. Harry stood at the edge, wand ready but hoping he wouldn't need it.
Upstairs, Harry could feel Grayson and Elijah settling into their own circle, their young magic humming with concentration.
The moon rose.
Isaac gasped, his body going rigid. "It's pulling," he gritted out. "Stronger than before—"
"Let it," Peter said calmly. "Don't fight the moon, Isaac. Flow with it. The wolf wants to come out—let it come, but you stay in control. You're the alpha of your own mind."
"Remember your anchor," Derek added. "What grounds you?"
"Family," Isaac whispered, and then his body began to shift.
It was faster this time, the moon lending power to the transformation. Bones cracked and reformed, fur rippled across skin, and within moments a golden-brown wolf stood where the teenage boy had been.
The wolf's eyes glowed amber, fixed on Peter and Derek with intense focus.
"Good," Peter said, his own eyes flashing blue in response. "Now hold it. Stay present. You're still Isaac, still pack. The moon doesn't control you—you control yourself."
The wolf growled low, taking a step forward. Its instincts were clearly screaming at it to run, to hunt, to give in to the wildness.
Then something changed.
Harry felt it through his magic—a surge of warmth and love flowing down from upstairs. Grayson and Elijah's ritual was working, sending waves of pack-bond energy directly to Isaac.
The wolf's ears perked up. It whined, looking confused.
"That's your brothers," Derek said softly. "Your pack cubs, sending you strength. Can you feel them?"
The wolf padded closer, sniffing the air. Then it did something unexpected—it lay down at Peter's feet and rested its head on its paws, looking up at them with those intelligent amber eyes.
"I think he's okay," Harry said, amazed. "Peter, I think he's actually maintaining control."
"Not just maintaining," Peter said, wonder in his voice. He reached down slowly, running his hand through the wolf's fur. "He's choosing to stay calm. Isaac, can you understand me?"
The wolf's tail wagged once.
"Incredible," Derek breathed. "Most new wolves can't do this on their first moon."
They stayed like that for hours. The wolf dozed occasionally, woke to pace the room, but never lost control. Whenever it seemed agitated, Harry would feel another surge of pack magic from upstairs, and the wolf would settle again.
Finally, as dawn approached, Isaac began to shift back.
The transformation was smoother now, practiced. When it was done, Isaac lay on the cushioned floor, exhausted but triumphant.
"I did it," he said hoarsely. "I made it through the full moon."
"You did more than that," Peter said proudly, helping him sit up. "You maintained control the entire time. Isaac, that's extraordinary for a new wolf."
"The boys helped," Isaac said, smiling slightly. "I could feel them the whole time. Every time the moon pulled too hard, there they were—reminding me why I needed to stay human."
Derek handed Isaac a blanket. "You're a natural, kid. With a few more moons under your belt, you'll be able to do this anywhere, anytime."
They made their way upstairs to find Grayson and Elijah passed out on the floor of the family room, still in their ritual circle. Winky had covered them with blankets but left them where they'd fallen asleep.
"They stayed up the entire night," Winky whispered. "Sending magic to young Master Isaac. Winky tried to make them rest, but they refused."
Harry's heart clenched. He gently scooped up Elijah while Peter—who'd been gradually moving his things into the main house all week—picked up Grayson.
"Our brothers saved me," Isaac said softly, watching them carry the sleeping boys upstairs. "I could feel it every time I started to lose control. They pulled me back."
"That's what pack does," Derek said simply. "We save each other."

Derek's Confession
Two days after the full moon, Harry found Derek sitting alone in the preserve, staring at a burned piece of wood he'd been carrying since arriving.
"May I?" Harry asked, gesturing to the ground beside him.
Derek shrugged, which Harry took as permission.
They sat in silence for several minutes, the forest sounds filling the space between them.
"This is from the Hale house," Derek finally said, holding up the charred wood. "I've been carrying it for six years. A reminder of what I caused."
"You didn't cause the fire," Harry said quietly.
"I told Kate about the pack," Derek said, voice flat. "I was seventeen and stupid and thought I was in love. I told a hunter about my family, and they burned us alive. That's on me."
"You were manipulated by an adult who knew exactly what she was doing," Harry countered. "Derek, you were a victim too."
"I survived when my family didn't," Derek said bitterly. "My mother, my siblings, my cousins—all dead because I couldn't keep my mouth shut."
Harry was quiet for a moment, then spoke carefully. "When I was eleven, I got my best friend's father killed. I was careless with information, didn't think through the consequences, and he died. I carried that guilt for years."
Derek's head snapped toward him. "What changed?"
"I realized that carrying guilt doesn't honor the dead," Harry said. "It just means their deaths continue to hurt people—in this case, me. The best way to honor them is to live, to build something good with the life they gave me. Your family didn't die so you could spend the rest of your life punishing yourself, Derek. They died protecting you. Honor that by living."
"I don't know how," Derek admitted, voice cracking.
"Start small," Harry suggested. "Isaac looks up to you. He needs guidance from a born wolf, someone who understands the struggle. Grayson and Elijah think you're the coolest person ever—they're constantly asking when 'Cousin Derek' is coming over. And Peter needs his nephew. He needs family. Let yourself be that for them."
Derek was quiet for a long time, staring at the burned wood in his hand. Then, slowly, he stood up and walked to a nearby tree. He buried the wood at its base.
"Fresh start?" Derek asked, voice rough.
"Fresh start," Harry agreed.

Grayson's Nightmare
That night, Harry was jolted awake by a scream.
He ran to Grayson's room, Peter right behind him—the werewolf had heard it from his new bedroom down the hall.
Grayson was sitting up in bed, tears streaming down his face, his magic crackling around him in distress.
"Papa!" he sobbed. "I dreamed—I was him again. I was Tom Riddle, and I was killing people, and I couldn't stop—"
Harry gathered him close immediately. "You're not him. You're Grayson. You're my son, and you will never be that person."
"But I was," Grayson insisted, clinging to Harry. "I was Tom Riddle. Those memories are still in my head sometimes. What if I grow up to be like him? What if Lady Magic made a mistake—"
"Lady Magic doesn't make mistakes," Peter said firmly, sitting on the other side of the bed. "Grayson, look at me."
Grayson turned his tear-stained face toward Peter.
"You know what the difference between you and Voldemort is?" Peter asked gently. "You have love. You have family. You have people who care about you and teach you that you matter. Tom Riddle grew up alone in an orphanage, unloved and unwanted. You're growing up here, with your papa and your brothers and me. That changes everything."
"But what if—"
"No what-ifs," Harry said firmly. "Grayson Felix Potter-Black, you are not defined by who you might have been. You're defined by who you choose to be every single day. And every day, you choose kindness. You choose art. You choose family. That's who you are."
"I'm scared," Grayson whispered.
"Being scared means you're human," Peter said. "It means you care about being good. Voldemort was never scared of becoming a monster—you are. That's the difference."
Grayson was quiet for a moment, then looked at Peter seriously. "You promise I'm not going to turn evil?"
"I promise," Peter said. "And if you ever start showing signs of world domination, your papa and I will stage an intervention involving embarrassing childhood stories and possibly locking you in a room with your brothers until you remember what's important."
Despite himself, Grayson giggled. "That's a weird intervention."
"We're a weird family," Harry said, kissing his forehead. "Now, do you want to try going back to sleep, or should we go downstairs and have hot chocolate?"
"Hot chocolate," Grayson decided. "And can Elijah and Isaac come too? I want to see everyone. Make sure they're real."
"Of course."
Twenty minutes later, all five of them sat around the kitchen table—three boys in pajamas, two adults in sleep clothes, everyone drinking hot chocolate that Kreacher had appeared to make despite the late hour.
"Why are we having a middle-of-the-night party?" Elijah asked, his hair sleep-mussed and shifting to curious purple.
"Because Grayson needed to know his family is real," Harry explained gently.
"We're definitely real," Isaac said, reaching over to ruffle Grayson's hair. "Very real and very weird, but real."
"Weird is good," Grayson said quietly. "Weird means we're not like other families. We're special."
"Very special," Peter agreed, meeting Harry's eyes over the boys' heads. The mate bond hummed warmly between them, full of contentment and love and home.

Pack Run
The following weekend, Harry proposed something new.
"A family outing," he announced at breakfast. "Into the preserve. The wolves can run, I'll fly, and the younger boys can... well, we'll figure something out."
"We could ride the wolves!" Elijah suggested excitedly.
"Absolutely not," Harry and Peter said simultaneously.
"You're too small," Derek added. "A running wolf could easily throw you."
"Then how do we come?" Grayson asked, disappointed.
Harry thought for a moment, then grinned. "I have an idea. Give me an hour."
An hour later, he presented his solution—a modified flying platform, essentially a large floating disc with safety rails, powered by his magic.
"The boys can stand on this while I control it," Harry explained. "They'll be able to keep up with the wolves, stay safe, and see everything."
"That's brilliant," Isaac said admiringly.
"That's showing off," Peter said, but he was smiling.
They set out late afternoon when the preserve was quiet. Peter, Derek, and Isaac shifted into their wolf forms—Peter's was darker, larger, the alpha presence obvious even without a pack. Derek's was sleek and powerful, all controlled strength. Isaac's was young and eager, practically vibrating with excitement.
Grayson and Elijah stood on the platform, holding the rails as Harry lifted it into the air. His magic controlled their height and speed effortlessly, following the wolves as they began to run.
It was glorious.
The wolves moved like liquid shadow through the trees, leaping over logs and streams, communicating through body language and pack bonds. Harry flew above and beside them, the wind in his hair, his sons laughing with pure joy on their platform.
"Faster, Papa!" Elijah shouted, his hair wind-whipped and bright gold with happiness.
Harry obliged, pushing the platform to keep pace as the wolves accelerated. They ran deeper into the preserve, into the ancient parts where magic hummed in the earth and the trees whispered secrets.
Finally, they reached a clearing with a small waterfall. The wolves shifted back, all three breathless and grinning.
"That was amazing!" Isaac said, flopping onto the grass. "I've never run like that before. Just pure instinct and freedom."
"The preserve is special," Derek said, looking around with something like peace on his face. "My mother used to bring us here when we were young. Before everything went wrong."
"Then we'll come here often," Harry decided, setting the platform down and releasing his sons. "Make new memories to go with the old ones."
Grayson and Elijah immediately ran to the waterfall, exclaiming over the way the light caught the spray. Peter moved to stand beside Harry, their shoulders touching.
"You're good at this," Peter said quietly.
"At what?"
"Building family. Creating pack. Making broken people feel whole again." Peter turned to look at him, blue eyes intense. "Harry, I know we said we'd take things slow, but I need you to know—I'm all in. This family, this pack, us. I'm completely, totally in love with you."
Harry's breath caught. "Peter—"
"You don't have to say it back," Peter said quickly. "I just needed you to know. Whatever this is between us, whatever we're building—I'm committed. For however long you'll have me."
"Forever," Harry said, the word escaping before he could think about it. "Peter, I want forever. I'm in love with you too. Have been for weeks, probably since you woke up and looked at me like I'd hung the moon."
Peter's grin was brilliant. "So we're doing this? Really doing this?"
"We're already doing it," Harry pointed out. "You're living in my house, helping raise my children, building a pack. We might as well admit we're in love while we're at it."
Peter laughed and pulled Harry into a kiss—deeper than their first, full of promise and certainty and future.
When they broke apart, they found three boys and one young man watching them with matching grins.
"Finally!" Elijah announced. "We thought you'd never figure it out!"
"We've known for weeks," Grayson added smugly.
"Even I knew," Isaac said, "and I've only been here a month."
Derek just smirked. "Congratulations. Now that you've gotten that sorted, can we eat? Running makes me hungry."

Moving Day (The Final Scene)
That evening, they made it official.
Peter's remaining belongings from the guest house—which wasn't much, since he'd been gradually moving things all week—were brought to the main house. His room was the master suite across from Harry's, though everyone knew it was more symbolic than practical.
"For propriety," Peter had said with a smirk. "And so the boys don't feel like we're rushing things."
"We already know you're going to end up in Papa's room eventually," Elijah had pointed out with perfect four-year-old logic.
Now, with Peter officially moved in, they gathered in the family room for what had become their nightly ritual—everyone together, talking about their day, making plans for tomorrow.
"I want to paint the pack run tomorrow," Grayson announced. "The way the light came through the trees. Can we go back?"
"I want to practice my piano," Elijah added. "Peter said he'd teach me a song his mother used to play."
"I need to work on my magic control," Isaac said. "Harry, can we do training tomorrow morning?"
"Of course," Harry agreed. "And Derek, you're still joining us for family dinner tomorrow night?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Derek said, looking more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him.
As the evening wound down and the boys headed to bed, Harry and Peter found themselves alone in the family room, the fire crackling softly.
"Is this really my life now?" Peter asked, wonder in his voice. "Six weeks ago I was in a coma. Now I have a mate, three incredible kids, my nephew back, and a family."
"This is really your life," Harry confirmed. "Our life. Together."
Peter pulled Harry close, tucking him against his side. "Thank you. For waking me up, for giving me this, for being exactly what I needed."
"Thank you for being brave enough to stay awake," Harry murmured. "For choosing us every day."

They sat in comfortable silence, the mate bond singing contentedly between them. Outside, the preserve whispered its approval. Upstairs, three boys slept safely under their protection.
This was pack. This was family. This was home.
And for the first time in his life, Harry Potter-Black knew exactly where he belonged.

Chapter Text

The morning after Peter officially moved in, Harry woke to the smell of coffee and bacon—and the sound of arguing voices from the kitchen.He pulled on a robe and headed downstairs, following the noise. In the kitchen, he found Peter at the stove making breakfast while Derek leaned against the counter, both of them engaged in what appeared to be a heated debate."—can't just ignore them," Derek was saying. "The Argents are still in town. Chris is still hunting.""Chris Argent follows the code," Peter countered, flipping a pancake with more force than necessary. "He doesn't hunt wolves who haven't killed innocents.""His sister Kate didn't follow the code, and look what happened," Derek shot back.
Harry cleared his throat. "Good morning. What's going on?"Both werewolves turned to him, and Peter's expression immediately softened. "Morning, love. Coffee?""Please," Harry said, accepting the mug Peter poured for him. "Now, what's this about the Argents?"Derek's jaw tightened. "There's been activity. Hunters in the preserve, checking the usual werewolf signs. They know something's different in Beacon Hills—three wolves where there used to be none.""Four wolves," Harry corrected. "You're forgetting yourself.""I've been careful," Derek said. "But Isaac's new, he's leaving traces everywhere. And Peter—you've been out of the game for six years. You're not being as cautious as you should be.""We're not doing anything wrong," Peter said firmly. "We're not hunting humans, we're not creating new wolves, we're not causing problems. If Chris Argent has an issue with us existing, that's his problem.""Unless he decides to make it our problem," Derek muttered.Harry set down his coffee mug with a decisive click. "Then I'll handle it."Both werewolves stared at him."Harry, these are hunters," Peter said carefully. "They've been killing supernatural creatures for generations. You can't just—"
I'm the Lord of an ancient magical house with considerable political power, and we're living on property that's been owned by my family for over a century," Harry interrupted calmly. "If the Argents want to challenge three werewolves living peacefully under my protection, they're welcome to try. But they should know that I don't take kindly to threats against my family."
Derek's eyebrows rose. "You'd go to war with the Argents over us?"
"Without hesitation," Harry said simply. "You're pack. That means something."
Peter crossed the room and pulled Harry into a kiss that tasted like coffee and promise. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"
"Once or twice," Harry said with a smile. "But I never get tired of hearing it."
Gross," came Elijah's voice from the doorway. His hair was sleep-mussed and shifting to amused pink. "You two are always kissing now."
"Get used to it," Peter said cheerfully, ruffling Elijah's hair as the boy passed. "Where are your brothers?"
"Grayson's reading. Isaac's still asleep—the full moon always makes him tired for a few days after." Elijah climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island. "What were you arguing about?"
"Nothing important," Derek said quickly.
"Hunters," Elijah said knowingly. "I heard you say Argents. Are they going to try to hurt you?"
Harry shot Derek a look that clearly said see what you've done? "No one is going to hurt anyone," he said firmly. "The Argents are hunters who protect humans from dangerous supernatural creatures. We're not dangerous, so there's no problem."
"But what if they think we're dangerous?" Elijah pressed, his hair shifting to worried orange.
"Then Papa will educate them otherwise," Peter said, returning to the stove. "Now, who wants chocolate chip pancakes?"
"Me!" Elijah's worry was immediately forgotten. "With extra chocolate chips!"
As Peter served breakfast and the other boys gradually filtered into the kitchen, Harry caught Derek's eye and gestured toward the hallway. They stepped out of the kitchen for privacy.
"I meant what I said," Harry told him quietly. "If the Argents become a problem, I'll handle it. But Derek, I need to know—is there history there I should be aware of? Beyond Kate and the fire?"

Derek's expression shuttered. "Chris Argent's daughter, Allison. She was... she's a few years younger than me. We dated briefly, before everything went to hell. It ended badly when she found out what I was."
"Does she know you're back in town?"
"I don't know. I've been keeping my head down." Derek ran a hand through his hair. "Chris is a good man, Harry. He follows the code, he doesn't kill innocents. But he's also a hunter, and hunters don't typically approve of werewolves settling in their territory."
"Then maybe it's time for a conversation," Harry said. "A civil one, before assumptions are made on either side."
"You want to invite a hunter to meet the pack?" Derek asked incredulously.
"I want to establish clear boundaries and expectations," Harry corrected. "We're not hiding, Derek. We're not doing anything wrong. I'd rather have an honest conversation now than deal with misunderstandings later."
Derek considered this. "You're either very brave or very stupid."
"I've been told it's often hard to tell the difference," Harry said with a slight smile. "Trust me, Derek. I've dealt with worse than hunters. I've dealt with Dumbledore."

The Letter
As if summoned by Harry's thoughts, Kreacher appeared just as they returned to the kitchen, holding a red envelope with obvious distaste.
"Master Harry, this has just arrived. Kreacher does not like it."
Harry took the Howler—because of course Dumbledore would send a Howler—and immediately cast a silencing charm around himself before opening it.

Even silenced, he could see the fury in Dumbledore's magically-projected face.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU WILL RETURN TO ENGLAND IMMEDIATELY. YOU HAVE ABANDONED YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES, REMOVED WARDS WITHOUT PERMISSION, AND TAKEN DANGEROUS MAGICAL ARTIFACTS—"
Harry vanished the Howler with a flick of his wand, his own magic crackling with anger.
"Papa?" Grayson's worried voice cut through the tension. "Who was that?"
"Dumbledore," Harry said, trying to calm his magic. "The headmaster I told you about. The one who put blocks and potions on both of us."

The bad wizard," Elijah said, his hair turning angry red. "The one who tried to control you."
"He's not entirely bad," Harry said carefully, aware of young ears listening. "But he believes he knows what's best for everyone, and he doesn't handle it well when people make their own choices."
Peter moved to Harry's side, one hand on his lower back—a grounding touch. "What did he say?"
"That I need to return to England. That I've abandoned my responsibilities." Harry's jaw tightened. "He's probably furious that I removed the wards on Grimmauld Place and transferred my seats in the Wizengamot to Hermione's control."
"Can he make you go back?" Isaac asked nervously.

No," Harry said firmly. "I'm an adult, I'm an emancipated lord of multiple houses, and I'm exactly where I choose to be. Dumbledore has no power over me, no matter how much he wishes otherwise."
"But he might try something," Derek said. "If he's anything like you've described, he won't give up easily."
"Then we'll deal with it," Peter said. "Together. That's what pack does."
Harry pulled Peter close, drawing comfort from the mate bond. "I should have known he'd eventually track me down. I've been ignoring his letters for weeks."
"There have been other letters?" Grayson asked.
"Many," Kreacher confirmed, appearing again. "Master Harry has Kreacher burn them all. This is the first Howler."
Block him," Peter suggested. "If he can't reach you, he can't harass you."
"It's not that simple. The magical world has ways of tracking people, especially powerful wizards." Harry sighed. "But I can strengthen the wards, make it harder for him to send things directly. And I'll write to Hermione, have her handle any 'official' correspondence."
"Will he come here?" Elijah asked, moving closer to Harry. "Will he try to take us away?"
"No," Harry said immediately, kneeling down to meet his son's eyes. "Eli, listen to me. No one is taking you anywhere. You're mine—legally adopted through blood magic. Same with Grayson. And Isaac is my heir. Dumbledore has no claim on any of you."
"But he wants you to go back," Grayson said quietly. "Back to England."
"And I'm not going," Harry said firmly. "My home is here. With you, with your brothers, with Peter and Derek. This is where I belong."

And I'm not going," Harry said firmly. "My home is here. With you, with your brothers, with Peter and Derek. This is where I belong."
"Promise?" Elijah whispered.
"I promise," Harry said, pulling both younger boys into a hug. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a wand in my eye."
Elijah giggled despite his worry. "That's not how the saying goes."
"It is in the wizarding world," Harry said solemnly, making Grayson smile too.
After breakfast, while the boys were occupied with various activities—Grayson painting, Elijah practicing piano, Isaac doing homework—Harry retreated to his study to write letters.

The first was to Hermione:

Hermione,
Dumbledore sent a Howler this morning. I'm sure you've been dealing with his attempts to locate me or force my return. Please continue to stonewall him. I'm not coming back to England except for visits, and those will be on my terms, not his.
I need you to reinforce the legal protections around my adoptions. Make sure there's no loophole Dumbledore can exploit to challenge my custody of the boys. And check on the status of Isaac's adoption—the American courts should finalize it this week, but I want to make sure there are no complications.
How are things there? Is Dumbledore making your life difficult? If he is, please let me know. I can and will handle him if necessary.
Miss you. The boys ask about "Aunt Hermione" constantly. Please visit soon.
Love, Harry

The second letter was more difficult—to Gringotts, requesting additional security measures and asking Ragnok to look into Dumbledore's recent activities.
The third letter... Harry stared at the blank parchment, then began to write.

