Do you know what I envy most about ordinary people, Tom? Their ability to forget, to let time smooth the sharp corners of their pain, so that it became nothing more than a dull ache ... I cannot do that. My mind is a prison of perfect recollection, and every memory is a blade; I remember you, every word, every glance, every silence. And no matter how hard I try, I can't put you down. I don't think I ever will.

————————

The setting sun filtered through the tall windows of St Mungo's, casting long shadows across the flagstones. Keira sat by the window, looking out to the fading horizon, her pale green eyes unfocussed, in thought. Tomorrow she would be discharged from the hospital and go back to Hogwarts, and the prospect of going back to that world, of seeing Tom again, filled her with an odd tangle of emotions which she could not quite disentangle.

The anger which had been so sharp and consuming in the first days after Owen's death, had softened somewhat during the period she had spent alone in the hospital; but it remained, a dull ache, a reminder of the unresolved emotion.

Would he care that she was returning? He hadn't written, hadn't reached out in any way; she laughed to herself. Typical Tom.

A faint noise interrupted her reflections; the door to her room creaked open; she didn't turn, but, though still gazing out of the window, she could hear every sound. Behind her, a voice, polished and familiar, spoke: "Hello, Keira. Long time, no see."

Her heart skipped. She didn't need to look to recognize the voice. Calm, cultured, and hauntingly familiar. Gently she turned her head, suspicion confirmed as the man in front of her started to shift. His traits changed, taking a shape she knew all too well.

Gellert Grindelwald.

He stood before her, his form commanding, his blue eyes filled with the deepest radiance.

"You," she whispered, surprise in her tone. It wasn't fear. No, she had known him too long for that.

He inclined his head slightly and had a barely concealed smile on his face. "Me," he echoed. "I heard you were here, recovering from a rather unfortunate attack; by my own followers, no less." His tone was light, but the gleam in his eyes showed that he did not quite believe that story.

"Why are you here?" she said with an intent look, lifting her head.

Grindelwald approached her, slow and deliberative, but not in a malicious way. "Ah, Keira. Always so direct. That's what I've always liked about you. However, should I have a reason, to see a person I value so highly?"

She moved her head, studied him with a guarded look painted on her face. "Surely, you didn't come all this way just to see how I've grown."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, soft as velvet, and he said, "No, I did not, let's just say, it is... an opportunity," he admitted, his smile widening. "But I must say, you have grown. Stronger. Wiser. Perhaps even more curious than I remember."

Her gaze softened slightly. She thought back to her childhood, memories of Grindelwald; of his visits when her parents were alive, hushed conversations filled with reverence for the man they had admired. Now, seeing him again, older but no less commanding, she felt more confusion than fear.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere." She flatly said. Grindelwald was a manipulative man, she knew that all too well and she had no patience left for whatever game he was playing.

"No, perhaps not," he allowed, but his voice was as gentle as his glance was intense. "But give me this indulgence: you were always an interesting child; and you're even more interesting as an adult. Tell me, Keira, what is it you want?"

The question caught her off guard. The situation felt strange, the question so direct and yet seemingly disconnected from their conversation. Why was he asking her this, out of nowhere? She wondered if he was playing some kind of game.

Her brows furrowed slightly as she looked back from him, toward the window, and the sun casted long shadows on her face. "What I want?" she repeated softly, almost to herself. "I don't even know anymore."

Grindelwald drew nearer to her, and lowering his voice again, said to her: "That's a lie, my dear, you know what you want. Everyone knows what they want. Even if they're too afraid to speak it aloud."

Keira's lips opened but she could not say anything; she felt him looking at her with heavy expectancy, yet with singular patience. Her mind was spinning. Was it revenge for what Tom did to Owen? She didn't even think that was possible, not with the Horcruxes he had already created; was it freedom? Was it simply to stop feeling this endless pain of her loss?

The responses wriggled and tightened in her chest like a rope too tangled to break.

"I want ... " she began, her voice wavering, shook her head in desperation: "I do not know, everything is impossible to me."

