HP-A New Future

Chapter 17: Chapter 16



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Chapter 16: A Shared Understanding

Arcturus Black was not a man who often entertained visitors, even family. His years of self-imposed exile had honed his solitude into a kind of armor, a shield against the pain of memories he could not escape. But when Harry Potter arrived at his estate unannounced, the younger man standing tall and composed yet carrying an air of quiet torment, Arcturus felt an inexplicable pull to let him in.

He didn't bother with formalities. "Come in," he said gruffly, stepping aside to let Harry through the grand door.

Harry nodded in thanks, stepping inside with the same silent grace Arcturus recognized in seasoned duelists. It was not the gait of a boy but of a warrior, one who had seen more than his share of battles.

Arcturus gestured toward the sitting room, where a fire roared in the hearth despite the mild evening. "You're here for something," he said bluntly as they sat, his sharp eyes scanning Harry's face. "Spit it out."

Harry chuckled softly, a sound devoid of humor. "You're as direct as they say," he murmured.

"And you're as evasive as I expected," Arcturus shot back, his tone sharp but not unkind.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I came to talk. To ask for your perspective. And because I needed someone who..." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "...Someone who might understand."

Arcturus frowned, leaning back in his chair. "Understand what, exactly?"

Harry didn't respond immediately. He stared into the fire, his green eyes reflecting the flickering flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, heavy with an old pain.

"What it's like to lose everything."

Arcturus stilled, his breath catching in his throat. It was not what he had expected, but he understood instantly. He had lost Melania, his wife, the love of his life, over a decade ago. The ache of her absence had never dulled, even as the years passed. But there was something in Harry's tone—something deeper, darker—that made Arcturus's grief feel almost manageable by comparison.

"Everything?" Arcturus prompted, his voice softer now.

Harry nodded, his gaze never leaving the fire. "The world I came from—my future—it's gone. And it wasn't much to begin with. My parents, my grandparents, everyone... they were all dead before I could even say my first words."

Arcturus inhaled sharply, the weight of those words sinking in. He hadn't expected the young man to be so open, but he recognized the catharsis in Harry's voice, the desperate need to unburden himself, even to a near-stranger.

Harry continued, his voice steady but void of emotion. "I grew up in the care of people who hated me. Who hated what I represented. I didn't know what love was until I found it in friends. And even they were taken from me, one by one."

Arcturus clenched his jaw, his mind racing. "Why tell me this and not your family?"

Harry's lips twitched in a bitter smile. "Because they look at me like a miracle. Like I'm here to fix things. But I'm not. I'm just... trying to survive. And I can't tell them that the people they love, the people they care about, are going to die if I don't change things."

For a moment, neither man spoke. The fire crackled, filling the silence.

"I lost my wife," Arcturus said suddenly, his voice rough. "She was my world. And when she was gone, it felt like everything else faded into shadows. I exiled myself because I couldn't bear to see the pieces of what we built without her."

Harry looked at him, his gaze sharp. "You came back for Dorea."

Arcturus nodded. "Family has a way of dragging you back, no matter how far you try to run."

The two men shared a long look, an understanding passing between them that didn't need words.

"You're not as alone as you think," Arcturus said finally. "You've got them now. And you've got me, whether you like it or not."

Harry's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Arcturus smirked. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still deciding whether or not you're as mad as you seem."

For the first time, Harry laughed—a real laugh, warm and genuine. It didn't last long, but it was enough to lighten the mood in the room.

As the fire burned low, the two men sat in companionable silence, two souls bound by loss and the hope, however fragile, of building something new in its wake.


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