Chapter 16 Echoes of Ash and Stars

Diagon Alley — London, Great Britain

Harry — POV

The place was unrecognisable.

Harry walked in silence through what had once been the bustling heart of magical Britain. Diagon Alley—once vibrant, alive, loud with laughter and the chatter of wands and cauldrons—was now draped in silence. Nature had reclaimed what time and tragedy had left behind. Weeds and moss pushed through the cobblestones, vines creeping along the sides of once-colourful storefronts, their signage faded and cracked.

He passed Gringotts first. The goblin-run bank still stood tall, its marble façade cracked but unbroken, cold and watchful like a tomb guardian. Beyond it, he spotted other landmarks: Ollivander's Wand Shop, the Magical Menagerie, Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Eeylops Owl Emporium. Some storefronts remained half-standing, others were little more than rubble. Many were gone entirely—swallowed by time or buried under the weight of magical decay.

Each missing storefront felt like a phantom limb.

Harry's breath hitched. This was his past turned graveyard.

He remembered the promise he made to himself before stepping through the Veil—to save as many as he could, to keep his world from fading into memory. Back then, he'd half-expected to die. There'd been only a fifty-fifty chance he'd survive passing through the Veil at all. If he had survived, he assumed he'd emerge in the Department of Mysteries, or somewhere nearby. He planned to contact the magical authorities immediately—to plead his case and request haven for the last of his people.

That was Plan A.

If that failed—as he'd suspected it would—Plan B was less diplomatic: erase the minds of anyone who objected, and bring his people through anyway. Morally grey, maybe, but Harry had seen what fear did to governments. They'd never accept a migration of magical refugees, not if they couldn't understand it.

The fallback plan was extreme, but survival demanded it.

What he hadn't accounted for… was ending up on a completely different planet.

He shook his head, imagining Hermione's voice scolding him for jumping in without a real plan. And maybe she'd be right. But even she would've admitted—this time, it was his most carefully laid plan yet.

It just hadn't mattered.

Now, as a system lord in a corner of the Milky Way galaxy, he ruled dozens of uninhabited worlds, protected by fleets of ships and adored by people who regarded him as divine.

Godhood was never something Harry had aspired to. But it was leverage. And leverage could save lives.

"Hey," Sam's voice cut in, dragging him out of his spiralling thoughts. "Why is there a broom in that shop window? And what's… Quidditch?"

Harry followed her gaze to the battered storefront of Quality Quidditch Supplies. A single broom hovered in the display, swaying slightly on its magical stand.

A mischievous grin curved his lips.

Without a word, he flicked his wand, summoning the broom. It shot to his hand with satisfying precision. He mounted it and glanced at her over his shoulder.

Sam blinked. "Wait. You're not actually going to—"

"You asked," he said, patting the broom. "Hop on. Like a bike."

"You can't be serious," she said, wide-eyed. "Don't tell me the whole 'witches flying on broomsticks' thing is real."

"I'm not serious," Harry replied, deadpan. "I'm Harry."

Sam groaned. "Oh, come on. That joke is ancient."

"Just like the broom," he said, smirking.

She hesitated, then reluctantly swung her leg over the back of the broom, muttering under her breath about physics violations and her rapidly deteriorating sense of reality.

"Hold on tight."

With a gentle kick, they lifted off.

The world dropped away beneath them.

Harry felt the wind catch his hair, the broom humming softly under his grip. It wasn't a Firebolt or Nimbus, but it was flight—and nothing else in the universe quite compared. The stars stretched above them like scattered embers, and below, the ruins of Diagon Alley glowed faintly under the moonlight.

Behind him, Sam clung tightly, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Sam," he said gently, "open your eyes. You don't want to miss this."

She did.

And for a long moment, she said nothing—only stared in awe at the crumbling cityscape below, caught in the quiet beauty of it all.

"…Wow," she whispered.

They stayed in the air longer than they meant to—minutes, maybe hours. It didn't matter. For once, Harry didn't feel rushed.

Eventually, he brought the broom down. The moment it touched Earth, he shrunk it with a flick and pocketed it. He didn't want to, not yet—but they weren't here to reminisce.

He was here for answers.

And so far, Diagon Alley had offered none.

Later — Ministry of Magic, London

The Ministry, hidden beneath the streets of Muggle London, was worse than Diagon Alley.

Collapsed offices. Dead fireplaces. Ash and silence. And no Daily Prophet archives—those had been destroyed long ago.

But the Department of Mysteries held fragments—enough to confirm the worst.

Magical fever.

It had swept through the wizarding population like wildfire. No one had survived.

The elves had confirmed it as well. Kreacher, upon hearing the truth, had forcibly fed Sam a vial of potion—muttering under his breath in rapid, unintelligible House Elf dialect—before she could even object. Thankfully, the cure still worked.

It was already too late for this Earth's magical community, but perhaps… not for others.

Antarctic Outpost — Earth

The Stargate flared to life, each chevron locking in with a metallic clang.

Harry stood at the base of the ramp, his wand strapped to his wrist, his cloak brushing the floor, Sam by his side. Behind him, a group of House Elves waited patiently—Dis, Hudo, and a few others, all chosen for their dedication and skill.

This outpost would be theirs now. The elves had found and restored it, deciphered its technology, and adapted it to serve their needs. It would act as a command centre—alongside Hogwarts—both bases for what was to come.

He looked at the glowing ring of the wormhole.

It led to Laconia.

A new world. A fresh start.

A place to rebuild.

He glanced once at Sam, who nodded solemnly.

Then he stepped forward.

This was the end of Earth.

And the beginning of something far greater.

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