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.ACT I.
Magic is not born. It is. It is and will be and has always been. It links everything together; through blood and flesh; soils and waters; through the air and the fibres of each and every being, place, and thing on this Earth.
Magic is not good, nor is it bad. Magic exists. One could not call the sky evil or benevolent; the sole reason being that it cannot be either.
Dark magic, Light magic. Black and White. Both are equal. They balance each other and the world around them. They work together; they work against one another. They are zero and infinity, day and night. They are one and twilight.
Neither are inherently good, nor are they bad. The same way water can become flood and rain, blood and tears.
Magic is not something.
It is everything.
---In the depth of night there were cries. Loud. Wailing.A child was crying.There was nothing else in the night except for the beating of feet on a paved street, of an erratic breath, of pleas whispered to the dark sky, strangely devoid of stars.It was a dark, dark night.The house at the end of the street had half collapsed in on itself, light flickering strangely behind the glassless windows.The cries wouldn’t stop.Regulus Black stopped in front of the open door. More than open, it had been torn from its hinges, left hanging unnaturally to the side. It swung weakly as the newly November wind swept into the house, chilling the world to the bones.There was no warmth, no love in the darkness. It was more of a void, an absence of everything else. It was not the Dark that could offer comfort.Regulus stood there, observing the tragic stage that the house had become. A house he had never seen properly, not in its well-loved and lived-in state, where people who had laughed and lived together.It was chaos, pictures that had hung on the walls had fallen to the ground, cracks were splitting the wooden furniture. The couch was torn to pieces, sweet cotton clouds, stark white and pure against the madness of the scene.And there was James.Silly James Potter. Sweet and brave James, left on the staircase. His head was hanging to the side, dark brown eyes open still. He didn’t even have his wand in his hand.Regulus entered the house, for it was no longer a home, and, with his heart to his lips, made his way to the stairs.The cries had not stopped.Walking down the corridor, floor creaking ominously underneath his feet, he made his way to the nursery.This door was also broken, thrown through the windows on the other side of the room. The floors were carved from the strength of the spell.A tapestry of cracks was drawn across the walls, baby green paint split.And in the middle of it all was a child.A child, small, and weak, crying for his mother.Lily Potter, Lily Evans, lay on the floor at Regulus’ feet, in front of her child’s crib. Her hair was a halo, a ghost of the blood she should have lost in her death. Her skin seemed so pale beside it. There was nothing left of her strength, of her temper, of her intelligence.Yet her child kept crying for her.And through the desolation, the fire-like lights were still warming up the room, daunting in their liveliness. There was no one else.The room would be empty if not for the pleading of the child and the corpse of the mother.Regulus’ master was gone.He was gone and the child was not; the child meant to destroy his master; the child a Seer had announced to be his master’s equal. The child had survived and his master was no more.Regulus felt light headed for an instant, knees weak and hands shaking as he lowered his wand, his eyes settling on the child.The child who had quieted.Who was watching him intently. Whose forehead was bleeding in a slow trickle; a bolt of lightning stricken in vivid red.Regulus went to the crib; knelt before it.Green, striking green. The same green as the curse which had killed his mother, his father. Something stronger than nature. And those eyes were red with tears.The small hands of the child reached forward, eyes gazing into Regulus’.What could he do?Nothing, except reach for him back. To bend over and take the child in his arms, cradling the small, still shaking body against his chest, and rock slowly in hope to calm his beating heart.Both of their hearts really.And Regulus closed his eyes, trying to find enough peace to plan for the next step.His master had gone, but he was not dead. He could feel him in the mark scarring his forearm, in the ink linked to the magic in his skin and blood.Lord Voldemort was not done with this life.But he had not managed to end this child’s life either.Regulus would not let the opportunity slip.A thunder of steps on the floor below stroke fear into his heart, startling the child in a new fit of cries.With a movement of his wand, a charm was placed on both the child and the man. A silencing charm, a notice-me-not. Regulus stepped back into the shadows behind the drapes that were hiding part of the window.From the stairs came one Severus Snape.Barely older than Regulus, his robes a sombre black, he fell on his knees before the body of Lily, a sob escaping his thin lips.His grief felt too loud, even for Regulus who knew it like the back of his hand. He turned around, rubbing circles on the back of the child’s back, leaving the man behind him to mourn his lost love.Perhaps a few minutes, or maybe an eternity later, Severus Snape’s cries had gone quiet, the rocking of his body, his hold on Lily’s, had ceased. And all that was left was the quiet breathing of both Regulus and the child.He made his way to the centre of the room, observing the damages done.The carving in the floorboards seemed more intricate than what he first thought, a careful design set in the wood. With the carpet on the way, Regulus was unable to see most of it. It seemed to be more than solely the leftover damages of a gone-astray spell. A motor rang outside, approaching at a fast pace. A motor Regulus knew. He might not have had the occasion of hearing if often but the sound of it would always light one dark corner of his heart. And soon enough, just as he expected, Sirius Black’s motorcycle came to a screeching stop by the gate, the man himself sitting astride.Regulus looked at Harry, the quiet face of pain, trails of blood still drawn across his face. He bent down, put him back in his crib. Harry would do better with Sirius; his actual godfather, the man James had trusted till the end. He would be safer with him, Regulus supposed. After all, he himself had always felt the safest in his brother’s shadow.He kissed the dark hair of the child, closing his eyes for a second. The cries, which had calmed, started anew when, after a long breath, he rose properly. He took a step back toward the door and picked up Voldemort’s forsaken wand. He stepped back into the shadows, waiting for Sirius to barge in and take Harry away from the bodies of his parents, to peace, and quiet, and love. Maybe Remus would be there too, by the boy’s side, offering some of the level-mindness Sirius probably didn’t have even as an Auror. And Sirius did come in. His eyes were half mad already, tears clogging his eyes, stark silver in the warm light of the room. His eyes were on Harry, then on Lily. A faint sound escaped his lips, like his pain was trying to find relief but his body was too taunt to let it go. But instead of him picking the child up and offering the comfort Regulus had expected, Sirius’ eyes hardened drastically, the colour of his eyes turning iron-cold, his knuckles white around his wand. He turned his back on the room. He left. Harry was still in his crib, and the cries that had quietened by Sirius’ arrival had resumed at being abandoned once more. All Regulus could feel was a slow trickle of dread. He had gone away. And Harry was still sitting there, in pain, in fear. Perhaps Regulus could have stayed. Perhaps he could have tried to speak to his brother. Perhaps, when he would think about it later, he might realise he could have changed many things.But grief clouded judgement, both his and his brother’s, and the easiest thing to do was to leave.Regulus bent down; brought Harry back into the safety of his hold. Outside, Regulus heard the voice of his brother speaking to someone else. Angry, burning with the fire of vengeance, but nothing remotely close to the warmth of worry and care.With the child firmly in his arms, one last look across the room, a quiet goodbye to the souls of the Potters, Regulus let his feet spin, taking him far, far away.He promised himself he would look after Harry.Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, a boy of barely one year, who deserved far more than what the world had already given him.
In the wake of the thirty-first of October, the world of magical Britain was in uproar.The Dark Lord was dead. He-who-must-not-be-named was gone. Lord Voldemort had left this earth. The islands were now free of the terror he left in his tracks, his followers rounded up and arrested, stopped in their wake of fear and death. Marked Death-Eaters turned with their arms bearing the shadow of a burn, a scar forever drawn into their skin but the magic of it had stilled in it. That, more than anything, made people go out in the street to finally claim their freedom. Very few trials happened. A couple people claimed they had been under the Imperius Curse, others under strong Compulsion Spells. Those few slipped back into society with pain painting their features but relief in their mind. Relief, fear, anger. Many thought the Dark Lord dead, others believed him too strong for even death to come to his door, several people felt confusion.The Dark Lord was dead but so was the child he had come to kill.Lord Voldemort, a man who gained political favour by his dedication to the Dark Arts and who rose to power. A man who was admired for his magical prowess by many. A man who, too soon, had branched away from his original path and political ideals to more extreme rhetorics. A man whose drive had taken him toward the annihilation of any and all enemies who contested his reign. A man who had become a monster. Someone that had once been human and who pushed himself to madness; who had gone to kill a child. Lily Potter nee Evans and James Potter’s child.The young Harry Potter, barely one year old, had disappeared. There was no trace of him in the house, no body. The same way Lord Voldemort had vanished from the earth.All that was left were traces of the magical shock wave, which had swept across the room, through the walls and windows, across the street, and through the village, drawing the attention of so many.Harry Potter, the boy-who-defeated, the one-who-vanquished, conqueror-of-dark-lords. He was to be remembered in history for stopping, at the cost of his life, a man, a maniac, a monster, who had terrified the entirety of the wixen population in Britain and in many countries of the continent.Sirius Black, known friend of the Potters, was sent to Azkaban the day after his best-friend’s death. Without a trial, he was thrown into a cold, damp cell for crimes he had not committed.Peter Pettigrew fled as far as he could from London, where Sirius had tried to stop him, and, in a matter of days, found himself in the care of a young child whose parents allowed him to be kept as a pet.Remus Lupin withdrew from the wixen society in which he had grown up in fear. Although few knew, his lycanthropy had never allowed him to feel comfortable in a world so repulsed by his kind. With the sudden death of his best friend, the supposed betrayal of another, the disappearance of the last, later to be claimed dead as well, and the loss of all the other lives sacrificed in the war, he was left alone with his grief in a muggle town.Severus Snape signed a contract for Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to start teaching as soon as he received his mastery in the Arts of Potions to relieve Horace Slughorn of his duty to the school. He was scorned by many, his allegiance to be forever questioned from each side of the war, from both the light and the dark. He withdrew from each and every person he had ever deemed close, alone in his grief and loss, and in his anger toward the world.Albus Dumbledore announced to the world that Voldemort was gone. In his heart only, he allowed doubt to creep in, but to everyone else, he was the picture-perfect example of a leader who had seen his enemy vanquished. The boy, after all, had been meant to end his enemy in ways the Dark Lord knew not. It had been done. And no one else was meant to know how Magic had done it. Sirius might have told Hargid that the boy was still alive before giving in to his mad chase, but nonetheless, all that was left in the house had been corpses and emptiness. Many grieved the loss of friends, of family, at the end of one side or another. But a new generation was born in the throes of this war, in the depth of the darkest time in many memories. This new generation was Hope, the proof to the world and to Magic itself that the wixen would not be giving up on their talents any time soon. That they could stand back again and build a stronger world for their children.Narcissa Malfoy nee Black stood by a table, her eyes gazing blindly to the snarling face of her cousin, of her sister, of many others who she had once consider close, plastered on the paper. She would mourn too, somehow, in the depth of her heart where no one could see. She would mourn the young Trixie, her cackles ringing like a bell after their first swimming lessons. She would mourn young Siri, who had looked so full of hope and dread, sitting underneath the Sorting Hat. She would mourn people who had not died but had been lost to a darkness which never attracted her. Narcissa Malfoy stood by the table before turning her back to the paper and walking to the crib in which her child, so young and so frail, was lying, eyes closed and fist clenched. Perhaps many had gone, but the world would keep spinning and she intended to make it better for her child.Ian Nott stood before a coffin, his daughter-in-law, Teresa Nott nee Rosier, stood beside him. Her face was pale and her wrist thin but she held stubborn and strong the child she had bore not even a year ago. And now, she was putting her husband back into the earth, where he was to go back to the Gods that had created him. To give back the magic he had used, to feed the roots of the Tree. Very few had come to the ceremony, for many of Justus Nott’s friends had died or had been sent to prison. Her own brother Evan Rosier, had been buried not a day before. And Theodore, the child, slept quietly in his mother’s arms, unaware of the events of the previous week, the events which changed the rules of his world.Andromeda Tonks nee Black, sat on her couch, her daughter reading quietly by the fire on the other side of the room. Her husband was to come home in an hour, but for now, she allowed herself to cry silently. The war was over; the world was at peace. And so many of her friends and family had died. She could not read the papers any more; reading over and over the names of those who fell during the war. The articles about more and more people being taken to or from Azkaban, people freed from the Death Eaters’ secret holds, from manor’s dungeons and holding cells. It was terrible, and painful. To learn so much about the people who had shared the same roof for seven years at school was both frightening and terrible. But Nymphadora would grow in a peaceful world and, hopefully, would forget the horrors of the war from her youth. Pandora Vivian-Lovegood was walking across one of the corridors in the ministry. Her belly held a large bump, the proud proof of her soon-to-be daughter. She had been offered maternity-leave but had refused. Her work was too important, and she didn’t really know what else to do with herself if not work. Her mind had been hazy since the beginning of the war, the words and images around her blurring into one, fracturing into a thousand. The world was shattering, yet everything came into focus the way it was meant to. She had been trying to look past the possibilities, and focus on the final truth. For a long time she couldn’t see, blinded by the odds and probable outcomes before her eyes, future upon future of what could happen. She had seen death and havoc, fear and contempt, joy and grace, relief and tears. She could not tell which one had come true. For her child was now supposed to live in peace but the loss of her friends felt heavy in her chest.Life was not necessarily kind.
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Regulus had not known what to do with a child during the first few days.He had fled from the house, almost fleeing the country. It would have been easy. To leave everything behind, to start anew, in a place which did not understand the mark bared on his arm, or the name of the child he was currently keeping an eye on.But he couldn’t.As unfair as it felt, he had started something and he had to finish it now.Let the world mourn its saviour, let what was left mourn the youngest of Black. They both could do with the rest. But Regulus had to find peace for the child. He would offer a proper childhood to the son of Lily and James. And he would annihilate what was left of his master.The locket sat heavily in a box, warded many times over to protect it and the people around it. The foul magic emanating from it could draw the strongest mind to utter destruction.Regulus could not let that near Harry.Harry was a peaceful child. He did not scream nor shout. He cried when hungry, he cried when missing affection. He slept through his nights until he didn’t and Regulus had to learn the difficult lessons of a parent in record time. He was glad Pandora had thought of rambling about her pregnancy and the spell she’d use to take care of baby Luna.He could not help but miss her presence. A pang of loneliness and guilt went through his heart at the thought of her. Pandora.The world thought him dead. She might too. Regulus Black, dead at eighteen. None knew of the circumstances of his death. Many speculated that the Dark Lord had killed him himself, others that he had died on a mission for him, some thought he had defected and paid the price, others theorised he had tried to take the power from his master. And in between all of this, the few people who mattered were left in the dark.Often, Regulus sat by the fire, in the late hours during which Harry would sleep peacefully and the moon had just risen, and he would wonder what people, his people, thought.He didn’t have many of them anymore.Evan’s body had laid on the floor; a rag, a puppet whose string had been cut. He had looked so peaceful in death, as if asleep, finally free from the piercing eyes of his parents. Mulciber had also passed; hit in the chest by a cutting spell, slicing cleanly through robes and flesh, muscles and organs spilling on the floor in a pool of red. Barty had been sent to Azkaban, probably wishing the same freedom Evan had won in death, his last words of hate thrown at his father. Trixie had gone too, after the fit of madness that led her in the house of the Longbottoms and destroyed their minds. Andie had not spoken a word to him since graduation, not even an answer to his letters to ask after his cousin’s child whose name was still a mystery for Regulus. Cissie was probably mourning; she, too, raising a young child.Siri was to Azkaban too, which barely made any sense. But Peter was dead and revenge and grief could do things to a person that Regulus did not want to think too much about.And there was Pandora. Pandora who always knew more than what she let on, who could See things. She might know where Regulus was, or that he was alive at the very least. Or she might not. The future had been blurry, she had said, and so was the present, probably. Regulus did not understand much about the Sight. Neither did Pandora; she had admitted as much on several occasions.He was better off being thought of as dead. At least for now. Until words died down, until Harry had grown.The world could wait.
Harry was sitting in the middle of the living room, chewing on a wooden toy Regulus had magically softened and utterly unaware of what was going on around him. Couch and table were pushed against the walls of the small cottage Regulus had purchased, right after his own graduation, on the outskirts of a small town in the borders of Scotland.Lines had been carefully drawn on the floorboard with chalk, circling around Harry and Regulus in an intricate design. A lock of both of their hair rested between them, a vial of blood right beside it.Regulus felt scared. Terrified even, at what he was about to do. But both he and Harry needed it, and he thought James and Lily would understand and accept it, if they could still be there.Harry was unaware he was about to be magically adopted through a blood ritual.It was not an easy one, a bout of dark magic generally frowned upon by most in the isles of Britain.Not that the wixen population of said isles liked many things.Regulus sat down in one of the three circles he had linked by a set of runes and symbols, lines a stark white against the sombre wood. Harry lied in the other, babbling nonsense like he always did after his meal and stroll across the garden. Between them were the hair and blood.Closing his eyes, Regulus tried to draw on his magic. He needed this to work. Harry needed it.When the magic beneath his skin was thrumming, leaking into the room and the bounds of the circles, he finally dared open them again.The startling green of Harry’s own were staring intently into his, as if feeling what was about to happen.Slowly, Regulus recited the words. It was an old tradition that he had learned in a grimoire of the Black family, dating far back from the time they came to Britain. The world seemed to spin around them, magic buzzing between their own, bouncing from one core to another, mixing subtly. The vial broke, the blood spilling and pooling over the hair, covering both, mixing them.Regulus felt something hesitate within his own magic, a question.He gave a shove.He had never been more sure of anything.Harry would be his. And he would raise and protect the boy with his life; teach and give everything he had. He could never replace Lily nor James, and couldn’t offer what they both had intended to give their son. But he would teach the boy of his legacy, of the world around him and the love he deserved. He would not repeat the same mistake his parents did, he would not make Harry like him, or like Sirius. He would offer this child, the son of two people he held dear, the future he was meant to have.And when day came, he would rise and show the world that Harry Potter had grown into a fine young boy and his heritage would not be forgotten.He felt the shift. Magic came pouring from him, from Harry, from the air between them.A benediction.The demand had been heard and agreement offered.The magic settled above the hair before catching fire to the mess of blood and curls.Harry’s cries rose suddenly, his green eyes full of tears, arms stretched toward Regulus, begging.He scrambled up, going for the child, his child , and taking him up into his arms, kneeling on the floor, erasing the lines of ritual. He cradled the small body of the boy who kept on crying, emotion lashing out in the only manner he knew and holding tightly into his little fists Regulus’ shirt.Head bowed, whispering sweet reassurance, Regulus swore to himself, to the Potters and Magic itself, that he would do everything in his power to protect the child, even against evil Dark Lords ready to rise from the dead.
Regulus collapsed in his bed after a long day.Three months after the death of his parents, Harry had understood that if he wanted something enough, the thing would start flying, vaguely floating that is, in his direction. Bouts of accidental magic — it barely looked like it when Harry seemed to concentrate so much — had thrown the house into complete mayhem.His sole neighbours were sheep and an interesting old lady who lived down the road and grew more vegetables and other plants than she could use. She had taken a particular liking to Regulus and exchanged with dubious winks her food for odd jobs that Regulus could usually perform with his magic. Annabeth, for he did not know her full name, seemed to think Regulus was a lovely and brave young man who had taken upon himself to raise his child, so clearly alone and yet persevering.And obviously, she had taken a great liking to Harry and his baby cheeks. Even though Regulus had tried to keep his distance, refusing to get too close to anyone, Annabeth had simply not asked for his opinion. She had barged in his and Harry’s life with the ease of an old woman who couldn’t care less about societal expectations any more.The sole thing she had allowed for Regulus to keep was the inside of his own house, in which she never stepped a foot. But that was about it.At least Harry had company and Regulus some free time aside from his evenings.Every odd day, Anna , because Harry still stubbornly refused to properly pronounce many sounds including the th at the end of Annabeth, would come and sit in the garden and keep watch of the child.At first, Regulus had stayed by Harry’s side, terrified to his core that he would let bits of magic escape him and Annabeth would notice it and throw some sort of fit, even endanger Harry. But the woman simply kept a careful eye on the child, sitting by an old oak tree, and Harry would play with toys and plants around him on a blanket.By now, Regulus had given up on keeping a constant eye on the small demon, usually sitting on the porch where he could see everyone and catching up to some reading or research he was trying to do. He always had a charm ready to warn him if Harry was hurt or started to wander off but his eyes could shift away from him for a second without worry eating up his insides. But he did enjoy his alone time with Harry, more than he thought he would. The fear of being near children had weighed him down since childhood. Realising with dawning horror that he was meant to behave the same way his parents did and not wanting any other child, let alone his own, to suffer like he did. When Lily and James had discussed with him the idea of having a child, he had feared terribly the implication of it. By now, he knew he did not have to repeat his parents’ mistakes. But nonetheless, the fear of falling back into old habits, to continue the endless loop of abuse, had terrified him. He had had all intention of fading into the background, letting Lily and James bask the child with love and he’d just be there. Solely for the two people who wanted him by their side. But having Harry, if not for the few tantrums and long nights spent reassuring the child, it had been a delight. Harry was such a happy child, even if he had lost both of his parents. Regulus supposed it had to do with his youth and the lack of understanding of his surroundings. He did not know, he was no child-specialist. But walking across the garden with Harry, showing him flowers and bringing the petals to his curious face to smell and touch. To bring Harry in the pond behind the house, after cleaning the water, and holding him in the magically-cast waves. It was lovely. Seeing Harry’s stretched arms in his direction when he wished to be picked up, his smiles full of barely grown teeth, the small laughs, giggles really, he let out when he was picked up and bounced on Regulus’ knees. He loved to open, again and again, the same book, looking thoroughly through the colourful drawings of magical creatures of all sorts, happily humming some unknown music only he could hear. However, that’s not to say that raising a child was an easy task. It had kind of interrupted all of Regulus’ plans to destroy a Dark Lord and the bits of soul the fucker had left lying around.Regulus had fallen upon the knowledge not long after joining the rank of the Death Eaters. He had received the brand, fallen on aching knees, body twitching from the pain. What an honour that was meant to be. The delight in his cousin’s face when he had finally fallen into steps beside her, a proud member of the Inner Circle; always at the ready to fight for the cause.Regulus had never cried as much as he did that night. It had felt even worse than the night Sirius left. It was like he had betrayed everyone .But he needed to do something.And what he learned he did only in snippets, secrets caught here and there, hiding in the shadows, listening to whispered words.A single word found by mistake.It had taken months to simply find a mention of it in a book, to get through his acquaintances to test the waters and question the right people.Then the Dark Lord had started his mad chase for the Potters and Regulus had faded into the background. He needed to do something .Regulus had always been respected by most adults. He was the Black Heir, one to respect his parents, loyal to his blood and the beliefs of his House. The results of his NEWTs had opened more than one door for him, Masters coming to ask him for apprenticeship, hearing here and there of an interest he seemed to nurture.Still, the knowledge he was searching for had gotten more than one person to turn their backs or whisper with dark looks that they did not know. Others had left only ideas, hints of something to look out for.Horcrux.Dangerous bits of soul magic, frowned upon by all but the truly desperate. It was against the very law of magic. Blasphemous.Regulus had fallen sick for a day after understanding the whole situation.The Dark Lord, the man he was serving; the man his family had pledged allegiance to; the one who swore to politically aid the rights of pureblood wixens and traditions before tearing down the community to bits across the isles, plunging society in terror. This man had found a way to become eternal, immortal.So Regulus had dragged himself up, promised himself he would make it all better. He would take the Dark Lord to his death alongside the terrible knowledge of what he had done.But it had not gone the way it was meant to. He was meant to free the world from the sacrilegious existence, be it through his own death. Instead he had been unable to destroy the locket, understanding the weight that Voldemort had not created one but several Horcruxes. Instead Peter Pettigrew had come to his Dark Lord’s manor and took him to the Potter’s house. Instead Lily and James were dead, corpses laid in the earth from which they came. They were dead and Regulus still stood, unable to do the sole thing he had promised. They were dead and they died thinking him the worst kind of traitor.They were dead but Harry was still alive and Regulus could fight for him. He would.The memory of James’ warm eyes and Lily’s startled laugh made Regulus stand quite suddenly, discarding his book on the side without an afterthought. He took Harry in his arms, the grounding presence of the child settling his heavy heart.Annabeth left soon after, reading the mood with a small smile. She offered her farewell to a laughing Harry and announced her next visit for the weekend with a nod.All left to do was to go back inside.The sun which had warmed the February afternoon was close to setting, the chill of the wind sipping through Regulus’ bones.He was not very fond of the cold. Never had been. But it was even worse after his little adventure to get the locket. Cold. cold water, seeping into his airways, clogging in his throat, filling his mouth and nose, sharp nails dragging him down and down.He shook his head, unwilling to go there.Harry was okay, he laughed before the fire, playing with a couple of colourful toys. He had seemed concerned, or the equivalent for such a young child, when Regulus had held him so close, big green eyes, oh so familiar, asking if he was okay. Thankfully, Harry was a baby. A smile, the promise of a story before dinner and the warm carpet beneath him had taken all worries away from his head.Raising a child was no easy task.But Regulus would do well. For Lily and James. For his brother even if the man himself had turned his back to them both in order to find revenge. He would do well for himself too, to offer the child a better childhood than his own. And he’ll make sure Harry would be safe.Harry’s giggles on the floor before him drew a smile across his face.Yes, he’d do anything for this child.
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Dear Remus,
Remus Lupin you arse,
To Remus Lupin,
I have no idea where you are and what you are doing, aside for the fact that you are still alive.
We have rather important business to discuss,
Lily and James would want you to come,
please,
A friend of Prongs.
That was not going to go well, but it was the thirteenth draft of his letter and Regulus was ready to tear his hair out. Harry was crying in the other room; he had been for the last hour and there was nothing to make it stop. Holding him, changing him, feeding him, reading to him, just waiting by his bed. Morgana and Merlin both, even singing had done nothing!It was not the first time he had intended to contact Remus. He had already written a couple of ideas down, thinking to share the entire story through a letter, or at least to make things a little less ominous.Asking Remus to meet him in a small bar in a muggle town was, at least from Regulus’ point of view, the best idea. They had to discuss things in person. It wouldn't work otherwise.Regulus needed help with Harry, he needed to be able to rely on someone, to share the burden of raising a magical child. And Remus had as much of a claim on Harry as Regulus did. He had been James and Lily’s friend since first year, when even James and Lily did not get along until many years later. And Regulus had always liked Remus’ personality. He was the less Gryffondorish of all of them and his sarcasm had always been on point.And Remus was probably not doing well. After all, Regulus was struggling. And he had Harry.So the letter was sent along with coordinates and time to meet.Regulus waited in a small corner of the bar he had chosen, Harry left safely with dear Annabeth. She had been ecstatic to finally see the inside of the house and his bookshelves - which he had cleared of all books about magic.The woman had quite grown on him. He didn’t know much about her and her life but she had become a constant figure in his. She lived alone, a lovely house filled with dried flowers and the smell of chamomile, and liked to have Harry and Regulus for tea. She baked a lot and always sent them off with goods and pastries. And really, it was mostly for Regulus, Harry didn’t eat much but always enjoyed a small part.Reminiscing about Annabeth’s latest creation, a lovely cinnamon based batch of biscuits, Regulus was not expecting to be held at wandpoint the next second.He froze.His wand was in his hand, slipped from its holster with a flick, hidden beneath the table.“How do you know about Prongs?” came a growl.Regulus looked up, broadcasting the movement of his hand coming up the table. He saw on Remus’ face the moment of recognition. The stutter of breath, the slight flinch, the way all his energy seemed to evaporate and his body collapsed on the other side of the table, head falling between his hands. Still, the amber eyes were staring intently at Regulus, seemingly drinking up the sight of him.“I thought you were Sirius, just for a second,” he softly admitted, pain almost palpable behind his gaze. “How are you still… You are dead. They cried for you. We all did.”A sour look on his face, Regulus looked down.“If you think I’m happy about the way things ended, you’re wrong.” He signs. “But that’s not why we’re here.”“And why are we here then? You disappear for almost a year, faked your death apparently, and then what?” His voice turns bitter, his eyes shining with a newfound anger. “They’re dead, if you haven’t heard. Sirius is in prison, he sold them out. Sorry if your plan to run off together as a sweet little, traitorous , family didn’t work.” He spit the last words with so much disdain Regulus almost recoiled. But he grew up with Walburga Black as a mother, he’d seen worse.“Listen to yourself,” bitterness sipped into his voice, “you don’t make any sense. My brother would have died a thousand times for any of you if he had the chance to.”A sneer.“Then what? Remus,” he tried to soften his tone, “Tell me what you think happened.”“ He killed them , that’s what happened. He turned his back on us, probably laughing at his own ploy or something. Actually,” he added, a sick look on his face, “he did, the Aurors said he laughed when they arrested him. He killed them. All three of them. Four.” The last word was whispered softly. “Harry’s dead too. He was one .” An angry Remus was truly a sight to behold, his hands clutching around the table, knuckles white, the magical tint of his eyes glowing in the darkness of the shady bar.Regulus would have loved to hold onto his friend’s, if they still were friends, hand, try to heal themselves together instead of this verbal spare.“Harry is still alive and Sirius did not participate in any ploy. Calm yourself.”All of his anger died down at the mention of Harry.“He’s still alive?” Hope, so much of it, lighting up his entire face. “Dumbledore said he was dead. That he brought You-Know-Who down with him.”“Dumbledore is far from omnipotent. People tend to believe him like he hung the sun and the moon himself. It’s pathetic of you.”Remus frowned, but before he could let a word out, Regulus left his position against the back of his chair and drew closer, almost in Remus’ face, holding into his gaze with all his might.“ Peter was the traitor. He worked for Voldemort. He was the secret keeper. He sold you out.” He went back to rest against his chair, “Your Dumbledore must have known that. Wasn’t he the one who put the Fidelius Charm on the house? James told me before we… he told me.”He took a second to let the information seek in.After Remus’ lack of reaction, eyes glazed over, he softened his tone, tried to reach for his friend on the other side of the table. His gaze fell on their joined hands, unseeing before looking back at Regulus. “I had reasons to play dead; I hoped to get rid of Voldemort myself. I had some information from the inside. I-” His voice broke, heart heavier than ever. “I thought I could stop him. But I heard he went after James and Lily, and baby Harry and… well, when I came to the house it was already too late. They were-” He inhaled deeply, shaking his head to get rid of the morbid images. “It was only Harry. Alone. I took him with me. He’s fine. Alive and, I hope, happy? I couldn’t let him be taken by Dumbledore or someone of your crowd, it was too risky.”“James and Lily trusted Dumbledore.”“They also trusted Peter didn’t they?” He snapped, withdrawing his hand before taking a calming breath. “I know our last meeting was… shaky. But I swear I never wanted things to get that bad, or for them to…I did not want that. The least I could do was take care of Harry.”“Why are you telling me this?”Remus, still, kept his head down, staring at the clasped hands before him. Regulus sighed, drawing himself taller.“I thought you deserved to know.”“Why now?”“Honestly? I don’t think I can raise a child alone. There are… other factors that I do not find proper to discuss in such a place, but I’m willing to offer you the full story. If you want to keep being part of my life, and Harry’s.”“How can I trust you? Don’t you bear his mark?”It took a lot of Regulus’ self-control to not reach out and rub the brand.“I do. And I don’t know what to tell you. Peter did not bear the mark and yet… You’ll just have to trust the fact that I never wanted things to go this far. I didn’t even want to join him! And now Lily and James-”Emotions rising in his throat, he stopped for a second, eyes down on the dirty table before looking back up, straight at Remus. He hoped the man had a way to read his very soul and the guilt and fear written all over it.“Where are you staying?” he asked instead.“Why?”“I’ve got a house. It’s nothing fancy. Big enough for me and Harry really. But there’s spare room. I have no use for it. It’s unplottable, and there’s nothing but green hills and the odd sheep around.”“And what? You want me to stay with you?”“I adopted Harry. Lily and James wanted me to do it before we had our… falling out. You can’t take him from me but I’d feel better if I wasn’t the sole person in his life. You were there too, Uncle Moony or whatever the others wanted you to be called. I’d think he’d like that. Having someone from before with him, I mean. And we could work things out. We used to be friends. Didn’t we?”A wary sigh came out of Remus, his shoulders dropping with a bone-deep tiredness.“You can’t tell anyone,” he added with a whisper. “I swear I’ll explain everything to you but people can’t know.” He sounded every bit as desperate as he felt like.“And who would I talk to, exactly?”With the shared-knowledge of being left alone in a world they used to share with friends, a silent agreement passed between them.Things might get a little bit easier now.
