In an alternate existence

The transformative evening.

The Hogwarts Express rumbled to a stop, steam swirling in the chilly September air. Akira Potter barely noticed the cold; there was a subtle, steady magic inside her now, something that had lived with her since the end of the war. She felt changed—she wasn't just the Girl-Who-Lived anymore. She was Akira Potter, and she carried the weight of old magic in her bones, though no one else could see it or knew just how much it marked her.

Teddy Lupin, three months old, floated beside her in a softly enchanted carrier, gurgling in his sleep. Even in dreams, his hair shifted colors—today a glowing cyan, pulsing gently. Akira reached over and brushed his cheek. He was the point of light she'd clung to during the stormiest days, and she'd promised Andromeda he'd be safer at her side than anywhere else. There was a certainty in her that didn't need to be explained. Teddy would be protected.

Stepping off at Hogsmeade, Akira breathed in the scent of pine and damp earth, the faint promise of Hagrid's next meal drifting on the breeze. The air itself felt fresher than the year before, as if the land was slowly healing alongside its people. Students swirled around her, their chatter filling the platform. Some pointed, some whispered, others just stared with wide-eyed respect. Akira offered the polite smile she'd learned to wear through Ministry meetings and memorials, hoping that, here, she might just be a student again—well, as much as she could be, carrying both a baby and a reputation.

Her eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar pair—fiery red hair and a halo of brown curls. She found them quickly.

"Akira! You're finally here!" Ron Weasley's voice boomed across the platform, drawing even more looks. He charged toward her, nearly tripping over a trunk, and pulled her into a hug that rattled Teddy awake. Teddy's hair flashed red with surprise before settling back to blue.

"Ron, careful!" Hermione Granger's admonishment was gentle, more tired than sharp. She hung back, arms crossed, her usual spark dulled by exhaustion. Hermione managed a small, wavering smile.

Ron stepped back, sheepish, patting Akira's shoulder. "Sorry! Just glad you're back. And this little guy—he's even cuter in person." He peeked at Teddy, his expression softening.

Akira returned Ron's hug with real warmth. "Good to see you too, Ron. Still the same as always." She grinned, catching the old mischief in his eyes.

Then she turned to Hermione, her smile fading a bit. Hermione looked frazzled—hair wilder than usual, clothes thrown on in a rush, hands trembling just slightly. She stared toward the castle, avoiding Akira's gaze.

"Hermione? You alright?" Akira asked, concern threading her voice. She could sense something off, a faint discord in Hermione's magic.

Hermione glanced at her, then away. "Fine. Just tired. Too much reading. Ministry stuff's been brutal." Her answer was automatic, practiced.

Akira nodded, letting it go for now. "We're back, at least. Maybe a year of classes will be less stressful." She didn't press. Hermione would talk when she was ready—or Akira would find out in her own time.

They rode to the castle in carriages drawn by Thestrals, the skeleton horses only a few could see. As they approached, Akira felt Hogwarts' wards hum around her. The castle itself, patched and repaired, stood strong against the sky. Whole wings had been restored; if you looked close, you could spot where the new stones didn't quite match the old. The ghosts of the battle lingered, but so did the sense of starting over.

Instead of heading to the Gryffindor dorms, Akira went straight to her new suite—a private space near the Headmistress's office. McGonagall had insisted: "Miss Potter, with young Mr. Lupin's needs and your... position, we think this is best. The strongest wards we have are in place."

The rooms were more than she'd expected: a spacious living area, a nursery for Teddy, her own bedroom, and tall windows overlooking the Black Lake. House-elves had already unpacked, and a pot of her favorite tea waited by the fire. The luxury was almost uncomfortable after years of tents and uncertainty, but she accepted it. She could afford comfort now, with inheritances from Sirius, Remus, and—surprisingly—even Snape, who'd left behind more than money: a cryptic letter and notes on the war that Akira still hadn't finished reading.

Ron wandered the suite, wide-eyed. "This is wild. You've got your own common room!"

Hermione barely looked around, her eyes on her hands. "It's practical," she said softly.

Akira shrugged. "It's a lot, but McGonagall insisted. For Teddy and—well, for me." She suspected the suite was as much about keeping an eye on her as keeping her comfortable.

After a quick tour, Ron and Hermione went off to find their dorms and get ready for the Welcoming Feast. Alone, Akira tucked Teddy into his crib, casting silent, ancient wards for protection. Then she changed into her robes, the feel of Hogwarts' black fabric oddly reassuring after so much time away.

The Great Hall glittered with a starry ceiling and polished stone, every sign of battle erased. House banners hung high, and tables bustled with students—old faces and new. The returning Eighth Years had their own table, right in the middle of the hall.

Akira, Ron, and Hermione sat together, as always. Ron was already piling his plate high, while Hermione just pushed her food around, lost in thought.

Akira's eyes drifted to the Slytherin table. It was smaller now—some families had fled, others were gone. But the ones who remained stood out.

Draco Malfoy held himself with practiced indifference, but there was a haunted edge to him now. His hair was perfect, his robes immaculate, but the arrogance had faded, replaced by something rawer. He caught her eye, offering a half-hearted sneer that looked more tired than cruel.

Theodore Nott sat nearby, all sharp intelligence and cool detachment. He'd always been reserved, more a shadow than a rival, but his glance was cutting.

Blaise Zabini lounged in his seat, his easy confidence undimmed by the past year. He watched Akira with an unreadable half-smile, eyes lingering a bit too long before he leaned over to murmur something to Nott.

Across from them was Matteo Lestrange. His presence was electric—a lanky frame, bright green eyes, and an energy that crackled with suppressed anger. Akira recognized the name: Bellatrix's son. He was a year younger but had returned with the Eighth Years. His glare was unfiltered, all fury and resentment, and he didn't bother to hide it. His jaw was set, knuckles white against the table.

McGonagall's voice cut through the buzz, calling for silence. The Sorting began, first-years shuffling nervously. Akira watched with a distant amusement, remembering her own sorting what felt like a lifetime ago.

When the feast started, the Hall filled with the smells of roast and pie. Students relaxed, conversation rising. But the tension at the Slytherin table simmered, especially around Matteo.

Suddenly, Matteo shoved his bench back with a screech. "What is she even doing here?" he burst out—not quite shouting, but loud enough to echo in the hush. He jabbed a finger at Akira, his voice trembling. "She's the reason—"

He stopped, words catching in his throat. The Hall froze. Ron bristled beside her, hand moving for his wand. Hermione's grip tightened on Akira's arm.

Akira didn't flinch. She met Matteo's glare, her eyes calm and steady. The candles on the tables seemed to burn a little brighter, shadows flickering against the walls.

"Mr. Lestrange!" McGonagall's tone was sharp, slicing through the silence.

Matteo stood there, chest heaving, face blotchy with anger. Tears shone in his eyes, but he said nothing more, jaw tight with the effort of swallowing words he couldn't say.

Akira spoke quietly, her voice carrying across the Hall without effort. "I know what the war cost. But Hogwarts is a place for everyone willing to rebuild." She didn't look away, and the Hall seemed to breathe again.

Malfoy looked away. Nott watched her, expression unreadable. Zabini wore that same faint, knowing smirk. Matteo finally slumped back onto the bench, fury simmering but silent.

The moment passed, but Akira knew it wouldn't be the last.