The heavy oak doors of the Hospital Wing had barely clicked shut behind Dumbledore and Hagrid when they burst open again.
It wasn't a polite entrance. It was a raid.
"Alister!"
Cho Chang didn't walk; she sprinted.
She didn't give him a chance to speak, to wave, or to explain.
She launched herself at the bed.
"Oof—"
Alister barely had time to brace himself before she tackled him, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.
"You idiot!" she muffled against his hospital gown, squeezing tighter. "You absolute idiot! We heard there was an explosion in the forest and then Hagrid carried you in looking like a corpse!"
Alister froze for a millisecond, his hands hovering in the air. Then, he gently wrapped his arms around her waist.
"I'm fine, Cho," he murmured, his voice deep and rumbling in his chest. "Just a little singed."
"Tweet-whoo!"
A synchronized double-whistle cut through the emotional moment.
Alister looked over Cho's shoulder. Fred and George were leaning against the doorframe, grinning like Cheshire cats.
"Look at that form," Fred commented, nudging George. "Perfect tackling technique. We should recruit her as a Beater."
"A bit aggressive for the infirmary," George agreed, shaking his head with mock solemnity. "But I suppose we can allow it. The patient seems to be enjoying the therapy."
Cho froze. The realization of what she was doing—straddling a boy in a hospital bed while hugging the life out of him in front of witnesses—hit her all at once.
She scrambled back as if Alister had suddenly turned into a cactus.
"I— I was just—" Cho stammered, straightening her robes frantically. Her face turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the Gryffindor banner. "I was checking for broken bones! That's all!"
"Of course," Alister said smoothly, leaning back against the pillows with a relaxed, amused smile. "Very thorough medical examination. I feel healed already."
Cho glared at him, though the blush didn't fade. She reached out and smacked his arm—hard.
Thud.
It sounded like she had slapped a bag of wet sand. She pulled her hand back, shaking it. "Ow! Why are you so hard?"
Alister said, covering quickly. "Body tension. Stress. You know how it is."
"Body tension?" Fred snorted, pushing off the doorframe. "Phrasing, Alister. There are children present."
"I'm not a child, I'm traumatized," George muttered, walking over to the bed. He looked at Alister with scientific curiosity. "But seriously, she's right. You look like you've been carved out of granite."
"It's just the residual magic," Alister lied smoothly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "It makes the muscles lock up. I just need to stretch."
He reached out to grab the metal railing of the hospital bed to pull himself up.
SCREEEEEEECH.
The sound was agonizing—like a fork scraping a plate, amplified by ten.
The room went dead silent.
Alister froze. In his hand, the thick, solid iron bar of the bedframe had been squeezed. It wasn't just bent; it was crushed flat in the middle, indented perfectly with the shape of his four fingers, looking like a discarded soda can. When those lightening striked the runes, it fed magic to his body too since his magic capacity can't increase, his physique got effected although not at tier 3, it's definitely close to it.
Alister stared at the mangled metal. Cho stared at the metal. The Twins stared at the metal.
"Cheap manufacturing," Alister said, keeping a straight face as he let go. The bed groaned in protest.
"That," George whispered, poking the crushed iron, "is solid wrought iron, mate. Hagrid bent one of these last year when he sat on it. You just did it with your fingers."
"Is 'Body Tension' the name of a new steroid potion?" Fred asked, eyes wide. "Because if so, the Beaters need a case of it."
"Mr. Potter!"
Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office, freezing when she saw the destruction. Her eyes bulged.
"My bed! My vintage 1890s sturdy-rest frame!" She pointed a trembling finger at the door. "Out! All of you! Before he sneezes and brings the ceiling down!"
"I'll pay for it!" Alister called out as Cho and the Twins grabbed him and dragged him toward the exit, laughing hysterically.
"You're paying for it with your soul, boy! Out!"
_______________________________________________
A week later.
Finally, the bell rang for the last time.
"Pencils down! Rolls of parchment away!" Professor McGonagall announced.
A collective groan of relief echoed through the castle. Term 2 was over. The Easter Holidays—ten glorious days of freedom—had arrived.
The corridors flooded with students rushing to the dorms to pack. The air buzzed with plans for the break—trips to France, family gatherings, or just ten days of sleeping in.
Alister stood in the courtyard, watching the chaos.
"Are you sure you have everything?" Cho asked, adjusting her scarf as the carriages rolled up to the front gates. "You didn't pack your cauldron, did you? My mum says they rattle terribly in the boot of the car."
"I'm traveling light," Alister replied, hoisting his heavy leather trunk with one hand as if it were filled with feathers.
"Come on!" Cho grabbed his free arm. "If we don't get a compartment now, we'll be stuck sitting with the other first years. And they smell like jam."
_________________________________________________
The train ride was a lesson in claustrophobia.
Alister sat by the window, his body rigid. He was trying to filter smells and identify particular ones but the process smelling hundreds of students—sweat, sugar, owl treats—was overwhelming.
"You're doing the 'Body Tension' thing again," Cho noted, poking his bicep. It was still hard as rock.
"Small space," Alister gritted out, staring at the passing countryside. "Leg cramp."
BANG.
The compartment door slid open with excessive force.
"Greetings, fellow travelers!" Fred announced, squeezing into the already full compartment.