At first Remus was on his guard. Understandably so.He felt uncomfortable around Regulus. He had gone through quite an ordeal and would sometimes shut himself up in his room and not reappear for an entire day, grief oh so plain on his face.He also was quite scared of the possibility of hurting Harry.It had already been a point of worry, even back in the day when James and Lily were still there, refusing to be left alone too long with the child. The fear of his monster-side rising up was something ingrained so deeply in his brain that he refused to admit anything else. Now too, he felt uncomfortable when the moon got close to being full. He didn’t want to risk Harry.Regulus supposed there was not much he could do about it. They had yet to regain their closeness from before, distrust and grief heavy between them. Yet he hoped one day to be able to talk to Remus about himself. To make him see reason. Remus had never once been violent, cold perhaps, angry certainly, but he had always made sure to distance himself from whichever situation made those feelings arise.Regulus did sit Remus down to explain a couple things. From the moment he joined, the weight of all the expectations had truly pushed him down, his mother’s words more cutting by the day. He went through his first days, trying to gain the trust of his fellow Death Eaters, doing odd jobs for the Dark Lord himself. Voldemort had always appreciated the Blacks. Bellatrix had been a talented dueller, stronger and far more cunning and capable than any other of her age; Regulus withholding a fair amount of knowledge and prowess, a trophy to show potential allies and quick on his feet. Unlike most of the crowds, he had not been thrown around for the usual missions against the Minister, the Order, or whatever town was meant to be frightened. He explained he found knowledge of the Dark Lord’s immortality, never mentioning the exact bit of magic that had been performed, how he intended to bring it all down from the inside. But then he had died; he had hidden away in hope to not bring the intention of his Lord down upon him, to search in the shadows for a way to remove the man from his godlike pedestal. He went over the scene in Godric’s Hollow where he found Harry. For a long time they left it at that. Didn’t question much more, too engrossed in their own pain and doubt, regrets and grief.After the story, things started to warm up a bit.Maybe it helped that Harry was so fond of Regulus, or maybe Remus just wanted to fall back into old habits, into the familiarity of routine, of normality.The situation shifted with the sudden visit of dear Annabeth. It had been a tense week, during which Remus had tried his hardest to ignore Regulus, but to pay attention to Harry. He had cried a terrible great amount of tears when he first saw the happy baby, giggling madly as he played with Regulus’ hair. Annabeth had not appeared once and had left the pair alone, stuck in a house with too many unsaid things left between them. It was a morning, soon after one of Remus’ shut-out days, where the silence was only broken by the crackling of the fire and Harry’s happy babblings as Regulus fed him, that Annabeth quite literally barged in with a bag seemingly twice her size and a dress so atrocious Regulus had to look away for a second. If he had not already checked for magic residue on the lady and her house, Regulus would have thought magic had timed her entrance. She came barging in, energy flowing out of her in almost tangible waves. It hit Regulus in the face so forcefully that he had to take a second to stop all movement and breathe in. “Now where is my boy?” Annabeth announced, a song in her voice. She stopped after a few steps inside once she saw Remus. The man had frozen completely, mug half raised to his lips, the shadows of his eyebags drawn starkly in the low light of morning. Annabeth was looking at him with big eyes, her perfectly drawn eyebrows up high on her face. It was honestly a bit funny. “Now, now, what do we have here,” she turned toward Regulus, frozen even through Annabeth’s accusatory tone and Harry’s rising complaints about the lack of food. “Why was I not made aware of your new resident, honey?” “Who’s that?” Remus asked. It was honestly ruder than his usual attitude but with everything going on, adding the probable lack of sleep and the full moon coming in a few days, it was understandable.“Remus, this is Annabeth,” he finally said, rising up properly from where he was bent above Harry. “She is our closest neighbour and grows her own food. She is also a very good cook. Annabeth, this is Remus. Remus will be living with me and Harry from here on.”“Well, this is very nice. I always thought you needed some company.” She turned from Regulus after that and looked at Remus with a warm smile. “Deepest apologies, the neighbourhood might not throw you a welcome party. It’s only us around here. But we make do, we make do. Now tell me, where is my boy.” She didn’t wait for an answer from Remus, the man still clearly processing everything, and instead came to Regulus’ side and picked up Harry from his seat to prop him on her hip. She stole the cup the youngest Black was holding, grabbing both food and spoon with deft hands from such an advanced age and went to sit on the couch without further invitation. Hearing Harry babbling happily to her, Remus approached Regulus with caution. Softly, he asked: “Is she a muggle?” “Yes, of course. Or do I have to remind you that the rest of the world believes me dead and rotten somewhere in the depth of this earth.” It was hard to keep the sarcasm out. “You let a muggle inside your house?” “I didn’t think that would be a problem for you.”“I’m not the Black here, Toujours Pur , wasn’t it? And I was talking about Harry’s accidental magic and the fact that your house is warded to the teeth, not some blood purist bullshit.” “This is not the time to talk about such a thing,” Regulus managed to get out, gritting his teeth. And indeed it was not. Harry was laughing giddily on Annabeth’s knees, clearly done with his food and enjoying the old woman’s company. Done with the conversation, the youngest man went to them both and sat on the armchair right beside the fire, looking fondly at the child’s antics. They did have their conversation. Late at night, just a day before the full moon— which was not the best idea as the werewolf tended to rise with Remus’ temper far more easily the closer the moon came to releasing it to the world— both Remus and Regulus sat at the kitchen table. The fire was low, embers still warming and lightning the room softly, the comfortable colours dancing onto the walls. The wind was picking up outside and snow was falling relentlessly. Harry had been quite down all day, not being able to get out of the house. To play in the blizzard was just asking for a catastrophe to happen and Regulus would not let that happen. The child was currently sleeping in his room, the door still open and a charm put around his bed to warn the two men if anything was amiss. Each had a cup of tea resting between their hands, a bit of comfort to face the conversation to come. “Come off of it, you wanted to talk, as far as I am aware there is no muggle to distract you from your words.” This Remus still never failed to shock him. It was normal, he supposed, one could not face all the pain they did without losing a part of themselves, without needing to heal and take time to get back up properly. But gone was the kind playfulness Remus tended to show, even his gentleness in the face of struggle had melted under the pain. Now he simply faced Regulus with an empty expression, tired to his bones. “There seems to be some misunderstanding between us. I’d like to clear those up.”“What misunderstanding? Other than the fact that you show up alive after all of us had time to grieve, your arm still bearing the mark of the mad-man who killed all of my closest-friends, with a supposedly dead baby in your arms. One that you stole.”“I did not steal Harry!” “You took him from his crib! Sirius could have taken him in if he really is as innocent as you claim.”“Sirius left him behind! Don’t you think I would have left Harry with him, if I could. What do I know about raising a child? I hadn’t seen him in almost a year, and I now bear the weight of his upbringing on my shoulders.”“James and Lily would have wanted Sirius to have him. What do you mean he left him behind?” It was hard not to let tears spill. “Perhaps they would have preferred Sirius to have him, in the end. But you know that they were not against the idea of me being there to raise Harry when they had him.”“Maybe. But then you fought, you left, and you died. I think that changed things.”“We might not be able to ask them, but I don’t think it changed things that much.”The silence rang for a while, Remus staring intently at Regulus but unwilling to ask the question that so clearly weighted his mind. “I adopted him. A proper adoption.”Remus’ eyes grew big. “You mean…?”“A blood adoption. The ritual worked. When I told you Lily and James wanted me to do it, I meant it. We discussed it, when Lily was pregnant. They wanted me there, with the three of them. They wanted Harry to mine as much as he were theirs. And even after all of it… It still worked. I don’t know if you understand how blood magic works but it’s always consensual. You have to ask Magic for it, and only then can it work. I was allowed to complete the ritual. That means that Lily and James still wanted me to, in the end.”He stopped for a second. Remus was looking at him like he was a ghost. He probably realised the whole story was not complete, that Lily and James had discussed things, even in the end, that they did not share with him. Blood rituals, and adoption, needed the consent of the parents. A true and profound acceptance of both the child and the other person, to allow all parties to be of the same blood, of the same family. If the Potters had had doubt, never would Regulus have been allowed to finish the ritual and have his magic joined with Harry’s. That was a simple truth. “Sirius left. I was in the room and Sirius came on his motorcycle. I hid. I don’t think I would have left the house in one piece otherwise. But I put Harry back in the crib where I took him. I was ready for Sirius, the godfather James and Lily had both chosen even in the end, the one who had been there since Harry was born. I was ready for him to take Harry and raise him himself. But when he came in he got one look at Harry… one look at him and one look at Lily before he stormed back outside. He swore to get to Peter before the arsehole could escape. But he left Harry. In his crib, crying.”Remus did not seem to know what to do with that. His eyes were looking far away in the distance, something unreadable in his gaze. “He just…left?”“Yes.” It came out as a sight, defeated and weak. “He looked at him and turned back. I think he spoke to someone outside, I was gone before I heard it all. The tall man from the Order. He was at Hogwarts too, I think; Groundskeeper, tall, beard stretching as far as his future.”“Hagrid? “ “Yes, him. He went down and talked to him. I took Harry and left. Remus. Sirius left . He probably wasn’t in his right mind, James and Lily were… but what matters is that he got himself in prison. He killed Peter and he left Harry without his godfather. I don’t know what to tell you,” He fingered the hem of his sleeve, adding softly, “I didn’t know what else to do.”Remus took his head in his hands, pain written in each and every one of his features. Regulus had never really pried in what hid between his brother and Remus. Both because he really didn’t want to question his brother’s romantic and or sexual life too much, but also because he felt like that would risk losing him for good. When Sirius had gone to Gryffindor instead of the expected Slytherin, he did not receive a warm welcome back home. Walburga had been…terrible. Violent, in both words and actions. Sirius withdrew from all that was family, including Regulus. It got worse when the youngest got into Hogwarts to be sent to the House of Snakes, driving the nail further in that Sirius was the anomaly. They got separated further by the House divide, the constant jabs at all that was green and silver from Sirius, Regulus’ friends answering in kind. Then Sirius left home, for good and forever, ignoring what was his House and blood. Including Regulus at school for several months. Even the Slytherin’s friendship with Lily Evans did not seem to ease their relationship. It might be because it was a discreet thing. Lily had become a friend through Marlene, herself a friend through Dorcas and Pandora. Regulus liked to spend time with the girls, but he was the Heir of the House of Black, he had his mother breathing down his neck, his father’s cold eyes resting on his every move. It wasn’t until Sirius’ Six Year that things got better between them. Thanks to James, Regulus got slightly more into the folds of the chaotic lives of the Marauders. Regulus would not, could not, risk their fragile peace by asking the wrong question of his brother. But still, now he could not help but wonder what sort of link Remus and Sirius had shared; how deep he had been hurt by the other man’s action. The werewolf finally seemed to come back to himself, the gold in his eyes still dimmed. But he looked up. “That’s still not what this conversation is about.”“What is it about then?” “You having a muggle home. You joined You-Know-Who; you spent your time with other people talking about how mediocre, how little Muggles are compared to you and the other purebloods. And then you let one of them barge into your house and take Harry out of your arms. You’ve always scorned people with non-magical blood. What changed?”“I’ve never scorned them. I loved Lily before I loved James and I never once thought less of you than of Peter. Until I learned he was on the Dark Lord’s side rather than yours.”“See! Dark Lord! Only the people who serve him use this name!” “I served him. I did. What do you want me to do? Do you want to carve out the skin off my arms and offer it on James and Lily’s grave? Do you want me to shed my blood at the feet of each family who lost someone? Do you want me to offer my wand to you so you can snap it before my eyes? I didn’t have a choice, Remus.”“You did! You did and Sirius did and Sirius left while you stayed behind and agreed to your parents ideas.” “Oh.” Regulus looked down at the cup, still mostly empty before him. “That’s what this is about then. About me staying there while Sirius ran and left.”Regulus did not want to talk about it. He never did, probably never would. It had easily been one of the worst moments in his life. One he still hadn’t managed to come to peace with. The Black siblings had grown up in a dark house, with dark parents. Those parents had been proud of their darkness, be it in magic or in character. The House of Black, both cousins of the other, the most pure of all purebloods. Regulus tried not to think too often of the deep inbreeding running in his family. The thing was, with Orion and Walburga Black, that they were not boys but the Heirs of the House of Black, and that meant that both children had to act a certain way. Dignified, proud, intelligent, agreeing with all that was pure and dark. Sirius had never really liked that. He had grown whispering to Regulus how a parent should act and point with his thin fingers how their parents were not like that. He raised his voice sometimes when Walburga would punish them for some faux-pas or another. He would shield Regulus with his own body, taking the punishment for him and saying, weakly but always with a smile once it was done, that he could endure anything if it meant Regulus was safe. Regulus had always hated that. He hated how Sirius would scream in pain, twitching muscles and tears of blood, but would still rise and hold Regulus through his sobs, as if it had been nothing. But then Sirius left for Hogwarts and their bubble burst. The year had been hard. Walburga was alone with her second son; the only one who could make the family proud now. That did not mean Regulus could not be punished. And as the main source of her anguish was so far from home, she took it out on the sole other viable option. When Regulus went to Hogwarts after him, it was like a chasm had been open and all the light in their lives was eaten by it; leaving the Black brothers in nothing but darkness and fright. Each action of one was compared to the other. Sirius was the shame of the family while Regulus did the House proud. Sirius could not even interact with someone his age while Regulus was capable of friendly discussions with all the right people. Sirius’ social circle put the entire family to shame; belittling all of the beliefs they claimed represented the House. Regulus was not only friends with several people of the same circle but he had attracted the eyes of teachers who could introduce him further into society. Regulus was good. Sirius was bad. And it was repeated again and again and again. Up to the point where Sirius could not even look at him in the eyes, Sirius, his safe haven, the one who always held him and told him he did good, whatever their parents said. He was the one who told Regulus Walburga and Orion never said anything but lies, he had shown him why. And then he left him alone in the house of monsters coming to eat him at night. Sirius fled. Sirius fled and Regulus had been so jealous . Because he could not do it. Whatever Sirius and the rest of his friends had thought, he could not. Because being burnt off the family tapestry meant he was cut off from the bad, yes, but also from all the good his House could provide. They were pureblood, renowned ones, with an old legacy dating back even the days of the island of Britain. Regulus needed to stay the Heir because the family could do good. And where could he go anyway? Evan and Barty were in a worse situation than him, all things considered. Pandora’s family was too strange for him to be simply allowed access to her house, and Dorcas’ would have been hunted and killed by his family if they learned about his whereabouts. Regulus was not sure he could ever raise a hand against his mother, let alone a wand. He still always felt just as frightened as the little boy he had been the first time he faced her warth alone. So Regulus had stayed and he fell into step. He followed his mother's directions, crying alone at night when he felt so ashamed of what he had become. He took the mark and joined the Dark Lord. He just did not know what else to do. Then he learned of the Dark Lord’s plan and he couldn’t leave after that. Not when he had an opportunity that nobody else had. Remus was still looking at him intently, some anger still shimmering behind the amber of his eyes. “I don’t know what Sirius told you of our childhood.”“Everything,” he said, as if all could be told in words and the truth had been bestowed upon him like some holy knowledge. “Then you should not ask me why I stayed. The choice was not a simple one.”“Yes it was, leaving or staying. You could have left.”“And gone where? Really, Remus. Do you think my friends lived much better lives than I did? That they had a lot of choice? Sirius had you, and James, and Peter for what it was worth at that time. He had Lily and Marlene and Mary. And it’s my family. I shouldn’t have to give up the legacy of it because-”“A legacy of hatred! And blood purity!” His voice flew out through the room. It rang in the quiet of the night. Then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Regulus checked on his spell on Harry, it would not do good for the child to wake as they were fighting, nor for them to put away the fight to restart at a later date. “It might have been a legacy of hatred but that’s something I could change. I was the Heir of the House of Black, and I don’t know if you understand the weight of this, but it carries a meaning. It is not only hatred, it is magic, family magic, heirlooms, powers. I could change the hatred, erase it once I was given the seat of the Head. Then I could help. I could help people like Lily, like you, like Harry. It means something to be a Black and I was ready to face my mother to keep the right I earned after so much sweat and blood. And you, Remus Lupin, have no right to tell me what I should do with my name or belittle me because I chose to stay there instead of fleeing. I’m not proud of everything I’ve done but there is more to it than the simple choice of leaving or staying.”Noone spoke for several minutes. They listened to the soft sounds of the wind howling outside, of both Remus and Regulus’ owls hunting, of Harry’s breath coming from his room. “So you don’t believe in what You-Know-Who claimed?”“I believe that we must protect our traditions against Muggle culture, I believe Muggleborns should be taught our ways, be allowed to ask questions and participate in our rituals. I believe every magical being should be treated with respect and all magic should be too. I want dark families and legacies to be protected. But I don’t want to chase muggles and Muggleborns with a knife, no. I don’t want to inspire fear and terror.”Remus nodded. It was quiet after that. He asked a couple more questions about the way Sirius had left Harry, about how the house looked when he came in. About his actions in the war. Regulus returned some of those. No hands were free of bloodstains after the war. They all had hurt and been hurt. It was unjust of Remus to judge Regulus for something they both did. They cleared the air. After that, they both went to sleep. Remus slipped into his room like a ghost, feet padding the floor softly, his head full. Regulus did the same. He closed the door behind himself and went to sit on his bed, facing Harry's crib. He stayed there for a long time, his head strangely empty. He felt drained after the whole conversation. Finally, he stood up and kissed the top of Harry’s head, where the scar ran on his eyebrow and down his nose. After that, he went to bed. Maybe James and Lily would be proud of him for finally discussing things with Remus. He’d like to think that they would.
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Harry grew up to be a very lively child. Remus and Regulus built their relationship back up, word by word and action by action. They solidified it with their shared love for the young boy Harry was easily becoming. Harry had taken a liking to calling Regulus, Papa, which had made the man in question cry for many hours the first time he heard it. He still alternated between Reggie and Papa but it always made his heart flutter whenever he heard it. And indeed, Harry was growing into his heritage. His likeness with James was always jarring. He looked so much like the young James Potter that Regulus was thankful he never got to meet the man until he was at Hogwarts. Remus liked to show the boy pictures of his father as a young wizard, a replica of the child Harry currently was. He had something of Lily’s too. It was in the eyes, the same shape, the way they closed when he laughed and shone during his temper tantrums. The colour, oh so striking once, was nothing compared to the way Harry’s small voice hitched when he laughed too much. Or the strange mannerism like how he had to rub and drum his fingers against his thumb to fidget. What had surprised Regulus was the way Harry had grown into his Black blood. Blood adoptions were a rare thing and records of it were even harder to find. Regulus had only known that he would make Harry his child by magic if the process was successful. He had not anticipated the sharp cheekbones, still looking so soft on the child, to appear as he grew older. Even his hair was less of the hopeless mop of locks with which James had always fought, but more of the gentle waves that Regulus and Sirius both bore. Admittedly Harry’s were much thicker and he had been at a complete loss as to what to do when they first started needing to brush them. Harry had never asked to get a haircut. “I like when Uncle Moony plays with it…and when Papa and I sit together to make them pretty.” There was indeed something so comforting in the ritual of brushing and styling Harry’s hair every morning after breakfast. The three of them had grown into some sort of routine. Regulus still relied a lot on the money he had taken from his vault before leaving and on dear Annabeth who was more than willing to offer them food and even wander into the village to buy them some much needed groceries. It had taken more than a year for Regulus to dare step into the village himself and face other people. But Remus had been there and Harry had been holding his hand as he watched with wonder in his eyes at the rest of the world. After seeing his reactions, Regulus had agreed to let him go around in town to socialise and acclimate himself to other people’s company. Remus was still a known and accepted member of wixen society. He was the family’s link to the outside world. He often went shopping in magical places for the sake of their little family but he had refused to try and find a job in the wixen world. He liked to keep his secret very close to his heart and the risk was too big if he kept taking leaves on the days of the full moon. It was not like things were easing for him and his kin. Since the war had ended, more regulations were put on “Dark Creatures” and “Half-breeds”. Such were the names of the people who were not solely wixen. Instead he had found a little job in a bar in a muggle town. He worked mainly at night or in the evenings but that made it all better for everyone. Regulus had not given up on his research and project. During the day he could work and Remus would look after Harry. And during the afternoons and evenings, he would break from his work and be the one to hold onto the child. It worked all very well. That was until, Harry turned four and started asking questions. Magic, for him, was normal. It was Uncle Moony preparing tea and Reggie tucking him to bed. It was the slight buzz under his skin when his skin got scratched and healed over, even when no one had seen him fall. It was the set of dancing stars across his ceiling behind the curtains Regulus had drawn to separate their room and offer the child some privacy for him to grow into himself. It was not, however, in the way Annabeth carried him in town nor in the way she carefully kneaded her dough with her wrinkled hands. She did not have the light, the slight warmth, the humming, that he and his family had. Neither did the other people in town. The nice lady in the bookshop and the cashier at the store, the person always walking their dog at the same time on Wednesday when Harry and Anna took a stroll after teatime. Some people were not like him and he didn’t understand why. “Why is Anna not like you and Moony?” He asked one night as Regulus cleaned the table with one swift sweep of his wand. That made him stop all movement. He cursed Remus for not being there for him but instead of delaying it any more, he sat down on the other side of the table and looked at harry. He sent the kettle on the fire before starting to talk. “What exactly do you mean by that?” Harry was four. His accidental magic was not common but both Remus and Regulus had realised the boy had a tendency to see good things coming his way. His good luck, always having one last cookie in the jar when the adults were all sure they were none left, finding the prettiest flower in the garden completely out of season, finding a nice coin on the street to give Anna as they walked, nearly falling on top of a really pretty rock to add to his collection. It was no accident; he straight-up pushed the magic in the right direction. Neither of the adults had much memory on how magic was meant to act with a young child still developing his core, so Regulus had all intention to test the waters and finally get some answers. “Anna…and the people in the village. They don’t have the…energy. It doesn’t move. You and Moony… it’s like a fly moving around your chest all the time, like in the summer, when they don’t get out of the house even when the window is open right beside them. But when you’re using your wand, it’s like it’s shaking and the fly found the window. But Anns’s fly…it’s like it’s dead. It doesn’t move.”That was…a strange way to word it. “You feel this “fly” in us?” This was more than strange. Feeling magic was a bit like wandless magic. Not impossible, but complicated, and usually reserved for those with years of experience behind them. Not a young child. But again, when it came to Harry it was uncharted territory. Not even, in recorded history, had someone survived the killing curse. Harry nodded. “But not in Anna.” “No, the fly is in Anna too. It’s… it’s still. It’s like with the sheep, or the flowers in the garden…But not the flowers you and Moony put in the cauldron.”“Anna has a fly. It just does seem as lively as mine or Remus’?” Once more, the boy nodded. Regulus took several seconds to think about the implication of it. Muggles were not meant to have magic. But magic was not something most people saw as tangible. So perhaps…“What you feel is called magic, Harry. That’s what Remus and I use, with our wand. We are wizards, and so are you. And Annabeth is not a witch. She’s a Muggle.”“But she has magic too.”“Yes, but not alive magic. It’s sleeping magic and she can’t use it. And it’s also not something she knows about.”“Anna doesn’t know about magic? But it’s everywhere!” “Most people don’t feel the flies. And especially not Muggles. That’s what Anna is, because she has a dormant, sleeping fly. She is a Muggle.”Harry took a second to take things in before nodding. “So the flies are a secret because they are magic and Muggles who have sleeping flies don’t know about magic.”“Exactly. Only Remus and I know about magic. And you now.”“Are we the only wizards, Reggie?”“No, not at all.” He wasn’t sure how to explain to a soon-to-be four year old the intricacies of a war and how they all came to hide from the other people with magic. Harry looked down, his fingers starting their anxious drumming. “We’re Dada and Mama wizards too?”Harry asked very rarely about his parents. Probably because he had Regulus and Remus by his side and that was normal for him. But they both refused to let the memory of Lily and James go and often spoke about them in front of their child. It had been very hard to explain who they were and why they weren’t there with them. “Yes, they both were. Your mother was a very talented witch and your father a very talented wizard.”“And are you and Moony talented too?”“Yes,” he couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips, “we also are, and so will you be when you grow up.” The conversation ended soon after, but the questions did not. Harry was very cautious around Anna now, always sending knowing looks to Regulus when she came to pick him up and zipping his lips with a serious expression on his face. But when she was gone, he would ask a lot of questions about the magical world. That’s when they decided to introduce him to it little by little, books and stories, teaching him the customs and the history of their world. They had never made it a secret but until now they never made a point to explain why they lit the Yule log or always had candles burning throughout Samhain. One night, Remus came home after an afternoon shopping in Diagon Alley and sent Harry out to gather the plants for the evening dish. He then sat Regulus down on the couch and put one of their largest cups, full of warm tea, in his hands and added in a few drops of Calming Draught. This was going to be an upsetting discussion. “You should drink it,” he said before anything else. Regulus did. Because they both had time to heal their wounds and grow back their trust. Now, they knew each other better than anyone else could. If Remus believed he needed to have some magically-induced calm, he would believe him. “Your mother died.”Yup, that would do it. The numbing charm of the potion had already spread through his limbs and the sharp clarity rose in his mind. “It was in the paper today, the House of Black dead of lineage. I don’t know if you remember her, Rita Skeeter, from school, she was above us by like, three or four years, a Ravenclaw.”Regulus nodded, “Yes, she was good friends with Bellatrix, I know exactly whom, what about her?”“She became a journalist, of sorts. She wrote the article about your family.”Today’s edition of the Prophet’s was taken out of his pocket.
Black, one of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses, falling into nothingness? The title read. Readers, you will be terribly saddened to learn that not even a week ago, Walburga Black, last of her name, died painlessly in bed after years of mourning both her husband and son who died in 1980. Widow and weeping mother, she had left society at the end of the war and the final imprisonment of her remaining blood, Sirius Black. The Old House, preeminent in Britain long before the time of even the Hogwarts founders, had always been influential and renowned. Yet, during the last war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, many of the members of the family had sided with the blood-thirtsy ideals of said Dark Lord and many found their death, or similar fates by the hands of the Light. One could wonder how this family, once so important, could have fallen so low. Where is the family going? With all of the remaining members either in prison or married into other families, the Black Family seems to be vanishing from the face of Britain.
