Chapter Text
King’s Cross Station, 1981
Evelyn stood by the entrance to Platform 9¾, her hand gripping the handle of her suitcase tightly. The chill of the March air bit into her skin, but she barely noticed it. Her eyes were fixed on the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express, parked just beyond the enchanted barrier. It wasn’t taking students today, just cargo. And her.
Sirius stood a few paces away, leaning against one of the stone pillars. He hadn’t said much since they’d arrived, only watched her with a mixture of frustration and concern. His jaw was set in that stubborn way she knew all too well, like he was biting back a dozen arguments at once.
"You don’t have to go," Sirius said suddenly, his voice tight.
Evelyn sighed and turned to him. "We’ve been through this, Sirius. Dumbledore thinks—"
"I know what Dumbledore thinks," he interrupted, pushing off the pillar and coming closer. His eyes—usually so full of mischief—were shadowed with worry. "I just don’t understand why it has to be you. Canada’s halfway across the bloody world. Why can’t someone else check the wards and secure a safe house?"
Evelyn reached out and took his hand, her touch soft. “Because I know the kind of protection they need,” she said. “The kind of magic that could keep them safe if… if things go wrong.”
“Things won’t go wrong,” Sirius replied, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “James and Lily are safe. The Fidelius Charm will hold.”
Evelyn bit her lip. “I hope you’re right. But Voldemort’s growing bolder, and we can’t afford to take chances. If Harrison or Neville are in danger, we need somewhere to send them. Somewhere far away.”
She could see the battle in his eyes, the war between wanting to argue and wanting to keep her safe. Finally, he sighed, pulling her into his arms.
“Just… come back to me,” he murmured against her hair.
Evelyn smiled, her breath warm against his chest. “I will,” she promised. “I always do.”
The train’s whistle echoed across the platform, signalling that it was time for her to board. She kissed him softly and then pulled away, picking up her suitcase. As she stepped toward the train, Sirius called after her
“Evelyn!” She turned, seeing him standing there, looking far more vulnerable than she was used to. “Be careful, yeah?
She nodded. “Always.”
And with that, she disappeared onto the train, leaving Sirius standing on the platform, watching as she was carried away into the unknown.
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Remote Canada, 1981
The first thing Evelyn noticed as she stepped away from the portkey was the cold. The biting wind stung her cheeks, carrying with it the scent of pine and the faint, metallic tang of magic. She shivered slightly, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she glanced around the vast Canadian wilderness.
The landscape was raw and untouched, miles and miles of towering pine trees, jagged mountains in the distance, and rivers that cut through the earth like silver veins. Everything felt ancient and untamed, as though magic itself had seeped into the land over centuries, giving it a life of its own.
“Welcome to the middle of nowhere,” came a gruff voice from behind her.
Evelyn turned to see Charles—a rugged wizard in his late sixties—approaching her with a crooked smile. His thick grey beard matched the tufts of hair peeking out from under his knitted cap, and his clothing was practical and worn, suited for the harsh conditions of the Canadian wilderness.
“Quite the welcome,” Evelyn replied with a wry smile, though her eyes were scanning the surroundings, already assessing the magical presence in the area.
Charles chuckled. “Aye, it’s not much, but it’s far from the eyes of the Ministry, and that’s what you’re after, isn’t it?”
Evelyn nodded. “Exactly. The more isolated, the better. We’re not just trying to hide from wizards. If Voldemort comes after them, we’ll need something more than simple wards.”
Charles gestured for her to follow, and they began walking down a narrow trail that led deeper into the woods. As they moved, the air around them seemed to hum with energy. There was something different about the magic here—older, more primal than anything Evelyn had encountered in Britain.
“The sanctuary’s not much further,” Charles said after they had been walking for about half an hour. “It was built by one of the first magical settlers here, long before the Ministry was even a thought. Only a few of us even know it exists. The magic’s strong—dangerous, even. It doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous how?”
Charles shot her a sidelong glance. “The wards here are tied to the land. They react to intention. If it senses any kind of threat, the magic will strike back. It’s kept us safe for generations, but it can be… unpredictable.”
Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or Charles’s words. “And you’re sure it can be controlled?”
Charles shrugged. “If anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the skills. But this magic has a mind of its own.”
They reached the edge of a clearing, and Evelyn stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening in awe. In the centre of the clearing stood the remnants of an ancient stone structure, half-buried in the earth. Vines and moss had overtaken most of it, but the air around it thrummed with power. The stones glowed faintly with runes that looked older than anything Evelyn had seen.
