Chapter 15 — Embers and Echoes

Hogwarts Courtyard — Somewhere in the Highlands, Scotland, Great Britain

Harry — POV

So this was where he found himself—standing silently in the Hogwarts courtyard, watching as bodies were gently consumed by the rune-etched funeral furnace. All the elves stood around him, solemn and reverent. Sam was beside him, her expression unreadable.

The courtyard was deathly quiet, save for the faint hum of the runes—no crackling, no smoke, just glowing inscriptions. The fire was magical and respectful, designed not to desecrate but to preserve dignity in farewell.

Harry had already chosen the place for their final rest: a hidden clearing deep within the Cairngorms. He had poured every protective rune and ancient ward he knew into the site, making it utterly invisible to Muggles. The land was beautiful, untouched by war or rot. Fitting, he thought, for those who never got to say goodbye.

Each name would be carved into the stone memorial. Age. Date of death. So the future—if any witches or wizards remained—could remember.

After what felt like hours of silence, Harry finally turned away. Sam followed without a word.

The furnace would burn for days—three or four at least—to honour each fallen witch and wizard from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Then, the elves would expand the search, moving outward across Britain, and eventually the world, hunting for signs of magical life.

Harry didn't expect to find any survivors, not after what he had seen.

But he hadn't given up hope. Not yet.

When he and Sam re-entered the entrance hall, Hudo and Dis were already waiting.

"You know what needs to be done," Harry said.

Both elves nodded. Dis answered, "Master Harry, Dis will search for great witches and wizards. If any are found alive, Dis will inform you immediately. Otherwise, we will begin collecting magical objects from their homes and store them safely. Once that is complete, we'll collapse the wards and allow the houses to become visible to Muggles."

"Good. Be careful. We can't let magical artefacts fall into the wrong hands. Take your time. Leave the wards intact on the major magical sites for now. I've seen the chaos that follows when a hundred-year-old ward collapses unexpectedly. They're unstable, and the backlash is lethal. Lower them slowly and safely. We'll decide later what to preserve and what to bury."

Dis and Hudo bowed and vanished.

Harry turned to Sam. "Captain Carter, we're leaving. You're coming with me."

Sam followed quickly. "Where exactly are we going?"

"To the place where my journey into magic began. It may have answers. I already have a theory, but I need to see the full picture before I act."

"That still doesn't tell me where we're going," Sam muttered. Then, with a small sigh, she added, "Fine. Call me Sam."

Harry stopped mid-step. She nearly ran into him.

He turned, eyeing her with surprise. She must have seen it and quickly clarified.

"Just for convenience. We're clearly stuck together for now. You're not going to kill me—you've had plenty of chances. I can't fight you. I can't outrun you or your elves. So my best bet for staying alive is understanding you."

Harry cracked a small smile. "Sam, are you quoting the hostage survival guide?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "That's exactly what I'm doing."

"Fair enough." He started walking again.

When he noticed she hadn't moved, he turned slightly. "Was there something else?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing."

They stepped through the gates of Hogwarts. Harry held out his hand.

"Hold tight. Apparition's not a pleasant experience the first time."

Sam hesitated for only a second before taking it.

A breath—and then they vanished.

A Small Alley Near the Leaky Cauldron — London

Sam — POV

The moment they landed, Sam dropped to her knees, fighting nausea.

The world spun. Her stomach churned.

"Ugh… You weren't kidding," she groaned. "That was awful."

"Gets better with practice," Harry said. "Are you good to walk?"

She nodded and pushed herself upright. "Barely."

He led her out of the alley and into what looked exactly like London: the street noise, the cars, even the musty scent of damp brick.

But… no. It couldn't be London.

Her captor wouldn't be foolish enough to keep her on Earth. It had to be a replica—a perfect illusion, maybe—a trick.

Yes, that made more sense.

She was so wrapped in her thoughts that she didn't notice Harry had stopped until he extended his hand again.

"We're not apparating," he said, reading her discomfort. "You just need to hold on or the place we're going won't let you in."

Still reluctant, she took his hand.

He led her toward what looked like a derelict storefront—windows boarded up, bricks crumbling, the entire structure leaning slightly to one side.

"This place looks like it'll fall on us," Sam warned.

Harry ignored her and walked straight through the door, pulling her with him.

The moment they stepped inside, the world shifted.

It wasn't a ruin—it was a pub, cloaked in thick dust, but intact. Ancient. Quiet. Forgotten.

She exhaled in relief.

Harry pulled out his wand—yes, wand, she was actually thinking the word without sarcasm now—and gave it a flick. Dust vanished. Broken chairs mended themselves. The cobwebs curled into nothing.

Suddenly, the pub looked like it belonged in the 1700s.

Harry smiled—really smiled. It was only the second time she'd seen it touch his eyes. The first had been when he spoke of Hogwarts. He glanced around the pub like it was an old friend.

She let him have the moment.

Eventually, he turned and led her out into a walled courtyard behind the pub. There was nothing there but a trash bin and a brick wall.

He tapped a brick.

And the wall came alive.

Bricks slid inward, outward, rearranging with mechanical precision until a massive archway appeared, leading to something hidden behind it.

Sam stared, wide-eyed.

Harry stepped aside, gesturing with a touch of reverence.

"Welcome, Sam," he said softly. "To Diagon Alley."

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