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Chapter Text

The goblins laughed when they saw him, he remembered.

They laughed and handed him a key to a trust vault without explanation. They just said it was under his name.

He took it, looked inside and asked how the monetary system worked. They took too much glee in his ignorance, he would rather avoid asking them more than they were willing to give him, so he contented himself with the basics. The trust was enough to feed him and clothe him for the next thirty years, which was all he needed to know. He'd not have to worry about school supplies, and when he'd inquired he was told that his tuition was already paid.

He came back to the Dursleys and asked for answers. They’d been furious, of course. They hadn’t seen him take the letter and read it, they hadn’t noticed him slipping away to London on the off chance that it might not be a prank, that magic might actually be his way out of this horrible house.

Aunt Petunia told him the terrible truth.

His parents were alive, and they were wizards. They abandoned him under the assumption that he would never be able to do magic, and paid the Dursleys handsomely to take him in. At some point the payments stopped, so Petunia never saw fit to inform them he had manifested magical abilities. She only kept him because the neighbours would have talked if she hadn’t.

After that, he only had to open a history book to learn what the official story was. And to find out whose key he had been given.

James and Lily Potter were war heroes who unexpectedly found themselves with twins while they fought against a magical terrorist with a ridiculous assumed name that made people flinch when it was said out loud.

They went into hiding, as their bravery had attracted the eye of the Dark Lord, who hunted them down. But they were not home when he breached their wards, the protective magic surrounding their house rendered null by the betrayal of their close friend. The boys’ godfathers were caring for them; they fought hard, but only one survived. And in a depressing parallel, only one of the charges they were trying to protect lived to see the next day. Not only that, but Charlie Potter somehow destroyed the Dark Lord who had slayed Remus Lupin, his godfather. The backlash of the magical discharge caused by Lord Voldemort’s death killed his brother Harry and greatly injured the dead child’s godfather, but the wizarding world was finally at peace.

This was how Harry Potter found out the world thought him dead, and he had a younger twin brother who was hailed as a hero. His parents were public figures who would probably not like to see their dirty secret resurface.

His injured godfather’s name was Sirius Black. The man stayed in a magical coma for years, then woke up and repudiated the Potters for reasons the public was still unclear about. He left the country days after, and never came back. The trust was placed under Harry's name before he allegedly died, and the order never rescinded.

Harry wondered. But he never dared attempt to contact the man.

He came back to the goblins and asked them about ways to disguise his identity. They laughed some more and sent him off to Knockturn Alley. They weren’t a very helpful people, and their dislike for wizards suffered no exceptions, not even for muggle-raised abused children who bore them no ill will.

Braving the place dressed in muggle clothes was unadvisable, but Harry did not know it at the time. He survived, though not without collecting another scar and a curse at his back that left him blinded and in pain for days.

He didn’t make the same mistake another time, and soon enough he was considered acceptable enough for the Alley, and no one batted an eye when he inquired about renting a studio for the summers. His neighbours were a paranoid werewolf family who sometimes checked on him, but never let him into their home.

When he entered the Hogwarts Express, it was under the assumed name of Haron Pierce. He shaved his head and magically forced it into a buzz cut, threw out his glasses and replaced them with contact lenses. He wore wizarding clothes that fit him but were otherwise unremarkable.

He Sorted Ravenclaw, made few friends and only one rival, a Gryffindor girl who competed with him in the year ranking, and resolved to stand out only with the quality of his classwork. He never let himself look at Charlie Potter, not when the boy won countless points for saving the school in first year, not when he was accused of being the Heir of Slytherin and allegedly fought a basilisk to save his best friend’s sister, not when he won Gryffindor the Quidditch cup and his parents came to cheer him on.

He entered fourth year expecting much of the same. By this point he was already thinking of himself as Haron, and if he sometimes wrote the surname of a godfather he had never met next to it, it was nobody’s business.

Then the Triwizard tournament was announced, and the papers announced that Sirius Black would be accompanying the Durmstrang delegation.

Haron was staring at the Daily Prophet with intensity.

“What’s so fascinating about... um,” she squinted to read the article’s headline, “Lord Black coming back to Britain?” asked Su-a Li, one of the few friends he made in Ravenclaw.

Her and Padma Patil were the only people he cared to speak to in his year, and they only really talked in class, at lunchtimes or in the quiet evenings in the common room. He spent the rest of his time buried in books, reading everything he could get his hands on and practising the spells he read about. They didn’t begrudge him that, aware of his introverted nature. They just sat down next to him and chatted between themselves or partook in their own respective hobbies – magical painting for Su-a and potions theory for Padma. Sometimes they’d convince him to let them use him as a dress-up doll, putting jewellery, make-up and extravagant magically altered clothes on him to their heart’s delight, as if he were a mannequin. He enjoyed it, though he preferred wearing simple, soft fabrics without patterns.

They were sitting on a plush pastel blue rug littered with bronze pillows in one of the common rooms’ many private alcoves, close to Haron’s favourite bookshelf. Its contents changed depending on what the student standing in front of it was most curious about that day. At the moment, it was filled with books on Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“Call it Albion,” said Padma with an exasperated eye roll.

It was a reoccurring argument; Su-a was Korean and only moved to Britain with her family for business, while the Patils were an established British family despite some people assuming otherwise due to their Indian roots. As such, Su-a had a similar position of outsider as Haron did, and often vied to remind them of it.

“I will not. You call yourself British wizards, don’t you? Not Albionian, or however it was pronounced before. You spend too much time with Slytherins, Padma.”

“Excuse you, they have the best gossip,” she defended.

“Nuh-uh, Haron has the best gossip. When he actually cares to share.”

“That’s because no one notices he’s there when they get up to weird stuff. Which I don’t get at all,” she muttered under her breath, “how can they not notice you? You’re so pretty.”

“Padma! You know Haron’s weird about compliments.”

They both turned to him, and faltered when they realised he wasn’t hiding his face as usual.

“Are you okay? What is it about Sirius Black that has you all tangled up?” asked Su-a, concerned.

“I — er.”

He watched his two friends, biting his lip.

He had never told them of his circumstances. They knew he was a half-blood, and that he lived alone. They didn’t pry, despite how unsubtle they were about wanting to know. The only one who knew was Luna, their little underclassman who knew everything despite no one ever telling her.

“You can tell us,” encouraged Su-a.

“We’ll swear a Secrecy Vow if you want,” suggested Padma.

Haron blinked. “You would?”

“Duh. Of course. You’re our best friend.”

Su-a nodded with a bright smile.

His eyes pricked. He blinked rapidly. The tears didn’t fall.

“Right.” He shook his head. “You don’t need to. I trust you. Right.”

“You already said that,” teased Padma.

He chuckled and shushed her. “It’s hard enough as it is, don’t distract me. Um, Haron Pierce is not my real name.”

Their eyes widened.

“You guys assumed I was an orphan, and for a very long time I thought so too.”

He took a deep breath and told them everything. The Potters’ lie. Charlie being his younger twin. The trust vault key. His fear of contacting Sirius Black, of reaching out only to be possibly rejected by another parent, one who could make his life very difficult. If he decided to cut him off, Haron would have nothing. He even briefly mentioned the Dursleys, as difficult as that was for him.

“I promised myself I would write him after I turn seventeen and find out if he knew I was alive.” He shrugged. “By then he wouldn’t be able to do anything to me.”

“I can’t believe this,” spat Su-a.

Haron recoiled. She made a sound of protest.

“Not you, Haron, the Potters! I can’t believe they abandoned you and didn’t even check on you, what is wrong with them? That’s so messed up, aish. I’m so angry.”

“Is that why you never let your hair grow?” asked Padma, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, examining him in a new light. She was likely trying to find similarities between him and his estranged twin.

“Priorities, honey, priorities.”

“Right, right, sorry. Obviously your parents are dickheads, but like, still.”

He smiled hesitantly. “Yeah. Charlie and I are fraternal twins, but the Potter hair is pretty distinctive, I didn’t want people to notice.”

“That makes sense,” hummed Su-a. “Do you think he knows about you? Or has he been mourning you this entire time and no one in the family told him?”

He wrapped his arms around his middle. “I don’t know. I’ve... wondered.”

“But you couldn’t ask him in case he tattled to his parents” guessed Su-a.

He looked down at the picture of Sirius Black in the Prophet, dressed in a fancy version of the famous black and red Durmstrang uniform.

“I am still not over the fact that we didn’t notice the resemblance,” mused Padma. “Your eyes are the same colour and you have the same nose. I mean, he’s taller and has broader shoulders. His jaw is squarer, I guess. You're more angular and he’s... well, a Quidditch chaser. Much better at it than Seeker too, the Gryffindors must be thanking Merlin for Ginny Weasley.”

Probably the malnutrition, he thought with a wry smile. He could count his ribs during his first year at Hogwarts. It took a long time for him to get back to a healthy weight. Brewing nutrition potions was a trial and error, but he managed pretty well. He thanked the stars for the brewing room in Ravenclaw Tower. He was pretty sure only House Slytherin also had one, and the students couldn’t use it without Professor Snape’s approval. The eagles only needed a prefect to supervise, and Haron often had Robert Hilliard’s help while the prefect was still at Hogwarts. The young man still wrote him, though he was now apprenticed with a wandmaker.

“You’re prettier,” decided Padma, which prompted a laugh from the other two.

“Does that matter?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

“Well, yes, you’re smarter and prettier, so you’re obviously the superior twin, like me.”

“He’s literally the Saviour of Wizarding Britain!” he protested with a chuckle.

“It’s called Albion! You two, I swear.”

Su-a and Haron exchanged a smirk. They had been doing it on purpose to rile their friend up for months now, but she hadn't yet noticed.

“But more seriously, I think you should talk to Sirius Black when he gets there, see if he recognises you,” said Su-a.

Haron bit his lip. “How would he? The last time we saw each other, I was a baby.”

“If he swore a Guardian’s Oath he’ll feel your magic from across the castle. It fell out of fashion for godparents to do it, but the Blacks are traditional, he might have. And if he hasn’t...” Padma shrugged. “You can always feel him out and see if he’s trustworthy.”

“But if he’s not...”

“If he’s not I’ll adopt you. Haron Patil, how does that sound? I’ll trade you for Parvati! Charlie can keep her.”

He pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing. Su-a had no such compunction.

Padma and Parvati had a strange relationship; sometimes they got along amazingly well and other times they were like cats and dogs, bickering over the smallest things.

Padma crawled closer to Haron and placed a manicured hand on his arm. Her painted nails shifted from yellow to green.

“I’m serious, you know. If I ask, Amma and Appa will take you in as a Ward of our House.” She smiled cheekily. “Supporting the brightest wizard of our year is not a hardship, you know.”

Haron levitated a pillow and hit her with it. “Don’t call me that! It’s not even true.”

The girl made an offended noise. She pulled out her wand.

“You hit me, I hit you back, I swear.”

And proceeded to do just that.

“Professor Snape is in a foul mood,” murmured Su-a as she stirred their cauldron. “Do you think he hates Lord Black as much as he does your fa... I mean, Lord Potter?” she amended when she saw Haron’s warning look.

They always paired together in Potions, since Padma usually wanted to challenge herself by experimenting with the potion’s properties and they were not talented enough to keep up with her. Haron could follow the instructions well enough, but his potions were not exceptional. He compensated by following recipes to the letter, but he’d never reached Padma’s level of artistry. Su-a was the same, though her lack of interest in the subject and her impatience to finish made her slightly worse at it.

He had Robert Hilliard to thank for his obsession with keeping his grades up. When he hadn’t yet befriended the two girls he spent his time with – which happened in their second year, when Haron was quietly freaking out over the possibility of Hogwarts’ closure due to the petrifications. The hand they extended to him couldn’t have come at a better time, weird as their first proper conversation was – the only person he interacted with was the prefect. His roommates didn’t have the patience for his ignorance of both muggle and wizard games and for his skittishness, so he took refuge in the alcove he now shared with his best friends.

Rob used to sit with him there and help him with his homework, explaining concepts in a way that made them fun to learn rather than a chore. He patiently answered questions and never minded when Haron came back for more, desperate for positive human interaction. Rob asked him what he wanted to do later, and Haron then realised that everything he was interested in would require an immaculate student file. So he studied.

(Rob led him to realise he had a future, and he was oh so grateful for it. Padma and Su-a made him realise magic was an art as much as a tool, and Luna taught him to see something wondrous in human interactions too.

He wouldn’t trade Ravenclaw for the world.)

“Probably,” he whispered, “or maybe he’s not happy about having even more students in the castle. You know he does not suffer fools,” he added with an imitation of their professor’s haughtiest voice. Su-a snorted. “I heard he’s especially mean to Charlie,” he said after they were a few steps further into the preparation.

“Probably because your brother’s a prat,” sniffed his friend. “I mean he’s mellowed out a bit since he’s befriended Hermione—”

Haron wrinkled his nose at the name. Hermione Granger never talked to him, but he always saw her watching every time they had classes together. He didn’t know what her problem was; she was first in the year rankings and he only beat her in DADA, Charms, Ancient Runes and Transfiguration. He wasn’t even the only one: if he remembered right, Padma, Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott beat her in Potions, Ernie McMillan did it in History of Magic, Neville Longbottom in Herbology, Charlie, Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Susan Bones also beat her in DADA, and Theodore Nott in Ancient Runes.

He didn’t mind before, but she had befriended his brother last year somehow; as far as he was aware, it hadn’t started well between the two of them. Charlie’s friends Ron, Seamus and Dean had kind of bullied her in first year and that had ended in her being in the path of the troll professor Quirrell had set loose into the castle. The thing broke her arm in two places and the boys arrived only fast enough to stop it from killing her. Then Seamus made a joke about it she didn’t appreciate, and everyone had waited for her to announce she was dropping out of Hogwarts, but she had persevered. Something must have happened in third year because she was taking every possible class and snapping at everyone and their mother. Charlie helped her somehow and now they studied together, though she always avoided the rest of his friend group.

Haron thought his brother could use more friends who didn’t approach him for his status, but he wished he hadn’t chosen the girl who stared at him so blatantly at every class. If his twin could remain oblivious to his existence until he graduated Hogwarts, that would be nice.

“—but he’s still really full of himself. I don’t understand how he can walk through doors with such an inflated head.”

Haron grinned.

“You’re so mean. Not wrong though,” he muttered under his breath.

They finished their potion in silence, all too aware of the volatile temper of their professor. Snape used to freak Haron out with the way he stared a little too hard at his eyes, which he apparently inherited from his mother. He stopped after a while, and it became easier to breathe around the man. Now Snape treated him like any other Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff students, which meant he largely didn’t care about them unless they annoyed him, in which case he would make their life hell, or they demonstrated some kind of talent at Potions, in which case he gave them extra work. Padma loved it.

“I still don’t understand what Lord Black is doing at Durmstrang,” she said when they left the room sometime later. It was the last class of the day. The students from other schools would be arriving soon, along with the faculty members accompanying them. Haron was as excited as he was anxious about it.

“He’s the one who got their old headmaster fired,” replied Haron. “You know, Igor or Ivan Karkaroff? Can’t remember which one’s his first name.”

“It’s Igor,” said Padma when she joined them.

“Right. Lord Black’s been doing a lot of work with the ICW. From what I understand he’s partnering with them and using the Black family pedigree to root out corruption in the influential international families. Normally Karkaroff wouldn’t have been on his radar, but he had dealings with an asshole who ran a creature trafficking ring. I’m not sure why he thought staying at Durmstrang was worth it, but it’s probably related." He paused. "It could also have to do with the attack at the Quidditch World Cup.”

Maybe the reappearance of Death Eaters was enough to prompt his return, he thought. Haron couldn’t imagine his godfather liked those assholes very much, and seeing them back was worrying enough for the wider community of Albion.

“Huh, so you’ve been keeping track of him,” commented Su-a. “I wondered, since I’ve never seen you pay special attention to his name.”

“All the news related to him have to do with international relations, I guess we just assumed you were interested in politics,” reflected Padma. “I didn’t ask since that’s more Parvati’s thing. She’s the oldest, she’ll deal with the House politics. Ah, I remember you even had a whole debate with her about the Statute of Secrecy last year!”

Haron grinned. “Your sister’s great to argue with.”

He was about to say more when one of the fifth-year prefects stirred them towards where the other students were waiting for the foreign exchanges.

The sun set when Beauxbatons arrived.

“Our uniforms match theirs,” commented Su-a.

“I like our royal blue better,” said Padma, “and that is not practical for the Scottish weather.”

Haron nodded. “Why don’t they use warming charms? They’re all shivering.”

Someone must have heard him, because the French students turned towards them, as if to see who had spoken. A blond girl was the first to take out her wand and cast the charm on herself; the others followed suit, though not without throwing her a dirty look.

“That was... odd,” murmured Padma. “And does she have veela blood? I feel... strange, when I look at her.”

Haron looked at her askance. “I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s because you’re not attracted to women, honey. I saw you looking at Diggory.”

"Hush, Cho will hear you and she’ll start harassing him too. Poor Luna was unlucky enough to be his neighbour, and the crazy girl started a whole bullying campaign against our baby bird,” protested Su-a.

Haron’s eyes widened.

They’d caused some strife between themselves and Cho Chang’s group of friends by protecting Luna the year before. They hadn’t noticed the tiny Ravenclaw during the Chamber of Secrets debacle – Harry was too stressed about the school potentially closing, and Su-a and Padma too busy trying to coax him into a friendship — but seeing her barefoot and looking for her stolen things in the corridors broke their heart. One time was enough for them to take her defence, and Rob helped make sure it didn’t happen again. Now that he was gone, Cho eyed Luna speculatively more than once, but Su-a got fed up after a few days and told her something that made her stop. Now Harry could guess she threatened the Scottish Chinese girl into shutting up by threatening to tell Diggory.

“I thought it was because Luna was... odd.”

“Well, that too, but usually only people in her year would care about that. It’s very out of character for upperclassmen to go to such lengths to bully someone two years their junior,” explained Padma.

“They don’t? The kids at my primary school didn’t care about that.”

Padma sighed. “Your childhood was so sad, Haron. It’s a wizard thing. Magic’s an equaliser: we expect people to be able to fight back, so it’s seen as a faux pas to attack people who know much less magic than you. You don’t see Malfoy going after firsties, do you?”

Su-a nodded. “It’s gauche, or something. I wish they understood it’s cringe to bully people in the first place but you know, small steps.”

“You know, I used to think Cho was pretty,” sighed Haron.

“Did you? I thought you only liked boys,” exclaimed Padma.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s both. I think I’m not affected because the attraction I feel is more... aesthetic, than erotic, if that makes sense. Ah, Durmstrang’s there.”

Haron watched the derelict sailing ship emerge from the water.

“They sure know how to make an entrance,” he commented. “Hagrid would probably have tried to tame dragons if we’d had to do the same,” he added after a beat. Haron didn’t take Care of Magical Creatures, Rob had advised him to choose more practical subjects, but he had heard about the professor’s unique approach to teaching from Su-a, who took the elective.

It made the girls laugh, as well as some people around them.

“Don’t give him ideas,” chided Su-a, theatrically shivering. It drew a smile from him, though it quickly faded when Haron spotted the man with long black hair and piercing silver eyes standing next to Damyan Zmeyov, Durmstrang’s new Headmaster, and Viktor Krum, the famous Quidditch star.

He was a striking man, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and strong, well-defined eyebrows. He exchanged words with the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, smiling and laughing as he did so, then regarded the Headmaster of Hogwarts with detachment. He offered a polite greeting, and nothing more.

Haron stepped forward to hear better.

“It has been a long time, my boy,” said Albus Dumbledore with an affable smile. “It is delightful to have you at Hogwarts once more.”

“Is it?” the man asked wryly.

He said something else, but Haron couldn’t hear. He discretely pulled out his wand and murmured the eavesdropping spell he had found in the library the year before. The voices distorted until it felt like the people speaking were standing right next to him. As the spell worked, Sirius Black’s eyes widened, and he pressed a hand to his core, as if to soothe an ache he couldn't yet name. He raised his gaze sharply and scanned the crowd. Dumbledore followed his gaze, but neither of them noticed anything. When the man caught the headmaster looking, his eyes snapped back to him. He acted as if nothing happened.

“The Oath,” murmured Su-a. “He felt the Oath, but he didn’t recognise what it was!”

“We can’t be sure,” hissed Padma. “It might not have been... we need to be sure.”

“I wonder what prompts such a warm response, Headmaster. As I recall, we did not part on the best of terms.”

“Ah, but I do believe time heals old wounds. Or you would not be here today, my boy.”

“Lord Black,” said Headmaster Zmeyov sharply.

Damyan Zmeyov was much younger than his counterpart; and sharp in every way. He was not especially tall but moved with such presence to him that he seemed to tower over others. His short white hair contrasted greatly with the abyssal black of his eyes, his impassible face only softened by the smattering of freckles on his nose. His attire matched Lord Black’s, though the red embroidery was more prominent on his robes than on Haron’s godfather’s.

“Pardon?”

“Address him as his proper title, Headmaster Dumbledore. He is here as a representative of my school, I would have him treated with the respect he is due.”

“And what is his position within your establishment, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He is my chief education adviser, of course, in charge of drafting Durmstrang’s education reforms and guiding our promising students towards their desired future. Haven’t you heard? One of his notable accomplishments of this year has been to open Durmstrang’s door to muggle-born students. How long has this been since Hogwarts has seen progress, I wonder?”

Sirius Black smirked at that.

Madame Maxime watched it happen with fascination, along with all the students witnessing the confrontation. Dumbledore looked beffudled, but he soon recollected himself.

“I... see. My apologies, Lord Black. And I hope looking once more at the school that hosted you during your formative years will give you inspiration in your work. I sure hope you won’t judge this dear old castle too harshly.”

“Apologies accepted, Headmaster. I would hate to start a fight on the first day, though do keep in mind that some wounds cannot be healed and this is one of them, I’m afraid. And do not worry, my opinion of this school and the people in it will stay much of the same, I am sure.”

The tone implied pretty clearly said opinion wasn’t very high in the first place.

Haron was fascinated. He didn’t know what Headmaster Dumbledore had done to earn himself Sirius Black’s ire but seeing them interact raised so many questions he desperately wanted answers to. Was Dumbledore involved in whatever had led Sirius Black to leave Britain when he woke up from his coma?

“Use another spell, Haron,” ordered Padma after staring back and forth between him and his godfather.

He nodded sharply, then took a deep breath. He bit his lip before muttering, "Lumos". He dimmed the light so as to not attract attention and watched avidly for a movement. Sure enough, Lord Black’s fingers twitched, as if he wanted to bring them once again to his sternum. He scanned the crowd another time. His eyes lingered on Charlie Potter’s face, who had visibly gotten bored of scowling at the man and gone back to staring at Viktor Krum and the possibly veela-blood girl alternatively, but he dismissed him just as fast.

Su-a pushed him lightly and Haron stumbled forward. He thankfully managed to keep his balance, but just as he made to turn and admonish his friend, he made eye contact with Sirius Black, whose eyes widened and mouth opened as if to call him. Before he could do so however, the Headmaster of Durmstrang tightly gripped his shoulder, grounding him back to reality.

The white-haired man murmured something at his ear, and Haron’s godfather closed his eyes as if he was in pain. He nodded sharply and turned away, though not without throwing one last glance at Haron.

The boy watched the crowd splinter into smaller groups, hiding his view of his godfather, feeling a sense of loss for something he didn’t yet have.

Chapter Text

Haron was restless at the welcoming feast.

He kept glancing over at his godfather, hoping to catch his gaze. But Sirius Black stayed focused in his discussion with one of Beauxbatons’ professors while the headmaster of Durmstrang engaged in a conversation with Professor Flitwick. Professor Snape was glaring daggers at the man from his side of the table, but Lord Black did not seem to register it. In fact, he didn’t look away from the woman he was speaking to once, and she was starting to get flustered.

“Maybe we imagined it,” he murmured, tapping his fork against his plate. He’d been pushing around the meagre contents of it for the past fifteen minutes. “Maybe...”

Padma elbowed him. “He’s trying not to attract attention to you. Dumbledore is right there, and judging by what you told us he’s way too interested in Lord Black to not pick up on him looking at a student. Be patient, hun.”

Su-a made a sound of agreement, putting down her chopsticks. Last year they’d cajoled the elves into preparing more diverse fare. Or rather, Su-a had threatened to commander their kitchen and cook dinner for herself, which was enough for them to start sending out surveys for the students to write the type of food they liked to eat. The small international community of Hogwarts was very grateful, though they knew it wouldn’t last long. Such initiatives had been taken before and the elves were always accommodating to the students, but it usually only lasted until Argus Filch noticed the ingredients in the kitchen had diversified for him to throw a tantrum.

Haron’s theory was that the man had read Hansel & Gretel a little too often, and he dreamt of fattening them all up and roasting them for his consumption. To put it simply, the students being happy gave him hives so he did all he could to stop it, and the headmaster indulged all his whims short of letting him reinstate corporal punishments.

Thankfully, the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students would be distracting enough to give them some respite; they would hopefully have a full year before Filch ruined their fun again.

“We can go to their sleeping quarters, pretend we want Krum’s autograph and catch him alone that way,” Su-a suggested.

“You should go to the Shrieking Shack tomorrow night,” said Luna airily. She sat next to Su-a, at the very edge of the Ravenclaw table. Shielded by the three of them, the little girl was never bothered by their housemates at meals. “That’s where the Moon frogs used to sing. Press the knot on the Whomping Willow, and it’ll let you pass.”

“Will he be there?” asked Haron. They’d soon learnt not to question the strange ways Luna used to share information.

“Wait, did he tell you before telling us?” hissed Padma, leaning forward. Before Luna or Haron could respond, her shoulders slumped. “Never mind, you knew just by looking at him, didn’t you?”

Luna hummed. Padma shook her head. “Incredible,” she muttered.

Su-a snickered.

“Not there, but you’ll find him still. And some answers you’ve been seeking,” she said, in response to Haron’s question.

“Excuse me, could you hand me a slice of flan?” asked someone from behind Haron.

He took the small plate and turned to hand it over, pausing when he saw the French blond girl from earlier. He’d seen her flit around the different tables, trying to seek the food she wanted to eat. The issue seemed to be that most of the French dishes were placed next to the other Beauxbatons students, whom she seemed to want to avoid at all costs. She even made a stop by the Gryffindor table and talked to Haron’s brother, whose usual charisma seemed to have failed him in the face of the supernatural beauty.

“Oh, hi. Here you go.”

She raised her eyebrows and murmured her thanks.

“What year are you?” she asked.

It was Haron’s turn to be surprised. He didn’t expect her to linger.

“We’re fourth years,” he said, pointing at Su-a and Padma, “and Luna’s a third year. You’re in your last year, right?”

