Chapter 47: It's not what we talked about!

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𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 47: 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡!

"𝑅𝑖𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔"

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"You lot can use the secret room," James said, the corners of his mouth tugging into a sly grin that immediately put me on alert.

"A what now?" I asked, blinking at him, completely lost.

"A secret room, HEH," he laughed, clearly enjoying the look of bafflement on my face.

I folded my arms, narrowing my eyes. "Stop grinning like a Niffler who just raided Gringotts and show me, James."

Lily, already a step ahead, called from the kitchen doorway. "Come on, Y/N, this way. Bring your uncle and dad too."

I followed, casting a suspicious glance at James, who was twirling his wand between his fingers like he was about to perform a party trick. "Is it here?" I asked, stepping beside Lily near the pantry, which—aside from looking impeccably organised—didn't exactly scream 'secret room' to me.

Lily just gave me that knowing smile of hers and nodded.

Just then, James joined us, his wand now poised confidently in hand. He tapped the wall beside the spice rack twice and then gave it a little twist with the tip. With a quiet grinding noise, the stone wall groaned and slid open, revealing a narrow passage lined with warm lanterns.

"Merlin's beard," I breathed. "Blimey!"

"Careful, sweetheart," Dad said behind me, slipping a hand gently under my chin and closing my dropped jaw. "You'll catch flies like that."

"But—but—" I stammered, eyes still glued to the hidden entrance.

"No buts." James shot me a wink, already retreating towards the sitting room with Lily. "You can catch your breath in there. Talk all you like—we'll be out here. Take your time."

We stepped inside, and I felt the warmth of the room curl around me instantly. It was cozy, lived-in, but not small. In fact, it was far more spacious than expected, the kind of hidden nook one might write poetry in or plot a revolution. There were cushions strewn across the floor, shelves filled with books, and a soft humming magic in the air that made the space feel safe, almost sacred.

Before I could get my bearings, Dad pulled me into one of his signature hugs—those long, rib-crushing, never-letting-go sorts that always made me feel like a child again, safe and utterly loved.

"Dad," I mumbled against his chest, trying not to get choked up, "I'm not going anywhere, you know."

"I know," he murmured, his voice both teasing and tender, "but you'll always be my little bumblebee."

I groaned against him, pulling back just enough to glare up at him, though I couldn't quite stop my lips from twitching. "Honestly, Dad, that nickname is going to haunt me forever."

"Ahem." Uncle Albus cleared his throat pointedly, arms folded, an arched brow lifted. "Aberforth, as sweet as this reunion is, this isn't why we're here."

"Oh, lighten up, Albus," Dad replied, only half-releasing me as he turned toward his older brother. "I haven't seen her properly in months. She's my daughter. Your niece! Can't I just... I don't know, be happy she's back?"

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