“You need to show your face.” Remus said grimly once the paper was sent to the coffee table. “What? Are you mad?”“Come on, Reggie. It’s been years. You’re not getting anywhere with your research and everything has settled down already. You need to get back to the bigger, broader world. The Head of the Black family is dead. You’re the only Heir left. Azkaban’s magic forbids a person from having access to their family magic. Even if Sirius was still the Heir, he can’t become the new Head. It’s only you left.”Regulus tried to think about it. The potion made sure he wouldn’t panic or become erratic but feeling too calm about things never helped him. “Regulus,” Remus’ serious tone was enough to bring back some touch of feeling in his heart, “you told me that you wanted to use the Black name to do good. You can still do it. Right the wrongs, influence, be politic. Don’t tell me you changed your mind.”Regulus was sure that their relationship would survive it. If he told Remus he wanted to stay away from the world and live in peace, he would agree. But the thing was, Regulus’ mind was not changed. He still wanted to give the Black the redemption and recognition they deserved; to use the name to make the world more bearable for people like Remus and Lily, but also Harry or himself. And he couldn’t let the Dark Lord come back. He couldn’t guess how long it would take for Voldemort to come back, but ultimately, he would. Someone was doomed to stumble upon the wraith he had become, to be possessed, one of his followers capable of finding the right ritual to bring him back to something akin to life. “I didn't.” He admitted quietly. “Good.” Remus smiled and put his hand on top of Regulus’. “We’re going to bring Harry back into the world in which he belongs and you’re going to become one hell of a politician.”“What about you?”“Time I take some time for myself I think. Let you work for our bread for once. Don’t you think I could get a Mastery in Dark Arts and its Defence?”They discussed it longer, Harry had come back with his vegetables, all muddy and happy before Annabeth arrived and took him to her house for tea time when she saw the grave expression of the adults. A plan was made. The details were still blurry but Regulus Arcturus Black would come back from the dead by the end of the year, preferably sooner rather than later, after claiming the title of Head of the House of Black. Remus was also very adamant in putting Harry into a Muggle school. Regulus could not see the appeal but he had been willing to listen, not comfortable in using the words his family had long put into his mind and mouth and letting his friend explain why it would be good for Harry to socialise at his age and learn about the world from other sources than solely two people. It was not like they could let just anyone come into their house and tutor Harry everyday. They could not trust anyone this way, not when Harry was also the Boy-Who-Defeated and was thought dead. This would also make some noise when Harry would come back to the wixen world as the Survivor of the Killing Curse. So the plan was to somehow drag Harry to London after Regulus had claimed the title and had cleaned Grimmauld place thoroughly to destroy the memory of his dreadful mother and try to make it a home for the family. Then he would be going to school to learn basic maths and reading and… things that muggle children learned at school. It would teach him to socialise but also to be more open about, not only magical people from all backgrounds, but to never fall into the belief that muggles were worthless. Regulus held the belief since his youth, even if it had always been overshadowed by the beliefs his parents taught him, that Muggles couldn’t be all that worthless if they survived milenia without magic. The plan was also to reconnect with some people, either before or after coming back to society, and perhaps find a job that could give him access to some research material. If not for the Calming Draught, Regulus might have gotten anxious. As it was, he was simply dreading the moment when he’d have to explain to Harry why they had to leave poor granny Anna.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was with a heavy heart and the increasing feeling of doom that Regulus Arcturus Black entered the halls of Gringotts. He had come in the small hours of morning during which very few shops were open and even less people mingled on the paved alley. But the goblins were awake and hard at work already.For the first time, Regulus wondered if Gringotts was ever closed. That was something Remus might know. He vaguely remembered Lily teasing Remus about a phase of his youth when he studied the Goblin Nation and other non-wixen magical species with fervour. But as it was, Regulus nodded down to the guards before the huge doors and slipped into the building with quiet steps. He did not intend to get recognised today. In and out of Gringotts, a quick stop at Grimmauld to check on the house and see what work had to be done before he could go back home. He followed the hall to the end stand, on which a severe looking goblin was flipping between pages and dutifully taking notes. There was not a single other wizard in the bank.Coins were glinting under the magically-spelled fire of the chandelier and the dull scratch of quills filled the room. He bowed slightly, “Greetings, I wish to hold an heritage test and reopen several vaults.”The goblin looked up from his parchment and put down his quill with swift movement before crossing his long-fingers before him. “I will need your name as well as a verbal assertion of your consent to proceed to a blood ritual, the whole process will cost 5 galleons and can be performed in private if required.”“I will take the most private option, please. And the payment will be given either from the family vault in my possession or from my own pocket if the test is not successful.” The goblin offered a nod before climbing off his stool and marching toward one of the backdoors. “Very well, if you would follow me,” he offered. The door led to a long corridor. Several doors, dark mahogany, were outlined against the slightly sage green stone walls. The goblin opened one of them with a gesture and invited Regulus in. The room was not excessively big, a well-furnished study with a desk carved with runes, a comfortable high looking chair, and a stocked bookshelf. Regulus sat on the plush chair the goblin summoned in front of his desk as he himself slid onto his own and looked intently at his client. “My name is Regulus Arcturus Black and I consent to give my blood for a formal inheritance test done by the Gringotts bank in London.”If his name rang any bell, the goblin showed nothing and instead looked appreciably at Regulus for his tactful wording. Regulus did not doubt his name actually meant something, even for a goblin, they were very careful to follow wixen history even if they usually never took sides. At least they hadn’t for the past several centuries. A blank parchment was summoned and a bowl of granite put beside it. A small white-golden knife rested between them. Regulus was well aware of the process. He took the blade and brought it to his palm before slicing it. Drops of blood fell in the vessel and Regulus let it flow until the wound closed itself and the knife vanished. He then grabbed the bowl and put it in the centre of the parchment. The blood overflowed and spilled all over the enchanted paper before the receptacle followed the knife’s suit and vanished from the desk. Slowly, the blood drew itself into thinner lines, running across the parchment in lines until they formed a readable text. Regulus Arcturus Black
Parents:
Orion Hesper Black (father)Walburga Lucretia Black (mother)
Children:
Hari James Nalin Potter-Black
Bounds:
ቻ̷ዪ̷ጎ̷ፕ̷ዘ̷ - chosenHeirships: Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of BlackPotential Heir of the Most Noble House of Crabbe, Most Noble House of Flint, Most Noble House of MacMillan, House of BulstrodeVaults: Black Family VaultsRegulus Arcturus Black VaultJames Fleamont Aamod Potter VaultLily Lilac Evans-Potter VaultHari James Nalin Potter-Black Vault It took a few seconds to gain back his composure. There was so much to unpack there. He hadn’t even known Harry’s full name until this day. And James and Lily had still trusted him enough to keep him in their will and grant access to their vaults. Even after everything. He tried to swallow back his tears and stood up straight on his chair. “I would like to claim the Lordship of the House of Black.”He would wonder later what on earth were bounds and this strange ቻ̷ዪ̷ጎ̷ፕ̷ዘ̷ that he wasn’t even able to read. “The ring will be brought to you. Gringotts would like to know if a copy of your inheritance test can be made and kept by the bank.”“Not by the Goblin Nation?”“We don’t have much use for the names and titles of wizards as a Nation, the document will be kept strictly confidential by the bank unless directly told otherwise.”“I accept and allow Gringotts to keep a copy of my inheritance test. I’d like to visit the Black Family vault, then, once the Lordship is claimed.”“Very well.” A snap of fingers and a second copy of the parchment was made. The goblin took it and rolled it carefully before standing. “The House of Black has always been managed by a specific family in Gringotts. The current goblin from this family will be the one to receive you and discuss further details with you.”Then, without further ado, he left the room. Regulus realised as he was left alone in the study that he had not even known the name of the goblin. Less than a couple of minutes later, the door reopened to let another goblin in. He was dressed in fine clothes, even from Regulus’ eyes who had always known wealth and comfort. He looked at Regulus with a glint, clearly recognising him as the last of the Black. After all, he was his account manager. He must have worked with his mother and father before, and his grandfather and all the previous Heads of his family. Goblins were known to live much longer than any wixen could hope to accomplish, even magically. This particular globin must have known generations of the Blacks, and both of their families had worked with each other since the creation of Gringotts. And yet, he had no idea until this day that this very goblin or his family existed. “I am Starklax, Lord Black. I have been consulting your family since Lord Arcturus Black III. My family and yours have been working together since the first vaults were made on those soils and the first contracts were signed between your kind and ours.”“I deeply apologise, but I believe my family has long since lost the pride they once took to working alongside yours. I fear the proper ways were not taught to me and that our common history has been erased from our library. I hope to be able to make both of our ancestors proud by strengthening the link between us and building back what was lost.”It was a bold move. History had taught Regulus that wixen and goblins did not get along well, mainly due to the self-entitlement the former believed in. The constant putting down of any other being as smaller and lesser than them always ruining what could have been fruitful relationships. But, he was honest when he said he wanted to build a better relationship between them. Once he was back in society, only the gods and magic know how few allies Regulus would have. To count Gringotts as a neutral party, if not an ally, could be a priceless advantage on not only Regulus’ but also Harry’s side. “I indeed believe that the former heads of the House I had to work with were less than pleasant. However, you have not grieved me and therefore none of their past actions will be held against you, unless proven otherwise. I also believe there are more important businesses for you to attend on this day. Perhaps we could come back to it later. Now, Lord Black, my colleague has announced you wished to visit your vault. Is there anything else?”“If possible I would also like to access the will of one James Fleamont Aamod Potter and one Lily Lilac Potter nee Evans. And I’d like to discuss the properties under the Black name and the potential need of one of the talented Curse Breakers you employ.”Starklax looked at him for an instant before nodding. “Of course. The will will need to be read before you receive a copy, but it can be arranged within the week. As for the Curse Breaker, you shall employ Gringotts to assign them, you cannot employ an employee of the bank, their contact won’t allow it.”“I’m sorry, what do you mean the will shall be read? Has it not been after the death of the two writers?”“No, it was not. After the death of Lily and James Potter, no one came to ask for the will and therefore it was not read. Gringotts keeps wixen affairs a private matter and does not interfere with them.”Regulus sat there for an instant. He couldn’t believe no one had gone to hear the last words of James and Lily. He supposed that the matter of Harry’s living situation was not questioned. It was also true, after reflection, that the people the will would mention might already be dead, and therefore unable to hear anything. “I-, then I shall pay for the reading of James and Lily’s will, and for what it’s worth, I fully intended to employ Gringotts to evaluate which Curse Breaker would fit the best for the situation.”“Very well, then,” Starklax put a small box on the table. It was kingwood, deep red and ancient. The armouries of the Black family had been carved and later filled with something akin to onyx, as if the rock had been melted into the carvings. It shone coldly in the light. It felt almost alive, pulsing and breathing, calling onto Regulus with fervour. Not a word was spoken but another ritual blade was given to him and he pressed the sharp metal to his finger. A single tear of blood fell on the crow, leaking into the wood and something shifted within Regulus’ magic. He had been accepted. The knife put down, he brought his already healed hand to the box and opened it with one swift movement. Inside was a sombre, velvety handkerchief marked once more with the crow and the stylised B of the family; on it rested the Lordship ring of the family. Regulus picked it up and looked at Starklax. The goblin himself was looking at him expectantly. The ring was a fine silver ring, the coat of arms displayed proudly on top of it, ready to sign official business and imbued with the family magic to its very core. On the inside was drawn the motto of the family in copper. “Toujours Pur”, cold and important, ready to hug the finger of its bearer. “It was Goblin-made, wasn’t it?”“Indeed.”Regulus tried very hard to bring back dormant memories of History of Magic classes, the soothing voice of the ghost professor like a lullaby in his ears. But from what he could remember, ownership had always been a complicated topic between wixen and goblins. The rightful owner of the ring was its maker, not the person who bought it. Not the Black family, but whichever goblin his family had chosen to forge it. “Which goblin made it?”“She is long dead, but she was my great-grandmother.”“Does your family still own it or, as the maker passed, has the ownership become void?”“It still belongs in some part to my family, the Sharphook family. But it also does to yours.”“What shall be asked of me to use it for my lifetime?”“I am not the Head of my own family. But I am sure your request will be well received and a price not too arduous to pay.” Regulus simply nodded before slipping the ring on his finger. It felt like a hug. Like the ones Sirius would offer him in the depth of the night as his mother finally went out of the room, fuming but less prone to violence as both of her sons laid on the floor shaking. It was reassuring and warm. Something only offered in time of darkness, something that meant even more than light. His family magic was there and ready to listen. After waiting for a few moments for Regulus to regain composure Starklax Sharphook stood up and went for the door. “If you would follow me, I will take you to your vault.”Regulus followed suit and crossed door after door to sit in the small railway car which would take them both into the bowels of the earth. Here, the walls were blunt, marks of excavating struck into the cold stone. The air was slightly damp and frigid. He casted a Warming Charm on his clothes before stepping on the wagon and sitting beside the goblin. “An owl will be sent to you later today to organise the reading, further visits should be appointed by mail unless there is an emergency.”Their little travel took some time, dragging them down the sinuous tunnels and vast caves further down. Regulus had known that the Black family was old but only realised how old as they steadily approached the deepest level of the bank. He gratefully put his feet back on the ground with a sigh and straightened his robes. The air was strangely dry here, still cold. It held something ancient, something worth revering, almost profound. The walls were of a strange purplish stone. The mining had left strange lines of white pulsing through it and runes of all sorts had been carved alongside small logographs that Regulus did not recognise. Gems of a deep red shone around them, lighting the way to the vaults. Regulus had visited Gringotts before. A vault already existed, one of his very own, to his name. But that one was in the above levels, nothing like the place he now walked. “Are those the deepest vaults?”“They would be yes. The Black family is actually one of our oldest. Your family allied themselves with our nation long before we even properly settled into a single power. The Blacks struck a deal with one of our earliest princes, who was an ally to the very first King. Our kind has always been known to favour and protect the riches of all sorts. We have been keeping an eye on your wealth before Gringotts was created. It is actually because your family and several others of your time demanded goods to be kept hidden and protected that the vaults were carved from the belly of the earth and Gringotts was later built on top of them.”“Was the Black family the first to strike a deal with your kind?”“You were not. Another, more ancient family had, in a few other countries. But the Black vault was the first made on this site. I could still not count it as the oldest. Old magic links our oldest vault on the continent to a door on this very corridor. Now, Lord Black, the door shall open for you and the ring you bear.”They stopped before a door, the corridor stretched farther in the depth but Regulus could not see much more. It was startlingly dark. The door to his vault seemed like just another wall. There was a golden plaque underneath the high ceiling. It bore the name of his family and a rune Regulus was deeply accustomed to. It was the ancient coat of arms of the family, the earliest rendition of them, before the crow came to replace it. It was a ᛇ , a Eihwaz , meaning linked to death. As in,to understand oneself and the world, to an act of transition, to the very life cycle. In old times it represented the tree of life, Yggdrasil, and the Black had taken the rune as a translation of their name. As Regulus approached, the lines of pulsing light within the walls drew themselves into the shape of an actual door. High double panels littered with runes and symbols. Another step pushed magic into the stone and the wall opened into a large room. It was chaos. He was sure it was somewhat organised but century upon century of wealth and goods had been stored away between the magically warded walls. It felt like the wind during a storm, a tornado of movement, of sensation, hitting Regulus directly. His whole body felt alight, from the tips of his fingers spreading to his very core. Suddenly, Harry’s idea of the flies for magic did not seem as strange to Regulus as it first did. Everything was breathing, buzzing; erratic sweeps of condensed magic left unattended for Merlin knew how long. Some of the magic was downright foul . And, as Regulus entered the room, he made sure to give a wide berth to the corner which held the foulest spells. There were so many things to see, but he had a few particular things in mind when he came and he intended to get it out of the way quickly. He went straight for the bookshelves at the back of the vault. Thousands of books which had been waiting for another pair of eyes to read them for centuries. So many tomes on forgotten magic and rituals. On Olde Magick, and ancestral traditions. But there would be time for it later. And Regulus was certain to find more material to study the dark magick of one Dark Lord between the pages of those centuries-old grimoires. But he instead went for one of the oldest books, hoping to find accounts of the first Blacks and their traditions. He also grabbed a folder on a desk by the door which listed all the objects and goods stored within the vault. The last thing he took was a pensieve. When all was shrunk and well stored in Regulus’ pocket, he joined Starklax who had waited by the door and followed back to the trailway. The next stop was Reglus’ own personal vault and he didn’t linger long. He had business to do and he didn’t have much time before crowds would start to come in. He took a small journal he had stored a few years back and added it in his pocket before leaving. On the way back up, he turned to Starklax and said “I will pour over my accounts and find a way to make the old gold flow once more.” “I will make sure to read over your plan and advise you then.”“Thank you.”Belongings in his pocket and plans forming in his head, he followed Starklax back to the great halls on the surface, breathing with relief the crisp air of the morning. He was about to leave the place and go back to the comfort of home when the goblin stopped him.“Lord Black, one last detail. For the matter of your child, shall he be the following Heir of the House?”“He shall, yes. If he is not already by direct blood link.”“I look forward to meeting him then.”“Thank you, Starklax, may your gold flow and your riches grow.”“And may your enemy perish by the blade of Revenge.”Soon after, Regulus was apparating home.Regulus was staring blankly at his notebook, the heavy yet familiar weight of dread and guilt resting above his heart. This particular journal was a decade old, stained by ink, tears, and blood. It had survived a friendship and a death, many hours of potion class and early morning study sessions with more than one spill of tea. Pandora owned the other half of it. At least, she did unless she had gotten rid of it after the announcement of his death. They had charmed it in their first year with the intention that the notes written on one would show on the other’s. It was a crafty bit of magic and Regulus had had to go and ask Bellatrix for several references on how to proceed. It had resulted in everything that happened to one happening to the other. It had been quite the discovery the day Regulus took a bludger to the face in practice and blood and slipped into his bag and on the book. Pandora had almost hexed him to next sunday in her worry but had settled for a mean punch on his arm while Madam Pomfrey was putting his nose back in place. And now Regulus sat at the dinner table, his fingers worrying his dark locks as he wondered what exactly he should write. It was the dead of the night, Remus had already come home and gone to sleep and Harry had long since fallen in the arms of Morpheus. And Regulus was left staring at the blank pages of his book, wondering if Pandora would ever look at the notebook and whatever lines he’d pour over them. He looked at the last lines of text that were left in Pandora’s thin scribbles.
I don’t know what happened to you but you better come back to me.
Luna is born, finally. She’d like to meet her godfather. We will be waiting for you.
It took more than a little bit of strength to grab his quill and dip it in the ink. Pandora knew something, even if she might not know what. She’d still be absolutely mad to learn he had been alive and relatively well for all this time without even trying to contact her.
Hello Panda, please don’t kill me, it would be a waste of both our precious time.
I apologise for not contacting you earlier, things have been complicated and I hope for you to forgive me enough to allow me some time to explain the details of the past few years.
I am well, and even if the past is still there to haunt me, I have not given up. The last few years have given me much to fight for and I have no intention of leaving it all behind.
I have claimed the Lordship to my House and intend on rejoining society. I believed I at least owed you some warning, even if you aren’t willing to hear more from me.
I have a thousand words to say to you, most of them being apologies, but if I have to shorten it I’d like for you to know that I miss you terribly and wish we could speak once more.
He wanted to say so much more. To pour his heart on the paper. To finally share some of the pain still clinging to his soul. He had never allowed himself to voice all of his pain and regrets toward Lily and James into the ears of Remus; for his pain was just as great as his own. It wasn’t fair for any of them but they were only Men and even they could not do everything. But Pandora had always had a knack for people and understanding them. She often had the tendency to look for the good in people, not to the point of blind faith, but sometimes close enough to wonder if she preferred to ignore some signs rather than accepting the truth. It never failed to make Regulus laugh in disbelief to see her and her constant cynicism toward humankind in general meeting her profound desire to see people do good simply because they could. She, if she chose to let Regulus back in her life, would perhaps manage to drag him out of the depth he was slowly crawling out of for the sake of Harry and put him on his feet once more. He resisted the desire to write more and pushed the notebook farther down the table. Nothing good would come out of him spending the rest of his night checking over it for an answer. He did not even know if he could expect one. Instead he grabbed the old diary from the vault and poured a bit of his magic inside it. There was a lock on it. Old, made of some alloy imbued so deeply with family magic that no one but a Black could open it. There were some other spells on it, some even Regulus and his fascinated interest in strange crafts could not recognise. There was an ancient ever-expanding charm woven on the leather covers, and something that felt like a classification spell with a touch of something else that Regulus could not decipher. He opened it with careful fingers, touching reverently the old material that bounded the volume. He’d rather not think what or whose skin had been used to make it but it had crossed the ages and deserved some respect.He added his own name in a careful script, the family magic purring happily in his chest and around the finger which bore the ring. It felt like coming home, finally, after a long day away. He was accepted. The first few pages were names, not all readable, marked in blood in the parchment. On the first one were only first names followed by the rune of the Old Black, then came more and more with the name of Blakkr and then slowly, the name of Black. The last name was not his mother’s nor his father but his great-great-grandfather Phineas Negulus Black. Before him several other generations had skipped the addition to their name. The degradation of the Black family’s beliefs and respect had diminished through the century. The first page read : ðri−meolce duguð eodor orgilde sweartung bûtan æled âræfnan . Regulus sighed. He had not come to the realisation that his House was far older than the language he spoke. He decided to move to the armchair by the fireplace and curled up on the well-used velvet pillows. He cast a small globe of light and went on to translate the texts. It was an arduous task, most of the spell he wished to use falling gracefully off the paper. Still, he tried, and at some point, one of them managed to translate the Old English into something vaguely understandable. The first writer was Hadewidis ᛇ, one of the first Black who settled on the island. Her family was already magical back on the mainland, an old family of somewhat nobility. Her first words were May the house of darkness and fire live forever. May it be known to be strong and proud. May Magic gift us its blessing and its children their love. She narrated her youth and the travels it took for her to cross the sea and settle on the new land. She married a hnot êadiglic gên rest lufu or a nâ warian which took a while to Regulus to understand. It meant someone loved but not blessed, someone with no hold, or not held. She had married a muggle. Regulus had grown into a family who pushed blood purity to its extreme. He was himself the fruit of the marriage of two cousins. He knew that. But it opened something in him to read his very first ancestor as someone who married into the muggle word without shame. Lily would have loved to learn more about the world of this time. He always believed the family motto held too much over their head, Toujours Pur. It meant nothing in particular. Purity was a vague concept and, as he discovered as he read further down the pages, the idea of blood purity did not exist back then. But he had not realised how far the idea had taken them. Their first ancestor would have been burnt off the tapestry had she been alive now. Her magic was far more wild. The use of wands and spells was not something that had reached the north of Europe back then and she told in her tales of wide runic circles and songs followed in the moonlight. When Voldemort had risen from the darkness he came from, rallied friends and followers for his cause, he had claimed he wished to protect the Olde Ways. He wanted the traditions to be respected and the festivals to be celebrated, all kinds of magic to be performed and the magical world protected from the madness of the muggles. But the oldest of ways were clear, the muggles were not to be killed and enslaved, the magic was to be wild and loved. Regulus realised that, even if he had grown and allowed his eyes to see the world, he still had much to learn. And their current world had too.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“
At a time where the Moths were already flying but had yet to find their light, the Fishes already swimming to protect and the Twin Flames showing the way, Seven enjoined.
“The Eye, the King, the Weevil, the Griffin, the Basilisk, the Phoenix, and the Ramidreju.
“At a time where great sorrows were left behind and greater ones showing in the horizons, the Seven spoke of chances and agreed. In the depth of the Isle, hidden in the far away land where the salt of the sea could not reach, the Seven decided to build.
“The Eye brought the protection.
“The King brought the peace.
“The Weevil brought the power.
“The Griffin brought the light.
“The Basilisk brought the darkness.
“The Phoenix brought the time.
“The Ramidreju brought the space.
“A sanctuary, by their hands, was then created.
“As their world began to burn, dangers creeping closer, fights brought to their doors, no harm could be found within the haven. Halls were open, magic strung and sung. Knowledge, a powerful weapon, was given.
“Four were designated to stay. Ramidreju, Phoenix, Basilisk, and Griffin were linked; their House now Home.
“The children of the House of Black found refuge in those winding corridors, saw the risen floors and enchanted rooms built with the Ancient skills gifted by those long since forgotten. Long should the legend of the Seven live, longer even should the Four be respected, their gifts to be cherished.
“Words, by the Weevil, were spoken, tales of dim futures, forever to come, of brighter times always following. The Four’s legacy is meant to give the magic what it needs to survive. When hard times rise, their Halls shall be a safe Harbor in the stormy seas.
“The Eye closed, and the King passed his crown.
“The Weevil got lost in the woods.
“But whether the Four are still to be as the Ramidreju, the Phoenix, the Basilisk, and the Griffin or as others, regards to the future shall always be found in those halls.
“Well, wasn’t that a clear tale. Thank you so much dear ancestor for speaking plainly and giving me more work.” Regulus closed the diary he had taken from the vault, which he had found out had been used by several generations. This entry was from sometime around the 900s to 1000s and more questions than answers arose from it. Some curiosity danced in his mind but the shadow of fatigue was too dense to give into it. Instead, he bent down, kissing Harry’s scarred forehead, tucking the child properly in his colourful sheets before raising to leave. “Good night,
mon coeur.
”
Annabeth was out with Harry, his squeals of joy still ringing in the spring air when he heard they would be going into town to find ingredients for a new cookie recipe.
Remus and Regulus were sitting on the couch. There was no need for a Calming Draught, but the discussion was still not easy to have.
Tears had fallen when Remus had learnt that no one had read their friend’s will.
They were now organising several events, including the reading, but also Regulus’ work in Grimmauld, and Harry going to school next autumn.
They had yet to announce the news to Harry, but they preferred to ease him into the situation after everything was ready. Not into the chaos that it currently was. Harry loved to ask questions but he would not receive many answers in the actual state of things.
Remus was writing to Gringotts to organise the opening of a new vault while Regulus read through the stack of property under his name.
“I was just wondering,” he said out loud, brows furrowed; finally voicing something that had been bugging him since his visit to Gringotts.
“Hum?” Remus hummed, clearly distracted.
“If their will was left unread after the war, what else was rushed through or…well, badly done?”
“What do you mean?” He finally looked up from his paper and cocked his head a bit. He was wearing one of his jumpers, holes torn and repatched several times but still worn and loved.
“The end of the war was a right mess. I wasn’t very up to date about the day-to-day events, but between the elections, and the trials, and the Minister’s obvious desire to sweep it all under the rug and forget about it, there must have been some mishaps.”
Remus was nodding along, a thoughtful look and eyes far away, “Well—”
Regulus stopped listening the second he felt a faint feeling brushing against his very core.
He straightened suddenly, startling Remus in the process and spilling ink on the carpet.
Remus asked him what was wrong but he did not listen and instead went for the bookshelf by the door. The feeling was terribly odd, but it was like a signal.
He needed to check his notebook.
The leather-bound volume slipped into his fingers with ease and the pages flew to the message he had left the night previous.
Before you start panicking, you absolute twat, the magical calling you mostly likely felt was added by me not long after your sudden disappearance in case you tried to contact me. The magic in the book is linked to our own and calls the other once something has been written down.
Now, the more serious business.
You will meet me at my home at the Rook Chess Piece by Ottery St Catchpole in Devon in three days for lunch. If you fail to join me and my family for proper greetings, do not expect to hear from me again. I know you are free.
Remus was hovering near with anxiety pouring straight out of him.
“What is it? Are you alright.”
“If I die in three days, blame Pandora,” was all he said before he showed his friend the message he received.
He quickly read it before nodding.
“So she decided to talk to you. That’s good. We will need allies.”
“That we will. But don’t worry, I’ll deal with society. You work for your mastery. Contact the teacher we had in your third year and ask him. He works in the States now, but he always wanted a student and was very sad when I refused his offer. Show him your N.E.W.T grade and you’ll be fine.”
“Don’t you want help preparing for Pandora’s questions? Are you going to tell her everything?”
“If you think I have a choice, you’re wrong. There’s no use anticipating and calculating the odds of everything going smoothly. You don’t know her well, but the odds tend to shift or even lose balance in impromptu jokes of fate when she is around. I’ll just write my will and pray for the best.”
“That’s not particularly funny.”
“No, it’s not. But between her and Harry’s reaction to us leaving, I actually might need it.”
Three days later, before the steps of Rook Chess Piece, Regulus stood dressed in a loose set of dark robes, a knitted jumper he had stolen from Remus, and a stained pair of trousers that he hadn’t had time to clean. Harry had decided to throw a tantrum this morning about his food and, as much as Regulus would have liked to help him feel heard, he had to leave the job to dear old Remus. Instead, he found himself in a lovely garden full of wild flowers and fairies, —which was already strange, as most of them tended to run from wixen on sight—raising his wand to clean the fabric when a small mass of blond curls barreled into him.
Anxiety did not even have time to make its way up his spine before he had to stop himself from falling backward, holding tightly into the small child, for it was one, to avoid all injury.
Balanced once more, he let go of the small shoulders and looked down at the girl, bewildered. She had the most striking blue eyes and hair just as clear and thin as her mother.
She was breathtaking.
“Mommy said you are Reggie, and Reggie is my double father. Second father. Something father. She said that the nargles would warn me when you’d arrive, and they did.”
“And you,” he said, as he crouched down to look at her wholly, “are Luna, my goddaughter.” She was dressed in the yellowest thighs and purplest dress he had ever seen, a necklace of daisies woven around her neck. Her hands were stained with mud, but she carefully held in one of her hands a pale rock.
“God Father, God Mother. God Daughter, God Son. Why is the god alone and not with its family?”
“That is an excellent question Luna, one we should perhaps discuss after lunch.”
The voice was like a blow in the chest.
Regulus looked up to see Pandora, tall and thin like she had been the last time they saw each other. Her hair was twisted and held with her wand, her hands stained with ink and small scribbles climbed up her arms in a mirriad of scripts.
She was looking down at him with her unreadable gaze, the one she often used when he was talking nonsense about subjects he didn’t know much about but she wasn’t willing to fight over it.
It took everything in him to not run straight into her arms.
He did not deserve it. Not yet.
Instead, he rose to his feet, hands still at the ready to catch Luna if she managed to fall over something or another. He straightened his robes and played nervously with his ring.
She wore a green skirt, patched up in places and knitted plaid added to it, threads hanging tastefully around her brown shirt, white petals lost in the strands of her silver hair.
“Pandora.”
“Regulus.”
They stood looking at each other for a moment.
The world was clear, the air warm and buzzing with life. Magic was pouring from every inch of the soil he stood on. The grass was green and the sky blue. And he missed her terribly.
“Panda.” He added, softly.
Her appearance seemed to melt and she opened her arms. He rushed into them, so grateful to finally be able to hold her once more in his arms. Losing her had felt like losing a limb. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her close, the sweet smell of apples clinging to her curls.
“Oh, Reggie. It’s alright now.”
It took a moment but they finally let go of each other.
Luna was looking at them with big eyes before grabbing into both of their shirts. “We have to go see Daddy too, now,” she announced while dragging them toward the door.
“Yes, we have a lot to talk about.” Pandora took his hand and squeezed once before following her daughter inside.
With one big breath, Regulus followed.
“So you’ve adopted Harry Potter.”
It wasn’t much of a question, more of a statement. She was sitting in the living room, curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea between her hands. Regulus was in a similar position, his feet tucked under her legs for warmth as they used to do in school.
Lunch had gone nicely. Regulus had finally made proper acquaintances with Xenophilius Lovegood. The man had been a few years above them at school, and Pandora had shown interest in him very late in their school days when he had already graduated. They had met one summer through some bizarre research camp and had kept their relationship rather private. Still, he was not as odd as Regulus remembered. He had this strange manner about him, an eerie sort of feeling that reflected nicely on Pandora’s own unusual habits. He was a magical researcher particularly fond of enigmatic creatures. He even published his own magazine about his discoveries. Regulus was not sure about it, but he promised to subscribe and offer honest reviews. After all, Newt Scammander himself had not been appreciated in his time during the first steps of his journey, who was Regulus to interfere with things he did not understand?
Now, Luna and Xenophilius had gone out shopping and had left the two old friends to catch up.
“I did,” he answered. “The fact that he is alive doesn’t seem to surprise you.”
“It doesn’t. I knew he did not die. But I was unaware of his whereabouts and hoped for the best. For the first couple years I honestly believed your Lord had taken him and they were both still alive. But
He
isn’t, not…alive.”
“But not dead either.”
“No, not dead.”
Regulus nodded. He knew as much but to hear it from someone else, someone as reliable as Pandora, it felt terribly uncomfortable.
“Care to share what you’ve become, aside from the proud mother of a delightful young girl.”
“No, I will not share.”
I stung a bit, but he could understand. He thought they had patched things over and were working on building back their trust. Apparently he still had a way to go. It was fine. He would take what she was willing to give.
“I mean that I cannot speak of it. It’s in the job requirements. And in the title.”
“You are an Unspeakable?”
A mischievous grin stretched across her face.
How he had missed the twinkle in her eye!
“That I am. What else were you expecting.”
“I have absolutely no claim on what anyone would have done after school. Let alone you. You’ve always been unpredictable.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed easily.
“Lily was working on a Charm Mastery and had all intention to try for a Potions one after.” He admitted quietly.
Pandora and Lily had been close friends back in the day, before the war. They even dated for a few months in fourth year. But with the war, the Potters went into hiding and then died… she might not have known.
Pandora nodded, thoughtful. “She would have done a wonderful job. She had a knack for both. I believe Harry will have similar talents, if he tries.” She had this air of Magic speaking quietly in her ear, silent words for her only to hear.
“Would you like to meet him?”
“Of course.”
“He already knows a lot about you. You might not be his godmother but we raised him as if you would be. Alice would appreciate it, I think…”
James had chosen Sirius and Lily, Alice. They had asked Regulus who he would choose as a godparent, long long ago when they were still discussing Lily’s potential pregnancy and the impact it would have on all of their lives. He had offered Pandora because no one else would do the job like her, not even Dorcas or Evan. But then Harry was born and Regulus wasn’t there. Alice passed and news of her son being raised by the Dowager Lady Longbottom reached Remus. Even if, in his adoption, Regulus had not added Pandora as his chosen godparent, he still told tales of the wonderful person she was to Harry as he grew. Godparenting was nothing short of an official ritual, a purposeful show to Magic itself and it required the presence of the parent, the godparent and the child —born or not— all together. It had not been doable until this very day.