“I am in Terminale, yes.”

He saw her glancing back at the other Beauxbatons students, who were staring at them with strange expressions. Haron made a decision.

“Do you want to sit, maybe? I noticed your corner of the table was a little... hostile, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

She frowned and opened her mouth, seemingly about to say something biting before she deflated. “I’d love to sit.”

He gestured next to him and leaned closer to Padma to give her space. She smiled and gracefully lowered herself on the bench, placing the flan back on the table.

“I’m Haron, by the way. And this is Su-a,” the Korean girl waved with her free hand before going back to the macaron she had just picked from the tray in front of her, “Padma,” she gave her a quiet, oddly bashful greeting, “and I already introduced Luna.”

“Lovely to meet you. You attract an awful lot of wrackspurts,” said their youngest friend.

Su-a chuckled. “Don’t ask what wrackspurts are,” she whispered conspiratorially. “She’s just trying to say you look troubled. Are you okay?”

“I’m... overwhelmed. Hogwarts is very... different than Beauxbatons,” she admitted. “Ah, it seems I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Fleur. Enchantée,” she added with a little smile. Her French accent was very strong, Haron thought, though not to the point of being uncomfortable.

“Nice to meetcha,” said Padma, who seemed to have recovered from her earlier stupor. “Merlin, veela allure sure is something. My bad. It’s been a while since I’ve been exposed to it so my brain kind of turned into mush for a second. Is that weird to say?” she asked when Haron and Su-a turned to stare at her with wide eyes.

Fleur chuckled. “Not at all. I prefer when people don’t skirt around the subject. Did you meet other veela before?”

“Mhm, a friend of my mum’s is veela. She lives in Czechia now so she hasn’t come round the house since I was little.”

Padma started asking the French girl about her hobbies. Haron followed the conversation distractedly, turning back to the professors’ table without even meaning to. Still, he learnt that Fleur enjoyed making enchantments in her free time, she had a pet kneazle and solved arithmantic equations when she was bored. She also liked fashion design, which prompted a squeal from Su-a, and a myriad of questions.

“Haron’s our model, usually. He’s good at sitting still while we poke at him, and he isn’t bothered if we don’t put him in scratchy fabrics and if we levitate a book in front of him, so he doesn’t get bored. Luna does it too, but she’ll wander off if we don’t keep an eye on her.”

Fleur made an amused sound at this. Haron turned back to the conversation in time to chime in.

“If you put a sticking charm to her shoes to keep her there, she just takes them off and goes to the Forbidden Forest barefoot to feed the thestrals.”

Luna wasn’t listening; she hummed a song while she piled macarons on top of each other, seemingly trying to make a tower out of them. Su-a and Padma chucked and nodded in agreement.

“My little sister is the same,” Fleur started, “she’ll sit still until she sees something shiny and then I’ll have completely lost her. One time...”

The evening continued in much of the same manner. Fleur’s presence made it easier for Haron to stay focused on what was happening in front of him, and he almost didn’t mind when they made their way back to Ravenclaw Tower without his having met his godfather’s eyes once. He had made peace with it, and so he didn’t expect when Padma tugged his arm before he was about to enter his dorm and whispered, “meet us in the common room at midnight. We’ll go to the Shack then.”

“Classes are cancelled so there won’t be anyone coming back from Astronomy class,” agreed Su-a.

Haron nodded and went up to his room. He nodded at Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, Kevin Entwistle, Stephen Cornfoot and Terry Boot. He might not hang out with his dormmates, but they weren’t terrible people. Just a little too quidditch-mad for his taste. Haron liked flying, but the scrutiny given to players in the field was definitely too much for him. Besides, Ravenclaw already had a Seeker, and he wasn’t interested in trying out for other positions. He might dislike Cho but he wasn’t petty enough to take her spot when he was much less passionate about the game than she was.

The boys were playing a game of exploding snap and did not particularly bother him, though they asked a little about Fleur. Haron gave them a noncommittal response and pulled out a book on rebound spells. He got to reading, setting the enchanted alarm clock Padma gave him for his birthday to ring at midnight. Only he would hear the sound, which was just as well since Stephen was a light sleeper. He’d found that out when he was eleven and restless about sleeping in a room full of boys he didn’t know nor trust and often camped out in the common room or roamed the castle at night, evading Filch and Mrs Norris. Stephen woke a few times and grumbled at him for interrupting his sleep. Haron had to learn a light-foot charm to move around without disturbing him.

Midnight came at a slow pace. When it did, Haron jumped out of his bed. He quietly left his dorm room and tiptoed to the common room, where the girls were waiting. Their eyes were raised up towards the staircase leading to the girls’ dorm, where Mandy Brocklehurst was reprimanding them.

Haron rolled his eyes. While Lisa Turpin and Morag MacDougal were nice enough girls who were simply closer to the boys in his dorm than they were with Padma and Su-a, Mandy was unsufferable; she was nosy and incredibly judgemental. She disapproved of Su-a and Padma’s interest in fashion, their defence of Luna, and Haron’s friendship with them. He wasn’t quite sure what her problem was, but it was incredibly grating. The girls wanted to handle it themselves, though, so he didn’t step in.

He stayed in the shadows, well aware that announcing his presence would only make things worse.

“... going who knows where after curfew! I don’t want you to lose us any house points. Do you realise how bad this looks? An international quidditch star steps into the castle and you just happen to be sneaking out the very same night, it’s no wonder people think you’re—”

“People think what, Mandy? Because it seems like you’re the only one who finds issue with us, constantly making assumptions about us and making up stories when we don’t pay you any attention. Why don’t you just chill out?” exclaimed Padma, raising her hands up. “We haven’t gotten caught sneaking out before and we won’t today either. Just go to sleep and mind your own business.”

“I’ll—I’ll report you,” threatened Mandy.

“I thought you didn’t want Ravenclaw to lose points?” asked Su-a sweetly, tilting her head.

The girl winced, aware that her threat just fell through. “Well, if you break the rules, I should—”

“Or you could, again, mind your own business, babe,” repeated Padma. “We have a Transfiguration essay due tomorrow and I’m pretty sure you haven’t started it yet, why don’t you do that instead of wasting our time?”

Mandy frowned. “You’re such a bitch, Padma,” she said before turning back to their dorm.

Padma adjusted the twirling butterfly hairclip attached to her hair. “I know.”

Su-a chuckled. “I love you, Padma, but you act like a mean girl from the movies sometimes.”

Su-a loved muggle cinema. Her parents bought her a TV when she was young. It was kept in the shed of their house, away from all the magical appliances, and she owned a pretty impressive collection of VHS. Her dream was to create a similar medium for magical audiences to enjoy. As it stood, theatre was a popular entertainment for wizards and magic allowed more impressive setting changes than on muggle stages, but it had nothing on the cosiness of watching films at home. Su-a thought she might be able to replicate animated films at the very least with magical painting, but she needed to master the basics first.

She had seen Heathers in the cinema in 88 and had not recovered from it, or so she said. Haron wasn’t too sure what it was about. He thought he might prefer not to know.

“Says the girl who keeps giving Cho the evil eye?” scoffed Padma.

“You’re both mean,” said Haron, snickering.

They whirled around.

“Haron,” whined Su-a, “you scared me.” She trotted forward and linked arms with him. “Shall we go?”

At his nod, Padma started walking and responded to his comment, “also we’re not mean, I think. Cho and Mandy both had it coming. Justice is harsh, but it’s not mean, hun.”

He chuckled. “If you say so.”

They quieted as they left the common room, passing through the corridors in silence. Filch must have been occupied in another part of the castle, because they encountered no one at all. They stepped into the Hogwarts grounds and glanced at the Whomping Willow apprehensively.

"That thing’s so gnarly,” muttered Su-a. “Which knot was Luna even talking about?”

“I’d say I wish she accompanied us but her dorm mates would have totally snitched on her. Besides, she’s a bit spooky at night, our little moon,” commented Padma.

He observed the tree attentively, until he noticed a more prominent knot at the roots. Haron took out his wand.

“Can you cast a Lumos, Su-a?”

“Sure,” she said and did just that.

He thanked her and cast three spells in succession, pointing his wand to the ground, and a rock at his feet grew legs and started running towards it, dodging the aggressive branches. When it reached the knot, it slammed against it. The Whomping Willow stilled. Haron released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“What spells were those?” asked Padma with round eyes.

Haron replied distractedly, already making his way towards the hidden entrance of the Shrieking Shack behind the tree. The spells were things he found in a book about the enchantments of Hogwarts, specifically in the chapter about the specific workings of the suits of armor and gargoyles that decorated the entire castle. They were supposed to act as protectors of the school in case of an attack, and the complex spellwork placed on them used principles of animation of the inanimate, target designation and motor control. The wand movements were complicated, and the incantations were in Old English, but he had thought them worth learning.

“I always forget you’re the nerdiest nerd in all of Ravenclaw,” murmured Su-a with a breathy laugh as she struggled to crouch behind branch, “which is saying something.”

“That’s not true,” protested Haron. “There’s, um, Penelope Clearwater?”

“She graduated last year,” said Padma with a deadpan look. “Try again.”

Haron fell silent. After a beat, the girls started laughing. He pouted a little but didn’t get to say anything in his own defence. After several minutes of traipsing around in a dirty tunnel, they had finally got to the Shrieking Shack.

The inside of it was horrifying. Claw marks marred the entirety of the walls and shredded the little furniture still in place, and layers of dust enveloped everything.

Padma sneezed. “Gross,” she complained, and started casting cleaning charms every which way. Su-a soon imitated her.

Haron did a turn around the room, trying to figure out what Luna was trying to show him, but the depressing hut didn’t deliver its secrets so easily. He could see runes carved into the ceiling, and knew enough about them to understand they were meant to keep something in. The claw marks made it obvious which creature had been captive in those walls, and when.

“A werewolf,” he murmured.

They’d learnt about them last year. The headmaster hadn’t quite managed to find them a replacement for that fraud Lockhart, but a rotation of retired Aurors had been sent for the Ministry. Each of them were more or less competent, but as a whole they had managed to catch them up on what they were meant to learn the previous and current year, on top of teaching them about various spells they probably shouldn’t have shown them.

Nothing as bad as Mad Eye Moody’s demonstration on the Unforgivables, though.

These Aurors were veterans of the last war and sometimes even the previous one. They were twitchy, scarred and had survived unimaginable things. Haron had even been taught the Patronus charm by one of them, an intensely traumatised woman by the name of Mary MacDonald who volunteered the most often to give lessons to his year grade. She couldn’t handle it for longer than three months, however, and was sent to St Mungo’s after an intense flashback made her magic lash out and harm her. Haron tried to visit her in the summer, but he saw Lily Potter exit her hospital room followed by reporters and lost his nerve. He didn’t try again, though he wrote her a letter to thank her for her teachings.

The man who had taught them about werewolves definitely disliked them, and believed they deserved a mercy killing and nothing else. Haron had heard that Charlie had loudly argued against him, screaming that Remus Lupin had been a werewolf and a hero. The retired Auror didn’t come back to Hogwarts after that.

“This is where Remus Lupin transformed,” he realised, disquieted.

“Who?” asked Su-a. As a foreigner, she was not as knowledgeable about the particulars of the war, even of its end.

“The man who died to protect him and his brother,” explained Padma. “He was Charlie Potter’s godfather, like Sirius Black was Haron’s.”

“And it looks like he left something behind,” said Su-a. “Haron, look.”

He turned and met his friend where she was, crouching in front of a derelict bedframe. Her hand was pressed against a wooden post, where words were engraved in shining silver.

“It’s like a diary,” he marveled, tracing his fingertips against the words.

In sloppy handwriting, the first inscription said, “first transformation,” along with a date corresponding to Haron’s parents and their friends’ first year at Hogwarts. Several of them were in a similar vein, though those who stood out were both sweet and heart-rending at the same time. “I made friends,” one said, “They found out,” enounced another. “Animagi,” was scratched out furiously, and only made sense when the words “A rat, a dog, a stag” were written years later. He didn’t understand it all. Most were unreadable. The magic had faded. Some were legible, but puzzling, “he betrayed me,” others hopeful, “I forgave him,” and “I love him.”

There was a gap of years after what he understood to be their graduation, then a last one was dated the year of Haron’s birth.

It said, “I asked him to marry me. He asked if he could take my name.” Right next to it, another handwriting lovingly sketched out a future that would never come: “In a year I’ll be Sirius Orion Lupin.”

“They were engaged,” he murmured.

“You can read this?” asked Su-a. “It’s illegible to me.”

“It must be the Guardian’s Oath,” said Padma. “Identifying information is blurred out for those outside of the family. What does it say?”

“It says that Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were in love.”

“He’s alive,” he murmured feverishly.

He paced in his room, trying to come to terms with the fact.

“I inquired.” Sirius whirled around; his eyes bright. “Discretely, of course,” amended his visitor, a hand on the doorsill. “I know you wouldn’t have been able to help yourself, you would have gone to him if it was confirmed.”

“Reggie, he’s...”

Regulus Black, now commonly known as Damyan Zmeyov, dipped his head. He stepped forward and embraced his older brother. Sirius inhaled shakily, taking in the comforting scent of his brother, the warmth of his arms around his middle. Tears pricked at his eyes, he let them fall.

“Yes, Siri, your godson is alive.” Sirius sobbed. Regulus made a pained noise. He hurried to add, “he’s not with the Potters. He has a fake name, calls himself Haron Pierce, and he’s been using the trust you set out for him. Flitwick pointed him out to me when I asked about promising students.”

“Haron Black. If he wants it,” enounced Sirius, wondering. “My baby is alive,” he repeated again, “but how? Do they know?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. His fingers brushed against the engagement ring he never took off, even if he would never get to wed the man who gave it to him. It was a lovely piece of enchantment, Remus' magic cristallised and given tangible form for Sirius to wear. Even after all these years it still felt like him.

Regulus hissed at the thought. “I don’t think so. He’s hiding, the only way they’d have found out is through the press or through their golden boy. And that boy is dim as a beater’s bat.”

“Reggie!” admonished Sirius. “He was Moony’s.”

He shook his head. “He was supposed to be. They never officialised it, you know that. Just because they told the press to make themselves look good doesn’t make it true.”

Sirius made a wounded sound. He did know that. But James had promised. His brother shushed him, hugging him tighter.

“I know, Siri. I know.”

They stayed like this for a long while. After some time, they shifted to the ship’s balcony, overlooking the Black Lake. They stared out at the lakeshore, mourning quietly. Sirius didn’t know what his brother longed for, he rarely spoke about the past. And he’d been a bad older brother, too raw about his own losses for Regulus to feel like he could confide in him. Trust was being rebuilt between them, slowly knitting itself back together since Sirius had found his little brother drowning in a lake of Inferi and fished him out of the cursed waters, since he told him to leave with the horcrux he found and figure out a way to destroy it.

Because Sirius had trusted Regulus the Death Eater to do the right thing, he’d won back his little brother’s devotion. It felt like so little after years of selfishness, but Reggie had always been too forgiving.

But now they were back where they started, and with the confirmation that Voldemort was still out there they had come to Albion to make sure they could finish the job and truly end the war before he could rise again. Sirius had been prepared to face his demons and ghosts again to do what had to be done. He hadn’t expected to find a star amongst the clouded skies, used as he was to the world snatching every thing he loved from him. First he had lost Remus, and the illusion that he could ever be a light wizard. He had lost his esteem for James, his respect for Lily. His trust in his leader. His faith in Albion, his deluded belief that he could escape the Black name and the Black madness.

He had lost everything, except Regulus.

And now Haron.

His baby. The only gift from James Potter he had wanted to keep. The boy he had sworn to protect, and failed so thoroughly. His son in magic if not in blood, and the only Heir he would accept for House Black.

Haron who was crossing the Hogwarts grounds with the two girls he sat with, holding something to his chest as his steps stuttered upon seeing Mad Eye Moody stomping towards him.

Sirius didn’t hesitate.

In a second, he was out the door, Regulus at his heel.

Chapter Text

“Out past curfew, eh?” drawled Mad Eye Moody when he finally reached them.

The trio had stilled when they’d seen him approach, and tensely waited for him to get there, all too aware that running would do no good. They didn’t believe a former Auror would not have recognised them from this distance.

“I needed some fresh air,” admitted Haron cautiously, shifting to shield his friends with his body.

Mad Eye barked out a laugh. “Protective of your friends too. You’re an interesting one, Pierce.”

Haron made a noncommittal sound. He’d caught the professor’s attention by resisting his Imperius curse. It was the kind of feat people expected of Charlie Potter, not of a bookworm in Ravenclaw. Haron rather thought living with the Dursleys all these years had taught him to have a strong will and examine his wants very carefully, lest someone take advantage of them. Of course he’d say why when someone asked him to jump. He’d never been the kind to ask how high.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take points. You’re not the only ones out past curfew, so you’ll join your fellow delinquents in detention. I’ve felt like giving a few extra lessons to a few of you.”

“Like you’ve taught Draco Malfoy?” blurted out Haron, crossing his arms.

Su-a hissed at the reminder, and Padma gripped his sleeve from behind.

Haron didn’t necessarily like the Slytherin; some of his Housemates were decent enough, but the Malfoy heir reminded him of Dudley too much for him to even try to understand him. Privileged, boastful and most of all cruel, he was the type of person Haron sought to avoid at all costs. More than that, he was Charlie’s rival and that, beyond his repulsive personality, made it even more important for him to avoid.

They competed in sports, popularity, and magical prowess at every turn, measuring themselves against the other in a frankly blatant mirroring of the battle James Potter constantly led against Lucius Malfoy in the Wizengamot, who was as much the face of blood supremacy in the Ministry as his son was at Hogwarts, and their growing influence proved that Voldemort’s ideas very much predated him and did not die with him on that Halloween night.

No, Haron didn’t like Malfoy. But he liked adults who bullied schoolchildren even less. This was why he’d never trust Professor Snape despite the man having never done anything to him personally, and why he’d never forget Mad-Eye Moody’s actions that day. A ferret’s skeleton was fragile, and Malfoy hit the ground several times while Mad Eye was swinging him up and down. He could have died under their very eyes, while Charlie’s fans laughed and cheered at his torment.

Moody ignored his comment entirely, though his magical eye fixed itself on him instead of moving every which way.

“I’ve got to bring the Gryffindors who snuck out back to their tower as well, and I can’t exactly leave you out here, so you’ll follow along and I’ll drop you off after them.” He then offered them a horrible smile. “You can share detention with them too. I’m sure you’ll get on well—”

His eye swivelled, staring out into the dark.

“Everything okay there, Headmaster Zmeyov, Lord Black?” he asked, his one good eye narrowing.

Two figures appeared into their field of vision. Sure enough, the enigmatic Headmaster and his adviser were seemingly taking a stroll, though they appeared a little frantic. They exchanged an unreadable glance as they registered Moody’s probing.

Haron’s breath caught in his throat. Padma’s grip on his sleeve tightened.

“I think you earned the right to call me Sirius, Mad-Eye,” said his godfather jovially, his smile only a little tight. “It’s been years since I was in the force, but we fought together on the battlefield.”

“You were an Auror?” blurted out Haron without thinking.

Sirius Black’s gaze landed on him. His eyes glittered, as if restraining some unnamed emotion. Haron’s heart beat hard against his chest.

“A trainee,” he corrected after a beat, his voice soft as he looked at Haron. He grimaced a bit, then continued, “It was not by vocation, the Ministry needed the numbers during the war, and I was willing. I dealt with a fair bit of prejudice while I was there, and they placed me with Mad-Eye pretty early on. They thought he could take me out if I turned out to be the traitor they expected me to be.”

Haron searched for something, anything to say to prolong this conversation.

“The upper echelons were paranoid about new joiners. Funny, considering most of our moles came from their ranks. The young ones weren’t who we were worried about,” grumbled Mad Eye.

Sirius barked out a laugh, and replied, “True enough. Say, Mad Eye, I heard you were mentoring my cousin’s child now? Is Nymph any good?”

He did not look away from Haron as he asked. The man was barely blinking.

Moody scoffed. “Pah, they’d be a fine enough Auror if they could stop tripping over their own feet. Metamorphmagi are good at undercover work, but that requires a level of stealth Tonks is not capable of yet. We’ll see in a few months.”

“I’ll have to ask Andy how that’s going. How did that happen, by the way? I thought you were retired.”

“Tonks showed up at my door and begged for help preparing for the exams. Owed their mum a favour so I said yes.” He grumbled a little before saying, “I’ve got to take the kids up to their dorm rooms. Frightened a bunch of Gryffindors into staying put in the Great Hall too, so I can’t chat any longer.”

Headmaster Zmeyov chimed in, speaking up for the first time since they arrived. “Why don’t we take these three up to their dorms? My adviser knows the way, I believe, and he won’t mind taking them off your hands. We were on the way to the castle anyway, Lord Black was going to show me the Astronomy Tower.”

Moody didn’t seem convinced. Haron’s godfather laughed again. “Come on Mad Eye, it’s a fine idea. I’ve snuck into every common room while I was a student here, I know the way to the eagles’ nest. Besides, don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone, Black, that’s what I do. But I suppose I’ll let you do it. Teaching’s a bit different than Auror work, you’re not suspicious of the same things. Though the Death Eater in the school would make me think differently,” he said in a harsh voice, his magical eye turning towards the castle. “Well then, I’ll be off. Don’t mind if I don’t wait for you, I’ve got to make sure the four idiots I caught earlier aren’t trying to make my night any worse,” he growled, stomping back towards the castle.

They all watched him go for a few seconds, a little stunned by his revelation.

“Who was he talking about?” wondered Su-a.

The two adults didn’t seem to have heard her. For the first time since he appeared, his godfather had looked away from Haron, instead focusing on the other man. They seemed to be communicating between each other silently. Haron watched it happen anxiously, unsure of what had set them off.

“Don’t be alone with the man,” warned Lord Black, his tone full of urgency. “I don’t know who that guy is, but that’s not Mad-Eye. He’d rather chew his own leg than leave kids with people he doesn’t trust, and if Dumbledore’s told him anything about… there’s no way he would have left you alone with me of all people.”

“Dumbledore might not have,” cautioned Zmeyov. “It doesn’t exactly put him in a good light.”

"The old man's good at telling his story the right way," argued Sirius. 

Haron, Padma and Su-a watched the back-and-forth with growing apprehension, until Padma seemed to remember herself and murmured in Haron’s ear.

“Now’s your chance. You can ask about the rest later.”

Haron nodded and took a deep breath. He blinked rapidly, hoping it would soothe the burning in his eyes and somehow calm his rabbiting heart. It didn’t work, but it at least gave hime some courage. He remembered the words of the Sorting Hat.

Hmm, difficult. You are quite a conundrum, child. Plenty of courage, I see, but not enough to announce yourself to the world. Not a bad mind, but one that’s had to hide for too long. There's talent, oh yes. A thirst to prove yourself to the parents who discarded you warring with a desire to hide.

Not Gryffindor, he’d pleaded, and the Hat had almost said Slytherin before it stopped, and hummed.

I see one trait that defines you, and that you would do well to cultivate. You might be brave, and you might be ambitious, but above all, I see a curiosity in you that will serve you well in… Ravenclaw!

Haron was brave, he had to remember that. Maybe he hadn’t been brave enough to go to Gryffindor or ambitious enough to climb the ranks in Slytherin, but his thirst for knowledge had led him to take the letter he’d received that fateful morning of July four years ago and make his way to London because he had to know.

Now he needed to retrieve that curiosity because again, he had to know if Sirius Black was the family he’d always longed for, and if this man held all the answers he’d never dared to ask about that night.

“Lord Black,” he started and watched the man’s heart break in front of his eyes.

Sirius – because he could only be Sirius at this moment, not Lord Black, not Durmstrang’s adviser, not just any man – sank to his knees in front of him and murmured, “I’m not dreaming, am I? You’re him, aren’t you? Little Harry.”

Su-a made a high-pitched sound and Haron thought he heard Padma clap her hand over their friend’s mouth, but he barely registered it. He took a step forward, lowered himself to the ground.

He tried to speak, but his voice got stuck in his throat. Instead, he wordlessly nodded. Sirius made a wounded sound and leaned forward, extending his arms before remembering himself and faltering.

“Can I– please?”

Haron watched him uncomprehendingly. Headmaster Zmeyov sighed and crouched down too, placing a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. He pulled out his wand with his free arm, and murmured a notice-me-not charm over the area they were in, probably to keep people in the castle from watching them.

“He’s asking if he can hug you.”

“Yes,” croaked Haron, though the affirmation came out sounding like a question. Then he paused, unsure where to put his arms.

He should not have worried. Now that he had his consent, Sirius did not hesitate; he embraced him fiercely, laying Haron’s head on his chest. The boy only had to close his arms around him gently. The man was trembling slightly and his hands were cold, he did not even have a coat on. Haron felt something wet on the top of his head, and realised his godfather was crying. He tried to raise his neck, look at the man, but he was holding him too strongly and in truth, he did not actually feel like moving.

“You did well,” started Headmaster Zmeyov, likely sensing that his – friend? Haron did not know what they were to each other, but Sirius clearly trusted him, was that enough? – would not be able to articulate his thoughts yet, “you did well,” he repeated, “to stay hidden for so long, and I understand why you did not write your godfather. But I am glad– that you found each other. Sirius has been… these last few years have been difficult, and though I have tried to keep him busy, I was afraid I would lose him to his grief. Thank you, Haron. For being alive.”

Haron had so many questions, he did not know where to start.

Zmeyov paused. “How much do you trust your friends, Haron? Enough to tell them who you are, I gather, and to take them with you when you go looking for answers,” he added with a glance at the picture Haron had just dropped.

He looked down. The photograph they had found just as they’d been about to leave, hidden under splinters and dust, half-eaten by moths, laid on the wet grass, showing Remus Lupin and Sirius, looking young and happy. They were holding hands under a tree and laughing, their eyes creased with their joy. Remus had pointy teeth and a crooked grin, Sirius a dimple on only one cheek. Their clothes were grass-stained, their hair dishevelled. It was a wonderful picture.

“With my life and my secrets,” he replied without thinking. “How well does Sirius trust you?”

The headmaster dipped his head in acknowledgement. Haron heard a shuffle from behind him.

“You said there was no need for a Vow, but I’ll swear one,” said Padma stepping forward so he could see her. Su-a followed soon after.

“By Circe, by Morgan, by Medea,” started the British witch, “I, Padma, second daughter of House Patil, swear upon my name and my magic to keep Haron Pierce’s secrets and the secrets shared with him in front of me until he frees me from my Vow. I swear with the knowledge that Hekate may shatter my core should I prove myself perjurer.”