Headmaster Dumbledore,
I am writing to inform you, once and for all, that I will not be returning to England permanently. I have built a life here in California with my family, and I am happy. I would appreciate if you would respect my choices and stop attempting to contact me.
My seats in the Wizengamot are being handled by Hermione Granger, who has my full confidence and proxy votes. Any official wizarding business should go through her. I hold no ill will toward you, Professor, but I need you to understand that I am no longer your student, your weapon, or your responsibility. I am my own person, making my own choices. Please respect that.

Harebellen Orion Potter-Black
Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter, Black, and Peverell

He sealed the letter with his lordship seal—making it official and legally binding—and sent it off with his owl.
Peter found him twenty minutes later, still sitting at his desk staring at nothing.
"How bad?" Peter asked, settling into the chair across from him.

"He'll escalate," Harry said quietly. "Dumbledore doesn't give up easily. He'll see this as me being manipulated or controlled. He'll probably send someone to 'check on me'—likely someone from the Order of the Phoenix."
"Let him send them," Peter said. "They'll see you're happy, healthy, and exactly where you want to be."
"Unless they see you and panic about dark creatures corrupting me," Harry pointed out.
Peter's eyes flashed blue. "Let them try."
Despite everything, Harry smiled. "My fierce werewolf, ready to defend my honor."
"Always," Peter said seriously. Then his expression softened. "Harry, we'll handle whatever comes. Dumbledore, hunters, full moons, time-traveling dark lords turned adorable five-year-olds—we've handled everything so far." You forgot to mention house-elves with boundary issues and a fourteen-year-old who keeps accidentally levitating things when he's emotional," Harry added.
"That too," Peter agreed. "We're building something good here, love. Don't let Dumbledore's manipulation make you doubt that."
Harry stood and moved around the desk, letting Peter pull him into a hug. Through the mate bond, he could feel Peter's certainty, his strength, his unwavering support.
"I love you," Harry murmured against Peter's shoulder.
"Love you too," Peter said, pressing a kiss to Harry's temple. "Now come on—Isaac wanted to show you something with his magic, and I think Kreacher is about five minutes from declaring war on Dobby over proper napkin folding techniques."
Normal family problems," Harry said with a laugh.
"Exactly."

The Sheriff
That afternoon, there was a knock at the front door.
Kreacher answered it—with his usual level of suspicion and barely concealed hostility toward strangers—and returned to announce: "There is a Muggle law enforcement official requesting to speak with Master Harry. Kreacher does not trust him, but he has not tried to enter without permission."
Harry exchanged a look with Peter. "Sheriff Stilinski?"

Probably," Peter confirmed. "He's been very hands-off about the Lahey situation, which I appreciate, but he was bound to follow up eventually."
They found Sheriff Stilinski on the front porch—a man in his forties with tired eyes and a patient demeanor. He straightened when he saw Harry.
"Mr. Potter-Black? I'm Sheriff Noah Stilinski. Sorry to drop by unannounced, but I wanted to check in about Isaac Lahey."
"Of course," Harry said, stepping aside. "Please, come in. Would you like some coffee?"
"That would be great, thank you."
They settled in the formal living room—Harry and Peter on one couch, the Sheriff in an armchair. Kreacher appeared with coffee service, still radiating suspicion.

How is Isaac doing?" the Sheriff asked, accepting his cup. "I know the transition has been... sudden."
"He's doing well," Harry said honestly. "Adjusting to his new life, making progress in several areas. He's a remarkable kid."
"He is," the Sheriff agreed. "I've known the Laheys for years. What his father did..." He shook his head. "I'm glad you were able to step in when you did. The system doesn't always move fast enough to protect kids like Isaac."
"I'm glad I could help," Harry said. "Sheriff, is there a problem? Is Isaac's father causing issues?"
"No, nothing like that. Mr. Lahey is awaiting trial, and the case is solid. I'm more concerned about you—about all this." The Sheriff gestured vaguely. "You're new to Beacon Hills, you suddenly have three children, and you're living in a house that's been empty for fifteen years. I'm not accusing you of anything, Mr. Potter-Black, but you understand why I might have questions."
"Of course," Harry said calmly. "What would you like to know?"
"Let's start with the basics. Where are you from? What brings you to Beacon Hills?"
Harry had prepared for this—a carefully edited version of the truth. "I'm originally from England. I came into an inheritance recently—including the Lahey estate, which I didn't know existed until a few weeks ago. I have two younger sons who I adopted in England, and when I learned about Isaac's situation and our family connection, I came to help."

Family connection?"
"The Lahey line is connected to my mother's family," Harry explained—which was technically true. "Isaac is my distant cousin and, as I'm the last of my line, that makes him my heir."
The Sheriff processed this. "And Mr. Hale?" He turned to Peter. "I heard you woke up recently. Six years in a coma, then suddenly you're living here?"
"Harry and I are involved," Peter said calmly. "We met while I was recovering, and when he offered me a place to stay, I accepted."
"Involved," the Sheriff repeated, and something in his expression softened. "I'm glad you're awake, Peter. Your nephew Derek—I've seen him around town lately. Is he staying here too?"
"Sometimes," Peter said carefully. "Derek and I are rebuilding our relationship after everything that happened."
The Sheriff nodded slowly. "The fire. I remember. Terrible tragedy." He paused. "Mr. Potter-Black, I'm going to be straight with you. Beacon Hills is a small town, and we look out for each other. Three new kids, two werewolves settling in the preserve, and some unusual activity in the area—it's attracted attention."
Harry's magic prickled. "What kind of attention?"
"The kind that carries wolfsbane bullets," the Sheriff said bluntly. "The Argents have been asking questions. Chris Argent specifically wanted to know about the 'new pack' in his territory."
"We're not a pack in the traditional sense," Peter said. "We're a family."
"A family that includes werewolves," the Sheriff pointed out. "Look, I don't care about the supernatural politics—that's not my jurisdiction. But I do care about keeping the peace in my town. If there's going to be trouble between you and the Argents, I need to know."
"There won't be trouble," Harry said firmly. "We're not causing problems, we're not hunting humans, we're not doing anything that violates supernatural law or human law. We're simply living our lives."
"Then you won't mind if I pass that message along to Chris Argent?" the Sheriff asked. "Maybe suggest a meeting between you two? Clear the air before assumptions lead to problems?"
Harry and Peter exchanged a look. Through the mate bond, Harry felt Peter's reluctant agreement.
That would be acceptable," Harry said. "Though I'd prefer the meeting happen on neutral ground, with clear boundaries established."
"The Sheriff's station?" Stilinski suggested. "Tomorrow afternoon? I can mediate if things get tense."
"Agreed," Harry said.
The Sheriff stood, setting down his empty coffee cup. "Good. And Mr. Potter-Black? For what it's worth, I think what you're doing for Isaac is admirable. That kid needs stability and family. I'm glad he found both."
"Thank you, Sheriff."
As Harry walked him to the door, Stilinski paused. "One more thing—my son, Stiles, is in Isaac's year at school. If Isaac decides to attend Beacon Hills High School, Stiles would be happy to show him around, help him adjust."
"That's very kind," Harry said. "I'll mention it to Isaac."

After the Sheriff left, Peter let out a long breath. "Well, that went better than expected."
"He knows," Harry said quietly. "About the supernatural. He's known for a while."
"Most sheriffs in supernatural towns know eventually," Peter agreed. "The question is whether he's going to be an ally or an obstacle."
"Ally," Harry decided. "He came here to open dialogue, not to threaten. That's a good sign."
Isaac appeared at the top of the stairs, clearly having listened to the entire conversation. "Do I have to go to school?"
"Eventually," Harry said. "But not yet. Let's get through the Argent meeting first, then we'll talk about school."
"Can I meet the Sheriff's son?" Isaac asked. "Stiles. If he's willing to help me adjust..."

Lonely?" Peter asked gently.
"A little," Isaac admitted. "I mean, I love my family. But it would be nice to have friends my own age. People who don't know about my dad or the abuse or... everything."
"Then we'll arrange it," Harry promised. "One step at a time, Isaac. We'll build you a normal life."
"Normal," Isaac repeated with a slight smile. "In a house full of wizards and werewolves. Sure, Papa. Totally normal."

Gringotts Response
That evening, after the boys were in bed, Harry received a response from Ragnok via emergency portkey- delivered letter.

Lord Potter-Black,

Your instincts about Dumbledore are correct. He has been attempting to locate you through various means, including hiring private investigators and pressuring your friends for information. Hermione Granger has been admirably resistant to his efforts.
More concerning: Dumbledore has been petitioning the Wizengamot to declare you mentally compromised and place you under guardianship. His argument is that "no sane wizard would abandon England and his responsibilities for a foreign land and questionable relationships."
Fortunately, Ms. Granger has been blocking these efforts with the full legal weight of your lordships. However, I must advise you that Dumbledore will likely escalate. He may send someone to California to personally assess your situation.

I have increased security measures on all your accounts and properties. No one can access your vaults or your British properties without your explicit permission and blood verification.
Regarding young Grayson: I have discovered that Dumbledore has been researching time-travel magic extensively in recent weeks. It is possible he knows about the boy's true origins and sees him as either a threat or an opportunity.
I strongly recommend you strengthen the wards around your American property and consider additional protection for the children.

May your gold always multiply,
Ragnok

Harry read the letter twice, his magic crackling with fury by the second reading.
"Harry?" Peter's voice came from the doorway. "What's wrong? I can feel your anger through the bond."
Harry handed him the letter wordlessly.
Peter's eyes flashed blue as he read. "He's trying to declare you mentally incompetent? For being happy?"
"For not doing what he wants," Harry corrected bitterly. "For making choices he doesn't approve of. And Peter—if he knows about Grayson, if he realizes that my son is Tom Riddle pulled through time..."
"He'll try to take him," Peter finished, his voice dropping to a growl. "Use him as a weapon or study him or lock him away."
"We can't let that happen," Harry said fiercely.

We won't," Peter promised. "Harry, we'll strengthen the wards, we'll add blood protections, we'll do whatever it takes. Dumbledore is not getting near our children."
"Our children," Harry repeated softly, something warm blooming in his chest despite the fear. "You really see them that way?"
"Of course I do," Peter said, moving closer to wrap his arms around Harry. "Grayson, Elijah, Isaac—they're mine as much as they're yours. Pack doesn't distinguish between blood and choice, Harry. They're my cubs, and I'll protect them with everything I have."
Harry buried his face in Peter's shoulder, drawing strength from the mate bond and his wolf's unwavering certainty. "I won't let him destroy what we've built."
"Then we fight," Peter said simply. "Together. As a pack."

From the doorway, Derek's voice cut through the moment. "What's going on?"
Harry pulled back from Peter to see Derek standing there with Isaac beside him—both clearly drawn by the distress in the pack bonds.
"Dumbledore's escalating," Harry explained, not bothering to hide the truth. "He's trying to declare me incompetent so he can force me back to England. And he may know about Grayson's origins."
"The time travel thing?" Isaac asked. "Why would that matter?"
"Because knowledge of what Tom Riddle becomes—what he does—could be valuable to someone like Dumbledore," Derek said, understanding immediately. "He'd see Grayson as either a weapon to use or a threat to eliminate."
"He's a five-year-old child," Peter snarled. "Our child."
"Dumbledore won't see it that way," Harry said tiredly. "He'll see a future dark lord that he can either control or destroy. He won't care that Grayson is nothing like Voldemort, that he's been given love and family and a completely different life. All he'll see is the potential for darkness."
Isaac moved closer, his young face set with determination. "Then we don't let him near Grayson. Any of us. We're pack, right? We protect each other."
"Right," Derek agreed. "What do you need us to do?"
Harry looked at his pack—his mate, his nephew-in-law, his heir—and felt something settle in his chest. They were with him. They'd fight for their family.
"Tomorrow, we meet with the Argents and establish boundaries," Harry said. "Then we strengthen the wards and add blood protections. Dumbledore can't physically enter the property without permission if we key the wards correctly."
"And if he sends someone else?" Peter asked

Then we deal with them," Harry said simply. "But Peter, I need you to understand—if this escalates, if Dumbledore really comes after us, it could get dangerous. He's not above using force if he thinks it's 'for the greater good.' I won't let you or the boys get hurt because of my history with him."
Peter cupped Harry's face gently. "Harry, love, we're already in this. The moment you woke me up, the moment you built this pack, the moment we became a family—we became a target for anyone who wants to control you. We're not running, and we're not letting you face this alone."
"Never alone," Derek added. "That's what pack means."
"Never alone," Isaac echoed.
Harry's eyes burned with unshed tears. "Okay. Okay, we do this together. But we're smart about it. We plan, we prepare, and we don't take unnecessary risks."

"Agreed," Peter said. "Now come to bed. You're exhausted, and tomorrow's going to be complicated enough without you running on no sleep."
As they headed upstairs—Derek returning to the guest house, Isaac to his room—Harry and Peter paused outside Harry's bedroom.
"Your room or mine?" Peter asked with a slight smile.
"Do we really need to keep up the pretense of separate rooms?" Harry asked. "The boys know we're together. Derek knows. Even the house-elves know."
"True," Peter said, his smile widening. "Then how about we officially share the master suite? Move my things in properly?"
"I'd like that," Harry said softly.
Good," Peter said, pulling Harry into a kiss. "Because I was getting tired of sneaking between rooms like a teenager."
Harry laughed against Peter's lips. "You're ridiculous."
"You love me anyway."
"I really do."
They fell asleep that night wrapped in each other's arms, the mate bond humming contentedly between them. Outside, the wards pulsed with protective magic, keeping watch over their growing family.
Tomorrow would bring hunters and complications and difficult conversations. But tonight, they were together, safe, and home.
That was enough.

Chapter Text

Harry woke to the sensation of being watched.He opened his eyes to find Grayson and Elijah standing beside the bed, both still in pajamas, staring at him and Peter with identical expressions of satisfaction."I knew it," Elijah whispered loudly, his hair shifting to triumphant gold. "I told you Peter would end up in Papa's bed.""You owe me a chocolate frog," Grayson said smugly.Peter stirred beside Harry, one eye cracking open. "Did you two make a bet on our sleeping arrangements?""Yes," both boys said simultaneously, completely unashamed."And now we need to collect our winnings," Elijah added. "Grayson bet that you'd share a room within two weeks. I bet one week. Grayson won."
Technically, we shared a room last night, which was week five," Harry pointed out, sitting up."But you didn't move all Peter's things in until yesterday," Grayson said logically. "So it counts as official as of yesterday. Which was day thirteen of week three. I win."Peter laughed, the sound warm and sleep-rough. "Your son is terrifyingly logical for a five-year-old.""I know," Harry said with a mixture of pride and concern. "It's going to make his teenage years either very easy or absolutely impossible.""Can we have pancakes?" Elijah asked, already moving on from his lost bet. "Kreacher said he'd make shaped ones again if we asked nicely.""Then you should ask nicely," Peter said, swinging his legs out of bed. "Come on, let's go see what shapes we can convince him to make."
As the boys ran ahead, chattering excitedly, Harry caught Peter's hand. "Are you sure about this? Officially sharing a room, being openly together in front of the boys?""Harry, we've been together for weeks," Peter said gently. "The only thing that's changed is where I sleep. And honestly? I sleep better with you. The mate bond is quieter, more content when we're physically close.""I feel it too," Harry admitted. "Like something settling into place.""Then stop overthinking it," Peter said, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "We're mates, we're in love, and we're building a life together. Let's just enjoy it."
The Argent Meeting

At two PM, Harry, Peter, and Derek arrived at the Sheriff's station for the meeting with Chris Argent.
Isaac had wanted to come—"I'm pack, I should be there"—but Harry had convinced him to stay home with his younger brothers. "This is a first meeting," Harry had explained. "We need to establish boundaries without overwhelming anyone. Besides, someone needs to keep Grayson and Elijah from trying to 'help' by researching hunter weaknesses.""They were really going to do that?" Isaac had asked."Grayson already had three books on hunter history checked out from my library," Harry had confirmed. "He's protective. And terrifyingly thorough."Now, sitting in the Sheriff's conference room, Harry studied the man across from them.Chris Argent was in his forties, with graying hair and the bearing of a soldier. His eyes were sharp, assessing, but not hostile. He wore casual clothes—jeans and a button-down—but Harry could see the telltale bulge of a concealed weapon."Thank you for agreeing to meet," Chris said, his voice neutral. "I appreciate you taking the time.""We want to establish clear communication," Harry said calmly. "Misunderstandings benefit no one."Chris's eyes flicked to Derek, and something complicated passed across his face. "Derek Hale. I heard you were back in town.""Chris," Derek said tersely."How's Allison?" Peter asked, and there was definitely a dangerous edge to his voice."She's fine," Chris said carefully. "She's seventeen now. A senior in high school.""And she knows what you are?" Derek asked. "What her family does?"
She knows," Chris confirmed. "She's been trained in the code since she was old enough to understand."
"The code," Peter repeated. "The same code your sister Kate claimed to follow while she burned my family alive?"
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Sheriff Stilinski shifted uncomfortably.
"Kate violated the code," Chris said, his voice hard. "She killed innocents. She murdered children. What she did to your family was unconscionable, and she paid for it with her life."
"Did she?" Peter asked softly, dangerously. "Because last I heard, Kate Argent disappeared after the fire. No body was ever found."
She's dead," Chris said firmly. "I made sure of it myself."
The two men stared at each other, years of pain and anger crackling between them.
Harry cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, as fascinating as this is, we're here to discuss the present, not the past. Chris, let me be clear about our situation. We are not a threat to Beacon Hills or its human population. We're a family—two werewolves, one wizard, and three children—living peacefully on private property that's been in my family for generations."
Chris turned his attention to Harry, his expression curious. "A wizard. The Sheriff mentioned that, but I'll admit I was skeptical."
Harry allowed his magic to flare slightly, just enough to make the air shimmer. Papers on the table rustled, and the lights flickered. "I assure you, I'm quite real. And quite capable of protecting my family from any threat."

Is that a threat?" Chris asked mildly.
"An observation," Harry corrected. "I understand that hunters protect humans from dangerous supernatural creatures. I respect that. But my pack is not dangerous. We follow the same code you do—we don't hunt innocents, we don't turn humans without consent, and we don't cause problems."
"What about him?" Chris nodded toward Derek. "Derek Hale has a history in this town. A complicated one."
"I was seventeen," Derek said quietly. "I made mistakes. I trusted the wrong person. But I never killed anyone, Chris. Never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it."
"Kate used you," Chris acknowledged. "I know that now. Doesn't change the fact that you're back, and there are more wolves in town than there have been in six years."
Three wolves," Peter said. "Derek, myself, and a teenage boy who just discovered his heritage and is learning control. We're not building an army, Chris. We're building a family."
"And the wizard?" Chris looked at Harry again. "Where do you fit in all this?"
"Peter is my mate," Harry said simply. "True mate bond, recognized by magic itself. That makes his pack my pack. And I will protect them with everything I have."
Chris was quiet for a long moment, processing this. "You're asking me to trust that three werewolves—including one who spent six years in a coma dreaming of revenge—won't become a problem."
"I'm telling you we won't be a problem unless you make us one," Peter said. "Chris, I'm not the same man I was before the fire. I have a mate now, a family. I have reasons to stay sane, to stay human. I'm not interested in revenge anymore. I'm interested in building a life."
"And if trouble comes to Beacon Hills?" Chris asked. "If other supernatural threats appear?"
"Then we'll deal with them together," Harry said. "I'm not opposed to working with hunters who follow the code, Chris. In fact, I'd prefer it. Clear communication, mutual respect, and cooperation when necessary. That's what I'm offering."
Chris studied them for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Here's what I propose—a trial period. You live your lives, we live ours, and we stay out of each other's way. But if I hear about any incidents, any humans hurt or threatened, we'll have a problem."
"That's fair," Harry agreed.
"And I want monthly check-ins," Chris added. "Just to keep lines of communication open. No surprises."
"Acceptable," Peter said, though he didn't look happy about it.
"One more thing," Chris said, his expression softening slightly. "My daughter, Allison—she's curious about the supernatural world. Always has been. If she asks to meet your pack, to learn about werewolves from a non-hunter perspective..."
"She'd be welcome," Harry said, surprising everyone. "Under supervision, with clear boundaries, but welcome. Part of building trust is education, and if your daughter wants to understand the creatures her family hunts, that seems like a positive thing."
Chris's eyes widened slightly. "You'd allow my daughter near your pack?"
"If she comes in good faith, yes," Harry said. "Though I'd want Derek's approval, given their history."
All eyes turned to Derek, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I... I'd rather not see her. But if Allison wants to learn, I won't stop it. Just keep her away from me."
"Fair enough," Chris said. He stood, extending his hand to Harry. "I think we have an understanding, Mr. Potter-Black."
Harry shook his hand, feeling the strength in the hunter's grip. "Call me Harry. And Chris? Thank you for being reasonable. I know this isn't easy for you."
"Nothing worth doing ever is," Chris said. He nodded to Peter and Derek. "Gentlemen. I'll be in touch."
After Chris left, Sheriff Stilinski let out a long breath. "Well, that went better than I expected. I half thought we'd end up with wolfsbane and magic flying everywhere."
"The day's not over yet," Peter muttered.
"Behave," Harry said, elbowing him gently. "Sheriff, thank you for mediating. It helped having neutral ground."
"Happy to help," Stilinski said. "And Harry—about my son, Stiles. Would it be okay if he came by sometime this week? He's been asking about Isaac, wondering if he'd like a tour of the school before he decides whether to enroll."
Harry glanced at Derek, who shrugged. "Isaac would probably appreciate it. He's been feeling isolated."
"Then yes, that would be fine," Harry said. "How about Saturday afternoon? That gives us a few days to prepare Isaac for the social interaction."
"Perfect," the Sheriff said with a smile. "I'll let Stiles know. Fair warning—my son is enthusiastic and talks a lot. If he overwhelms Isaac, just tell him to dial it back."
"I think Isaac could use some enthusiasm," Harry said. "It'll be good for him."

