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Chapter Text

Harry was walking toward the Great Hall with his friends, Hermione and Ron. His laughter echoed lightly off the stone walls, but it was cut short when a sudden jolt of magic struck him. His body went rigid, his eyes wide for a moment, before he collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, her voice piercing through the chatter of the students nearby. Her hands shook as she dropped to her knees beside him, brushing his messy fringe back.

Ron's face drained of color. "Bloody hell, Harry--" He bent down to help Hermione, panic written in every line of his freckled face.

Gasps and shouts rang out across the Great Hall as dozens of students stopped mid-bite, turning toward the sudden commotion. Benches scraped against the floor as people craned their necks.

Professor McGonagall swept down from the staff table, her tartan robes billowing with urgency. "What happened?" she demanded, her sharp eyes flicking from Harry's still body to Hermione's pale, worried face.

"I-I don't know," Hermione stammered, her voice cracking. "We were walking into the Great Hall when a random spell hit him and-- and he just collapsed."

Ron nodded, his hand gripping Harry's shoulder as if that alone could anchor him. "One second he was fine, the next he just... dropped."

McGonagall's lips thinned. She knelt and placed a hand just above Harry's chest, murmuring diagnostic spells. A faint blue glow shimmered above his heart before fading. She exhaled, relieved. "He is not in immediate danger. The spell...it was not harmful. More like a forced stasis."

Before she could say more, a strange voice boomed through the hall, reverberating against the stone walls.

"HELLO HOGWARTS."

The voice was neither male nor female, but deep and resonant, making every candle flicker. The Great Hall fell into absolute silence. Even the enchanted ceiling trembled slightly with the force of it.

McGonagall rose to her feet, her wand clutched tightly. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

"WHO I AM IS NOT OF IMPORTANCE"

The voice answered, sending another ripple of unease through the crowd. Whispers broke out among the students, some clutching at each other.

All at once, the torches along the walls flared brighter, and in the center of the hall, a chair materialized--hovering inches off the ground. A warped, silvery screen floated above it, glowing faintly. Gasps echoed.

"What in Merlin's name--" Ron muttered, gaping.

Hermione clutched his arm, her mind racing. "It's some sort of magical projection...but I've never read anything this advanced."

The voice spoke again, louder, as if savoring the suspense.

"IT IS TIME TO SEE THE PAST OF HADRIAN'S PARENTS."

Students broke into frantic whispers.

"Hadrian?" A Ravenclaw girl frowned. "Who's Hadrian?"

"I thought we were learning about Potter's past?" another Hufflepuff whispered.

McGonagall's brows knitted. "Hadrian..." she murmured under her breath, realization dawning. She looked down at Harry's still body with a mix of confusion and horror.

Harry stirred, his lashes fluttering as though he had been roused by the sound of his own forgotten name. He groaned, blinking blearily before sitting upright with Hermione and Ron's help. "Wha--what's going on?" His voice was hoarse.

The voice answered him directly this time.

"WHY, HADRIAN, IS WHO YOU ARE KNOWN AS HARRY POTTER."

The words slammed into Harry like a physical blow. His breath caught in his throat. The hall erupted--students shouting, some standing on benches, their disbelief bouncing from wall to wall.

"Harry Potter isn't Harry Potter?!" a Slytherin exclaimed.

"What rubbish--" another student scoffed, though uneasy.

McGonagall raised her hand sharply. "Silence!" But even her voice wavered slightly, betraying her unease. She turned to Harry, "Mr. Potter... is this true?"

Harry stared blankly at the floor, shaking his head slowly. "I-I don't know. My name is Harry. That's all I've ever known." His fists clenched as if the stone beneath him could offer stability.

The voice continued, implacable.

"TODAY, YOU WILL SEE THE PAST OF HADRIAN POTTER-BLACK'S PARENTS."