“By Kim Hwi-Bin, by Baridegi, by Yuhwa, I, Li Su-a, first daughter of the Li Clan of Jeju-do, swear upon my name and my magic to keep Haron Pierce’s secrets and the secrets shared with him in front of me until he frees me from my Vow. I swear with the knowledge that Jowangshin may burn out my core should I prove myself perjurer.”

“You made good friends, darling,” murmured Sirius, startling Haron.

He smiled unconsciously, “Yeah. I think I did. And you did too?” he questioned, looking up at the headmaster of Durmstrang.

Sirius shook his head, his hair tickling Haron as he did so.

“He’s not my friend. He’s…” He leaned back and pressed his hand on that of the man crouching next to him. “Will you do the honours or shall I?”

“Maybe another time,” said Zmeyov, “I think we have more pressing explanations to give, Sirius.”

Sirius sighed. “Ah, you’re right. And we should bring you back to your Tower, I suppose,” he added reluctantly, raising himself and Haron up at the same time.

Haron stood on wobbly legs, finally able to look at his godfather. The man’s eyes were wet and he was smiling. He looked like a terrible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He glanced back, and his friends were looking at him with encouraging grins. Su-a was wiping tears from her eyes, and stuck out her tongue when he wordlessly wondered at it with a questioning gesture.

They started walking back towards the castle. Sirius walked close by, as if he couldn’t bear to stay away now that he had proof that Haron was alive and well.

“What should I call you?” he first asked anxiously, wringing his hands.

“Haron,” he said shyly. “It’s the name I chose for myself, it’s… important, to me.”

“Alright. Haron,” he said, as if sounding out the name on his tongue. “Where… what happened to you?”

“The Potters sent me to the Dursleys.” At Sirius’ confused frown, he elaborated. “Aunt Petunia’s family. They weren’t… great. It was fine,” he hurried to say when his godfather started to look alarmed. “The Potters sent them money for a while, so they’d agree to take me in. They’d left me in front of their door with a letter, you see, one explaining that I was not magical and they wanted me raised in the muggle world. Aunt Petunia was fine with it, until I started having… incidents. Accidental magic. I don’t remember it, but they treated me differently after that. I only found out why when I got my letter. I thought it was a prank, at first, but I wanted to know. I needed to know. So I went to London and I looked for Diagon Alley. I found it by chance, followed a muggle-born family who was also doing their shopping.”

Now that he thought about it, it might have been Hermione Granger’s family.

“That’s when I found out about everything else, and about you.” He paused. “I didn’t know if you knew, and I depended on the trust you set out for me, so I didn’t dare write in case you did and you’d…”

Sirius’ expression turned pained, but he nodded in acceptance. “I didn’t know. They told me you were dead, poisoned in the backlash of dark magic performed that night. Voldemort’s magic… and mine,” he admitted, though the words sounded like they hurt to say.

Haron blinked. “You thought you’d killed me,” he realised. “They made you think you’d killed me.”

“Oh, Merlin,” murmured Padma, gripping Haron’s hand. He held it tighter without thinking, then relaxed his grip when he realised he could hurt his friend.

Su-a squeezed his shoulder on the other side. “That’s… vile,” she hissed. “Why? Why would they do that?”

Sirius laughed bitterly. “Did you ever wonder why the Potters weren’t home that night? It’s because they didn’t live there. They always lived in the Potters’ ancestral manor. Godric’s Hollow was Remus and I’s home.”

Haron’s eyes widened. He stopped in his tracks. They were walking down one of the first floor’s many corridors. They’d been diverted from the path to Ravenclaw Tower by a moving staircase and had needed to take a detour, though they hadn’t complained much at the time. Anything to make this conversation last.

Sirius stopped with him. Headmaster Zmeyov did too, though he took Su-a and Padma aside to give them space. They were close enough to hear, but it still granted the two of them some level of privacy.

“I can’t have children of my own body. A sterilisation curse got me when I was a teen, and Remus was terrified of passing down his lycanthropy. But we wanted kids, one day,” he started to recount. “When Lily found herself unexpectedly pregnant, she panicked. She didn’t want it, she felt too young to be a mother. We told her we’d be willing to adopt. The legislation made it complicated – both because Remus was a werewolf and because you were Heir Potter, we couldn’t supersede James’ right over you – so we settled for being named godparents until we could change it, and we’d swear the Guardian’s Oath to get over the Heirship problem. You’d be ours by magic if not by blood or by law.” He paused. “But we hadn’t read the fine print. I could swear the Oath because I was Heir Black and of equal status with James, but Remus didn’t have family magic, the Guardian’s Oath didn’t work. It shouldn’t have been a problem. We would have claimed Charlie once we’d altered the law to make it work, and once James and Lily were ready to have their own kid the Heirship would pass over to them. It was convoluted, but we wanted you. We bathed you, fed you, changed your diapers and sang you to sleep. You were ours. We used to joke about it, we said you were mine and Charlie was Moony’s.”

He laughed brokenly.

“There was a prophecy about a child who could defeat Voldemort. The madman thought it was one of you, so we were targeted. We went into hiding, and we prepared for when we would inevitably be found. We thought Peter might be caught and tortured, not that he would betray us, but still. We knew it wouldn’t hold forever. I did… something, to protect you and Charlie that night. A Dark spell, from the Black Library. Dumbledore didn’t like it, and while I was in a coma, recovering, he convinced James and Lily that they didn’t like it either. By that point, they’d lived four years as the parents of the Boy-Who-Lived. They loved the status it gave them, the chance they had of making a difference in our society. And of course, they loved Charlie.”

Haron felt a familiar bitterness at those words, though it wasn’t as strong as before. Not as he was now realising that the Potters’ rejection never should have mattered. They had never been his parents.

Sirius wasn’t done with his tale. Before he spoke, he leaned forward and touched Haron’s face with the tip of his fingers, looking at him with so much love and devotion it ached.

“When I woke up, the first thing I did was ask after both of you,” he said quietly. “They told me Charlie was at quidditch camp, and that you were dead. That my spell killed you. When I asked them if they’d told Charlie about me, they said I had no claim to him.” He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “The best I can guess is they thought the Guardian’s Oath linked me to you and burnt out your magic like it temporarily burnt out mine. And since I practised Dark magic to keep you safe, they assumed I’d caught the family Madness. They figured you’d be safer in the muggle world than you would with me. I’ve carried the grief and guilt of your and Remus’ death for years, and I might have lost him that night, but they stole you from me.” He paused. “I couldn’t forgive that they took Charlie, but I accepted it. As far as he’s concerned, they are his parents, and I missed my chance. But you are my son, Haron.”

His silver eyes glittered with rage.

“They had no right.”

Chapter Text

Parting with Haron was hard.

Sirius and Regulus led him and his friends to his dorm with reluctant steps, well aware that Mad Eye – or whoever else it could be, Sirius was not convinced despite Regulus’ reasonable argument – would ask questions if he checked on the Ravenclaws and found out they’d not been brought back. They left him there after one last embrace, and Regulus had to pry Sirius away from his lost child with coaxing promises of future conversations.

When Sirius hesitantly asked about adoption, Haron instantly said yes, which was both thrilling and worrying. Padma Patil, one of his best friends revealed that he’d lived alone during the summers since he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter. The little Sirius had heard about the Dursleys didn’t bode well, especially when Haron admitted that the payment the Potters had set up for him stopped coming when he turned eight, and Sirius’ former friends seemingly forgot about him entirely. It looked like their treatment of him had already worsened by then, but that clearly did not help matters. Sirius had to fight down the urge to hunt down these people and ask them exactly what they did to his child so he could decide on an appropriate punishment, but he refrained, if only because ending up in Azkaban would make it hard for him to adopt Haron.

“Your godson sure is something,” commented Regulus on the way back. “With all the excitement he forgot to pick this up,” he said, holding out a picture Sirius instantly recognised. He took it delicately, staring at it with love and sorrow. “He must have gone to the Shrieking Shack to see if he could find some answers.”

“And he did find them,” Sirius murmured before tucking the picture into his coat pocket. “Haron is my son,” he added fiercely.

Regulus inclined his head in agreement. “Your son. You didn’t tell me the whole story,” he remarked quietly.

“I didn’t tell you Godric’s Hollow was our home,” he agreed.

“You made it sound like you hadn’t yet adopted the children, and that was true in the strictest sense of the term, but if I’d known you’d raised Charlie and Haron since infancy, I would have–”

“What? Stolen Charlie away, hurt the Potters for taking my child from me?” He barked out a bitter laugh. “Moony and I had no right over him, you said it yourself. Just because they said otherwise doesn’t make it the truth when they never officialised it.”

Regulus shook his head. “I know that. I was going to say that I would have shared your grief, Sirius. All these years, I did not consider myself an uncle. I thought your attachment to Charlie was motivated by your love for Remus, and only saw him as the symbol of a lost future and a broken promise. Not as a child you held and cared for.” He paused. “I raged over Potter’s betrayal when I should have grieved for two nephews, one thought dead and another stolen from you. I would have mourned Harry’s death with you. But you never told me.”

Sirius stared, agape. “I would have loved him even if he wasn’t yet mine, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

Regulus closed his eyes. He sighed.

“I know. But I wouldn’t have. Because I thought him to be Potter’s, and even now I cannot love Charlie Potter who could have been your son, because he no longer is. But I can love Haron. And if I had known before, you would not have had to miss him alone.”

Sirius wondered when he had started to fail his brother. Was it truly in their childhood as he had thought, when he didn’t properly shield him from his conflicts with their mother, from their father’s apathy, from his struggle to wrestle the family magic who loved him to the point of consumption, planting its metaphorical fangs into his core like a starving beast and never letting go, making him snappish, irritable, struggling to focus and always seeking a thrill, a distraction?

Or did Regulus never need a shield, and he’d truly lost him when he hid all of it from him instead, and showed him a mask of challenging grins and loud laughter, dancing around the larger-than-life James Potter? Did Regulus think his brother a stranger and resent his best friend for it, the man who was on the other side of the facade and who could see the cracks concealed from him?

(Regulus never hated Remus, who many times held out a hand to him after listening to Sirius murmur to him in the quiet of the night how he feared losing his brother. Remus who always had a smile for his little brother, and an apology on his lips when Sirius bit out insults to hide his disappointment at how often Regulus parroted their mother, at how he could feel him slipping through his fingers.

James often shrugged and told him he’d be his brother if Regulus didn’t come around. He always sounded like he doubted Sirius’ little brother ever would, like it was time to write him off and go on another adventure instead. Sirius found it comforting at the time, the thought that his chosen family would welcome him if things reached the point of no return. He never wondered why James didn’t encourage him to make the first step, to bring his little brother into the light.

He should have wondered why.)

“We can love him together now,” Sirius said instead of asking the burning question on his tongue – is it so easy to hate James Potter because you can’t bring yourself to direct that hate at me despite it all – and his brother softened.

“Yes, we can.” He paused. “I wonder if he knows he’s been altering his appearance unconsciously. We have another Metamorphmagus in the family, Nymph will be thrilled.”

Sirius laughed.

It was true; the hue of Haron’s eyes had been dim before he’d finally admitted to being Harry Potter, and then they’d become as striking as Lily and Charlie’s, this deep forest green colour he’d never seen in anyone else. And whatever magic he’d used to keep his hair so short shouldn’t have been enough to counter the Potter Curse, it had to be the gift.

“They will. And Andy will want to give him a check-up.”

Sirius still couldn’t believe no one checked on him in all these years, not even to make sure the Dark magic he’d supposedly been exposed to hadn’t lingered. Sirius noticed a curse scar on his brow when he’d looked. It was a tiny thing, a whitish pink and vaguely in the shape of the rune of the sun, Sowilo. Completely unlike the angry red four-pointed star that marred the centre of Charlie Potter’s forehead, the manifestation of where the curse hit him and of the protection magic Sirius had used that night.

“That can wait until Yule, he looks fine for now. There’s so much to do now. I need to refurbish Grimmauld Place,” mumbled Sirius on their way back to Durmstrang’s ship. “And prepare the adoption papers. Is that old solicitor still alive or should I get a new one?”

Regulus shook his head. “Ask Andy, she’ll know who to ask.”

Andromeda was the one who had taken care of Sirius during his coma. She’d worked as a healer for St Mungo’s for several years by then, and had ensured her cousin was properly protected despite his being in the very public location. No one she didn’t approve of entered his hospital room.

She’d even made contact with their grandfather, Arcturus Black, to make sure he wasn’t disowned and could count on the family magic to accelerate his healing. She had been surprised to learn Lord Black had never named another Heir than Sirius, that he had never listened to his daughter-in-law’s ravings about his betrayal of the family. It was never in doubt to him that Sirius would wake up, and he wanted the man who could find a counter to the Killing curse to protect his children as the Head of their family.

At the time, Regulus was in Durmstrang, in search of a way to destroy Voldemort’s Horcrux. It took months of research, but he finally found out that a vial of manticore blood could do the trick.

The identity of Damyan Zmeyov was given to him by a retired employee of House Black, a Bulgarian asset manager who handled the portfolio of their properties and investments on the European continent. The man, Dragoy Krum passed him off as his wife’s brother and faked credentials for him under Arcturus Black’s orders. Walburga was never informed of her youngest son’s continued existence, for fear that she would use it as an incentive to kill Sirius and make sure he would never inherit. But Andromeda already knew, and she kept a steady correspondence with him to inform him of Sirius’ condition.

Regulus found himself offered a job by Karkaroff, the former Death Eater not having recognised him under the disguise he now wore like a second skin. He had taught Dark Arts at Durmstrang for five years when Sirius woke up in 1985, and he’d hurried to his side. Walburga was already dead by then; the backlash of the curse she had used to keep their father compliant finally caught up to her and killed the both of them, Orion from shock and her from the magical strain of her own stupidity. Arcturus had posthumously dissolved their marriage contract and made House Crabbe pay their weight in gold and artefacts for the death of his son.

It had been… difficult, to find all of this out when he woke up. Sirius remembered a time when his father was, well. Not quite affectionate, but as warm as he could be. Regulus was too young to remember Orion’s parental care, however, and the only love he’d ever received was from their house elf, a spiteful old thing who came with Walburga from House Crabbe as a dowry and consequently had no true loyalty to House Black, and Sirius, who hated the mistress Kreacher worshipped since they’d both understood she could only handle people she could control and the only way to make Sirius comply was to break him.

Sirius wrote Andromeda as soon as they got to their private quarters. Regulus went out to talk to Viktor Krum, who passed as his nephew and for whom he acted as a temporary coach while they were in Albion. He was the only one in Durmstrang who knew Reggie’s true identity, and the headmaster made it very clear even before he took Karkaroff’s position that the boy was under his protection. Viktor trusted him and almost worshipped the ground he walked on, which Sirius found hilarious. He rarely saw them interact, having only spent time at Durmstrang in any official capacity since his appointment as adviser two years ago. Before that he spent most of his time in Egypt, where the Mediterranean office of the ICW was located. There, under the direction of old Percival Graves, he was set loose on corrupt pureblood families and tasked with making sure they never spread their poison in the magical community.

One of his colleagues had a son at Hogwarts, he remembered. Serafina Zabini was paid rather handsomely for the work she did, and she had gained quite the reputation in pureblood circles.

Maybe Sirius should write her, he mused. She might be able to tell him if anything shady went on in the school while Haron studied there. He’d heard rumours, but nothing concrete. He would prefer knowing if he should start preparing transfer papers for his son right now. If Haron was anything like him, he’d refuse and want to stay with his friends, thought Sirius wryly, but it was always good to have a plan in place.

Haron received an owl the next day, and in the letter it held were the adoption papers Sirius had promised him the night before. He held them with trembling hands, and wordlessly handed them over to Su-a, Padma and Luna. They left the Great Hall suddenly, muttering excuses to Fleur who watched them leave with round eyes.

“Family matters,” he mouthed at her with an apologetic glance. “I’ll explain later.” The way his hands were shaking had her nod and send them off with an encouragement.

When they closed the door behind them, Su-a clapped her hands in delight while Padma bounced on her feet, a smile dancing on her lips.

Next to him, Luna only murmured, “Haron Altair Black, hm. It suits you.”

They found an abandoned classroom and settled there. Haron placed the adoption papers on an uncluttered table and stared down at them.

“Altair, the brightest star of Aquila, the constellation of the eagle. That’s a nice choice,” commented Padma before staring at him expectantly. “Well? Sign them, honey.”

“I– yes.”

He pulled out his wand and cast a spell. These types of contract had to be signed with raw magic. As he was about to write his signature, he faltered.

“They’ll find out, won’t they?”

“They will,” confirmed Luna, “your name will change on every roster and your biological parents will be notified by their steward. It might take some time for our professors to notice, they know us well enough not to have to take attendance and I’m unsure if the Potters’ steward will even read the notification, but it’s likely everyone will know by the end of the week.”

Haron gulped, his wand hovering over the parchment.

“Shush, Luna, you’ll scare him,” admonished Su-a.

Luna tilted her head.

“How so? It’s clearing the wrackspurts around his head already.”

Haron chuckled. “She’s right. I like to know what will happen.” He took a deep breath. “The Potters are public figures, it’ll make the papers. I think I want to wait. The Triwizard champions are decided today, it would not be fair if I distracted everyone from that.”

He started to lean back, and made to put his wand back behind his ear.

Padma’s brows furrowed in concern. “Are you sure? You’ve been wanting this for a long time.”

“And I have it,” countered Haron. “He’s… he signed the papers, he’s always wanted me. I’m his… son, already, no matter what the paperwork says. I’ll write him, and—”

“No, Haron. No.”

Haron blinked. Su-a’s fierce response surprised him. He was even more startled when she gripped his hand in hers and looked him in the eyes.

“If you wait it out because of the champions’ selection then you’ll push it off all year. Don’t do that to yourself. Besides, it’s poetic justice, isn’t it? You were separated on Samhain Night, let your reunion happen on this day as well.”

Haron stared at her for a long moment.

“You’re right.”

“She is, indeed.”

They turned and saw Headmaster Zmeyov standing there, arms crossed, with Viktor Krum standing behind him, holding a broom. Haron noticed they had the same eyes, so dark they seemed to suck in light.

“Headmaster,” greeted Haron, “Krum. Good morning.”

“Good morning, child,” said Zmeyov just as Krum rumbled out a similar greeting, though much more accented. The headmaster of Durmstrang sounded like a native, mused Haron. He wondered if he ever lived in Britain before.

“You should sign these papers today. Sirius will make a statement to the press to get ahead of the rumours, and they’ll report on it at the same time as the Tournament. The champions will deal. Sirius has waited long enough, and you have too. Don’t dally unless you have second thoughts. If you want this, sign. It’s the only thing that should matter. We’ll handle the rest.”

Haron looked at him, lost. He turned to Krum, who nodded gruffly, then to his friends, who pressed closer to him in support. Haron closed his eyes and raised his wand again.

He signed.

When he opened his eyes anew, the parchment was shimmering. He felt warm, and his face was tingling. His eyes were burning.

“Haron, your eyes–!” exclaimed Su-a.

“Oh, that’s quite lovely,” murmured Padma.

“What…?” he asked, touching the side of his face.

The first thing he noticed was the strand of hair tickling his cheekbone. He trailed his fingers to the side of his head, and was greeted with short wavy locks ending at his nape. Luna pulled out her wand and summoned a mirror, which she levitated in front of him. His hair was shorter than it had been when he was eleven and desperate to look like anything but a Potter, and looked closer to Sirius’ smooth locks than James and Charlie Potter’s tangled manes. But his eyes… one of them, the one under his scarred eyebrow had stayed green, but the other turned silver, like Sirius’ eyes. They still burnt, and he removed his contacts when he realised what the problem was, hissing as he did so. The magical lenses dissolved in his hands.

“I was right, then,” breathed out Zmeyov. “You’re a Metamorphmagus.”

“I– that’s a bloodline gift,” he protested.

“It is, and you’ve always been a Black, Haron,” said the man, looking amused as he did so. “Your grandmother Dorea was one, in fact, and most importantly, Sirius shared his magic with you when he made the Guardian’s Oath. But it is only now that you’re believing it, so your magic is adapting.”

“How do I stop it? I have class today!”

“Don’t you dare, Haron!” exclaimed Padma. “You look so pretty and I’ve been dying to see what your hair looks like longer.”

Su-a nodded sagely. “It won’t be the weirdest fashion statement we’ve seen today. Zacharias Smith just came out with dyed tiger stripes in his hair to support Diggory.”

Haron sighed.

“It’ll be fine,” reassured him Luna before leaving the classroom with a dancing step.

“I’ll walk in front until we get to the Hogwarts grounds,” suddenly said Krum, “no one will pay attention to you.”

Zmeyov nodded approvingly. Krum preened.

“Thank you,” said Haron quietly.

“Do not mention it. The headmaster is my mentor and he cares for you. I want to help.”

And sure enough, no one paid them any attention when Krum passed through the corridors, scowling as he paved the way. Haron and his friends were able to get to Herbology class without an issue, and professor Sprout didn’t even pull out the roster once. Most classes that day continued in the same vein, and though Haron got stares for having what people assumed to be “Slytherin eyes,” no one bothered him about it.

At lunch, Fleur asked them what their morning escape had been all about. Haron didn’t linger on the details, and only told her he signed adoption papers this morning. She congratulated him effusively, even offering him a hug that left him blinking in bewilderment. The girls laughed at him, and he found himself glad Sirius was out on business today, though he already missed his father even after having only just met him. Headmaster Zmeyov’s amused gaze on him from the professors’ table was enough for Haron.

The first people who dared to ask were Slytherins, with whom the Ravenclaws had Charms class at the end of the schoolday. Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass sidled up to him and asked him what prompted the new look.

These two were the ones Padma got her gossip from. They were the only ones in their year who mingled with other Houses with any kind of regularity. Outside of them, Draco Malfoy did not endear himself to anyone and neither did his two lackeys. Parkinson’s clique sometimes talked to others, but she put people off by making it very clear how superior she thought her House was compared to all others. And Theodore Nott always kept to himself, content to live in his own bubble like Haron had done before Padma and Su-a dragged him out of it.

Since she knew them best, Padma was the one who answered. “Haron’s trying a ‘new year, new me’ approach.”

“So this won’t be the only change?” deduced Blaise, raising an eyebrow. His gold eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Su-a wrapped an arm around Haron’s shoulders and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Oh, Blaise, you have no idea.”

Haron snorted.

“Why don’t you let me speak?” He caught their interest with those words. He shrugged with a half-grin. “I got some good news,” he said, faux-nonchalant. He was still stressed about the incoming media storm, but he didn’t need to show that to others. He might like Daphne and Blaise well enough – they’d been on a first name basis since Padma properly introduced them last year – but he knew how the snakes were. They gossiped a little too much for his taste. “This is my way to celebrate.”

The two Slytherins exchanged a look.

“Well, it suits you,” concluded the dark-skinned boy.

Daphne nodded. “I wondered how long it would take you to stop trying to blend with the walls. I hope you’ll come chat more often, and maybe share those news with us,” she added before going to her seat. The lesson was about to start.

“I can’t wait to see their faces when they find out,” whispered Padma, snickering.

The class ended quickly. The trio stopped by Moody’s office to find out when their detention would be, and found out he’d split them up.

Su-a groaned. “Why on Sunday? That’s vile. And without you?” she said, turning to Haron who was checking his own detention slip.

“Yeah, mine’s on Monday,” he said with a frown, “he split up the Gryffindors as well. He probably didn’t want to deal with seven students at once.”

“Did he say who they were?” wondered Padma.

Haron shook his head.

“Huh. Guess we’ll find out in three days then.”

They spent the rest of their free time in the Great Hall, watching for last minute applications to the title of champion. Viktor Krum entered after half an hour and, after a split second of indecision, sat down next to Fleur.

“You put your name in too, right?” he asked her, then started asking about the preparations she had made for the Tournament when she hesitantly nodded.

The fourth-years followed along interestedly, engrossed in their discussion of previous iterations of the competition. They always seemed to have some sort of pattern to them; an unpredictable obstacle, then a riddle with high stakes, and a comprehensive testing ground full of diverse challenges. The two seventeen-year-olds seemed very well prepared, and knew what they were getting themselves into. It was fascinating to Haron, who was so deeply invested in the conversation he did not notice the food start to appear. When it did, Krum seriously apologised for hogging Fleur’s attention.

“It’s fine, that was fascinating. I’ll be rooting for Hogwarts, but I hope you guys will be chosen,” said Haron. “It sounds like your curriculums are slightly different than Hogwarts?”

Krum nodded. “Durmstrang teaches Dark Arts, and I know Beauxbatons teaches Alchemy. Our Potions curriculum is not as extensive as Hogwarts’ however, same for Transfiguration.”

Fleur hummed, twirling a lock of her hair with her wand.

“And we do not have Defence Against the Dark Arts. An introduction to defensive charms are part of the Charms curriculum and Defensive Magics is an elective one can take. Beastology is a mandatory subject, this is where we learn about malicious creatures. We do not have Ancient Runes either.”

This prompted a discussion about the differences between French, Bulgarian and British charm languages, and the influence the Latin school of thought had on European spellcasting. They talked as they ate, Luna sometimes chiming in about the merits of creating a nonsense language to cast spells in duels, which was the topic of an old issue of her father’s magazine. Su-a used the spellwork involved in magical painting as an example to compare Korean and British charms, and they didn’t stop until Dumbledore cleared his throat and announced the Goblet of Fire would make a decision.

Fleur and Viktor were chosen one after the other and disappeared into the antechamber close to the professors’ table. The door leading to it was usually invisible, though Haron had seen it open before; he was pretty sure this was where the professors’ seasonal meetings to discuss the students’ progress and behaviour took place.

Then Cedric Diggory joined them with a bashful grin, and Haron tried really hard not to stare at the boy as he clapped.

“He is too old for you,” whispered Su-a with a sympathetic pat on his arm.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “I’m not going to do anything. He’s pretty, that’s all.”

Padma sighed, “I know. We all know, I think. Do you think the Goblet chooses its champions based on attractiveness? Fleur’s beautiful, Diggory’s ridiculously pretty, and Krum has that rugged handsomeness going on, it’s a little much.”

“I don’t think it’s the main criteria, but I think it helps,” mused Su-a. “But Johnson in Gryffindor is also stupidly beautiful and she didn’t–”

She cut herself off as the entire Great Hall hushed, stuck in stupor as a fourth name came out of the Goblet.

“... Charlie Potter,” said Dumbledore, obviously just as shocked as everyone else.

“What?”

His twin brother echoed Haron’s quiet question with a loud cry, jumping to his feet.

“Headmaster, I didn’t, I promise, I didn’t!” he started to say, raising his hands in defence.

“Charlie, come with me to the antechamber,” said the man with a tired voice, “we’ll sort this out.”

“Merlin,” murmured Padma. “I didn’t expect that. We should have, though.”