And then a smile came out of Grindelwald, gentle, almost sympathetic. "Impossible? Keira, you disappoint me. I thought you were that sort of person who wasn't afraid to dream of what other people couldn't see."

"Don't patronize me. You don't know what I've been through." she replied sharply with flashing green eyes.

"Ah, but I do," he answered with an air of melancholy, "I know what it is to lose. To rage against the hand fate has dealt you. Felling powerless in a reality where power is everything. And yet here we are, you and I, talking to each other as equals. Does that not mean something?"

Keira's eyes dropped, Grindelwald's words struck her deeper than she would have liked, "If only... I could bring someone back. Undo what has been done," she whispered, inaudibly, "I would."

Grindelwald's expression changed, his eyes gleamed with something unreadable: "Ah, now we're getting somewhere, undoing what's been done is a noble wish, but it has its price. Would you be willing to pay it?"

She turned to the window, her reflection staring back at her, and asked: "You're saying it's possible?"

"Anything is possible, Keira. But not alone," he said in a low voice, turning towards her. "There is a magic, ancient and profound, which can cross the boundaries between life and death, but to wield it requires more than just power. One must have resolve. Vision. And the courage to do what others fear,"

Keira's head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. "Don't lie to me."

"I don't lie." He stepped closer to her, his tone turning conspiratorial, "I can help you. Once my work is complete, such things may become... possible."

"What work?" she asked cautiously.

"The Deathly Hallows," he replied smoothly. "together they have power beyond your imaginings. With them, you can do anything."

Keira's mind raced. She didn't know if she believed him, but it was a temptation she did not want to ignore, the thought of seeing Owen again, of overcoming the pain that had haunted her.

After a long silence she turned back to him: she closed her eyes briefly, the great depth of his proposition sinking inside her; "I suspect you want something from me in return?"

"Only what you may be capable of giving," he replied simply. "I used to have an informant at Hogwarts, who kept me informed... of the more interesting matters," said Grindelwald with the most casual laughter.

"Alas, that arrangement is no longer feasible. And Hogwarts, especially under Dumbledore's watchful eye, is always a fascinating place. Recently three new students have come on the scene, and they have drawn my particular attention; mysterious, untraceable, approved by the Ministry yet absent from every list. What is going on at Hogwarts these days is far too intriguing to ignore; between Dumbledore's ceaseless meddling and the strange circumstances surrounding these new arrivals, one cannot help but wonder what plans lie in motion within those ancient walls. Do this for me, Keira, and I will help you find what you seek."

She turned to him with a resolutely unreadable face. "You want me to spy for you?"

Grindelwald chuckled again, shaking his head. "Spy? Such a distasteful word. I prefer to think of it as... observing. Understanding. You were always good at seeing things others could not. Use that gift, and together, we will accomplish great things."

Grindelwald's words made her hesitate, her instinct urged her to refuse, to run away, and yet the thought of the possibilities, of the destruction of the pain that hung around her like a shadow, made her hesitate. At last she nodded, her voice steady, "I will do it," she said. "But I won't make you any other promises. "

"That's all I ask," said Grindelwald, a smile appeared on his face; and with that, he stepped back, the room seemed to darken a little without him. "Until we meet again, Keira. You know where to write, I am waiting for your letters," he said, and walked away; his presence fading as quickly as it had arrived.

-

The Great Hall was buzzing with noise as the students gathered for breakfast; the morning sun was filtering through the high windows, casting a golden light on the long tables, the sound of the cutlery, the rustle of the Daily Prophet created a symphony of routine which was familiar and comforting.

Harry stepped into the Great Hall, his movements slower than usual as he adjusted to being out of the hospital wing, the ache in his back was a dull reminder of the spell he'd taken. With a quick glance around the hall he noticed Hermione at the Gryffindor table, waving a hand to get his attention.

"Harry!" she called, her smile widening as he approached. "You're out! Finally!"

Harry returned the smile, sitting down beside her, and replied, "It's good to be free, Madam Pomfrey was driving me mad."

