Location: Deep Space – Archive World Zeta-13
The Veilwraith had vanished—but the echoes of its attack lingered like a sickness.
Across the multiverse, something had begun to awaken. Hidden beneath the ruins of forgotten worlds. Buried under timelines that never were. And in the endless corridors of Archive World Zeta-13, a place even Harry feared to tread, the seeds stirred.
They weren't seeds in the usual sense.
They were memories.
Memories stripped of name, form, or context. Forgotten by their creators. Too dangerous to destroy, too cursed to remember. They had been locked here by Merlin, the Ancient One, and Charles Xavier centuries ago.
And now… the seals were weakening.
Arrival
Harry stood at the edge of Zeta-13's docking platform, flanked by Eira, Jean Grey, and Hollow. The planet rotated slowly below them, black stone and shattered glass continents suspended in frozen time.
"This place creeps me out," Hollow muttered, his voice echoing in the void. "It's like every bad dream I've ever had was born here."
"That's because they were," Jean said grimly. "This is where they lock memories before they become real."
"And now they're leaking," Harry added. "The Veilwraith didn't just attack Avalon. It woke something up."
They descended into the heart of the world.
No sun. No wind. Only silence, so thick it pulled on their thoughts.
Every corridor was carved from time-frozen starlight. Doors marked in a dozen dead languages lined the walls—each hiding a memory too dangerous to be known.
And in the center chamber… they found it.
A cracked memory-vault.
Its nameplate had been scorched away, but Harry knew its scent.
It was the memory of a forgotten child.
One he hadn't even known he'd lost.
The Forgotten Son
Inside the vault, the memory glowed like a dying flame.
It took the form of a boy—no more than ten, with raven hair, green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar that didn't quite match Harry's.
Eira gasped.
"That's—"
"Not me," Harry said quickly. "But he's tied to me. A forgotten possibility. A what if."
"What was forgotten?" Jean asked softly.
The boy opened his mouth and whispered.
"You left me behind."
A rush of sound—echoes of timelines, screams of timelines that never happened—slammed into them.
They saw a version of Harry who chose death too early. A world where Voldemort won. Another where Harry became something worse than Voldemort—the Truthless King. All woven around this forgotten child.
"He's not just a memory," Eira said, stepping forward. "He's a Seed. The Veilwraith fed on him."
And the Veilwraith had left behind… a gift.
The boy's form shifted, slowly warping into something darker—its voice now hollow and layered.
"The forgotten cannot forgive."
Containment
Harry reacted instantly.
"Jean, bind him! Hollow, disrupt the field!"
Psychic flames erupted as Jean slammed a barrier into place, but the Seed resisted. It clawed at their minds, showing them visions of failures that had never happened—deaths that felt real.
"This is how the Veilwraith spreads now," Harry realized. "Through memory. Through doubt."
The Seed screamed.
"You forgot me! And now I remember everything!"
The ground shook. Vaults down the corridor began to crack.
Each one held a different forgotten self—memories of choices not made, paths not taken. Now corrupted by the Veilwraith's touch.
"We need to purge the vault," Jean said. "All of it."
"No," Harry said, his voice steely. "We need to remember them."
"You'll go mad."
"I'm already immortal. Madness is part of the deal."
He stepped forward.
The Seed lunged at him.
And Harry embraced it.
Remembrance
Pain flooded him.
Not just physical—existential.
He lived every forgotten timeline in the span of a heartbeat.
He saw himself as a tyrant, a coward, a martyr, a god. He watched Eira die in hundreds of ways. Watched Earth burn, Asgard fall, Olympus crack. He saw versions where he never met Ron and Hermione, where he never left the cupboard under the stairs.
But through it all, he remembered something deeper.
Something the Veilwraith hadn't touched.
Hope.
And with it, he took back the Seed.
The child collapsed into his arms, now just a sleeping echo. The other vaults quieted. The corrupted memories returned to silence.
"They're not weapons," Harry whispered. "They're warnings."
"What do we do with them?" Eira asked.
"We plant them."
The Garden of Echoes
Back on Avalon, Harry created a new sanctum: the Garden of Echoes.
Here, the Seeds were kept—not as threats, but as lessons. Each memory gently integrated into the multiverse's living archive.
Revelators came here to meditate, to glimpse what might have been, and in doing so, strengthen what must be.
And beneath a silver tree at the garden's heart, the first Seed slept.
The forgotten child.
A version of Harry that would never truly exist.
But now, never again be lost.
Meanwhile…
The Veilwraith watched from the edge of time.
Its voice merged with a thousand whispers.
"So he chooses to remember…"
"Then let us give him more to remember."
In the far reaches of reality, it reached toward a broken pantheon. Toward Olympus. Toward Asgard.
Toward the forgotten gods.
And the seeds it planted there… would not sleep.