Hermione's Arrival
They returned home to find chaos.
The wards had alerted Harry to a visitor the moment they'd crossed into the preserve, but he hadn't expected to find Hermione Granger standing in his living room, squared off against a protective Kreacher while Grayson and Elijah watched with wide eyes.
"Kreacher, stand down," Harry said immediately. "Hermione's family."
"Kreacher was protecting the young masters," Kreacher said indignantly. "Strange witch appeared without permission—"
"I used the emergency portkey Harry gave me," Hermione explained, looking frazzled. "I'm sorry for the dramatic entrance, but Harry, we have a problem. A big one."
"Aunt Hermione!" Elijah launched himself at her, his hair shifting to happy yellow. "You came to visit!"
Hermione's stern expression melted as she caught him. "Hello, Eli. You've grown since I saw you last."
"Papa says I'm going to be tall like him," Elijah said proudly.
"I'm sure you will be," Hermione said, setting him down and turning to Grayson, who approached more cautiously. "Hello, Grayson. How are you settling in?"
"Well, thank you," Grayson said politely. "We have snakes now. And a werewolf papa. And Isaac, who's our brother and also a werewolf. It's been eventful."
Hermione's eyebrows rose as she looked at Peter, who'd just entered behind Harry. "Werewolf papa?"
"Peter Hale, my mate," Harry said, drawing Peter forward. "Peter, this is Hermione Granger, my best friend and the person handling my British affairs."
"The brilliant witch who's been stonewalling Dumbledore," Peter said, shaking her hand. "It's a pleasure. Harry's told me a lot about you."
"Not as much as he's told me about you, apparently," Hermione said dryly. "Harry, when you said you'd found your mate, I didn't realize you'd also acquired a ready-made pack and expanded your family."
"It's been a busy few weeks," Harry said. "Now, what's the emergency?"
Hermione's expression turned serious. "Dumbledore's escalating. He's managed to get the Wizengamot to order a competency hearing. Harry, they're demanding you return to England within two weeks to prove you're mentally sound and not under any form of compulsion or dark magic."
Harry's magic flared, causing the lights to flicker. "He can't do that. I'm an emancipated adult—"
"With considerable political power and responsibilities," Hermione interrupted. "They're using your lordships against you. Arguing that someone with three ancient house seats shouldn't be allowed to abandon England without proving they're of sound mind."
"That's ridiculous," Peter growled.
"That's politics," Hermione corrected. "And it gets worse. Dumbledore's been researching Tom Riddle extensively. He's compiled a presentation about the dangers of time travel and how past versions of dark lords could be used as weapons. He hasn't explicitly mentioned Grayson, but Harry... he knows. Or strongly suspects."
Grayson, who'd been listening quietly, moved closer to Harry. "He wants to take me away, doesn't he? Study me or lock me up."
"Over my dead body," Harry said fiercely, pulling his son close.
"That might be what he's counting on," Hermione said quietly. "Harry, Dumbledore's argument is that you're emotionally compromised, making decisions based on sentiment rather than logic. That you're putting yourself—and potentially the wizarding world—at risk by harboring a pre-Voldemort Tom Riddle."
"I'm not Tom Riddle anymore," Grayson said, his voice small. "I'm Grayson Felix Potter-Black. Papa adopted me. Lady Magic renamed me. I'm different now."
"I know, sweetheart," Hermione said gently. "But Dumbledore won't see it that way. To him, you're a potential threat that needs to be controlled."
"What are our options?" Derek asked, having entered during the conversation. He moved to stand beside Harry in a show of support.
"Harry attends the hearing and proves his competency," Hermione said. "Which means returning to England, bringing evidence of his stable life here, and facing the Wizengamot. Or..."
"Or?" Harry prompted.
"Or we fight it legally, claiming that the Wizengamot has no jurisdiction over your personal life and that demanding a competency hearing is an abuse of power," Hermione said. "But that's risky. It could drag on for months, and in the meantime, Dumbledore could make other moves."
"Like coming here himself," Peter said grimly.
"Exactly," Hermione confirmed.
Harry was quiet for a long moment, thinking. Then he made a decision. "I'll go to the hearing. But on my terms. I want you, Luna, and Neville there as witnesses. I want legal documentation of my adoptions, my property ownership, and my financial stability. And I want Peter to come with me."
"Harry—" Peter started.
"You're my mate," Harry said firmly. "Part of proving I'm of sound mind is showing that my bond is real, that my choices are informed, and that I have support. The mate bond is recognized by magical law—they can't argue against that."
"Will they accept werewolf testimony?" Derek asked skeptically.
"They'll have to," Hermione said. "Magical creature rights have improved significantly since the war. A true mate bond is sacred in magical law—even Dumbledore can't argue against that without losing credibility."
"Then we do this properly," Harry said. "We show them I'm happy, healthy, and exactly where I choose to be. We introduce them to my family—all of it. And we make it clear that anyone who tries to take my children or control my life will face consequences."
"What about the boys?" Peter asked. "We can't bring them to England. Not with Dumbledore actively looking for Grayson."
"Luna and Neville can watch them," Hermione suggested. "Longbottom Manor is one of the most heavily warded properties in England. Even Dumbledore wouldn't dare breach those wards."
"And I'll stay with them," Derek said unexpectedly. "I'm not letting three kids face potential danger without pack protection."
"Isaac too," came a voice from the stairs. Isaac stood there with a determined expression. "I know I'm new to this, but I'm pack. If the younger boys need protection, I'm staying with them."
Harry felt warmth bloom in his chest. His pack, his family, all ready to protect each other. "Okay. Hermione, can you arrange for Luna and Neville to come here? I'd rather keep the boys in California where I control the wards, rather than moving them to England."
"They'd probably prefer that anyway," Hermione said. "Luna's been talking about visiting 'the land of wrackspurts and new beginnings' for weeks."
"Of course she has," Harry said with a slight smile. "Peter, are you sure about this? Going to England, facing the Wizengamot, dealing with Dumbledore directly?"
"I'm sure," Peter said. "Harry, you came to California for me. You woke me from a six-year coma, gave me a family, and built a life with me. The least I can do is stand beside you when you face your past."
"It won't be pleasant," Harry warned. "Dumbledore will try to undermine you, claim you're using dark creature magic to control me. The pure-blood faction will be horrible about the werewolf thing. And there's always the possibility of violence—some people still see werewolves as monsters."
"Good thing I'm terrifying when I need to be," Peter said with a sharp smile. "Let them try something. I'd enjoy the opportunity to remind the British wizarding world why they should respect werewolves."
"No maiming the Wizengamot members," Harry said.
"Not even a little?" Peter asked innocently.
"Not even a little."
"You're no fun."
Despite the tension, everyone laughed.

Stiles Stilinski
Saturday afternoon arrived with surprising speed. Harry had spent the week strengthening wards, preparing for the England trip, and trying to keep his sons from worrying too much about what was coming.
Now, he opened the door to find Sheriff Stilinski and a teenage boy who was practically vibrating with energy.
"Hi!" the boy said immediately, words tumbling out at rapid speed. "I'm Stiles Stilinski, this is my dad who you already met, and I brought snacks because my dad said that's polite when you visit someone's house, and also I've heard so much about Isaac—well, not much, but I know he's new to town and I thought maybe he'd want a friend, and—"
"Stiles," the Sheriff said tiredly. "Breathe."
"Right, breathing, good idea," Stiles said, taking an exaggerated breath. "Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm nervous, and meeting new people makes me nervous, even though I'm supposedly good with people, but—"
"Stiles."
"Breathing again. Got it."
Harry found himself smiling despite everything. "It's nice to meet you, Stiles. Come in. Isaac's in the family room with his brothers."
They found Isaac sitting with Grayson and Elijah, all three boys looking slightly nervous about the impending social interaction.
"Isaac," Harry said gently, "this is Stiles Stilinski. Stiles, this is Isaac Lahey, and his brothers Grayson and Elijah."
"Hi!" Stiles said again, slightly less manic this time. "So, Isaac, your dad—I mean, your new dad, not your old dad who I heard was terrible and is now in jail which is good—your new dad said you might be interested in checking out the school? Because I know it can be intimidating coming into a new place mid-year, but if you want, I can show you around, introduce you to people, help you figure out the whole social hierarchy thing."
Isaac blinked, clearly overwhelmed by the word-flood. "I... that would be nice?"
"Great!" Stiles grinned. "So, full disclosure, I'm kind of a weird guy. I talk a lot, I'm obsessed with true crime and unsolved mysteries, and my best friend Scott is basically a golden retriever in human form. But we're loyal, and we don't care about gossip or drama, and if anyone gives you trouble, we'll have your back."
"Scott?" Isaac asked.
"Scott McCall, my best friend since we were four. He lives next door, he's on the lacrosse team, and he's basically the nicest person you'll ever meet." Stiles paused. "Do you play any sports?"
"I used to play lacrosse," Isaac admitted. "Before... everything."
"Perfect! Scott can help you get back into it. Coach Finstock is intense, but if you're good, he'll love you." Stiles was already pulling out his phone. "Here, I'll show you pictures of the school, and I made a map because I'm helpful like that—"
"You made a map?" Isaac asked, surprised.
"Color-coded," Stiles said proudly, showing Isaac his phone screen. "Red sections are where upperclassmen hang out—generally safe but watch for the popular crowd. Blue sections are freshman territory—avoid unless you want to be associated with scared fourteen-year-olds. Green sections are neutral ground—library, cafeteria, certain hallways. Yellow sections are teacher territory—go there if you need help or sanctuary."
Isaac studied the map, something like wonder crossing his face. "You really made this for me?"
"Well, yeah," Stiles said, as if it were obvious. "New kid, potentially traumatic past based on what my dad carefully didn't tell me, living in a weird estate in the preserve with adopted siblings—you needed a guide. I'm a guide. It's what I do."
"Weird estate?" Grayson spoke up, his tone slightly defensive.
"Weird in a good way!" Stiles said quickly. "This place is amazing. Like, historically significant and huge and probably full of secret passages. If I lived here, I'd spend all my time exploring."
"There are secret passages," Elijah offered. "We found three so far. And a hidden room that Papa says used to be for magical practice."
Stiles's eyes went huge. "Secret passages. Hidden rooms. Okay, new life goal—become friends with Isaac so I can visit and explore this place."
Isaac laughed—actually laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. "You can visit even without being friends with me."
"But friendship makes it more fun," Stiles said seriously. "So what do you say? Want a tour of the school, an introduction to Scott, and possibly the best friend you'll ever have?"
"Modest, aren't you?" Isaac asked, but he was smiling.
"Confidence is attractive," Stiles said. "My dad tells me this regularly to boost my self-esteem."
"Your dad says no such thing," Sheriff Stilinski said from where he'd been talking quietly with Harry. "I tell you to stop being so hard on yourself, which is different."
"Potato, po-tah-to," Stiles said airily. "So, Isaac? School tour? Yes? Please say yes, because I've already told Scott about you and he's excited to meet you, and if I show up without you, he'll be disappointed, and disappointed Scott is like disappointed puppy, which is heartbreaking."
Isaac looked at Harry, who nodded encouragingly. "Okay," Isaac said. "School tour sounds good."
"Excellent!" Stiles bounced to his feet. "Can we go now? Or is now bad? I can do later. Later works. Tomorrow? Next week? I'm flexible."
"How about Monday afternoon?" Harry suggested. "That gives Isaac the weekend to prepare mentally, and you can meet him at the school after classes end."
"Perfect," Stiles agreed. "Monday, 3 PM, front steps. I'll bring Scott. We'll show you everything."
As the Stilinski left—after Stiles promised to text Isaac all weekend with "helpful information and possibly memes"—Isaac stood in the doorway looking slightly dazed.
"That was..." he trailed off.
"Overwhelming?" Harry suggested.
"Intense?" Peter added.
"Amazing," Isaac finished, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "He wants to be my friend. Not because he has to, not because he feels sorry for me, but because he actually wants to. And he made me a map. A color-coded map."
"Stiles seems like a good kid," Derek said, having watched the entire interaction from the kitchen doorway. "Loyal. Smart. Little hyperactive, but that's not necessarily a bad thing."
"I like him," Isaac declared. "And I want to go to school. Not next week, maybe not even next month, but eventually. I want to have a normal life. Friends, school, lacrosse. All of it."
"Then we'll make it happen," Harry promised. "One step at a time, Isaac. We'll build you the life you deserve."

The Decision
That evening, after the boys were in bed and Derek had returned to the guest house, Harry and Peter sat in their room discussing the upcoming England trip.
"When do we leave?" Peter asked, lying in bed with Harry tucked against his side.
"Next Friday," Harry said. "The hearing is Monday morning. That gives us the weekend to settle in, meet with Hermione and Luna, and prepare our case."
"And you're sure about bringing me?" Peter asked. "I'm a complication, Harry. My presence might make things harder."
"Your presence makes everything easier," Harry corrected. "Peter, I need you there. Not just for the mate bond testimony, but because you make me braver. Stronger. When you're beside me, I can face anything."
Peter pressed a kiss to Harry's hair. "Sweet talker."
"Truth teller," Harry corrected. He was quiet for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Peter, there's something else we need to discuss. About the Hale pack."
Peter stiffened slightly. "What about it?"
"You're the last surviving Hale of your generation," Harry said gently. "Technically, alpha rights should have passed to you when Talia died. But you were in a coma, so they passed to Laura, and then to Derek when Laura died. But Peter—you're awake now. You're healthy. And you're an alpha in everything but title."
"Are you asking if I want to challenge Derek for alpha status?" Peter asked carefully.
"I'm asking what you want for the future of the Hale pack," Harry said. "Derek's been drifting for years, Peter. He's a beta, not an alpha. He doesn't want the responsibility, doesn't want to rebuild. But you... you're a natural leader. You're already leading our little pack—me, the boys, Derek, Isaac. We all look to you."
Peter was quiet for a long moment. "I never wanted to be alpha. That was always Talia's role. I was content being her second, her enforcer, the one who handled the dirty work while she maintained the moral high ground."
"But?" Harry prompted.
"But I'm not the same man I was before the fire," Peter admitted. "I have a mate now. Children. A family that needs protection.
And Harry, I feel it—the pull to be more, to build something stronger. Not for power, but for safety. For pack."
"Then do it," Harry said simply. "Talk to Derek. Make it official. Become the alpha you were always meant to be."
"Derek might not agree," Peter warned.
"Derek will be relieved," Harry countered. "He's been carrying a burden he never wanted. Let him be pack instead of alpha. Let him heal without that pressure."
Peter pulled Harry closer, burying his face in his mate's hair. "How did I get so lucky? Six weeks ago, I was trapped in darkness. Now I have everything I never knew I wanted."
"We both got lucky," Harry murmured. "Now stop overthinking and go to sleep. We have a big week ahead."
"Bossy," Peter said affectionately.
"You love it."
"I really do."

Derek's Response
The next morning, Peter found Derek in the guest house, going through old Hale pack records that he'd retrieved from a storage unit.
"We need to talk," Peter said without preamble.
Derek looked up warily. "About?"
"The pack. The alpha situation. The future." Peter sat down across from him. "Derek, I'm not going to challenge you. But I think we both know you don't want to be alpha."
Derek's shoulders sagged with relief. "I never wanted it. It fell to me when Laura died, and I took it because someone had to. But Peter, I'm not built for it. I'm not a leader."
"You're a protector," Peter said. "A guardian. There's a difference. Derek, I want to rebuild the Hale pack properly. Not a large pack, but a strong one. Family-based, with clear structure and support. I want to be alpha, and I want you as my beta—my second, my right hand."
Derek stared at him. "You want me to stay?"
"Of course I want you to stay," Peter said, surprised. "Derek, you're my nephew. You're family. More than that, you're pack. I'm not building something new to replace what we lost—I'm building something different, but you're a part of it."
"What about Harry?" Derek asked. "He's your mate, but he's not a wolf. How does that work?"
"Harry is pack alpha," Peter said simply. "Different from werewolf alpha, but just as important. He's the heart, the one who holds us together with magic and love and sheer stubbornness. I'm the werewolf alpha, the one who leads the wolves specifically. Together, we're balanced."
Derek considered this. "And Isaac? The boys?"
"All pack," Peter confirmed. "Isaac as our young wolf, learning and growing. Grayson and Elijah as our cubs, protected and cherished. And any others who join us in the future—they'll be pack too."
"You're really doing this," Derek said wonderingly. "Building a pack from scratch. Starting over."
"With you," Peter emphasized. "If you'll stay. If you'll be my beta and help me build something good from the ashes of what we lost."
Derek's eyes flashed gold—accepting the offer, accepting the pack bond. "Yes. God, yes. I thought I'd be alone forever, Peter. Thought everyone was gone. But you're here, and we have a chance to build something new."
"Then it's settled," Peter said, feeling something shift inside him—the alpha spark igniting properly, no longer just potential but actual. His eyes flashed red. "We're pack. Properly. And Derek—thank you. For not giving up. For being here when I woke up. For staying."
"Thank you for coming back," Derek said roughly. "For being brave enough to wake up and live again."
They clasped forearms in the traditional werewolf gesture of pack bonding, and both felt the connection solidify—alpha and beta, uncle and nephew, family.
When Peter returned to the main house, Harry took one look at his eyes and smiled. "It's official then?"
"It's official," Peter confirmed, pulling Harry into his arms. "I'm alpha of the Hale pack. Derek's my beta. And you're my mate and pack alpha. We're building something real, Harry."
"We really are," Harry said softly. "Now we just have to protect it from Dumbledore and anyone else who tries to tear it down."
"We will," Peter promised. "Whatever it takes."

Luna and Neville Arrive
Three days before the England trip, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom arrived via international portkey.
Harry had barely finished the arrival warning from the wards before Luna was floating into the living room, looking serene and slightly otherworldly as always.
"Harry!" she said dreamily, pulling him into a hug. "California suits you. The wrackspurts are much happier here."
"I missed you too, Luna," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks for coming."
"Wouldn't miss it," Neville said, following Luna inside and carrying what appeared to be enough luggage for a month. "Besides, Luna wanted to meet the 'pack alpha werewolf' and the 'time-traveling prodigy.' Her words, not mine."
"Peter and Grayson," Harry confirmed. "They're both excited to meet you. Well, Grayson's nervous. Peter's just curious."
"Where are the children?" Luna asked. "I brought them presents."
"Of course you did," Harry said fondly. "They're in the family room. Come on."
The introductions went surprisingly well. Grayson took to Luna immediately, fascinated by her dreamy way of seeing the world. Elijah declared her "the best aunt ever" within five minutes. And Isaac, shy at first, warmed up when Neville started talking about herbology and offered to teach him about magical plants.
Peter approached cautiously, aware that these were Harry's closest friends and their opinion mattered.
"Peter Hale," Luna said, studying him with those too-perceptive silver eyes. "You have fewer nargles than I expected for someone who spent six years in a coma."
"Thank you?" Peter said uncertainly.
"It's a compliment," Luna assured him. "Your aura is clear. Golden-red, like a protective fire. You're good for Harry. You make his magic sing instead of scream."
"I try," Peter said, relaxing slightly.
"And you," Luna turned to Grayson, "are not who you were. Lady Magic made sure of that. But sometimes the old memories bleed through, don't they?"
Grayson's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
"I See things," Luna said simply. "But don't worry, little one. The dreams of your past life don't define your future. You're Grayson Felix Potter-Black, loved and protected. The darkness doesn't own you anymore."
Grayson threw himself at Luna, hugging her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered. "No one else understands. Papa says I'm not Tom Riddle anymore, but sometimes I'm scared the memories mean I'm still him inside.""Memories are just echoes," Luna said gently, stroking his hair. "What matters is what you do with them. You could use them to become dark, or you could use them to make sure you never make those mistakes. You're choosing the second path, Grayson. That's what makes you different."Neville watched this exchange with understanding eyes. "My parents were tortured into insanity by Death Eaters," he said quietly. "For years, I was terrified I'd be weak like people said they were. But eventually I realized—they weren't weak. They were strong. They survived what broke others. And I could honor them by being strong too, in my own way.""How did you do it?" Grayson asked. "Stop being scared?"
"I didn't," Neville admitted. "I'm still scared sometimes. But I learned that being scared doesn't make you weak. Acting despite the fear—that's what makes you brave.""You're very wise for a plant nerd," Isaac said, then immediately looked mortified. "I mean—Professor Longbottom, I'm sorry—"Neville laughed. "I am absolutely a plant nerd, and I'm proud of it. And please, call me Neville. I'm not your professor.""Yet," Luna added mysteriously. "The future is full of interesting possibilities."The Plan That evening, after the children were in bed, the adults gathered in Harry's study to finalize plans for England."The hearing is Monday at 10 AM," Hermione said, consulting her notes. "Harry, you'll be called first to give testimony about your mental state, your decisions, and your current life situation. Then they'll call Peter as witness to the mate bond. After that, they can call additional witnesses—which is where Luna, Neville, and I come in.""What's Dumbledore's angle?" Peter asked."He'll argue that Harry is emotionally compromised," Hermione said. "That grief over the war, trauma from his childhood, and isolation from his support system has led him to make irrational decisions. He'll paint the adoption of three children—especially Grayson—as Harry trying to 'fix' his past by saving others.""That's not entirely wrong," Harry admitted quietly."But it's not the whole truth either," Peter countered. "Yes, you have trauma. Yes, you want to help children who've been hurt. But Harry, you're also genuinely happy. Healthier than you've been in years. Building a real family, not just collecting broken children."