“Does he know who he is? What he represents?”
“He is not even four yet, I don’t think he knows that “Harry” isn’t his whole name, let alone that he is famously known to have defeated a Dark Lord the night his parents died trying to protect him!” The anger had bubbled up suddenly, catching him by surprise.
It did not seem to phase Pandora though.
“Not all of his parents,” she reminded kindly, putting down her cup and grabbing into his hand.
He took a deep breath and nodded once, his head falling back on the arm of the sofa.
“Do you think they would be proud of me?” He asked quietly, to the ceiling.
He did not allow himself to waver, about anything. There was too much at risk, so many things weighing down on his shoulders. But here, the familiar scent of his friend by his side, the warmth of the tea in his hand and the sheer relief he felt at being allowed to be here… he felt like he could crack. Just a little bit.
He was always so afraid for Harry. Not only for his safety, and health, and the general aspect of having to raise a child. But because the shadows of his own parents were always looming over his shoulder. The reactions they would have and the words they would use in certain situations catching in the back of his throat. It would not even need to be violent, a simple silencing charm to quiet a tense night of Harry crying. Regulus had spent entire nights pleading behind his locked door to be let out, his voice breaking from tears and screams. He would not let that happen to Harry. His own demons had no hold over Harry’s childhood.
But he sometimes worried. Because he was meant to be there for Lily and James, not do it for them. He did not know what their intentions for their child had been, if they had planned on homeschooling, or joining a muggle school like Lily had done. If they had wanted to organise playdates with other children, allow certain people into their lives.
Hell, Lily had told Regulus one night that she would like to contact Snape again to see if he’d like to mend their broken bond and heal his own trauma by helping her child or something. There had been a few drinks involved and the memory was a bit fuzzy.
“Of course they would be.” Pandora shifted and went to drape herself on his stretched legs, dragging him into a hug. “They loved you, and they loved Harry. You love Harry. That’s all they wanted. I know your parents were awful, but I also know you. You’ll do just fine, and, wherever they are now, they feel nothing but pride for you and your son.” She planted a firm kiss on Regulus’ forehead. “Now tell me what this is with Remus? Did he ditch one Black brother for the other?”
Regulus scoffed. Of course she would go there to diffuse the situation. Sirius had always been a sore subject, but they’ve always managed to move past it.
“I was actually the one to reach out to him. Raising a child alone was… hard.”
“Still seems to be,” she laughed lightly before brushing her finger to the stain on his trousers.
Shit, he had forgotten to clean it.
“It is. But for your information, Remus is a dear friend whom I cherish, but my heart still belongs to them.”
“I figured,” she said, in the crook of his neck. “You know, if you ever settle again, I’m sure they would be happy for you. They probably wouldn’t like seeing you hold yourself back for their memory alone.”
“They’re far more than that, but I know. I still don’t think I’ll ever find something like that again. They were my people, I won’t find them again. And I’m fine as it is. Though, if I ever went after someone again, it
would not
be Remus.”
“Whyever not? He looked good enough in school, I’m sure he is fine.”
“Oh, he is more than fine. But so are you. Doesn’t mean I’d shag you.”
She went to clunch her chest and fell back on the couch with flair. “You wound me.”
“I do not believe you would be a very good match,” a voice suddenly said.
Regulus startled so bad he spilled half of his cup on Pandora’s skirts.
“Shit, sorry,” he said as he vanished the mess.
“And why would that be?” Pandora asked her husband. He stood by the door with the vague shadow of a smile. “Regulus and I are proper soulmates, I’ll have you know.”
“Words uttered under the lightless moon can have grave consequences, dearest.” Xenophilius said. There was something grave in his tone, but his eyes looked far too cheerful.
“You would be right. And the moon frogs will keep them from spreading. No, indeed. Is everything alright?”
“Luna is back to her room. And you have a guest.”
“I am well aware.”
“Another one. At the door, on the other side of it.” The man said before moving inside the room. “You should go see him.” He kissed the top of her head and went to kiss Regulus’ too before leaving the room to go upstairs.
Regulus sat there, bewildered after the interaction. He was half certain the couple was messing with him, just for the sake of it, but he had heard Pandora talking nonsense before: she just never had someone who answered in kind.
The lady of the house stood from the couch, leaving her friend in his haze of mild concern for her husband’s sanity, to open the door to an agitated man.
He was tall, his hair like fire and his clothes not unlike Remus’. Well worn and well loved. A bright green tie had once been properly secured around his neck, but it now hung strangely open, like he had been worrying it constantly and had not cared to tie it back once more.
He turned toward Pandora as she opened the door, his deep blue eyes settling on her like she brought safety with her sole presence.
Regulus knew the feeling well.
“Hi, Pandora. I’m terribly sorry; I need assistance. It’s the twins, you see, I think they’ve caught something, but, well… Molly and I have never quite managed all those diagnostic spells. You know that her subject was more in charms and I— anyway. We think it might be dragon-pox.”
Regulus straightened back at that. So did Pandora.
She looked at Regulus with a frown and then back at the man before her.
“Of course Arthur, let me gather my satchel.”
She went back inside and caught Regulus by his wrist, all the while freeing her hair from the wand holding it and waving it around silently.
“You will go back to Harry and kiss him goodnight for me. You will tell him I shall come in three days to meet him. I will write to you. I will come to Lily and James’ reading. In two weeks the paper will announce your statute as, well, Lord Black, and the fact that you are alive. Make sure to secure the arrangement for Grimmauld before then.”
She did not let him say one more word before she kissed his forehead and stormed out of the room with a mess of herbs and glassware floating behind her.
Regulus found out that the man at the door had been Arthur Weasley, father of 7 children, married to Molly Weasley nee Prewett, and that none of his children had, in fact, had dragon-pox. Two of them, twins named after some old monarch Regulus remembered, had indeed started puffing smoke and coughing sparks, to their mother and siblings’ worry. Arthur, who was a ministry employee, had been called back from work due to his children’s health state. But when Pandora had arrived, she had nothing but a laugh, and she told the story in great detail to a vaguely amused Regulus. He probably would have enjoyed it more if the joke hadn’t made him come to the realisation that there were things he could not protect Harry from.
Apparently the devil twins, nicknamed by their parents, already had two older brothers at school, and one of them was terribly interested in dragons. Some research later and they had discovered the existence of dragon-pox and managed to get their brother to send them some potion ingredients meant to control fire. They then mixed the ingredients with existing wixen-candy, which made the eater copy the sounds of one animal or another, and they somehow, to Regulus’ bafflement, managed to create something that copied the spitting of fire from a live dragon.
If the prospect of Harry starting to joke around this way hadn’t absolutely horrified Regulus, he would have been astonished by the cleverness of the two 7 year old children.
As it was, he simply sat by Pandora’s side as they both waited in one of Gringotts’ rooms for the reading to begin, wondering with terror what he would have done in that situation. He didn’t think he was ready for Harry to learn about his father’s heritage as a prankster.
Pandora had come to meet Harry the previous day. It had been lovely.
She had brought papers and all sorts of colour-changing crayons she had designed for Luna and had spent most of the day drawing with Harry and chatting. Harry was never one to sit still, he liked to run around and play chase, to roll on the carpet while Regulus read for him or to sit on Remus’ lap and draw on the man’s scars with an array of colours. —Regulus couldn’t recall any other occurrence when Remus had cried as much as the first time Harry traced the scar on his own face before the one on Remus’ and had announced “Pretty”— But Pandora had lay on the floor, her voice soothing as she told Harry about the magical world and many stories of Hogwarts.
Harry had been so happy when she left and had spent the evening asking questions about dragons and secret passages in a giant castle.
For the reading, Regulus had chosen to leave Harry to Annabeth.
He wasn’t sure he could handle Harry’s questioning following the announcements held in the will. Plus, there were outside people invited to the ordeal, and, even if Regulus was ready to step back into wixen society, he wished for Harry to know peace a bit longer. He would have his grand comeback, one day. Lily and James had wanted him to go to Hogwarts, he was certain of it. He could not escape his fame. But Regulus would prefer for him to know why he was famous, even if he did not understand it. How do you even tell a child that his parents died to protect him from a madman and that he, as a one year old, survived the curse meant to kill and somehow killed the caster instead. It didn’t even make sense to Regulus.
A list of people had been given to Regulus, those meant to hear the will. More than half of them were dead. He had spent a day pouring over the names and preparing invitations.
Peter Pettigrew, dead. Marlene McKinnon, dead. Dorcas Meadow, dead. Mary McDonald, unheard of since the end of the war. Sirius Black, locked up in Azkaban. Frank and Alice Longbottom, both cast away in St-Mungo. In their stead came Frank’s mother, Augusta Longbottom. Severus Snape was invited but never answered the owls sent to him. Albus Dumbledore excused himself with the reminder that his duty to Hogwarts was too important for him to take a leave. Minerva McGonagall, on the other end, had agreed to come.
And Remus, Regulus, and Pandora were there too.
His presence had startled more than one person. Lady Longbottom stood in the door, staring with fire in her eyes, her gaze settling on Regulus’ form as he spoke to the goblin who would speak today. He was apparently the official accountant for the Potter family and had thanked Regulus for starting the procedure to see the last wishes of the family be respected. She had stayed on the doorway for a long time, looking at Regulus like a ghost, or a wraith perhaps, ready to attack her at any given point. Neither of them had forgotten that it was Trixie, his very cousin, and several of his friends who went to her son’s house and tortured them to madness.
It took Remus to come and talk to her for her to move again. He brought her to a chair and started talking softly, most likely explaining some of the things she had not been aware of. Mainly Regulus’ involvement in Lily and James’ lifes.
The whole mess started again when Professor McGonagall entered the room, last of the five people who had agreed to come, and simply stayed there.
Something had broken in Regulus’ chest when he saw the strong and proud witch stand, unmoved. She had always been a good professor, Sirius and James’ favourite, never unkind but never involved either. She had seen many people die, he supposed, students she had seen grown, now corpses beneath all of their feet, only their memories left to mourn. Regulus had been one of those. And he had come back.
She almost stumbled inside the room, coming for Regulus who now stood by the chair he would soon sit in.
“Mr. Black,” she said softly, almost as if talking too loud would spook him, and he’d be running out of the doors before she could say another word.
“It is Lord Black, now, professor.” Pandora quipped in, popping out of nowhere.
“Or just Regulus, you’ve known me for too long for anything else, Professor,” he said.
“Then call me Minerva, you too Miss Vivian.”
“Pandora,” she only said.
The old woman nodded, her eyes still tracking Regulus’ features.
“I’m terribly sorry, but how come you… well, I’m sorry to say this but you were believed dead.”
“Still am, at least for the next hour before rumour of Regulus Black being seen alive spreads. I did not die, I had to leave and it was better if the Dark Lord did not track me down.”
McGonagall— Minerva, bristled slightly at the title. “But he has been dead for years, now.”
“And still, everything was too fresh for me to come back. I hope you will one day understand, but my reasons must not be shared yet.”
Surely, when Harry would come back to the land of the living, she would understand. He had heard the rumours of her own nieces and nephews being sent to Ilvermorny to school, back in the day when Grindelwald rose and Dumbledore, whom she worked with, attracted too much attention.
“Certainly, I shall not ask further questions.” They fell silent for a moment before a look around the room brought her attention back to him. “Is this all?”
“Not many people could be in attendance. Though, even if we are small in numbers, we shall remember Lily and James the way they deserve.”
She grimly nodded before going to sit by Lady Longbottom’s side.
Soon after, the goblin went to sit on the other side of his desk and Regulus and Pandora joined the trio on the chairs.
“We will proceed in the reading of the will of one Lily Lilac Potter nee Evans and James Fleamont Aamod Potter. It is a joint will, written and recorded on the 26th of October.”
Wixen had a special spell, created some two centuries or so ago, to record themselves and hold a memory into paper, not unlike the work of pensieve. It was rarely used, the parchment containing the words needing to be tampered with several magics and spells. It was scarcely used and rather hard to pull off, but it did not surprise Regulus one bit that Lily had managed to do it and had wanted to. It was popular solely due to the emotional value of it.
It barely took any time, and suddenly there they were. Lily and James. Lively and warm, nothing like the cold bodies they were last time Regulus had seen them. Their torsos floated above the goblin’s desk, as if sitting behind it. James' glasses were reflecting lights that were not here and there were odd shapes in the background as if the spell had tried to record more. If Regulus really tried, he could see the ghost of Godric Hollows, as the place was meant to be, rather than the rag it was after the Dark Lord’s passage. He wondered if it was as warm and loving as the people who had lived in it.
Lily had a smile on her face, her hair tied in the braid she had started to favour when the war began. James had a small cut across his cheek but he looked right at them, completely unbothered.
“Okay, so, we’re recording this both on paper and by this, huh, charm? I don’t know, but you’ll see us. Lily wants us to update our wills. We’re currently in hiding from Morldevort.” Lily went to slap him on the arm and took over.
Regulus already had tears in his eyes. He had not heard their voices for so long.
“I, Lily Lilac Potter nee Evans,” She sat up straighter.
“And I, James Fleamont Aamod Potter,” He pushed back his glasses and let the smile drop a little.
“Declare to be sound of mind. We hereby claim this to be our will and revoke any other previously made.” Their voices rang in unison.
Then James began, his eyes scanning downward on something that was no longer before him. A strand of hair fell before his eyes. “All expenses for the reading of this will and our burial are to be covered by the Potter vaults and dealt with by our accountant manager, Griphook. The vault under Fleamont Archibald Potter is to stay open, and our gold to keep flowing in from the several investments and companies opened by my family, also dealt with by our account manager, Griphook. All remaining vaults, aside from the one of Hari James Nalin Potter, shall be frozen until his coming of age.
“If we are both to pass before the end of this war, be it known that we were hiding from You-Know-Who under a Fidelius Charm cast by Albus Dumbledore, and whose secret keeper was Peter Pettigrew. We agreed that Sirius would be too much of an obvious choice. Let it also be known that both are unregistered animagus, I am a stag, Peter is a rat, and Sirius a dog. We agreed to share this knowledge if one of us were to die. If we are to pass and Harry survives us, please let him survive us.” He shook his head and muttered the end of the sentence before looking back up. His eyes went straight for Regulus, his shadowy form serious before breaking into the smallest of smiles. “If Harry is to survive us, we appoint Regulus Black as his guardian. If he is not capable, then Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, should be his new guardian,” James continued. “And hopefully Remus, Peter, and Mary would be there to take care of him,” he added, losing much of his seriousness as he mentioned his friends
“If Sirius Black is unwilling or unable to take this role, then Alice Longbottom, nee Drake, as Harry’s godmother, is to take Harry in,” Lily followed. She looked graver, her hands fidgeting and pulling at the skin around the nails. She had dark shadows under her eyes but everytime her eyes settled on James, she seemed to catch herself and calm down a little.
“I know the fucker is not dead so Regulus will do it,” James interjected.
“Please, keep it to what we wrote.” She slapped his shoulder with no strength before tapping on the invisible parchment. “That’s not how it’s written in the Will,” she said, looking up to the audience, “but yes, Regulus, if we have passed and you survived us, do as we planned, please. And do not let Harry be sent to my sister, Petunia Dursley nee Evans.”
“To Sirius Black we give Dorea Potter nee Black’s engagement ring, you’re part of the family, Padfoot. And you don’t need any more money.”
“To Remus Lupin,” Lily said with a soft smile, “we give the Second-Fruit Cottage on the coast, 2,000 galleons and the second shelf in James Potter’s vault, about the Dark Arts and the Defense they require. If I remember correctly, you said you could go for a Mastery. So… go and live, Rems, just like we talked about.”
“To Peter Pettigrew,” James picked up while frowning at the paper, “if we die in our home, you’ll have to deal with the authorities, and then… Godric that’s grim I don’t like thinking about it, why would we die here?”
“Focus, please, it’s just caution.”
“Yeah, sorry, if we die in Godric Hollows, then you don’t get anything, deal with Harry’s guardian if you’ve found innocent. Anyway, if we are to die outside of Godric’s Hollow, you are to discuss with Griphook the vault we opened for you. Sorry, buddy, but Lily doesn’t think we’ll die for you to hear this anyway, no use in fretting. It’s just… caution, as Lily said? I don’t know; she tricked me into it.”
“I did. II frankly don’t think this will be of any use but as of today, the only person who can reveal our position is Peter, if the charm fails and someone manages to get him to speak, if he slips up or whatnot, then we only have caution on our side. The details shall be discussed with the Goblin Nation and Griphook. He will know what to do.” She shook her head. “If Peter is to pass and doesn’t survive us, the vault under the name of Wormtail shall go to Harry’s current guardian.
“To Mary MacDonald,” Lily kept on, her face growing warmer and happier, “I give you 5th Runner Street in Cokeworth, my childhood home, so you can bring your siblings on vacations away from the chaos of London, as well as all of my muggle books on the third shelf of James Potter’s vault.” She grabbed the corner of the parchment, the object flickering in and out of existence before the audience. “I’ll give it to you when everything is over, anyway. I can’t wait to see you become the doctor you wanted to be.
“To Alice Longbottom nee Drake, Godmother of Harry,” Lily went on, “we give you 2,000 galleons and 20% of the share of Potter’s Sleakeasy and Co. Perhaps get Frank to use it. His hair is almost as bad as James’,” she looked up affectionately at her husband, then, reaching up to tuck the fallen strand back into the mess of curls. In the room, Augusta Longbottom broke into sobs.
“And to Neville Longbottom, my sweet, sweet godson, I give you all of my textbooks from Hogwarts, except the potion ones, some things are best kept for others. I left notes in the margins that I would have given to my own son but I fear I will worry about you just as much. Don’t listen to Alice for anything she has to say in Herbology and in Transfiguration, I’ll be around to show you anyway.” She shook her head, looking back and forth between her notes and the charm. She shuffled the parchment around “Whatever you do, I’m proud of you.
“To Severus Snape,” a frown fluttered on James’ face but he did not interrupt his wife, simply raising a hand to rub her shoulder while she read. This time, her face was looking straight down to the papers. “I give you my potion notebooks. I know we did not part on good terms, but I think our ideas should be spread, at the very least, for other potionists if I am unable to do it myself.” Her voice got soft by the end, and Regulus could feel the sadness she bore deep in his heart.
James picked up the parchment from Lily’s hand after that, keeping an arm around her. He wasn’t terribly serious but he had not regained the easy smile that defined him so well. “To Minverva McGonagall, Minnie, I give you my own Transfiguration notebooks, not because I was a genius with marvellous ideas, unlike some of us,” he sent a smirk to his wife but she was looking absentmindedly forward, “but because I used it to keep most of our pranks plans and I think you deserve to know the extent of our genius. I also give Minerva McGonagall the volume named Potter’s secrets and crafts in my vault, as well as a Sanskrit dictionary. You'll be pleased to discover another side of transfiguration magic, I am sure. Thanks for being the best teacher, Professor.
“To Regulus Black,” this time, Lily looked up, “we give a punch in the nose, a kiss, and all of what is left of our residences, except the Potter’s family manor. He is also to have access to my own and Lily’s vault. We’ve also left a trust fund vault for Harry, which, as his guardian, you’ll have access to. We wish for Harry to go to Hogwarts and his tuition is already paid but, and I know you’re loaded, don’t hesitate to use any of it for his school stuff. And a good broom. That’s mandatory, though I don’t think I need to convince you.” He added with a smile.
“Please, let our son discover his own hobbies, would you James?” Lily intervened.
“Tell that to Sirius, he said he’d get him a broom as soon as he can stand on his own.” At Lily’s bewildered face, James let out a warm laugh before kissing the corner of her lips. “There is a letter left for you in our vault, Reggie. Be safe, please.”
Lily grabbed James’ hand before speaking again. “And to Harry, my angel, we give you all of our love. We give you the Potter family manor as well as all our remaining earthly possessions that were not claimed by the previous receivers of the will or not cited. If we are not here, know that we love you. Ask Reggie for help in class, Moony too. Peter is great for household spells and Charms, but do not listen to anything he has to say about anything else. He also gives terrible love advice, so ignore that. If you do not find back the cloak James lended Dumbledore, demand it, it is a family heirloom. Be proud of who you are. We left memories for the pensieve in James vault and letters for everyone in my own.”
“We love you son.” James’ voice wavered. “And we’re gonna feel so silly for doing this when we’ll have to redo another will when we’re old and not actually 20 year-old. You’re already looking up from your cot, staring at us like you’re saying ‘You both look so stupid right now’. You couldn’t be more right.”
“Perhaps, but better safe than sorry, now let me finish. The written will is less chaotic than our little commentary here. Thank you, Griphook, for managing our accounts and please, leave the current goblin-made artefacts in our vaults until Harry is old enough to rebuy them, or at least keep notes on how to buy them back if you are to give them to their makers after our death.”
“If I, James Fleamont Aamod Potter, am to die, but my wife, Lily Lilac Potter nee Evans survives me, all my earthly positions, accounts and vaults are to be given to her, passed under her name. She will as she pleases with it.” He kissed the top of her head.
“And I, Lily Lilac Potter nee Evans, if I am to die but my husband James Fleamont Aamod Potter survives me, all of my earthly positions, accounts, and vaults are to be transferred to his name. He will do what is best for our family and our son with it.”
And like that, they vanished.
Lily and James Potter’s last message disappeared before the teary eyes of the five people who came to see them.
No one said a thing. There was so much to think about after that.
Regulus supposed half of them would focus on the fact that they wrote their will assuming Harry would still be alive, or perhaps that Sirius had not betrayed them. Regulus, though, he was thinking of their last goodbyes to him.
He kind of wanted to weep until all the water in his body dried up. Maybe everything would be less painful.
But at the same time, he felt something in his chest loosen. Lily and James had not hated him in their last moments. They had still wanted him by their side, by Harry’s side.
It was
relief
.
So much bloody relief, spreading through his limbs.
He kind of regretted leaving Harry behind because he’d like to hug the child and tell him how amazing his parents were at least thirty more times.
Pandora seemed to feel his turmoil and went to grab his hand, squeezing tightly.
They were cut short by Griphook coming before them and offering Regulus a copy of the written will.
After that, everything was a blur. Pandora stayed steadily at his side, a reassuring presence. There were some papers signed, agreements to take what was given by the Potters in their last wish.
He vaguely heard McGonagall talking with both Lady Longbottom and Griphook about Sirius. Remus intervened about the ministry and the end of the war, and, soon enough, Regulus was back home, his head on Pandora’s lap while she played with his locks.
He missed them so much. He wanted to go to sleep and just leave the whole day behind. He also wanted to forever stay in the moment when he finally heard them again. Their easy banter, Lily’s desire to be serious always balanced by James’ wish to keep things light, the jokes shared and the nicknames given.
He just wished they were still both there, by his and Harry’s side.
“Aunt Panda! Uncle Moony! Papa!” Came Harry’s voice before his weight hurled itself at Regulus.
With a huff, he tried to settle back in the present. Harry climbed the couch, settling halfway on Regulus’ stomach and grabbing his jumper.
“Hello Harry,” Pandora said, dipping to kiss the boy’s forehead.
Regulus loved Pandora, but he did not need to see that much cleavage unless she needed advice. It happened once or twice in their school years, but it’s not like he needed to have her boobs in his face.
It took a misplaced knee for Regulus to fold back to a sitting position, grabbing Harry’s tiny body and lifting him to put him properly in his lap.
“Hello, little hippogriff,” he said before tickling the child.
“No, no. I’m a dragon. Stooop.” He was giggling, a little breathless, but still pouting even after Regulus let go.
“Are you now? And why is that?”
“Anna said that dragons can fly.”
“Hippogriffs can too, Harry.”
“Yes, but they breathe fire.”
“And what does Anna know about dragons?”
“She told me stories! Fairy tales she called them.”
“Really? What were they about?”
“It starts with—”
Harry went on telling them stories, not exactly clear in his narration, but excited nonetheless to have three adults’ attention on him. He was bouncing up and down on Regulus’ knees, a smile broad and innocent on his face.
Regulus had already found a gift for the boy’s birthday in a few weeks, but now that he was free to roam the magical world once more, perhaps he could find a nicely charmed dragon plushie, to nurture Harry’s love for the creatures.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Cold, nothing but freezing, heavy cold.
Every particle of his skin burns, pain pulsing in each and every centimetre of his body.
Fingers, tearing his skin apart, the last bit of light falling, fading into red around him.
He cannot breathe.
His mouth fills with water, the taste of iron settling on his tongue.
His own blood.
Blank, empty eyes blink before him, behind him.
He is surrounded.
He wishes to cry but he knows his tears will only join the water around him.
Perhaps he still does.
He thinks of a bright smile, of kind green eyes. He thinks of a laugh and the soft scrap of nails on his scalp. He thinks of the flavour of Tandoori chicken and the taste of homebrewed infusions. His last thoughts go to Lily and James. And he regrets, he regrets fading into nothing without holding them one last time.
His breath vanishes, his lungs fill up.
At least Kreacher will save them all.
It was worth it.
As his eyes close, he tries to smile.
Who cares if it cost him his life.
A warm presence surrounds him.
An embrace.
He awakes . The next few days were absolutely erratic. If Regulus had expected a slow and calm remergance into society, it was easily thrown out the window. Someone had caught wind of the reading of the Potters’ will, and it had been the talk of wixen society for the last week. The first day, Regulus went to Grimmauld and began the cleansing of the house with the help of Sharphook and a nice-looking wizard named Blackberry, who had been sworn to secrecy by the bank. With the nastiest curses and the most sordid furniture out of the way, Regulus was considering bringing Harry in and asking for his opinion on how to redecorate. Some rooms would still be closed and carefully locked, but he’d now have access to the floo and a safe environment for Harry to learn about his world. The second day had been less enjoyable for he woke up drenched in sweat after a nightmare with Remus’ owl beating against his window with all her might. She held the Daily Prophet and didn’t hesitate to throw it at his face after he finally went to let her in. Rita Skeeter had written about him and the Potters with glee. She had spent line upon line waxing about the terrible tragedy of a doomed relationship, about the secret lovers of an evil death eater and the years of youth spent in insouciance. Or something. He had tuned it out after the second paragraph and Pandora’s teasing tone. The next day was another about the tragedy of the death of young Harry Potter, born in a war and sacrificed to end it. Even if Harry could barely read, Regulus made sure to burn this one. On day three, an article came out with quotations directly from Minerva McGonagall herself. Sirius Black, the will revealed, was not the traitor the law claimed him to be. That was something Regulus wasn’t sure of. After Lily and James’ death, he had gone into hiding, cutting all ties with the outside world for a long time. He had not known the details of his brother's trials and the allegations against him. He discovered, quite horrifyingly, that Lady Longbottom and Professor McGonagall had gone to the authority to demand a retrial with the new evidence, and discovered there had never been one to begin with. Sirius, happy and kind Sirius, sometimes obnoxious and frustrating Sirius, had been sent to Azkaban in a hurry the very night of his capture by the Aurors. He had encountered a couple of Dementors in his time. The Dark Lord had been trying to endorse them, and Regulus, always the good soldier, had been by his hand, trying to work out the intricacies of the Soul Magic surrounding them. He feared their presence desperately and the very idea of Azkaban, the terrible dungeon created by a madman to lure muggles to their death, to be imprisoned and kept in a damp, cold cell for the rest of eternity. He’d rather have death. And he couldn’t believe Sirius had been sent there without trial. A quick letter found Regulus asking the two women to participate in their endeavour. He sent it with Mandrake, Remus’ owl, and sincerely hoped that he’d find a way to get his brother out of there. Guilt gnawed at his guts. He couldn’t believe he had been so quick to forget about Sirius. Seeing Sirius leaving Harry behind, the same way he had left Regulus, and hearing how people had gone and said he had killed Peter and twelve others. He barely questioned it. Magic only knew what would have happened if Harry hadn’t been there to keep him afloat. He should have known not to trust the system. On the fourth day, Regulus went to Annabeth’s house. Harry was already there, playing in the old lady’s garden with the ducks. He had spent the afternoon in the small bookshop in town, going through the comic books and looking at the pretty pictures that he seemed to love so much. Perhaps Regulus could look into a specialist painter for his room and create a nice piece of moving creatures. He approached the white fence surrounding the house and let himself in. Annabeth was sitting on her porch. With deft movements, she was crocheting… something; Regulus was not the best in needlework. She often threw a glance or two to the boy, but left him to his own device. Harry was crouching by a bush, his hands stretched out toward some animal underneath the leaves that Regulus couldn’t see. His scar was prominent in the golden sun, almost silver on his dark skin, lightning across almost half of his face. He fit well with the rest of the garden, his emerald eyes like jewels beside the plants. His elbow was skinned but the wound seemed to be healing already, most suspicious if Annabeth took notice of it, but Regulus could not bear the thought of his son hurt. He’d rather have the old woman thinking she was going mad than Harry shedding blood. He approached the house and sat on the steps leading to the door. He knew she had seen him and only answered to her greeting with a small nod, his eyes still following Harry. It took a while, but after some thought, Regulus turned around and looked at the old woman. She had been there for almost as long as Harry had been his, she deserved to, at the very least, be aware. “We are leaving.” He said, an odd finality in his tone. “Remus, Harry, and I. We’re moving to London.”“Leaving the countryside for the city, are you?” She mused. She didn’t really look surprised, nor hurt. “Yes, my mother recently died and left me a house there.”“I would offer my condolences but you don’t sound particularly sad.” She still worked on her project with utmost care, not glancing at Regulus for an instant. “I’ve had time to come to terms with her passing away,” he said. Truthfully, he had just never thought he’d see her again, and the emotion awakened by her death had been a strange turmoil of contradictions, relief and an odd grief fighting within his heart. “We are going to send Harry to school.”That got her looking up, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “Are you now? To school? Our little Harry is going to live with— he’s going to be alongside the… people?” She seemed quite shocked and kept stumbling over her words. It was strange coming from the usually very put up woman, but Regulus supposed surprise could do that. “Yes, he needs to socialise with people his age, not just three sad adults.”“Sad? I am not sad, young man. I lived a very interesting life in my time, and I now enjoy the calm that comes with my grand age.” She scoffed, a small smirk on her lips, before going back to her work. “Very well. I will come to visit you then. What wouldHarry do without his favourite grandmother?”That ruffled some of Regulus’ feathers. Grimmauld was a Magical place, for good or evil, it had always been lived in by wixen, and the spells on the house were centuries old. He did not know how it would react to a muggle, even the most eccentric type like Annabeth. “Don’t fret boy, I shall find my way there on my own. None of us own a car, I am well aware. I’ll find you. Now, Harry, what do you have?”Regulus turned around to see his son walking up to them with a crooked grin and his arms full of-“A snake!”