The room fell utterly still. Every eye swung back to Harry. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The only noise was the loud pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Hermione's face paled further, "Harry... Potter-Black?" she whispered, glancing at Ron, who looked like someone had just told him the world was upside down.

Ron gawked at Harry, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're... you're a Black?"

Harry shook his head furiously, his voice breaking. "No--I'm not--my name is Potter, just Potter!" His voice cracked, almost desperate, but his eyes were glassy with tears. "That's who I am..."

Yet even as he said it, something in his chest twisted painfully.

The voice was merciless.

"YES, YOUNG ONE. AND TODAY YOU WILL SEE THEIR PAST."

The floating screen glowed brighter, sending shafts of silver light spilling across the Great Hall. Students shifted restlessly, unsure whether to be afraid or excited. Some leaned forward eagerly, as if waiting for a play to begin.

Harry's whole body trembled. He wanted to run, to flee from whatever truth was about to unravel--but Hermione's hand squeezed his, grounding him. He turned to her, his voice low and ragged. "If this is real... then who am I?"

Hermione's eyes glistened with sympathy. "Whoever you've always been, Harry. Hadrian or not--you're still you."

Ron nodded quickly, his ears red with confusion. "Yeah, mate. Don't matter what name they throw at you. You're still the same git we know."

Harry gave a weak, wavering smile at his friends, clinging to their words.

Around them, the Great Hall hushed again as the screen began to shift, shadows forming images within it. The students and staff alike leaned forward, their faces illuminated by the eerie glow.

Everyone was ready to witness the past--Harry most of all, though fear coiled tightly in his stomach

Chapter Text

The silvery screen hovered in the center of the Great Hall, humming faintly as though alive with magic. Students whispered amongst themselves, the tension so thick that even the enchanted ceiling above seemed to hold its breath. Some were speculating what James Potter might have looked like in his school years, while others wondered what Hogwarts itself would resemble decades earlier.

Harry, however, sat rigidly at the Gryffindor table, his stomach twisting. His hands were balled into fists on his knees, though he barely noticed Hermione's hand resting gently atop one. Ron tried to distract him with muttered jokes about what sort of trouble James had gotten up to, but Harry's eyes never left the glowing projection. His chest felt heavy--what if this really was his parents past, and not some cruel trick?

Then the screen flickered to life.

[HOGWARTS-1977, 7TH YEAR]

// The courtyard appeared first, the castle bathed in the warm gold of an afternoon sun. Students lounged across the stone benches, some practicing charms, others laughing over sweets and parchment. The scene was calm, almost idyllic--until the Marauders came into view.

Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter sat sprawled together, James tossing a quill into the air repeatedly while Sirius leaned back with that familiar arrogant smirk. Remus had a book open, but his eyes weren't on the page, darting every now and then toward his friends' antics. Peter watched, trying to keep up with their laughter. //

Gasps rippled through the watching students in the Great Hall. "It's them..." someone whispered. "The Marauders."

Harry's breath caught. His father looked so alive, so young, his grin wide as he teased Sirius about something too quiet to hear. McGonagall pressed her lips together tightly, though her eyes softened with reluctant fondness.

The courtyard doors opened again in the projection. Out stepped Regulus Black, younger than Harry had ever pictured him, with neat robes and a sharp, elegant posture that contrasted Sirius' wild energy. At his side was Pandora, her pale hair catching the sunlight as she spoke animatedly. Their head were close together, clearly lost in a discussion. Harry leaned forward, straining to hear.

"They're talking about spell craft," Hermione whispered, awed. "Creating new ones."

// Pandora gestured with her hands, her words lively, while Regulus listened with rare patience, occasionally cutting in with a dry remark. His lips twitched in what might have been a half-smile--something that startled several Slytherins watching in the Hall.

Back in the courtyard, Sirius noticed them. His smirk widened into something sharper, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Without warning, he produced a pair of scissors--no one could tell from where-- and twirled them between his fingers. //

Gasps erupted from the Hall.