Peter's right," Luna said. "Your magic is balanced now, Harry. Before you left England, it was fracturing—pulling in too many directions, trying to be what everyone needed. Now it's focused, whole. Anyone with magical sensitivity will be able to feel the difference.""Will the Wizengamot have anyone with that kind of sensitivity?" Derek asked."Several members," Hermione confirmed. "Including Professor McGonagall, who's always been fair to Harry. And Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, who owes Harry his life several times over.""So we have allies," Peter said."Some," Hermione agreed. "But we also have enemies. The pure-blood faction sees Harry as a blood traitor for adopting children and mating with a werewolf. Dumbledore's faction sees him as a lost sheep who needs to be brought back to the fold. We're walking a tightrope."

Then we don't walk it," Harry said suddenly. "We fly over it."Everyone looked at him."Dumbledore expects me to be defensive," Harry explained. "To justify my choices, apologize for leaving, promise to do better. But what if I don't? What if I walk in there confident, happy, and make it clear that I'm not asking permission—I'm informing them of my decisions?""That's risky," Hermione warned. "It could backfire if they see it as arrogance.""Or it could show strength," Neville countered. "Harry's not a child anymore. He's a war hero, a lord of three ancient houses, and an adult making his own choices. If he acts apologetic, it gives them power. If he acts certain, it takes power away.""I like it," Peter said. "Show them you're not broken or manipulated. Show them you're exactly where you want to be."

And if they try to take Grayson?" Harry asked quietly. "If Dumbledore pushes for custody or 'protective measures'?"
"Then we make it very clear what will happen if they try," Peter said, his eyes flashing red. "I'm coming as your mate, yes. But I'm also coming as an alpha werewolf. If they threaten our cubs, they threaten the pack. And threatening a pack has consequences."
"Peter, you can't threaten the Wizengamot," Hermione said, alarmed.
"I can imply consequences without making overt threats," Peter corrected. "Body language, tone, protective positioning around Harry. Wizards might not understand pack dynamics, but they'll understand a predator protecting his mate and cubs."

It might work," Luna said thoughtfully. "The Wizengamot respects strength. If they see Harry as weak, they'll try to control him. If they see him as strong—and backed by an alpha werewolf mate—they'll be more cautious."
"It's settled then," Harry said. "We go in strong, confident, and united. We show them I'm happy and healthy. We prove the mate bond is real. And we make it clear that my children are off-limits."
"What about the boys here?" Derek asked. "If Dumbledore can't get to Harry in England, he might try to get to the children here."
"The wards will hold," Harry said. "I've keyed them to family blood—only people I've explicitly approved can enter. Dumbledore isn't on that list."
"What if he sends someone else?" Isaac asked. "Someone you have approved?"
Harry paused. Isaac had a point. "I'll adjust the wards before we leave. Add intent-based protections. Anyone approaching with harmful intent toward my family will be repelled."
"And we'll be here," Derek said. "Luna, Neville, and me. Three magical people and a werewolf. If anyone tries anything, we'll handle it."
"I can help too," Isaac said. "I'm getting better with my magic. And my wolf is strong."
"You're still learning control," Derek said gently. "But yes, you can help. Just stay close to Luna and Neville if anything happens."
"What about us?" Elijah asked from the doorway.
Everyone turned to find all three boys standing there in their pajamas, clearly having snuck out of bed to eavesdrop.
"We want to help protect the family too," Grayson added. "We know we're small, but we have magic."

Strong magic," Elijah emphasized, his hair shifting to determined red. "Papa, you've been teaching us control. Let us use it if we need to."
Harry looked at his sons—so young, but already so brave—and felt his heart clench. "If—and only if—something happens and Derek, Luna, and Neville can't handle it, you have permission to use defensive magic. But boys, I need you to promise me you'll listen to the adults. No heroics, no taking unnecessary risks."
"We promise," all three said in unison.
"Good," Harry said. "Now back to bed. All of you. We have a big week ahead."
As the boys trudged back upstairs—though not before Elijah hugged everyone goodnight—Peter pulled Harry aside.
"You're scared," Peter said quietly. "I can feel it through the bond."

Of course I'm scared," Harry admitted. "I'm going back to face people who think they own me, who think they can control my life. And I'm leaving my children here, in potential danger, while I do it."
"They'll be safe," Peter promised. "Derek would die before letting anything happen to them. And Harry—we have to do this. If we don't face Dumbledore now, on our terms, he'll keep escalating. Better to end it decisively."
"I know," Harry said. "Doesn't make it easier."
"Nothing worthwhile ever is," Peter said, echoing what Chris Argent had said days before. "But we'll do it together. And when it's over, we'll come home to our family and our life. That's the goal—protect what we've built."
"Together," Harry agreed, leaning into his mate's strength.

Departure Day

Friday morning arrived too quickly. Harry woke early, unable to sleep, and spent the time doing a final check of the wards.
He'd added every protection he could think of—intent-based barriers, blood-keyed access, alert charms that would notify him instantly if anything threatened his children. The preserve itself was warded so heavily that even apparition was difficult within its bounds.
"It's as safe as you can make it," Peter said, joining him outside as the sun rose. "Harry, you have to trust that Derek, Luna, and Neville can protect them."
"I do trust them," Harry said. "I just wish I didn't have to leave."
"Two days," Peter reminded him. "Three at most. We attend the hearing Monday, stay Tuesday if needed for follow-up, and come home Wednesday. That's it."
"Unless something goes wrong."

"Then we deal with it and still come home," Peter said firmly. "Harry, I'm not letting Dumbledore or anyone else keep you from your family. We go, we prove you're fine, and we leave. Simple."
"Nothing with Dumbledore is ever simple," Harry muttered.
They returned to the house to find controlled chaos—the boys were awake early, anxious about the separation. Grayson was trying to be brave but kept hovering near Harry. Elijah's hair was cycling through worried colors. And Isaac was in full protective mode, checking locks and windows even though the wards made that unnecessary.
"Boys," Harry called, gathering them all in the family room. "Come here."
They piled onto the couch with him, a tangle of limbs and anxiety.
"I need you to listen carefully," Harry said. "Peter and I are going to England for a few days. While we're gone, Luna, Neville, and Derek are in charge. You listen to them, you follow the rules, and you stay safe. Understand?"
"What if Dumbledore comes here?" Grayson asked, voice small.
"He can't," Harry said firmly. "The wards won't let him. And even if he somehow got through—which he won't—Derek, Luna, and Neville will protect you. Plus, you have your own magic. You're not helpless, Grayson."
"But I'm scared," Grayson admitted.
"Being scared is okay," Harry said, pulling him close. "But don't let fear control you. You're Grayson Felix Potter-Black. You're my son, you're brave, and you're surrounded by people who love you."

We'll be good," Elijah promised. "We won't cause trouble. Well, not much trouble. Maybe a little trouble if it's funny."
"Eli," Harry said warningly.
"I'm kidding!" Elijah's hair shifted to innocent yellow. "Mostly."
"Isaac," Harry turned to his oldest. "You're in charge of your brothers. Keep them safe, keep them calm, and call me through the communication mirror if anything—anything—seems wrong."
"I will," Isaac promised. "Papa, I won't let anything happen to them."
"I know you won't," Harry said. "I trust you, Isaac."
The portkey was scheduled for 8 AM. At 7:45, Harry stood in the entryway with Peter, Hermione waiting patiently beside them, saying final goodbyes.

Luna hugged Harry tightly. "The nargles say you'll be fine. Trust yourself, Harry. You're stronger than Dumbledore realizes."
"Keep my boys safe," Harry said.
"With my life," Luna promised.
Neville clasped Harry's shoulder. "We've got this. Go prove to England that you're exactly where you belong."
Derek pulled Peter aside for a private word. "Keep him safe, alpha. Bring him home."
"Always," Peter promised. "Take care of the pack while we're gone, beta."
"With everything I have."
The boys insisted on one more group hug—all three of them clinging to Harry and Peter like they might never let go.
"Two days," Harry reminded them. "Maybe three. Then we're home. I promise."
"You better," Elijah said fiercely. "Because we're making you a welcome home party, and if you're not here to appreciate it, we'll be very disappointed."
"Can't have that," Peter said with a slight smile, ruffling Elijah's hair.
Finally, at 8 AM exactly, Harry gripped the portkey—an old pocket watch—along with Peter and Hermione.
"Sanctuary," Harry said, activating it.
The world spun, colors blurring together, and when it stopped, they were standing in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron in London.
"Welcome back to England," Hermione said. "Ready to face the Wizengamot?"
Harry looked at Peter, who squeezed his hand reassuringly. Through the mate bond, he felt Peter's unwavering support, his certainty, his love.
"Ready," Harry said. "Let's end this."

The Wizengamot

Monday morning, 9:30 AM. Harry stood outside the Wizengamot chambers, adjusting his formal robes and trying to calm his racing heart.
He wore his Lord robes—black with the Potter crest on his left shoulder, the Black crest on his right, and the Peverell crest over his heart. Peter stood beside him in simpler but elegant robes that Hermione had provided, looking every inch the powerful alpha werewolf he was.
"You look terrifying," Harry told him.
"Good," Peter said. "That's the goal. Project strength, protection, don't-mess-with-my-mate energy."
"Is that a werewolf thing?"
"It's a Peter thing," Peter corrected with a slight smirk.
The doors opened, and a court official gestured them inside.
The Wizengamot chamber was exactly as Harry remembered—tiers of seats rising in a semicircle, the Minister's podium at the front, and in the center, a single chair where the accused sat.
Except Harry wasn't accused of anything. He was here to prove his competency, which felt worse somehow.
The chamber was packed. Harry recognized faces—Professor McGonagall looking stern but fair, Kingsley Shacklebolt watching with intelligent eyes, various pure-blood lords who'd never liked him. And there, in the highest tier, looking disappointed and concerned, sat Albus Dumbledore.
"Lord Harebellen Orion Potter-Black," Kingsley announced formally. "You stand before the Wizengamot to address concerns about your mental competency and fitness to hold multiple lordship seats. How do you plead?"

"I don't plead anything," Harry said calmly, his voice carrying through the chamber. "I'm not on trial. I'm here to confirm what you should already know—I'm a competent adult making informed choices about my life."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"Lord Potter-Black," Dumbledore spoke up, his voice grave. "No one is accusing you of wrongdoing. We're simply concerned. You left England suddenly, cut off contact with friends and mentors, and have made several... unusual... decisions regarding your personal life."
"Unusual by whose standards?" Harry asked. "I found my mate, adopted children who needed homes, and moved to a property that's been in my family for generations. These are the actions of a stable adult, not someone mentally compromised."
You adopted three children within weeks of arriving in America," a pure-blood lord said. "Including one with a highly questionable background. That suggests impulsive behavior, not careful consideration."
"I adopted my godson, whom I'd been raising for four years," Harry corrected. "I adopted a child pulled through time who had nowhere else to go. And I took custody of my own heir, a teenager being abused by his Muggle father. None of that was impulsive—it was necessary."
"The child pulled through time," Dumbledore said carefully. "Harry, you must understand our concern. Time travel is dangerous, and the individual in question has a potentially dark future. Raising him could be—"
Could be what?" Harry interrupted, his magic flaring. "Professor, that child is five years old. He has no memories of a dark future because that future doesn't exist anymore. Lady Magic herself renamed him, gave him a new birthday, made him mine. Are you suggesting Lady Magic made a mistake?"
That caused actual gasps. Questioning Lady Magic's judgment was close to heresy in the magical world.
"Of course not," Dumbledore said quickly. "But Harry, surely you can see why we're concerned about your judgment. You're isolated in a foreign country, mated to a werewolf—"
"Is there a problem with my mate being a werewolf?" Peter asked, his voice soft but dangerous. He'd been quiet until now, but the challenge to his relationship with Harry brought out the alpha. "Because I'm quite certain that mate bonds are recognized as sacred by magical law, regardless of species."
"No one is questioning the validity of the bond," Kingsley said quickly, shooting Dumbledore a warning look. "Mr. Hale, your presence here is appreciated. The Wizengamot would like to hear testimony about the bond, if you're willing."
"I'm willing," Peter said. "What would you like to know?"
"How did you meet Harry?" McGonagall asked, her tone neutral but curious.

Harry came to Beacon Hills because his inheritance test revealed our mate bond," Peter explained. "At the time, I was in a coma—had been for six years after my family was murdered. Harry's presence, his magic, and the strength of our bond woke me up. He saved my life."
More murmurs. Mate bonds powerful enough to wake someone from a coma were rare and spoke to deep magical compatibility.
"And your relationship since then?" another Wizengamot member asked.
"We've been building a life together," Peter said simply. "Learning about each other, raising children, forming a pack. Harry is happy, healthy, and exactly where he wants to be. I don't control him—I support him. There's a difference."

"You're a werewolf," a pure-blood lord said distastefully. "How do we know you're not using dark creature magic to manipulate Lord Potter-Black?"
Peter's eyes flashed red—full alpha, dangerous and controlled. "Because mate bonds don't work that way. You can't fake them, you can't force them, and you certainly can't manipulate someone through them. The bond is equal, mutual, and chosen by magic itself. If you're suggesting I'm controlling Harry, you're suggesting that magic itself is wrong."
"No one is suggesting that," Kingsley said firmly, glaring at the pure-blood lord. "Lord Potter-Black, perhaps you could explain your current situation in your own words. Your living arrangements, your children, your plans for the future."

Harry took a breath and began to speak. He told them about the Lahey estate, about finding Peter and waking him, about adopting Teddy-now-Elijah properly and blood-adopting Grayson. He explained Isaac's situation—the abuse, the blocked magic, the werewolf heritage that needed guidance.
He talked about building a pack, about Derek joining them, about creating a safe space for his family. He mentioned the alliance with the Argent hunters, his cooperation with local law enforcement, and the wards he'd established to protect his property.
And through it all, he projected confidence, certainty, and unwavering determination.

"I'm not coming back to England permanently," Harry said finally. "This isn't my home anymore. My home is with my mate, my children, and my pack. I'll maintain my seats through proxies—Hermione Granger has my complete confidence and authority. I'll visit for important votes or family occasions. But my life is in California now."
"What about your responsibilities?" Dumbledore asked, and there was real pain in his voice. "Harry, you're a war hero. Young people look up to you. The wizarding world needs you—"
"The wizarding world needed me to fight a war," Harry interrupted. "And I did. I gave you my childhood, my innocence, and nearly my life. But the war is over, Professor. I've earned the right to choose my own path now."

Even if that path leads you away from everything you've known?" Dumbledore asked. "From your friends, your culture, your world?"
"My friends visit me regularly," Harry said. "My culture is whatever I make it. And my world is wherever my family is. Professor, with all due respect, you don't get to dictate my happiness. No one does. I'm not your soldier anymore. I'm not your weapon. I'm just Harry—a man trying to build a good life for himself and the people he loves."
The chamber was silent.
Then McGonagall spoke. "Lord Potter-Black, I've known you since you were eleven years old. I watched you grow up, fight impossible battles, and carry burdens no child should have to bear. And I've never seen you as happy as you appear to be right now."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said quietly.

"The question before this body," Kingsley said formally, "is whether Lord Potter-Black is mentally competent to hold his lordship seats and make his own life choices. Based on his testimony, his clear articulation of his decisions, and the evidence of his stable current situation, I move that we declare him competent and dismiss all concerns."
"Seconded," McGonagall said immediately.
"All in favor?" Kingsley asked.
A majority of hands rose—including, Harry noticed with surprise, several pure-blood lords who'd initially seemed hostile.
"Motion carries," Kingsley announced. "Lord Potter-Black, you are hereby declared mentally competent and free to live your life as you see fit. Your lordship seats will remain active through your chosen proxy. This matter is closed."

Relief flooded through Harry. It was over. They couldn't force him back, couldn't take his children, couldn't control his life.
"However," Dumbledore said, standing, "I would like to request a private meeting with Lord Potter-Black. To discuss certain... sensitive matters. Regarding the child with the complicated past."
Harry's magic flared protectively. "If you're referring to my son Grayson, then no. There's nothing to discuss."
"Harry, please," Dumbledore said, and he sounded genuinely desperate. "I'm not trying to take him from you. I just want to understand the situation, to ensure proper safeguards are in place—"
The only safeguard he needs is a family who loves him," Harry said firmly. "Which he has. Professor, I appreciate everything you did for me during the war. But my son is off-limits. You don't get access to him, you don't get to study him, and you certainly don't get to decide what's best for him. I'm his father. Those decisions are mine."
"And mine," Peter added, moving to stand beside Harry in a clear show of unity. "Grayson is pack. If you threaten him, you threaten all of us. I don't think you want to make an enemy of an alpha werewolf, Headmaster."
Dumbledore looked between them, something like sorrow crossing his face. "I'm not your enemy, Harry. I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't need your protection anymore," Harry said gently but firmly. "I need you to respect my choices. Can you do that?"
For a long moment, Dumbledore was silent. Then he nodded slowly. "I can try. Though I fear you're making a mistake, keeping that child. The potential for darkness—"
"Is no greater than any other child's," Harry interrupted. "Grayson chooses goodness every day, Professor. That's all anyone can do. And it's all I'm asking you to acknowledge—his right to choose his own path, just like you acknowledged mine."
Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. I won't pursue the matter further. But Harry—if you ever need help, if the situation becomes more than you can handle—"
"I'll call my friends," Harry said. "Hermione, Luna, Neville. People who trust my judgment. Professor, you'll always have my respect for what you did during the war. But you don't have my obedience anymore. That ended when the war did."
"I understand," Dumbledore said quietly. Then, even quieter, "I'm sorry, Harry. For the manipulations, the secrets, the way I treated you like a weapon rather than a child. You deserved better."
Harry blinked, surprised by the apology. "Thank you for saying that. It means something."
"But it doesn't change anything," Dumbledore said, a slight smile on his face.
"No," Harry agreed. "It doesn't. But it's a start."

Going Home

They spent one more night in England—partly because the portkey back wasn't scheduled until Tuesday evening, and partly because Harry wanted to visit friends properly.
Luna and Neville had stayed in California with the boys, but Hermione took them to dinner that evening, along with Ron, who'd apparently been dying to see Harry but was too awkward to say so directly.
"So you're really not coming back?" Ron asked over fish and chips at a small Muggle restaurant. "Like, ever?"
"I'll visit," Harry said. "For important occasions, to see friends, maybe holidays. But no, I'm not moving back."
"And you're really happy?" Ron pressed. "With the werewolf and the kids and the whole American thing?"

I'm really happy," Harry confirmed. "Happier than I've been since... maybe ever."
Ron studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. You deserve it, mate. After everything you went through—you deserve to be happy."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, genuinely touched.
"Though I still think it's mental that you adopted Voldemort's childhood self," Ron added. "That's some next-level hero complex stuff."
"He's not Voldemort," Harry said patiently. "He's Grayson. Completely different person."
"Because Lady Magic said so?"
"Because I say so," Harry said firmly. "And because Grayson chooses to be good every single day. That's what matters."

Tuesday evening, Harry and Peter stood in the same private room at the Leaky Cauldron where they'd arrived, preparing to portkey home.
"Ready to go back?" Peter asked.
"More than ready," Harry said. "I miss the boys. I miss our home. I miss California."
"Two days felt like forever," Peter agreed.
"Sanctuary," Harry said, activating the portkey.
The world spun, and then they were standing in the preserve, the Lahey estate visible through the trees. Before they'd even made it to the house, three boys came running down the path.
"Papa!" Elijah shouted, his hair bright yellow with joy. "You're back!"
We missed you!" Grayson added, crashing into Harry's legs.
"Everything okay here?" Isaac asked, trying to be mature but clearly just as happy to see them.
"Everything's fine," Harry said, gathering them all close. "Everything went perfectly. We're home now, and no one's taking us away."
"Told you we'd come back," Peter said, ruffling Elijah's hair.
Derek appeared on the porch, looking relieved. "Welcome home, alpha. How did it go?"
"Better than expected," Peter said. "Dumbledore backed down. The Wizengamot declared Harry competent. It's over."
"It's really over?" Grayson asked hopefully.
"It's really over," Harry confirmed. "You're safe, Grayson. All of you. No one's coming to take you away or study you or anything else. You're mine, and you're staying mine."
Grayson burst into tears—happy tears this time—and buried his face in Harry's shoulder.
As they walked back to the house together—pack reunited, family whole—Harry felt a profound sense of peace. They'd faced the past and won. They'd protected their future and succeeded.
And now, finally, they could just... live.
"Welcome home," Luna said dreamily as they entered the house. "The nargles missed you."
"We missed you too," Harry said with a laugh. "All of you. Thank you for keeping them safe."
"Always," Neville said simply.
That night, after the boys were in bed and the guests had returned to their temporary rooms, Harry and Peter lay in their bed, wrapped in each other's arms.
"We really did it," Harry murmured. "Built a family, protected them, made a life."
"We really did," Peter agreed. "And Harry? This is just the beginning. We have years ahead of us—raising these boys, building the pack, living our lives. No more running, no more hiding. Just us."
"Just us," Harry repeated softly. Then, with a smile, "And three precocious children, a sarcastic beta, three house-elves with opinions, two snakes, and occasional visits from well-meaning friends."
"Normal family stuff," Peter said with a laugh.
"Exactly."
They fell asleep like that—together, safe, and home.
Outside, the wards hummed contentedly, protecting their pack. In the guest house, Derek felt the alpha's return and relaxed properly for the first time in days. In their rooms, three boys slept soundly, knowing their parents were home.
And in California, under the stars of the preserve, the Hale pack—small but strong, chosen rather than born—continued to grow.
This was home. This was family. This was everything they'd fought for.
And it was exactly enough.

