The days slipped by one after another.
Aside from tugging on a fresh beard whenever little Dana summoned one, he spent nearly every waking moment at Anna's side.
She slept more and more, her waking hours fading into brief, dazed intervals. Her appetite was almost gone; she ate only once a day now—barely a few crumbs of bread and a few thin slices of vegetables.
One morning, her faint voice stirred the quiet.
"Dak, I feel rather well today. Let's go for a walk."
Dana's heart sank. Although Anna looked brighter than she had in weeks, he knew this sudden vitality was the body's final flare before the end. He had seen it already—the glimpse of tomorrow that haunted him since the day before. He knew today would be her last.
"Alright," he said softly, forcing steadiness into his voice. "I'll help you up."
The Wizarding World did have its conveniences. No need for washing when a quick Cleaning Charm would do. And if brushing or styling one's hair felt too tiring, a touch of Transfiguration could restore it in seconds.
Dana raised his wand, murmured a spell, and Anna's hair regained its lustre. Her face softened, glowing faintly as it had a few years ago.
Anna studied herself in the mirror and smiled in quiet satisfaction.
"If only Dana were here…"
She paused, her eyes glimmering with nostalgia.
"That boy's been so worried about me these past two years. If he could see me like this now, he'd be delighted."
Dana looked up, taking a slow, steady breath before replying with a gentle smile.
"Yes," he whispered, "he'd be very happy indeed."
They left the house and strolled slowly through the cobbled streets of Livingston. Dana supported Anna carefully; she felt as light and fragile as a clothes hanger beneath his arm.
"Dana's always been an easy child," Anna said, her gaze wandering fondly across the familiar square. "When the other children were running about here, shouting and playing, he'd rather stay quietly by my side. I must have saved the world in a past life to be blessed with such a good boy."
Dana smiled faintly.
"I think Dana feels the same. He must have saved the world in his past life to have a mother who loves him so deeply."
Anna shook her head weakly.
"No, I wasn't a good mother. I couldn't even give him a proper childhood."
"You can't blame yourself for that," Dana replied softly. "It was the Avar Coven… and the Death Eaters."
Just then, a familiar gravelly voice interrupted.
"Ah—Mr Strange! Mrs Avery!"
They turned. Alastor Moody stepped out from a nearby clothing shop, his magical eye whirling as it fixed on them.
"Long time no see," he said, tipping his head.
Dana quickly wove a story.
"I'd moved to India for a while. But when I heard something had happened to Anna's family, I came back to check on her."
"Thanks to Mr Strange's help," Anna added with a faint smile, "I don't know what I would have done otherwise. I've been ill for some time, so I've mostly been resting at home. I just felt a little better today and wanted some fresh air."
Moody nodded, though his scarred face tightened with concern.
"Still no word about Dana, then?"
Anna froze. A sad, brittle smile crossed her lips.
"No."
She had heard rumours—how Huo Jin Riches had vanished mysteriously. And she had her suspicions why. But Moody was a good man, and she would never draw him into her troubles.
Sensing her mood sink, Dana asked softly, "Anna, are you feeling alright? We can head back if it's too much."
Anna nodded.
"Mr Moody, I'll go home now. Once I'm stronger, we'll chat again."
Moody tipped his hat.
"Take care of yourself, Mrs Avery. If you ever need help finding Dana, just say the word. I'll do all I can."
"Thank you," Anna murmured. "Goodbye, Mr Moody."
They left him and began their slow walk home. Each step seemed heavier than the last, her frail body growing weaker beneath Dana's supporting arm. His heart clenched with each faltering pace.
"Dak…" she gasped quietly, "I… I don't think… I can… walk anymore."
She tried to smile, but her strength had fled; even that gentle expression eluded her.
"It's alright," Dana whispered. "I've got you."
Her spirit dimmed rapidly; her awareness flickered like a candle in its final breaths.
"Da… na… my… Dana… Mum… misses… you…"
Dana pressed his fingertips against his temple—not to stop the tears burning his eyes, but to cast the Vanishing Charm. Any tear that fell would disappear before it could reach the ground.
With a sharp crack, he Apparated them back home. Gently, he laid Anna upon her bed, arranging her blankets as though fragile glass.
Her voice came faintly.
"Da… na… is… that… you…?"
Dana raised his wand. His adult disguise melted away, and in his place stood the seven-year-old boy she remembered.
"Mum," he whispered, voice trembling, "it's me."
Anna's trembling hand reached out, and he leaned close. Her cold fingertips traced the outline of his face—his brow, eyes, the bridge of his nose, his lips, then rested on his chin.
"It's… my… Dana…"
A tear slid from the corner of her eye.
"My… Da… na… don't… cry…"
Her fingers went slack. With a soft thud, her hand fell onto the bed.
Dana stared at her still face, his body shaking uncontrollably.
Far away, in Liverpool, a Muggle stumbled out of a red phone box, muttering under his breath.
"Bloody Henry—tricked me into buying those Ukrainian bonds, and now the lot's gone!"
He grumbled as he walked, then stopped, frowning at the sky.
"Oi, why's it raining? They said it'd be sunny all day!"
The sky was spotless—blue and clear, not a cloud in sight. Yet something wet landed on his forehead. He wiped at it irritably.
"What the hell—?"
Another drop struck his cheek, then another. He licked his lips instinctively—then spat in disgust.
"Ptooey! Ugh—it's bitter!"
They said that when people weep from deep sorrow or despair, their tears carry more salt, more bitterness.
That day, Liverpool's air was full of such tears.
Dana worked in silence for hours, crafting a coffin of pure gold. His hands moved steadily, etching rune after rune into its surface, weaving the most intricate arrays he knew.
He spared no effort, no material.
The largest Time Stone had long been taken—Merlin himself had used it as the core of a time-travelling spell. Without it, Dana could not turn back time. Yet with his own formidable skill, he could still engrave enchantments that would slow the flow of time for one chosen object to its barest crawl.
He added layer upon layer of spells—freezing, preservation, nourishment—anything that could halt decay.
Even if his mother's life had ended, he would not let her body fade.
Perhaps, someday, he would find a way to breathe life back into the still form before him. To call her soul back from Avalon.
For now, he sealed the coffin with trembling fingers, whispering softly,
"Rest, Mum."
He stood for a long time, gazing at the gleaming casket.
Seven years.
That was how long until he would return to that ancient time. Until the circle of fate would close again.
Seven years to learn, to build, to find a way.
"Mum," he murmured, voice cracking yet resolute,
"see you in seven years."
End of Chapter 157
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