"You need rest," Hermine said in a firm and affectionate voice, nudging a plate of toast towards him, in a subtle plea for food, "she said you were still recovering from the spell."

Harry grabbed a piece of bread, took a bite, and looked across the table, where Caleb Macmillan and Rose Ollivander, with beaming faces, sat across from him.

"Caleb and Rose, do you remember them, Harry?" Hermione prompted, and, when Caleb nodded eagerly, "Welcome back, Harry. Good to see you in one piece."

"Took you long enough," Rose added with a grin, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight.

Harry smiled and some of the stiffness in his shoulders relaxed. "Thanks. It's good to be back."

The conversation slipped into easy rhythm: Hermione catching up Harry about the students' current school gossip, Caleb telling everyone about one of the wildest parts of yesterday's Potions lesson, where a witch's cauldron sprang to life on its own. Harry found himself unwinding, the camaraderie surrounding the Gryffindor table offering a temporary respite against the increased weight of their circumstance. Even the threatening pressure of Riddle's perpetual gaze appeared meaningless in the soft pattering of sunlight.

When Harry grabbed another slice of toast, she leaned closer to him, her tone now low but no less urgent, "I've been thinking about the restricted section," she murmured. "I might try to slip in tonight, now that you're out of the hospital. I can't keep waiting."

"Hermione—" his voice low but with warning.

"I know it's dangerous," she suddenly stopped, and she looked at the Slytherins, where Tom Riddle was talking to his friends, his head low. "But we're running out of time. Dumbledore hasn't given us anything new yet, and if Riddle's already suspicious—."

She came to a halt, her eyes following the direction of Caleb and Rose, who were engrossed in their own chat. Harry sighed, the beat of his voice also dropping: " Be careful, if he catches you, that's..."

"I'll be careful," Hermione said hastily. "But we need answers, Harry. And fast."

Before he had replied, the energy in the Great Hall began to change, the usual hum of chatter falling away, replaced by murmurs and whispers which reverberated along the bare wooden ceiling. Heads turned towards the entrance, in a stream of students like moths attracted towards a flame; Harry followed their gaze, frowning. A figure stood there, framed in the sunlight pouring through the massive doors of the hall.

Keira Grey.

Harry froze, his attention was fixed on her. He knew her; he was certain of it.

Keira stepped in between the double doors with her head held high and ash-coloured hair dropping from her shoulders in a tumbling, moon-like stream. But in the sparkling morning sun her appearance was far more clear, her sharp features looked sterner and more elf-like, the paleness of her skin and the depths of the hollows beneath her eyes told of the difficulties she had faced this summer. But there was also something almost ethereal about her, like she seemed to be not quite of this world.

As she approached the Slytherin table, it fell into a stunned silence, broken only by soft, nervous murmurs. Her friends, who were sitting near the centre of the table, looked relieved as she took her place beside them. Walburga Black was the first to react, her dark eyes widened, then she stood up to welcome Keira back with a tight licked smile.

"Keira," Walburga said, her voice wavering slightly. "You're back."

"I am," returned Keira, her voice was calm, with a sympathetic warmth in it. She slid into an empty seat, with smooth, yet cautious movement. There was a sense of palpable tension at the table, as if everyone couldn't figure out how to handle her absence or the reasons for it.

Alison, straightened her back, the sunlight illuminating her golden hair as she stared Keira down. "You look different, you know," she said, her tone teetering on interrogation and reproach "Are you sure you all right?"

Keira's eye went to Alison, her pale green eyes inscrutable. "I'm fine," she said simply, her voice cool. "Thank you for asking."

Emily Parkinson, sat quietly at her side, and having briefly placed his hand on her arm, said to her softly, "We are glad you're home." In the briefest of tones, she added "We were worried about you."

Keira's expression softened slightly, and she nodded. "Thank you, Emily."

Further down the table, sitting in his usual place surrounded by his followers, Tom Riddle had looked at her when she had entered the hall with sharp and calculating eyes. He stayed still, he didn't talk, but there was a clear tension in his body posture. For a moment, he simply observed her, his mind working through a thousand possibilities.