Merlin and Morgana both.
Regulus scrambled up and went for him but ended up stopping a couple of steps before reaching the boy. The snake, a non-magical breed, rather short but probably venomous if Regulus’ experience with snakes had any say, had kept its head in the crook of Harry’s neck. Which was already not good . But he seemed to feel Regulus’ arrival and turned to watch him approach before baring his fangs and hissing in his direction . Regulus might have been panicking a little, but he honestly did not know what to do. He couldn't risk harming Harry. To hell the Statute of Secrecy, his hand was firmly around his wand, ready to jerk it out of his hoilster and fire a spell, but he couldn’t risk the snake feeling his hostility or Harry moving abruptly and being at the other end of the spell. Then, for some reason, Harry looked down and started hissing back at the snake, his brows tightly drawn and something akin to a scolding expression on his face. He looked up afterward, the snake suddenly calmer and shifting to wrap itself around Harry’s shoulder, and smiled at Regulus and Annabeth. “He was scared of you, but everything is okay now.”Regulus all but slumped down, rather numb. Harry was a Parselmouth. An honest to Merlin and Magic serpent-speaker. In the back of his mind, he realised that Annabeth must have been confused, but he couldn't bring himself to care. She could put it on a child’s imagination if she liked. No, Regulus was too busy trying to sort out his thoughts, both the wonder and the fear the realisation entailed. Did the power come from Voldemort, the last known Parselmouth in Great Britain? Or was it some particularly odd magical legacy in his blood that came from either Lily, James, or Regulus? The situation was too strange and unprecedented for him to make up his mind properly, and without time to process it all. He finally stood back up, and asked Harry gently, “We need to go back home, Remus needs our help to cook; he said he’d let you cut the mushrooms if you came back early. Could you ask your snake to come back later, maybe?”Eager to cook, Harry nodded with enthusiasm before hissing some more and bringing the snake to the fence. He jogged with a smile toward Annabeth and kissed the woman on the cheek before waving and dragging Regulus back toward their cottage. Regulus was pretty sure Harry spent the time talking about the snake’s various adventures, babbling thoughts without much sense, but he was too preoccupied with the storm of thoughts in his head. Back home, he apologised to Remus for not helping before putting Harry on a stool and helping clean the boy’s hands, and, soon after, Regulus left the kitchen to lock himself in his room for a while. That was a lot. And the week was still not overOn the fifth day after the reading, he received a letter of his own, signed by the Ministry of Magic and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was an oh-so kind invitation to partake in a small questioning about his past whereabouts and involvement into the war. He was more than ready to tear them all to pieces if their accusation got out of hand. He had been a young man, barely out of Hogwarts, groomed to become a Death Eater by his parents, and, yet, had managed to escape, in between other things. No accusation against Regulus could stand in the face of the fact that they had sent his brother to prison without trial and even, perhaps, completely innocent. But he did see the need to go visit the Aurors to answer some questions. If only to clear his name in the eyes of the public. So Regulus dressed nicely, put on one of his best robes and the smallest of onyx jewellery, making sure that the cuffs of his sleeves prominently showed the ring at his finger. And he left, leaving a tender kiss on the forehead of his son. If everything went as it was meant to, by the time Regulus came home, Remus would have broken the news about their need to move away, and he would have talked to Annabeth to bid their goodbyes. He apparated into the Atrium of the Ministry, moving rapidly to avoid all incident, and went for the entryway. He skirted around the crowd of people, barely glancing at the fountain. It was still early but most employees had already arrived for work and what was left were the visitors. He joined the queue to get his wand checked before moving up the lifts. The place was just as big as he remembered, grand and green, the tiles shining with hints of gold, the fountains singing softly in the vast room. His last visit had been during the war, sent to have a civil talk with the late Minister to discuss affairs on behalf of the Dark Lord. They had parted surprisingly civilly, and he had not made a fuss to have Regulus arrested. He had tried valiantly to fight the rising Power of the unstoppable force that was Lord Voldemort, but he had been too weak to impose an actual state of emergency to help fight the Death Eaters. If he had tried to remove Regulus from society, he would have had to face all the Old Houses, ready to fight for a young heir, as well as the very soldiers of the Dark Lord he fought against. He had obviously refused to meet the man in person or to accept the offer he had made. Surrender and give us the Ministry. Kindly let the Dark Lord sit on his throne and rule over us all, thank you . Voldemort had already lost all sanity by that time. It was no wonder he made such an appalling offer. Regulus remembered hearing about his dismissal, and a new Minister stepping in during the last year of war. He had never met the woman. But she was behind the trials, those of his brother, his cousin, and several of his friends. He wondered dully if any of them had actually received fair trials, and if they were even in prison by the hands of justice or simply by some unkind law of contingency. When it was his turn, he offered both the letter he received that very morning and his wand for inspection. The man behind the counter, a middle-aged wizard with hard lines drawn into his face, looked him up and down, wary, before letting him pass. The ride was short, and Regulus came out in a nicely painted corridor on the second level to find a secretary behind a desk; his quill running across papers and folding themselves by a wave of his wand before being sent away. Regulus approached, ready to get things over with. “Excuse me,” he interrupted the scratching, and the man looked up at him with a touch of anger. It was his job, but, nonetheless, he didn’t seem to like being interrupted. “I have a meeting with Amelia Bones, Senior Auror.” Regulus showed the letter, a blank mask on his face. After squinting at him for a moment, the man went back to his writing, grabbing a new piece of parchment and sending it rapidly. “You will need to wait a moment, I believe she is checking in with an investigation.”And wait, Regulus did. He sat in a rather comfortable armchair settled by the lift and drew open today’s edition of the Prophet which laid on a coffee table before him. Seeing as he was already at the Ministry, Regulus wondered if he shouldn't use this opportunity to check on something. He had been thinking about it for a while, and, perhaps, now was the perfect time. Finally, a tall and slender woman walked toward him and interrupted his musing. Her hair was fiery, cut to her shoulders in straight strands. She stood before him, dressed in the deep purple robes of the Aurors. She looked young, given her title as a Senior Auror, but experience had marked her face with a severity that even the slight smile she offered him did not manage to soften.Regulus put aside the newspaper and greeted her, standing to give a firm handshake. “Welcome to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I apologise for the short notice, but I thought it would be better for all parties involved to get it over with as quickly as possible. If you would follow me, I’ll take you to my office. For some privacy.” She shot a rather unkind look to the secretary behind her, who suddenly found himself stuttering for an excuse, before turning around and leading Regulus away through the hallway. The office was surprisingly big. The walls were painted in shades of red, tall shelves full of bound volumes. There were some stranger objects, some rather Dark Artefacts even, considering the place they were in, but Regulus kept quiet and sat where Madam Bones indicated. She slid into her own chair, pulling out her wand and waving it silently through the air before offering, not a kind but a polite, smile to her guest. “Tea?”Regulus nodded, and a cup appareaded before him on the desk, fuming with steam and the soft smell of the brew. He allowed a calm thank you to escape his lips before bringing the warm liquid to it.When he finally put it down, after a sip, his eyes carefully observing the woman before him, she started talking. “You must know why you are here.”“I believe there are several reasons for me to be here, some I would like to discuss better than others, but I will let you do your job and lead the conversation.”“Very well, I appreciate your cooperation. This is no interrogation or trial, but I would, nonetheless, like to have your honesty.“You are here, firstly, because of the rumours of you being a Death Eater during the war, or at least a faithful follower of He-who-shall-not-be-named.”“Are you aware that the Taboo against his name was dropped with his defeat? He is no longer a threat when his name is uttered.”“That is not the question, Lord Black.”“I do not believe you asked a question, but very well. I do bear the Dark Mark.” He showed the remnant of it on his arm, red and still rather angry-looking. The shape of it was still burnt into his skin, unchanged yet, and Regulus knew well that the sole reason the wretched thing was still there was that its maker remained undead. It was proof of his eventual rebirth. “But it has been a long time since my ideals aligned with those of the Dark Lord. My disappearance was linked to that, in fact. I was once too close to the man himself to simply walk out unscathed. And I wished to live; I still do.”“Then why did it take you so long to come back?”“I was working on a side project I started before my supposed death, and I wanted to lie low, to make sure Lord Voldemort was well and truly dead. I lived in fear of his presence for years; I hope you will forgive my paranoid tendency, but I suppose all survivors of the war have some remnant unease related to it.”“As I said, this is no interrogation. I am checking that you are no threat to our society. You have, technically, never broken any law. As far as we are aware.”She let the silence hang between them, her calm but heavy gaze meeting his without flinching. She probably hoped to see what his reaction would be; as if any Slytherin with a modicum of self-respect would act anything but innocent and understanding. What he could do, on the other hand, was attack her from her seat of righteousness. Not, of course, in such unredeemable manners that she would not agree to work with him; simply… to make things a bit more clear between them. “What, I do wonder, were the charges, in the Ministry’s own words, that my brother faced.” He shifted forward on his seat and clasped his hands on the desk between them, looking at her calmly. “You might have heard, but there is a rumour going around that my brother, Sirius Orion Black, had been sent to Azkaban without trial. I suppose I wasn’t there to see it with my own two eyes, but whispers have reached my ears that he had both been accused of betraying the side of Light for Lord Voldemort, being himself a Death Eater, and that he killed not only Peter Pettrigrew, but twelve other humans—muggles—the night between October and November 1981. “But from my own sources, more reliable than mere whispers heard in the midst of chaos, Sirius never had the opportunity to betray the Light side, or Lily and James Potter, as the accusation said, and he certainly had no link to the Dark Lord and his followers. He would not even speak with me, his own blood, after he learned I bore the Mark of the Dark Lord. “So please, Madam, I would like to learn more about the actual circumstances of my brother's imprisonment, for I fear every word uttered outside of this room would be rather unreliable.”That seemed to dampen the mood a little bit. Still, the Head of the Departement sat still and straight in her chair and nodded, blank face but careful understanding written in every of her features. What followed were some niceties about being sorry and not being able to share everything, and some seemingly honest promises to look into things and hope that the justice system had properly done its job. Regulus honestly believed her. She had been promoted only a couple of months after the war but it had been enough to have the trials and investigation done on the rumoured and known Death-Eaters, including Sirius. With a few tactful words and honest questions, Regulus also managed to gather some information about more well known trials, those which did happen and were open for the public to see, such as Severus Snape and Lucius Mafloy’s a full month after the death of their Master. Regulus was not surprised to learn that Lucius had managed to slither away from the accusation. He had always been an excellent liar and knew how to speak and deceive better than anyone. He did not doubt that he himself had fallen over the Mafloy charm more than once by listening to the careful and charismatic wording of the man, and it did not help that Cissie had married and always spoke so highly of him. What had been surprising was Severus Snape being saved by none other than Albus Dumbledore, the saviour of the Light or whichever title he bore with pride these days. Severus Snape, turned spy for the man. It was really surprising given Severus’ nature and the way he had always admired the Dark Lord. But with Lily’s death, he supposed there must have been a shift in the man’s morality. Regulus could not know, he barely knew Snape back in school, for the man had always sneered at him for his brother’s actions. Nonetheless, Amelia Bones released him after an hour of careful exchange and promises of justice. It had not gone as terribly as it could have and Regulus could see that she truly was angered by the knowledge of the previous Head who had spat in the face of the laws to make his own rules. Still, very few eyes followed his retreat with kindness when he crossed the Auror office back to the lift. Instead of going back to the lobby and home, he went down to the ninth floor. He had things to do. What greeted him was a long and empty corridor in which he strode for what seemed like hours before arriving upon a single door. He felt strange, both about the place itself but, also the lack of security. However, as he opened the door, he felt the heavy weight of magic settle over his shoulders. He was going to wait here until someone came to get him.The room was circular, doors upon doors lining up its wall. Regulus was not sure though which one he came. After some time, a door opened, then another and at last a third and three people came out of them. None had their wand drawn but they pierced him with knowing gazes. They were dressed in robes of a strange colour. Something colourless actually, not grey, just…inexistant. It made it easy for the eye to slip past it and move forward. None spoke, only stood by some doors and looked at Regulus carefully. He was not quite sure what to expect next. But he had a plan and would try to follow it as best as he could. He waited a bit longer and, finally, by another door, came a woman dressed in adorned robes, still strangely spelled, but more dignified and imposing than the rest of her team. At least Regulus supposed she was the Head of this particular Department; the Department of Mysteries. The woman lifted a hand and signalled the others to leave. After their removal, she came to Regulus and looked him in his eyes. He did not feel the breach of Legilimency he was expecting but kept still. Then she moved back with powerful movements and went for a door. Regulus had long since given up in trying to figure out which door led where. Without a word, the woman bid him to follow her and Regulus did. He found himself back in the lifeless corridor he had crossed to come. But this time, doors lined the previously blank and dull walls. She entered one of them and Regulus followed suit. It was another office, small, the walls purple and void of anything. The lonesome furniture was a mere table with two chairs, a piece of parchment and a strange jewel alongside it. She sat and Regulus did too, letting silence fill the room as they looked at one another. It hung between them for a while, the woman’s heavy eyes carefully cataloguing Regulus. Her eyes were grey, a sombre shade, like molten iron, and it glinted in much the same way. They were strangely blank, almost dead, if not for the glint of life that no corpse ever held. She wore her hair in a tight square, the black strands like a frame around her face. It was angular, a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. She had a mole above one of her eyebrows. In her neck, carved in the skin it seemed, rested an opal, the colours ever changing in it. “Our resident Seer warned us of an incoming visit today. We were asked to hear the demands of the visitor and think about an addition to our rank.” She said, finally breaking the silence. Regulus figured she referenced Pandora, which was a surprise as he hadn’t talked to her about coming. But he figured some vision or dream were responsible for the element of surprise being taken away. “I wish to join the Unspeakable,” he admitted out loud for the first time. It had once been a dream of a dreamy child, then a teenager wishing to escape the clutches of his parents and show the world that he deserved to be loved, that he was capable of becoming that much. It had come back with his research into Soul Magic when he realised he wouldn’t go very far without the actual means to research the forbidden subject.The Department of Mysteries was exactly what he needed. “I’ve been researching Soul Magic and deeper, much more ancient Olde Magick linked to it. I’ve learned a lot but I would not be safe going further into it, not with the Ministry hovering over my shoulders in constant worry.”She studied him for a moment, her eyes catching his skin and the sleeve hiding the Dark Mark. He figured he better put all his cards on the table for this one. “The Dark Lord is not dead. He made Horcruxes, several of them. I need to find out how to gather them and destroy them. I’ve got resources of Old families behind me, some I would be willing to share with the wixen of this Department for the sake of research. I need the independence and security the Department brings, as well as a place to test theories and study the Magick.”Seconds, then minutes, seemed to fly by, long and arduous as they stared at each other for a long time. Her skin was almost ghost-like in its pallour; worse, even, than the milky white of the Black blood, and, for a while, she seemed to be made of stone. Tall, unmovable marble, unblinking and unshifting. Her hand shot on the table and pushed the parchment. Where previously blank,lines upon lines were now written upon it. “You shall sign with your blood; nothing else will be given to you until you bear our oath in your skin.” She said ominously. He could not speak of his work to anyone, barely even hints allowed between coworkers, and would need to give up his memory or swear another vow if he wished to stop his work and leave the Department. He would not be held accountable for any accidents, would always remain out of reach of the Ministry’s grasp, and all of his research would neither belong to him nor to the Ministry, simply to wixen-kind and the potential use they could make of it. With his blood, he signed, and the jewel by his side glowed. He brought it to his chest, under his collar, and let it rest there. A wave of cold rushed through it, tingles and then, nothing. The perl was etched into his very skin, unable to move, to be removed or even vanished through magical or physical means. Regulus Black had become an Unspeakable. Perhaps now, he would be able to stop the Dark Lord.
.End of ACT I.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
.ACT II.
Magic is sentient. Magic is unaware. It does not judge. It knows it all.
Magic exists under different names, different forms. It flows through time and space. It is respected and revered.
Many would call upon it as if deities in the sky, in the earth, in the water.
Magic protects; Magic kills. Magic sees all of the world as its child and spreads entities to protect it.
None know what they are, what they do, how many of them roam the earth in search of those who call upon their diverse names.
But Magic can bound, and magic can teach.
The forms of Magic are called
deamons
.
The first meeting of the Wizengamot Regulus took part of happened on the 2nd of July, three full weeks after his rocky re-entry into society.
Most people seemed to remain oblivious to his comeback, few rumours were shared and only amongst the high society. Words of the Black magic being brought back to a Lord or Lady. Regulus had allowed himself a few public outings to make sure the public had eyes on him with proper and appropriate behaviours. This way, they would not seek rumours of darker deeds he might or not have done. He, until the new Wizengamot session, had spent most of his time at home looking over the past records of the chamber’s meetings, the newly voted laws and decrees. All the things he would have to bargain with. He also studied in the depth of the Department of Mysteries, delving deeper in the secrets of Magic.
His outings were meant to show the wixen society that he was not dabbling into anything untoward. Regulus was a clean and kind civilian like any other.
He had gone out with Professor McGonagall to discuss the now-old news of Sirius’s betrayal in Azkaban, imprisonment and the general events following the 31rst of October that Regulus had not been able to follow himself. They had also strolled Diagon Alley together for light shopping.
He had also met with Pandora and some of her friends. They were from rather neutral families during the war and even some foreign wixen more than ready to get acquainted with Regulus and his renown talent. They had lunch together in a small wizarding village, in a particularly good restaurant, whose owner Pandora knew.
He had also met some old allies of the Black’s who had distanced themselves during the last war, and he was currently working on tying himself back to them. Showing people that he was not the evil genius some considered him to be.
All was going nicely until the new Wizengamot meeting was called and Rita Skeeter got her hands on the gossip spread about the Black magic rising once more. She had written a
lovely
article about the rebirth of the “Dark and Evil” Black family, and had used it to wonder about the legacy Regulus would bring back to life. Skeeter had had a wonderful time drawing pictures of wondrous theories on how Regulus, potential “Dark-Successor” had cheated death and was bringing back tales of Darkness to the newly found peace of their world.
Nonetheless, by the time the meeting took place, Regulus had rekindled bonds within the society he had left almost half a decade ago, and, if his name was questioned by some—those who read Skeeter for more than the stupidly dramatic gossip—many in the high societal groups were glad to see the magic of an Ancient and Noble House flowing anew.
In the end, with the amount of talk surrounding his grand return as Lord Black, it ended up being a rather useless meeting.
Regulus was introduced to the chamber and was accepted by the Black seat, his robes changing to the plum for the official Wizengamot members.
Most of the time he spent there was to acclimate himself to politics, something he had never truly thought of as a part of his life as the second son. He observed the many empty seats of the chambers, the long deceased lines and the ones awaiting the worthy Liege, as well as the few who scarcely had an interest in politics. He also spent a portion of his time avoiding the piercing gaze of one Albus Dumbledore, who apparently believed that his duties to the school he remained Headmaster of were not worth giving up his title of Chief Warlock.
It was strange. After years spent under the man’s care at Hogwarts, all but invisible in the headmaster’s eyes, to be put under his watch was foreign and uncomfortable. Especially because Regulus was not stupid enough to believe the attention was a result of anything but suspicion.
The discussions of the day were barely sensible. This was not a full chamber, the matters neither pressing nor particularly important and Regulus ended up caring more about the nature of the debate taking place rather than the subject it was about.
They voted on a couple of nonsensical laws about the rights to own a magical kettle withholding the tether of a lost spirit. Regulus found the situation a bit too peculiar and precise to be worth their time but said nothing and sat through the debates.
He sat beside the empty seat of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Selwyn. The closest to him was Lord Greengrass, sitting behind him, both of them hidden in the shadows of the room.
The man was tall, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly done. The official robes did not fit him, even if they were perfectly tailored to fit his lithe frame. Regulus had seen him come in with pale green colours, his house colours and far more adequate for him. Gareth Greengrass was a rather polite man, deeply interested in politics but always trying to keep it at arm’s length when it came to interactions with his private life.
He had two young daughters, Regulus had gathered, and one of them was Harry’s age. He and his family had often been on the neutral side, but they were known to keep up with many Olde Traditions like the Wheel of the Year and certain rituals. Regulus had been very happy to follow the man and his sharp comments. Especially considering he, on the day of his first meeting, was mainly here to gauge the usefulness of the debates and understand how to play the game of politics. He believed Lord Greengrass was a person to follow at first.
Their seats, while not side by side, were both in the far left of the semicircle that was the chamber, closer to the Minister’s seat and that of the Chief Warlock. They sat behind the Heads of the Department of Magical Transport and of Magical Sports and Games, having a direct view on the speakers as they came and went to the centre of the room. A couple witches and wizards went back and forth on the topic, raising wands to speak and vote when time came.
Interestingly, the voting by wand also calculated the various power held by the current wixen who sat upon the seat. Beads of light gathering atop the raised wood, magically counted by the Secretary of Chamber. House influence, proxies and titles all accounted for additional votes. Some like Dumbledore, or Weasley, had several by proxy. Others, like Lord Selwyn, sitting in his place as Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophe, not only had a title as Lord and Head, but also the strength of a Most Ancient and Noble seat backing his votes.
Regulus sat there, following the actions of his peers attentively and waited for the end of the session.
And indeed, the interesting bit happened after the meeting was called off, once the Chief Warlock had announced the end of the session and all formal attire was discarded in a powerful wave of centuries old magic.
Soon enough, Regulus, as the young and new Lord, found himself the target attention of many. Several wixen came to him, swarming the newcomer like fresh meat.
He had expected this reaction and stood tall, joining the aisle to greet some known faces and avoid being corner against the bannister by which his seat was.
The intentions were mixed.
Some old Light families came to him with some well worded accusations, polite and almost kind in their behaviours, but vicious in their blames.
The current head of Shacklebolt family, a tenacious old woman with tightly woven braids and piercing black eyes, came to him first. He recognised her name as one of James’ friends back in Gryffindor and wondered if the two were closely related.
“Good morning, Lord Black,” she said, firm and prim, coming to him from her seat near the entrance on the opposite side of the room. She was wearing a dress, a delicate lilac that brought out the sharp edge of her smile. She had been sitting beside the Warrington Lord, who had evidently fled as soon as possible, but approached with Abbot Lady and Lord Smith. All three sat away from the Black seat in the chambers, but congregated to face him.
“Lady Shacklebolt, well met,” he answered, taking a step back from the stairs to let Lord Greengrass pass, apparently not happy with their new company. They exchanged a nod as the older man left his row and then the room.
“I could not help but notice that you chose not to vote on this particular topic, which most newly claimed Lieges tend to avoid, as to make a grand entrance. One would think that someone would try to lay low if they chose to ignore the politicking they join.”
“You are right, I did not partake in the voting today, I was not anticipating such subjects to be discussed by this assembly.”
“This is most important!” Said a man somewhere behind her, coming from the Ministry appointed seats.
“And how is it?”Regulus asked, trying to sound polite as the stout man rose toward them with fervour in his eyes.
“It is a Dark Artefact! Most dangerous. If the spirit in it had been sealed against its will or if it is used for evil deeds it could be terrible for the owner. Are you going to be the one to apologise for the death it will cause?”
“Spirits cannot kill.” He simply stated.
“And how would you know that?”
“It is the kind of thing I need to know for work.”
“And what do you do for work, if you’ve been playing dead for years now? Who would want to hire a
Death Eater
.” The man, not a Lord but probably some Ministry employee Regulus had yet to learn the name of, all but spat the last words, disdain painfully obvious on his face.
Lady Shacklebolt put a hand calmly between them, as if to break off a fight that had yet to begin. It was quite silly, really, as if Regulus would get himself in such a situation.
He only drew himself taller, his nose up and haughty. He knew his robes only helped his case, straight and dark, embroidered with thin runes and drawings of various birds in silver. He knew he looked the part of the proud pure-blood, perfectly in his place in the room with the other Lords, Ladies and Lieges of the British Wixen world.
On the other hand, the man looked quite distasteful, out of place in the richly decorated room, with his colourful trousers and simple shirt, his cloak draped and abandoned on the seat beneath Regulus’ own. Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, then.
“Now, let’s breathe in, there is no need to fight.” The Lady intervened politely. “Mr Bagman. We are still in a public assembly; please keep your voice down. But yes, Lord Black, I, too, am interested in the current employment you found. Certainly your qualifications must be questioned after so much time away from us.”
“I could not stop being wixen even if I wished to, I could not lose my skills and masteries of crafts I have spent my life studying.Therefore, I believe my qualification would still hold, no matter how long I stayed away from this assembly. Nonetheless, if you must know, I found employment with the very Ministry of Magic, Lady Shacklebolt, and I am unable to tell you more about it. As for spirits, they are not evil nor dangerous. They are neither sentient like ghosts nor magically imbued like poltergeists.”
“Indeed,” came a voice behind him. A small hand came to rest upon his shoulder and he turned around to see Clary Fawley.Or Lady Clarrissa Fawley, Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Fawley and Head of the Department of Mysteries. Also known to Regulus as his boss.
“Madam Fawley,” Lady Shacklebolt greeted with a polite nod. While not completely unused, it was more common for a Lady to be referred to by her title in the Wizengamot rather than her office recognition. It was not an obvious sign of disrespect but still put a clear distance between them.
In the Wizengamot chambers, there existed three types of seats. The first were the inherited Liegeship of recognised and praised Houses. Those had been the same for the past three centuries; ever since the Wizengamot closed in the 1600s, when no new Houses were accepted by the Magic of the assembly and room. The closing of the chambers also meant that, when some lines had died out, these seats became void of magic. It resulted in less and less wixen being able to partake in the debates, less magic flowing in the heart of the Ministry.
Then, there were the appointed seats; life-long Liegeship for high-status wixen such as Albus Dumbledore or Amelia Bones, which could not be passed down by lineage but could also not be stripped away by a simple strife between wixen like the Governmental seats.
Finally, the Ministry appointed seats, voted by the population like the Minister, or chosen by the Minister like his Heads of Department. These were, frankly, just up to whomever had the power at the time, but they still held voting power within the Wizengamot.
It was commonly accepted that the highest rank in the chamber was that of inherited Lieges, who could not only decide the state of their present world, but train the future heirs and whose families had spent centuries ruling over their fellow british wixen counterparts. To call someone of such a high station by their Ministry appointed titles was quite insulting, especially while still in the voting room.
“What Lord Black said is true, spirits are not dangerous, I welcome you to do your own research, but you will find that they are only the remnants of a person’s magical signature, nothing more. To keep a spirit in an object is similar to keeping a photo or, perhaps, an old lock of hair. It might be a little strange from a certain point of view, but we are not discussing philosophical beliefs in this assembly. Rather, we are here for the good of the wixen under our care.”
Lady Shacklebolt and her group were now glaring.
“But why would you need to know that, Lord Black?”
“I ask this kind of knowledge from any of my employees, Madam Shacklebolt,” Clary said. She didn’t look cocky, but the slight glint behind her gaze when she glanced at Regulus made it hard to suppress his smile. Apparently, Lady Shacklebolt was also a Ministry employee. “Moreover, it is no well-kept secret. It can easily be found. I believe it to be in the sixth year Defence curriculum at Hogwart, even.”
“Then why didn’t you participate in the debate if you had so much to say?” That was Mr Bagman once more.
“Because any wixen with the modicum of good sense would see the deep silliness of the whole affair,” came a deep and cool voice from behind Lady Shacklebolt.
The blond and lustrous head of one Lucius Mafloy came to join their little group, gracefully stepping down the stairs from above Regulus’ own. He tore through the solid front of fervent Light followers and came beside Lady Shacklebolt with a tight nod at her. He then turned and smiled, polite and welcoming, at Regulus.
“Well met Lord Black. I wished to welcome you back with us. My family and I were more than glad to hear that you were alive and well.”
“Why? Another Dark follower to welcome back to the fold?” Bagman all but spat once more.
“Lord Black is my own wife’s cousin. She was tired of mourning so many of her family,” he answered coolly. He turned back toward Regulus “We would be glad to have you for tea one of these days, Lord Black.”
Regulus politely bowed his head, “I will see when I am free. I have been rather busy with work since I came back. But I will arrange something. I do so miss Narcissa.”
As the talk got more private, most of the group slowly scattered with tight lips. Bagman was dragged by one of the other Ministry employees as he grumbled about how he should not have been playing dead if he wished to see his evil family so much.
“Yes, I suppose being an Unspeakable has some requirements that would make one work at odd hours.” There was a clear hint of curiosity behind his statement, raising an eyebrow to see if Regulus would answer.
The thing was, Regulus did not want to be too close to the Mafloys right off the bat. He was not as gullible as the rest of the Ministry had been when the man’s name had been cleared and knew better than anyone that Lucius would try to go back to his Master’s robes whenever the Lord came back. If he wished to create a good image for himself and later be accepted as Harry’s parent, which would not be an easy task, even if no one could question his claim.He needed to put a clear distance on the “evil” that was in the past.
He fully intended to work on bringing back some of the Dark Arts into the light of day, for them to be expected and accepted by the wixen population as it had once been in the past. But, to do that, he needed for them to see that he was, as subjective as the term was, good.
Lucius Mafloy, sadly, was not the right political ally to have in such an early stage of the game.
Thankfully, Clary rapidly came to his aid once more.
“But sadly, Lord Mafloy, being an Unspeakable is not something that is to be spoken about outloud.” She used her I’m-the-boss-of-one-of-the-oldest-and-most-unknown-organisation -of-Britain-and-I-am-not-to-be-messed-with’ voice and even Lucius seemed to bristle a little under the severity of it.
“Of course, Lady Fawley.”
For the reminder of the socialising time after the meeting, Regulus stayed by Clary’s side. A few more Dark aligned Lords and Ladies came to greet him, testing the waters carefully. He did the same.
By the end of it all he had gathered names and some alliances, observed the relationship some members of the Wizengamot had with one another, and he was more than ready to go and ask Clary—who turned out to be a huge gossip—about some of the members’ past and family.
Harry was crying, wailing really. Heavy tears rolling down his cheeks.
Regulus was holding him, flush against his chest, rocking slightly.
He really didn’t want to leave Annabeth behind, or the garden, or anything really. The idea of going away was simply not something he seemed to understand. And Regulus had gone and started his speech with the fact that they would leave Annabeth alone here after his fifth birthday.
Harry didn’t even understand the exact meaning of
birthday
.
He sent a pleading look over Harry’s shoulder to Remus. The man looked vaguely amused, his eyes shining with the glint of mirth.
He finally took pity on Regulus and joined him on the couch before prying Harry out of his arms and settling him on his lap.
“Come on, Harry.Do you trust me? You’re going to love it.”
“But Anna,” he said, hiccups in his voice.
“Shh, you know, Annabeth said she’d come visit. And you’re going to have a big room just for you, and I’m going to show you all the magic in London because we’re going to live there.”
Harry seemed to calm at the mention of magic.
Regulus had collapsed back into the sofa, watching fondly but tiredly as Remus salvaged the situation. He was feeling so strange about their upcoming move.