“This is it,” Charles said, his voice low, almost reverent. “This place has protected our people for centuries. But as I said, it’s… temperamental. Be careful when you explore.”
Evelyn glanced at him. “Anything specific I should watch for?”
Charles’ eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. “Everything.”
Evelyn took a deep breath, her fingers tingling with anticipation. She could feel the magic here—wild and untamed, but incredibly strong. It was exactly the kind of protection they needed for Harrison and Neville, should the worst happen.
“I’ll be careful,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “But I have to make sure it’s safe. For their sake.”
Charles nodded and stepped back, giving her space. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Just… don’t push it too hard. The magic’s been dormant for a long time. It might not take kindly to being disturbed.”
Evelyn offered him a small smile before turning her attention fully to the sanctuary. She could feel the pull of the ancient magic beneath her feet, calling to her, urging her to step closer. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took her first step into the clearing, her wand at the ready.
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Deep in a Canadian Forest, 1981
Evelyn stood in the heart of the sanctuary, surrounded by crumbling stone walls and the faint glow of runes etched into the floor beneath her. The magic in the air was thick, almost oppressive, and she could feel it vibrating against her skin like a living thing. She had spent hours carefully testing the wards, running her hands over the ancient runes and casting diagnostic spells to understand their power.
The sanctuary was everything she had hoped it would be—powerful, hidden, and nearly impenetrable. But there was something about the magic that made her uneasy. It was wild, unpredictable, like a beast that had been chained for too long and was ready to lash out.
She muttered another spell under her breath, her wand glowing as she traced the edges of a particularly intricate rune. As she did, she felt a shift in the air around her, a sudden surge of energy that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand.
Frowning, she stepped back, trying to assess what had triggered the reaction. The magic here was old, almost sentient in the way it responded to her presence, but she had been careful—she hadn’t done anything that should have provoked such a strong reaction.
A gust of wind swept through the clearing, rattling the stones around her. Evelyn’s heart raced as she sensed the magic rising, swirling around her like a storm. She raised her wand, trying to cast a protective spell, but before she could utter the incantation, the ground beneath her feet trembled.
The air crackled with energy, and a blinding light erupted from the runes. Evelyn stumbled backward, shielding her eyes as the magic surged toward her, enveloping her in a torrent of raw power.
“No!” she gasped, trying to fight against it, but it was too late. The magic had latched onto her, pulling her under, dragging her consciousness down into the depths of the ancient wards.
Her last thought before everything went dark was of Harrison—his bright green eyes, his infectious laugh—and the desperate hope that he would be safe without her.
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A Magical Hospital in Canada, 1992
Evelyn’s consciousness flickered like a dying candle, slowly pulling her from the depths of darkness. She was enveloped in a heavy fog, a weight pressing down on her chest as though the air itself was thick with confusion. Her thoughts swirled around her like fragmented memories—images of a sanctuary, the raw magic of ancient runes, and a blinding light.
As her awareness began to sharpen, the sounds around her mingled into clarity. She could hear the faint beeping of a monitor, the rustle of fabric, and the soft murmurs of voices nearby. Blinking her eyes open, Evelyn was greeted by the sterile, white walls of a hospital room, the soft glow of enchanted lanterns casting a warm light.
“Where… am I?” she croaked, her voice hoarse and unfamiliar. She tried to sit up but was quickly met with a wave of dizziness, forcing her back down onto the cool pillows. Panic coursed through her veins.
A figure appeared beside her—a woman in her late thirties with kind eyes and a long braid of dark hair. The woman wore robes that signalled her as a healer, and there was an air of authority about her.
“You’re in the Crystal Healing Center,” the healer said, her voice calm and soothing. “You had quite the incident out there, Madam.”
Evelyn’s heart raced as her mind tried to catch up. “What... happened to me?” she rasped.
The healer stepped closer, her expression sympathetic. “You were found outside the sanctuary grounds, unconscious. A magical backlash from the sanctuary’s wards caused a severe magical feedback. You’ve been in a magical coma for... quite some time.”
“A coma?” Evelyn repeated, her voice trembling. Her heart pounded as she tried to wrap her mind around the words. How long? The healer’s expression shifted, as though she were weighing how much to say. Evelyn gripped the edge of the blanket, steeling herself. “How long have I been... asleep?”
The healer hesitated before answering gently, “Eleven years.”
The words hit Evelyn like a physical blow. She stared at the healer, her breath catching in her throat. Eleven years. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. She had gone to Canada to scout a sanctuary, to see if it was safe to bring Harrison and Neville. She had planned to return within a few months.