"He's not--" Hermione began, horrified.

// Sirius flicked his wrist, and the scissors shot across the yard, glinting in the sun like a deadly dart. Students around the Marauders flinched, some shouting in alarm.

But before the blades could strike, Regulus tilted his head slightly--almost lazily-- and his hand shot up. The scissors stopped inches from his face, caught cleanly between his fingers. The courtyard fell silent. //

Harry's jaw dropped. "He-he caught them?"

// Pandora's eyes widened in horror, her hands flying to her mouth. She froze, staring at the object that could have ended her friend's life, then looked at Regulus like she wasn't sure he was real.

Across the yard, Sirius burst into laughter, clapping his hands in amusement. James choked on his own laughter beside him, half in disbelief, half in admiration.

Regulus, unfazed, twirled the scissors once in his hand before letting them vanish with a flick of his wand. He met his brother's eyes across the courtyard, a smirk tugging at his lips. 'Nice trye, brother," he called cooly.

Sirius grinned wolfishly, leaning back on the bench. "Good to know you haven't lost your touch." //

Students in the Great Hall erupted with whispers. Some were impressed, others horrified. Several Ravenclaws muttered about the precision it would take to sense and catch something like that, while a few Gryffindors laughed nervously, not sure if they should cheer or scold.

// Remus finally spoke up, lowering his book with wide eyes. His voice was steady but carried a note of unease. "Okay... why?"

Sirius waved him off, still chuckling. "What? Perfectly normal, Moony."

Regulus, crossing the yard now with Pandora still hovering anxiously at his side, added without missing a beat: "It's a game. Something we did at Grimmauld Place when our parents weren't home." //

Even the projection students around them paused at that revelation. In the Great Hall, a wave of murmurs surged through the crowd.

// Pandora, unable to shake the fear, reached out and tugged gently at Regulus' sleeve, then brushed her fingers across his shoulder, almost testing if he was truly solid. She touched the faint shimmer of skin that seemed to exist more as magic then flesh. Her lips pressed together, her eyes shining with something like relief.

Regulus glanced at her, reading her reaction instantly. "Sorry there, Pandora," he said softly, the faintest flicker of guilt in his expression. "Didn't mean to frighten you."

She nodded, accepting it, though her hand stayed on him for a moment longer.

James, meanwhile, slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning dramatically. 'You two are going to give me a heart attack one of these days!"

Remus nodded gravely, though his lips twitched like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or worry. Peter, wide-eyed, leaned forward in awe. "How did you do that?" he whispered to Regulus.

Regulus smirked but didn't answer, only raising a brow as if the mystery was part of the point. //

Back in the Great Hall, the students erupted with reactions. Gryffindors laughed, half-shocked, while Slytherins sat straighter, some with pride, others with disdain. A few Hufflepuffs whispered about Pandora's loyalty, while Ravenclaws muttered excitedly about the magical reflexes it must have taken.

Harry sat frozen, torn between disbelief and fascination. His chest ached strangely as he watched Regulus--his papa-- banter with Sirius like it was the most natural thing in the world. The connection between them was both sharp and unspoken, a mix of rivalry, affection, and danger that left Harry breathless.

McGonagall cleared her throat softly, her expression tight as she addressed the other professors. "If this is only the beginning of what we're to see... I shudder to think of what else awaits."

The screen shimmered again, preparing to shift to the next memory. All of Hogwarts held its breath.

Chapter Text

The screen in the Great Hall flickered and brightened, pulling every eye back to its surface. The whispers died down into expectant silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle of feet or the rustle of robes. Harry, still tense from everything he had seen so far, sat stiffly between Ron and Hermione, his heart thudding.

[QUIDDITCH PITCH - 1976 HOGWARTS]

The image sharpened to show a bright, windy day. The Quidditch stands were filled with students, their cheers muted in the projection, though the excitement was clear in their waving arms and jumping bodies.

