Nyx and Fidell lay cuddled together in a quiet corner as Neville and I pored over a variety of Herbology books. The cat had curled up with her tail and paws tucked over her face, while Fidell, perched atop her like a small, feathered guardian, seemed wholly at ease. They were clearly unimpressed by our reading material, given the soft snores that rose from Nyx and occasionally Fidell’s watchful murmurs, though even they couldn’t break the library’s hushed silence.

  Though I understood much of death and endings, most magical effects related to cures, healing, and growth lay outside my usual expertise. After all, these arts belonged to my sister, Life, whose creations—so often enduring despite their frailties—never ceased to astound me. As the entity of Death, I never had cause to look into the finer points of medicinal potions or salves. I realized now that if Neville was to become proficient in his studies, I would need to learn alongside him. He was showing even greater proficiency than I had anticipated, but if we were to explore the depths of Herbology and the subtle workings of alchemy, we’d have to delve beyond what even Snape’s curriculum offered. This task required dedication that neither of us yet had found within ourselves.

  If Neville was to become a master of Herbology, he needed something to spark his interest—a deeper motivation. I needed to connect this knowledge to something personal for him. “Hey, Neville,” I began casually, keeping my tone light, “did you say your father gave you your toad?”

  Neville’s expression softened, though his voice grew muted. “No, my parents are dead. My great-uncle gave me Trevor.” His words carried a resignation, as if he had learned to say them by rote but never grew accustomed to them.

  Neville’s belief in his parents’ death was clear; there was no trace of doubt. I knew, of course, that his parents were technically still alive but lost to him, their minds fractured beyond what wizarding medicine could mend. His parents lived trapped in a painful stasis, a purgatorial state that was neither life nor death. I had witnessed similar tragedies over the millennia, all manifestations of my sister’s relentless experiments in the name of ‘experience.’ As Life, she made the horrors of illness and psychological pain, and yet I knew each served some purpose that she and Fate understood. I doubted she could fathom the pain these mortal conditions inflicted on minds left broken and bereft of self.

  I, however, could see potential in alchemy to restore his parents, though the mind was notoriously more fragile than any limb or organ. It was one of Life’s darker gifts, but if I could learn enough about alchemy to reverse the physical damage, I would take on the task of mending their spirits myself. Perhaps one day, Neville might even be able to see his parents whole. It was more than merely a hope—I despised illness and suffering, and these weren’t merely Life’s creations but were her machinations upon my territory. Pushing her designs beyond mortal life meant that I, too, would be motivated to make such changes. What did Fate once tell me? “Be mindful of the natural course, for fate bends and twists around a Primordial’s presence. The world itself will always seek balance.”

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  My role in Neville’s healing would not be free, though, even for me. I would need to offset the weight of lives saved with the taking of another life—a necessary balance. The fall of a Death Eater or another dark soul for each I intervened to save. For as long as I focused on defeating Voldemort, Fate would remain content to allow these small shifts.

  “Sorry to hear about your parents, Neville,” I murmured, feeling a deeper empathy than he could know.

  Neville tried to muster a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, Ben. It happened when I was young. I’ve only ever known my other relatives.”

  I nodded, steering the conversation to a safer topic. “How’s that book you’re reading?”

  “It’s fascinating!” he replied, a light returning to his eyes. “Have you heard of Gillyweed?”

  “No,” I replied with interest. “What does it do?”

  He brightened even more, excited by his discovery. “It lets you grow gills and webbing so you can breathe underwater!”

  I smiled, his enthusiasm contagious. “Could be useful if we ever need to go exploring underwater.”

  Noticing his wand on the table, I gestured towards it. “Did you inherit that wand?”

  “Yes. It was my father’s,” he answered simply.

  This explains Neville’s struggles in charms and other areas. An inherited wand, especially one that had belonged to a living ancestor, would respond poorly, blocking rather than amplifying his magical potential. What he truly needed was his own wand, crafted and bonded uniquely for him. Under other circumstances, I could have made one myself, but his unique affinity for light and life magic rendered it beyond my capabilities. My touch would leave it an unbonded relic, perhaps as cursed as the Elder Wand.

  Creating a wand for him, then, would require someone both resourceful and adept in magic. It had to be Hermione. She was the only one intelligent enough, aware of my nature, and determined enough to craft the kind of wand Neville needed.

  Though she was aware of some of my abilities, my true nature remained a closely guarded secret. However, I sensed the sands of time shifting, the inevitability of truth inching closer. My relationship with Fate, the Primordial force of destiny itself, was unusual, and they had once warned me, “Trust is best seeded early. A truth told too late is a trust betrayed.”

  The idea of revealing myself fully to Hermione was a risk I’d long weighed. Her sharp intellect would lead her to the truth soon enough, and perhaps it was best if I were the one to tell her. My sister, Life, understood more deeply the nuances of trust and loyalty that lay beneath mortal friendships, but I had learned enough from observation to know that trust must be nurtured, or it could dissolve. This would need to be shared on my terms, and soon, for I could not allow her to stumble upon my true nature without proper context.

  For now, I would enlist her help with Neville’s wand. She didn’t need to know everything just yet, but when the time was right, I knew Fate would make the path clear for this revelation. In the meantime, Hermione’s talents would serve to help me craft the tool Neville needed to fulfill his potential. For now, our shared studies in the library would keep both her curiosity and my secret safe.

  Not even a flicker of uncertainty in his expression when he thought of his parents. So Neville doesn't know that they live... As death, I'm well aware of their fate. Even I think it is beyond cruel and one of my twin's nastier inventions. Mental illness, cancer, and leprosy are all examples of her cruelty. I know that they live because they didn't die. I know of their mental illness for another reason.

  I'll have to find another way to motivate him but for now, I will have to settle for hard work on my part.

  Be aware that fate warps at the presence of a Primordial incarnation when we walk the world. Earth's fate will always try to twist things back on course." The reason I'm here at all is that everything got off course so much that fate was essentially broken without the chosen one. This is why I have to raise the others up to become heroes. So as long as I make sure the dark lord falls then everything should go back to normal. All I need to do is balance those that live and die. I will just claim the life of a death eater for every other life I save and thus balance is maintained.

  Whoever would assist me needed to be intelligent, gifted in magic, and aware of my abilities... Bloody hell, it's Hermione I need help from. I thought to myself in realization.