“Sirius’ press statement,” remembered Haron in horror. “It will happen at the same time as the announcement of the fourth champion.”

“THE POTTERS, LIARS? HARRY POTTER IS ALIVE, CHARLIE POTTER DENIES PUTTING HIS NAME IN GOBLET OF FIRE!”

Chapter Text

Charlie Potter had mourned his older brother for as long as he could remember, and he had despised Sirius Black for almost as long.

He did not remember looking forward to Sirius Black’s awakening, when his parents periodically visited him and asked for updates from the man’s cousin, murmuring anxiously between themselves, their brows furrowed and the twist of their mouths unreadable.

What he remembered was being five and asking his parents about meeting the Man-Who-Survived. He remembered being told he’d left the country. When he’d asked why, his father’s face had crumpled. He had pressed his lips together and told him Uncle Sirius needed to come to terms with the events of that night. It was his mother who took him to bed that night and explained that Sirius Black used a dark spell to protect them from Voldemort, and it was this magic that killed Harry. That he meant well, but he had done something that couldn’t be undone, and should he come back to Britain, she would not allow him near Charlie.

Lily Potter didn’t believe in coddling children.

Even years later, the burning resentment Charlie felt for Sirius Black after he understood the implications of what his mother told him was only rivalled by his hatred for Voldemort.

(He had dreamt of growing up with Harry, a twin he would share everything with, whether it was toys or their parents’ love or the burden of surviving that night. The media scrutiny, their parents’ absence – busy as they were making the world a better place for them —, Quidditch games and private tutoring, vacations and clothes and food and secrets, anything that could be shared with a brother.)

His mother’s confession shaped the boy he would become; it was how he understood that Dark magic was his true enemy, and he must do his utmost to eradicate it from the world. Charlie Potter swore to become an Auror and end all the Dark wizards like Black, like Voldemort, like the Malfoys. He would be the hero everyone expected him to be.

Harry Potter would be the last victim of the Dark, even the kind that was paved with good intentions.

He lived by this principle when he noticed someone was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. While Seamus was in favour of ignoring it and trusting their professors to handle it, Charlie knew adults couldn’t always be relied on and sought to catch the culprit himself. His friends followed him in his quest, however reluctantly, and even Weakling Neville tagged along with them to stop the Stone from falling into the hands of Voldemort.

He also remembered that conviction when the Heir of Slytherin debacle happened. He raged against the entire school for daring to call him a Dark wizard when they were the people he hated most, but even he had to admit that all the evidence pointed against him. He was the only Parselmouth in the school – and hadn’t that been a shock to find out, when he’d never seen a live snake once in his life before Draco Malfoy thrust one at him —and he was always the first person at the scene of the petrifications. He’d visited Hermione on a whim after she was attacked that year, brooding about the possible closure of the school, which was how he found out about the basilisk. Then Ginny had been taken, and he’d had to act. Tom Riddle had been repulsive, but Charlie had defeated him and his monster at the end. Once more, the Light triumphed over the Dark as it should, and his best mate’s little sister was saved.

Charlie’s parents didn’t understand why he had to get involved. He tried to explain it, but they shut him down the moment he mentioned Harry.

They never wanted to talk about him. There were no pictures of him around their home, beyond a small photo of the twins being held to Remus Lupin’s chest that Charlie had found folded into a recipe book, his older brother’s face barely visible, smushed against the tawny-haired man’s ratty sweater. Requests to go to his grave on Samhain night always prompted Lily Potter to wilfully misunderstand him and go on a tangent about how unhealthy it was to try to cling to the dead, and how purebloods’ obsession with the deceased explained their society’s lack of progress. Harry was forgotten in the wake of that rant, and Charlie had to content himself with plucking flowers for his father to take with him. James Potter always visited Remus and Harry’s graves alone. He came back from it downtrodden and often drank a whole bottle of firewhiskey by himself, shut up in his office.

Charlie was left to mourn alone in his room, and later in the crowded Great Hall while everyone else celebrated Halloween and Voldemort’s demise.

There were no Dark wizards to catch in third year, but there were Aurors to learn from, Draco Malfoy and his lackeys to confront, and Hermione to save from herself as she crumpled under the pressure of the Time Turner and tried to stop Hagrid’s hippogriff from being executed. Charlie wished he’d gotten to befriend her in first year, and he had thought they would before Seamus put his foot in his mouth and Ron laughed at his terrible joke about whiny girls going crying in the bathroom. But they studied together now, it was nice. He had someone to talk to about Harry who didn’t take the matter too lightly or make the whole conversation about him being the Boy-Who-Lived. Ron, Seamus and Dean meant well, but their attempts at levity weren’t that funny.

And now that his friends – save Hermione, who at least gave him the benefit of the doubt — didn’t talk to him, refusing to believe he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet of Fire, days after the anniversary of his older brother’s death, he found out that his parents had lied to him.

His brother was alive, and Sirius Black had never killed anyone.

The worst part was, he learnt about it in the Monday morning issue of the Prophet instead of from Harry’s mouth. He found out at the breakfast table, with everyone’s stares, whispers and snickers directed at him.

“The Boy-Who-Died Lives to Be Adopted, Sirius Black Betrayed Breaks his Silence,” read the first subheading under the frankly offensive headline accusing him of lying about his naming as fourth champion.

The papers had been published fast; Black had given an interview the day of the Champion Selection and they’d had to scramble to add it to the news about the Tournament so the scoop about Charlie’s predicament would be made even juicier.

Sirius Black, who was engaged to Remus Lupin and waiting for the war to end or slow down to marry him. Sirius Black who claimed that he’d raised Charlie and Harry from infancy with his fiancé and woke up to find one son dead and another taken from him. Sirius Black who felt his Guardian’s Oath stir as soon as he stepped into the Hogwarts grounds and reignite at the first spell Haron Pierce used in his presence. Sirius Black who found out his son had been abandoned to the muggle world, raised by strangers while the other he had no claim to was treated as a hero.

He had photos of himself with the twins as babies. At this, Charie realised the picture with Remus was also the only baby photo of him in the house.

He had letters from James Potter, promising he’d get to adopt them soon.

He had a begrudging witness statement from the goblin who had given Harry his trust vault key in their first year.

“Did he know?” he heard someone whisper.

“How could he not know?” another said.

He read the entire interview twice, paling as he did so.

“Charlie,” murmured Hermione, pulling anxiously at the sleeve of his robe.

He did not hear her. He simply stood up and started walking. He did not glance at the Ravenclaw table, and simply continued to walk to the farthest wall of the Great Hall, where all the professors were gathered at a high table. He reached it in a short time. He stared.

“You were there, that night,” he started. “Tell me this,” he brandished the newspaper, ignoring the raising murmurs of the crowd, “is an elaborate lie. Look me in the eye and tell me!” he screamed in Albus Dumbledore’s face.

The headmaster, who had folded the Prophet in front of him, looked at him evenly. His eyes were full of sorrowful contrition, the same as when Charlie had asked him why Voldemort had targeted them that night and he had refused to answer just like his parents had. The same as when Charlie had been covered in blood, ink and grime after the Chamber of Secrets debacle and Dumbledore told him Myrtle’s death had shaped Tom Riddle as much as Harry’s had shaped Charlie.

Harry, who was not dead. And Dumbledore knew.

“You knew.” He paused. Narrowed his eyes. “Of course you knew. Who else would have the confidence to tell my parents that Harry didn’t have magic anymore? If you knew, say it!” he shouted.

People exclaimed as the newspaper he held in his hand was set on fire. Charlie pulled out his wand to put it out, still staring at Dumbledore.

“I’m sorry, Mr Potter,” finally said the man, confirming what the boy feared.

Charlie tilted his head. He chuckled disbelievingly.

“Huh. You’ve never called me that before.”

It was always Charlie, or my boy, or little one when he was still a kid who worshipped the ground the man walked on.

“If you and your brother could come to my office, I would be happy to explain—”

“No. No, you know what? I don’t want explanations from you,” he spat.

He turned on his heels. Paused. Turned back and looked at Sirius Black, who watched him with pained eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“You— I have nothing to say to you.”

And he truly didn’t. Sirius Black did not kill his brother, and as such he was not his enemy. But he wasn’t his father. He could have been, maybe, in another life. But he’d jumped to the press to finally get to parent Haron Pierce, and he didn’t think about Charlie’s feelings or thoughts on the matter.

He turned back again, and this time he paused at the Ravenclaw table. Haron... Haron Black was looking at him like he’d never seen him before.

“I mourned you,” he whispered. “I mourned you and I missed you.”

And he left the Great Hall, pulling his invisibility cloak out of his bag and putting it on as soon as the doors slammed behind him. He moved a few steps to the right, lowered himself to the ground, his back pressing against a wall, and cried silently.

Seconds after, Harry burst into the corridor, followed by the two friends that were always with him and frantically looked every which way. Charlie held his breath.

“He was just there,” muttered Padma Patil, her blue and gold bell earrings jiggling as she turned her head to look at both sides of the corridor.

“He— I thought—,” said Haron haltingly.

“You convinced yourself that they had told him,” completed Su-a Li with a knowing look. “We’d guessed. The one time we talked about it you said you’d wondered but... but it looked like you didn’t want to think about it. You never wanted to look at him or acknowledge him in any way. It was easier to think of him as his parents’ son and nothing else. And of course his parents’ son would know and not care about his squib brother.”

“But that’s so... cruel of them,” murmured Haron.

Padma raised an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the people who left you with abusive relatives and told your actual adoptive dad that he had killed you? Why are you surprised that they’re bad parents?”

Abusive? Charlie bit his cheek to stop himself from making a sound.

“It was just me, though. Not him. Not the...”

“What, the Boy-Who-Lived?”

“No!” he protested.

Li made a choking sound. “Haron, have you been thinking it was fine this entire time because it was you and not Charlie? Your brother’s an idiot, what are you idealising him for?”

“But he’s—”

The Korean girl cut him off.

“He’s the kid who hangs out with people who laugh at his jokes even when they’re not funny and who always does unnecessary spins on the Quidditch pitch. He insults Professor Snape for kicks and thinks Dark is the same thing as evil. He melted down a first year’s talisman because it used blood as a conduit. His friends keep making Myrtle cry for fun when she’s literally the ghost of a dead thirteen-year-old. Ron and Seamus make sexist comments all the time and they all laugh, they... they’re awful, and he’s not much better!”

They were not, Charlie wanted to protest. Were they? He couldn’t deny that his friends took their jokes too far sometimes, or that Charlie liked to show off. But he had good reason to talk back to Snape, and the Dark had ruined his family, he didn’t think it was wrong of him to despise it even now. Maybe he’d taken things too far, but he—

He didn’t get to finish his train of thought because Harry whirled around and faced Li, his eyes flashing. “He’s my little brother!”

Charlie felt blood on his tongue from how hard he was biting his cheek. His heart hammered against his chest.

Padma Patil was unimpressed. “Your little brother sucks, Haron, you have to admit it. He might have saved Britain and the school or whatever, but he acts like a prick,” she said with a reasonable tone. “I know what I’m talking about, Parvati is a judgemental bitch, and her friend Lavender is... let’s not go there. The only Gryffindors that don’t suck in our year are Neville and Hermione, and even she has this whole ‘creepily staring at you’ thing going on. Don’t blame yourself for not telling him. The risk was too great anyway, you know that. Same for Sirius telling him, what if he’d blabbed instantly and the Potters stopped him from adopting you?”

Haron deflated.

“But I took the risk. With Sirius, I took the risk. I should have... I should have done the same for him.”

They stayed silent at this. The girls knew he was right, and it would have been disingenuous to say otherwise.

“How do I fix this?” wondered Haron after a beat, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

They really had the same eyes, thought Charlie. Or they did before his brother used whatever magic he used to change one of them.

The younger twin saw the man approaching before Haron did. He saw his brother flinch at the hand pressed against his shoulder and at the doors closing once more behind them.

Haron turned and brightened when he recognised Sirius Black.

“Sirius! Er, I mean—”

Black chuckled sadly. “You don’t have to call me dad just yet, darling. I haven’t done anything to deserve it so far. I’m sorry for... this. My solicitor told me I’d have to make a statement fast to stop the Potters from spinning this in their favour. I thought Charlie would be... not fine, exactly, but I could deal with him being angry at me for staining his family’s reputation. I’m not sure what it says about me that it didn’t even occur to me that he would likely have more issues with the lies he’s been told all his life.”

“Because you gave up on him,” said Haron hesitantly. “Like I did. You thought of him as James Potter’s son because it was easier than thinking about the fact that you were a stranger to him and that it shouldn’t be that way.”

Charlie stared at the way Black softened and embraced his brother.

“We’ll give him time,” murmured Black. “He’s allowed to be angry, and he deserves an apology. From us, from his parents, from Dumbledore. He’ll have it.” He paused and added. “And I’ll find out who put his name in the Goblet of Fire. I’ll make them pay.”

“You don’t think it was him?” asked Padma hesitantly.

“It wasn’t,” said Haron fiercely. “He said it wasn’t him, and I believe him.”

Something unclenched in Charlie’s chest at those words. His brother believed him. They might be... they might not have the relationship he hoped for, and he might feel betrayed, but Harry... Haron felt guilty for his silence. That had to mean something.

He relaxed further when Black shook his head. “Even if he had wanted to, there is no way he would have bypassed both Dumbledore and... Damyan’s protections.”

“Did he use a blood ward?” asked Haron with curious eyes.

Charlie wrinkled his nose, unable to hide his reaction at hearing his brother so intrigued by Dark magic.

“No, but he used something similar. Why don’t you come by to the ship for lunch? I’ll show you then.”

Haron nodded eagerly. They murmured some more inaudible words before separating, glancing at the doors. The students would soon start getting to class. They parted soon after, the Ravenclaws setting out for their first class of the day.

Black stayed in place for long enough that Charlie started to tense.

“I know you’re here, Charlie,” said Sirius Black softly. “I was your father’s best friend for many years, I know about the cloak.”

Charlie didn’t take off the cloak, though he glared balefully at the man. Black sighed.

“And I meant what I said. You deserve an apology. I’ll wait until you’re ready to hear it, and I understand if you want nothing to do with me. No matter what I could have been, I’m nothing to you now, except your brother’s father and a former friend of your parents. But I want you safe, and I’ll make it happen. Now Minerva is talking about giving you a day off today, but you’ll be called to the Headmaster’s office at some point, I gather.”

Charlie said nothing. After a beat, Black sighed again and left the corridor. Charlie only started moving when the first student came out the door. He walked, and walked, trying to sort out his thoughts. After what seemed like hours, a house elf popped close to him.

He tilted his head.

“Aren’t you the elf who was freed by Lord Crouch?”

The elf hiccupped, blinking back tears. “It is being Winky, yes. Headmaster Dumbly be waiting for you in his office with yous parents.”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded, and made his way towards the headmaster’s office. He climbed the stairs, not even glancing at the gargoyle guarding the entrance. He slammed open the door and entered to find his parents arguing with the headmaster.

“— you said he was a squib! We would never have left him there if we had known—”

James threw up his hands. “I didn’t even want to leave him there in the first place — there are perfectly acceptable opportunities for a squib in the magical world—, you both said it would be too dangerous for him out there—I should never have listened to you on this, the guilt has eaten me for years—”

“— you have to understand, Lily, all the signs pointed to—”

“— there is no way we can leave him with Black!” exclaimed Charlie’s mother. “I birthed him, he’s my son, I should be the one to decide where he goes.”

“He’s not.”

All heads turned to Charlie, who had just spoken.

“Giving birth to someone does not make you a mother. Harry stopped being your son when you promised him to another. And I was not your son either, not until you took me back with you and raised me,” he emphasised with a calm he did not feel. “Since you abandoned him, you have no right to him. Black swore a Guardian’s Oath, he has every right to take Harry... Haron away from you if you haven’t done right by him. I know that, you know that, he knows that. There’s nothing you can do.”

He lowered his eyes.

“And at this moment, I’m not proud of who my parents are. Sirius Black might be a Dark wizard, but he’s not a liar. He didn’t look me in the eye and lie to me about Harry’s death, and about who killed him.”

“Lily, you didn’t,” whispered James, taking a step back.

Charlie’s mother raised his hands up.

“He wanted to meet him!” she hissed. “He kept asking, what else should I have said? You heard what Albus said, the spell he used—”

“And we’re supposed to trust Albus now? He told us Harry was a squib because of Pad—Sirius' spell, and that wasn’t right either! How bad was this spell, really, when it didn’t do anything to the kids?” He turned furious eyes to the headmaster. “Tell me, Albus, why I pushed away my best friend and left a magical baby in a magic-hating family?”

“Because we trusted him to be a Lupin, kind, smart and cautious, when he was always and always would be a Black!” countered Lily. “Do not talk to me about your best friends, James. A traitor, a madman and a...”

“A what?” spat James. “A what? What was kind, smart and cautious Remus exactly? Tell me, I can’t wait to hear it. Or should we talk about your friends instead, and how none of them want anything to do with you? Not Mary, who screams at the very sight of you, not Calypso Greengrass, who you pushed away because she used a slightly darker than grey spell to escape her abusive husband, and not even fucking Snivellus! Why don’t we talk about them instead Lily?”

Lily faltered.

“Now, now, James, Lily, maybe now is not the time for division,” said Dumbledore placatingly, folding his hands over his desk. “And think about your audience, if you please.”

His parents flinched and turned back to Charlie, who was watching them with revulsion.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he decided. “You disgust me, and I don’t want to be here. I’m going.”

And he turned on his heel. But when he pressed the handle, the door didn’t open. He whirled around.

“Let me out.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Charlie. Not before you hear me out, and your parents too,” said Dumbledore apologetically. “You must understand, my boy, that the end of the war was a difficult time. Peter Pettigrew having just betrayed... both sets of your parents, Remus Lupin being dead and the only person with answers as to what happened being in a healing coma, it fell to me to piece together the events of that night. It soon became clear to me that Lord Voldemort targeted you first, and Lord Black acted swiftly, if unwisely in your defence. He used the recent death of his fiancé as fuel for the spell that protected you.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. The headmaster kept going, staring into his eyes as he did so.

“The magic, necromantic in nature, was such a profound violation of the laws of nature that it backlashed instantly against its user and sought to burn out his magical core. The spell worked, but at a steep cost. Part of the soul of Remus Lupin remains stuck in this world, bound to the scar in your forehead and acting as your protector. It is him and his love that deflected the Killing curse aiming at you and destroyed Lord Voldemort’s physical body, and him again that killed Professor Quirrell in your stead in your first year. But souls are not meant to stay bound like this, and Remus is constantly battling the connexion established between you and Voldemort. When he falters, visions of him slip through, as it has this summer.”

Charlie had known as soon as Voldemort had come back to the Isle. He’d felt it somehow and saw it that very same night when he had dreamt of the man.

“Remus’ soul is not going to last like this,” he realised, taking in the implications of the headmaster’s words.

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

“He will not, and I do not know what will become of him.”

Charlie’s father closed his eyes painfully. His wife pressed a soothing hand on his arm, watching him with similar grief.

“I wondered how Sirius could have recovered from such a thing, and upon examining young Harry, I noticed his full magical reserves were emptied, his core inflamed. After several examinations, I came to the conclusion that Sirius must have unknowingly dug into the Guardian’s Oath and taken his magic to make the spell work. The Oath allows for a Guardian to give to their charge, I figured he must have found a way to take.” He paused. “Now that this has been proven wrong, I wonder what could have happened,” he mused.

The teenager bristled at his wondering tone.

“How sure are you of all... this?” asked Charlie, gesturing at his scar.

“I am an old man, my boy, and it has been proven today that I can make mistakes. If there is another explanation, I would love to hear it.”

Charlie glanced down at the door handle and thought about Sirius Black’s words.

“But I cannot think of one,” Dumbledore added regretfully.

Chapter Text

That night, Haron met Professor Moody for detention.

He almost forgot to go, preoccupied as he was with the events of the morning and the subsequent onslaught of questions he’d had to field from his classmates all day.

The Man-Who-Survived was as much a legendary figure as the Boy-Who-Lived, and being not only adopted by the former but also revealed to be the thought dead twin of the latter made him the subject of wild rumours.

People now whispered that it was no wonder that he was so good at magic with a father like Sirius Black, never mind that he hadn’t been raised by him. Some wondered about what it meant for Heir Black to be a half-blood. Others asked if he’d support his brother’s participation in the Tournament, if he wanted revenge over the Potters for his abandonment, and what he thought of Charlie’s outburst and the headmaster’s admission of guilt.

By dinnertime, Haron felt thoroughly overwhelmed.

He had only been able to breathe during his lunch break, huddled next to his adoptive father as they ate in the ship’s largest cabin, pouring over the notes Damyan Zmeyov had taken to set up the mobile ward he had placed around the Goblet. Sirius had explained the magical intricacies of the ward to him with a patient voice and a fond smile. He had soothed the wrinkle between his brows with his index finger when Haron had started thinking about Charlie and fed him pirozhki brought to them by a domovoy, a Russian household spirit. The grumpy thing clicked his tongue after examining Haron’s thin arms and short stature, left swiftly and came back with borscht to feed him up more.

Before he’d had to leave, Sirius had slid the Black Heir ring on his pinkie finger; the blackened silver signet ring shifted to depict the constellation Aquila at its face, the stars made of white gems looking like they had been carved out of the sky. On the inside of the band, four runic arrays were engraved. Haron had spent his History of Magic lesson decrypting them. They offered protection against poison, a right to sit in House Black’s Wizengamot seat, and keys to the wards of the family’s properties. There was another array, but he hadn’t been able to determine what it did. He was eager to ask Sirius the next time he saw him.

Malfoy went silent when he saw the ring on his finger during their last class of the day, as if he’d been unable to believe the morning’s events before that. Daphne and Blaise congratulated Haron and eyed him speculatively; they were the only ones to do so, though Theodore Nott offered him an acknowledging nod and a murmured, “Heir Black.”

In the mix of anxiety, thrill and worry that characterised this day, Haron would have forgotten his detention. But Padma and Su-a, who had suffered through two hours with Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas the day before, reminded him of it.

“You have to go,” urged Su-a when she saw him take the path leading to the Ravenclaw Tower after dinner instead of walking towards Moody’s office. “You know who will be there.”

“I... forgot.”

Padma jokingly scoffed, trying for levity. “Of course you did. You just didn’t want to spend time with Mad Eye Moody, did you?”

He smiled weakly.

“I guess so.”

“It’s fine, he had us practice a few spells and screamed ‘constant vigilance’ a lot. Nothing too dramatic. Seamus was... charming as always. Dean was fine though, he seemed a little embarrassed by the moron’s behaviour, actually.”

Su-a and Padma told him a few anecdotes about their detention while they took him to Moody’s office, interlocking their arms with his. Haron enjoyed hearing about it; they’d only glossed over what had gone on at breakfast, where they had thrown in an aggravated moan and a few grumbles about strangling the Irish boy before changing the subject. He laughed when Padma told him about hexing Seamus’ front tooth to fall out when he started in on describing Lavender Brown’s breasts.

“Su-a levitated it into Moody’s flask,” she said with a snort.

“Yikes. He didn’t drink from it after, did he?”

Su-a hesitated, “I’m not sure, actually. I hope it’s not a medicinal potion,” she added worriedly.

Padma grimaced.

“It might be. He takes it every hour. He could have gotten cursed damage during the war that needs constant healing. He was fine this morning though, so it should be fine.”

She trailed off when they finally got to the man’s office. They were early, but Charlie was already there.

“Potter,” she greeted uncertainly.

“Hi,” said Su-a, bowing slightly in greeting, then catching herself and waving instead. She made a face and tightened her grip on Haron’s arm.

Charlie pressed his lips together as if in thought, then seemed to make a decision.

“Patil, Li,” he nodded evenly, his eyes fixed on Haron. “... Haron.”

“Charlie... hello.”

The girls shuffled nervously. They let go of Haron’s arms.

“We’ll wait for you in our spot, hun,” said Padma, kissing him on the cheek.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed distractedly.

He didn’t notice his friends leaving, focused as he was on his brother.

“You have good friends,” muttered Charlie.

Haron perked up. He didn’t expect his little brother to speak to him. He smiled shyly.

“I do. I don’t know what I would have done without them,” he said without thinking, then winced upon hearing himself.

Charlie didn’t seem to have registered his dubious phrasing. He lightly kicked his foot against the wall instead.

“I thought my friends were... never mind.”

“No,” protested Haron. “I mean, er. What happened?”

“They don’t believe me.” He paused. “Except Hermione that is, but she... they’re my best friends.”

“That... I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I believe you.”

Even more so now that he’d seen the ward the headmaster of Durmstrang had laid around Dumbledore’s age line. The ward built upon Hogwarts’ existing protections for students and repurposed them to make sure no one who was unprepared to face the Tournament could even think to participate in it.

“I...” Charlie faltered. “Thanks. My mum doesn’t either. Believe me, I mean. She and Dad came today. To Dumbledore’s office. To explain. About you, you know, and all the lying they did. I hated Black for so long for killing you, and... never mind. They came and they explained, they had all kinds of shitty excuses and others that weren’t so shitty after all – do you know what the spell Black used did, by the way, because it’s so fucked up I feel sick just thinking about it --, but then Mum started in on the Tournament and how stupid it was of me to put my name in there, and Dad didn’t say anything, and I just. I just can’t with them, you know?”

Haron stared, trying to parse out that mess of a sentence. Charlie must have sensed it, because he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry. That was a lot.”

“Today was a lot,” offered Haron, unwilling to tell his brother how much he in fact did not know.

James and Lily Potter were the shadows that sneered at him in his nightmares and said that he would never be good enough. Thinking about them as parents to one son and not the other hurt too much. So no, he didn’t know.

Or maybe he knew, because Aunt Petunia would also believe the worst of him at every turn, but he thought that happened because she’d never loved him. He thought that parents who chose to raise their children didn’t treat them like that. And maybe the Potters hadn’t chosen Charlie at first, but they had later, hadn’t they? Why would Lily Potter treat her son this way?

And...

“What was that bit about Sirius’ spell?”

Charlie peered at him. As they were, standing less than a metre away from each other, their differences were as obvious as the fact that they were, in fact, twins. Charlie did not quite tower over him, but he could quite comfortably look down at him, and his arms were almost twice as thick as Haron’s. He tried not to think about Dudley’s fists raining down on him after an hour of Harry Hunting.

He didn’t quite succeed, though the way his brother breathed out and took off his glasses, wiping them with trembling hands helped. Haron watched him collect his thoughts, resenting his biological parents more than he ever had before.

It should not be so hard for them to talk to each other.

“Do you know much about necromancy?” he asked finally.

Haron shook his head. That seemed to reassure Charlie, who straightened and started explaining what he heard from Dumbledore.