Harry’s birthday was barely a week away, and they’d spent it in the cottage with Anna and, weirdly, the snake that Harry seemed to have befriended. It barely left the boy alone when he was outside, and, even if Remus had almost had a heart attack when he first saw it, it strengthened his belief that Harry should go and meet more people.
After that, Grimmauld would be their new home.
Remus still had a couple of years under the apprenticeship of a Master in Defence Against the Dark Arts and related crafts. Regulus now had work to do in the Department of Mysteries, but the hours were movable, and he was, surprisingly, rather free to work on his own terms.
Harry had completely calmed down and seemed to be a bit more enthusiastic at the idea of discovering new things.
But he suddenly turned around and grabbed Regulus’s wrist, pulling on his sleeve with big pleading eyes.
“But I won’t have Reggie when I have bad dreams.” His lips were bobbling once more, his emerald eyes filling with tears.
“Shh, no, I’ll be there,
mon coeur.
The room right beside yours. If there is a problem, you just have to go there. Or Moony can make you a little plushie that will warn him if you had a nightmare. You’ll just have to hug it, okay?”
It took a while longer to explain everything to Harry, but by the end of it, he seemed quite happy to discover the new place.
The only problem was the concept of school. Remus and Regulus had purposefully skirted around the edge of the subject, knowing full well that the idea of being left for an entire day would cause a new round of tears and screams. Regulus wasn’t even certain that he wouldn't shed a couple of them himself.
But the catastrophe was averted, and Harry soon left with Remus to go on a walk across the garden.
Regulus stood not long after. The small buzz, less frightening than the first time, called him to his desk where he had left his and Pandora’s linked notebook.
I believe it is time for Luna and Harry to meet. I know she will not share his existence with anyone. She might be young but she is of Vivian’s blood. She knows.
If Pandora believed so, then perhaps Regulus should too.
Harry’s birthday party was a small thing.
Annabeth was invited, and so were Regulus and Remus. Pandora came and in her tow was the small blond head of her daughter.
Harry, at that moment, was sitting with the three other adults on a large cloth thrown under the shadow of the oak behind the house, the air freshened by the pond beside them.
He was serving everyone pretend tea, clearly delighted to see the whole group drinking his concoction happily when the faint crack of apparition startled Regulus.
He glanced at Anna who seemed none the wiser but still, he stood up, kissing Harry’s forehead, and said he was going to see if Pandora had arrived.
Annabeth had yet to meet her but Harry had talked many and many times of her beauty and kindness.
Turning around the corner of the cottage, Regulus found Pandora and Luna standing just before the fence.
The young girl was dressed in a lovely cornflower blue and held in her hand a big, bigger than her even, sunflower. She had a dreamy smile on her chubby features. Her other hand held Pandora’s own.
Pandora was wearing a white jumpsuit, her hair pulled into a bun, and she had around her neck a lovely necklace of amber.
Regulus went to meet them, opening the door to the garden and inviting the girls in.
He kissed Luna’s head and Pandora’s cheek before whispering that the birthday boy was in the back.
Together, they slipped around to the rest of the party, Remus’ eyes catching them first and wrinkling with a smile.
It was Luna that went first to Harry.
She slipped easily by his side before thrusting the sunflower in his face. The boy had not even registered her presence.
A few bops like fireworks popped around Harry’s head and, once more, Regulus looked up startled to find a perfectly content Annabeth.
He couldn’t help but think that it was good that the woman would not be constantly around them anymore.
“Hello, Mama said it’s your birthday, happy birthday Harry,” her bright blue eyes were hidden as she smiled brightly. She then hugged the other child with her thin arms.
If Harry was put off, he didn’t show it. He actually seemed quite happy, returning the hug without a second thought, letting the sunflower hang awkwardly between them.
“You’re the first person my age I meet!” he said joyfully when they released one another.
“You are the first bounded person I meet, just like me and Mama.”
Luna slipped back on the ground, drawing her legs beneath her and putting her hands on her knees and said nothing more. That did not stop Harry for continuing happily. He pointed at Remus.
“This is Uncle Moony, he cooks the best pasta, and this Anna, she made the cake!”
Regulus then slipped back beside Harry, Pandora joining the loose circle after ruffling the chaotic mess of curls that was Harry’s hair.
“And this is Papa Reggie, he gives the best hugs!”
“Hello Harry, happy birthday, this is my daughter, Luna. What is the program for this wonderful day?”
And on Harry went about it, telling him about the walk they would go on, the cake they would eat and surely enough, they did do all of those things.
The children wandered, adults trailing behind, as they walked through the newly close cropped fields. Harry happily chatted, Luna listening with an aloof expression on her face. Yet, from what the adults could hear, she always responded to something when it was expected of her or added to the childish conversation with some words of her own in her chosen time.
They ate the cake, spread on the colourful cloth. Both children had smears of chocolate all across their faces, uncaring as they asked for more.
The sun was warm, heating the air almost uncomfortably. If not for the slight wind which had picked up, they would have been seeking shadows once more. But as it was, Harry’s dark locks danced in the wind, his sharp emerald eyes reflecting the sun and everyone’s face.
In this moment, Regulus was happy.
He had done what he would never have believed he would.
He was raising a child. Lily’s, James’ and his. And the child smiled and laughed more than he ever remembered doing himself at that age.
Annabeth soon left. She hugged Harry one last time, saying she’d be there to bid them goodbye at the end of the week when they left for London.
She trotted back toward her house slowly, her characteristic swaying marking her steps. They all could hear her whistling as she walked away.
As the muggle left, Regulus announced it was time for the gifts. He felt some remorse, fearing that it was his behaviour that had sent the old woman away, as if she wasn’t family.
But Harry’s gifts were all magical. Even if Regulus sometimes questioned if he should or not tell the woman of the existence of magic, now was not the time. They would be moving soon anyway. It was not worth it.
With quick Engorgios, the gifts were put before Harry.
Regulus helped him clean his hands and face, ruffling his hair affectionately before leaving the child to the opening.
Never one to refuse gifts, Harry started picking at the wrappings.
Remus went first. He offered Harry a small notebook with creatures flying all around the cover, pixies, owls and pegasus, sharing the paper in a flurry and wings.
“This is for you when you’ll start learning about magic. It opens with a password, just for you to know. I’ll help you set it later if you want.”
With that came a couple of books, introductions to the magical world for children, something a bit more technical than the colour books with the magical creatures. It explains the very basics of magical theory. Remus had all intention of reading them to Harry while teaching him to read when they got to London.
Pandora went next. As Harry opened the tight piece of cloth hiding a beautifully carved wooden box, she slipped before him and sat, legs crossed, to explain.
It was a small version of the Hogwarts castle, carefully sculpted in wood, with the full grounds. It was spelled to be animate. Through the window, one could see the staircases moving, shadows of ghosts discussing as they slid through the corridors and tiny wooden characters meant to embody faceless students and professors.
With a wave of her wand, the castle opened, and she showed him each of the wings before promising to come often and show him Hogwarts in all its secrets and details. Harry could play with the toys, imagine himself at Hogwarts before even joining the grounds.
It was beautiful.
Regulus knew Pandora was talented, but she sometimes managed to pull things like that, showing him once more the extent of her talent. He could feel her magic all over the project, solely hers.
Regulus would do good to outdo himself for Luna’s birthday.
He intended to go last, but Luna refused to let go of the small box she had in her hands. He relented and turned to Harry before offering the birthday boy two gifts.
The boy went for the biggest first. He unwrapped a plushie, almost as big as him, of a Ukrainian Ironbelly, which Regulus had found to be the most huggable. It was as pale as moonlight; charmed to be warm and spelled to be almost alive. Its grey eyes blinked slowly, its breast inflating and deflating with a slow breath. He also explained to Harry that it would always tell him if Harry had a nightmare, even if Regulus was not in the same room.
“What’s his name?” asked Pandora with a smile.
“Harry!” answered Harry with a bright smile.
“You can’t call him Harry;
you
are Harry,” Remus said softly.
Harry frowned and his lips started to wobble a bit. “But I want to call him Harry?”
Afraid of the upcoming catastrophe, Regulus went to his friend’s aid and put a hand around Harry “How about Henry? It’s not Harry, because Harry is you, but it’s close enough. And your grandfather was named Henry.”
“Grandfather? He didn’t come.”
“No,
mon coeur
, he couldn’t. He’s far away. But we are here. Right?”
How was he meant to explain that Henry Potter had been dead long before Regulus even thought about meeting him, let alone have Harry meet him?
He pushed the second gift toward Harry, trying to get his attention away from upsetting conversations. He would need to have them later, but today was supposed to be a happy day.
Harry took out the small ring out of the box where it had been and looked at it with a frown. Regulus supposed it was not what a child would want, but it was important nonetheless.
He smiled at Harry and brought his attention by pushing his hair out of his face with gentle fingers.
Without a word, he took the ring and put it on Harry’s right index finger where it shrank to fit him.
“It’s the Black heir ring, Harry, that means that you are part of a big and loving family.” Perhaps the family Regulus had grown up with would have scorned Harry for his blood status, but he would make sure to offer Harry what he was meant to have, love and protection. “The magic in it will always be there with you.”
Before he could answer, Luna stepped in and put her tiny hands in Harry’s, a small, lingering presence before she seemed to fade, slipping gracefully, almost ethereally, back and leaving behind her only the small package.
Luna brought him a necklace. She looked owlishly at Harry when he opened the small package before helping him slip it around his neck. It was a bright disk, something between a metal and a rock. It was bound by a thin leather cord. She held it in her hand before putting it steadily against his chest.
“To protect. Mama helped me. Pure.” Her eyes were alight with something that Regulus was deeply familiar with. It looked like Pandora when she had her awakening of sorts.
Harry looked at it for a second before smiling brightly. “Thank you Luna.” He hugged her, which was quite the surprise as he tended to be a bit more wary of strangers.
All in all, it was a good birthday.
Regulus watched it all with warmth blooming in his chest.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Regulus was leafing through some papers, organising them in his father’s study that he had taken for himself.
He remembered, back when he lived here with his parents, not being allowed in it, except for a few special occasions. Unlike the rest of the house, it remained untainted by the bitter taste of pain and Regulus liked the windowless space . It was filled to the brim with shelves and trinkets – most of the magical kind– of all sorts. He had no doubt that many of the artefacts lying on said shelves were far Darker than they had any right to be, Olde and Dangerous magic certainly but he liked the fact that he was surrounded by things greater than him, beside which his life meant very little.
Settling back into Grimmauld had been strange, to say the least. The memories haunting the house, the heavy shadows of his family, of his mistakes and pains, all welled up in a single place. But it had been cleaned, the sickening weight of corrupted magic and the heavy furniture reeking of hatred and pain now gone. Layers of wards were still protecting the old grounds, but the foulest sacrifices done in order to add to it had been cleansed from its walls with the help of Gringotts’ curse breakers. They had begun restorating and redecorating, Harry adding his touch to each of their ideas.
Kreacher, the old elf still standing even in the empty house, had cried all his tears onto Regulus’ robes when he first arrived. He had been so happy to see his master alive and well, and had been very agreeable ever since, even with Remus. He called him Wolf Master and it didn’t take long before the resentful tone behind his words were washed away. He doted on Harry as much as he had doted on Regulus back in the day, happy to receive the small thanks and giggles for the dark-haired child.
They had all settled well in the new house, his new home, but Harry had been even more happy to be here, oblivious to the past held between the walls.
Regulus would not have it any other way.
Remus and he had a few conversations about it, his friend profoundly disturbed by the idea of living in a place where Regulus and Sirius had been abused, one of the victims going back himself. But Regulus wanted it to become a real home, for the House of Black to be as it should be, starting with their old house. Even through it all, he was still proud of his name. He could make it strong and known again. He had followed the Dark Lord to make his family proud, and was ready to utterly destroy his old master to assure the House would not fall into oblivion the past Heads had tried to doom it for.
He was looking over his inheritance test, tapping lightly on the thing disturbing him. The Bounded part, about the mysterious
ቻ̷ዪ̷ጎ̷ፕ̷ዘ̷
- chosen
inked into the paper.
He had no clue what it was referring to.
His eyes wandered across the desk before his eyes picked up the Potters’ will. Forgetting all thoughts of his own supposed bounds, he looked over the Will, caressing gently the words inked into the paper, the last he heard of those he loved.
He reread it, wishing he had had another chance to talk to them, at least to clear the air. Still, the thoughts behind their words warmed his heart.
He went to the line dedicated to him, and tried to look past the tears.
There is a letter left for you in our vault
.
His eyes opened wide, realisation hitting him in the face. In the chaos of it all he completely forgot about that.
He thought of writing to Sharphook to send him the letter as fast as possible before shaking off the idea. He wanted to go in himself, see what Lily and James had kept in their vault and had agreed to give him.
He took a bit of parchment and a quill before dipping it into ink. His hand hovered over the paper. He would need a full meeting with Sharphook to take the keys of the vaults and discuss what to do with his current possession. To make the House of Black great again, he would need to rebuild the wealth his ancestor had spent on the Dark Lord’s campaign for power and other nefarious deeds. It would also help the name if he could invest in some movements that were majorly seen as good and kind, rather than profoundly evil. Not that Regulus was about to withdraw and sell some of his investments in Knockturn Alley, and other dark types of income, for they served their purpose well and offered many perks, but the Black name could shine again in the public’s eyes. Regulus wished it would.
He sealed the demand of a meeting with the goblin with magenta wax and pressed the signet he wore on his finger onto it before putting it at the edge of his desk, ready to be sent whenever he’d leave the room.
He looked back at the will and wondered if he should bring Harry with him as he visited the vaults. Perhaps it would be a good idea. If he went in and out with a scheduled meeting, he could show Harry more about his parents and family and avoid unnecessary attention. He could even have a Portkey made at the Ministry to take him in and out of the bank without even risking encountering people on the way.
Maybe Remus would also like to come.
As his eyes skimmed the will, they fell on Snape’s name and he was reminded of the man.
He had not come to the reading.
Regulus wondered what had become of him. He knew he taught at Hogwarts, Potions if the rumour was to be trusted, and was an absolute terror. He was not exactly shocked to learn that the man had all the children cowering before him, even if he was barely a few years older than some of them. Severus Snape wore his resentment and rage as a cloak and it worked better than any repellent charm.
Still, he had been friends with Lily, and Lily had loved him. Her first and only friend for a long time, a person she always wanted to keep close and wished a better life for.
James might have hated the man but Regulus did not. He didn’t like him either but the hatred the Marauders bore toward the dark haired child was never something he really understood, but neither was it something he cared about enough to intervene in. Nonetheless, he had sat with Lily more than once as she explained her childhood, telling him all the reasons why she still wished Snape would ‘get his head out of his arse and talk to me’. She always held the belief that, if one day the man was to apologise, they could figure out something and rebuild their friendship.
It was too late now. Too late, with Lily dead and Harry seemingly gone. Snape had been by the Dark Lord’s side. He had been his trusted potionneer, as the man turned monster rose to power and threatened Britain. He might have turned his back to Him, and maybe he did it because he saw the madness behind the acts. Or for another reason. Regulus could not know.
Still, he resented the fact that Snape had not come to hear his last friend’s goodbye.
Once more, he picked up his quill and went on writing.
Two days later, came morning, Regulus was helping Harry close the newly bought cloak he had received from them after seeing Regulus wear his own and inquiring about it.
He knelt to the floor and tried to catch the boy’s attention. “Gringotts, Harry.” He repeated as he carefully pinned the Black insignia on the fabric.
Sadly, Remus was behind him, checking over the magic woven in his bag, and all of the child’s attention was focused on the werewolf’s action. Feather-light and expending charms were supposed to be untraceable but Harry still looked with interest at it, as if he could sense what it was.
It reminded Regulus of their first days in the old house, when Harry seemed to be utterly overwhelmed by the amount of magic buzzing in the house. Regulus could barely feel it, even now that he was the Head of the family, the wards always somewhere at the back of his head. But Harry seemed to be so much more connected with Magic, more than Regulus could ever imagine. He kept looking at each and every corner of the house, following invisible trails and patterns.
“You’re going to meet goblins, remember what I told you?” He asked, pulling slightly on the lapels of the cloak to bring the child’s gaze back on him. Harry had a smile on his face and his eyes were bugging out with curiosity.
“Be very polite and let you talk, if I have questions I can wait or ask nicely. What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to visit your parents’ vaults.” He grabbed Harry under his arms and settled him on his hip, winding an arm around him. The boy’s eyes followed him intently.
“You and Moon’s?”
“No, Lily, and James. Mom and Dad.”
The confusion written on his face was a painful stab in the chest. It wasn’t fair that Harry would never remember them as they were, lively and lovely, as people and not stories told to him.
“You have me,” Remus came from behind, bringing a soft hand to caress Harry’s hair back from his face, “and your Papa, but before, there was also Lily, your Mom, and James, your Dad. They can’t be here but they love you very, very much and, if you want, we can tell you all about them.”
“Goblins take care of our money, but also the things we consider precious, like Henry for you, when we can’t have them home. Your Mom and Dad left you things in their vault, where they keep their precious things, and we’re going to see what it is.” Regulus followed.
Harry did not seem to understand all of it but that was okay. He nodded and put his little arms around Regulus’ neck. Remus came and grabbed the small cup on the table. Harry, following their indication, put his hand on it before Regulus went and covered it with his own, making sure he would not let go.
Soon after, the tight hook on their navel
grabbed
and
pulled
.
They stumbled in an office in Gringotts right before the door opened on Sharphook’s grinning face. Harry’s hand released the cup to tighten his hold on Regulus, but he slightly turned around to blink owlishly at the goblin by the door.
“Lord Black, Heir Black, Mister Lupin,” Sharphook said with a nod, “May your gold ever flow.”
“Sharphook,” Regulus nodded in kind, “may your enemies perish in torrents of blood.”
This added an edge to the already pointy smile of the goblin.
“As I understand it, you came to see Lily Potter nee Evans’ vault and James Potter’s vault, right?”
“I’d also like to discuss a few points about the investments the Black family made or could make,” Regulus added.
“And I would personally like to discuss using Gringotts’ aid to find a suitable lawyer to plead our cause against the unjust imprisonment of Sirius Black.”
That got Regulus’ eyebrows to jump up his forehead, before he nodded along and looked back at the goblin.
“The Black family is ready to pay if you could find us a suitable contact to bring to court and help free my brother. Gringotts has far more contacts and resources than any wixen could wish for.”
Seemingly uncaring for the flattery, Sharphook gave a nod before inviting both of them to sit, Harry still clinging tightly onto Regulus’ collar, big green eyes looking at the situation with interest.
It took a moment for them to settle it all. Regulus led most of the conversation, knowing already most of the terms demanded of him to convey his points. Remus explained what he wanted to do for Sirius’ trial, which was apparently something that was happening sooner rather than later.
“Sorry, I thought I’d wait to tell you, but I contacted professor McGonagall and Lady Longbottom and, you know how close they both were to us as school, Augusta with Frank, and Minnie…We’re working on releasing him. Madam Bones contacted us to inform us of the fact that there were no records left of the trials Sirius should have gone through, but the Ministry has both the date of his arrest and his imprisonment, it was barely a day after Lily and James’ death. We’re taking it to court, and she, Amelia, told us we should find ourselves some proper representation, even if the case is as good as won already.”
Regulus would have liked to be in the known, even if nothing had been done yet. It was his brother after all. But their relationship had been shaky before his supposed death, as fake and broadcasted as it were, so he supposed he saw where Remus came from. And it was also true that he
had been
busy.
Without a word, he just nodded. He held no resentment towards Remus about it, he was so far done fighting with his loved ones.
After promising to send them some recommendations in the following days, and telling Regulus that he would add to that letter of confirmation for all the new deals he just signed off on, he stood up and invited them to follow him to the railways.
Descending into the mines with Harry laughing loudly on his lap was something Regulus wouldn’t mind doing again. The bright smile, filled with half-grown teeth, the way one of his hands held tightly onto Regulus’ while the other tried to grab the air flying past them, it was making his heart swell. He could hear the ghost of Lily’s laugh behind her son’s, even if Harry came in shorter bursts. It almost took away the pain of what was to come.
They stopped in a well lit corridor, the cart coming to a stop slowly before Sharphook got off and waited by the door.
“This is James Potter’s” he announced before moving out of the way.
Using his newly given key, Regulus came to the door and opened it. When the battant slid away and allowed them entry, Regulus could not help the tears gathering in his eyes.
He felt the gentle hand of Harry on his cheeks without really seeing him, overtaken by grief and love all at once. The room was so full of James it was painful. There was a rather large amount of gold, stored into beautiful wooden chests left open to see the wealth, but other than that, it was just James’ belongings neatly ordered in the room. The shelves held all of his Hogwarts textbooks, some Regulus had worked on himself, many of James’ favourite novels, for he had been an avid adventure story reader and a couple journals and notebooks he had used through the years to keep ideas or organise thought.
Regulus wanted to spend the day here and read each of the pages of the painfully familiar scrawl that he saw in James Potter’s writing. But he did not have time for it.
Several of the furniture used in Godric’s Hollow were pushed against a wall, the split-open sofa that Regulus had seen on that fateful night staring at him hollowly. Gifts, given through the years, were also there. Posters, quills, small artefacts of all sorts were left in a mess of boxes not too far from the door. Regulus even saw the drafts of the book he had tried to write and later gave to James between a box of sweets and one of Mary’s rocks.
Even James’ broom was there, the golden
2
carved into the wood. Regulus wondered where its twin, Marlene’s, the one bearing the powerful
1
, was, if it ever was stored or simply vanished or destroyed by people uncaring of its value.
Still, Harry’s tiny hands were continuing wiping his tears from his cheeks, a growing expression of distress shining through his eyes.
It took Remus, coming and taking Harry from his arms before he realised what had happened. He offered a small smile to his son, trying to reassure him as much as he could with the single gesture before taking the small hand still outstretched in his direction.
With a gentle squeeze and a movement of his own hand, he showed Harry the room.
“This was your father’s.” He took Harry and Remus to one of the tables on top of which were piled boxes upon boxes of pictures. He dragged one of them out of the stacks and showed Harry, his heart twitching painfully in his chest. “This is him, look,” he pointed at James of the picture who was dancing with a laughing Lily in his arms, both of their smiles were radiant. “He looks very much like you, and this is Lily, your mother. You have the same eyes as her. They were beautiful.” He said the last bit almost to himself, his eyes trailing the moving picture as a pang of miss rose in his heart.
After that, Regulus went to gather a couple of items from the vault as Harry and Remus kept on going through the pictures, a curious Harry sitting on the table as Remus, grief mixing with a hint of happiness in his eyes, leafed through them and explained the stories behind those he knew.
Vials of memories carefully stored, and a couple of items, James’ childhood dog plushie and the picture of his parents he always had on his nightstand throughout school, added in the bag as well, Regulus turned around, more than ready to leave.
He loved James but being here while unable to be
with
him was heart wrenching and he’d rather have memoria of him at home than stay in a cold underground chamber where all the belongings of his dead lover kept the memory of him frozen in time, unable to be there but not yet gone.
Remus took a handful of the pictures, some of which he planned to frame and give to Harry and others he’d say he'd keep or give to Regulus.
They went back in the cart and crossed a few more corridors.
Lily’s vault was some levels higher, she probably had made hers only a few years into Hogwarts whereas James probably had his before he was even born, but they made it nonetheless shortly.
Regulus this time braced himself for the onslaught of feelings he knew he’d received. He might have walked into James’ unassuming but he’d know better this time.
But when the door slid open and Regulus took the first steps into the vault, he was hit with another wave of grief, and the fact that he missed her so profoundly hurt even more. Because the vault
smelt
like Lily.
For as long as Regulus knew her, from the red headed muggleborn from Gryffindor without a name to the woman he held close in his arm, she always used the same perfume, gifted by one of her cousins who made it, for each of her birthdays.
And now he could see the bottles, lined up carefully on a shelf, their smell like a time turner.
He felt Remus stiffen behind him, clearly smelling it too. It might even be worse for him whose senses were much more acute that Regulus’ own.
“This is your mother’s vault,” he could hear behind him as he went in, “her,” Remus said and he imagined him showing Harry one of the pictures where Lily was probably smiling, the small dimple showing on her right full cheek. “Look, she loved to read, just like you.”
Remus went on with his presentation as Regulus took everything in.
There was also some money stacked in one corner, less than what the Potters had left James in his own personal vault but an impressive amount nonetheless. There were pictures, the ones from Godric’s Hollow’s walls, but also some Lily and her friends had painted together resting against a big tapestry.
If Regulus remembered correctly, the tapestry was James' first gift to her after their marriage. He hadn’t been there but he avidly listened to Remus narrate the entire events when they both had had too much of a drink. It showed a magnificent field full of blooming flowers, a soft wind catching into the grass and making the whole picture dance gracefully. There was a mythical creature in the middle. It was a Yali, a creature from India, part elephant, lion and somewhat horse. They were protectors of wild magic and very shy when it came to humans. James loved to tell the story of his family and the culture his parents still taught him after generations of Potters living in Britain. And as Lily became a Potter, she probably had to learn a few bits of their legends. She probably had adored it, for how knowledge hungry she always had been. Regulus actually remembered one of the many late nights in the Gryffindor common room, with Lily lying half on top of him and James narrating some grand adventure his ancestor had lived as if retelling one of the stories he had just read. It had been a very nice night, full of smiles and warmth.
He let his eyes wander away from the Yali who, still curled on the grass, kept watching the scenery.
The shelves in this vault were full of textbooks on all subjects. Regulus let his hand wander across the spines, discovering the titles, some he had never heard of before. He was surprised by the number of books about magical history she owned, but also by the some of the darkest titles she managed to find, some which were not something she could have easily brought, or even hidden. He knew she was resourceful and always willing to learn more about magic but some of them would not have been misplaced if he had found them on the Black’s shelves.
He smiled at it, remembering some of the odd times he managed to sneak out of the house to gift her a volume or two to her. The summer heat beating on their skin as they walked the London street once Lily got off her train, the weight of the books heavy on his shoulder as he hid them in his bag. He had not known she took more of an interest in them.
In a corner there was a stack of letters, Lily curvy writing atop of each with names of her friends and family adorned carefully.
He looked through them, searching the names and letting soft exhales every time he came across the name of one of their friends who could never read them.
He pocketed his, Remus’, Sirius’, Frank and Alice’s in hope to be allowed in St-Mungo’s to read it to them, his fingers grazed on the one met for Marlene, remembering the woman strong snort everytime she pushed James down a flight of stairs and he managed to right himself at the last second, and Dorcas’, her fingers trailing through all of their hairs to offer the most beautiful braids each time. He took Mary’s. He did not think she would ever receive it but just in case he hoped it was worth it. Pandora’s and Snape’s also went in the bag and Regulus took Peter’s too, but slipped it in the pocket of his own robes rather than Remus’ bag. There was no use in making his friend more upset. There were a few other names, Lily’s sister, the girl she spent the weeks in her summer holiday with, a couple of boys, three years younger than Regulus, whom she had tutored since the moment they joined Hogwarts, muggleborns twins more than eager to learn.
He grabbed a bottle of her perfume and the scarf she started wearing every winter after her fourth year. Perhaps it had been handmade by one of them, Regulus did not know. Lastly he picked one of the books from the shelves, a small children's book from some muggle author that looked worn out and well read before slipping behind Remus and Harry.
It took all but a glance for them to agree that it was time to leave and they joined back Sharphook.
The goblin had waited outside and didn’t say a word as they all climbed back into the car to leave the underground tunnel. Perhaps he could feel their grief and chose to give them a moment, perhaps he didn’t care, perhaps he was simply professional. All the same, he brought them back to the upper levels and, after reminding them to expect a letter, let them leave the bank with their Portkey.
Grimmauld Place was dark when they arrived but it took one snap of Kreacher’s bony fingers, who came to welcome them, for the walls of the kitchen to light up. A kettle was immediately sent to warm some water and Remus brought Harry to a chair.
Regulus did not stay long with them. He made sure Remus was okay — he, too, had been terribly close with the dead couple and the experience would have been as heart wrenching and exhausting as it had been for Regulus — before he took his leave.
He climbed up the stairs — now free of dead-house elves' heads and painted with a soft green. In his study, he sat for a moment, putting his head in his hands and trying to make sense of the mess of emotions left by the visit before he managed to pull himself back together for a while.
He grabbed the letter he had written a couple days ago, rummaged through the bag he had brought up with him and found Lily’s letter written for Snape. He also took her will, and added it to the pile before carefully slipping it all in one envelope. With ink, he carefully wrote the name of Severus Snape, adding the Black seal to close the missive, and soon after, the letter was sent.
This time, the man could not run away from what he did. He’d have to face head on what his first friend had wished to tell him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Harry was bound to start class in barely a couple of weeks.
Primary School, evidently, but it was not any less of a big deal. Regulus was fretting as if he was about to step into the halls of Hogwarts.
Remus and Regulus had explained to Harry what it entailed and it took a long time to get all the good points across. Meeting new people, learning a lot of things, having sweets after coming back from school—they might have had to bribe a little but it worked in the end and they managed to get Harry halfway excited for his first day.
He was currently talking about it to a very invested Luna as they both pushed dolls around. One of them was a young witch with a small wand who shot colourful boots of light every so often when Harry pushed her toward Luna’s wixen doll. They seemed to be a metamorphmagus as their hair changed every so often and their clothes kept transfiguring from a dress to a swim suit to an overly dressed set of robes.
They, the two children, Pandora, Regulus as well as a tired looking Remus were outside, enjoying the last dregs of summer sunlight warmth before September hit them and the wind finally picked up. The werewolf was napping nearby under the shade of a tree, a book opened on his chest. Regulus and Pandora were sitting close by on a bench, their legs drawn up, touching shoulder to hip and looking fondly at their children.
“Have you told him not to babble about magic yet?”
“I am not quite certain we could. He’s not aware of it the same way we are. I think. He’s a bit of a strange child.” His voice was far, full of fondness but his eyebrows were tight. “It seems so natural for him. We’ll try, of course, but he’s maybe a bit too young to understand. We’ll see. Anyway, he’s a child. The muggles won’t take anything he says at heart. Rich imagination or something like that.”
Pandora nodded, locks of pearl-white hair falling in her face as she did. Married life had been good for her. Regulus could still remember the shadows beneath her eyes at school, especially as they grew older. The ash of her skin, the long hours spent inside, or even bedridden, literally sick with worry, plagued by words and images of casted shadows from the future. Now she was radiant with life, her skin healthy and dark, her hands marked by hours spent in her garden, colours marking each and every centimetres of her life.
“You’re right. There is little risk today. I don’t know how we’ll explain it to Luna either.” She brought the stray hair behind her ears, gazing adoringly at her young babbling child. Child currently hitting Regulus’ own with her doll. She scrambled up and ran the few metres separating them, catching her baby in her arms. “Hey, hey, hey, let’s not do that.”
Regulus had already lifted the doll away from Luna’s tiny hands, his wand holding it in the air.
