Nicolas Flamel vanished the instant he finished speaking. The ruby projecting his image cracked down the middle and crumbled to powder.
The letter, however, did not vanish.
Kevin snatched it out of the air before it could flutter away. The parchment was covered in a string of characters he had never seen before — nothing like any script he recognised — followed by a street address somewhere in Paris.
Dumbledore stepped up beside him, peering over his shoulder. "One of Nicolas's safe houses," he said quietly. "Those characters are the passphrase. They'll open the door for you." He paused. "If you ever need to find him, that's where to look."
The moment Dumbledore finished speaking, the parchment ignited between Kevin's fingers — a clean, white flame that left no ash. Gone in seconds.
But the characters were still there. Burned into his memory with perfect clarity, as though they'd always been there. He could have recited them in his sleep.
Kevin breathed out slowly and looked up at Dumbledore with a crooked grin. "Thanks, Professor. If you hadn't pulled Grandpa Nicolas out of retirement, I'd have spent the rest of my life not knowing what the bracelet actually was."
Dumbledore only patted him once on the shoulder. He said nothing. Kevin's history with the bracelet was his own to carry — not Dumbledore's place to push.
"Enough of that for now," the headmaster said, and chairs appeared from nowhere with a quiet conjuring gesture. "Sit. We have Voldemort to discuss."
They settled in.
"With him gone," Dumbledore began, his voice unhurried, "his followers have scattered. The Ministry is offering rewards to those who fought, though I'd counsel patience — they have rather a lot of mess to work through before any of that materialises."
"The Order of the Phoenix will stand down. Everyone returns to ordinary life."
Harry and the others went quiet. Understandable. The Order had been the single constant thread running through the worst years of their lives. Without the enemy that had forged it, it simply ceased to have a reason to exist.
Kevin, for his part, felt a quiet and genuine relief. No more Ron's snoring three feet from his ear.
"As for your training class —" Dumbledore glanced toward Harry — "whether it continues is your decision. I'll only say this: the person who leads a group is responsible for what that group becomes."
It was delicate, as all Dumbledore's warnings were. What he meant was obvious enough. The group had held together beautifully under the pressure of a common enemy. Without that pressure, it would find new ones — and not all of them would be Death Eaters.
"I'm out," Kevin said, raising his hand.
Harry turned to look at him. His expression shifted — relief that the group could survive, followed immediately by the sharp realisation of what had just been dropped in his lap. Traitor.
"Me too," Hermione said, beside Kevin.
Sis?
Dumbledore fixed Kevin with a look of extraordinarily patient deadpan. He had been subtle. Kevin had still managed to exit through the first available door.
The boy could have run that group beautifully. He simply chose not to.
After that, the conversation loosened into ordinary chatter — the small, welcome relief of having nothing catastrophic left to plan for. On the way out, Kevin asked about Grindelwald's current whereabouts. Dumbledore glanced at Draco. Said nothing.
Draco felt the glance land somewhere uncomfortable in his stomach.
Kevin clapped him on the shoulder. "Having a distinguished elder living in your house? Some people would call that a treasure."
Draco said nothing for a moment. Then: "…"
Far away at Malfoy Manor, Grindelwald sat in a sunlit chair with a cup of tea cooling in his hand and no particular intention of moving.
Retirement, he had decided, suited him admirably. No wonder old Nicolas had been so reluctant to give it up.
Time had a way of moving differently when there was nothing to dread. The second semester of sixth year slipped past almost before they noticed.
The wizarding world exhaled. No Dark Lord. No Death Eaters burning through the countryside. No prophecies. No saviors required.
Hogwarts soaked in the quiet.
And then, because things couldn't stay quiet forever, the term ended — and they all piled onto the train home.
"Look at this—"
Harry shoved a photo at them almost before they'd found seats. His grin was enormous.
His new house. Sirius had spent the semester break pulling it apart and putting it back together properly — looping Harry into every choice, down to the colour of the curtains. Harry had the entire top floor to himself. He'd apparently spent three weeks deciding what to do with it.
He looked like he had given himself the best present he'd ever received.
"Come stay over the holiday," he said, waving the photo like it was a winning lottery ticket. "All of you."
Ron's hand went up before Harry finished the sentence. Obviously.
Kevin and Hermione exchanged a glance. No debate required.
Draco hesitated. "I need to look in on the old man first…"
He still didn't entirely understand why Grindelwald seemed so at home in Malfoy Manor. Or why his father had apparently stopped minding.
"Don't stress about it, Draco," Kevin said, leaning over. "Worst case, I send an anonymous tip to Dumbledore — 'Did you know Grindelwald has taken up residence in a student's family home?' Two birds, one stone. Then I become headmaster and you can do whatever you like."
Draco paused. "…How exactly would I play along with that?"
Before either of them could work it out, Hermione had Kevin by the collar.
No escape.
Harry and the others had long since stopped finding their dynamic surprising. It had simply become part of the natural order of things — like Neville with his plants, or Ron with his food.
The laughter went on for most of the journey.
The bracelets on their wrists caught the afternoon light through the window. Empty shells now, both of them. Whatever magic had lived inside was gone.
But Kevin wore his without thinking about it. He suspected he always would. They had been his parents' before they were his — the only inheritance Cade and Vivienne Croft had been able to leave him. Now they were also the token he'd given Hermione, quietly, without ceremony, years ago. What was left in them was more than enough.
"Oh — Kevin," Harry said suddenly, pulling his attention back. "Professor Slughorn told me he's leaving. Said his goodbyes yesterday."
Kevin nodded. "Headmaster told me a few days ago."
"Said he couldn't stay feeling the way he does. So he's stepping down."
Slughorn had known Voldemort's secrets and kept them. When the Death Eaters closed in and everything was on the line, Harry had finally moved him — guilt had done what years of manipulation couldn't. He'd very nearly told the truth then. But Voldemort fell first, and the guilt that followed was heavier than anything that had come before. He couldn't face Hogwarts with that weight on him.
"So who's teaching Potions next year?" someone asked.
Kevin's grin turned slow and distinctly unpleasant. "Starting next year," he said, "you lot are absolutely in trouble."
Blank looks around the compartment.
Hermione pressed two fingers to her temple. "Dumbledore made him a full professor. He's teaching Potions next year. All seven years."
Silence.
Kevin held up one hand before the noise could start. "From this point forward, at Hogwarts — we're using the title. Not Kevin. Professor."
The compartment stared at him.
"…"