“I-- that sounds... insane.”

Charlie’s expression closed off.

“You don’t believe it.”

“No, I suppose I do.”

Haron ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

“At least part of it. But from what you’re saying, it sounds like the headmaster never asked Sirius what he did exactly. He just... extrapolated based on the magical readings he took that night. There has to be more to the story.”

Sirius must have used necromancy, Haron was sure of it, but although he had only just met the man, he did not believe him capable of doing something like this. Sirius had admitted that he and Remus had been preparing for the possibility of Voldemort breaching their wards. But they wouldn’t have edged their bets on Remus’ potential death, it made no sense.

He said as much to Charlie, who looked thoughtful. Haron saw him open his mouth to respond, but they were both cut off by the door opening.

“Well, why are you waiting out my door? Get in. I want to be rid of you idiots as soon as possible. Weasley, get over here,” barked Moody.

They turned and watched Ron Weasley scowl and hurry to reach the door. He did not acknowledge them in any way, keeping his gaze fixed on their professor. Charlie and Haron exchanged a glance.

“You’ll be duelling today. Your brother needs all the help he can get considering what he got himself into, Black,” said Moody, matter-of-fact.

Haron jumped at being addressed as both a Black and Charlie’s brother at the same time. He nodded slowly and bit his tongue to stop himself from commenting on Moody’s phrasing, and the way it seemed to imply guilt on his brother’s part. Strangely enough, Charlie didn’t seem offended. Weasley’s expression tightened, though.

Moody noticed.

“Weasley, Potter, you’ll go first. Wands out, boys.”

Moody traced a boundary on the floor and instructed them to get inside of it. He made them observe duelling etiquette and set them at each other.

The duel barely lasted five minutes before Charlie had his best friend disarmed. He tried to grin at him, but the redhead’s scowl deepened. He left the duelling circle Moody had traced and sat down on the floor, his arms crossed.

“Black, your turn.”

Haron nodded and stepped into the circle. He and Charlie watched each other, wands held out in front of their faces. Haron observed Charlie’s holly wood wand, a creamy-coloured thing engraved with orange swirls reminiscent of a rising fire.

He remembered Ollivander’s face when he’d stepped into his shop, eleven and trembling with nerves. The man had made him try dozens of wands, and Haron had wondered if his letter had been a mistake after all, but then the old wizard had looked at him with unreadable eyes and pulled out the elder wand he now wielded.

“Only a highly unusual person will find their perfect match in elder, and on the rare occasion when such a pairing occurs, I take it as certain that the witch or wizard in question is marked out for a special destiny. This one was paired with the heartstring of a particularly fierce Hebridean Black. The purple runes on its length recall the admirable beast’s eyes in fact.” He had paused then, and added, “Elder wands are considered unlucky by some, but it is cowardice that stops wandmakers from working with that wood. They are simply... unyielding, and it is hard to truly earn their loyalty. I sought to rectify that with an experiment with Elder Futhark, and this was the only viable wand that came out of it. Use it well, young Haron... Pierce.”

“Start,” barked Moody, pulling Haron out of his thoughts.

Charlie struck first; a bolt of pure force aimed at Haron's chest. Instead of deflecting it, Haron sidestepped it, causing the spell to harmlessly fizz through the air. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a swirling cloud of mist towards Charlie. His brother smirked and repelled the mist effortlessly.

The duel escalated.

Charlie sent a barrage of stunning spells, each parried or dodged by Haron's nimble footwork and quick thinking. Haron had practice dodging. He’d spent his entire childhood doing so, and Knockturn Alley didn’t stop being dangerous because he started wearing wizarding clothes. He had experience defending himself from older and stronger opponents than his brother. He demonstrated it by blocking Charlie’s next jinx with a shimmering shield. Not a spell-conjured one, but a literal shield, conjured from thin air, held aloft by a panting Haron.

He then transfigured a nearby pencil case into a nest of buzzing hornets, distracting Charlie long enough to pepper him with harmless freezing charms. The boy countered with a tripping jinx, but Haron, anticipating it, broke his own fall by pointing his wand at himself and murmuring, “Arresto Momentum.”

Charlie, frustrated, switched tactics. He launched into a complex wandwork sequence, aiming to completely immobilise Haron. But his older brother aimed to surprise him once again; with a flick of his wrist, he drew a rune of absorption; the spell lost momentum, then broke down.

Haron watched Charlie gnash his teeth, seemingly furious to be countered. His newfound anger fuelled another spell, this time a brutal earth spike aimed at Haron's feet. His eyes widened. He couldn’t think of what spell to cast, so he bit his finger and let blood drip onto the floor, channelling his magic through the open wound. The drop of blood took the shape of the softening rune. The hard rock turned into quicksand that expanded and reached Charlie’s feet, who had to throw himself to the side to avoid falling.

Haron watched Charlie grit his teeth, and yell out, “Expelliarmus. How dare you use Dark magic against me!”

Haron did not grace the comment with an answer. He focused and pointed his wand at the ground, muttering an incantation. A thick curtain of vines surged from the earth, wrapping around Charlie's legs and wand arm, immobilising him. His brother struggled, trying to free his arm. They stared at each other, panting heavily.

A minute passed.

Charlie, defeated, stopped struggling. He offered Haron a begrudging nod. Haron smiled shyly and moved over to him, helping him out of the vines.

"Not bad," he admitted, extending a hand.

“So you’re a Dark wizard, huh? Is that what they teach in Ravenclaw?” spat his brother.

Haron frowned, lowering his hand.

“I use whatever magic is available to me as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone,” he said shrugging.

Charlie narrowed his eyes at him.

Moody scoffed. “Pah. That was barely Dark magic, boy. Your parents taught you strange things if you believe such a thing is objectionable. Aurors used Unforgivables during the war, you know that, right?”

His eye swirled into his orbit.

Haron grimaced. Defending Dark magic by using the Unforgivables as an example was questionable at best. He added that to his tally of reasons why Sirius’ suspicions made sense.

“Dark magic ruins everything it touches,” argued Charlie vehemently.

Sigh.

“It requires sacrifice,” countered Haron. “The Unforgivables are despicable because their purpose is to harm, not because they are Dark. They are Dark because they require sacrifice; they taint your soul in exchange for the power they give you over others. The power to kill, to hurt, to control. But Dark magic is not all like this. You can sacrifice your lifeblood to heal someone, or the time you would have spent manually building a bridge will be taken off your life to have it made instantly. It’s not supposed to be used thoughtlessly, there is always a price to pay, but it doesn’t make it bad.”

Technically, all magic required sacrifices, but in the mind of most people there was a difference between sacrificing part of your core’s full reserves to cast spells or brew potions and letting blood for a ritual. A wizard’s core absorbed ambient magic and appropriated it, and it was seen as a natural process, like breathing, while Dark sacrifices were understood as forcefully bending magic to your will and disrupting the world order for your own whims.

Haron thought it was a little silly, but whatever. The ethics of magic were a complicated topic.

Charlie frowned. “Why are some wizards born Dark then?”

Haron shook his head, baffled. “They’re not born Dark; they’re born into Dark families. That’s not the same thing. Their family magic is Dark, because it was built upon a substantial sacrifice made when their House was first established. Each death in the family added to it for centuries, and now their descendants do not have to pay the price, they simply delve into the common pool of magic the House has access to.”

Dark family magic was the collective will of an ancestral line wielded by its descendants. Haron was now Heir Black in magic as well as in name, but there was a ritual to perform before the family’s ancestral power could flow through him directly instead of using Sirius’s Oath as an intermediary. As it was, he could barely feel the dark expanse of the family magic of House Black now that his father was nearby. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to feel it for real.

“Very good, Black,” praised Moody. “Keep going. Wouldn’t do to leave the Boy-Who-Lived ignorant, would it?”

Ron did not like the comment. Charlie straightened though, looking at Haron intently. He sighed again and kept going. If he could keep his little brother from spouting anymore idiocies and melting another first year’s talisman, this would be worth it.

“Light families are less mobile because their family magic is built upon the ley lines converging in their ancestral lands. Moreover, it is a finite resource,” He turned his eyes towards Ron Weasley, “and some Houses were ruined when the magic they benefited from ran dry. And Grey families are those who adopted both practises, whether from their conception, or switching from the Dark rituals that replenished the blood magic of their unbroken lines to delving into the ley lines, or vice versa.”

House Potter was one such family, but Haron didn’t bother pointing it out. Charlie didn’t look receptive to hearing it, and it was not something he would say in front of their professor when Sirius still watched the man with suspicion.

Haron had found out by chance, reading an old book that appeared in his favourite bookshelf in Ravenclaw Tower when he’d been brooding about the heritage taken from him. The Potters were the last known descendants of House Peverell, an infamous Dark family. But they had stopped offering their dead to the family magic and changed their name for a reason that still escaped Haron. As such, House Potter was on the lighter side of Grey.

(He theorised that it was still possible for its members to tap into the Dark part of the family magic, they were just unwilling to do so.)

“You really are a nerd,” commented Charlie wonderingly.

Haron shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

“Does family magic make you stronger?” suddenly asked Weasley mulishly.

The Ravenclaw hummed. He understood why the boy was asking. Hearing about all this kind of made it sound like muggle-borns and people who didn’t benefit from family magic were inferior. This wasn’t true either; the Unbroken Houses just had an advantage.

(And technically, anyone who managed to steal a Light House’s manor from under them would be able to break their connexion to the magic and replace it with their own, which was another point in favour of Dark Houses as far as Haron was concerned.)

“It depends on the family’s strength, and the skill of its wielder. House Crabbe’s family magic is not strong enough to matter much in the grand scheme of things, and our classmate Vincent gets no advantage from it if he can barely cast a spell.”

Both Weasley and Charlie smirked at his dig at the unlikable Slytherin, though they scowled at each other when they noticed.

Haron continued.

“But family magic extends the reserves of your magical core, giving you the chance to duel longer and to pack more power into your spells. If you’re a skilled duellist and can end a fight before tiring out, you’ll still have the upper hand.” He paused. “Dark family magic can also speed up your healing, or manifest itself to protect you while you’re unconscious, which is not something that happens with Light magic unless it is directed.”

“Why not?” asked Charlie, leaning forward.

Haron stared at him. He would have expected James Potter to tell his son such things. Or was it not common knowledge, he wondered. Haron sometimes assumed that every book in Hogwarts’ collection were readily accessible, save for those in the Restricted Section. He forgot that beyond being a school, Hogwarts was Albion’s equivalent of the Library of Alexandria, and visiting scholars from around the world took up residence there over the summer to peruse their collection. If the bookshelf he was so attached to actually tapped into the more advanced sections, it was a very real possibility that what he considered light reading could very well be too advanced for the common wizard, even one from an Unbroken House.

But Haron’s biological father should know, surely. His mother was a Black, and he must have had to return her to her maiden House upon her death. This stipulation almost always figured in marriage contracts since an incident in Italy involving House Montecchi and House Cappelletti, more commonly known in Britain as House Montague and House Capulet.

(William Shakespeare thought the tale ended at the death of his heroes.

If only that was true.

Juliet Capulet’s body was buried with Romeo’s instead of being returned to her family for the proper rites to be observed, and the Dark House of course took insult. They rallied their allies, other Houses who usually stayed neutral in their feud but could not accept the precedent the Montagues risked setting, and terminated the main house with extreme prejudice.

The branch members of their House fled Italy. Some even settled in Britain, and they rebuilt from the ground up, using Dark rituals this time.

The irony did not escape them, and Haron had heard that Graham Montague in Slytherin found humour in his family’s origin story.)

Padma knew because her parents had shown her the intersection of the ley lines her family manor was built upon, and Su-a was Korean; the practise of ancestor worship was an integral part of her culture, and as such what was called “Dark family magic” in Europe was instead just called “ancestral magic” in her motherland. It was not stigmatised the way it was in Albion.

“Because raw magic does not care about you, but your ancestors do. They leave an imprint of their will in the family magic, and there is nothing pureblood Houses want more than to see their family prosper,” he explained patiently, concealing his surprise. “If a Light House’s estate is well-maintained and old enough to gain some level of sentience, the pooled magic can sometimes be influenced by its positive feelings for the family and manifest itself the way a Dark House’s would. But it has only been recorded a handful of times,” amended Haron, to which his professor looked at him intensely. “This is how Neville Longbottom survived the Lestranges’ attack on his home,” he added.

Moody stamped his wooden leg loud enough to rattle the shelves. Haron jumped. The three boys stared at the man.

“That’s enough. Weasley, Black, your turn.”

Chapter Text

“His soul,” repeated Su-a. “That’s... is that even possible?”

Haron gazed at the painted ceiling of their alcove, his hands supporting his head as he lay on the plush blue rug. He let his thoughts follow the swirls of the clouds depicted there until Padma made an impatient noise.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, defeated. “I thought it was likely that Sirius had used some kind of necromancy, but there are few spells in that field of magic. Necromancers use rituals instead. There are rare exceptions, like the ghost binding spell or Inferius Movem, but they’re nothing like what Charlie described.” At Su-a's blank look, he clarified. “The spell that animates Inferi. The creatures are made from a ritual, but you need Inferius Movem to command them. Anyway, to get back to what I was saying, there’s no known spell that... what? Turns a soul into a guardian protector? If it exists it must be a Black family spell, so I’d have to ask Sirius directly.”

“But what you said to Charlie still stands, it’s silly to think Sirius would have planned to sacrifice Remus to protect you. They loved each other,” commented Padma with a raised eyebrow.

Haron shrugged. “It could have been a last resort sort of thing. You know, if all else fails, make sure there’s at least one parent left standing. But condemning the man you married to decades of spirital unrest on a hypothetical...”

He sighed.

“That would be more than mad.”

Su-a gave him a deadpan look from where she was playing with Padma’s hair, cross-legged as her best friend used her thigh as a pillow. “Then go and ask him tomorrow.”

“I will. I just...”

“You needed to vent,” said Padma sagely.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, closing his eyes.

The next morning was excruciatingly long. Going to class like normal would be difficult when he was so very aware of the conversation he needed to have with his adoptive father. Breakfast with Fleur and Viktor was enjoyable; the foreign upperclassmen sensed his distraction and entertained them by exchanging playful barbs about the other’s chance of winning the Tournament.

They were about to leave the Great Hall and go to class when Malfoy intercepted them.

“Haron,” he said with a pleasant tone. “I can call you Haron, right? We are cousins, after all.”

Haron pressed his lips together, glancing up at the table where his father was having breakfast. Sensing his gaze on him, Sirius turned away from the conversation he was having with Professor Sinistra and zeroed in on Malfoy. At Haron’s questioning glance, he made a dismissive gesture of his hand, indicating to his son that he could handle the situation however he wished.

His shoulders relaxed. He looked at the boy up and down.

“Of course, Draco.”

Malfoy twitched. Haron smirked. Padma leaned towards him and snickered, disguising her laugh as a cough.

Su-a tilted her head. “I thought all the Sacred Twenty-Eight were cousins in some way. Does it matter that much?”

The Sacred Twenty-Eight was a silly denomination invented by a Nott to try and emphasise the importance of blood purity. Haron preferred the term Unbroken House, which referred to the Houses who had managed to hold on to their family magic for centuries. But Malfoy famously cared more about the former and it was a more logical term to use when comparing lineages, even if the twenty-eight families listed were not necessarily all equal.

As it were, his adoptive father’s generation was only related to the Malfoys and Lestranges through marriage, and only one of them had an Heir. His grandfather Orion’s generation had married with members of Houses Crabbe – Sirius' mother Walburga --, Prewett – Orion’s oldest sister Lucretia married Ignatius Prewett, -- and Rosier – Draco's grandmother Druella married Cygnus Black, Orion’s youngest brother.

His great-grandfather’s generation, however, had made many more alliances. They had links to the Potters – through Dorea --, the McMillans – through Melania, Arcturus’ wife --, the Longbottoms – through Callidora Black’s marriage --, the Weasleys – through Cedrella--, and the Crouches – through Charis.

Haron hummed.

“Draco and I are the most closely related, I suppose, since our parents are first cousins. I didn’t know family mattered to you that much, though. Nymphadora Tonks-Black was in seventh year when we got to Hogwarts, but I never saw you pay them much attention.”

Malfoy’s face twisted. Haron waited for him to say something about Nymph Tonks’ father, but the boy was remarkably composed.

“Mother and... Aunt Andromeda do not get along. It would have been gauche to reach out.”

“Ah, I understand.” He tapped his chin in question. “Your mother gets along with my father, then?”

Malfoy grimaced. “She has fond memories of him and wishes to reconnect. He is the Lord of her maiden House, after all.”

“I see. I’ll ask Sirius what he thinks. Maybe they can make up on time for my Ritual of Ascension. We are thinking about having it on the spring equinox.”

Padma made a sound behind him. Maybe reminding Malfoy that he wouldn’t be Heir Black when he had spent years bragging about how Sirius’ lack of offspring made him most likely to inherit was a bit too antagonistic.

“Sounds lovely,” Malfoy gritted out. “Do give me your father’s response. I must go now, classes will be starting soon.”

“Will do. See you, Draco.”

Padma and Su-a snickered.

“I suppose ingratiating himself with the next Heir Black is the next best thing, now that he knows it won’t be him,” commented Padma before stirring Haron towards their first class of the day.

The rest of the morning was uneventful despite all the rumours still surrounding him. He tried not to think about it; Charlie had it much worse than he did, and though Haron was not used to the attention of his peers, he could bear it. The reward was much greater after all. He had a father and would get to go home for the winter holidays – though not before the Yule ball organised because of the Tournament, according to Fleur. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

Padma and Su-a were, though. Su-a had been dating Justin Finch-Fletchley for six months and was looking forward to showing up on his arm with matching costumes. She had gushed multiple times about the modernised hanbok she was planning to wear. It had been weaved by a kumiho, and the skirt -- called chima -- was threaded with moon silkworms, giving it a lovely shimmering silver colour contrasting nicely with the lilac of its top, the jeogori, and the flowers embroidered on it. Justin would wear a muggle suit, though he planned to replace the suit jacket with a cape made with acromantula silk.

Haron thought they made a cute couple, though Justin was a bit too pompous for his taste. At least he wasn’t the jealous type; Su-a had dated McLaggen last year and the boy had thrown literal tantrums about her relationship with Haron.

Padma had been enjoined by Su-a and her mother to wear traditional Indian clothing, which she didn’t do often. The saree she picked was royal blue and gold, and she despaired to find a partner to wear it with.

“There are so few sapphic girls at Hogwarts,” she sighed as they made their way to Durmstrang ship. The girls would join Fleur and Viktor for a picnic by the lakeside. They wished to enjoy this rare sunny day, an especially uncommon occurrence in Scotland in November. “Haron, you’ll go with me if I don’t find anyone, right?”

He chuckled. “Of course. But I’m sure I won’t need to. Let’s see, in our year there’s... Lisa, but she’s dating a girl in third year, I’m pretty sure. Um, Parkinson? She likes both, right?” He grimaced. “Then there’s Susan.”

“Susan’s dating a fifth-year Gryffindor at the moment. They’re disgustingly cute, ugh. And I would rather die than date Parkinson.”

Su-a laughed. “That’s rough.” She paused. “What about... Demelza Robins? She’s a third year in Gryffindor.”

Padma hummed. “She is pretty. A bit Quidditch-mad, but that’s three-quarters of the castle, to be fair.”

“Here you go,” said Haron. “Invite her to Hogsmeade and see how it goes. Don’t mention the ball though, Fleur said we’re not even supposed to know about it – which is kind of silly, everyone knows they asked us to get dress robes for a reason.”

“Of course, of course. Now your turn, honey! Who are you thinking of?”

Haron grimaced. “I was just gonna ask Luna.”

Padma pouted.

“She won’t be able to come otherwise,” defended Haron.

“I know,” she sighed. “Still, what a bummer. For as long as I’ve known you, the only people you’ve admitted to finding attractive were Diggory and,” she made a disdainful sound, “Cho.”

“And again, love, Diggory’s too old for you,” said Su-a. “If he asks you out, I’ll hex him.”

“He wouldn’t anyway, I don’t see how that’s a useful thing to speculate about,” he protested. “That boy’s straighter than a ruler.”

Padma made a dismissive gesture. “You don’t know what you look like, hun. Now that Hogwarts has noticed you’re not gonna get a moment of peace.”

Haron shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“She’s right and she should say it,” affirmed Su-a, nodding along. “But don’t change the subject! Who do you find attractive in our year?”

“Oh, look, the ship’s here, I have to go,” he said, hurrying his steps.

“Haron! This conversation is not over!” yelled his best friends.

He chuckled as he stepped into the ship. The few Durmstrang students having lunch there – only dinner was required to be eaten inside the castle – glanced at him curiously before turning back to their food. Haron walked towards Sirius’ private quarters, trying not to stress about the incoming conversation.

“Hi, darling. How was your morning?” asked Sirius when he opened the door.

“Great.”

Haron started rambling about what he did in his classes before trailing off, embarrassed. Sirius smiled gently.

“No, no, continue. What did Professor Vector say about your calculations? I’ll have lunch brought over in the meantime. Does Italian sound good to you? I have a craving for pasta.”

“That’s fine. Er, she said that--”

The conversation continued smoothly until the food arrived. Headmaster Zmeyov came in a bit later, his food levitating after him. He sat down at Sirius’ desk and got to work after offering Haron a warm, if intense greeting.

After some time, Sirius asked about his detention the day before, and Haron was forced to mention what Charlie had said.

“Are you saying Dumbledore thinks I bound Remus to your brother?”

Headmaster Zmeyov sneered, crossing his arms. He was penning letters as the two of them spoke, but evidently Haron’s tale was enough to break his concentration. At the same time, Sirius stood up. He cursed and paced before lowering himself into a red armchair on the other side of the room.

Haron watched them with wide eyes. He hadn’t noticed how similar their mannerisms were before. Their accent was the same too, he distantly noticed.

A thought entered his mind, unbidden.

“I think now is the time to explain some things,” said the headmaster after they had calmed down.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at his temple.

As he did so, Sirius twirled his own between his fingers before aiming it at the window. The runic arrays carved on each side of the glass glowed, and magic enveloped the walls of his study. Haron had observed them the day before; concealment, protection, privacy, defence and illusion were the five cornerstones of the warding scheme, and as such they were arranged in a lovely pentagram he’d been dying to copy and study further.

Haron turned back to Zmeyov just in time to see his freckles disappear, his eyes lighten and his hair darken progressively until the disguise broke and revealed the man underneath.

Strong, well-defined eyebrows, deep-set silver eyes, and high cheekbones framed by silky smooth black hair.

The look of a Black, and the proud bearing of one.

“Meet your Uncle Regulus, darling,” said Sirius with an impish smile.

Haron’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

“How...?” he murmured. “I thought--”

“Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,” said Regulus with a smirk before pausing. “Perhaps not so greatly. This identity must stay dead, you understand. The last Albion knew of me, I had been unmasked in Hogsmeade and revealed to have recently received the Dark Mark.”

Haron took a sharp breath when his... uncle shrugged off his robe and held out his left arm, taking off the white glove concealing it and rolling up his sleeve to reveal a magically engineered artificial arm. It was a thing of beauty, made of light wood and veined with silver sap. But the message was clear, Regulus Black had preferred to lose his own arm rather than keeping the Dark Mark tattooed on it.

“I know you have questions,” said Sirius, “and we will explain. It will require a bit of context to make sense, but your Head of House has been singing your praises to me since the article, I’m sure you can keep up.”

Haron blushed at the compliment. Professor Flitwick had taken him aside and congratulated him on his adoption. The man rarely had the time to enter the common room, busy as he was teaching Charms to seven grade levels, but he cared deeply for his eagles and always did his best to help the students who reached out to him.

The other professors’ reactions had also been mostly positive – though Haron dreaded his first Potions class of the week, which would take place in the afternoon – but Professor Flitwick had truly been the most supportive. Most didn’t seem to know what to think about the Potter-Black families’ drama and preferred to ignore it, Professor McGonagall especially, and those like Professor Babbling did not react beyond making an acknowledging role call to emphasise Haron’s proper name before focusing entirely on the lesson. Haron wasn’t in his class, but Professor Hagrid seemed to think Sirius was a scoundrel, however, and had been profoundly shocked by the headmaster’s admission of guilt.

“So,” started Sirius. “Where should I start?”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “The beginning, I suppose,” he said drily.

“That’s... vague. Should I start with the founding of House Black? It all started when Morgan Le Fey declared war on King Arthur...”

“Be serious.”

Sirius’ lips twitched. “I always am.”

Regulus groaned, before turning to Haron. “I suppose I must do everything in this House. Let’s see. I am your father’s younger brother by two years. We were raised in a... let us say, hostile environment, with a belligerent mother and an apathetic father. Our mother, Walburga Black nee Crabbe, raised us to believe in blood supremacy -- as was the way of most Dark pureblood families -- and cursed our father when he expressed the desire to stir House Black in a different direction. Until Hogwarts, and even after it I suppose, I was not aware that there were other paths laid out for us than obedience. Sirius saw what I didn’t.”

“No,” interrupted Haron’s father. “We were just two abused kids trying to survive. I was a Gryffindor about it, screaming and kicking at the injustice, fighting Mother at every turn and provoking her until she snapped. You laid low, and that was the smart thing to do at the time.”

Regulus made a noncommittal noise.

“It was, until laying low and obeying her led me to enslaving myself to a madman.” He paused. “Sirius is... kind, in his assessment to me. Yes, I thought compliance was the only path to safety. But I also believed in the Dark Lord’s preaching, and not only because Mother guided me to him. I was obsessed with him. I collected his writings and sought to retrace his life. I saw his alliances with Dark creatures, heard his speeches about the miseducation of Hogwarts students, the stagnation of magic, and I thought him to be our saviour. Until I was Marked and saw the rot underneath it all for myself.”

He took a deep breath, trailing an absent hand on his left forearm.

“I watched the torture, the murders up close. It disgusted me, but I tried to tell myself it was...” his mouth quirked wryly. “... for the Greater Good. The hypocrisy was harder to swallow. The incessant attacks on opposing pureblood families, the torture of his own followers was so antithetical to the vision he presented that I soon understood I had trapped myself into something I was not ready for. By then, my compliance was bought out of fear rather than love, and I had to contend with the fact that it was very similar to the way I interacted with my own mother.”

Sirius rose and strode through the room, levitating the armchair to follow after him. He sat next to his brother and took his right hand, stopping the now claw-like trail he was making up and down his arm.

Haron stayed put on the dining chair. He doubted his newfound uncle would find much comfort from him. Regulus must have read something on his face though, because he smiled at him, his eyes soft, before continuing, staring out into the window.

“And like many cowards, I only found the strength to fight against the man when he attacked one of mine. You are familiar with House elves, I suppose?”