At least Harry did not seem vexed, more interested with the dancing toy above him.
When he tilted his head to the side, and against Regulus’ wishes as well as his hold on his own magic, the toy went and flew away in a nearby bush. A bunch of coloured butterflies fluttered out of it.
“Merlin, Harry.” Regulus whispered. He did not know if he should be proud or tired for his future self who would likely have to deal with worse as the dark-haired child’s magic would grow.
Pandora set down baby Luna once more, the little girl unbashful as she took Harry’s doll, moving it widely with a smile.
Then, the previously butterfly-covered bush, ruffled once more, violently.
If the children didn’t act any different, the two parents brought their wands up, worry and confusion on their features.
The Rook was like a sacred grove. No one ever came here.
Then a line of red-heads bursted through the leaves and tumbled out with smiles of various sizes.
Pandora immediately relaxed.
They all looked very similar. Violent orange hair, dishevelled and bruised in the knees, freckles on their cheeks and shoulders, clothes in various levels of dirty and ripped. Two of them were identical, covered in mud from toes to neck, most of their cheeks and hair also muddied. One of them stood tall with his hand on his hips and a broad smile, he was older than the others, a thin scar running up one of his arms, doodles of ink and fingerprints on his hands and his legs. There was a fourth child, hiding behind the eldest of the lot, smaller and partially covered in mud, sending stink eyes to the twins every so often and looking up at Pandora with bright blue eyes the rest of the time.
“Hello Miss Pandora!”
“Charlie, hello. What are you guys doing here? Don’t you have to prepare for Hogwarts?”
The eldest of the boys puffed his chest and smiled but shook his head.
“I’m fine! It’s all ready already. I’m showing Fred, George and Ron the ways to your house if there’s a problem. Mama said it’s time for the twins to learn how to handle the consequences of their actions if they ever hurt themselves. She also said to tell you sorry if they were to disturb you and to immediately tell her. I think she used the words troublesome but worrisome or something to describe them. I just think they’re very smart! Anyway, Hi, Luna!” He shook his hair in the air to the little girl with a bright smile, some of his teeth a little crooked. His eyes landed on Harry and his head cocked on the side. So did the twins. Ron’s own was still turned toward Pandora. “Who’s that? Hi!”
Harry, whom Regulus wanted to go back to and leave the place with already, was blinking owlishly at the Weasley children, his hand rising tentatively to wave back.
Regulus did not want the world to know about Harry yet. There was much he had to protect him from. A lot to prepare him for so he could live, and not just survive, through whatever Fate had gathered for him. But looking at him now, faced with the excited expressions of three children, curious and rising to meet them already, Regulus could not bring himself to intervene.
“Hello.” Harry said.
Ron, the youngest of the group — Regulus needed to check with Pandora just how many children Molly and Arthur had sprouted and how close in age they were to Harry and Luna — finally turned toward Pandora and Regulus’ children and his eyes widened in surprise.
“You had another baby?” He asked the woman still smiling at him and Charlie.
Her laugh rang like a bell in the wind. The iridescent tint of her hair shone in the sun as she shook her head with a grin.
“That’s not how it works, Ronnie. Harry here is older than Luna. I couldn’t have done it in this order even if I wanted to. He is my friend’s child.” She pointed back at Regulus who still hung in the shade. Four pairs of eerily blue eyes turned in a single motion to stare at him. The twins’ heads cocked to the other side, Charlie’s lips opened in surprise and Ron’s finger rose to point at him while grabbing onto his brother’s pant leg and shaking him.
“Look, it’s the man from the papers.”
Charlie slapped Ron’s hand away and put a hand on his head, nodding softly.
“We don’t point, Ron. But, huh, yes. You were in the papers, right?” He looked a bit more timid than when he spoke the ‘Miss Pandora’ earlier.
Regulus could barely remember anything of quality that had been written about his ‘resurrection’ in the erratic week following his stepping back into society but he nodded. There had been a lot of his face in the newspaper so it wasn’t wrong of them to say they had seen him in.
Pandora had crouched down and looked at Ron with a smile. “He was, indeed. But not all of it was true. Newspapers can be mean sometimes. Do you want to meet Harry properly? Introduce yourself?” She looked at all four of the siblings when she asked.
Both twins nodded enthusiastically and went forward easily, meeting Harry head on and each of them shaking one of his hands with glee. Harry’s hands came back muddied but he looked happy. Charlie joined the group, helping Luna up when she made grabby hands at him, and swooping down to give her a hug. Ron had gone to hide behind Pandora but looked at the scene attentively.
“Hello Harry, those are my brothers, not all of them but…Hum, this is Fred,” he pointed at one of the twins, “and this is George,” he said about the other. George went and shoved his own head — and dirty hair — on the hand pointed at him, muddying the young teen. “Yuk, don’t do that.” Until this point, Charlie had seemed pretty composed, which he might need as the eldest or one of the eldest at least of such a big fraterie, but the sight of his mud-covered hand made his nose scrunch up. He swatted Goeoge and started wiping his hand on him. It was not very effective given the state of the other child but still, Charlie made a valiant effort at it.
After some time, he shrugged and gave up. “Anyways, this is Ron. I don’t know why he’s hiding though. And I’m Charlie. Happy to make your acquaintance.” He added with a smile. “Oh, we’re the Weasleys, by the way. There’s also Bill, Percy and baby Ginny but they didn’t come along.”
Soon after the very polite, if interrupted, presentation, the children went to play. They were far more chaotic than they had any right to be, or so Regulus thought, but they seemed very good at entertaining themselves. Harry, unused to such energy and sociability, looked very happy and excited, giggles and screeches following Charlie and the twins as they played together. Luna and Ron had stayed back. The youngest Weasley looked something between shy and worried but he also seemed very happy to have Luna’s attention all to himself. And Pandora’s, even if she also kept an eye on the racing children going around her garden.
By the end of the afternoon, Pandora had managed to calm them enough to explain in various children-talk and simplified words that Harry was a guest and they shouldn't talk about him to anyone. They could tell their parents that they made a new friend at Pandora’s, that they had interrupted a play date with Luna, but Charlie was forbidden, kindly but firmly, to share Harry’s name and told to keep it away from prying ears. The teen was clearly confused but his thrust in Pandora seemed infinite so he shrugged and accepted it easily.
When they went home, Remus, still confused about the amount of children he had woken up to, listened as Harry was happily telling him all about his new friends and how excited he was to start school and meet new people.
Laughter, soft music, the sound of wind caressing leaves, the warmth of the sun hugging all frames around the plane, greens and oranges, whites and reds and yellows.
Regulus was hanging back slightly, his hand on someone’s arm.
She was warm and soft, rich red hair brushing his cheeks in the wind, her voice moving around him like a physical thing, an embrace. She was speaking to someone else, a tall shape, radiating light and warmth.
Regulus felt like crying for a second, his hold tightening slightly, as if afraid to let go, an unconscious movement.
Then Lily turned around, her dimples showing brightly, James’ own hand coming to grab him and grab both of them forward.
Lily was laughing, calling for him. She was wearing the most beautiful white dress, flowing on her curves, simple and short, showing the lightly drawn runes on her arms and legs, her freeckles.
“Come on, Reggie, you have to dance with Alice, at least once, it’s her wedding!”
She took the lead, her hands on each of her boys. A circle had formed in the distance, two figures twirling in the middle, formless shapes of hazy colours, dragging in the horizons, the echoes of laughter and singing voices, the cracking of a bright fire, the soft touches of various charms.
He saw himself brought to the circle, thrown in Pandora’s arm as she took him to twirl around the circle, passed to James who swept and kissed him on the forehead, passed him to a soft-looking Augusta Longbottom, dragged back between Lily and Mary, to a slightly drunk Sirius who held onto his hand and almost fell in the fire.
He heard himself laugh a little, softly, happily, brought to times when things were a bit easier, when he had the ones that could help him right by his side, the ones that made it all kinds of worth it. He saw a grinning Frank swoop in and take Alice away from Lily, tilting in for a long kiss under the whistles and cheers of his friends, blissfully ignorant of all that would be in the future, the good and the bad.
He remembered being thrown back a little, away from the crowd. All were looking at him and in his arms was a weight.
Harry was looking up at him with a bright smile and his startling green eyes.
And then he woke up.
Regulus wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and tuck himself to bed with a good book and a calming infusion and the soft sounds of an old house creaking and living around him, with the voices of Remus, Harry and Kreature reaching him from another level, warm and calm. He did not want to be in a teacher’s office — a classroom really, but in the corner of said room — in front of a smiling lady who offered him a far-too-small chair to sit on. Everything was toddler sized here. A nightmare, even for someone who was, altogether, not all that tall.
“Harry is doing truly wonderfully, he’s a very social child. You don’t have to worry about this. I just wanted to update you on some things, but everything is alright, worry not.
“You see, he seemed a little wary at first, but I understand that he’s an only child, these sorts of things happen all the time. He opened up like a flower in the sun! He also has a very vivid imagination, it’s lovely. Oh, here.” She stopped her ramblings to put out a stack of drawings from a folder behind her desk –a small table with a box behind and a bunch of closed boxes to keep papers and whatnot away from prying children.
Regulus could truly not see why she’d work with toddlers and how she’d still manage smiles and kind words after a day of it, but he was frankly relieved people wanted the jobs. It clearly wasn’t for everybody. She looked through the various layers of papers and pulled out a few before pushing them toward Regulus.
“See, he’s quite talented as well, and he draws really wonderful images.”
She let Regulus go through the shaky lines of toddler drawing, Harry’s own work in colours and shapes that were familiar after so many hours spent watching the child draw.
Dragons, snakes and various magical creatures were depicted in them.
They did not look quite realistic, something of mediaeval arts in their representations, but Regulus could figure what most were.
“Also, two little things, nothing negative of course, the youth you know, just having to direct them in the right direction, instil the right habits. Harry should call his mother Mum, it’s very sweet to hear but he gets a lot of questions when he talks about Moon instead. You don’t have to, of course. Sorry if that sounded rude. I meant, if you were unaware of it, he calls her Moon instead of Mum, but actually, that’s all together none of my business.
“Anyway, there’s also a slight issue with sharing…How do I say that, he tends to somehow grab and gather most of the toys. He’s not unwilling to share afterward but he somehow gets his hands on most of the other children’s toys, and he’s quite good at it, I’ve never caught him in the act. Anyway, that was pretty much all. I’m glad you could come to hear about it. We always have a couple problematic children around, a bit too excited or, hum, grabby, sometimes, but Harry is a delight. He’s already quite eloquent too, it’s a pleasure to have him in my class. Did you know-”
She kept on for a while longer, talking about raising children in various ways and letting him know how much she liked her jobs on multiple occasions. Regulus was already so done with his day and he knew he still had to go and fetch Harry from the playground. He was currently running behind the window, chasing another child while screams and laughter rang around them.
As interesting as his Ministry work was, it was also somewhat draining. But Remus’ pub had something prepared, some sort of freelance artist concert, that the man had to go early to help prepare. Plus, Harry and he had plans after this that could only be conducted by Lord Black. So there Regulus was, stuck with an overexcited preschool teacher, hearing about how delightful of child Harry was — which he knew but it still made pride swell in his chest to hear it — and waiting for the meeting to end so he could go forth with his day.
He caught Harry in the middle of his chase, this time he was the one running away from a little girl with bright red cheeks and violent yellow dress, lifting him from the ground — that started to be a bit harder already, he was not all that small anymore, growing fast — and hugging him to his chest.
Harry was laughing and breathing heavily from his run, bright eyes looking up at him as his tiny arms went to circle his neck.
The little girl went straight into Regulus’ legs and looked up with big eyes, ready to either cry or shout. Regulus did not have the patience for it but he was thankfully saved by the teacher coming outside to rule some of the kids in.
“Ready, Harry?” He asked as he brought them out, Harry’s tiny backpack on his shoulder.
“We’re going home?”
“No, we’re meeting new friends, if that’s okay with you. I’m sure it will be great.”
A nod and Regulus found some hidden corner to bring a portkey out of his pocket and help Harry grasp it.
He remembered hating apparition as a child and tried to avoid it as much as possible when Harry had to travel with him. Even more so on big distances. And Longbottom Manor was quite far.
A gasp from Harry, the firm tug at their bellybuttons and the duo opened their eyes in a bright and calm valley.
Longbottom Manor, run at the time by Lady Dowager Longbottom, was situated somewhere between Wales and England, in a lovely corner named Wye Valley.
It was hidden away from prying eyes with old charms and wards nurtured through centuries by the family and the magical ground on which it was built.
It was rather imposing, atop a forest-covered hill, the river running around it in a wide circle, colourful wildlife turning brown and orange with the shifting season. There was no gate or closed fence around the propriety, it was one with the rest of the world, cut off from society and civilization but clearly very open and welcoming in their own little corner of the world.
The Manor itself was a wonderful piece of magical architecture, light rocks forming a tall, and large edifice, several floors off the ground, two lovely towers hugging the corners of the large house, a multitude of coloured windows visible even from the bottom of the hill, charms of various colours tinting the walls in the same autumnal colours the wilderness bore around it.
Regulus put down Harry, who was looking around with awe and wonder, and was cut off from his own observation by the slight and soft pop of an house elf coming to greet them. They were small and pale, big brown eyes looking straight up to Regulus with brimming joy, a soft looking fabric draped around their shoulders and waist.
“Hello Master Black, Young Master Black! I is Ellie, and I is going to show you to the Manor and Lady Mistress and Young Master Neville. I is very excited to bring you to Young Master Neville.”
And the house elf went on and trotted up a clean and easy trail up the hill, amongst trees, bushes and various birds and small animals. Ellie chatted a little to a happy-to-listen Harry, telling him how Young Master Neville was curious to meet his new friend and how he chose his clothes to impress him when they had to dress him up for this afternoon.
“I also made tea for the Young Masters to drink!”
They were rapidly shown the front door, something big and wooden and beautifully carved, that opened on some sort of greenhouse. Regulus was curious about it but Ellie did not linger and took them around the house instead, to the back gardens overseeing the canopy of trees and the river at the bottom of the valley.
There, they found Lady Longbottom, sitting idly at a tea table, holding in her hand a fine cup of china and overlooking her grandson, crawling around with what looked, at first glance, like a small kitten. Then Regulus saw the soft wings tightly drawn to its body, and the hooves at the bottom of its hindlegs and the claws at the end of its forelegs and realised he was seeing some magical creature that most likely lived in the forest around them.
And indeed, as soon as the two Blacks entered the garden, a large shape flew above them and caught the young animal by the back of its neck, tearing it away from his friend and two powerful wings took the duo of Calygreyhounds away to the nearby forest. Harry was easily in awe and the other child, Neville if Regulus had to guess, was blinking in surprise, still holding the stick he had been playing with.
Lady Longbottom put down her cup with a tight smile, standing up as Ellie came toward her quickly, their tiny legs hurrying on the soft grass. She helped Neville up with one hand and took him toward their guests.
When she stopped, her hand rested upon the child’s shoulder, her eyes strained at Regulus.
Neville was also looking up at him. He bore far less suspicion in his gaze, a cautious curiosity distinct in his eyes instead.
Harry himself was looking attentively around, trying to take everything in at once. Regulus did not doubt the ambient magic would be of some interest to him but as it was, Regulus was also interested in the pinched face of the Lady and Neville’s form by her looming side. He looked very small and fragile beside her heavy layers and closed off face. Especially beside the enormous hat she wore.
Her eyes were dark, heavy with carefully leashed emotions, piercing Regulus with various inquisitive movements. She wore mourning clothes, her dark gown wide and puffy, decorated solely by a finely woven pattern in the top layer of the outfit. Her grey hair was tightly braided. And atop her head was the sole colourful item she bore. A veil was pinned away from her face but the large hat cast enough shadows to act in its stead. Bright feathers decorated it, blood red and bright yellow pinned with a handful of thorny flowers and leaves.
Regulus wondered if she wore her grieving ensemble for show, reminding him of his past in the war, or if she had yet to move on from the death of her family. At least yet to do so openly. He supposed he had little to say on the matter either way. His past actions had had dire consequences, though he knew the death of Frank and Alice had little to do with him and a lot to do with one greasy haired teen’s. Nonetheless, he himself still donned thin string-made bracelets to show his own grief, a promise to move on when the string would break.
He shook his head slightly, clearing his thoughts before offering a slight bow and a polite smile.
“Hello, Lady Longbottom, thank you for receiving us today.” He put his own hand on Harry’s shoulder, even if his grip seemed softer, to mirror their stance.
“Lady Dowager, if you weren’t aware. The title should no longer be mine. I do not know how much you heard while you played dead.” She spat the last word out.
Regulus did not rise to the evident, and emotion-driven, bait. “My condolences. Alice and Frank were brave and kind people. They did not deserve their fates.”
He could see the desire for her to go further, to let the anger, the rage and grief take a hold of her but her long life and courteous training managed to reign her back in. She snarled a little before sighting, taking one long breath and letting go of her grandson’s shoulder. She caressed the place where her hand had been holding on and offered a very tight smile.
“Of course. This is my grandson, the heir of the House of Longbottom, Neville.”
“And this is Harry. My own son. Go on, Harry, go and say hello.” He tried to offer the warmest smile to the child to reassure him.
It took a second for Harry to go willingly, clearly unsure about the situation at hand. Still, he nodded and took a few steps away from Regulus, extending his own hand to Neville.
“Hello, I'm Harry. Papa said we could be friends! Can you tell me about the animal you were playing with?”
And as fast as that, the children were away and talking, gesturing wildly at each other, Neville a bit more timid but still clearly happy to meet someone new.
It made Regulus smile. They were at such an insouciant age. All were friends, it was beautiful.
When he turned back toward the Lady, she was scowling a little and turned back to her own table, asking the elf to bring them their tea.
“Harry is the first boy he ever played with. I usually organise playdates with the Abbot and Patil daughters.” They sat together at the table, facing each other. It seemed that the Lady was regretting accepting Regulus into her house, or garden supposedly, but could do nothing but keep on going as he was already present. “Be aware that I accepted your offer for this meeting solely in the memories of James and Lily. I cannot see what they saw in you but I will respect them at least that much.”
Regulus, once more bowed his head. “And I thank you for it. I had a lot to talk about with you, including my brother’s trial. But first, can I tell you about my son?”
Regulus was not certain of where he was going with this but he knew he needed Lady Longbottom on his side. She had been, long even before the death of her son and daughter-in-law, an important figure in their world’s politics. She was also trusted by people Regulus himself trusted. She was in close contact with Minerva McGonagall, Remus seemed to hold her in the highest esteem and, frankly, Regulus needed more allies. Grief and loss might have hardened her, but the woman she was before still laid underneath it all.
So he spoke. He told him about Lily and James, waves of pain and love hitting him square in the chest at each of his words, both happy and grieving to reminisce about them. He spoke in soft words about some of his doubts and regrets from his past, about what he intended to do for his House and Magic. And he told her about Harry. Young and charming Harry, currently sitting by the forest side with Neville and digging in the ground. Darling boy Harry whom the world believed to be dead, whom he wished to bring happiness and softness to more than anything. Sweet Harry whose future was layered with dangers and adversity of all sorts.
“He is the Potter boy?” Her face was pale, shock washing away any anger and suspicion from her gaze. Something akin to hope and fear shone in similar intensity behind her eyes.
He only nodded, a strange heaviness in his throat.
She turned to look at the boy in question, at his tiny hands helping Neville retrieve the roots of a plant, his small nods and words adding to their conversation, the scar on his brow, the dark tones of his skin, the deep green of his eyes, the softened features of his face.
“Why are you hiding him? Why with you?” Her tone had completely lost the venom which she had been spitting at him earlier.
“I was all he had left, in a way.” He struggled to look up, playing with the liquid in his cup instead. He could feel her watching carefully, but the subject was still hard to broach sometimes, especially by a woman like her, who had lost much in the war. He could face her judgement about his past actions, but his decision to take in Harry was another matter entirely. “Lily and James weren’t…and Sirius was sent to Azkaban. All the Potters are dead, you know? At least all of the English Potters. Some branches of the family still live in India and Nepal but they’re so estranged he would have closer ties to most magical families here than there. And Lily…her parents passed too, a few years ago, when it started to get really bad. She only has a sister left but she wasn’t fit for a magical child. Lily is not here to tell you the story fully but I hope that you can accept me telling you that Harry is probably much happier to be with me today, than he would have ever been there.”
She nodded slightly, “It is good that he gets to grow in this world. It is his after all. He will inherit much, like Neville.”
“Of course.”
“You know, he might not be much now but he bears the legacy of several old bloodlines. He shall make us Longbottoms proud one day.”
“What about the Drakes? Their legacy is old and strong as well.”
“They are not pureblood.”
“You know, the first of the Blacks that came to the isles married a muggle.” He admitted tiredly. “I do not think there is much to blood purity as we think there is today.” He saw the sharp movement of her head turning in surprise to look at him. “Plus, as I see it, Neville is already doing plenty to make Alice and Frank proud.”
“Keep their names out of your mouth. It is your kin that took them away from me.” Her tone was once more cutting. When he turned to look at her, he could see a familiar pain and violence brimming, something sharp that hurted within more than without.
“I’m sorry. I also wished to apologise for this.
“As Regulus, I’d like to apologise for the harm my cousin brought to you and yours, pain that I cannot rectify as much as I would like to. And as Lord Black, I would like to tell you, Lady Longbottom, that our magic shall be taken from her veins, in order to right the wrongs done to you as much as possible, even after all this time.” He bowed his head again, putting both of his hands on his knees, up toward the sky to show his sincerity, the way he was unharmed. “But Neville,” he added softly, looking her right in the eyes, “he seems intelligent and kind already. Not many could approach Calygreyhounds, he must really be in tune with his magic, and the world’s own.”
“He has yet to perform a single bout of accidental magic.” Her tone was clipped, there was still some anger in her voice, but a slight shame shone through more evidently. “We fear he might be a Squib.”
“Well, it shall come. I am certain of it. Your Manor is quite magic on its own, it is possible that the actions escaped your vision, or perhaps he already has a strong hold on his own magical core. Do not tell Sirius I shared this with you but it took Sirius eight years to show signs of active magic. With an artefact at home to assure ourselves that he bore magic on his own, so there was never any doubt, but he did not create a ruckus with his accidental magic until much later. You see, Harry’s own accidental magic is mainly him stealing away other children’s toys, it is, altogether, rather hard to manage. Shimmying out the subject with his muggle teacher is a little bit of a pain, if I may say.”
“Muggle teacher? Does Harry…is he following an education in the muggle world?” Regulus nodded and she frowned a little. “You are not what I remembered and expected of you after all this time.”
“I am trying very hard to make Lily and James proud of me and my actions. That includes, for a lot of things, changing my ways or the actions that were led by other people’s ways.”
The day ended with a promise for later meetings and Harry coming to the two adults with handfuls of acorns, whispering that they held secrets with a conspiracy look.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Minerva McGonagall sat behind her desk, her head held uncharacteristically low.
She was in her cottage, a little thing she had bought after the war for her and her husband. It was small, close enough to be part of Hogsmeade but far enough to be away from stray students. She loved it very much. It reeked of love and comfort, the walls painted lovingly in between strokes of laughter, each item transfigured by the witch herself, making good use of her Mastery to build the home she and Elph’ could love and care for as much as they did for one another.
Her eyes closed when she felt tears pool behind her eyelids.
Her hair was down, the greying strands loose and unkept. She probably looked like a mess but at this very moment she struggled to find a single place in her to care.
In the box on the desk, on which a few tears were already falling, was a wand. Her husband’s wand. Elph’s.
Three years of marriage. Three years of blissful joy, of healing from wars and fights, of enjoying the Scottish air beside one another in the garden, of walking the lake on weekends, of waking up and smiling first, before anything else.
She wondered for an instant if she should have stopped working, if her actions had somehow led to this. Then she brought herself back from reality. Elph’ had already been an over-active man when they met, a workaholic all too willing to go back to his duties as an Auror to lend a hand even after his retirement.
Her hand lifted from where it held her head, reaching to caress the old wood of the wand.
Dying in duties was probably what Elphinstone had always wished for. Helping, saving, protecting. Not altogether different from a teacher, in truth. It was no wonder they had worked so well in the end, even if it had been short.
A sob cut through Minverva’s throat, memories of their time together, before she even agreed to their marriage, the time they could have had if she had said yes sooner, if she had stopped being so stubborn. She could have had him much sooner, if she had agreed to his kind invitations and stopped seeking the unreachable for so long. Happiness had been by her side for years before she even allowed herself to reach for it, and now it was gone.
She sighed heavily, rubbing away the tears on her cheeks, trying to catch her breath. There was no need for her to delve in the depth of sorrows and regrets. Nothing would change her past now, not even Magic.
She dreaded to close this chapter of her life, the future looked so meek. But the last page was before her eyes and she had no choice than to turn it now.
With careful hands, she took the wand and brought it to the mantle piece, using her own magic to fuse the two woods as one, Elph’s magic always to rest alongside their shared home.
Then, whipping out her own wand, she brought her hair up, clothed herself in her long crimson robes, Elph’s favourite colour, and cast a refreshing charm on her puffy face.
She took the time to grab her bag — lovely sewed and decorated by her sister-in-law long before she had even married Elph when they were still colleagues at the DMLE —, to tidy up the room, sending the dishes to clean themselves in the sink, to close the windows, and to extinguish the fire before closing the door as silently as possible behind her.
The air was crisp outside, the first winds of winter blowing from the North.
Tiredly, she wondered what this new chapter would bring her. If the world was to heal after so long spent fighting. The previous Dark Lords, a constant in the lives of wixen for the past century it seemed, had left very little hope for peaceful times. She had longed for them and touched them with the tip of her fingers for what felt like a few instant. But she could still feel their warmth, and perhaps, it would be enough to focus on the bright side when dire times would come once more.
Within the castle, as the Hall was filling with noises and students, she sat beside Poppy. The woman looked tired but when she saw her old friend, she stood and embarrassed her quietly. Her hand buried in the back of her head, a soothing rocking in her hold. Before they could attract too much attention, she sat back down, keeping a hand on Minerva’s own.
When the morning owls came, Minerva reflexively looked up, expecting one of Elph’s magicked paper to come flying with soft words.
Evidently, none came in, but a letter was still dropped near her plate, the school owl flying away from the room.
She picked it up, curiosity and dread pushing her to open it and see what it was about.
She had very little family with whom she still was in close contact. And even less of them would have learned of Elph’s death in such quick notice.
Inside, ripping away the simple seal, she found words coming from Remus, about the trial that was to take place on the weekend.
The simple idea of it made her want to groan, proof of how weary she was of it all. Still, the memory of her students, the ones who still ran wild in some part of her heart, made her heart ache, the few embers of hope alight once again.
She was not certain on how the trial would go, but the simple fact that there was something to do, a chance to give, an opportunity to bring the truth out, it was enough to calm her mind.
Truth. Yes, indeed, she sorely lacked it recently.
Casting aside her grief for an instant, in perhaps not the healthiest manner, she regarded the situation she found herself in lately.
After the news of Regulus Black survival, as well as the belated reading of the Potters’ will, many of her beliefs had been shattered.
The war had had many unfortunate results. Death, terror, suspicion. Many things had taken years to rebuild. If Britain was building itself back up, its wixen citizen alongside it, it seemed that not all truth had been revealed.
The series of trials had been painful to go through at the time, many deaths to account for, many crimes that deserved punishment. At that time, reading the news felt like both a blessing and a curse.
She wondered how many of the culprits had been tried properly, behind the closed door of the Wizengamot’s chambers, how many had been properly heard and seen. She wondered how many had been rigged, in one way or another. If many innocents haunted the walls of the dreaded prison. If many culprits walked amongst her kin in the streets.
Her thoughts wandered sadly, too many questions and worries plaguing her mind. By her side Severus, who had been growing into a lean and tall man, less lanky and a tad more confident than in his teenage years, halted his reading of the morning news when an owl dropped a letter in his plate.
Food flew a little around the table, a couple of glares sent his way as the youthful teacher glared at the piece of parchment.
On it, when he turned it around, was the seal of the Blacks.
Suddenly, Minerva wondered if the world would ever know peace.
Regulus sat on his seat, on the very far left of the chamber.
The Wizengamot Chamber, ready for trial.
He had a hand on his chest, feeling the perl etched there to seek comfort. It was a bad habit he had found himself doing more and more lately, something his mother would have punished harshly. But the feeling of the magic bound to it was oddly soothing. It was an unfamiliar magic, nothing akin to his own or his family’s, a potent magic free of links to who he inherently was but which still somehow chose a vessel in him.
He observed as Minerva and Augusta entered the room, long robes flowing, disdain and pride written on each of their features. As the entryway of the room was on the very far right of the chamber, they met his own eyes, nodding in a silent promise, before sitting by the first row of chairs, near the accused box, situated right underneath the judge’s own elevated seat, where Sirius would soon be dragged and questioned.
Minerva looked a bit rattled, a few charms that Regulus had never seen her use decorating her face. He suddenly remembered the news brought by Remus and felt the urgent need to join the woman and offer her his condolences and thanks. Her grief must have been great and yet, she sat there, ready to fight for Regulus’ own family, her back as straight and her gaze as calm as he had ever seen her bear.
The moment loomed on him slightly, his brother’s trial, the possibility of Sirius walking free once more amongst them, of him and Regulus having an opportunity to talk, to heal. He scarcely allowed himself to think of it, fearing that his hopes would be heard and squashed by powers above his understanding, his horrendous luck striking once more. Instead, he stared at the Chief Warlock’s seat, the fine purple and lilac drapings with the circle of the Wizenmagot woven in gold in the fabric behind it. His eyes roamed the rows, as full as they would get at this time with even the Lords and Ladies who usually avoided the world of politics joining to partake and see the outcomes of this trial.
The room was semi-circular, imbued with Ancient Magick known by the wixen of Olde who had crafted the walls of the assembly.
Dark woods, carved with runes and worn images of mystic lore, climbed high and joined into a vaulted ceiling. There, colourful glass emitting light fuelled by the ambient magic gave the impression of a grand sky hidden behind the swirling patterns. Deep green draperies closed the balconies where many could observe the open sessions.
The Chief Warlock’s seat was at the centre of the semi-circle, seen by all. The etchings of the box were enchanted and moved in contact with the current Chief’s magic. By its side, the Minister’s seat was slightly lower, on the right, the chair almost regal, a few magical crystals added to the wood were meant to change the room’s settings, allow natural light to come in, open the curtains, send a noise-cancelling spell and various other effects that could be useful in the room full of politics. The secretary’s seat was on the Chief’s left, even lower. There was very little decoration on it, only an ink pot and a scroll of infinite parchment for the person to take notes of the discussions and decisions of the court.
As the room slowly filled, appointed Lords and Ladies stepping behind their Legacies counter-parts, many gazes turned toward Regulus. His brother was to be tried today, another Black potentially joining back the high society they had been banned from a few years ago. The Black-madness, a traitorous son turning away from the gifts of the Light to follow a sinister Master, a powerful brother who got lost in his hubris. One who had avoided Death and watchful eyes by disappearing, the other who hoped to walk free of the chains and fears that the Dementors brought to his mind. Plagued was the History of the Blacks. And a rich nest for gossip as well, it seemed.