Her mind reeled as she tried to comprehend the enormity of what had happened. Eleven years.
The healer’s expression softened further as she watched Evelyn’s reaction. “I’ll call for Healer Sorensen,” she said softly. “He’s been overseeing your case for a long time. He can explain everything.”
Before Evelyn could respond, the healer left the room, leaving her alone with the crushing weight of her thoughts. She stared blankly at the ceiling, the sterile surroundings of the hospital room closing in around her. Eleven years. That was more than a decade. More than a third of her life. What had she missed? What had happened to her family?
Her mind filled with questions, fear clawing at her chest. Harrison—what happened to him? He would be... eleven now. Old enough to go to Hogwarts. Her heart squeezed painfully as she thought of him. Was he safe? What had happened to James and Lily? And Sirius? Had they managed to protect him? Had they even survived?
The door creaked open, and a tall man entered the room. He was older than the healer who had first attended her, with silver streaks in his neatly trimmed beard and a soft, gentle expression in his eyes. His robes were a deep emerald green, and he carried a small enchanted clipboard that floated alongside him as he approached her bedside.
“Mrs. Black,” the man said kindly, his voice low and soothing. “I’m Healer Sorensen. It’s a relief to see you awake.”
Evelyn blinked up at him, her throat too tight to speak. She swallowed hard and nodded weakly, her mind still struggling to catch up.
“I’m sure you’re feeling disoriented,” Sorensen said gently. “You’ve been in a magical coma for a long time—eleven years, to be precise. The magical feedback from the sanctuary’s wards was... more severe than we initially realized.”
Evelyn’s voice finally broke free, trembling with emotion. “Eleven years,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I... I don’t understand. Why didn’t I wake up sooner?”
Healer Sorensen sighed softly and pulled up a chair, sitting beside her bed. “The nature of the magical coma you were in was... unique. The sanctuary’s wards are ancient and highly reactive to any attempts to tamper with them. When you attempted to channel their magic, they retaliated, trapping you in a state of suspended consciousness. For years, we tried various methods to wake you, but none of them worked.”
Evelyn’s heart sank. “Then... what changed?”
“About a year ago,” Sorensen explained, “we began collaborating with a team of researchers from the Ministry of Magic, here in Canada. They developed a series of new spells and potions specifically designed to counteract the effects of ancient warding magic. It’s a new branch of magical medicine—still experimental—but it was our last hope. We finally made a breakthrough a few months ago and began testing the methods on patients who had suffered similar magical comas. You were one of our most complex cases, but... the treatment worked. You finally woke up.”
Evelyn stared at him in disbelief. She should have been grateful, but all she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss. Eleven years. She had missed eleven years of her life, eleven years of Harrison’s life.
Her voice shook as she asked, “What... what has happened in England? What happened with the war? With Voldemort?”
Healer Sorensen’s expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing. “I’m afraid I don't know much about what happened in England. But... I’ll see what I can do. I’ll have someone fetch some recent newspapers from England, and try to gather what information I can.”
Evelyn nodded faintly, though her mind was still spinning. She needed to know what had happened. She needed to know if her family was safe.
Sorensen rose from his chair and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Rest now,” he said kindly. “You’re still weak from the coma, and it will take time to regain your strength. I’ll have some food brought to you, and in the meantime, we’ll do our best to gather the information you seek.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn whispered, though her voice was barely audible. Her mind was too full of fear and uncertainty to express much more.
As Sorensen left the room, Evelyn’s thoughts began to spiral. Harrison. He was eleven now. He should have started at Hogwarts this year, if everything had gone according to plan. But had everything gone according to plan? Was he safe? Was he with James and Lily? Or had something happened to them?
And Sirius... Her heart ached at the thought of him. She had left him behind, promising to return as soon as she could secure the sanctuary. But she hadn’t returned. She had been lost, trapped in this magical coma, while the war raged on in England.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of all the time she had lost. She had missed Harrison’s childhood. She had missed his first steps, his first words, his first day of school. She had missed everything.
“Please be safe,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please, let them be safe.”
Hours passed in a blur as Evelyn lay in the hospital bed, her mind too frantic to find any peace. She couldn’t stop thinking about Harrison, about Sirius, about everything she had missed. She kept imagining the worst—Voldemort winning the war, Harrison being taken, her family being destroyed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the healer from earlier returned with a tray of food and a stack of newspapers. The smell of the warm broth was comforting, but Evelyn barely noticed it as she sat up, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the first newspaper.