Haron nodded.

He’d met the ones in the kitchens, and though they were Light House elves, very different from the elves born from Dark estates, the principle of their existence was the same.

They used to be fae banished from their home realm and cursed to eternal hunger, and they were attracted to the pools of magic pureblood Houses accumulated either by sacrifice or by building on top of the convergence of ley lines, which were abundant in the fae realm but not on Earth. They first stole the magic they could until wizards wised up and warded their estates against them. Then they had to bargain their labour to sate their hunger. The elf contracts were drafted, and their fates were sealed.

After centuries of this, they found that due to the unconscious release of family magic when a wizard was pleased with their work, service itself filled their bellies. Their culture shifted to accommodate this fact, associating good service with proper elf conduct. Many took advantage of it, of course, and other wizards sought to rectify a situation that made them so vulnerable to abuse, but it was hard to create legislation to protect magical creatures who fed on their own subservience.

“I was raised by one,” mused Regulus. “Sirius was the Heir, and too important to be given to a snivelling creature, or so Mother said. But I was the spare, unlikely to inherit since the family magic liked Sirius so damn much. And thus, I was given to Kreacher. He was a spiteful thing, warped by my Mother and hateful of both Sirius and Father – though he was less obvious about the latter, -- but a parent to me. So, when the Dark Lord dined at our table with many of his followers, and asked for a House elf, I volunteered Kreacher, knowing he would like that. Mother liked the Dark Lord, so Kreacher worshipped the ground the man walked on. I did not expect him to be returned half-dead and scared out of his mind.”

He made a scornful sound at that.

“I should have, really.”

Sirius shook his head. “Voldemort was always careful with House Black. He wanted us on his side. Badly. It was fair to expect this caution to extend to your... property,” he said with a grimace, and Haron wondered if it was distaste at calling a living creature as such, or resentment for the elf that prompted such a response. After careful consideration, he thought it might be both.

Regulus sighed, and continued.

“So I asked Kreacher to take me where the Dark Lord took him, and I was greeted by a lake of Inferi. I will spare you the details, only know that he used them to guard something, and I almost met my end when I stole the vile artefact he left there. I would have become one of theirs if Sirius hadn’t saved me.”

Regulus threw an expectant look at his older brother, who straightened.

“By that time, Reggie and I had not spoken in three years,” he said gravely. “I was kicked out of our home and ran to the Potters when I was sixteen. I never looked back. Not until I had two newborn children to protect from a Dark Lord, and no earthly idea how to go about it. Remus was the one to suggest using family magic.”

He paused.

“I needed three Blacks to anchor the spell. Andromeda helped, as long as I agreed to protect her child too. Grandfather could have done it, but I was scared he’d decide to disown me after all, and I needed to be Heir Black to cast the spell. So I thought about Regulus. The spell would be even more effective if he was there – you know how much symbolism matters, two brothers working to protect two brothers is the kind of symmetry magic needs --, and despite our differences, I knew he would help if I asked.”

Haron smiled softly when Regulus nodded, the gesture almost unconscious, as if to say it was a given.

“Andromeda is good at scrying, so she tried to find him.” He pressed his lips together. “If I had been even an hour too late, Regulus would have died. We were lucky.”

Regulus took over. “Sirius healed me and brought me to Andy's home. When I recovered, we did what had to be done. The magic we cast... we call that a covenant spell. It is family magic at its basest form. You draw on the pool of magic your House accumulates, which is at its core necromantic. Then you form a covenant, a group of magical beings that pledge their magic to each other for a common purpose and make a sacrifice of blood, flesh, and bone.”

He trailed a finger on his artificial forearm. Haron zeroed in on it and took a sharp intake of breath. Sirius shook his head, as if to dissuade him from asking. He bit his lip.

“When the time came, Sirius – or Andromeda, if she had need of it -- would cast the spell alone but draw on the other two's magic.”

“What went wrong then?” Haron found himself asking.

Sirius sighed.

“When Voldemort came... we were both in the nursery. He took us by surprise; we didn’t even hear him come. The rat,” he snarled, “told him our senses were sharper than most, Remus because of his lycanthropy and me because of...”

“Your Animagus form,” completed Haron.

Sirius raised his eyebrows before smiling. “You found out about that, did you?”

“Mhm. So he used a sense-dampening spell to catch you off guard?”

His father nodded. “He didn’t want us to flee.” He paused. “I was casting the spell, but it was too late for Remus,” he said gravely, his eyes clouding over in grief. “He’d placed himself between Charlie and Voldemort, and the insane bastard was trying to—to recruit me,” he spat, “and Remus hexed him, what he said was so vile and he got so angry—but provoking him... I was casting the spell, you understand,” he repeated, “and Remus was about to die so I impulsively included him into it. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some stupid things.”

He exhaled harshly.

“It didn’t work, of course, his life wasn’t included in the covenant spell, but it let him linger, and I thought he was becoming a ghost, but then Voldemort pointed his wand at Charlie and you, and Remus disappeared. The spell backlashed on me because my idiocy almost broke the covenant, and I lost consciousness. I don’t know what happened after. But if Dumbledore is right, and Remus is in that scar...”

Sirius whimpered. Haron rose without thinking and walked up to his father, embracing him. At his side, Regulus was rubbing the man’s back with his flesh hand. After a beat, he placed the other on Haron’s shoulder.

Haron’s lunch break was over, and the boy could not be late for Potions class, so he regretfully left his father and uncle despite his obvious worry. Sirius waved him off with a wan smile and waited for him to be gone before his expression crumpled once more. Regulus embraced him tightly and shushed him, before he hummed.

“Siri. Is it more likely that your attempt to protect your fiancé backfired and bound him to the scar of Charlie Potter, or that Remus, weakened, chose to linger and protect him? Our covenant spell was intended to shield the children. It could not have destroyed the Dark Lord’s physical form.”

“But why would he still linger?” asked Sirius plaintively.

“Because there is something in that scar he must protect Charlie from.”

Regulus watched as his older brother’s eyes widened, his horror obvious in his gaze.

“Charlie is a Horcrux.”

Chapter Text

Haron hesitated when he stepped into the Potions classroom, and it was only Padma’s encouraging nudge that gave him the courage to go to his desk.

He took his seat next to Su-a and started preparing his tools. He chanced a glance at the Head of House Slytherin, who had turned his back on the students to write instructions on the board. He tensed when the man shifted and finally faced them. He held his breath, waiting for a scathing remark.

But Professor Snape... ignored him.

Haron exchanged bewildered glances with Su-a. The other students seemed to have expected some sort of outburst too; they had all seen Professor Snape glaring daggers at Haron’s adoptive father. Zacharias Smith in particular seemed disappointed by the lack of drama, frowning at Haron like it was somehow his fault that Snape had decided not to antagonize him.

After a beat of hesitation, the Ravenclaw just shrugged and got to work. The entire class went by, with their professor acting distressingly composed. Haron’s potion was more subpar than usual due to the tension in the room, but he still managed to produce something satisfactory. He almost forgot the confrontation he had expected as he shouldered his bag and readied himself to follow Padma and Su-a out the door, when Professor Snape called out to him.

“Black. Stay behind.”

Haron froze.

“Sir?” he asked, turning around and stepping forward hesitantly.

Professor Snape stayed quiet; his eyes glued to the retreating students’ backs. He raised his eyebrows at Su-a and Padma when they made to linger at the door, and the girls bit their lips, waving at Haron.

“I’ll wait outside,” mouthed Padma before closing the door after her.

Su-a had Care of Magical Creatures after this, so she wouldn’t be waiting for him, but Padma and he shared electives, so they had all their free periods together.

Once they were gone, Snape’s eyes turned to him.

The man looked him up and down, before staring him in the eye. He pressed his lips together, his brows furrowed.

“You had your mother’s eyes,” he started. “It would have been hard not to notice when I knew them so well. I’d never seen eyes like that before. Not on anyone but Lily Evans and her son.”

Haron started. He gazed up at the man, biting his tongue to keep his questions in. Judging from the glimmer of amusement in the man’s eye, he could tell.

“She was my childhood friend,” he continued in a quieter tone. “We grew up in the same town in the Midlands, and I was the one who taught her about magic. She disavowed me, rightly, when I lost myself to the blood supremacist ideology. I won’t bore you with the details, child, but I soon saw the errors of my ways. It was too late, however.”

He pulled up his sleeve and showed his Dark Mark, the black of its ink gleaming like a serpent’s scales. Haron stared at it and felt a shiver creep up his back. He brought a hand to his right temple, where a tension headache seemed to form, aching just above his eye. As he did so his fingers pressed on the healed scar he had gained that night, and he watched Professor Snape follow the gesture with an unreadable gaze.

“I sought to rectify my mistake and contacted your mother.”

Haron fought the urge to remark Lily Potter was not and had never been his mother. Professor Snape knew that, but it was in the context of his biological relation to her that he was telling him all this. The young wizard wondered why, when he had clearly never offered the same courtesy to Charlie Potter and seemed to despise Haron’s twin because of who his father was.

“She did not forgive me, but she hoped I would make myself useful to her cause. I spied for her, who was on the frontlines while Black and Lupin raised the children she bore, and for Albus Dumbledore, who had a war to win and a shortage of intelligence on the enemy. Our friendship slowly renewed, though some of my... admiration for her was tainted by her behaviors during the war.”

Haron fought himself for a moment. It would be rude to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the thought of his professor having a crush on his biological, married mother, but it was an instinctual response. Snape’s sharp look made it obvious that he knew what Haron was thinking.

“But I did not see her true nature until some years after it ended, when she admitted to me you were alive, and that she had left you with her older sister, who was a horrid child and turned into an equally horrid woman.” Haron inhaled sharply. “That... it was this act that fractured my relationship with Lily Evans.”

Snape lowered his gaze.

“I was not fit to take you away from the situation you were in. I did not believe Black to be a better guardian than Petunia Evans,” he spat out the name like it was a foul thing on his tongue, “and I would not have trusted myself with a child either.”

Haron bristled.

“So, like Dumbledore and the Potters, you thought you knew better and kept me away from my father. Except that it was out of spite rather than disgust for the dark magic he used to protect Charlie and I from Voldemort. Is that what you’re saying?”

Snape narrowed his eyes at him.

“Do not be insolent, Mr Black. I did not contact Black for the same reason you refrained upon arriving at Hogwarts and piecing together the truth of your abandonment. I did not know if he knew, and I was not willing to risk it when I believed you to be a defenceless squib, and not when I found out that was not the case. Not when I visited Petunia myself in your first year and found out you had packed your bags and promised never to return. Not when you were safe at last, and likely dependant on his unwitting sponsorship.”

“You expect me to believe that,” he said with a frown, “when it’s so obvious on your face that you hate him as much as you hate James Potter.”

His professor’s eyes flashed. The man stalked forward, seemingly furious.

“I hate James Potter because he has not changed since we were children. He still is an arrogant toe rag who raised a boy as egotistic as him with a hero complex the size of the moon. And though I would have been justified in hating him for his actions when we were teenagers, my ongoing dislike of Sirius Black stems from his petty refusal to tell me what happened to--”

He stopped. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. His shoulders untensed. Haron watched as he composed himself, unsure what to do.

“What happened to who?” he said softly.

“None of your business, Black!” snapped Professor Snape. “I said what needed to be said. Now, leave.”

“I think he was talking about you... uncle,” murmured Haron in his father’s neck.

It had been a long day, and Haron had needed some comfort. So he had hesitatingly walked to Durmstrang’s ship and knocked on his father’s door, unsure of his welcome. He had already been there at lunchtime, after all. He needn’t have worried; Sirius welcomed him with open arms. Literally. Haron had sighed in relief then, and Sirius had tightened his grip on him and kissed the top of his head, making humming sounds as if trying to soothe a child.

Haron had wondered if he’d done that for him and Charlie when they were toddlers. Before everything had happened.

He turned to look at the disguised Regulus Black, who was sitting next to them on the couch and staring down at the ground with an unreadable expression.

“Severus and I were friends,” he admitted. “He took the Mark a year before I did, and we both shared distaste for the more... gruesome aspect of what our sworn allegiance entailed. And our doubts, too. I think he was trying to turn me into another spy. As a bastard half-blood he was low in the ranks, though his talent for potions and the dark arts had him climbing them steadily. It would be years before he could make himself truly useful. But I was the presumed future Lord of House Black -- since everyone thought Sirius had been disowned. I would have had access to more information. And I would have said yes, if he offered.” He sighed. “But then I had to disappear, and it was too risky to contact him.”

“You should do so,” said Sirius. “There is no excuse not to now, and if it’s the only reason he has left to hate me I’ll be able to make amends. It is long overdue, and I won’t lie and pretend that his support wouldn't be appreciated.”

“You hate Severus,” protested Haron’s uncle.

Sirius blinked. “I don’t. I used to, when I was a teenager intent on despising anything related to the Dark. And he was unsufferable, to be honest. He tried to get proof that Remus was a werewolf so he could be executed. He stalked us all the time, until I was angry and dumb enough to show him how to get into the Shack. Then he followed us on a full moon, and acted shocked when he was faced with the very creature he sought out.”

Haron abruptly remembered the words engraved on the wood in the Shrieking Shack.

He betrayed me.

I forgave him.

That made sense, he thought, dismayed.

“He’d show off his spellsmithing skills, then sat back when his buddies used the Dark spells he taught them on muggle-borns.”

Regulus didn’t deny this. He only remarked quietly, “but he was the only person to feel as grossed out as I was when Bella tortured muggles at the dinner table. It was... nice, to not feel so alone in these moments.” He paused. “But that is the bare minimum.”

Sirius grimaced.

“It is. I won’t pretend I was a good kid like you are, Haron, darling,” he said quietly. Haron turned to him. “I was... awful. Growing up as I did, I had no understanding of what a moral compass was, and I often took cues from James, who seemed to think being cruel to someone was righteous as long as it was a bad person. And bad often meant Dark in this context. I was... full of self-loathing. Like you wouldn’t believe. Only, after what happened with Snape... I started listening to Remus instead. For a while, I didn’t do a thing he didn’t veto first. I was... manic about it.”

He huffed. “James mellowed out too, to be fair. We all had a good scare. My stupid stunt almost killed the asshole, and he might have been a horror but he was still a teenager, just like us. It took me a while to come to terms with that.” He looked up at the ceiling, his expression thoughtful. “It didn’t stop James from distrusting Dark magic. I think that came from his mother. Aunt Dorea was... I don’t know. Something was wrong with her, when I came to live with them. Oh, she was fine most of the time, but she got spooked when you mentioned Dark magic. She told James not to send her back to House Black after her death.”

Haron’s eyes widened. That explained why Charlie didn’t know about the nature of Dark magic, and the way family magics worked.

He said as much, but Regulus shook his head.

“No, love, that’s just because most wizards don’t know what you know about magical theory, let alone family magic. Half of the Light families don’t even know where theirs comes from, they just think it somehow manifested out of thin air. They’ll have the shock of their life when it runs out. And some Dark Houses think the rituals are a cultural thing, devoid of meaning. They don’t understand it’s meant to replenish the magic.”

“People are idiots,” concluded Sirius. “But to be fair, often times it’s because the House’s main line has died out from illness or a conflict or simply a lack of heir, and the branches weren’t taught. They take over, and the knowledge is lost. Outside of the Unbroken Houses, only scholars would care to learn about family magics. It’s just not relevant to most of the population.”

“They should know about Dark magic though,” mumbled Haron.

Sirius patted his head. “There is an ocean separating the things people should know with what they actually bother to learn. And Dumbledore doesn’t help things with his shitty DADA curriculum.”

This prompted Haron to ask questions about what Regulus taught in his Dark Arts classes before he became headmaster. Two hours later, he had to be nudged into following his father and uncle to the Great Hall for dinner, fascinated as he was by the overview he was given of the curriculum.

Their joint arrival prompted murmurs to rise among the students, which Haron did his best to ignore. It was only the second day, but he could tell it was going to be hard to bear. His gaze swept over the Gryffindor table as he sat down next to Padma, who had kept a seat for him at the far end of the table. She herself sat next to Fleur, who faced Viktor, who was sitting next to Su-a's boyfriend Justin, and Su-a was now facing Haron. Luna was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t unusual. She skipped dinner three times out of seven and ate with the thestrals instead.

Charlie was sitting next to the first-year students of his House. He was poking at his plate without enthusiasm as Hermione was visibly trying to cajole him into eating. Sensing the weight of Haron’s gaze on him, he raised his head and met his eyes. The twins exchanged a hesitant smile, tight yet hopeful.

Hermione seemed to have noticed the interaction, because she whipped her head towards Haron and narrowed her eyes at him. He raised an eyebrow. After a beat, she huffed and turned back.

“What was that about?” he faintly heard Charlie ask.

“What a weirdo,” commented Padma, who had also witnessed the whole thing.

Haron shook his head. Su-a put down her chopsticks, leaned forward from the other side of the table and patted his shoulder sympathetically. With her other hand, she was holding Justin’s hand, who was gazing at her with adoration. Haron approved. Su-a deserved to date someone who appreciated her.

“We’ll figure out what her deal is,” she said resolutely. “We can’t let this continue.”

“What is going on?” asked Viktor curiously.

Fleur’s head tilted, equally interested in what was happening.

“Hermione Granger,” started Su-a, pointing her chin at the Gryffindor as she did so, “has been staring at Haron since first year. At first it was only periodically, but since third year it’s been... constant.”

Justin cleared his throat. “I noticed too. I thought she had a crush on him, so I didn’t say anything. Wouldn’t do to embarrass her, you know?”

Su-a looked at him fondly.

“You’re sweet.” Padma mimed a gag, which prompted the Korean girl to stick her tongue out at her challengingly. Haron chuckled. “But that’s not a ‘I have a crush’ type of stare. It’s a... ‘I’m gonna dissect you like a bug’ type of stare.”

After a second of consideration, Justin nodded thoughtfully.

“Have you tried... asking her?” said Fleur, raising an eyebrow.

Haron shook his head, glancing back at Charlie and Hermione. “No, but I will.”

He stood up, and ignored the way half of the Great Hall’s eyes were now fixed on him. He quickly filled up his plate and walked with purpose towards Gryffindor table. The first years watched him with big eyes. One of them took initiative and made space for him to sit.

“Hi,” said Charlie uncertainly.

“Hi, Charlie. Hermione.”

“Why are you here,” she asked brusquely.

Haron’s twin hissed his friend’s name, startled by her rudeness. The Ravenclaw distantly noted that Charlie’s voice took on a snake-like intonation and wondered if it had to do with his ability to speak Parseltongue. He distantly remembered his panic in his second year, when he’d found out about the gift they shared. Haron had known he could speak to snakes; the zoo incident before his first year came to mind immediately. And while the school was on the hunt for the Heir of Slytherin, he’d panicked about being found out.

And he had been, technically. This was how he had befriended Padma and Su-a.

They’d caught him summoning a snake in his alcove and speaking to it. But unlike Charlie, he’d had a forked tongue while doing it, which had prompted Padma to ask him excited questions about his possible naga or lamia ancestry. It hadn’t even occurred to her to think him a suspect until Haron had hesitatingly pointed out that this would have been most people’s first assumption. Su-a had then scoffed and said that he wouldn’t have said that if he was actually guilty of anything and that he would have summoned something better than a garden snake to chat with if he was up to anything nefarious.

Then she’d narrowed her eyes and said, “Unless you’re trying to lull us into a false sense of security. Are you?” He’d shaken his head vigorously, raising his hands and promising he wasn’t the Heir. Padma had grabbed his arm and declared, “That’s settled then. We’ll just have to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re telling the truth. You’re stuck with us now.”

This odd conversation gave him two ridiculous, wonderful best friends.

In hindsight, it should have been a clue that he had inherited the Black family gift of Metamorphose, but he hadn’t made the connexion. He only agonised over the Parseltongue mess, confused as he was with the origin of this gift, which had only manifested in three British families all descended from Salazar Slytherin, and which had all gone extinct except for one notable Dark Lord. To this day, he still didn’t know where it came from. Maybe Charlie did, though. He should ask him sometime. Though not in the middle of the Great Hall.

“I’m here to ask you what your problem is,” he said, setting aside his memories.

Charlie made a choked sound.

Hermione reeled back as if she was hit. “What?”

“Did you think you were subtle? Even Justin noticed you staring creepily at me and he had no reason to care. It’s been three years. What is your problem?”

“Do we have to talk about it here?” she said, glancing nervously at Charlie.

Haron shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Your creepy staring was public, after all.”

Her expression twisted.

“Fine! There’s something... wrong with you. That’s my problem. I saw you, following my family before first year when we went to buy more books in Diagon Alley. When we left Flourish and Blotts, I saw you go into Knockturn Alley. We looked into each other’s eyes, though I don’t think you remember. You looked...”

She shook her head, before turning to Haron’s twin. “Your brother’s wrong in the head, Charlie. He’s too mature for his age but he hangs out with a bunch of vapid little girls who only talk about fashion even though they’re in Ravenclaw, and before he did that, his eyes looked empty. Scary. Like how you described Tom Riddle’s.”

Haron frowned in confusion, but Charlie’s horror made it clear that this wasn’t a good thing.

“And he looked so much like you, and before I didn’t have an explanation for it, so it seemed...” She bit her lip. “I made some wrong conclusions, but I was right about the essentials.” She turned back and stared hard into Haron’s eyes. “You’re a dark wizard and there’s something off with you, so I’ve been watching you. And I’ll keep doing it because I don’t trust you with Charlie.”

“Hah,” murmured Haron. “So that’s how it is. Thanks for the clarification.”

He stood back up and left the Great Hall with numb steps. He did not look at Sirius, whose worried gaze on him he could feel

His hands shook as he closed the door behind him.

“What is wrong with you, Hermione?”

Hermione blinked, shocked by Charlie’s outburst. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your brother and that’s obviously not nice to hear but--”

“But what? You have more things to say about how my brother’s abuse affected his behaviour? My mum’s sister hated magic!” he whispered furiously. “He lived there for ten years and ran away to go to Hogwarts when he found out he was abandoned and declared dead. I might not have told you that he was abused but it was literally written in the papers that he left his muggle family, what did you think was happening there?”

She gasped.

“I didn’t know!” she shrieked. “I thought he hated them because--”

“Shhh!” said Charlie. “Be quiet! Do you want more of my family drama in the papers tomorrow?”

“We've all heard enough,” said Justin Finch-Fetchley, walking up to them with Su-a and Padma. Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour were following. “Come on,” he said, pointing toward the door.

Charlie eyed the group apprehensively, but he sighed and followed. Hermione did so too, wringing her hands. When they were out of hearing, Justin continued, his arms crossed.

“You’re full of crap. I’m muggle-born, and Haron’s always been kind to me, and to others like me. He understands better than most, because he was also raised muggle. And it doesn’t take a genius to realise what must have happened to him. If your parents embraced the magical world, lucky for you. But do realise it’s not like this for most. Haven’t you heard the horror stories?”

Even Charlie had heard them. Angelina had told them all about an upperclassman who had been kicked out of his home and lived with a foster family when he received his letter. Magical children sometimes had to be fished out of mental institutions and scientific labs; it didn’t happen often, but enough for older muggle-born students to quietly tell their underclassmen that they could seek them out if anything happened.

“My parents weren’t that tolerant,” she protested. “They don’t like magic much either, since they don’t understand it.”

“But they were tolerant enough to go with you to the Alley, though, right?” said Justin sagely. “They support you in your studies, buy you extra books, take you on trips to France. I remember that. My parents asked a chauffeur to take me to the Leaky, and I had to handle the rest on my own. When I came back after second year, they moved my things to the guest floor.”

Right after he spent a year petrified, realised Charlie. Did his parents even know about it? Did they care?

“In the summer, I take my meals alone. I don’t see them at all, and my little siblings follow their lead, they don’t talk to me anymore. All because I chose not to go Eton. They thought they’d be fine with it, until they realised I’m not doing anything they can brag about to their friends, so I’m no use to them. And that’s nothing compared to what others have gone through. I am so privileged, and I don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I thought you were a good one, Hermione,” said Su-a with a disdainful tone, “but you’re the type to put down other girls because you feel superior to them. Vapid little girls, are we? You’d get along well with Mandy. Padma’s fifth in the rankings but that doesn’t matter to you, does it? I know your type. You just see us wearing makeup and hair products and you think the only reason we do it is to beg for attention. You know nothing.”

“Yeah, and what the hell do you know about being a Ravenclaw? You and your Gryffindorish sense of superiority, thinking you’re the only righteous people in the castle,” spat Padma, “and then you’re so proud to be smarter than us but you say shit like this and think that makes you an Auror. Ooooh, you solved the crime, huh?” She sneered. “Do you realise how ridiculous that is? And Haron hasn’t had a panic attack since second year, and you’ve ruined it. Thanks for that.”

Hermione blanched.

Charlie turned back to the corridor, the direction in which Haron had gone. He made an aborted step, as if to go in search of his brother, before he abruptly remembered that he did not know him enough to even begin to guess where he had gone.

Besides, he wasn’t going to leave Hermione alone with four people yelling at her, no matter how much she had messed up. He cursed inwardly. He really should have asked her about her weird attitude towards Haron before that.

“That was not my intention. I was just answering his question.”

“He called you out on how creepy you were, and instead of questioning your behaviour you lashed out at him? Do you think that was appropriate?” asked Fleur. Her tone was kinder than Haron’s best friends’ were, but she sounded equally disapproving.

He didn’t listen to his friend’s retort.

Some of Hermione’s assumptions were... not exactly legitimate, but they made sense, considering what Charlie had told her. He was the one who told her how much he hated Dark magic and considering nothing good about it was taught in their classes, it was no surprise that she hadn’t questioned it.

Plus, he wasn’t going to lie and pretend he hadn’t noticed the similarities between Haron and Tom Riddle.

Riddle had feared the closure of the school in his time because he grew up in the muggle world and didn’t wish to go back. He was an orphan, a smart teenager, and Charlie could recognise he was objectively handsome too. The man was obsessed with his heritage and used Dark magic as easy as breathing.

Haron had been abused by muggles and abandoned by his parents, raised to think he was an orphan. He did not hesitate to accept Black’s offer to adopt him and took pride in the family magic he would inherit. And now that he wasn’t hiding, people noticed Charlie’s brother in a way they didn’t before. He was second-best in the year and made Charlie question everything he ever knew about the Dark.

But those similarities were superficial. Haron didn’t hurt anyone. He made friends, not followers, and his defence of Dark magic wasn’t an endorsement of violence and prejudice, just the logical conclusion of his love for magic. Charlie might not be comfortable with it, but listening to what his mother and Dumbledore preached at him was obviously not the right way to do things, so he was at least willing to give Haron the benefit of the doubt.