Chapter Text

Three Months Later
Harry woke to the sound of arguing coming from downstairs—a sound that had become alarmingly common in the Potter-Black-Hale household.
"—can't wear that to school," Isaac's voice, exasperated.
"Why not?" Elijah's defiant tone. "It's a shirt. Shirts are required. This is a shirt. Logic!"
"It's a shirt that says 'I put the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional,'" Isaac pointed out. "On your first day of school. Papa Harry specifically said to make a good first impression."
"This is a good impression! It's honest!"
Harry groaned and looked at Peter, who was already awake and grinning. "Your son is arguing with our son about appropriate clothing."
"Elijah is your son when he's being difficult," Peter said. "He's our son when he's being charming."
"That's not how it works."
"That's exactly how it works," Peter said, kissing Harry's shoulder before rolling out of bed. "Come on. We should intervene before Elijah decides to morph his entire head into a statement about individuality."
By the time they made it downstairs, they found all three boys in the kitchen. Isaac, now fifteen and having shot up several inches over the summer, was trying to reason with a stubborn six-year-old Elijah whose hair was currently bright purple with orange streaks—never a good sign. Grayson, now six as well and far too wise for his age, was calmly eating cereal and watching the argument like a fascinating experiment.
"Morning, Papa. Morning, Peter," Grayson said pleasantly. "Elijah's trying to wear inappropriate clothing again."
"I am not!" Elijah protested. "Isaac's just being boring!"
"Isaac's being reasonable," Harry corrected, examining the shirt in question. It did indeed say 'I put the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'' in large letters. "Eli, you can wear that shirt literally any other day. But today is your and Grayson's first day at elementary school. Let's try to not get called to the principal's office before lunch, okay?"
Elijah's hair shifted to sulky blue. "Fine. But I'm picking my own shirt."
"Within reason," Peter added. "Nothing with curse words, nothing politically controversial, and nothing that will make your teacher think we're terrible parents."
"You're taking all the fun out of self-expression," Elijah muttered, but he trudged back upstairs to change.
"How are you feeling?" Harry asked Grayson, who'd been nervous about starting school all week.
"Scared," Grayson admitted quietly. "What if the other kids notice I'm different? What if they ask questions about my past and I don't know how to answer?"
Harry knelt down beside him. "Then you tell them your truth—that you were adopted by me when you were five, you came from England, and you're excited to be here. You don't owe anyone your entire story, Grayson. Just the parts you want to share."
"And if they're mean about me having two dads?" Grayson asked, even quieter.
Peter crouched down on Grayson's other side. "Then they're idiots who don't deserve your friendship. Grayson, some people might not understand our family. But the people worth knowing will accept us. Everyone else doesn't matter."
"Stiles says his school is pretty accepting," Isaac offered. "And the elementary school is even better. Plus, you two are going to the same school as Sheriff Stilinski's nephew's kids, and the Sheriff basically runs this town. Anyone who messes with you will have to answer to him."
"Really?" Grayson asked hopefully.
"Really," Isaac confirmed. "Small town politics. It has its advantages."
Elijah returned wearing a much more appropriate shirt—plain blue with a small wolf design on the pocket. "Better?" he asked, though his hair was still purple.
"Much better," Harry said. "Though maybe tone down the hair color? Natural colors for the first day?"
Elijah concentrated, and his hair shifted to a dark brown with subtle auburn highlights. "This okay?"
"Perfect," Peter said. "Now, everyone eat breakfast. We need to leave in thirty minutes."

The School Drop-Off
Beacon Hills Elementary School was a cheerful building with colorful murals and a playground that already had children running around despite the early hour.
Harry parked the car—he'd finally broken down and learned to drive after Peter and Derek had ganged up on him about "needing to function in Muggle society"—and turned to look at his two youngest in the backseat.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," both boys said simultaneously.
"That's okay," Peter said from the passenger seat. "Being nervous is normal. But you two are going to be fine. You're smart, you're kind, and you have each other."
"And if anyone gives you trouble, you can tell Miss Reynolds," Isaac added from where he was sitting between them. He'd insisted on coming to the drop-off for moral support. "She's the principal, and Stiles says she's really cool about stuff like bullying."
They walked into the school together—a family of five that definitely drew looks. Two men, three boys of different ages, and an obvious pack dynamic that confused people who didn't know about the supernatural.
Grayson's teacher, Mrs. Chen, was a kind-looking woman in her forties who greeted them warmly. "You must be Grayson! I've heard wonderful things. I'm so excited to have you in my first-grade class."
"Thank you," Grayson said politely, though he gripped Harry's hand tightly.
Elijah's teacher, Mr. Rodriguez, was younger and had the energetic vibe of someone who actually enjoyed teaching six-year-olds. "Elijah! Welcome! I love your hair—is that natural?"
"Sort of," Elijah said, relaxing slightly. "I'm a metamorphmagus. I can change it whenever I want."
Mr. Rodriguez's eyes went slightly wide—he clearly knew about the supernatural—before his expression smoothed into professional interest. "That's a remarkable gift. We'll have to talk about how to manage it during school hours, but I think it's wonderful."
After tearful goodbyes—mostly from Grayson, who tried to be brave but clearly didn't want Harry to leave—Harry and Peter walked back to the car with Isaac.
"They'll be fine," Isaac said confidently. "Stiles already told half the school that the 'cool new kids with the werewolf dads' were starting today. They're going to be popular by lunch."
"Did he really say 'werewolf dads'?" Peter asked dryly.
"Stiles has no filter," Isaac said with a shrug. "But he means well. And honestly, in Beacon Hills, being associated with the supernatural makes you interesting, not weird."
"How's school been for you?" Harry asked as they drove toward Beacon Hills High School to drop Isaac off. "Any problems we should know about?"
"No problems," Isaac said. "Stiles and Scott basically adopted me into their friend group, so I'm covered. The lacrosse team is good—Coach Finstock is insane, but in a motivating way. And my grades are solid."
"And the wolf stuff?" Peter asked carefully. "Any issues with control?"
"None," Isaac said proudly. "I've been practicing with Derek every full moon, and I can shift at will now without even thinking about it. It's like breathing."
"Good," Peter said. "That's really good, Isaac. I'm proud of you."
Isaac's face lit up with the compliment. Even after three months of stable family life, he still responded to praise like it was a precious gift.
After dropping Isaac at school—where Stiles immediately appeared and dragged him off while talking a mile a minute—Harry and Peter headed home.
"The house is going to be so quiet," Harry mused.
"We have three hours before pickup," Peter said, a glint in his eye. "Whatever will we do with all that privacy?"
Harry laughed. "I can think of a few things."
They made it home in record time.

Derek's News
That afternoon, after picking up three exhausted but happy children and listening to nonstop stories about first days, Harry was surprised to find Derek waiting at the main house instead of the guest house.
"We need to talk," Derek said without preamble. "About Cora."
Everyone went quiet. Derek rarely mentioned his sister—the one who'd supposedly died in the fire but whose body had never been found.
"What about Cora?" Peter asked carefully, setting down the vegetables he'd been chopping for dinner.
"She's alive," Derek said, his voice rough with emotion. "I got a message today. She's in South America—has been since the fire. She's been hiding, too scared to come back to Beacon Hills."
"Derek, that's wonderful!" Harry said. "Why haven't you contacted her before?"
"I didn't know where she was," Derek admitted. "She went completely dark after the fire. But apparently, she's been tracking me for months, making sure I was okay before reaching out. And now she's heard about the pack—about Peter being awake, about us rebuilding—and she wants to come home."
Peter's eyes flashed red with emotion. "When?"
"Next week," Derek said. "If that's okay. If there's room in the pack for her."
"Room?" Peter repeated incredulously. "Derek, she's family. Of course there's room. More than room—we want her here."
"She's seventeen now," Derek said. "Almost an adult. She's been on her own for six years, learning to be a wolf without pack guidance. She's going to be... difficult."
"We're all difficult," Harry pointed out. "That's what makes us interesting."
"Papa's right," Elijah piped up. "We're a family of difficult people. Another one won't hurt."
"Will she live in the guest house?" Grayson asked practically. "Or will Derek move to the main house and she gets the guest house? We should plan for this."
"Cora can have her own room in the guest house," Derek said. "I've been meaning to fix up the second bedroom anyway. It'll be good for her to have her own space while she adjusts."
"Do we get to meet her?" Isaac asked. "Another pack member?"
"Definitely," Derek said with a slight smile. "Though fair warning—Cora doesn't have the best social skills. She's been living with a pack in South America that's more... primal than we are. It might take her time to adjust to civilization."
"We'll manage," Peter said firmly. "Derek, this is good news. Great news. Having Cora back means we're rebuilding the Hale pack properly. Family coming home."
Derek's expression cracked slightly. "I thought I'd lost everyone. Mom, Laura, Cora—all gone. But now Peter's awake and Cora's alive and we're building something new. It feels like I'm allowed to hope again."
Harry moved to hug him—Derek still wasn't comfortable with casual affection, but he was getting better. "You're allowed to hope, Derek. You're allowed to be happy. And we're so glad Cora's coming home."
"Group hug!" Elijah declared, and suddenly all three boys were piling on, with Peter joining in until Derek was completely surrounded by pack.
"You're all ridiculous," Derek muttered, but he was smiling.

Scott McCall
Two days later, Isaac asked if he could bring friends over after school.
"Scott and Stiles want to meet the family properly," Isaac explained. "They've been asking for weeks, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first."
"Of course we're okay with it," Harry said. "Invite them over. We'll make it a pack dinner—everyone together."
That Friday, Stiles arrived first—bursting through the door without knocking, as had become his habit.
"Isaac! I brought—oh, wow, this house is even cooler on the inside," Stiles said, stopping dead to stare at the entrance hall. "Is that an actual crystal chandelier? And are those family portraits that move? Because I swear I just saw that one blink."
"Magical portraits," Grayson explained, appearing from the library. "They're sentient paintings of dead family members. That one's Great-Great-Uncle Sirius. He's grumpy."
"I am not grumpy," the portrait said. "I'm appropriately cynical about the state of modern wizarding society."
"You're definitely grumpy," Elijah said, joining his brother. "But we like you anyway."
"Magical portraits," Stiles repeated faintly. "Right. Because of course. Why wouldn't there be sentient paintings? This is my life now."
"Stiles, breathe," came a new voice.
A teenage boy entered behind Stiles—Latino, with kind eyes and an easy smile. He looked at the portrait with curiosity but not fear. "Hi, I'm Scott McCall. Isaac's told us a lot about you."
"Good things, I hope," Harry said, coming down the stairs. "I'm Harry, Isaac's dad. Well, one of them."
"The wizard one," Scott said. "Isaac explained the whole situation—wizard dad, werewolf dad, adopted brothers, pack dynamics. It's actually really cool."
"You're taking this remarkably well," Peter observed, joining them.
"My mom's a nurse," Scott said with a shrug. "She's seen enough weird stuff at the hospital to believe in the supernatural. Plus, Beacon Hills has a reputation. Most locals know there's something strange about this town."
"But most locals don't know specifics," Stiles added. "Which is why Isaac's family is so interesting. You're like, openly supernatural. It's refreshing."
"We prefer 'authentically ourselves,'" Peter said dryly.
Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Kreacher had outdone himself with a massive spread, and the dining table was packed—Harry, Peter, Derek, Isaac, Grayson, Elijah, Stiles, and Scott all squeezed in together.
Stiles asked approximately seven hundred questions about magic, werewolves, and "how the whole gay werewolf dads thing works." Scott was quieter but genuinely interested, asking thoughtful questions about pack bonds and magical adoption.
"So Grayson and Elijah aren't biologically Harry's kids?" Scott asked.
"Blood adoption," Grayson explained. "Papa's blood mixed with ours in a magical ritual. Now we're genetically his—we have his magical signature and everything."
"That's actually beautiful," Scott said. "Like, you chose each other on a magical level."
"Exactly," Harry said, pleased that Scott understood.
"And you're all just... okay with the werewolf thing?" Stiles asked. "Like, full moons and transformations and potential violence?"
"There's no potential violence," Isaac said firmly. "We have control. We have pack. The wolf isn't a monster, Stiles—it's just part of who we are."
"Show them," Derek said unexpectedly.
Isaac looked surprised. "Really?"
"They should understand," Derek said. "If they're going to be part of Isaac's life, they should know what he is completely. No secrets between friends."
Isaac stood up, moving to an open space in the room. "Okay. Don't freak out."
He shifted smoothly—bones reforming, fur sprouting, body changing until a golden-brown wolf stood where the teenage boy had been. The wolf's amber eyes were still Isaac's, intelligent and aware.
Stiles's jaw dropped. Scott leaned forward with fascination.
"Can I..." Scott hesitated. "Can I touch? Or is that rude?"
The wolf padded forward and nuzzled Scott's hand, clearly giving permission.
"He's beautiful," Scott breathed, running his fingers through the wolf's fur. "Isaac, this is incredible. You're incredible."
The wolf made a pleased rumbling sound, then shifted back. Isaac stood there slightly breathless but smiling. "So, uh, still want to be friends with the werewolf?"
"Are you kidding?" Stiles said. "This is the coolest thing ever! My best friend is friends with a werewolf! I have so many questions!"
"Of course you do," Isaac said with a laugh.
After dinner, the kids disappeared to Isaac's room—officially to play video games, but Harry suspected they were actually just talking. Building real friendship, the kind Isaac had never had before.
"They're good kids," Peter observed, watching them go.
"They are," Harry agreed. "Isaac needed this. Friends who accept him completely."
"We all needed this," Derek said quietly. "A normal moment. Kids being kids. Pack feeling like family."
"It is family," Peter said firmly. "And it's only going to get bigger when Cora arrives."

Cora's Arrival
The following Wednesday, Derek drove to the airport to pick up Cora. The entire household was nervous—even Kreacher had stress-cleaned the guest house twice.
"What if she doesn't like us?" Elijah worried, his hair shifting anxiously through colors.
"Then she'll learn to like us," Peter said calmly. "Cora's family. Family adjusts."
When Derek's car pulled into the driveway, everyone gathered on the porch. The car door opened, and a teenage girl stepped out.
Cora Hale was striking—dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that had seen too much for seventeen. She moved like a predator, all coiled energy and wariness. Her gaze swept over the assembled pack with obvious suspicion.
Then her eyes landed on Peter, and she froze.
"Uncle Peter?" Her voice cracked. "Derek said you were awake, but I didn't... I couldn't believe..."
"I'm awake," Peter said gently, moving down the steps. "I'm alive, Cora. And you're home."
She crashed into him, all pretense of toughness shattering. "I thought you were dead. I thought everyone was dead."
"Not everyone," Peter said, holding her tight. "We're here. We survived. And we're rebuilding."
Eventually, Cora pulled back and looked at the rest of the pack. Her gaze lingered on Harry. "So you're the wizard who woke my uncle from a coma."
"That's me," Harry said. "Harry Potter-Black. It's good to finally meet you, Cora."
"Potter-Black," Cora repeated. "Two last names. Let me guess—complicated magical inheritance?"
"Very complicated," Harry confirmed with a slight smile. "But yes."
"And these are your cubs?" Cora looked at Grayson, Elijah, and Isaac.
"Our cubs," Peter corrected. "Grayson, Elijah, and Isaac. Boys, this is Cora Hale, Derek's little sister and the newest member of our pack."
"Hi," Grayson said politely. "We're glad you're here."
"We made you a welcome home sign," Elijah added, his hair shifting to friendly yellow. "It's inside. Derek said you'd like wolves, so we drew a lot of wolves."
"You drew for me?" Cora asked, surprised.
"You're pack," Elijah said simply. "Pack takes care of each other."
Something in Cora's expression softened. "I... thank you. That's really nice."
Isaac approached more cautiously. "I'm the other wolf. Well, besides Derek and Peter and you. I just learned about my heritage a few months ago, so I'm still figuring things out."
Cora studied him with those sharp eyes. "You smell like pack. Like you belong here."
"I do belong here," Isaac said with quiet certainty.
"Then we'll get along fine," Cora decided.
Over dinner that night—another massive spread, because Kreacher had decided Cora needed "proper feeding after years of South American garbage"—Cora told her story.
She'd escaped the fire by sheer luck, having been at a friend's house that night. When she'd returned to find her home destroyed and most of her family dead, she'd panicked and run. She'd made her way to South America, eventually falling in with a pack that took her in.
"They were good to me," Cora said. "Taught me control, helped me survive. But they weren't family. Not like this."
"Why didn't you come back sooner?" Derek asked quietly.
"I was scared," Cora admitted. "Scared of what I'd find, scared of the memories, scared of being alone again. But then I heard rumors—that Derek Hale was back in Beacon Hills, that Peter Hale had woken from his coma, that there was a new pack forming. And I couldn't stay away anymore."
"I'm glad," Peter said. "Cora, this pack—this family—has room for you. Always has, always will."
"What's the structure?" Cora asked, ever practical. "Who's alpha?"
"I am," Peter said. "Derek's my beta. Harry's my mate and pack alpha. The boys are our cubs."
"Pack alpha?" Cora looked at Harry. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm the heart of the pack," Harry explained. "The magical center, the one who holds us together. Peter leads the wolves, I lead the family."
"Unconventional," Cora said.
"Everything about us is unconventional," Derek pointed out. "Get used to it."
Cora actually smiled—small, but genuine. "I think I can handle unconventional."

The First Family Full Moon
Two weeks after Cora's arrival, the full moon rose over Beacon Hills.
It was the first time all four pack wolves would run together—Peter, Derek, Cora, and Isaac. Harry had prepared the preserve, setting up protective wards and safe zones in case anyone lost control.
"You don't have to come," Peter told him as they prepared to head out. "The wolves can run together while you stay with the younger boys."
"I'm coming," Harry said firmly. "I'm pack alpha. Where you go, I go."
"On your flying disc thing?" Cora asked skeptically. She'd been fascinated and slightly horrified by Harry's magical abilities.
"On my broom, actually," Harry said, pulling out his Firebolt. "The disc is for when I'm carrying the boys. For myself, I prefer traditional flying."
"You're going to fly on a stick," Cora said flatly.
"A very magical stick," Harry corrected.
"Wizards are weird."
"Werewolves transform into animals," Harry pointed out. "Glass houses, Cora."
She actually laughed.
They left the boys with Luna, who'd been visiting and declared herself the perfect babysitter for "a night of werewolf bonding." Neville had come along too, interested in the magical plants that grew in the preserve.
As the moon rose, the four werewolves shifted together.
Peter's alpha form was massive—dark fur, red eyes, presence that screamed power and control. Derek's beta form was sleek and efficient, all deadly grace. Cora's form was smaller but quick, built for speed and agility. And Isaac's young wolf was still growing into itself but showed clear strength.
They ran.
Harry flew above them on his broom, watching the pack move through the preserve like liquid shadow. They communicated through body language and pack bonds, a perfectly synchronized unit.
It was beautiful.
For hours, they ran—hunting (but not killing, just tracking), playing (actual playing, like puppies), and bonding. By the time the moon began to set and the wolves shifted back, all four were exhausted but happy.
"That was amazing," Isaac said, collapsed on the ground and grinning. "I've never felt so... connected."
"That's pack," Peter said, also sprawled on the grass. "Real pack, running together under the moon. It's what we're supposed to be."
"I forgot what this felt like," Cora admitted quietly. "After the fire, I thought I'd never feel pack bonds like this again."
"You have them now," Derek said. "For as long as you want them."
"Forever then," Cora decided. "I'm not leaving again. This is home."
Harry landed his broom and joined them on the ground, letting the pack pile around him. "You know what? I think we should make this a tradition. Every full moon, the pack runs together. No exceptions, no excuses."
"I like that tradition," Isaac said.
"Me too," Cora agreed.
"Then it's settled," Peter said, pulling Harry against his side. "Once a month, we're all wolves and wizards running through the preserve, being exactly what we're meant to be."
"Family," Grayson's voice said from nearby.
They all looked up to find Grayson and Elijah had snuck out—Luna trailing behind them apologetically.
"They insisted on seeing the end of the run," Luna explained. "I couldn't say no to those faces."
"You ran as a pack," Elijah said, his hair shifting to awed gold. "We could feel it through the bonds. It was beautiful."
"You two should be asleep," Harry said, but there was no heat in it.
"We wanted to see," Grayson said simply. "Wanted to be part of it, even if we can't shift."
Peter opened his arms, and both boys scrambled into the pile. "You're always part of it. Whether you're here physically or not, you're pack. You're family."
They sat there for a long time—two wizards, four werewolves, two magical children, and one seer, all tangled together under the fading moon.
This was pack. This was family. This was home.
And it was exactly what they'd all been searching for.