Still, the news of the trial had brought attention to the loyalties of the Blacks, questions of their Legacy, of the rightfulness of some anger held against them for the betrayal of the Potters, or the chance to gain more allies in the Dark or Neutral factions.
As it was, Lady Patil, Lady Abbots, Lord Malfoy or even Lord Weasley seemed to wish to discuss with him, or at the very least did not bear any warryness or disdain toward him.
Nonetheless, not all the attention was kind.
Sirius being tried was also a form of challenge. Against the Ministry, or the Light Factions, of their capacity to lead, to judge. Even perhaps against the Dark Factions. All of past followers who had escaped Azkaban, by avoiding trial or managing to lie through their examination, all of them knew that Sirius was no Death Eaters, no supporter or follower. But he had been punished and his incarceration had calmed the mind of the Ministry. Who was to know what they would demand after the trial found the accused innocent?
It was mainly Lord Flint, Warrington, Smith or even Lady Diggory who made their dislike or suspicion much more obvious.
The stares did not help Regulus with the anxiety that was rising within him.
Under the entire room's scrutiny, he would be seeing his brother for the first time in many, many years. His brother whom he had abandoned the same way he had, himself, been abandoned in the past, to an horrendous place, filled with horrors and terrors.
His sole source of relief laid in the fact that the trial would take place in the Parliamentary chamber, the first to be made, where the Magic soothed the troubled mind and answered to the own House Magic in curious ways, rather than some of the old Courtrooms hidden under the Ministry. The idea of seeing his older brother, wracked by Dementors, kept away behind bars, powerful wards keeping his magic on a leash, was profoundly painful. Regulus was glad this room had been chosen, whether to avoid the curious eyes of the press or to make a show of good faith, he cared little.
Still, he took a long breath in and tried to calm his tumultuous thoughts. He needed to offer a strong image before falling prey of the stares holding onto him. He raised his Occlumency shields, trying to channel his magic tightly in his core, the old magic one from his family as much as the new from his role as an Unspeakable, to protect his emotions and mind of any prodding from, say, one Albus Dumbledore.
Speaking of, he and the Minister, Millicent Bagnold, a brown haired witch clad in red with soft lines on her face to show her age, as well as the Secretary of Chamber joined the crowd of the room and power walked to their seats. The two women sat down calmly, looking at the room with seriousness. Dumbledore on the other hand, sat down to flourish in fragrant and colourful clothes, both smelling and looking like rosemary. He looked around with his kind and welcoming grandfatherly smile, meeting the eyes of a few people, before straining his eyes up, behind those half-moon glasses of his, and looking directly at Regulus.
As Madam Bagnold shifted the light away from the rows of seats to focus them toward the Judges’ own boxes and accused chair, apparently ready to call the beginning of the trial, Regulus struggled to read behind the irises of the man.
Then, as the crowd settled, anxiety settled in Regulus’ chest as a constant but low buzz, and all of them taking their seats, a grim-faced Bartelemius Crouch Senior, current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, walked in with a shadowing cohort of Aurors.
Sirius was with them, surrounded on all sides and held by Amelia Bones as they took him to his chair, chaining him to it before retracting to the walls, on standby. Only Madam Bones slid on a seat, by Minerva and Augusta’s side, taking out of her robes several pieces of parchments.
Sirius looked dreadful. There was no other word for it, and the sight alone pulled an uncomfortable feeling at the back of Regulus’ throat. He was thin, his hair greasy and too straight, falling limply on each side of his face. His skin was pale, the greenish tint of a sunless life, the tattoos that peaked from under the rags he wore looked less vibrant than they should. Those were meant to be layered with magics of all sorts, but they were now pale and grey, and yet, still a deep contrast on the cadaveric tones of the man’s skin. Deep circles hugged his eyes, shadows drawn on his sharp features. Even his silver eyes looked far too dull for the quick witted man.
And it had only been four years.
Four years of constant torture, of damp and cold cells filled with various psychological horrors.
Four years that could have been so much more had Regulus decided to stay hidden longer.
Sirius did not look around. He stared blankly forward in the empty guests’ seats underneath the Ministry’s Heads’ own.
Suddenly, Regulus wondered if Sirius knew he, his younger brother whose death had been announced readily and easily during the war, still walked, alive. Had someone tried to tell him? Was he aware ? Did he care? What reactions would he show, once they’d be able to both walk free once more?
A sudden panic rose within Regulus, questions upon questions of unresolved pasts and futures he had been too afraid to consider until now. Would Sirius even want to come with him? Could Regulus even ask it of him? Bringing him back to the house he left not so long ago, still haunted by its walls? Should he not try? Send Sirius to someone else, to a friend, to another place with kind hearts ready to help? Would it even be up to him?
Many sentences that ended at Azkaban were for a lifetime, few were the people who got to leave its walls. The demented glimpse of them, of those people who got out of decades of torture and never joined back the polite society that starved for gossip about their state, little was known of the prolongated results of the Dementors upon one’s mind. Madness was the only answer, but Regulus did not know if it was, in any way or form, curable.
He hoped so. He felt like a little kid once more, seeing his brother leave for Hogwarts for the first time, leaving him behind, unsure of what the future would hold for them.
The soft hammer hitting the Chief Warlock’s table and echoing across the room brought Regulus back to the present.
Dumbledore rose once more, smiled and announced that the trial was to begin.
Sirius, at that, looked up. His lightless eyes scanned the shadows of the room, his eyes falling on the Aurors with a slight frown. However, his features relaxed when he saw Minerva on his left. The women were sitting under the Head of Games and Sports, not so far from Regulus’ own seat if Sirius was to ever look up. Regulus knew it wouldn’t happen but the possibility made his blood boil with insecurities.
Regulus had not been active at all in the preparation for the trial. He didn’t know whether he’d be welcome to it, or if he could even handle it properly. He trusted Remus, Minerva, Augusta and the team they had strung together, from Lawyers to Mind Healers and Gringotts advisers, to bring the whole thing to term with the best outcomes. Remus had told him that everything was going fine and he trusted that as well.
Amelia Bones stood up and went forth, before the Chief’s seat and behind Sirius’s seated form. She held a paper in her hand, straightening her back before starting to read. But, for his lack of action, a violent wave of guilt rose within him.
“The Wizengamot is here today in order to bring this man, Sirius Orion Black, to trial before our Law. It came to attention, from Lady Longbottom and Lady Urquart’s-” such was the title Minerva McGonagall bore in court in her husband’s stead, “inquiries, that the previous sentence, a lifetime in Azkaban for his implication in the murders of one Lily Potter nee Evans and James Potter as well as the thirteen murders under muggle witness, including that of one of our own kin, Peter Pettigrew, could have missed some evidences. After internal investigation, it was discovered that the culprit had not been tried after accusations were made in 1981 but nonetheless sent to Azkaban. The case is as follows: To try one Sirius Orion Black under our Law, and should the accused be found innocent of the charges put against him, compensation for the inconvenience should be discussed, and further investigation brought upon the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” She nodded once, putting down her parchment on the Undersecreaty’s desk before sitting back once more.
Whispers rose across the room as the piece of paper was passed to Dumbledore, then to Bagnold. While the Chief Warlock’s face did not show any sign of surprise, his feature remained smooth and calm, unbothered and kind, the Minister’s however, rippled with tension. Perhaps her reign would be cut short if the story was not managed properly. The session was closed to the public, she probably intended to save face as much as possible in the inevitable end of the case. Nonetheless, Regulus thought the one who risked the most was good old Barty Senior. He could admit to himself, if not anyone else, that he felt some vindication knowing that the man would fall from his pedestal by something that was, somewhat, by his hand. Barty would be proud, he hoped.
After the room calmed once more, one of Sirius’ lawyers got up and went beside her client.
“The accusations against my client are as follows: Accomplice of the Murder of Lily Lilac Potter nee Evans, witch, as well as in the murder of James Fleamont Aamod Potter, wizard, both killed by the wizard known as the Dark Lord Voldemort. Murder of twelve muggles, murder of one wixen adult, Peter Pettigrew, wizard, breach of the Statute of Secrecy. On the night of the 31st of October, 1981, Sirius Orion Black was seen duelling Peter Pettigrew in the streets of Muggle London, several blasts resulted and by the time the smoke cleared, twelve muggles were found dead and the only trace left of Pettigrew was a severed finger. Witnesses have said to hear Pettigrew claim Mr. Black’s insanity, and of his betrayal of the Evans-Potter couple who were fervent followers of the self-claimed Light-side during the War. Mr. Black was believed to be the protector of the family at that time, under a charm used to hide a certain area from any tracking magic. However, recent discoveries went against many of those statements, accusations backed solely by Pettigrew whom the Ministry never had the opportunity to question due to his assumed death. In the Evans-Potter Will Reading of April 1984, the couple explained that it was Pettigrew who stood as Secret-Keeper and one Albus Percival Wuflric Brian Dumblore who had cast the charm. If Pettigrew’s claims are to be revisited, it is perhaps necessary for the rest of the case to be as well, and for the accused to be allowed defence. We are asking this room for Mr. Black to be placed under veritaserum and for this story to come to closure, one way or another.”
“Now, Ms. Mistletoe, would veritaserum not be too much?” Dumbledore asked calmly as the room turned toward him. Some whispers had spread about the old man’s own involvement in the case but his grandfatherly smile did not waver.
“The defence does not believe so. For lack of witness in the scene, there is but a single solution. The accused is agreeable to the terms.”
“And is the accused in the right state of mind to agree to it? I’m so terribly sorry to ask this but years spent in the presence of Dementors do not built the strongest minds”
“Indeed, Mr. Black was forced upon the constant presence of Dementors, known to be harrowing for the spirit and to bring the foulest of memories and emotions to the surface, and theorised to corrupt the mind and soul through time. This, I should add, was potentially done to a guiltless man. However, the defence includes Mind Healers who have agreed that it would still remain the safest option, compared to the taking of memories to use a Pensieve, or comparable means. Additionally, one of them is willing to perform the examination with the given list of questions agreed upon by both the defence and the representent of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“Very well, in that case, proceed.” Dumbledore answered politely, offering the floor with a wave.
A Mind Healer, green robes perfectly ironed, grey hair pulled in a tight bun, walked forward with a box and placed it on the secretary’s desk. As the woman went over the box, pulling a vial of veritaserum out with an enchanted piece of parchment testifying the origin and authenticity of the formula and ingredients used, the Mind Healer was handed four pieces of paper that he also distributed to the woman.
Regulus believed those to be the set of questions that Sirius was expected to go through.
Dumbledore took hold of the veritaserum and held it close to his face before handing it to the Minister who held her own inspection, casting a few charms to verify the composition of the liquid before, begrudgingly it seemed, nodding.
The Healer, with the vial once more in his hands, went to administer it to Sirius. Before, however, he asked a few questions, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
“What is your name, age, and birthdate?”
“My name is Sirius Orion Black. Twenty-five year-old. November 3, 1959.”
Hearing his brother’s voice for the first time in years — since before the war even — was like a punch in the guts. Suddenly, Regulus felt like his eyes were getting moist.
“Mister Black, I am Roland Drake, I will be questioning you about the event that took place on the night of October 31st, 1981, as well as the following week. You are to be put, with your consent, under the effect of veritaserum, a potion that forces one to answer truthfully to inquiries made in their direction. Are you still agreeable to the following terms: you are to answer the questions previously discussed by your defence under the effect of the potion, should you try to answer outside of the list, questions from the judges, jury or guests, or due to the strength of the potion, offer statement unprompted, you will be quieted by myself through magic.”
“I still agree to the terms,” he breathed out. There was something in his voice, unuse perhaps, that made it less gentle, less warm, than what it once had been. Less alive, even. Something deep that probably resonated through more than the man’s simple appearance.
Healer Drake helped him swallow the liquid, titling his head back and showing the entire room, even Regulus with his view on the side, the hollows of his brother’s collarbone.
“Very well, please, if you may repeat yourself, what are your name, age and birthdate?”
“My name is Sirius Orion Black. Twenty-five year-old. November 3, 1959.”
“Where were you on the night of October 31st, 1981, from 8pm to the next morning 9am?”
“I was at my flat to prepare for a visit to the Potters’, then I went to Potters’, then I went to London. Then I was in the Ministry of Magic’s holding cells.”
“Were the Potters’ under the protection of the Fidelius Charm? If yes, who cast it and were you the Potters’ Secret-Keeper at the time of October 31st, 1981?”
“The house was protected, yes. Professor Dumbledore had cast the spell and it was Peter Pettigrew,” Sirius’ voice, until now flat and numb to the questioning as if tired of the entire ordeal, grew slightly bitter and angry, hitched breath breaking the stillness of the potion, “the rat was the Secret-Keeper.”
The Healer turned slightly toward the lawyer, showing a line of text of his parchment. He received a nod for answer and kept on going.
“You refer to Peter Pettigrew as ‘the rat’. Evidence shows that he was an illegal animagus. Is it the case, and if yes, what animal could he turn into?”
“He is, and it’s a rat.”
“Are you also an animagus, if yes, what animal?”
“Yes, a dog.”
“Were you ever planning on registering?”
“We discussed the possibility of doing so after the war. We thought that any advantage could be useful while we fought.”
The lawyer nodded at that and tapped lightly on the Healer’s shoulder, probably telling him to go back to the previously chosen order of the questions.
“Why were you at the Potters’?”
“It was Halloween, we had planned a little gathering to celebrate Harry’s first Samhain.”
If many people across the room did not seem shocked, or even agreed with tiny nods, Dumbledore let a shadow fall across his face. Regulus tried not to scoff, guessing that the reference to the Traditional equinox festivities might have ticked his overly progressive mindset.
“What did you find at the Potters’?”
Each of Sirius’ words dragged back memories that Regulus wished he could forget.
“The door was bashed open,”
hinges torn, glass shattered
, “the whole house was a mess,”
open pillows, framed pictures fallen to the floor
, “James was dead in the staircase,”
empty eyes, crooked and broken glasses, a trail of blood down his brow
, “Upstairs, in the nursery, Lily was dead also,”
a pool of blood-coloured hair across a peaceful face, tears still wet on fair skin
, “Harry was crying in his crib,”
crying, crying and
crying
.
Ripples of noise filled the room at that.
“Harry Potter was still alive?” “Where was the child?” “Where did he go?”
With a swift movement of his wand, the Healer managed to draw Sirius’ mouth shut.
Agitation took over, questions being thrown in the room at no one in particular, about Harry who was meant to have died and disappeared by the hand of Voldemort, dragging the Dark Lord to his own death. A frown took over Dumbledore’s own face, openly showing consternation and confusion, something like doubt and maybe even fear rising behind his pale eyes.
With a tightened face, eyebrows drawn down and a hand clutched around parchment, the lawyer went to Amelia Bones, disquiet shared between the two of them. They took themselves to the Chief’s table and whispered in tones unheard by the jury as they kept discussing amongst themselves.
Soon after, however, silence was drawn in the room by the Minister.
“The questioning will proceed, Mr. Black will answer a few more questions about the matter once the verdict of his sentence is chosen. Please, keep quiet.” She announced before sitting back once more.
“Once you had found the Potters dead, what did you do?”
“Hagrid arrived at the same time I got the nursery, I got out of the house and told him to deal with Harry while I went to look for Peter.”
“Please, refer to each person involved by their full name if you are referring to them for the first time. Who is Hagrid?”
“Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper of Hogwarts.”
“Why did you go after Peter, and how did you know where to find him?”
“Peter was the only one that could have invited someone new to the cottage. We knew there was a traitor in our ranks already and seeing…everything was proof enough. I went to confront him at his flat in London. I was not sure he would be there but it was the best place to start.”
“Was he there? Please, recount the following events of the night until you found yourself in the middle of the muggle-lived street.”
“He was making a mess trying to gather his stuff. I went to confront him about his allegiances. I was mad. He betrayed me, my best friends, his
own
fucking best friends,” again, his voice wavered and his breathing picked up. In the light, spit flew out his pursed lips, his eyes shining with an anger barely refrained by the magic of the potion. The Healer lifted his wand but did not mute him. “He started pleading for his life, for mercy, claiming he didn’t have any choice. When he saw that I didn’t believe him, he tried to run but I caught him. He apparated us outside, then in the middle of a busy street in central London. There were pubs around, and the night was clear, many people were out celebrating.”
A look at the lawyer, a nod. “Why did you not believe his plea?”
“Fidelius Charms cannot be tricked. Imperius or mind-altering potions won’t work on a Secret-Keeper, unless the caster’s magic could not hold on. It was Dumbledore who cast it. I did not believe him when he said the magic had failed.”
“What happened once you arrived in the street?”
“He started screaming. He said I had betrayed James, that I had killed them, that it was my fault. He said I served Him. He-”
“Please, can you state whom you are talking about?”
“Voldemort,” Sirius bit out, his nose wrinkling slightly, anger bright for an instant in his gaze. A few flinches went around the room. “He said I followed Voldemort.”
“Were you a follower of,” the Healer went over his notes, taking a deep breath before looking up at Sirius again. Regulus could only see his back from where he sat but he could guess the look of disgust as he uttered the few following words. “Of Voldemort, at any given point of your life? If yes, when?”
“No, never.”
Whispers.
“What happened next?”
“He kept on going with his accusation. At some point he managed to free himself. He punched me in the face, broke my nose,” with his hands chained together, Sirius pointed at his nose.
Funnily enough, Regulus saw the first signs of the brother he once knew in the gesture. He saw the slight crook, understood that his nose probably had never been set right in the following hours and days after his capture and was left to heal on its own. But Sirius was bearing the slightest of smiles, the smallest hint of cockiness like he was starting to realise that this might all work out for him.
“He took his wand out and blasted a corner of the street, kept on pleading out loud to stop my madness. By the time I understood what was happening he had started killing muggles around us. They were screaming in terror, there were stones exploding, the pavement flying to the skies. When I tried to disarm him he had bombed the floor where he stood already and I couldn’t see him. By the time I had gotten close enough, I was stopped and the air cleared and he was gone.”
“To make it clear to the court: Are you in any capacity responsible for the death of Lily and James Potter?”
“Yes.”
The room came alight with whispers, Regulus’ own eyebrows shutting up.
“Elaborate please.”
“I advocated for Peter to be the Secret-Keeper. Dumbledore and James wanted it to be me but Lily thought it would be too obvious and I agreed with her. I said I wouldn’t do it and put them in danger. It’s my fault if Peter was able to betray us.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Black. I would like to ask only one question about this, still. Have you given any information to He-who-must-not-be-named’s side that resulted in the Potters’ death on that night?”
“I don’t believe I did.”
“Thank you. Moving along, did you kill the twelve muggles found dead that day in the street in which you fought Peter Pettigrew?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?”
“No.”
Whispers filled the room.
“Did you break the Statute of Secrecy?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you break it?”
“I was trying to stop him from killing further, and destroying more. I did not see another option at the time.”
“Very well, thank you Mister Black. If the Chief Warlock agrees, I will drain the effect of the potion off now.”
“Is the questioning over, Ms. Mistletoe?” Asked Dumbledore. His face had gone back to grandfatherly, clean of the previous shock brought by Sirius’ news about Harry. Only a slight show of sadness showed on his face, as if disappointed by the system to have let an innocent man imprisoned for years. Even Regulus and his suspicious heart could not figure out if it was all an act or if there was true sorrow in the old man’s heart.
“The decided upon-examination under veritaserum is over, but once Mr. Black is relieved of the effect of the potion, cross examination can happen, or further details can be explained if need arise.” She turned around and faced the room. “For the Jury’s information, let it be known that there is no cross examination to happen under the influence of veritaserum for the privacy of my client and the respect of this room and its members. All the parties involved had agreed on a given set of questions and all have been answered now. Madam Bones will proceed to questioning Mr. Black for her Department and I will have my own questions once this is done. Unless the judges have something to add, we should then be able to present the case for votes. Now, Madam Bones, the floor is yours.” She bowed her head and went to sit by Minverva’s side.
As the Senior Auror went up and situated herself by Sirius, a few whispers crossed the room on the side of the Lords and Ladies acting as Jury. Questions about the point of continuing when it was clear Sirius was innocent of the hardest charges against him. If there was a point in any addition. If they could focus on the news that Harry Potter, the child saviour, Hero and Martyr, had mysteriously vanished rather than perished in a great bout of magic some five years ago. If they could throw Crouch out for his lack of skill. If anyone wished to join them for tea afterward.
Behind him, Regulus heard Lucius Malfoy whisper to Lady Crowley, mostly called Lady Zabini nowadays even if her seat was that of the Crowley House, and question how many believed truths admitted during and after the war had been lies. When Regulus dared to look back, he met both of their gaze, the platinum blond of the Mafloy Lord in stark contrast with the darkness of the room. Lady Zabini lifted her hand and waved with her fingers, a sharp smile cutting across her face.
Down, around Sirius, the Healer had stopped his circle around the chair, the waving of his wand stilling as the magical effect of the potion vanished. Then, he went to sit near the lawyer.
“Mr. Black. I am Amelia Bones, I represent the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the duration of this trial. I will try to clarify some points you have mentioned previously. Even if you are no longer under the effect of the magical potion veritaserum, you are expected to answer as truthfully as possible. If you do not know, are not certain, or do not remember, state so. I will now begin. When and under what circumstances did you become an animagus? The question also applies to Peter Pettigrew if you know the answer. Why did you not register immediately?”
“We were at school, teenagers being teenagers you know. Minnie, that is Professor McGonagall, sorry, started teaching about it in third year and we got interested. It took us years and by the time we managed to fully transform, the war was already starting, somehow, and we thought it would be better to hide it for now.”
“The use of ‘we’ refers to…?”
“Peter Pettigrew, James Potter and myself.”
“You were rumoured to have a fourth friend in school, did he not join this endeavour of yours?”
“Chief Warlock!” The lawyer, Ms. Mistletoe, stood up from her seat and looked directly at the man. “This interrogation is meant to be about the current case and not Mr. Black’s rumoured friendship and teenage mistakes.”
“That is true. Please, Madame Bones, keep it to the accusation stated earlier.”
“You said you being the Secret-Keeper was dangerous for the Potters but claimed to believe Peter’s own spell would not have failed. Why is there a difference?”
“I am known for my temper… I have said and done things in anger that I’m not proud of but I would not let my ego come in the way of my best friends’ lives. I also still had ties to the Dark side… I said I did not believe Peter could have been tampered with but I don’t know what sort of sick family blood magic ritual my mother could have cooked for
him
if he had asked. I believed it was the safer option. I was wrong.” His words sounded bitter, wavering a little at the end.
“Very well. Earlier, you stated that Harry Potter, the child of James Potter and Lily Evans, was still alive when you came to the house. However, statements from neighbours said that they saw three flashes of green light, assumed to be the Killing Curse from memory observation and followed analysis by professionals. This, up until now, pushed toward the theory that all three members of the household died in the attack, the young Harry managing to destroy the Dark Lord afterward as the house exploded right after the third blast. In what state did you find the child? And how did you leave him?”
“I don’t know. He was alive. He was crying in his crib and it was so loud. Lily was dead in front of him and he was trying to reach out but he was so small and then I saw Hagrid arrive and I thought he could take care of Harry while I went looking for Peter. I couldn’t just let Peter run away with what he did. Hagrid said Dumbledore had sent him so I was sure Harry would be okay. I even left my motorcycle for him to make a safe trip.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know. I was sent to Azkaban and no one has told me what happened to Harry in the meantime. I don’t understand what you mean to say when you say he is dead.”
“What would you have done to Peter, if he had not run like he did?”
“Chief Warlock! The case is not about ‘what ifs’ but about a real situation.”
“Yes, Madam Bones, please refrain from this sort of questioning, it will get us nowhere.”
“Understood. I will keep on going then. Albus Dumbledore was an active member of the previous war. The Fidelius Charm meant to protect the Potters was cast by Albus Dumbledore. He, therefore, knew the identity of the secret keeper and then, your innocence in the betrayal of the Potters at the very least. Rubeus Hargid was sent by him, as you said, and there was no mention left of the Potter child afterward. I’d like to know why, in your opinion, he did not come to help you get a fair trial?”
“Madam Bones, please!” Dumbledore stated. He had in his voice something chastising as if talking to a very impudent child. “I do not understand the relation between this case and my own involvement in the war. Let’s not mix things up and throw unnecessary conjectures into it, thank you.”
“Then, Mr. Black. The Aurors that came to bring you to the Ministry stated that you were laughing at the scene of crime, which proved for some that you were indeed guilty of the accusations put against you. Now that the court heard you state otherwise, can you explain your actions?”
“I don’t think I can do it in a way for them to understand. Peter Pettigrew was not known as the bravest or smartest of wizards. But still. I realised that he had managed to not only trick all of us, change sides at some point, I don’t even know when, and hide it from us. And, at the end, he even succeeded in turning the situation completely upside down for me and accusing me of something I would never do. I thought I might have a complicated trial, and maybe a questionable reputation for a while, with him missing and all of those people dead, but I never realised he’d be successful enough for me not to have a trial at all.”
“I have one last question. If you are innocent of the murder of Peter Pettigrew, do you have any idea where he would have gone and how he would have escaped the scene? I remind you that one of his fingers was found on the ground.”
“I reckon he used the whole mess to cut his own finger, turn into a rat and scurry away, like the bastard he is.”
“Please refrain from using this sort of language, Mr. Black.”
“I don’t know where he went. I don’t think I knew him all that well in the end. The Peter I knew would have died for his friends, like any of us would have died for him.”
“Do you have no idea what could have turned him away from the side of Light?”
“No.”
“Very well, thank you Mr. Black for your forwardness. I am done with my examination, Chief Warlock.”
“Then, Ms. Mistletoe, if you have anything to add?”
“At the moment, the defence has nothing to add to the discussion and would like to proceed to the votes. If my client is found innocent however, we would like to have the floor once more to debate with the court the reparations for the unlawful imprisonment.”
Dumbledore nodded, his hand inviting the Minister to rise. As she did, the light shifted and the entire room was once more visible. From the top of the seats, Regulus could see his brother shift uncomfortably. He seemed much more aware than he did when he arrived, his eyes a bit more awake, a bit more lively, and the attention was clearly not helping him all that much.
Through the whispers and words that had started flying once more across the jury, the Minister rose and quieted the room.
“The Wizengamot is to vote on the following topic. Please, raise your wand when asked to. The following statement was discussed by representent of our Laws: is Sirius Orion Black guilty or innocent of being an accomplice in the death and murders of Lily and James Potter? Innocent, raise your wand.”
It looked like a sea of stars. A wave took over the Lords and Ladies in the stands, hands and wands rising in pretty much every seat. Most wands rose at the call, a galaxy of lighted dots across the darkened room. The very few of them who decided to not do so made themselves discreet, which was a rare sight. Most of the time, the room could get very unruly during the votes, especially if it was after a long debate period.
The lights were gathered by the Secretary before the Minister spoke once more.
“Guilty, raise your wand.”
None rose but Diggory and Doge’s, two strongly Light faction-aligned men. Regulus did not care to think more about their reasoning, his brother was free of this charge at least.
“The accused is found innocent of being an accomplice in the murders of Lily and James Potter. Next, is Sirius Orion Black guilty or innocent of the murders of twelve muggles? Innocent, raise your wand.”
Again, many if not most wands rose. The few stubborn ones were doing it discreetly, and not in any particular show of allegiance because it was clear for both the Light and the Dark, for the past followers of the Dark Lord as well as the ones who went with Dumbledore and even the few who remained neutral, that Sirius had not killed all those muggles and that going against a fact would simply arise too much attention to them.
“Guilty, raise your wand.”
Two wands only rose, the rest abstaining from voting.
“The accused is found innocent of the murder of twelve muggles. Next, is Sirius Orion Black guilty or innocent of the murder of Peter Pettigrew? Innocent, raise your wand.”
Again, the whole tribune if not a few stray hands rose their wands. There were fewer strays this time, most likely because the accusation of murder for a wixen were, for some still, stronger allegations than those of muggles, however numerous those were.
“Guilty, raise your wand.”
This time, no wand rose, a few more choosing to abstain than the previous round of votes.
“The accused is found innocent of the murder of Peter Pettigrew. Further investigation shall start as to the status of the wizard so he can be brought to court to answer for his crimes. Next, should Sirius Orion Black be punished for the breach in the Statute of Secrecy while witnessing the murders and destruction of propriety by means of magic? I shall remind the Wizengamot that a breach is only punishable if the circumstances could have been either avoided, hidden my additional spells, or if it were the result of premeditated decisions. I invite the Wizengamot to think about the evidence brought today before their vote. The accused should be punished, raise your wand.”
This time, the results were slightly different. Instead of the previous waves of agreement, perhaps a bit less than half of the room raised their wands at the announcement. Regulus was not part of them, evidently. Many others, like Lucius, Lady Zabini, Urquart, Longbottom, Abbot, Patil, Fawley, and Lord Greengrass, Weasley, Warrington, and Crabbe, all kept themselves from voting. Some others, like Lord Nott, or Flint who believed in absolute separation between the worlds, or even Lady Diggory or Shacklebolt with a very keen sense of moral concerning the laws, all rose their wand.
The Secretary counted the votes, her hand flying around with her own wand to collect the points of light lit at the tip of each of the wands.
Then, the Minister spoke once more. “The accused should not be punished, raise your wand.”
Regulus raised his wand, so did many in the assembly.
Again, votes were counted, and with a final movement of her wand, the Minister announced the results.
“The accused should not be punished for the offence. Chamber of the Wizengamot, the verdict of the trial has fallen: Sirius Orion Black, accused of murders and endangering the wixen society, is found not guilty by the jury.”
Dumbledore gave a flick of his wand, hitting the wood of his table. As Chief Warlock, it was the equivalent of a judge hitting a hammer down. He stood up, a big smile on his face as he started applauding. Many followed suit.
Regulus only had eyes for his brother, trying to observe him through the crowd. His shoulders had sagged, hands rising to cover his face but stopping halfway with his wrists chained. In a second, lawyers, Mind Healers and the two Ladies who had worked on the case were by his side. Speaking in hushed tones, drowned in the noises of the cheering or congratulating members of the Wizengamot, they had Amelia Bones take off the chains.
His brother was free.
And Regulus kind of wanted to cry.
However, the entire process was far from over.
He wanted to curl up in bed, perhaps have Harry telling him about his day, or Panda near to comb through his hair with her fingers. He wanted Lily and James so desperately that his chest ached.
It was useless to hope for it now, so he took a long breath and straightened his back. If anyone saw anything in the seats around, they kept to themselves.
Sirius was taken away by the Mind Healers, his body free of any bind, his walk somewhat lighter as Minerva took his hand in hers and left alongside.
He was in good hands.
Still, the Minister rose once more, the room fell quiet, and on went the discussion on the reparation due.