"We come bearing gifts," George added, shimmying past Cho's knees to plonk down next to Alister. "And by gifts, we mean we stole a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from Lee while he was sleeping."
"You're terrible," Cho laughed, accepting a bean. "Ew. Soap."
"Unlucky," Fred grinned. He looked at Alister. "You look cheery, mate. Planning a murder?"
"I wish I can," Alister muttered.
"Right, right. Your secret agent stuffs again." George reached into his pocket. "Chocolate Frog?"
Alister took the package. Taking out his frustration on frogs.
The train finally hissed to a halt at Platform 9 3/4. The steam billowed out, obscuring the platform.
Alister waited for the crowd to thin before standing up. He grabbed his trunk—which weighed at least fifty pounds—and lifted it down from the rack with his pinky finger.
"Well," Cho said, standing on the platform and hugging her coat around her. "This is me."
A sleek, black car was waiting past the barrier, her parents waving from the window.
"Write to me?" she asked, looking up at him.
"I will," Alister promised.
"Happy Easter, Alister."
She ran off toward the barrier.
Alister stood alone on the platform for a moment, the steam swirling around his ankles. The noise of London filtered in from the muggle side—cars, sirens, people.
He took a deep breath. The city air tasted of diesel and iron.
"I'm here again," he whispered.
He adjusted his grip on his trunk, and walked toward the barrier.
Alister stepped through the wrought-iron barrier of Platform 9 ¾, the magical mist dissolving behind him to reveal the stark, industrial grime of Muggle London.
The noise hit him first—not overwhelming, just different. The screech of taxi brakes, the murmur of commuters, the dull roar of the city. His new senses cataloged every heartbeat within a fifty-foot radius, but he filtered it out.
He scanned the waiting crowd.
He saw "Uncle" Vernon first. The man looked like a walrus squeezed into a beige trench coat, his face purple with the effort of existing in a space he deemed. He was checking his watch furiously, looking ready to leave.
But Alister's eyes slid right past him.
Standing next to Vernon's bulk, looking like a delicate flower planted next to a boulder, was Astra.
Alister stopped.
She had grown.
In the months he had been away, she had shot up. She wasn't the tiny, malnourished shadow he had left behind in September. She looked healthier, her cheeks holding a bit more color.
And she was dressed up.
She was wearing a pale blue Sunday dress—one that looked new and well-fitted, a stark contrast to the oversized cast-offs they used before. Her hair was brushed until it shone, tied back with a matching ribbon. She stood on her tiptoes, her hands clutching the strap of a small bag, her eyes scanning the barrier with desperate intensity.
The moment Alister stepped fully into the light, her eyes locked onto him.
Her face crumpled. It wasn't sadness; it was the overwhelming relief.
"Alister!"
She broke into a run, her dress shoes clicking on the concrete.
Alister dropped his trunk.
He opened his arms, and she collided with him.
He caught her effortlessly. His arms, now hiding muscles dense enough to stop a troll, wrapped around her with infinite gentleness. He held her securely, lifting her slightly off the ground.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her small hands gripping the back of his coat so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"You are back," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You are really back"
A soft sob escaped her, vibrating against his chest.
Alister rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the scent of vanilla shampoo and home. A low, protective growl rumbled deep in his chest—as his dragon instincts flaring up.
"Of course I came back, Astra," Alister murmured, his voice deep and steady, rubbing comforting circles on her back. "I told you I would. I'm never leaving you behind."
He pulled back slightly to look at her, wiping a tear from her cheek with a thumb that could crush steel but now moved with the lightness of a feather.
"Look at you," he smiled gently, noting that she was almost up to his chest now. "You've gotten taller. And is that a new dress?"
Astra sniffed, wiping her eyes and offering a watery, proud smile. "Of course, I had to welcome my brother"
"It looks beautiful," Alister said softly.
"Boy!" Vernon's bark cut through the moment. "Are we going to stand here all day making a spectacle? The meter is running!"
Alister's expression shifted instantly. The warmth vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp look that made Vernon take an involuntary step back. The air around Alister seemed to drop ten degrees.
"We're coming," Alister said coolly.
looks like he forgot my warning and is in need for another dose.
He picked up his trunk with one hand, kept his other arm wrapped protectively around Astra's shoulders, and guided her toward the car.
"Let's go home, Astra."
______________________________________________________________
The drive back to Little Whinging was silent. Vernon didn't dare turn on the radio. He drove with white knuckles, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror at Alister.
Alister ignored him. He sat in the back seat, letting Astra lean her head on his shoulder.
He looked out the window at the passing rows of identical houses.
'I need to be out again in 3 days' Alister thought, feeling the car vibrate.
He looked down at Astra, who had fallen asleep holding his hand.
'finally, circulation method can be put on it's real use, let's start with astra.'
The car pulled into the driveway of Number 4, Privet Drive.
"We're here," Vernon grunted.
Alister woke Astra gently. They stepped out into the cool spring air.
"Alister?" Astra asked quietly as they walked to the front door. "Can you... can you do magic for me later?"
Alister smirked, his blue eyes flashing for a split second.
"Astra," he whispered, "I can do a lot more than magic now."
(END OF CHAPTER)
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