The Unexpected Visitor
Three days after the full moon, Harry was in his study reviewing the boys' magical lesson plans when the wards alerted him to a visitor.
Not just any visitor—someone with significant magical power, approaching the property with clear purpose.
Harry was downstairs with his wand drawn before Peter even made it out of the kitchen.
"What is it?" Peter asked, eyes flashing red.
"Powerful magical signature," Harry said tersely. "Unknown identity. Everyone stay inside."
He opened the door to find a woman standing on his porch.
She was beautiful—tall, with long red hair, green eyes, and an air of authority that spoke of ancient power. She wore simple but elegant robes, and the magic radiating from her made Harry's own magic respond in recognition.
"Lord Potter-Black," she said, her voice melodic. "Forgive the intrusion. My name is Rowena Ravenclaw, and I'm here to discuss your son Grayson."
Harry's wand came up immediately. "Rowena Ravenclaw died a thousand years ago."
"My body did," Rowena agreed calmly. "But my spirit remained, tied to Hogwarts and the Ravenclaw line. I've been watching, Lord Potter-Black. And what I've seen concerns me greatly."
"If this is about Grayson being Tom Riddle—"
"It's not," Rowena interrupted. "Well, not entirely. May I come in? I promise I mean no harm to you or yours. I simply need to speak with you about something that affects not just your son, but the future of magic itself."
Harry studied her carefully. She felt ancient but not evil. Powerful but not threatening. And his magic, which usually screamed warnings about danger, was... curious.
"Peter," Harry called. "We have a visitor. Claims to be Rowena Ravenclaw's spirit."
Peter appeared in the doorway, took one look at the woman, and his eyes went wide. "She's telling the truth. I can sense it—ancient magic, tied to the land itself. She's a Founder."
"May I enter?" Rowena asked again.
Harry stepped aside. "You can come in. But make one wrong move toward my family, and I don't care if you're a Founder or a goddess—I will end you."
Rowena smiled. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor. Though with your Black blood, you're equally Slytherin. An interesting combination."
As she entered, the family gathered—Derek, Cora, Isaac, and eventually the younger boys, all curious about the mysterious visitor.
Rowena's eyes landed on Grayson, and she smiled gently. "Hello, child. You've caused quite a stir in the magical world, haven't you?"
"I didn't mean to," Grayson said quietly. "I just wanted to be safe."
"And you are," Rowena assured him. "Your father has seen to that. But Grayson, there's something you need to know about your unique situation—about being pulled through time and given a new life."
"What about it?" Harry asked warily.
"Lady Magic doesn't act without reason," Rowena said. "When she pulled young Tom through time and placed him with you, Lord Potter-Black, it wasn't random. It was purposeful. Because you, Grayson Felix Potter-Black, have a destiny."
"I don't want a destiny," Grayson said immediately. "I just want to be normal."
"Normal is overrated," Rowena said with a slight smile. "But your destiny isn't dark, child. It's the opposite. You, with your memories of what could have been and your knowledge of darkness, are meant to be a voice for change. A bridge between the old world and the new."
"I don't understand," Harry said.
"The magical world is changing," Rowena explained. "Old prejudices are dying, new alliances are forming. But change requires leaders who understand both darkness and light, who can speak to the fear of becoming monsters while showing the path to becoming better. Grayson, you are uniquely qualified for this role."
"I'm six," Grayson pointed out.
"Now, yes," Rowena agreed. "But one day, you'll be grown. And when that day comes, you'll have a choice—use your knowledge of Tom Riddle's mistakes to prevent others from making them, or hide from your past and let history repeat itself."
"That's a lot of pressure for a child," Peter said, moving protectively closer to Grayson.
"Which is why I'm not asking him to do anything now," Rowena said. "I'm simply preparing him—and you—for what may come. The magical world will eventually learn the truth about Grayson. When they do, they'll either fear him or follow him. Your job, as his family, is to make sure he's ready for either outcome."
"We'll protect him," Harry said fiercely. "From prophecy, from destiny, from whatever the magical world throws at him."
"I know you will," Rowena said gently. "That's why Lady Magic chose you. Because you, Harry Potter-Black, understand what it means to carry a destiny you didn't ask for. And you survived it. You can teach Grayson to do the same."
She stood, preparing to leave. "I'll return when Grayson is older, when he's ready to understand his potential fully. Until then, raise him well. Love him, protect him, and teach him that his past doesn't define him—his choices do."
"Wait," Grayson said suddenly. "If I have a destiny, does that mean I'm going to be important? Like, really important?"
"You already are important," Rowena said with a smile. "To your family, to your pack, to the people who love you. Any importance beyond that is just details."
"I like that answer," Grayson decided.
Rowena turned to Harry one last time. "You've built something remarkable here, Lord Potter-Black. A family that defies convention, a pack that bridges species, and a home that welcomes the broken. The magical world could learn much from you."
"They're welcome to visit and learn," Harry said dryly. "As long as they call first and don't threaten my children."
Rowena laughed—a sound like bells. "I'll spread the word. Farewell, Potter-Black pack. May your family grow strong and your bonds never falter."
She disappeared in a shimmer of ancient magic, leaving the family standing in stunned silence.
"Did a Founder just visit our house?" Elijah asked, his hair bright with excitement.
"Apparently," Harry said.
"And tell Grayson he has a destiny?"
"Apparently."
"Cool!" Elijah declared. "Can I have a destiny too?"
"Absolutely not," Harry and Peter said simultaneously.
"You're no fun."
That night, after the younger boys were in bed and the older pack members had scattered to their rooms, Harry and Peter lay in bed processing the day.
"A destiny," Peter said. "Grayson has a magical destiny."
"He has a choice," Harry corrected. "Rowena was clear—it's about what Grayson chooses to do with his knowledge, not what he's forced to do."
"Still," Peter said. "Our six-year-old son might one day be a major figure in the magical world."
"Our six-year-old son is already remarkable," Harry said. "Destiny or not, Grayson is special. They all are."
"True," Peter agreed, pulling Harry closer. "Though I have to admit, our family just keeps getting more complicated."
"Complicated is our normal," Harry said with a laugh.
"Speaking of complicated," Peter said, his tone shifting. "I've been thinking. About the pack, about the family, about... everything."
"What about it?"
"I want to marry you," Peter said simply.
Harry's breath caught. "What?"
"I want to marry you," Peter repeated. "Properly, legally, in front of our family and pack. I want to make it official—not just the mate bond, but everything. I want to be your husband, Harry."
"Peter," Harry whispered, emotions overwhelming him.
"Is that a yes?" Peter asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
"That's absolutely a yes," Harry said, pulling Peter into a kiss. "Yes, I'll marry you. A thousand times yes."
"Good," Peter said, grinning against Harry's lips. "Because I already bought a ring."
"You did not."
"I did," Peter confirmed, reaching into his nightstand and pulling out a simple silver band with a small emerald. "I've been carrying it for a week, trying to figure out the right moment."
"This was the right moment," Harry said, sliding the ring onto his finger and admiring how it caught the light. "Peter, this is perfect."
"We're perfect," Peter corrected. "Complicated, unconventional, and absolutely perfect."

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry was woken not by an alarm or the sunrise, but by a high-pitched squeal that could only belong to one person."PAPA'S WEARING A RING!" Elijah's voice echoed through the entire house. "PAPA HAS A RING! THEY'RE GETTING MARRIED!"Harry groaned and buried his face in Peter's shoulder. "We should have told them last night.""Too late now," Peter said, amused. "Brace yourself."Three seconds later, their bedroom door burst open and all three boys piled onto the bed—Elijah bouncing with excitement, Grayson looking tearfully happy, and Isaac grinning like Christmas had come early."You're getting married!" Elijah repeated, his hair cycling rapidly through every color of happiness. "Like, really married? With a wedding and everything?""Really married," Harry confirmed, showing off the ring. "Peter proposed last night.""And you said yes?" Grayson asked, even though the answer was obvious."I said yes," Harry said gently. "Boys, Peter and I want to make our family official in every way. The mate bond is forever, but a marriage makes it legal in the human world too.""Can we be in the wedding?" Isaac asked. "Like, as part of the ceremony?""Of course," Peter said. "You're our sons. Of course you'll be part of it.""I want to be the ring bearer!" Elijah announced."I want to help plan," Grayson said. "Can I help plan, Papa?""I just want to make a speech," Isaac said. "About family and pack and how you two are disgustingly cute together.""Disgustingly?" Peter asked with mock offense."You guys are always touching and making eyes at each other," Isaac said. "It's adorable but also kind of gross when you're a teenager watching your parents be in love.""Get used to it," Harry said cheerfully. "Because we're going to be insufferably happy together.""Already are," Derek's voice came from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed but smiling. "Congratulations, you two. About time you made it official.""You knew?" Isaac asked."I could smell the nervousness on Peter all week," Derek said. "Figured he was working up to something big. Though I'm glad you finally did it, uncle. Harry's good for you.""The best," Peter agreed, kissing Harry's temple."Do we get to invite people to the wedding?" Elijah asked. "Because I want to invite everyone—Stiles and Scott and Luna and Neville and Aunt Hermione and—""We'll make a list," Harry interrupted before Elijah could name every person they'd ever met. "But yes, our friends will definitely be invited.""What about the Argents?" Cora asked, appearing behind Derek. "Are we inviting the hunters to your wedding?""That depends," Harry said. "Are we on good terms with them?""Chris Argent has been... fine," Derek admitted. "Distant but respectful. We've had a few interactions that were civil. And his daughter Allison keeps asking to meet the pack properly.""Then maybe it's time," Peter said. "We've been here six months now. The pack is stable, the family is strong. We can handle a formal introduction to the Argent family.""A meet-the-hunters dinner before your wedding," Cora said. "This family really knows how to live dangerously."Wedding Planning with StilesThree days later, Stiles Stilinski arrived at the house with a three-ring binder, several color-coded charts, and a level of enthusiasm that was alarming even for him."Okay!" he announced, spreading his materials across the kitchen table. "I have taken it upon myself to become your official wedding planner. Well, unofficial official. But still official in the ways that matter.""Stiles," Isaac said carefully. "We didn't ask you to—""You didn't have to ask," Stiles interrupted. "This is what best friends do. And also, I've been watching wedding planning shows with my dad for months because he says it helps with his stress levels—don't ask—so I'm basically an expert now.""Your dad watches wedding planning shows?" Harry asked, amused."He says it's soothing to see people make terrible decisions that don't involve crime scenes," Stiles explained. "Anyway, I have ideas. So many ideas. First question: what's the theme?""Theme?" Peter asked."Every wedding has a theme," Stiles said as if this were obvious. "Some people do rustic barn, others do elegant ballroom, some do beach vibes. What's your vibe?"Harry and Peter looked at each other."Family," Harry said finally. "The theme is family. Pack. Everyone we love in one place.""Okay, I can work with that," Stiles said, scribbling notes. "Family-focused, intimate but meaningful. Location?""The preserve," Peter said immediately. "Where we run as a pack. Where our family comes together.""Outdoor wedding, got it," Stiles said. "That means we need backup plans for weather, seating that works on uneven ground, and probably some kind of tent situation. Colors?""Red and gold," Harry said without thinking. "Gryffindor colors.""And silver and green," Peter added. "For the wolves and magic.""Red, gold, silver, and green," Stiles repeated, writing furiously. "That's actually going to look amazing together. Okay, food?""A lot of it," Isaac said. "Werewolves eat a lot.""And wizards," Grayson added. "When we're nervous, we eat. Weddings make people nervous.""So massive amounts of food, multiple courses, probably a dessert table," Stiles confirmed. "Guest list?""Small," Harry said. "Maybe fifty people total? Just family and close friends.""Fifty is not small," Stiles said. "But okay, intimate by normal standards. Do you have a wedding party?""The boys," Peter said, gesturing to Isaac, Grayson, and Elijah. "Derek as best man. Luna and Hermione as... whatever the equivalent is.""Maids of honor," Stiles supplied. "Or honor attendants if we're being gender-neutral. This is good, this is very good. Date?"Harry and Peter exchanged another look."A month from now?" Harry suggested. "Before the holidays get crazy?""A MONTH?" Stiles's voice went up an octave. "You want to plan a wedding in a MONTH?""Is that not enough time?" Harry asked, genuinely confused."Most people take a year!" Stiles said. "Minimum six months! A month is—okay, okay, we can do this. I can make this work. It'll require some miracles and probably illegal levels of caffeine, but we can do this.""Stiles, you don't have to—" Isaac started."Yes, I do," Stiles said firmly. "Isaac, you're my best friend. And your dads are good people who deserve an amazing wedding. Let me do this. Please?"Isaac looked at Harry and Peter, who both nodded."Okay," Isaac said. "But if you get stressed, you tell us. Deal?""Deal," Stiles agreed. "Now, let's talk about music, decorations, and whether you want a traditional cake or something more interesting..." The Argent Dinner The following Saturday, Chris Argent, his wife Victoria, and their daughter Allison arrived at the Lahey estate for dinner.Harry had spent the entire day preparing—both magically and emotionally. The house was immaculate, the wards were perfectly calibrated to allow them entry but still protect the family, and Kreacher had prepared a feast that would impress even the most skeptical guests."Remember," Peter told the pack as they waited. "We're showing strength, not aggression. Confidence, not arrogance. We're a family, they're neighbors. This is about coexistence.""What if they're horrible?" Elijah asked nervously."Then we're polite anyway," Harry said. "But Eli, I don't think they will be. Chris Argent has been respectful so far. We can extend the same courtesy."The doorbell rang—because the Argents were polite enough to ring instead of just walking in—and Harry answered it.Chris Argent looked exactly as Harry remembered from their previous meeting—composed, professional, and watchful. Victoria Argent was elegant and sharp-eyed, clearly assessing everything about the house and its inhabitants. And Allison...Allison Argent was seventeen and beautiful, with long dark hair and her father's cautious eyes. But there was also curiosity there, and something that looked like longing."Mr. Potter-Black, Mr. Hale," Chris said formally. "Thank you for inviting us.""Thank you for coming," Harry said, stepping aside. "Please, come in."As they entered, Harry watched Allison's eyes go immediately to Derek, who was standing near the stairs. The tension between them was palpable."Derek," Allison said quietly."Allison," Derek replied, his voice carefully neutral."You two know each other?" Victoria asked, her tone sharpening."We dated," Allison said. "Briefly. Before everything... happened.""Ancient history," Derek said, though his tone suggested it was anything but."Perhaps we should sit down," Harry suggested diplomatically.Dinner started awkwardly. The Argents clearly weren't sure what to make of the pack—two adult men openly affectionate with each other, three boys of varying ages who all called them Papa and Peter, and the obvious werewolf presence in Derek and Cora.But as the meal progressed, things eased.Allison asked questions—genuine, curious questions about werewolf nature, pack bonds, and what it was like to be supernatural in a human world. Isaac answered most of them, comfortable enough with his own identity now to speak openly."It's not like the movies," Isaac explained. "We're not monsters. The wolf is just part of who we are. It's actually beautiful, in a way. Freeing.""Can you shift at will?" Allison asked. "Or only during the full moon?""At will," Isaac confirmed. "With practice and control. The full moon makes it harder to resist the shift, but it's not impossible.""That's fascinating," Allison said, and she sounded like she meant it.Victoria was more reserved, but even she seemed to relax when Grayson asked polite questions about hunter history and traditions. Grayson's natural curiosity and intelligence charmed her despite her obvious reservations about the pack."You're very articulate for six," Victoria observed."I read a lot," Grayson said simply. "And I have good teachers.""What do you want to be when you grow up?" Allison asked him.Grayson considered this seriously. "I want to help people understand each other. Like, different groups who think they're enemies but don't have to be.""A diplomat," Chris said, surprised. "That's an admirable goal.""Someone has to build bridges," Grayson said with a small shrug. "Might as well be me."After dinner, while the adults talked in the living room and the younger children played upstairs, Derek and Allison found themselves alone on the back porch."I'm sorry," Derek said quietly. "For how things ended. For disappearing without explanation.""You were grieving," Allison said. "I understand that now. I was just a kid then—I didn't get it. But Derek, you should have told me what you were.""Would you have accepted it?" Derek asked. "Your family hunts werewolves.""My family hunts dangerous werewolves," Allison corrected. "There's a difference. We follow the code—we protect the innocent. You were never a threat to innocents.""Your aunt didn't see it that way," Derek said bitterly."My aunt was a monster," Allison said firmly. "She violated every rule we have. What she did to your family was unforgivable. Derek, if I'd known, if I'd understood... I would have tried to stop her."Derek looked at her for a long moment. "I believe you. But Allison, we can't go back. Too much has happened.""I know," Allison said. "But maybe we can go forward. Not as we were, but as something new. Friends, maybe?""Maybe," Derek said carefully. "I'll have to think about it.""Take all the time you need," Allison said. "I'm not going anywhere."Inside, Chris was having a different conversation with Harry and Peter."I'll be honest," Chris said. "When I heard about your pack, I was concerned. Werewolves settling in my territory without consultation, children involved, unconventional structure. It raised flags.""But?" Peter prompted."But you've been model citizens," Chris admitted. "No incidents, no complaints, no signs of danger. You've integrated into the community, contributed positively, and from what I can see, you're raising those boys well.""We're trying," Harry said. "It's not always easy, but we love them. And we're committed to building something good here.""I can see that," Chris said. "And I appreciate you inviting us tonight. Building relationships between hunters and supernatural communities doesn't happen often. This is... unprecedented.""Maybe it shouldn't be," Peter suggested. "Chris, we're not enemies. We want the same things—safe communities, protected innocents, peaceful coexistence. Why not work together instead of in opposition?""Because historically, that hasn't worked well," Victoria said, speaking up for the first time. "Supernatural creatures and hunters—we're predator and prey. The dynamic doesn't change easily.""Then we change it," Harry said firmly. "We prove it can be different. Peter and I are getting married next month. You're all invited. Come, see how a supernatural pack celebrates family. See that we're not monsters—we're just people trying to live our lives."Chris and Victoria exchanged a look."We'll think about it," Chris said finally. "But I appreciate the invitation."As the Argents left that evening, Allison paused at the door to speak to Isaac privately."Thank you," she said. "For being honest about the werewolf stuff. For helping me understand.""Anytime," Isaac said. "And Allison? Your family's code—the one about protecting innocents? We live by the same rules. We're not so different.""I'm starting to see that," Allison said with a small smile.After they left, the pack gathered in the family room to debrief."That went well," Cora said, surprised. "I expected way more tension.""They're good people," Derek said grudgingly. "Chris at least. Victoria's still figuring out where she stands, but she's not hostile.""And Allison really seems to want to understand," Isaac added. "She asked good questions, like she actually cared about the answers.""She does care," Derek said quietly. "That was always her problem—she cared too much about everything. Made her easy to hurt.""Maybe this time, caring will make her strong," Peter suggested. "If she can bridge the gap between her hunter heritage and understanding the supernatural, she could be a powerful ally.""One step at a time," Harry said. "But yes, I think tonight was a success. We've proven we can coexist. That's progress."Scott's Discovery Two weeks before the wedding, Scott McCall called Isaac in the middle of the night, panicked."Isaac, I need help," Scott said, his voice shaking. "Something's wrong with me. Something's really wrong."Isaac was immediately alert. "What kind of wrong?""I think—I think I'm turning into a werewolf."Twenty minutes later, Scott was at the estate, pacing the living room while the entire pack gathered to assess the situation."Tell us exactly what happened," Peter said, his alpha authority making Scott calm down slightly."I was in the woods," Scott said. "Looking for my lacrosse ball—stupid, I know, but it was expensive. And something attacked me. Something big and fast with glowing eyes. It bit me on the side, and I passed out. When I woke up, the bite was gone. Just... healed. And since then, I've been hearing things, smelling things, my emotions are all over the place—"

"Show me where you were bitten," Peter said.

Scott lifted his shirt to show a mostly-healed bite mark on his ribcage. Peter examined it carefully, then his eyes flashed red.

"You were bitten by an alpha," Peter said grimly. "A strong one. Scott, you're in the middle of your first transformation. Within the next few days, you're going to shift for the first time."

"No," Scott said, panicking again. "No, I can't be a werewolf. I have asthma, I can barely run a mile, I'm not—"

"You don't have asthma anymore," Isaac said gently. "That bite healed more than just the wound. Scott, everything about you is different now."

"But I don't want to be different!" Scott said. "I want to be normal!"

"Normal is overrated," Cora said. "Trust me, I've tried it. Being a werewolf is better."

"How can you say that?" Scott demanded. "You lose control, you could hurt people—"

"Only if you don't learn control," Peter interrupted. "Scott, you've been bitten. That's not reversible. But you have two choices—you can panic and potentially hurt someone when you shift, or you can let us help you. Teach you control, show you how to be a werewolf safely."

"I can help," Isaac said. "Scott, I was in your position six months ago. I didn't know what I was scared, I thought I'd hurt people. But the pack taught me. They can teach you too."

Scott looked at Isaac—his best friend, who'd gone through this transformation and come out stronger. "You really think I can do this?"

"I know you can," Isaac said firmly. "You're the best person I know, Scott. That doesn't change just because you're a werewolf now."

"But what about my mom?" Scott asked. "She can't know about this. It'll freak her out."

"Eventually, you'll have to tell her," Harry said. "But for now, we'll help you manage until you're ready. First priority is teaching you control so you don't accidentally shift in public."

"When will I shift?" Scott asked nervously.

"The full moon is in five days," Peter said. "If you haven't shifted before then, you definitely will during the moon. We need to prepare you."

Five days," Scott repeated faintly. "I have five days to learn to be a werewolf."

"We've taught faster," Derek said. "But Scott, you need to commit. No half-measures, no running away from this. You're a werewolf now. Either accept it and learn control, or reject it and risk hurting someone."

Scott took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, I'll commit. Teach me."

"Good," Peter said. "Isaac, Scott's your responsibility. You're going to help him through his first shift, teach him the basics, be his anchor. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, alpha," Isaac said immediately.

"Stiles is going to freak out," Scott muttered.

"Stiles is going to be thrilled," Isaac corrected. "He's been fascinated by the werewolf stuff since he met us. Wait until he finds out his best friend is one now."

Scott actually laughed, slightly hysterical but genuine. "My life just got so weird."

Welcome to the pack," Cora said with a grin. "Weird is our specialty."

The Time Traveler

One week before the wedding, Harry was reviewing the final guest list when the wards alerted him to another powerful magical signature.

This time, the signature was familiar—too familiar.

Harry was outside before anyone else, wand drawn, magic crackling around him protectively.

A figure stumbled through the ward line, clearly disoriented and exhausted. When they looked up, Harry's world stopped.

He was looking at himself.

Not exactly himself—this version was older, scarred, with hollow eyes and the bearing of someone who'd seen too much. But it was undeniably Harry Potter.

"Please," the other Harry gasped. "I need help. I need to find Grayson Riddle before it's too late."

Peter appeared beside Harry, took one look at the duplicate, and swore. "Harry, what the hell?"

"I don't know," Harry said, not lowering his wand. "Who are you? How do you know about Grayson?"

"I'm you," the other Harry said. "From a different timeline. A worse timeline. And I'm here to stop Grayson from making the same mistakes Tom Riddle did."

"Grayson isn't Tom Riddle," Harry said fiercely.

"Not yet," the other Harry said. "But he will be. I've seen it. In my timeline, Grayson grew up angry and isolated, rejected by the magical world, hunted by Dumbledore. He became exactly what everyone feared—a new dark lord. And I couldn't stop him because he was my son and I loved him too much to see the truth."

"That's not going to happen," Peter said firmly.