And then--there he was.

Regulus Black soared through the air, robes streaming behind him, his expression calm and composed despite the speed. His hair was perfectly in place, not even a strand shifting out of order as though even the wind respected him.

Gasps rippled through the Hall.

"Merlin's beard," muttered Seamus from Gryffindor, eyes wide. "He flies like a professional."

"Not a hair out of place," a Hufflepuff girl added dreamily.

Harry's chest tightened as he watched. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

// Then, cutting through the air came a voice from another broom.

"Hey, Reggie!" //

The crowd in the projection laughed, and gasps erupted in the Hall. James Potter swept beside Regulus, a smirk plastered on his face, his broom cutting the air effortlessly.

"Reggie?" Ron choked, trying not to laugh. "Oh, mate, no wonder you're embarrassed--your dad called your other one Reggie." 

Harry let out a half-snort despite himself, his eyes glued to the screen. "I... I can't believe he actually called him that."

// Onscreen, Regulus glared daggers at James, his lips pressed into a thin, furious line. He snapped, "Don't. Call. Me. That." //

Students in the Hall chuckled. A few Slytherins hissed. Blaise leaned lazily against his bench, smirking. "Looks like Potter blood has a habit off pestering Blacks."

Theo, however, was staring at Harry instead of the screen, his expression soft and amused. "I don't know.," he muttered, just loud enough for those around him to hear. "Harru makes it look charming."

Harry whipped his head toward him, startled, while Ron immediately sputtered. "What?! Did you just--"

Blaise snorted. "Theo, you're practically drooling. Subtlety clearly isn't a Nott trait."

Pansy leaned in, her smile wicked. "Oh, this is rich. Theodore Nott, absolutely lovestruck by the Boy Who Lived."

The Hall erupted into scattered laughter. Theodore flushed scarlet but refused to look away from Harry. "I'm just saying he's... expressive. It's not a crime to notice."

Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes with an exaggerated huff. "Honestly, Theo, if you're going to fall over yourself, pick someone less insufferable." He flicked a sharp glance at Harry, though his tone lacked its usual venom. "Not that I care who you swoon over."

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't rise to the bait. "Wow, thanks, Malfoy. Always the charmer."

Hermione gave a small cough, trying to redirect the tension. "Maybe we should actually pay attention to what's happening--"

// Back on screen, James leaned close, grinning at Regulus. "What do you want, Potter?" Regulus snapped, leaning off his broom just enough to lock eyes with him.

"Oh, nothing, Baby black," James said cheerfully, voice dripping with mischief. "Just wanted to come out here and fly with you."

Regulus's nostrils flared. "Well go somewhere else; I was here first."

James only smirked wider, flying closer, ignoring the glares. "Never."

The two wove through the air in a chaotic dance, Regulus attempting to shake him, James poking and prodding, laughter echoing as Regulus's irritation mounted. //

Students in the Hall began laughing too, some clapping in rhythm with the chase.

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose in the projection, muttering something about reckless Gryffindors. In the Great Hall, she mirrored the same gesture, drawing chuckles from the students.

Then suddenly, Regulus swerved too hard. His broom wobbled. His hand slipped, The crowd in the projection screamed.

In the Great Hall, gasps rang out. Harry's breath stopped in his throat.

//Regulus tipped forward, beginning to fall.

"REGULUS!"

James dove like lightning, broomstick angled down at a terrifying speed. The wind ripped at his hair as he closed the gap, catching Regulus by the waist before he could plummet. They tumbled together to the ground, James wrapping his arms tightly around him to shield him from the impact. //

The crowd in the projection went wild.

In the Hall, everyone let out a collective exhale.

// Regulus blinked up at James in shock, stunned by how tightly he was held. James didn't let go immediately, his arms still firm, his forehead pressed briefly to Regulus's shoulder.

"You're fine," James said roughly, his voice soft but trembling. "I've got you."

