𝐀𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘┊ᴴᵃʳʳʸ ᴾᵒᵗᵗᵉʳ

𝟕𝟑 ＊ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝

Note: this chapter is slightly longer with 9k+ words. Read at your own pace.
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ɢᴏғ
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ-𝟷𝟽
ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛs ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇᴅ
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*****

Dear Crystal,

How are you? We miss you a lot. We heard from Sirius that you're holed up in your room. Can you at least try to share your worries with us? We're your bestfriend and you've not replied any of the letters if you're reading them.

We know there is a lot going on with you right now but this is urgent. Prince Liam and Harry got into a fight. A BIG fight.

Harry's face is completely messed up and Madam Pomfrey is trying to restore it back. It's horrible to describe. He is in pain, but asking for you. Can you at least come and see him once? He might need to be shifted to St. Mungo's Hospital on Monday.

Come back, Crystal. He needs you. We need you.

Love,
Mione and Ron.

*****

"What..." Crystal's voice faltered as disbelief painted her face. She gripped the letter tightly, her eyes scanning its contents again, "It's Harry who beat up people not the other way around — This can't be right... But..."

The letter was written by Hermione, it was her handwriting. Her hands trembled slightly as she reread the words, her mind racing. "Uncle James and Aunt Lily were just here yesterday... Why didn’t they say anything?"

Her chest tightened, a fear clawing at her as the words sank deeper. His condition is critical. Panic prickled at the edges of her thoughts. What if he was really hurt—badly.

Her heart thudded in her ears, a rhythm of fear and growing rage. "What did that Liam even do to him?"

Heat surged through her veins, igniting a fury that made her grip the letter tighter. Her knuckles whitened as her thoughts spiraled. How dare he touch him? That prince, that conniving—

Crystal’s fist slammed onto the white table before her. The sharp sound echoed in the sterile, machine-filled space.

The room she sat in was far from the familiar magical world. It was a place of pristine white, stretching into an empty void, punctuated only by rows of humming computers and strange machinery. A lot of books scattered on table and floor and a ladder in the middle of nowhere, leading up to a rectangular opening beyond which everything was colourful.

Above her head, tiny mechanical creatures flitted about—spy drones she had crafted in her third-year summer.

Honeybees, wasps, and dragonflies made of sleek metal alloy bodies zoomed overhead, their movements guided by code running on the surrounding monitors. This was her sanctuary—a world built on innovation and precision. A vision turning into reality after years.