"It already is," the other Harry said desperately. "You think you're protecting him by keeping him isolated here, but you're just delaying the inevitable. The magical world will find out eventually. They'll come for him. And when they do, Grayson will have to choose—submit to their fear and control, or fight back. And fighting back is how dark lords are made."

"Get off my property," Harry said, his voice cold. "You don't know my son. You don't know this timeline. And you certainly don't get to tell me how to raise my children."

"I'm trying to save you!" the other Harry shouted. "In my timeline, Grayson killed everyone I loved. Peter, Derek, Cora, Isaac, Elijah—all dead. The pack destroyed because I couldn't see that my son was becoming a monster."

"Leave," Peter said, his voice dropping to an alpha growl. "Now."

The other Harry looked between them, something like despair on his face. "You're making a mistake. You think love is enough, but it's not. It wasn't in my timeline, and it won't be in yours. Please, just let me talk to Grayson. Let me warn him—"

"You're not getting near my son," Harry said, his magic flaring dangerously. "Whatever happened in your timeline, it's not happening here. We're different. Our family is different. And if you can't see that, then you're not me—you're just a scared old man who gave up on his child."

The other Harry flinched like he'd been slapped.

"Harry," Peter said quietly. "Let him stay. Just for tonight. We can ward him, keep him away from the boys, but throwing him out without understanding the full situation seems unwise."

"He wants to hurt Grayson," Harry said.

"He wants to protect a timeline that doesn't exist anymore," Peter corrected. "Harry, look at him. Really look at him. He's not here to hurt anyone—he's here because he's desperate and broken and trying to fix something that can't be fixed."

Harry looked at the other version of himself—older, scarred, with eyes that had seen his entire family die. And despite his anger, despite his fear, Harry felt a flicker of compassion.

"One night," Harry said finally. "You can stay one night, in a warded room, away from my children. Tomorrow, you leave and never come back. Understood?"

The other Harry nodded slowly. "Understood. And Harry? Thank you. Even if you don't believe me, thank you for hearing me out."

As they led the alternate Harry inside—carefully, with wards and restrictions in place—Harry felt Peter's hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked quietly.

"No," Harry admitted. "That man—that broken version of me—it could be us. If we make the wrong choices, if we fail Grayson somehow, we could end up just like him."

"We won't," Peter said firmly. "Because we're not alone, and we're not afraid to ask for help. That man isolated himself, tried to handle everything alone. We have a pack, Harry. A family. We're different."

"I hope you're right," Harry whispered.

"I know I am," Peter said, pulling Harry close. "Now come on. We need to tell the pack about our unexpected guest before someone discovers him and panics."

That night, after explaining the situation to the pack and ensuring the alternate Harry was secure, Harry checked on Grayson. His son was asleep, peaceful and innocent, looking nothing like the monster the other Harry had described.

"I won't let you become that," Harry whispered, pressing a kiss to Grayson's forehead. "I promise. Whatever it takes, I'll make sure you grow up loved and safe and good."

Grayson stirred slightly. "Papa?"

"I'm here," Harry said softly. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart."

"Love you," Grayson mumbled, already drifting off again.

"Love you too," Harry said, his voice cracking slightly. "More than anything."

Chapter Text

The morning after the alternate Harry's arrival, the entire pack gathered in the living room for an emergency meeting. The other Harry—who'd agreed to be called "James" to avoid confusion, using his father's name—sat in a warded chair, looking exhausted but determined.
Grayson, Elijah, and the younger children had been kept upstairs with Luna, who'd arrived via emergency portkey the moment she'd sensed "timeline disturbances and rather aggressive nargles."
"Explain," Peter said, his alpha authority making it a command rather than a request. "From the beginning. What happened in your timeline?"
James took a breath. "In my timeline, things started the same—I found out about the mate bond, came to California, woke Peter from his coma. I adopted Teddy and Grayson through blood adoption. Everything was fine for about three years."
"What changed?" Harry asked.
"Dumbledore," James said bitterly. "He didn't give up like he did here. He escalated—sent agents to California, tried to kidnap Grayson multiple times, eventually succeeded in getting him to Hogwarts for 'evaluation.' Grayson was eight years old, and they treated him like a criminal. Tested him for dark magic, tried to suppress his power, kept him isolated from us for months."
"We would never let that happen," Derek growled.
"We didn't let it happen," James said. "But it happened anyway. Dumbledore had the law on his side—claimed that as a time-displaced individual, Grayson was under Ministry jurisdiction. By the time we fought through the legal red tape, the damage was done. Grayson came home angry. Traumatized. He'd been violated by the people who were supposed to protect him."
"And he turned dark," Harry said quietly.
"Not immediately," James corrected. "For years, we tried everything—therapy, love, family support. But the anger festered. When Grayson was sixteen, a group of pure-blood extremists tried to kill him, claiming he was a future dark lord who needed to be eliminated. Peter died protecting him."
Peter's hand found Harry's, squeezing tight.
"After that, Grayson snapped," James continued, his voice hollow. "He killed the attackers—all of them, brutally. And he didn't stop. He declared war on the wizarding world, on anyone who'd tried to control or hurt him. Derek died in the first year of the war. Cora and Isaac in the second. Elijah tried to stop him, to reach the brother he remembered, and Grayson... Grayson killed him too."
"No," Harry whispered. "Grayson would never—"
"This Grayson wouldn't," James agreed. "But mine did. Because we failed him. Because we didn't protect him well enough, and he became exactly what everyone feared."
"So you're here to kill him?" Cora asked bluntly. "Stop him before he becomes that?"
"No," James said immediately. "I'm here to warn you. To show you what could happen if you're not careful. Harry, you think love is enough, but it's not. You need to prepare Grayson for a world that will fear him. You need to teach him how to handle rejection, how to face hatred without becoming hateful. Because if you don't, my timeline will become your timeline."
"Our timeline is already different," Harry said. "Dumbledore backed down. The Wizengamot accepted my choices. We're not facing the same threats you did."
"Yet," James said. "But what happens when Grayson's identity becomes public? When the wizarding world realizes that the son of their hero is Tom Riddle pulled through time? They will panic, Harry. They will try to control him or eliminate him. And how you handle that moment will determine everything."
"Then we'll handle it better than you did," Peter said firmly. "With pack, with family, with support. Not isolated and defensive."
"I hope you're right," James said wearily. "But I needed you to understand the stakes. Grayson isn't just your son—he's a potential catalyst for war or peace. His choices will reshape the magical world, one way or another."
"Then we'll make sure he has the tools to choose peace," Harry said. "James, I appreciate the warning. Truly. But you need to understand—your son and mine are different people. Different experiences, different support systems. I won't let fear of what might be prevent me from loving who he is."
James's eyes filled with tears. "I wish I'd been able to say that. To believe it. By the end, all I felt was guilt."
"Then learn from your mistakes," Harry said more gently. "Help us do better. Not by threatening or warning, but by showing us where you went wrong so we can avoid those same pitfalls."
"You'd trust me?" James asked, surprised.
"You're me," Harry said simply. "A broken version, yes, but still me. And I know that version of myself wouldn't come here unless he genuinely wanted to help. So help us. Properly. Be part of the solution, not another problem."
James stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay, I'll try."

Grayson Learns the Truth
After the meeting, Harry knew he couldn't hide the truth from Grayson. His son deserved to know about the alternate timeline, about the warning James had brought.
He found Grayson in his room, painting. The boy had become quite talented—his current canvas showed the pack running through the preserve under moonlight.
"That's beautiful," Harry said, sitting on the bed.
"Thanks," Grayson said, not looking up. "Luna said there's a strange man downstairs who looks like you but isn't you. Is that true?"
"It's true," Harry admitted. "His name is James, and he's me from a different timeline. A timeline where things went very wrong."
"Wrong how?" Grayson asked, finally setting down his brush.
Harry took a breath and told him everything—the kidnapping, the trauma, the war, the deaths. He didn't sugar-coat it, didn't try to make it easier. Grayson was six, but he was also Tom Riddle's soul reborn. He could handle hard truths.
When Harry finished, Grayson was quiet for a long moment.
"In that timeline, I became a monster," Grayson said finally. "I became what everyone was afraid I'd become."
"You became what that world made you," Harry corrected. "Grayson, that's not going to happen here. We won't let anyone hurt you like they hurt that timeline's version of you."
"But what if it's inevitable?" Grayson asked, his voice small. "What if no matter what you do, I'm always going to end up dark? What if Tom Riddle's soul can't be anything else?"
"You are not Tom Riddle's soul," Harry said fiercely, pulling Grayson into his lap like he was still a toddler instead of a six-year-old who thought he was too old for cuddling. "You're Grayson Felix Potter-Black. You're my son. You have Tom Riddle's memories, yes, but you are not him. You've proven that every single day since the moment Lady Magic renamed you."
"How?" Grayson whispered.
"Because you choose kindness," Harry said. "You choose family. You choose love. Tom Riddle never made those choices—he couldn't, because he'd never been shown what they looked like. But you have been. You're surrounded by love every single day. That's what makes you different."
"But the other timeline—"
"Is not this timeline," Harry interrupted. "Grayson, I won't lie to you. The world might fear you someday. People might try to hurt you because of who you used to be. But you won't face that alone. You have me, you have Peter, you have your brothers and your pack. And we will never, ever let anyone hurt you like they hurt that other Grayson."
"Promise?" Grayson asked, tears in his eyes.
"I promise," Harry said, pressing a kiss to his son's hair. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a wand in my eye."
Grayson giggled wetly. "That's still not how the saying goes."
"It's how we say it," Harry said firmly. "Now, do you want to meet James? You don't have to, but he's asked to speak with you. To apologize for failing his version of you."
Grayson considered this carefully. "Okay. But Papa, you stay with me."
"Every second," Harry promised.
They found James in the guest room, staring out the window at the preserve. When Grayson entered, James's breath caught.
"You look just like him," James whispered. "My Grayson, at this age. Before everything went wrong."
"I'm not your Grayson," Grayson said, with a child's blunt honesty. "I'm Papa's Grayson. But Papa says you wanted to talk to me."
"I wanted to apologize," James said, kneeling to Grayson's level. "In my timeline, I failed you. I couldn't protect you from the people who hurt you, and that failure turned you into something you were never meant to be. I'm sorry, Grayson. I'm so, so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," Grayson said, surprising both adults. "If people hurt me, that's their fault. Not yours."
"I should have done more," James insisted.
"You did what you could," Grayson said with wisdom beyond his years. "Sometimes that's not enough. Sometimes bad things happen anyway. But Mr. James, that was a different timeline. This Papa—my Papa—he's different. He won't make the same mistakes. And I'm different too. I'm not going to turn dark, because I don't want to. That's my choice."
James stared at the six-year-old who spoke with such certainty. "You really believe that?"
"I have to," Grayson said simply. "If I don't believe I can choose to be good, then what's the point? I might as well give up now."
"You're remarkable," James said, voice thick with emotion. "Both versions of you. But this version—you're going to be okay. I can feel it. You have what my Grayson never had—certainty in your own goodness."
"And family," Grayson added. "Lots and lots of family."
After Grayson left, Harry stayed behind with James.
"Thank you," James said quietly. "For letting me speak with him. For not shutting me out completely."
"You're me," Harry said. "No matter how different our timelines, you're still me. And I know what it's like to carry guilt for things you couldn't prevent. I won't add to that by treating you like an enemy."
"What will you do with me?" James asked. "I can't stay here—I don't belong in this timeline. But I can't go back to mine. There's nothing left there."
"Then we find you a new timeline," Harry said. "One where you can start over. Hermione's been researching dimensional travel—maybe she can help."
"A new timeline," James repeated, something like hope in his voice. "A chance to build something different."
"Everyone deserves a second chance," Harry said. "Even versions of ourselves we're afraid of becoming."

Wedding Preparations Intensify
With five days until the wedding, Stiles went into what Isaac called "Maximum Overdrive Mode."
"Okay, people!" Stiles announced, standing in the middle of the living room with his ever-present binder. "We have FIVE DAYS to pull off the wedding of the century. That means we need all hands on deck. Luna, you're on magical decorations. Neville, you're handling flowers and plants. Hermione, you're managing the British contingent's arrival. Derek and Cora, you're on security—we don't want any unexpected wedding crashers. Isaac, you're helping me with setup. Grayson and Elijah, you're in charge of making sure your dads don't stress themselves into oblivion."
"What about me?" Scott asked. He'd been coming to the house daily for werewolf training and had become part of the pack almost by default.
"You're on Allison duty," Stiles said.
"Allison duty?" Scott repeated.
"Allison Argent has been asking questions about the wedding," Stiles explained. "I think she wants to come but doesn't know if she's invited. You're going to invite her. Officially."
"Why me?" Scott asked nervously.
"Because you're the nice one," Stiles said. "Isaac's too intense, I'm too manic, and Derek physically cannot be in the same room as Allison without weird tension. You're our best bet."
"I barely know her," Scott protested.
"Then get to know her!" Stiles said. "Scott, come on. The whole point of this wedding is bringing people together. Hunters and werewolves, wizards and Muggles, everyone coexisting. Allison should be part of that."
"He's right," Harry said, entering with Peter. "Allison has been respectful and curious. She deserves an invitation."
"Fine," Scott sighed. "I'll invite her. But if it goes badly, I'm blaming Stiles."
"Fair," Stiles agreed cheerfully.
That evening, Scott nervously approached the Argent house. Chris answered the door, looking surprised.
"Scott McCall," Chris said. "What can I do for you?"
"Is Allison home?" Scott asked. "I wanted to talk to her about something."
Chris studied him for a moment, then called upstairs. "Allison! You have a visitor!"
Allison came down, equally surprised. "Scott? Hey. What's up?"
"Can we talk?" Scott asked. "Outside?"
They sat on the front porch steps, and Scott gathered his courage.
"So, Harry and Peter are getting married in five days," Scott said. "And we're—the pack, I mean—we're inviting people we think should be there. People who've been supportive, or who we want to build relationships with. And I—we—wanted to know if you'd come. To the wedding."
Allison's eyes widened. "Really? You want me there?"
"Yeah," Scott said. "You've been cool about everything. You ask questions instead of making assumptions. You're trying to understand the supernatural world instead of just fearing it. That matters."
"I'd love to come," Allison said, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "Thank you for inviting me. And Scott—can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you okay?" Allison asked carefully. "You seem... different lately. More tense."
Scott hesitated. He hadn't told anyone outside the pack about being bitten, but Allison was a hunter. She probably already suspected.
"I'm a werewolf," Scott said finally. "I was bitten a few weeks ago. I'm still learning control."
He braced for fear or rejection. Instead, Allison just nodded.
"I thought so," she said. "You smell different. More... wild. How are you handling it?"
"Surprisingly well, thanks to the pack," Scott admitted. "They're teaching me control, helping me through the transitions. It's scary, but I'm not alone."
"Good," Allison said firmly. "You shouldn't be alone. And Scott—this doesn't change anything between us. You're still you, werewolf or not."
"We barely know each other," Scott pointed out.
"Then we should fix that," Allison said. "If I'm going to this wedding, I should probably know more pack members than just Derek and Isaac, right?"
"Right," Scott said, feeling warmth bloom in his chest. "Want to come by tomorrow? Meet everyone properly?"
"I'd like that," Allison said.
When Scott returned to the estate and reported the conversation to the pack, Stiles pumped his fist in victory.
"Yes! One more guest secured! This wedding is going to be amazing!"
"You're taking this very seriously," James observed. The alternate Harry had been kept mostly separate from the family but was still in the house, helping where he could while Hermione researched dimensional travel.
"Of course I'm taking it seriously," Stiles said. "This is important. Harry and Peter deserve a perfect wedding, and I'm going to make sure they get it."
"You're a good friend," James said quietly. "Isaac's lucky to have you."
"We're all lucky to have each other," Stiles corrected. "That's what pack means."

Scott's First Full Moon
Two days before the wedding, the full moon rose. It would be Scott's first shift as a werewolf, and the entire pack gathered to support him.
They'd set up in the preserve, in a clearing that was warded for safety but still felt wild and free. Scott stood in the center, nervous and shaking.
"You can do this," Isaac said, standing beside him. "I know you can."
"What if I lose control?" Scott asked. "What if I hurt someone?"
"You won't," Peter said with alpha authority. "Scott, you're surrounded by pack. Four experienced werewolves, one powerful wizard, and a family that cares about you. You're not going to hurt anyone."
"What's your anchor?" Derek asked. "What grounds you?"
"My mom," Scott said immediately. "She's everything to me. I can't lose myself because she needs me."
"Good," Derek said. "Hold onto that feeling. When the wolf comes, remember your mom. Remember why you need to stay human."
The moon rose higher, and Scott gasped as the change began.
It was painful—his first shift always was. Bones cracking, reforming, fur sprouting across his skin. Scott screamed, and then the scream turned to a howl as the wolf emerged.
Scott's wolf was beautiful—warm brown fur, amber eyes full of confusion and fear. The wolf looked around wildly, clearly overwhelmed by new instincts and sensory input.
"Easy," Peter said, his voice calm and commanding. "Scott, you're okay. You're safe. Look at me."
The wolf's eyes found Peter's, and the alpha pushed calming energy through the pack bonds.
"You're in control," Peter continued. "The wolf is part of you, not separate from you. Feel it, accept it, but don't let it consume you. You're Scott McCall. You're a good person. You're pack."
The wolf whined, taking a tentative step forward.
"That's it," Isaac encouraged, moving closer. "You're doing great, Scott. Now, try to shift back. Remember your mom, remember who you are, and let the human side come forward."
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the wolf's form began to ripple and change. Slowly, painfully, Scott shifted back to human.
He collapsed on the ground, naked and gasping but triumphant.
"I did it," Scott panted. "I shifted and came back."
"You did," Peter said proudly. "On your first try. Scott, that's incredible. Most new wolves can't maintain that level of control during their first full moon."
"Your anchor is strong," Derek added, handing Scott a pair of shorts. "Your love for your mom—that's powerful enough to ground you even at your most vulnerable."
"Can I try shifting again?" Scott asked. "Voluntarily this time?"
"Are you sure?" Isaac asked. "You just went through an incredibly difficult first shift—"
"I'm sure," Scott said. "I want to practice. I want to prove to myself that I can do this."
"Then do it," Peter said. "But take it slow. Feel the change, don't force it."
Scott closed his eyes and concentrated. This time, the shift was smoother—still not easy, but more controlled. The wolf emerged again, but this time it was calmer. More certain.
The wolf looked at Isaac and moved closer, nuzzling against him in a clear sign of pack bonding.
"He's beautiful," Allison's voice said from the edge of the clearing.
Everyone turned to find Allison standing there with her father, both watching with fascination rather than fear.
"Allison?" Scott-wolf's voice came out as a confused whine.
"It's okay," Allison said, approaching slowly. "Scott, you're amazing. This is amazing."
The wolf sat, tail wagging slightly, clearly pleased by the compliment.
Chris watched the interaction with something like wonder on his face. "I've never seen a new wolf maintain this level of control. Scott, you're exceptional."
"It's the pack," Peter said. "Good support system makes all the difference."
Scott shifted back, slightly less awkward this time. "Thanks for coming. Both of you."
"We wanted to see how you were doing," Chris said. "And Scott—if you ever need advice about managing the supernatural in a human world, my door is open. We might be hunters, but we're not your enemies."
"Thank you," Scott said sincerely.
As the night wore on, Scott practiced shifting multiple times, each transformation smoother than the last. By dawn, he could shift almost at will, though it still required concentration and effort.
"You're a natural," Cora said, impressed. "It took me months to get that level of control."
"I have good teachers," Scott said, looking at his pack—his family—with gratitude.

The Rehearsal Dinner
The night before the wedding, the estate was packed with guests.
Hermione had arrived with Ron and a very pregnant Hannah Abbott-Longbottom. Luna and Neville were already there, of course. The Weasley twins had come, claiming they "wouldn't miss this for the world." Even Professor McGonagall had made the trip, looking stern but secretly delighted.
The Argents were there—Chris, Victoria, and Allison, cautiously integrating with the supernatural community. Stiles and his father represented the Beacon Hills human contingent. And Scott, now fully embraced as pack, stood with Isaac and the other wolves.
James, the alternate Harry, watched from the edges of the celebration. Hermione had found a solution—a timeline where that version of Harry had died young, leaving a gap he could fill. It wasn't perfect, but it was a second chance.
"You leave tomorrow?" Harry asked, finding James on the back porch.
"After the wedding," James confirmed. "I want to see you two actually get your happy ending. Even if I couldn't have mine."
"You could still have yours," Harry said. "In that new timeline. Build something different. Better."
"Maybe," James said. "But Harry—promise me something. When Grayson's identity eventually becomes public, when the magical world learns the truth about him, don't face it alone. Use your pack, your family, your allies. Don't isolate yourself like I did."
"I promise," Harry said. "James, thank you. For the warning, for caring enough to risk everything to help us. That takes courage."
"Or desperation," James said with a bitter smile.
"Courage and desperation look the same sometimes," Harry said. "But either way—thank you."
Inside, the rehearsal dinner was in full swing. Derek had been pressed into giving a speech about Peter—awkward but touching, talking about his uncle's strength and the miracle of his return. Isaac spoke about finding family when he'd thought he'd be alone forever. Even Grayson stood up, his small voice clear and certain as he talked about having the best dads in any timeline.
"Papa and Peter taught me that family isn't about blood," Grayson said. "It's about choice. They chose me when no one else would. They chose each other. And they chose to build something beautiful even when the world said it was wrong. That's what love is. That's what family is."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house.
As the evening wound down and guests filtered to their various accommodations—some at the estate, some at local hotels, some camping in the preserve because they were werewolves and preferred it—Harry found himself alone with Peter on their back porch.
"Tomorrow," Peter said, pulling Harry close. "Tomorrow we make it official."
"We've been official since the moment the mate bond snapped into place," Harry said.
"True," Peter agreed. "But tomorrow we get to stand in front of everyone we love and declare it publicly. That means something."
"It means everything," Harry corrected. "Peter, six months ago, I was broken. Lost. Unsure of who I was without the war defining me. And then I found you, and everything made sense."
"You saved me," Peter said. "Literally and figuratively. I was trapped in darkness, and you brought me light. Harry, you gave me a second chance at life, at family, at happiness. I will spend the rest of our lives trying to deserve that gift."
"You already deserve it," Harry said firmly. "Peter, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You and our boys—our beautiful, chaotic, perfect family."
"Best thing so far," Peter corrected with a smile. "We have a lot of life left to live, love. A lot of adventures ahead."
"Then let's start tomorrow," Harry said, kissing him softly. "With a wedding, a promise, and a future."
"Together," Peter agreed.
"Always together."