The headline made her heart stop:
“The Boy Who Lived: The Savior of the Wizarding World Begins Hogwarts.”
Her breath caught in her throat as she read the words. The Boy Who Lived. That could only mean... Harrison. Her godson had somehow survived Voldemort’s attack. But the phrase—the way it was written—made her heart ache. What had happened?
She skimmed through the article, her eyes wide with shock as she read about how Voldemort had been defeated, how Harrison had survived the Killing Curse, how James and Lily...
The newspaper slipped from her hands as she stared into the distance, her heart breaking. Lily was gone. James too. Harrison... Harrison was alive, but he had been left to face this world without her, without his parents, without any of them.
Her tears fell harder now, and Evelyn could only hold onto one single thought through the overwhelming grief: She had to find him. She had to find Harrison. Nothing else mattered, but that.
But her hands, still trembling, moved almost mechanically to pick up another newspaper from the pile. Her eyes, blurred by tears, scanned the pages as she tried to understand the events that had shaped the last eleven years.
And then, another headline caught her attention, one that made her heart lurch with a different kind of shock.
“Sirius Black: Betrayer of the Potters—Imprisoned in Azkaban.”
Her breath hitched. Her entire body froze as she stared at the words. Sirius... imprisoned? Betrayer of the Potters?
She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep reading, though each word felt like a dagger to her heart. The article detailed how Sirius Black, her husband, had supposedly betrayed James and Lily, revealing their location to Voldemort, leading to their deaths. It spoke of how he had been apprehended after murdering Peter Pettigrew and several Muggles in a single, explosive curse.
Evelyn’s hands clenched the paper so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Sirius, a traitor? Her mind recoiled at the thought. It didn’t make sense. She knew her Sirius better than anyone. He would never betray James. James was like a brother to him. And Harrison—Sirius loved Harrison. He would have died before ever allowing harm to come to him.
Wouldn’t he?
The room felt colder, the world around her spinning with an overwhelming sense of disbelief. Her Sirius wouldn’t do that. She had stood by him through everything, watched him become a fiercely loyal friend, husband, and protector. Sirius loved James. He loved Harrison. It didn’t matter what anyone said—her Sirius could never have handed them over to Voldemort.
But the doubt gnawed at her like a slow poison. She had been gone for eleven years. Eleven long years. She hadn’t seen what had happened. She hadn’t been there to witness the changes that time, fear, and war could inflict on a person’s heart. Could he have broken? Could Sirius, the man she loved, the man she trusted with her very life, have been twisted by the darkness?
No. She tried to shake the thought away, but the unease lingered. Her Sirius wouldn’t do this. And yet... she couldn’t deny the stark reality in front of her. The world believed him guilty. The evidence was overwhelming. He was imprisoned, reviled as a traitor. And in her absence, she hadn’t been able to stand beside him, to see the truth for herself.
Her throat tightened as her conflicting thoughts warred within her. The image of the Sirius she loved, the man she had married, collided with the stranger described in the papers—the man who had supposedly betrayed everything they had fought for.
But how could she trust that? She had been away for so long. Could she still claim to know him after all this time? Eleven years was enough for anyone to change, especially in the face of war and loss.
Evelyn felt herself spiralling, caught between the memory of the man she loved and the cold, hard reality of what had apparently happened while she had slept. She couldn’t reconcile the two. She couldn’t accept that her Sirius would betray them, and yet... the evidence seemed irrefutable.
A deep, hollow ache formed in her chest, a painful mix of disbelief, confusion, and betrayal. Evelyn didn’t know what to think. She wanted to deny it outright, to reject the very idea that her Sirius could have turned on their friends. But after so much time had passed, she wasn’t sure she had the right to make that call anymore. She wasn’t sure she knew him anymore. Eleven years was a long time. People could change.
Could Sirius have really done it?
Evelyn felt herself sinking into the weight of her grief and confusion. She couldn’t bring herself to believe it, but she couldn’t ignore it either. There were too many unanswered questions, too many mysteries lurking in the time she had lost. But one thing stood clear through the fog of uncertainty: She couldn’t judge this. Not yet. She had to find out the truth for herself. They must've made a mistake. There must be a reason for this. Something. Anything. She'll find out what. No matter what it took.
But above all, she needed to find Harrison. She needed to see him with her own eyes, to know he was safe, and to learn what had become of him.
“I’ll find you, Harrison,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll find the truth.”