"I'm fine, Potter," Regulus whispered back, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. For just a heartbeat, his guard slipped. //

Harry swallowed hard, eyes stinging as watching one of his parents almost die even if it is the past is heart wrenching.

Theo leaned closer, his voice a hushed whisper for Harry's ears alone.  "See? Even when he was being annoying, he cared deeply."

Harry shot him a sharp look, cheeks heating, which only made Blaise chuckle and Pansy smirk harder.

From behind Harry, Luna appeared as if she had always been there, serene and dreamy. "It's rather romantic, don't you think? Falling from the sky, only to be caught by the one person you can't quite stand."

Ron yelped, nearly toppling off the bench. "Bloody--Luna! Where did you come from?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. "Honestly, how do you keep sneaking up on us?"

Harry, however, barely reacted. "Hi, Luna."

She smiled serenely, settling beside him. "Hello, Harry."

The screen dimmed slightly, signaling the end of the memory. The Hall erupted in chatter, laughter, and debate. Some swooned over James's dramatic save, others teased about Regulus's scowl, and still others muttered about the chaos of Gryffindors and Blacks.

Harry sat still, trying to process, but for the first time that evening, he felt a small smile tug at his lips. Surrounded by his friends--old and new--he realized maybe, just maybe, watching these memories wouldn't only hurt. They also might heal.

The projection shimmered again, ready to reveal the next chapter of the past.

Chapter Text

[GRIMMAULD PLACE - 1976]

"Hmm, same year. Something else must have happened," Hermione murmurs, her face pale as the screen flickers.

//Regulus is in his room, studying, when raised voices thunder through the walls. At first he ignores it--fights are normal here. But the sound of a suitcase slamming and footsteps storming closer makes him look up.

The door bursts open. Sirius stands there, suitcase in hand, his face twisted with anger and defiance.

Regulus blinks. "Siri?"

"I'm leaving, Reggie," Sirius sats flatly, though his voice trembles with suppressed rage.

Regulus feels his chest tighten. He nods slowly. "I know...'

Sirius grabs his hand suddenly, his eyes blazing. "Then come with me. Come now-- we'll both be free. We don't have to stay here, Reg."

Regulus stares at him, torn. He wants nothing more than to say yes, but the chains of expectation weigh him down. His jaw tightens. "I can't. Someone has to stay. Someone has to... make it easier."

Sirius rips his hand back, fury boiling over. "Easier? You'd rather rot here than live? You'd rather bend to them than breathe?"

The words sting, Regulus' own anger sparks. "Don't act like it's so simple! You get to run--I'm the one left behind to hold it together! You don't understand what it costs me to stay."

The two brothers glare at each other, anger cackling in the air. Then, softer, Regulus swallows hard. "I may not be able to go... but I'll get you out, even if it kills me."

Sirius falters, his expression shifting-- hurt, frustrated, concerned, but touched. He knows that it won't be easy to be here, in this house that isn't a home.

He goes to say something when a sharp voice slices through the shadows. Sirius and Regulus move out the door as at the bottom of the stairs is their mother. "What are you doing? Walburga says calmly, but she isn't calm as her wand is already drawn, and her eyes are glaring like knives. //

The students in the Great Hall gasp audibly. Whispers erupt: "That's their mother?" "She looks murderous--"

// Sirius shoves Regulus behind him, defiance blazing. "I'm leaving. And I'm taking Regulus with me." Sirius says without a second thought, not paying head to Regulus glare as he never said he was coming with.

Her lips curl. "You dare defy me? You filthy traitor--"

"Try and stop us!" Sirius snarls as he sprints for the door, making sure she can't sneak up on him,

But she is quicker. The Cruciatus curse hits him squarely, his scream tearing through the room.

"NO!" Regulus yells, lunging forward, only to be blasted aside. //

The students in the hall cry out in shock. Hermione covers her mouth, Neville's eyes glisten as he's reminded of his parents being under the same curse that took their minds, and several Slytherins stare, stunned into silence.