The Wedding Day
Dawn broke over the preserve with perfect California sunshine—not too hot, not too cold, just right. Harry woke in their bed—the last morning he'd wake up as just Harry Potter-Black instead of Harry Potter-Black-Hale (they'd spent hours debating the name, finally landing on a hyphenated combination that honored all their families).
"Morning, husband-to-be," Peter murmured, already awake.
"Morning," Harry said, turning to face him. "Are you nervous?"
"Terrified," Peter admitted. "Not about marrying you—that's the easiest decision I've ever made. But about standing in front of everyone, being that vulnerable, making that public declaration."
"We don't have to," Harry said. "We could elope right now. Just us and the boys."
"And face Stiles's wrath?" Peter asked with mock horror. "Absolutely not. That child has put his entire soul into planning this wedding. We're doing it."
"For Stiles," Harry agreed with a laugh.
"For Stiles," Peter confirmed.
They were separated after breakfast—tradition, Hermione insisted, even though they'd slept in the same bed the night before. Peter went to the guest house with Derek, Cora, and the male pack members. Harry stayed at the main house with Hermione, Luna, and the boys.
"Papa, your hands are shaking," Grayson observed as Harry tried to button his formal robes.
"I'm nervous," Harry admitted.
"Why?" Elijah asked, his hair cycling through curious colors. "You love Peter. He loves you. What's there to be nervous about?"
"Public speaking," Harry said. "And making promises in front of everyone. And what if I trip walking down the aisle? Or forget my vows? Or—"
"You're spiraling," Luna said calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, breathe. The wrackspurts are clouding your judgment."
Despite himself, Harry laughed. "Thanks, Luna."
"Besides," Isaac added, adjusting his own formal robes, "if you trip, Peter will catch you. That's what mates do."
"When did you get so wise?" Harry asked.
"I've been taking notes," Isaac said with a grin.
At precisely 2 PM, the guests gathered in the clearing where the pack ran during full moons. Stiles had transformed it into something magical—literally. With Luna and Hermione's help, he'd created floating lights, flower arches, and seating that somehow looked elegant despite being in the middle of the forest.
The guest list was eclectic: wizards and werewolves, hunters and humans, all gathered to celebrate a love that bridged worlds.
Music began—a combination of classical strings and something more primal, more wild. Perfect for a wizard marrying a werewolf.
Peter walked down the aisle first, flanked by Derek and Cora. He wore deep blue robes that brought out his eyes, and he looked both nervous and radiantly happy.
Then it was Harry's turn.
He walked with Grayson on his left, Elijah on his right, and Isaac just behind them. His sons, his family, escorting him to his future.
When Harry reached the front and saw Peter's face—the love and wonder and absolute certainty there—all his nervousness vanished.
This was right. This was perfect. This was home.
Kingsley Shacklebolt officiated, having traveled from England specifically for this. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Harebellen Orion Potter-Black and Peter Hale," he began. "Two individuals who have found in each other what the rest of us spend lifetimes searching for—a true partner. A mate. A home."
The ceremony was short but meaningful. They'd written their own vows, both men's voices shaking with emotion as they spoke.
"Peter," Harry said, "you woke me up just as much as I woke you. You showed me that life after war could be beautiful. That family could be chosen. That love could heal even the deepest wounds. I promise to stand beside you, to honor our mate bond, to raise our children with you, and to build a life that makes all the darkness we've survived worthwhile."
"Harry," Peter said, "you gave me everything. A second chance, a family, a reason to live instead of just survive. You showed me that I could be more than my trauma, more than my pain. I promise to protect you and our family, to be the partner you deserve, to honor the bond that brought us together, and to love you until my last breath—and probably beyond that, knowing us."
That got a laugh from the assembled guests.
"By the power vested in me by both the British Ministry of Magic and the State of California," Kingsley said with a smile, "I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your husband."
They did—to cheers and applause and several wolf howls from pack members who couldn't help themselves.
"Introducing for the first time," Kingsley announced, "the Potter-Black-Hale family!"
The reception that followed was exactly the kind of joyful chaos that defined their family. Wizards teaching werewolves simple spells. Hunters and supernatural creatures sharing stories. Children running wild through the preserve while adults tried to maintain some semblance of order.
The food was incredible—Kreacher had outdone himself, with help from Dobby and Winky. There were speeches—Derek's awkward but heartfelt, Isaac's sweet and slightly teary, Stiles's that somehow managed to be both hilarious and touching, and Hermione's that reminded everyone why she was the brightest witch of her age.
Fred and George set off magical fireworks that spelled out congratulations in the sky. Luna declared the nargles "exceptionally pleased with the union." Even Professor McGonagall was spotted smiling—actually smiling—as she watched her former student dance with his husband.
Harry and Peter's first dance was to a song that Luna had chosen—something about finding home in another person, about two souls recognizing each other across time and space.
"We did it," Harry murmured as they swayed together.
"We did," Peter agreed. "Built a family, survived our pasts, made it to the other side."
"What now?" Harry asked.
"Now?" Peter grinned. "Now we live. We raise our boys, we grow the pack, we handle whatever the universe throws at us next. Together."
"Always together," Harry confirmed.
As the sun set over the preserve and the party continued, Grayson found James, the alternate Harry, standing at the edge of the clearing.
"You're leaving soon," Grayson said. It wasn't a question.
"Tomorrow morning," James confirmed. "Before the pack wakes up. It's easier that way."
"Did seeing the wedding help?" Grayson asked. "Seeing what could have been?"
"It hurt," James admitted. "But it also gave me hope. Seeing you—this version of you—so happy and loved and certain in your goodness. Maybe in my new timeline, I can build something like this. Something good."
"You can," Grayson said with certainty. "Mr. James, you're Papa. A different Papa, from a different timeline, but still Papa. And Papa never gives up. He always finds a way to save people, to build family, to make things better. You will too."
James knelt down to Grayson's level. "Thank you. For forgiving me. For understanding."
"That's what family does," Grayson said simply. "And you're family. Always."
They hugged—a man haunted by his failures and a boy determined not to repeat them—and for a moment, across timelines and possibilities, two versions of the same family found peace.

The Morning After
Harry woke on his first day as a married man to find Peter already awake, watching him with soft eyes.
"Morning, husband," Peter said.
"Morning, husband," Harry replied, the word feeling right on his tongue. "How long have you been awake?"
"An hour maybe," Peter said. "I couldn't sleep. Too happy, too content. I kept waiting for something to ruin it."
"Nothing's going to ruin it," Harry said firmly. "This is our life now. Married, happy, surrounded by family. We've earned this, Peter."
"We really have," Peter agreed.
A knock on the door interrupted them. "Papa? Peter? Can we come in?" Grayson's voice.
"Come in," Harry called.
All three boys entered—Grayson, Elijah, and Isaac, all still in pajamas, all looking happy and sleepy and perfect.
"Morning, family," Elijah said, climbing onto the bed without waiting for permission. "Did you have a good wedding night?"
"Eli!" Isaac protested, face reddening.
"What? I'm just asking!"
"It was perfect," Harry said, pulling Elijah close and ruffling his hair. "The wedding was perfect, and waking up to you three is perfect too."
"Good," Grayson said, settling on Peter's side of the bed. "Because we have a surprise."
"A surprise?" Peter asked suspiciously.
"Aunt Luna and Aunt Hermione helped," Isaac explained. "We wanted to give you a wedding present, but we couldn't afford anything fancy, so we made something."
Grayson handed over a leather-bound book. Harry opened it to find a family photo album—except the photos were magical, moving and laughing and alive.
The first page showed Harry holding newborn Teddy, long before the adoption, before California, before everything.

Where Our Family Began
The next pages chronicled their journey—Harry's arrival in California, Peter waking from his coma (Hermione had apparently used magical photography to capture that moment), the boys' adoptions, their first pack run, holidays, everyday moments.
But the final pages were blank, with a note in Grayson's careful handwriting:
These pages are for the memories we haven't made yet. For all the years to come, all the moments we'll share, all the love we'll build. This is our family's story, and it's just beginning.
Harry couldn't speak, tears streaming down his face. Peter wasn't much better, holding the book like it was the most precious thing in the world.
"Do you like it?" Elijah asked anxiously, his hair shifting to worried blue.
"Like it?" Harry managed. "Boys, this is the most beautiful gift anyone's ever given us."
"We wanted you to remember," Grayson said quietly. "That no matter what happens—even if bad things come, even if people try to hurt us—we'll always have this. Our family. Our love. Our story."
"Come here," Peter said, his voice rough with emotion. "All of you, right now."
They piled onto the bed—two adults, three boys, a tangle of limbs and love and absolute certainty that this was where they belonged.
"I love you all so much," Harry said. "You know that, right?"
"We know," Isaac said. "You tell us every day."
"Good," Harry said. "Because I'm going to keep telling you. Every single day for the rest of your lives."
"Even when we're old and annoying?" Elijah asked.
"Especially then," Peter said with a laugh.
A knock at the door frame—Derek stood there, looking uncomfortable but determined. "Sorry to interrupt, but James is leaving. He wanted to say goodbye."
They found James in the entrance hall, a small bag packed, ready for his journey to a new timeline.
"Thank you," James said to the assembled family. "For everything. For showing me what could have been. For giving me hope."
"Thank you for caring enough to warn us," Harry said. "James, I hope you find your peace in your new timeline. I hope you build something beautiful."
"I'll try," James promised. He turned to Grayson. "And you—keep being exactly who you are. Don't let anyone tell you that your past defines your future. You get to choose, every single day."
"I will," Grayson promised.
James activated the dimensional portkey Hermione had prepared, and in a shimmer of light, he was gone—off to a new timeline, a second chance, a different story.
"Do you think he'll be okay?" Grayson asked quietly.
"I think he'll try," Harry said. "And sometimes, trying is enough."

New Developments
Two weeks after the wedding, life had settled into a comfortable routine. Harry and Peter were blissfully domestic, the boys were thriving in school, and the pack was stronger than ever.
Then Scott came to pack dinner looking nervous and excited in equal measure.
"I need to tell my mom," Scott announced without preamble. "About being a werewolf. About the pack. About everything."
"Are you sure?" Peter asked carefully. "Scott, that's a big step. Once you tell her, you can't take it back."
"I'm sure," Scott said firmly. "She knows something's different. She's a nurse—she notices things like my sudden perfect health, my improved reflexes, my weird sleep schedule around the full moon. And I'm tired of lying to her. She deserves the truth."
"Then we'll help you tell her," Harry said. "Would it be easier if we were there? To explain the supernatural world, show her you're safe?"
"Actually," Scott said, "I was hoping you would be. Mom trusts authority figures, and you guys are basically supernatural royalty around here. If she sees that you're looking out for me, she'll worry less."
"Supernatural royalty?" Peter repeated, amused.
"Alpha werewolf married to a powerful wizard raising three kids?" Isaac pointed out. "Yeah, that's basically royalty."
"We'll meet with her," Harry decided. "This weekend? Give Scott time to prepare her, and we can answer any questions she has."
That Saturday, Melissa McCall arrived at the estate looking equal parts nervous and determined. She was a petite woman with kind eyes and the bearing of someone who'd dealt with too many emergencies to be easily rattled.
"Mrs. McCall," Harry greeted warmly. "Thank you for coming."
"Call me Melissa," she said, studying the house with obvious curiosity. "Scott's been talking about this place for weeks. I wanted to see it for myself."
They settled in the living room—Harry, Peter, Scott, and Melissa. The other pack members made themselves scarce, giving them privacy.
"So," Melissa said, looking at her son. "You have something to tell me."
"Mom," Scott took a breath. "I'm a werewolf. I was bitten a few weeks ago, and now I can transform into a wolf. But it's okay—I have control, I'm safe, and I have help."
Melissa stared at him. Then she looked at Harry and Peter. "This is real? Not some elaborate prank?"
"It's real," Peter confirmed. "Melissa, your son was bitten by a rogue alpha. He's handling it remarkably well, better than most new wolves. And he's pack now—which means we're responsible for his safety and training."
"Show me," Melissa said to Scott. "If this is real, show me."
Scott stood and shifted—smoothly now, with weeks of practice. The brown wolf sat calmly, amber eyes fixed on his mother with obvious worry.
Melissa stood and approached cautiously. She reached out and touched the wolf's fur, her medical training overcoming any fear. "My God. Scott, this is really you."
The wolf nodded—as much as a wolf could nod.
"Can you understand me?" Melissa asked. "In this form?"
Another nod.
"Okay," Melissa said, taking several deep breaths. "Okay. This is happening. My son is a werewolf. Werewolves are real. What else is real? Vampires? Witches?"
"Wizards," Harry corrected. "And yes, I'm one."
He demonstrated with a simple levitation charm, floating a book across the room.
Melissa sat down heavily. "I need a drink."
"I'll get wine," Peter said, standing. "Melissa, I know this is overwhelming—"
"Overwhelming?" Melissa laughed, slightly hysterical. "My son is a werewolf, werewolves are real, magic is real, and apparently I've been living in a supernatural hotspot without knowing it. Overwhelming doesn't begin to cover it."
Scott shifted back, quickly pulling on clothes. "Mom, I'm sorry. I know this is a lot—"
"Scott," Melissa interrupted, pulling him into a fierce hug. "You're my son. Werewolf or not, you're still my baby. I'm not angry—I'm terrified for you, but I'm not angry."
"You don't have to be terrified," Peter said, returning with wine. "Scott has a strong pack, good control, and an excellent anchor in you. He's going to be fine."
"What about school?" Melissa asked. "What about college? How is he supposed to have a normal life?"
"He can have whatever life he wants," Harry said. "Being a werewolf doesn't limit him—it just means he has to be more careful. We'll help him navigate everything. That's what pack does."
"Pack," Melissa repeated. "So you're like his family now?"
"More like extended family," Scott said. "You're still my mom, still the most important person in my world. But yeah, the pack is family too. They've saved my life more than once already."
Melissa looked at Harry and Peter. "And you'll keep him safe? Really safe?"
"With our lives," Peter promised. "Melissa, Scott is pack. That's not a casual thing—it's a sacred bond. We protect our own, no matter what."
"Okay," Melissa said, draining her wine glass. "Okay. I can handle this. I'm a nurse—I've handled weirder things. Probably. Maybe not, but I can pretend."
"There's one more thing," Scott said hesitantly. "Allison Argent—we've been hanging out lately. She's a hunter, but she's cool about the werewolf thing. And Mom, I think I really like her."
"A hunter," Melissa repeated faintly. "My werewolf son is dating a hunter."
"Not dating yet," Scott said quickly. "But maybe eventually?"
"This family," Melissa muttered, but she was smiling. "Scott McCall, you're going to give me gray hair."
"Too late," Scott said with a grin. "You've had gray hair since I was twelve."
"Watch it, young man," Melissa warned, but she pulled him close again. "Okay. Werewolves, wizards, hunters—I can handle this. But Scott, promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise you'll be careful," Melissa said. "Promise you won't take unnecessary risks. Promise you'll come to me if something goes wrong."
"I promise," Scott said sincerely.
"Good," Melissa said. Then she looked at Harry and Peter. "And you two—thank you. For taking care of my son. For giving him a family when he needed one."
"Thank you for trusting us with him," Harry said.
After Melissa left—slightly shell-shocked but accepting—the pack gathered to celebrate Scott's successful coming-out.
"One more person who knows the truth," Isaac said. "One more ally."
"The pack keeps growing," Cora observed. "We're building something bigger than just us."
"That's the idea," Peter said, pulling Harry close. "A community where supernatural and human can coexist. Where everyone's accepted."
"Where family isn't defined by blood or species," Harry added. "Just by choice and love."
"Sappy," Derek muttered, but he was smiling.
"You love it," Peter said.
"Maybe," Derek admitted.

The Letter
A month after the wedding, an official letter arrived from the British Ministry of Magic. Harry opened it with trepidation, half-expecting more demands or accusations.
Instead, he found something unexpected:
Lord Potter-Black-Hale,
The Wizengamot has voted to establish a formal cultural exchange program between British and American magical communities. As someone who has successfully bridged both worlds, you have been nominated to serve as a liaison.
This position would require minimal time commitment—quarterly meetings, occasional consultations, and serving as a point of contact for magical beings seeking to relocate between countries.
We believe your unique perspective, your experience with both traditional wizarding culture and American supernatural integration, makes you ideal for this role.
Please respond at your earliest convenience.
Respectfully,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
"They want you to be a liaison," Peter said, reading over Harry's shoulder. "That's... actually reasonable."
"It's a peace offering," Hermione said. She'd stayed after the wedding to help with pack integration and had become a semi-permanent fixture. "Kingsley's trying to mend bridges, show that the Ministry respects your choices."
"Should I accept?" Harry asked.
"Do you want to?" Peter countered.
Harry considered. "Actually, yes. It would let me stay connected to the British magical world without living there. And it might help other magical beings who are trying to escape bad situations—I could help them find safety."
"Then accept," Peter said simply. "Harry, you don't have to choose between your old world and your new one. You can have both."
"I can have both," Harry repeated, the truth of it settling over him. "I can be British and American, wizard and pack, all of it."
"That's what you've been building all along," Hermione said. "A life that encompasses everything you are, not just one piece of it."
Harry wrote his acceptance letter that evening, officially becoming a cultural liaison between magical communities. It felt right—using his experience to help others, building bridges instead of walls.

Grayson's Question
That night, as Harry tucked Grayson into bed, his son asked a question that had clearly been bothering him.
"Papa, when do I have to start being important?"
Harry sat on the edge of the bed. "What do you mean?"
"Lady Ravenclaw said I have a destiny," Grayson explained. "That I'm supposed to be a voice for change. But Papa, I don't know how to do that. I'm only six."
"Grayson," Harry said gently, "you don't have to do anything right now except be six years old. The destiny Lady Ravenclaw talked about—that's for future you. Adult you. Right now, your only job is to learn and grow and be a kid."
"But what if I'm not ready when the time comes?" Grayson asked. "What if I fail?"
"Then you try again," Harry said simply. "Grayson, destiny isn't a test you pass or fail. It's just a path that opens up if you choose to take it. And if you decide you don't want to be a voice for change, if you decide you'd rather be a painter or a teacher or anything else—that's okay too. Your worth isn't tied to some grand destiny."
"Really?" Grayson asked hopefully.
"Really," Harry confirmed. "I had a prophecy about me—did I ever tell you that?"
Grayson shook his head.
"A prophecy said I was the only one who could defeat Voldemort," Harry explained. "That I had power he didn't understand. For years, I thought that meant I had to be special, had to be extraordinary. But the truth was simpler—the power he didn't understand was love. Just love. And anyone can have that."
"So prophecies don't matter?" Grayson asked.
"They matter if you let them," Harry said. "But they don't control you. Grayson, you have knowledge of what Tom Riddle became. You have the chance to make different choices. Whether you use that to change the magical world or just to live a good life helping people in small ways—either choice is valuable. Either choice is enough."
"I think I want to help people," Grayson said thoughtfully. "But like you said—in small ways. Not big dramatic ways. Just... being kind to people who are scared. Understanding people who feel different."
"That's the most important kind of help," Harry said, pressing a kiss to Grayson's forehead. "The world doesn't need more grand gestures, Grayson. It needs more kindness. More understanding. More people willing to see others as they really are."
"Then that's what I'll do," Grayson decided. "When I'm older. For now, I'll just practice being kind."
"That's perfect," Harry said. "Now sleep. Tomorrow's a school day."
"Papa?" Grayson said as Harry reached the door. "Thank you. For not making me be important before I'm ready."
"You're already important," Harry said. "To me, to Peter, to your brothers. The rest is just details."
Grayson smiled and closed his eyes, content.
Harry stood in the hallway for a moment, overcome with love for his complicated, thoughtful, remarkable son. Then he felt Peter's presence behind him, arms wrapping around his waist.
"You're a good father," Peter murmured.
"I'm trying," Harry said.
"You're succeeding," Peter corrected. "All three of them are thriving, Harry. Happy, secure, confident. That's because of you."
"Because of us," Harry corrected. "Peter, I couldn't do this without you."
"Good thing you'll never have to," Peter said, kissing his neck. "Now come to bed. We have pack training in the morning, and you need rest."
"Since when do you care about me getting enough sleep?" Harry asked, amused.
"Since I married you and became responsible for your wellbeing," Peter said. "Now move, husband. Bed. Sleep. We can continue this discussion tomorrow."
"Bossy alpha," Harry muttered, but he followed Peter to their room.
As they settled into bed, wrapped around each other, Harry reflected on how far they'd come. Six months ago, he'd been lost and alone, unsure of his purpose. Now he was married, raising three incredible children, leading a pack, and building bridges between worlds.
It wasn't the life he'd expected. It was better.
"I love you," Harry whispered into the darkness.
"Love you too," Peter replied, already half-asleep. "Now sleep. The pack needs their alphas rested."
Harry closed his eyes, listening to Peter's steady heartbeat, feeling the mate bond hum contentedly between them. Outside, the preserve was quiet except for the sounds of nocturnal creatures and, somewhere in the distance, a wolf howling at the moon.
Home, Harry thought. This is home.
And he'd never felt more certain of anything in his life.