And if Hermione was right about what he had looked like in first year... knowing what she now knew, she should have understood that he had just learnt he had been abandoned and declared dead. Anyone’s eyes would be empty in that situation.

But his friend was as stubborn as any Gryffindor; she stuck to her opinions, and it was hard for her to admit she was wrong. He said as much to her, and watched Viktor Krum nod in approval, followed by the rest of the group.

“You need to apologise,” concluded Fleur Delacour. “For the staring, and for your assumptions.”

“I’m still not wrong about the Dark magic!” said Hermione desperately. “You said it yourself, Charlie.”

“I told you he used a Dark spell and that his justification for it was good,” he said. “And I told you to ask him for book recommendations since you like researching those things yourself. And instead of doing that, you called him unstable and dangerous!”

“I--”

Hermione deflated. She teared up, and her voice wobbled when she said in a quiet voice, “I know.”

Sirius had jumped from his seat, alarmed. He was about to change into his Animagus form to go and follow his son’s scent when Regulus held him back.

“You are not turning into Padfoot, Sirius,” hissed Regulus.

His voice echoed in the silent Great Hall.

“Padfoot?” asked a pair of redheads in unison.

Chapter Text

“What... Haron?”

Blaise was nursing his bruised shoulder, staring with incredulous eyes at the boy who had barrelled into him.

Haron’s expression must be frightening, the boy mused, because the Italian wizard took a step back as soon as he saw it. The gesture, involuntary as it seemed to be, reminded Haron of why exactly he had left the Great Hall, and he flinched. His eyes lowered to his feet.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, walking past the boy.

He thought to use an alcove to hide himself in and digest Hermione’s words until he could make something productive out of them. But Blaise didn’t intend to leave him alone, it seemed; having seemingly recovered from his unconscious wariness, the boy just turned around and started following him in silence.

When Haron turned back to him, he raised his eyebrows, as if daring him to say anything about it. Haron opened his mouth.

And closed it.

An abrupt feeling of exhaustion took over him.

He found himself yearning for Rob’s presence. The former prefect knew what he was like in first year, and he hadn’t been bothered by the darkness inside of Haron. He’d seen beneath the veneer of defensive wariness, the lanced wound of his parents’ abandonment and the scars left by the Dursleys’ abuse, and he’d found something worth nurturing. He’d been there for Haron in ways that no one had ever been, and he’d pushed him further and further, towards academic excellence, towards the building of friendships, and towards healing.

It hadn’t been easy.

Rob had needed to supervise while Haron brewed himself healing potions – intent as he was on handling it himself – and sit with him while he had panic attacks in the middle of the night. He’d had to explain cultural references Haron didn’t understand and reassure him when he mumbled his fear that he was too unlikeable to befriend. He’d had to convince him he wasn’t stupid or unwanted, that he wasn’t taking up space.

Haron might not have told Rob about the Potters, but he’d said everything that needed to be said about the Dursleys, and the older boy would have invited him into his home without hesitation if he hadn’t needed to take care of his mother, who had survived being tortured by his Death Eater father after she denounced him to the aurors and required extensive care. Rob had obtained special dispensation to leave the castle during his schooling so he could do his filial duty, and he now lived full time with Mrs Hilliard while pursuing his apprenticeship.

(It had crossed Haron’s mind that the reason why Rob was so good at taking care of him was because he’d taught himself to manage a deeply hurt and traumatised person at a young age. Hogwarts must have felt like Rob’s only breath of fresh air, and the professors had ruined that by making him a prefect. He had brought it up with the older boy before his graduation, and Rob had seen right through him.

“I would have helped without a badge, Haron,” he had said before ruffling his hair. “That’s just who I am.”

And maybe it was, or maybe it was who he was made to be, shaped as he was by his father’s imprisonment and his mother’s torture. The same way that Haron had to fight against his instinct to hide after he lived his whole life in his brother’s shadow, where terrible things happened to him while Charlie enjoyed the warmth of sunlight, maybe Rob would one day need to resist the urge to give so much of himself to help.

It had also crossed Haron’s mind that it was hypocritical to wish such things when he’d benefitted from Robert’s ill-gotten virtue.)

He wished the prefect were here. Rob would know what to say to turn Haron back into a real boy when he felt like a wood puppet lying about his humanity, a Pinocchio among children of flesh who didn’t have to pretend that their insides weren’t cracked and full of shards.

But Rob was off getting an apprenticeship, there was a shortage of air in Haron’s lungs, and his impending breakdown would have an audience.

After a few seconds, the two boys reached a crossroads. Haron stared ahead until his vision blurred. He stopped walking, aware that putting a foot forward was beyond him at the moment. He pressed a shaky hand to the underside of his eye, as if to stave off his tears, but his eyes were perfectly dry.

“Hah,” he exhaled drily, a bitter smile sketching itself on the corners of his mouth. “I really am pathetic.”

“You think so? You’ve impressed me so far, though,” commented Blaise at his right.

Haron turned to him, bewildered.

“What?”

“If everything your father’s said in the article holds true, you’ve managed to run a four years-long con without anyone noticing. You bought yourself a new last name at eleven and let the world think that you were dead, escaped a – don't mind me for saying so – hostile environment, and emptied a Black trust without the lord’s knowledge. Then you got here and stared up at our professors with your big, bright eyes -- hm, although they do seem to change colour depending on your level of comfort. Are you a metamorphmagus? Never mind that – and dared them to say anything about your resemblance with the Boy-Who-Lived himself. And no one caught on.” He paused. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that was Slytherin behaviour. Either way, that’s anything but pathetic.”

The Ravenclaw let out a quiet exhale.

“It was,” admitted Haron quietly. “Slytherin behaviour, I mean. The Hat told me I’d do well with the snakes, but that I lacked ambition for anything other than surviving.”

Blaise tilted his head.

“That’s still cunning and self-preservation, though. That should be enough to get your foot in the door. Did you just not prefer it? I heard people could make requests.”

Haron hummed.

That was true enough. He remembered Terry Boot saying he’d asked to be put anywhere but in Gryffindor because he had heard that they were the loudest bunch and he didn’t think he could handle it. Hat stalls were known to happen when people argued with their first sorting option, or when the Hat itself struggled to find a perfect fit.

“I think it wanted me to nurture traits I’d suppressed until then.”

The Dursleys didn’t reward expression or creativity. They didn’t like him smart, they didn’t like him curious, and they certainly didn’t like him asking the right questions, which would be the obvious consequence of nurturing the first two attributes.

“And I wouldn’t trade Ravenclaw for the world,” he added. “Not sure I’d have said the same for Gryffindor or Slytherin.”

Haron belatedly noticed his shoulders had lost some degree of tension, and he had started walking again, this time following the Slytherin’s lead. They were heading towards the Hogwarts grounds.

Blaise watched him amusedly.

“Not Hufflepuff? You’re pretty hard-working, and I’ve never seen you be anything but kind and loyal.”

Haron snorted.

“I wasn’t either of those things when I got here.”

His expression darkened as he remembered Hermione’s words once more. He stepped over the threshold of the castle gates and watched the vast expanse of greens, blues and browns making up his first home’s landscape. Owls flew overhead, heading to the owlery, and a tentacle gently rose up from the water of the lake, greeting them with a lazy motion.

“I don’t think that’s true,” denied Blaise, his hand on the massive wooden door that welcomed them into Hogwarts. “I just think that you hadn’t been given the opportunity to be kind to anyone but yourself. And even that must have been a struggle.”

Haron stared. And stared.

“I... hadn’t seen it that way.”

“Is this what had you in such a state?” asked the Slytherin curiously. “I thought the attention had finally made you snap. I saw Colin Creevey follow you around this morning. That was very uncomfortable to watch, so I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you.”

Haron grimaced at the reminder. Charlie wasn’t much liked around the castle at the moment due to the whole Triwizard champion debacle, but his Gryffindors still loved him dearly despite not believing he didn’t put his name in.

Creevey’s insistent requests to take a joint photo of him and Charlie so he could send them to his dad were uncomfortable at best, annoying at worst. Thankfully, Su-a was much less polite and patient than he was about it and had the boy scampering after a few minutes of it.

Blaise laughed at his expression. Haron grinned ruefully.

“It wasn’t the issue, no. Annoying as it was, he’s only a... what do they call it?"

“There have been many names. Potterhead’s the most popular I think, but some girls call themselves Charlie’s Angels and it’s catching on. Romilda Vane’s the one who started it, I think.”

“That’s... I don’t even know what to say to that.” He paused. “No, that’s not what... bothered me.”

He hesitated before firming his resolve and explaining in quiet words what had occurred in the Great Hall. Blaise listened attentively; his expression unreadable. When Haron was finished, he hummed, blinking his golden eyes in a manner that was decidedly feline.

“Have you considered,” he started after a beat of silence during which Haron was resolutely looking at the lake, unwilling or rather unable to meet his eyes, “that Granger might be projecting her insecurities onto you?”

Haron glanced back at him, startled. “What?”

“I mean, obviously she’s being protective of your brother and as stupid as that is, it’s not absurd of her to be wary if she noticed early how much you look alike, or be suspicious of the fact that you revealed yourself through a scandal that stained his reputation while Potter is already on fire because of the champion debacle.” Before Haron could open his mouth to protest, Blaise raised his hands in a placating manner. “Not saying that was intentional; if anything, it was unfortunate timing, though it was bound to happen as soon as Sirius Black laid eyes on you. But it does explain why she lashed out like that.”

Blaise chuckled. “I know what you’re going to say. She’s been obsessed with you for much longer than that. But that’s the problem, actually. There was a time where you were both talented muggle-raised loners competing in the class rankings. You beat her in every practical subject, she had you beat in theory. She saw you as a rival and a kindred spirit, and she hated that because it meant --”

“That something must be wrong with both of us.”

“I think she could have learnt to accept it,” mused Blaise, “and concluded that you’re both too smart for your classmates. She could have even tried to befriend you. But you made friends. Not just that, those friends were girls. Feminine girls even, when it’s commonly known that Granger can’t have a conversation with people of her own gender without insulting them. Obviously she’d reason it out and think the only reason why you’d befriend people like Padma or Su-a is because you want to manipulate them. Granger’s got a strong moral backbone, but she’s stone cold. The only reason she made friends with Potter at all is because he caught her having a mental breakdown when she was overusing the Time Turner she was given for the year.”

Haron couldn’t help the sound he made at this. “Who the hell thought it was a good idea to give her a Time Turner?”

Blaise bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. “Professor McGonagall, of course.”

Haron sighed wearily. Of course.

“Gryffindors, eh?” he said wryly.

“I don’t think anyone else would have thought that giving an overachiever like that a time-warping artefact was a good idea,” Blaise agreed. “But anyway. Have you heard about S.P.E.W?”

Haron shook his head.

“She found out about house elves and decided they needed to be liberated, so she created the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare.”

He made an interested sound. That didn’t sound too bad.

“Sounds good, isn’t it? And it would be if she thought to include elves in the conversation. I read her pamphlet, and it’s all about forcefully giving elves clothes so they can be free. Never mind that they’ll starve without our magic – unless they start eating magical babies again – or that they’ll be disgraced by their people. Who cares about that, right? Better to be dead than a slave.”

He shook his head disbelievingly. Haron understood. Choosing freedom over anything was a noble sentiment, but not when it was imposed on you by someone else.

“Like I said, stone cold.”

After Sirius had shaken off his two fanboys – Circe, Gideon and Fabian’s little nephews had the Marauders’ Map, he now understood why Minerva looked so tired – and promised Regulus three times that he wouldn’t do anything rash, he set off to find Haron, aided by the Weasley twins’ directions.

He heard him before he saw him.

His son was sitting in front of another student, laughing quietly as he stared up at the boy in front of him. Sirius distantly noticed his green and silver tie, but his attention was on Haron. His back was against a familiar tree. Sirius blinked rapidly, chasing visions of Remus sleeping on the grass, his head resting on his shoulder.

He rolled his shoulders and turned back. He would check on his son later.

Severus Snape was tired of teenagers and their drama. After the outburst in the Great Hall had everyone whispering, he stood up and started making a discrete exit.

He was stopped by an unexpected obstacle.

“Professor Snape,” said the Headmaster of Durmstrang. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Severus restrained a sigh and nodded curtly.

“My office?” he suggested, internally praying the man wouldn’t ask him to traipse to the Black Lake and board his stupid boat.

But Zmeyov seemed to be in a conciliatory mood. He only inclined his head and made to follow him. They walked in companionable silence, and Severus found himself surprised by how unobtrusive the man was to his senses. The route to the dungeons took several minutes, but Zmeyov didn’t seem inclined to fill it with useless small talk. As much as he appreciated it, Severus wondered if the man had inquired about his person or if he was naturally uninclined to such things. Judging by the dour attitude of the man’s nephew, the latter might be true.

Severus opened the door to his office and let the man inside before closing behind him. He sat down at his desk and gestured at Zmeyov to sit in the student chairs. The man did so without protest, though he shot him an amused look.

The potions professor stayed silent, waiting for the man to explain what he was bothering him for. He had several things in mind, though he questioned the utility of discussing them. The Triwizard tournament had nothing to do with him, his dislike of Sirius Black would not impede his ability to stay professional, and anything related to Haron Black should be brought up by the boy’s own father. Severus would not tolerate a mediator.

The most likely topic of discussion was his relationship with bloody Albus Dumbledore or his status as a Death Eater, he supposed. Zmeyov definitely seemed to disdain Hogwarts’ Headmaster and the recent reforms Severus had read about did give him some insight into the man’s progressive politics, though Zmeyov never went as far as attempting a wizarding assimilation into muggle culture the way Albus was doing, promoting Christian holidays as he did.

He didn’t expect the man to hold out his wand and murmur, “Muffliato.”

Severus had shared his personal spells with few people and fewer of them were still alive or free to this day.

“It’s been a while, Severus,” said Zmeyov before pointing his wand to his temple and unraveling his disguise.

“Regulus...” he breathed out, his eyes wide. “How?”

His friend’s lips quirked, his expression wry.

“Sirius saved me.”

Regulus laid out the events leading up to his return to the British soil with the cautious care he used to approach Severus when they were still Death Eaters whose thoughts of dissent could very well spell their doom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you, my friend,” he ended his explanation with, his regretful smile widening the pained quirk of his lips.

“You should have.”

Severus was too numb to be angry, but it would come. For now his fingers twitched, eager to grasp his friend and make sure he was real. It took all his self-control to keep himself where he was.

Regulus nodded. “I should have.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked, then regretted it immediately.

The answer was obvious in hindsight.

“Because of Dumbledore. Because of Lily Evans.”

“I stopped caring about Lily years ago.”

That was a lie. He would never stop caring about her in some ways. But he stopped thinking her deserving of that care when she had used information he had passed onto her to kill a Hogwarts student – a child, no matter his affiliations – and swore him to silence. She argued that he would have joined the ranks if she didn’t.

He never gave her any information about pureblood families after that. It didn’t stop her.

Regulus didn’t seem to believe him, but he seemed to sense that care notwithstanding, Severus at least stopped being loyal to her, and that was more important than whether he loved her or not.

“Just Dumbledore then,” he amended. “Your association with him made me... wary. He could have found out and used it against me or Sirius. I couldn’t have risked it.”

Severus swallowed the bitter things he wanted to say to that. Regulus was right after all.

“What made you change your mind today, then?”

“The Dark Lord is still alive.”

Severus blinked. “You didn’t know?” he asked, grasping his left arm with his right hand.

Regulus grinned. He truly had the look of a Black. He rolled his sleeve and showed off his artificial arm.

“I cut it off after I fled. I couldn’t let him know where I was. Not while I still hadn’t destroyed the...”

He glanced at him nervously. Severus rolled his eyes. His friend had been very careful not to tell him what artefact he had stolen from Voldemort, but he was in Albus’ confidence. He knew.

“The Horcrux. Charlie Potter found and destroyed one in his second year. Along with the Chamber of Secrets,” he revealed, and delighted in the twitch of Regulus’ eye at the mention of the Boy-Who-Lived.

“So we were right,” he breathed out. “There are others.”

“Albus thinks there are seven.”

“You call him Albus?”

Severus let out a sigh of disgust.

“He insisted.”

Regulus chuckled. “Speaking of him. I suppose he told you his theory about what happened when the Dark Lord was disembodied?”

“He did.” Severus leaned forward, conspiratorially. He had enjoyed this particular part of Regulus’ earlier tale. Covenant spells were something he would never be able to do, but they were a fascinating area of magic. “It sounded so absurd. Your brother loved the mutt.”

He’d said nothing about it, of course. Albus made his own conclusions. Always.

“I’ll let you relay it to him if you keep my involvement out of it. Say our grandfather completed the covenant instead. He can’t exactly deny it from the grave.” He paused. “We explained the process in broad strokes to Haron, but we avoided giving him the details. I can give you more details if you wish.”

Severus snorted. “That was a good call. Your brother has adopted himself a hellion. I’d wonder why Haron isn’t in Slytherin if his curiosity didn’t so obviously outweigh his self-preservation. I should tell you about the time he manipulated Gilderoy Lockhart into giving him a pass for the restricted section of the library.”

Regulus’ eyes creased with fondness at the anecdote. The potions master was privately relieved to have someone to complain about Haron to. The newfound uncle seemed to like his nephew; Severus had noticed the way the Durmstrang headmaster had set Viktor Krum on the boy.

“He mentioned you guessed who he was in first year.”

Severus rolled his eyes.

“I’m surprised no one else did.”

He wasn’t, not really. Harry Potter’s death was part of the cultural consciousness. It was a key element of the "Charlie Potter and Sirius Black" legend. People would have sooner believed Haron Pierce was a distant cousin than named him the Boy-Who-Died. Severus only knew because Lily had told him Harry was alive. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots after that.

He elaborated. “Haron might have been a Metamorphmagus, but he was an unconscious one. His disguise often faltered, especially in the beginning. Keeping his hair buzzed was easy enough, he knew to focus on it, but dimming the colour of his eyes? Making himself unobtrusive? That wasn’t something he thought to do.”

“His subconscious did all the work,” surmised Regulus.

Severus hummed.

They fell silent for a while before the potions master dared to ask.

“What are your plans?”

Regulus shrugged.

“For now, make sure that the Boy-Who-Lived survives the Tournament. Prepare Haron for the Heirship. Establish ourselves as a third option for those who wish to oppose Voldemort but don’t wish to have anything to do with Dumbledore. Find the Horcruxes. Humiliate the Potters if possible. Sirius won't like that, but if I find a way, I will.”

“Simple tasks, that,” he commented drolly.

“Aren’t they?”

Chapter Text

James had a meeting with his steward early in the morning.

An hour later, the Aurors were escorting the man to a holding cell, where he would be awaiting his trial for fraud and embezzlement. James found himself alone in his office, wondering what had become of his teenaged self.

He'd not been perfect. He used to be a spoiled brat, and arrogant to boot. He'd enjoyed tormenting Slytherins a little too much, regardless of whether they deserved it or not. He'd liked the thrill, the attention. And it was hard to understand what you were doing was wrong when no one whose opinion you cared about was ever telling you so.

But he'd had courage, and a sense of right and wrong. He had needed to learn to temper his worst instincts after the Whomping Willow debacle, now more aware than ever that it didn't matter if someone was cruel, being cruel to them in return reflected more on you than on them. He'd learnt to be truly good instead of simply self-righteous.

With his constant struggle in the Wizengamot, he had deluded himself into thinking that he'd still had some of that goodness in him. But if his public actions didn't reflect the decisions he made in his own household, then what right did he have to pretend he'd learnt his lesson?

They left a baby in a magic-hating household, and raised his brother to think he was dead. James had married a woman who could look their son in the eye and accuse his best friend of murder, who could allow hatred to fester in her heart, intermingled with grief.

Lily had changed after her parents died. She became... ruthless. She cut bloody swathes through the battlefield, and targeted Death Eaters directly in their own home. The Wardbreaker, they called her. She had killed parents and teenagers alike, determined to cut evil at the root. She thankfully left anyone younger than fourteen alone, but that was not good enough. She went further than James ever did as a schoolyard bully, and he'd not known what to do about it.

"Look at what Avery and Mulciber did to Mary in fifth-year," she'd snarled when he told her what she did was terrible and she should not let Crouch encourage her to go down that path, "they are not helpless children."

Mary didn't take kindly to being used as justification for infanticide. Lily disgusted her, and she made it obvious. Even after her mind broke and she spent years in St Mungo's, her room only a floor down from Sirius', she remembered the visceral fear and revulsion she felt towards her former friend. Every visit made her relapse and lose herself into her trauma. War took a toll on everyone.

Rose and Richard Evans had been killed as a warning to her defiance, strung up on the ceiling of their house in Cokeworth and left to bleed out, their entrails exposed. Lily had to obliviate her sister who couldn't bear the sight. Then she'd buried her mother and father, and Voldemort was waiting for her at the funeral, acting like he did her and James a favour. He asked them to join him, as if they ever would.

It was the second time they defied him. They only survived it because Albus was there. It only made Lily angrier and more determined to end as many Death Eaters as she could.

He'd thought the grief would pass and the gentle woman he knew would resurface after the war. And she had, in some ways. But pieces of her had been lost in the process, and she was almost unrecognisable. They stayed together for Charlie, and for the public. Their son needed stability, and the Wizarding World needed to see the parents of the Boy-Who-Lived as a unified front, a symbol of peace. And if they slept next to each other in frosty silence, that was up to them only.

James buried his face in his hands. He stayed like this, silent and mournful, for a long time.

Then he apparated to a London street and took a taxi to Little Whinging. He'd never been, after all. Lily had placed wards all around Petunia's neighbourhood, and ensured no wizard except Harry — Haron now, he reminded himself firmly — could step a foot there. A favour to her sister, she'd said, so she'd not be disturbed. It was convenient that it coincidentally stopped James from checking on Haron.

He'd begged her to let him, at first. She hadn't allowed it, and he'd not met anyone better at ward-smithing than Lily was. He couldn't force his way in. James could at least console himself and remember he had tried.

But it was not enough. He had given up too fast, let her have her way at the expense of a child he should have raised. James would not pretend to have wanted to be a father at such a young age, nor did he believe he was a very good one to Charlie, but he tried. He should have tried harder for Haron, or at least told the truth to Sirius and let him raise his son as he should always have. He'd let himself be influenced by the war and the climate of distrust that rose from it, Lily's dislike for Sirius, Dumbledore's need to get his way, and his own mother's adamant insistence that if Padfoot used Dark magic again, he would be lost to him.

He thought he was better than this.

He thought many things, and his assumptions kept being shattered.

"What Sirius performed that night was a covenant spell", had said Dumbledore, looking embarrassed to have not even considered it. "I thought him disowned and entirely estranged from the rest of the family, you see, but it seems he gathered his cousin Andromeda and his grandfather, the Lord Black of the time to power a magical protection that would ensure Charlie and Harry would survive. The necromantic readings in Godric's Hollow were due to the nature of the Black family magic, and Sirius' foolish attempt to include his fiance into it. Considering this information, it is safe to say that Harry probably emptied his magical reserves ensuring the survival of his... father, and Sirius in turn poured all his replenishing magic in healing the damage to Harry's core. He was only able to awaken after the family magic deemed Harry safe enough."

James had lost his best friend and the respect of both of his sons because he had trusted faulty intel and his own misgivings towards Dark family magic.

(Mother did not recover from losing her squib brother.

That he was denied the funeral rites of House Black turned her against the family, and she swore she'd protect him in death if not in life. James' great-grandfather Cygnus had mutilated his own son and turned him out on the street after his Hogwarts letter had failed to come. Marius had died of hypothermia and starvation, calling out to the magical twin sister he was bonded to in agony. The bond was made with a Dark spell Dorea had tried, reasoning the mental link between them would convince her father to keep him if only for her sake. She was wrong to believe so, and paid for it dearly.

That would turn anyone away from the Dark.)

Now he needed to make amends. To start, he wanted to talk to Petunia, to understand what had gone so wrong. If Haron had manifested accidental magic multiple times during his childhood, she should have contacted them. He didn't understand why she didn't.

Since Lily kept refusing to let him into the wards, he had to find another way. So he called Mary, and after ensuring multiple times he wasn't enquiring on his wife's behalf, she explained to him how to use the White Pages. He found the Dursleys' home number and called, requesting a meeting on the outskirts of the town. He had to argue with Petunia, but she was much easier to convince than her sister. He dressed in muggle clothes at her urging and met her there after his meeting with the steward, leading the taxi towards the address of the coffee shop she had provided.

"You better make it quick, Potter. After that horrid Snape boy harassing me in my own home, I don't want to have to deal with you longer than necessary," she said when she sat down in front of him. "At least you called," she added with a sniff.

"She let him into the wards?" asked James incredulously.

Petunia frowned. "What wards?"

He sighed.

"Of course she didn't tell you. Lily placed wards around your neighbourhood to ensure you'd not be disturbed by wizards. Harry is the only magical person keyed into the wards of Privet Drive."

The woman's expression turned complicated. She seemed to think before replying. "Snape and my sister used to come up with codes together. He might have tried multiple... keys until one worked."

That was... unbelievably reckless. Snape might have been Lily's personal spy in the war, but his loyalty had never been fully guaranteed. Especially not after the man and his wife had a falling-out. If he'd had a grudge against Petunia...

"Right." He didn't come here to discuss the strange feelings his wife had for Severus Snape or the fact that she certainly trusted the man more than she did him. "I want to preface this discussion by telling you my steward has been arrested this morning. He embezzled the amount you were entitled to for child support and we only caught it now. You will be compensated for this slight."

She raised an incredulous eyebrow, though her eyes were full of greed when he mentioned compensation. James did not like that he had to do this, from what he knew the Dursleys certainly didn't deserve anything for their dubious care of Haron, but the custody agreement had been magically binding. Unless he wanted to drag them to the Wizengamot and settle things here, potentially exposing Haron's abuse to the entire Wizarding World, he would need to settle things financially.

"Didn't the boy tell you when he came to you?" she asked with the hint of sneer at the word "boy."

James grimaced. She thought Haron had left to find them and demand answers, he deduced.

"He did not come to us." He gave her a warning look when she opened her mouth, looking gleeful. She snapped it closed uneasily. For the first time since the beginning of this conversation, she seemed to remember who she was talking to. "I came to discuss the circumstances of his rearing, not what happened after he left your care," he said firmly before bracing himself. "Lily told you he had no magic, and she sent him to you for this reason. Why didn't you inform us when his accidental magic started manifesting?"

Petunia scoffed.

"Inform you how? I had no address, you freaks don't keep phones, and I was not about to beg one of your lot to let me into that dirty alley in the middle of London."

"Lily gave you no return address?"

She shook her head. James pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have expected that. When did his wife ever make anything easy for him?