It had not been an unexpected return; but seeing her again, seated with her friends as though nothing had happened, stirred something in him. Keira's absence had been a break, a loose thread in the carefully arranged texture of his plans. Now that she was back, he would need to reassess.

Lestrange came closer to Rosier, and muttered, with a deep, low laugh laced with his own familiar bitter humor, "She's finally back, though she looks like she has just walked out of a graveyard" a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "I guess the hospital couldn't fix everything after all."

Rosier snorted and glanced at Keira who was exchanging quiet words with a few friends: "She's resilient, I'll give her that. You wouldn't catch me walking back into this hall after the summer she's had."

"Resilient or stubborn? There's a fine line, you know. But then, Keira always did like testing boundaries." said Dolohov, ever the quiet observer.

Lestrange snorted, leaning back in his seat. "Testing boundaries? More like detonating them. She's not the type to let a little... misfortune keep her away."

Tom, seated silently at the center of their group, let out a slow, deliberate sigh, with which Lestrange's smirk faltered momentarily but which was quickly masked by a casual shrug.

"Always full of insights, aren't you, Lestrange?" Tom's voice was calm, but there was a certain edge beneath; his dark eyes glanced quickly at Keira and returned to face the group again. "Perhaps you'd like to share those thoughts with her directly."

Lestrange quickly shook his head, and his sneer diminished. "No need for that, Riddle. Just... appreciating the return of old company."

Dolohov interjected smoothly, breaking the tension. "But it's not a mere getting back on track, is it?"

Tom's gaze darkened, his irritation at their conversation making itself felt, "Speculation doesn't suit you, Dolohov," he said curtly. "She's back, and that's all that matters, for now."

Rosier, noticing the shift in mood, quickly steered the conversation back to lighter direction. "She's got this thing about dramatic entrances. The hall practically stopped when she walked in."

Lestrange managed a small laugh, keeping his eyes on his plate. "She always did know how to make an impression. Some things never change."

Tom remained silent but the clenching of his jaw made itself perfectly clear. His irritation was palpable, and the group fell silent under the weight of it. Whatever Keira's return meant, it was clear that Tom's patience for their remarks had been exhausted.

At the Gryffindor table Harry's eyes refused to leave Keira. There was something about her that set off a memory he couldn't quite place. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember where he had seen her before, and then it struck him; It was that girl, the one he had seen in Dumbledore's memories.

"Who is she?" Hermione whispered, seeing Harry's reaction.

Caleb leaned over with a smile, eager to share: "Keira Gray, seventh year, Slytherin, one of the best witches in her house, though she doesn't flaunt it like the rest of them, quite nice... for a Slytherin."

Rose, who had been watching the conversation, snorted softly: "Nice? Caleb, you've been in love with her since third year, and of course you think she's nice."

"I am not," Caleb protested, his ears reddening. "Well, maybe. But that's beside the point. She's... different. Discreet, you know? Keeps to herself. Not like her friends; they're awful."

"Awful is an understatement," Rose put in, "those girls are really quite intolerable. Keira has always been... mysterious, never really quite part of the group, it's odd."

" And she was attacked in the summer," Caleb said more seriously, "we don't know what happened, but it had to be serious to have her in the hospital all this time."

"Still got that crush, Caleb? Or maybe you've finally outgrown it?" Rose smiled maliciously.

Caleb flushed but shrugged. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. She's still interesting though, isn't she? Don't tell me you're not curious."

Caleb and Rose were still talking about Keira, and Harry leaned over to Hermione, lowering his voice, "She was in Dumbledore's memories," he murmured "I saw her, she was with Riddle. "

Hermione's head snapped toward him, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What do you mean?"

"In one of the Pensieve memories last year," Harry said, softly. "When Dumbledore was showing me Riddle's past. This girl, she was there in a few of them. She was... close to him. And there was this necklace she wore. Dumbledore thought it might even have been a