"When the payments stopped, we wanted to turn him out on the streets, but it would have made the neighbours talk. So we had to keep him. It's about time you compensate us for it," added Petunia vindictively.

Her expression was so similar to the way Lily looked during the war James almost recoiled away from her. But he held it in. Instead, he let his gaze sharpen.

He hummed. "I wonder. How much of the initial payments were used for Harry's care? I would like to hear it from your side."

Haron didn't get a chance to talk to Charlie until a few days later. They kept missing each other somehow, though it was obvious that they tried. His brother sent him hesitant waves when they passed by each other in the corridors, and mouthed promises to talk later.

It only happened when Haron had a free period, and he, Su-a and Padma bumped into Charlie while he was being led by Colin Creevey to the traditional wand-weighing ceremony the Champions were required to attend two weeks before the First Task.

"You should come," blurted out his brother.

Haron glanced back at his friends, who sent him encouraging nods before leaving him to his fate. He restrained a sigh. He had hoped to spend his free period relaxing in the common room, but he supposed that was too much to ask. Still, he was glad to have the opportunity to clear the air. Even if it had to be done with a public, he mourned, glancing at Creevey's excited bouncing.

"Won't the organisers mind?" he asked as they walked.

Charlie shrugged. "Two of the other Champions like you, it should be fine. And at worst, they'll ask you to wait outside, I suppose." He paused. "How have you been? Since... you know."

Haron shrugged, then rolled his shoulders awkwardly when he noticed he had just mimicked his younger twin.

"Fine. It wasn't pleasant, but I get where Granger was coming from. I was messed up when I got here. I wish she'd not gone and called me wrong in the head and implied I was evil for using Dark magic in the middle of the Great Hall, but it is what it is."

"She feels horrid about it."

The boy sent Charlie a dubious look. She had not apologised, and seemed to be avoiding him as much as she could. His brother seemed to read his expression, because he rubbed the back of his neck.

"She's writing you an apology letter," he said wryly, embarrassed on his friend's behalf. "So far it's three feet long. I've been trying to get her to edit it into something manageable, but it's Hermione, you know."

Haron snorted.

"Good luck with that. She should try to keep some of that parchment space for Su-a and Padma," he added bitterly, remembering her comment about the so-called vapid little girls he spent his time with.

"Oh, there's a separate one foot long parchment for each of them. And she's researching Dark magic on the side. I'm helping," Charlie claimed cheerfully before sobering up, lowering his hand. Unsaid was the fact that his brother wished to check for himself that what Haron had told him about Dark magic wasn't nonsense. "Don't force yourself to accept her apology for my sake, though. She said very messed up things, and I don't want you to think you have to forgive her for my sake."

Haron sent a side-long look at Charlie. "I won't. Thanks."

His brother blushed.

"Don't think anything of it."

"So..." started Haron, desperate to change the subject, "any idea what the First Task is?"

Charlie looked briefly panicked, and shook his head. "No. I've been brushing up on Defence spells and Charms, but I have no idea what to prioritise. It's a nightmare."

Haron bit his lip before he asked.

"Do you want help?"

"Huh?"

"We could duel again. From what I remember you're decent at offence. Your spell repertoire is very Auror-like, but not bad. You should learn to affect your environment as much as your opponent though, and you don't have a lot of shields in your rotation. I can make a list of versatile charms and defensive spells you could learn in a short time, you practise them and then we try to implement them in a duel." He thought about it more. "Su-a could grill you on magical creatures and their weaknesses, she takes Care with you and she likes stuff like that." Well, she liked to draw creatures. Caring for them, not so much. But that wasn't relevant to the conversation. "And Padma could coach you in strengthening potions. Fire-resistance draughts, anti-venins, stuff like that as well."

Charlie looked hopeful, but hesitant.

"Wouldn't taking potions before the Task be against the rules?"

Haron thought about it. "Ask Granger to check, but I don't believe so. These are magical competitions. Knowledge of potions is an important wizarding skill, it wouldn't make sense to ban them."

"I'll ask," said Charlie, looking relieved to have a plan of attack.

"And if Granger apologises and promises to behave, she's welcome to come as well. It doesn't hurt to have an extra mind on the Task, never mind that of the best student in our year."

He wasn't going to let hurt feelings get in the way of Charlie's training, not when it could very well cost him his life.

His little brother was like a golden retriever, mused Haron as the boy perked up with cautious joy at the idea of spending time with his friend and brother at the same time.

"That goes for Weasley and Thomas once they get their heads out of their asses," he added. "Not Finnegan though, you can keep that one to yourself."

The mention of his idiot friends put Charlie back into a sombre mood, but he didn't get to dwell on it. They had arrived to the room assigned for the Wand-Weighing.

Viktor, Fleur, Diggory and their respective Headmasters were already there. They were confused at Haron's presence, so he gamely explained.

"I had a free period," he said, waving at his uncle, lingering on the disguise he wore as Damyan Zmeyov and wondering once more how he hadn't seen the resemblance between him and Sirius. "Do you mind if I watch?" he asked Bagman, Crouch Sr and the Headmasters.

"I certainly don't!" exclaimed a blonde woman he'd not noticed before, walking forward to shake his hand. "Rita Skeeter, from the Daily Prophet, nice to meet you. And you're Haron Black, the infamous Boy-Who-Didn't-Die! Do you mind if I call you Haron?"

"He does, actually," said Charlie, moving forward to shield Haron as the boy was left blinking, bewildered by the woman's show of familiarity.

Haron turned back to the Tournament organisers, still waiting for their approval.

"I don't see why not," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

Uncle Regulus nodded in agreement and Madame Maxime said, "I do not mind."

Lord Crouch frowned, but did not give any objections. Meanwhile, Bagman was laughing exclaiming, "the more, the merrier!"

Haron stepped forward, moving away from the journalist who was still staring at him hungrily, a quill and notebook floating behind her. He wondered if this was the woman Sirius had spoken to when he'd given his interview to the Daily Prophet, or if he'd secured a more professional journalist. He hoped it was the latter. If it wasn't, it sure explained the sensationalist wording of the article.

When he glanced back at Charlie, Haron saw that his younger brother had plastered a plastic smile on his face and was redirecting Skeeter's attention while firmly rebutting any of her attempts to get him alone for a private interview. Her Quick-Quotes quill was scratching at a furious pace, though, and Haron could barely make out—

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the quill. "Evanesco." When that didn't work, indicating the quill had been enchanted against Vanishing Spells, Haron clicked his tongue and put a downward stroke to his charm. The quill shook, then burst into acid green flames.

"You'll have to teach me that," murmured Charlie, chuckling.

"I would thank you to keep the slander to a minimum, Mrs Skeeter," said Regulus, moving forward to pluck the notebook out of the air. "Hm. Not very creative, but you certainly have mastered multi-pronged approaches since you first started taking potshots at my colleague," he commented, nodding at Headmaster Dumbledore.

Haron's uncle pretended to think, folding the parchment and surreptitiously sliding it inside of his coat. He wanted evidence, understood the teen. Skeeter was still sputtering; she'd been too close to the quill when Haron set it aflame and the ends of her hair had gotten a little scorched.

"I wonder how Mr. Potter can be an attention-seeking liar and a filial child eager to prove himself to his parents, and Mr. Black a poor orphan finally reunited with his family and a genius catfish motivated by greed at the same time. Sensational, that. I do understand that the tragedy of Halloween 1981 made your career —you coined the terms Man-Who-Survived, Boy-Who-Lived and Boy-Who-Died, correct?— but surely even a crup with a bone learns to let go eventually?"

"Now, now, let's all be civil," attempted Bagman, though he was summarily ignored. Lord Crouch sniffed disdainfully at his colleague, and pointedly pulled out and looked at his pocket watch to demonstrate his impatience.

Skeeter patted her hair down, her smile twisted in a nervous grin. "Work is work, Headmaster Zmeyov, I'm sure you understand! Besides, the Daily Prophet exists to sell itself and my readers want a story. Can you blame me for giving it to them?"

"I do not. Understand that is. But I suppose I cannot blame you for doing your job. I just had no idea that shoveling shit for people to eat was part of a reporter's job description. Maybe we can get on with the Ceremony and let you play pretend on your own?" he suggested, turning back to the others. "Do remember that Lord Black's local lawyers are very eager to get some work after such a long hiatus, and a defamation case is very much a career killer."

The journalist's eye glinted, and Haron had an inkling that his uncle would pay for this. He tried to reassure himself; Regulus was likely aware that redirecting Skeeter's attention towards him might lead to unfortunate consequences, and he would probably have a plan for it.

As it was, the woman had moved as far from the Durmstrang Headmaster as she could allow, placing her right next to the photographer. She pulled out a spare notebook and quill —not enchanted, this time— and focused on the Champions being photographed. Before it was his turn, Charlie sidled up to Haron and whispered.

"Zmeyov is amazing, isn't he? I've never seen someone so fearless. I do hope there's no boggart under his bed though. Skeeter's like a niffler after a coin when she's riled up."

Haron tensed at the reminder of the great secrets his uncle was in fact keeping concealed, and discretely pointed his wand at Skeeter. Charlie looked to check if anyone had noticed, but everyone was focused on Fleur's wand weighing. He shifted to shield his brother while keeping Skeeter open. Haron murmured an incantation and drew on Sirius' Guardian Oath. His adoptive father felt it and instinctively shared the family magic with him to help. Sirius was out visiting the family properties; Haron was warmed by the thought that he took care of him even from afar.

"What was that?" asked Charlie when Harry lowered his wand and drew in a sharp breath.

"A Secrecy Geas. I'll need to smear blood on her before she leaves or it won't work, but that'll shut her up." He glanced at his brother, hesitating. "I included you in it."

He'd used the fact that they were twins and Charlie was distantly related to the Blacks through their grandmother to do it, but he couldn't tell his brother that. It would clue him in to the fact that the Geas could only work for Regulus because he was family.

"Thanks. Won't people clue in if she doesn't write anything about us?" asked Charlie, oblivious to his tension.

"Oh, she can. But she can only write about things that are publicly available." Haron paused. "It likely won't stop her from brewing something nasty, rumours aren't accounted for in the Geas, but that should stop her from digging up secrets we don't want getting out, and it forbids her from telling outright lies. If she doesn't believe it to be true, she'll have to keep it to herself."

"Brilliant," breathed out Charlie. "Dark magic sure is handy, huh?"

He sounded conflicted about it, but that was such an improvement from his previous disgust at the very idea that Haron only felt proud of his twin. He didn't say anything in response to that, instead pushing his brother forward for his own wand weighing. Soon enough, they were out of there, though not before Haron had time to press a bloodied thumb on Skeeter's neck. Their next class was Charms, which they had together, so they walked towards it while talking about their plans to train Charlie for the First Task. Diggory shared part of the way with them and cut in at some point to ask if Haron's brother truly didn't put his name in.

"I didn't," said the boy firmly.

Diggory turned to Haron, as if asking for confirmation. The teen fixed him with a deadpan stare. "Huh," said the Hufflepuff. "Alright. Your idea to duel to improve your reflexes and spell repertoire is a good one. I might implement that too, actually. What do you think the First Task's going to be?"

"I cross-referenced it with previous events and all the tasks are often creature-related. Bypassing one, getting something from it or neutralising it are go-tos," said Haron. "Having to fight your environment is also common. Carnivorous plants might be a choice since we're so close to the Forbidden Forest, but they might test if you can make yourself resistant to elements like fire or water. Those come up in at least one Task each Tournament."

Diggory whistled.

"Cho said you were smart, but she didn't say you were that smart."

Haron politely didn't mention what he thought of Cho Chang's opinion of him. If Diggory wanted to date an obsessive viper, it wasn't his problem.

"He is, isn't he," said Charlie, grinning. "A proper nerd."

"Do you not mind that he's giving me information?" asked the young man. Haron smiled. Diggory was always so bloody fair-minded. It was almost annoying. "You both can call me Cedric by the way."

"Haron then."

Charlie scoffed. "No. I don't care that much about winning, I just want to get through it. Don't get me wrong, I'll do my best, but I have no idea why someone might have entered my name so I'd rather be cautious. And sure, call me Charlie, I can't believe we haven't exchanged names yet."

Haron smirked. It didn't sound like Charlie at all. Granger must have told him this at least a dozen times if he still remembered it verbatim. Cedric must have agreed with him because they exchanged an amused glance.

The conversation inevitable veered towards Quidditch, and Haron accelerated his pace to escape it.

The next day, Skeeter's article was all about speculations.

Maybes and what-ifs and perhapses battled on the page as she insinuated that Haron might not be what he seemed without actually providing any reasoning for it, only citing his apparent thirst for knowledge and talent at practical magics like it was sinistre. She called Sirius a bitter man with Dark designs, which said nothing yet everything at once, and suggested Charlie might have entered himself in the Tournament to restore his family's reputation after the blow it had taken following Sirius Black's interview. Nevermind that he'd had no idea about it. She seemed a lot more sure of herself when she wrote that he probably also wished to impress Hermione Granger, his very pretty girlfriend.

Haron had no idea if there was anything going on with his brother and his most trusted friend; he didn't know him well enough to guess. He and Charlie might have made great strides, but they weren't there yet. Still, he amused himself by speculating with Su-a and Padma, but the trio agreed that if anything was happening between the two, they were not ready to acknowledge it.

Speaking of love, Padma had made great strides with Demelza Robins and had a date with her in Hogsmeade that day. Su-a would also be leaving Haron to spend some time with Justin, so he found himself with enough free time to go visit his father. Sirius planned to apparate him out of Hogsmeade and take him to what would be their family home so he could choose his room and the decor he wanted.

Haron was looking forward to it.

Chapter Text

"Ready to go, darling?" asked Sirius when Haron met him in Hogsmeade.

Haron shuffled away from his side to look up at him with a wide grin and a nod.

"I haven't apparated before," he confided, a hint of nerve seeping through the careful tone of his voice.

"I don't imagine you would have," murmured his adoptive father, squeezing his shoulder as he undoubtedly thought about the unsaid reasons for his lack of experience in the practice. "It's not going to be pleasant, but I'll do my best to make the ride as smooth as possible. Speaking of ride, did you know I own a flying motorbike? A 1959 Triumph 650 T 120 Bonneville, though I doubt you'd care about the particulars."

The teenager whistled. "Did you do the enchantments yourself? I doubt that's legal."

Sirius laughed. "Yes I did, and no, it isn't. Well, it's in a legal grey area, I'd say, and an awkward grey area to boot. You're allowed to own charmed objects as long as you don't intend to use them, which means I can keep my bike as long as I don't fly it."

"I'd imagine they'd be wary of enchanted machinery," hummed Haron. Iron and polymers had anti-magic properties, which made the application of magic on this type of material hazardous at best and dangerous at worst. He could understand why the Ministry would rather avoid it. "What makes it awkward?"

"That law didn't exist at the time I charmed the bike. Arthur Weasley passed it about five years ago."

Haron frowned. He distinctly remembered Charlie and Ron getting in trouble for using a flying car. He said as much to his father. Sirius barked out a laugh.

"I know, that's why I say it's awkward. Arthur's a good man, but I definitely find that decision of his interesting. His department directly deals with the issues that come up when magical objects end up in muggle hands so I understand why he passed that law, but including a loophole that would let him keep his own vehicle is a little... self-serving, don't you think? He's not nearly as lenient when he leads raids looking for Dark artefacts." Sirius grimaced. "Nevermind that. We should go, the house is waiting. Brace yourself against me, darling, and try to hold your breath."

The young wizard did as he was told, but he was still not prepared for disapparition. The sensation of something tugging at his navel, the disorientation and the terrible feeling of being discorporated only lasted a second, but it was enough to tangle his stomach into knots. When they apparated, Harry leaned forward and heaved.

Sirius murmured nonsensical soothing noises, rubbing his back. 

"Okay, darling?"

Haron nodded, raising himself up. He looked around. They'd apparated in a pocket park in a residential area, hiding behind bushes to avoid drawing the eyes of muggles. The crack-like sound of apparition had scared a few birds, which Haron could see eyeing them with baleful stares. 

Sirius gently led him out of the park and into the street. "Welcome to Square Grimmauld, Islington," he said with a crooked grin. "My childhood neighbourhood. I say this, but I was the only one who interacted with the neighbours. Mother never found out, thankfully. I'm not sure what she would have done if she'd found out it wasn't Gryffindor who'd corrupted me. Burnt down the townhouse maybe," he said, waving a hand towards two houses bearing the numbers 11 and 13. "Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Your new home, now that it no longer looks like a mausoleum. Only if you like it, of course," he rushed to add. "Otherwise we'll have to look at the other family properties, or buy an entirely new thing, I'll have to do some research."

Haron cut him off with a grin. "It sounds like I'm not the one in need of convincing." Sirius' expression turned sheepish. "We don't need to stay here if this place has too many bad memories," he assured, having a sudden inkling of what might be causing his father's hesitation.

He wasn't sure he could have borne living in Privet Drive even after refurbishing it. He probably would have passed by the cupboard under the stairs every day and heard whispers of the word freak. He couldn't have stood in the kitchen without feeling like he was doing something wrong by pouring himself a glass of water or cooking for himself. He would have felt the tingling of a hand tearing at his hair in the garden, tugging him towards the petunias with orders to tend to them before the day was out.

"Don't worry about me, love. This house has many good memories too, you know? Reggie was there and seeing him grow from a little whiny toddler to a pouty teenager in these walls was wonderful. It'll be a privilege to see you to adulthood here as well."

Haron blinked rapidly before nodding silently. Love came so easy to Sirius, he didn't know how he did it. 

He certainly had no such good memories in Privet Drive.

"Let's go, dad," he murmured, tugging at his father's arms.

Sirius made a choking sound before leading him along. He cast a notice-me-not charm before making a movement with his hand. The Black family magic stirred and a minute later, Number 12, Grimmauld Place was conjured from thin air.

The building stood out from the others. It was much less dilapidated for one, the facade of the Edwardian building almost gleaming in comparison with the grimy greyed-out bricks surrounding it. Sirius tugged him along and unlocked the door with a simple touch of the handle.

The entrance hall was bright and welcoming, painted white and decorated with mahogany furniture and red and yellow stained glass lamps. It was a mix of tasteful and welcoming that reminded Haron of Hogwarts. 

"We used to have a troll leg coat rack, it was a hideous thing," commented Sirius as he took his shoes off. 

Haron imitated him. 

"That sounds... unsanitary."

"Hm, my mother had terrible taste."

Sirius tensed, as if waiting for a blow before laughing it off. He told Haron about his mother's horrid portrait and the renovations he had needed done to move it out of the house. As he did so, he took his son from room to room, showing off the new decorations as he went and commented on where things used to be. So far, cream and white paint, mahogany wood and gold finishes seemed to reign supreme, with an emphasis on comfort and understated elegance that Haron found very charming. He especially liked the living room, with its huge brown couches and the dark fireplace at the centre of the room. 

"I haven't figured out how to put a TV in a magical home, but that will be a project for later. I want to have movie nights without going to the cinema from time to time."

"Sounds great," mumbled Haron before opening the dining room, unwilling to let Sirius see him blinking back tears at this easy assumption of future family nights. 

"There's a ballroom further to the back. Reggie insisted I keep as it is and it's all silver chandeliers, mirrors and gleaming floors so I guess it's not terrible, though I'm still not sure why we need a ballroom here when we already have a bloody castle for that kind of thing."

Haron teased him about how casual he was about the Rook and House Black's dominion over the magical city of Blackmoore.

They made short work of the ground floor, then Sirius took him to the basement, where there were a potions lab, a ritual room, a wine cellar, a very well-stocked pantry and servants' quarters.

"The house elves used to live there," said Sirius, pointing to the rooms at the back. "But Kreacher's the only one who might live there — he's technically free but he still follows Reggie around like he hasn't been given clothes — and I'm not planning on contracting another one, so I'm not too sure what to do with it. I'm planning on setting up a self-cleaning array to take care of the upkeep and employ caterers if we ever need to host, so servants won't be necessary, but that's something to figure out for later." At Haron's pleading look he added with a good-natured sigh, "Yes you can look at the array."

The first floor had two offices, an indoor garden and a library. The offices were decked out in dark wood and Slytherin green wallpaper while the library was silver and baby blue with shelves of light wood. Haron ran his hands along the spines appreciatively, eyeing up the cozy armchairs with excitement.

"That's wonderful. Very Ravenclaw," he noted, which had his father winking at him.

The second floor held the bedrooms. Sirius teased Haron by showing him the guestrooms first, then Regulus' and his rooms, polar opposites and still sporting very obvious Hogwarts House biases. 

Haron's room was next to Sirius', and meticulously decorated with a private library, a writing desk, a large wardrobe and the most comfortable bed he'd ever seen. While Haron expected to see blue everywhere, he was pleasantly surprised to find that aside from a dark blue and bronze mural behind his bed, the room was more neutral than he'd expected.

"I was very tempted to go overboard but I want you to decorate this place however you want. It's yours, after all. You should feel at ease here," nervously explained Sirius. "Do you like it?"

The teenager smiled brightly. 

"I love it."

After Haron, Su-a and Padma received Hermione's extensive letters of apology and accepted the sentiment behind them, they met for Charlie's first training session.

They obtained Professor McGonagall's permission to use an abandoned classroom between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers, and set up there to put Haron's brother through his paces.

Padma was excited. Not that she cared about training up the one she'd taken to calling the lesser twin. She wanted him alive, of course, it would hurt her friend too much if something happened to Charlie, but she didn't particularly wish to see him win. She was rooting for Fleur instead, which would be very un-patriotic of her if Padma actually cared about such things. As far as she was concerned, Cedric had terrible taste in women, she hadn't yet forgiven Charlie for enabling his terrible friends and generally being an ass even if he was a good brother, and Viktor was a little too dour for her taste. She'd cheer if they won of course, but she would be much happier if the French witch showed them all what women were capable of.

Now she was more excited for the chance to see Haron duel. Her friend came alive when he did; it was always a delight to witness.

Not that she had seen him duel often. It had only happened a handful of times in third-year; Robert Hilliard, Ravenclaw's best prefect and the man who single-handedly saved Haron's sanity before Padma and Su-a got there used to ask people to duel him when he was feeling anxious. Few people ever took him up on his offer, rarely wishing to be humiliated, but Haron didn't care about losing. He just wanted to help the person who had always helped him.

Rob used to be scared of hurting Haron at first, but he soon found out that for all Haron lacked the spell repertoire of a seventh-year, he had lightning-fast reflexes and his spells packed a punch even at thirteen-year-old. 

They both learned a lot from it. Haron taught himself to be creative and make use of his terrain — rather than always using Expelliarmus like he did the first times — and Rob had to get faster and faster to keep up with the monster he had created. Su-a and Padma used to have so much fun watching them, and she dearly hoped these training sessions would bring similar joy.

Little did she know, it would be even better.

For all of Haron's skills and his adaptability, Rob had too many years on him. He lost more than he won and struggled to bridge the gap. But Charlie and Haron were on an even keel, with Haron having the slight edge given to him by his previous experience duelling Rob and the amount of spellbooks he devoured.

They were thrilling to watch. Hermione certainly agreed; she was writing down spells furiously on a parchment, cross-referencing the notebook Haron had brought with his ideas, focusing on general duelling spells, as well as charms to disable enchantments and survive hostile environments. Su-a had added general spells targeted towards magical creatures, and Padma her own potion ideas focusing on abjuration, reinforcement and healing. They'd made sure to avoid organising it into a lesson plan, Haron having apparently been warned by Charlie that Hermione was very particular about that kind of thing and more likely to gut the entire thing and remake it, which sounded rude to Padma but was ultimately not her problem. She would let the Boy-Who-Lived handle his bestie, she had her hands full with hers.

Said girl was almost frothing at the mouth from excitement, which had Padma and Su-a exchanging looks and pointedly focusing on the duel, where Haron was correcting Charlie as he went in a kindly professor's tone which was obviously annoying his twin, though the boy was self-aware enough to keep it to himself. It wasn't patronising at all, but his voice showed this quiet confidence that made it obvious that he had more experience, which was always jarring to hear from someone their own age.

Padma didn't think Haron was doing it on purpose, that was just his default state when he felt confident explaining something. She and Su-a had dealt with the same issue when their friend had started teaching them the Patronus charm. 

Besides, considering Charlie was more used to Hermione's lecturing tone, the Ravenclaw witch rather thought this was preferable. 

The boys lowered their wands after Charlie fumbled a spell he was previously very confident using due to exhaustion, and came back to the girls to do some theoretical learning.

"That was really cool, guys," gushed Su-a, earning herself a fond grin from Haron and a flattered once over from Charlie before the boy abruptly remembered the Korean girl not only had a boyfriend but also was one of his brother's best friends and grimaced.

Padma narrowed her eyes at him. Charlie mouthed an apology, his expression sheepish. She nodded at him. She understood Su-a was really pretty so she wouldn't hold it against him as long as he stayed respectful. She did note that the boy was extremely susceptible to flattery. That explained how he ended up hanging out with the three stooges, she supposed. 

(Which was a little unfair of her. Seamus, Dean and Ron weren't exactly sycophants. They obviously had their own interests. Dean with his art, Ron with chess and Seamus with whatever he did when he wasn't looking at Lavender's tits. They just also happened to act like Charlie was the greatest thing since the invention of the cauldron every time anything to do with Quidditch or DADA was mentioned.

Padma had once heard Seamus argue with Ernie McMillan that Charlie would win a duel against Professor Flitwick without issue, like the Head of House Ravenclaw wasn't a duelling champion.)

"I guess you're not totally hopeless, Potter," teased Padma, keeping her smile friendly. She wasn't Draco Malfoy, please.

But she'd be watching him.

Trouble started when Charlie found out from Hagrid that the first task was dragons.

He thought about telling Ron about it, certain that his best friend would stop being mad at him if he just told him what he was facing. He was less sure about Dean and Seamus, though he was more confident about the former than the latter, but he was pretty confident that Ron would get it then. They'd known each other since they were eight, there was no way he'd keep scowling at him like that if he knew, right?

In the end, he'd been too much of a coward to confront his friend. Instead, he'd donned the invisibility cloak and made his way to Ravenclaw Tower, where an eagle door knocker asked him, "What goes up but never comes down?"

Ten minutes later, he was still arguing with the dumb thing, "— blimey I don't know, it could be anything! Who thought it was a good idea to put a riddle instead of a password to enter a bloody common room? What if the students have to go to the loo, do they have to wait for ages until someone comes in?"

Charlie blinked. He thought about what he just said. 

"Bloody hell. What goes up and not down, it's age isn't it?"

The eagle blinked. The door opened.

"That was so stupid," he muttered, creeping in, only to stop short when he realised he didn't know which dorm his brother slept in.