"Stop it--he's your son!" A Gryffindor yells toward the screen, their voice cracking.

But the image does not stop.

// Regulus, hands trembling, snatches Sirius' wand from the floor. He lifts it, his voice breaking: "Expelliarmus!"

He groans as the spell fizzles out weakly. Walburga turns on him, her fury like a storm. 

"You dare raise a wand at me, boy?"

The curse slams into him. He writhes, his screams joining Sirius', two brothers broken on the floor beneath their mother's hand.

Finally, she withdraws, sweeping away as if they are insects unworthy of further attention.

Regulus is left gasping, sobbing silently. Sirius lies limp, unconscious beside him.

Every muscle screams in pain as Regulus drags himself upright. Gripping Sirius, trying to move him under his arms. He strains and shakes but refuses to stop. Inch by inch, he hauls his brother's unconscious body to the fireplace.

He throws a handful of Floo powder in with trembling hands and yells, voice hoarse: "Potter Manor!"

Green flames burst up, swallowing them whole.

[POTTER MANOR]

James jolts upright from his seat on the couch as Regulus stumbles through the fire, Sirius collapsed in his arms.

"Help him!" Regulus gasps, dropping to his knees. "Make sure he's--make sure he's all right!"

Effie rushes in at once, wand already moving to check Sirius' pulse and breathing. Monty grabs blankets, lowering Sirius gently onto the couch.

James crouches in front of Regulus, who is trembling violently, his eyes darting to the fire.

"Your not going back," James says firmly, reading his intent.

Regulus' eyes flash. "I have to. If I stay, she'll come for him. She'll drag him back. I can't let that happen."

"You'll be torn apart if you return," James counters, voice sharp and full of worry. "Stay. Stay here, Regulus. You'll be safe."

Regulus shakes his head, his jaw set. "I'm not safe anywhere. But I can still protect him if I play their game. If I'm there, they'll focus on me, not him."

The two boys lock eyes, a silent, furious clash of wills. James' hand hovers like he wants to grab him, hold him there--keep him from vanishing back into the flames.

Regulus voice softens, low but cutting. "You can love him and protect him, James. But I'm his brother. I'll burn before I let them break him again."

James goes still, the words stealing his breath. For the first time, worry and admiration coil together in his chest.

The flames roar again. Regulus throws one last glance at Sirius--then steps back into the fire. //

The screen flickers and fades to black.

The Great Hall is silent. No one moves. The sound of Regulus' last words--"I'll burn before I let them break him again"--seems to linger in the air long after the vision is gone.

Students shift uncomfortably. A few Gryffindors, who had been the loudest during the scene, now sit with wide eyes, staring at their hands. Others look away, as if ashamed they had begged for it to stop when it never could.

"They're brothers," someone whispers from Hufflepuff, voice breaking. "And their mum--she... she did that to them?"

Gasps ripple, sickened and disbelieving.

From the Slytherin table, several students look pale. A fifth-year mutters. "No wonder Sirius ran away." Another says, quieter still, "No wonder Regulus joined..." --but the thought dies before it's finished.

Draco Malfoy sits frozen, his usually sharp composure cracked wide open. He looks stricken--eyes darting, calculating. He knows the Black family tree by heart, knows that Walburga Black was his grandmother's sister. His mouth opens, shuts, as realization takes root. His mother, Narcissa, had grown up in that same house, under those same screams. She never spoke of it. Never let him see it. But now he knows--she must have endured the shadow of it, survived by shielding him. His throat goes dry, a rare flash of gratitude and fear twisting his features.

At Ravenclaw, a girl mutters, "Why show us this? Why would anyone need to see this?" Her friend shakes her head, eyes damp. "Because it happened. Because this is the world some people came from."

The hall feels heavier, sadder, as if the magic itself absorbed the grief.

At the staff table, McGonagall has pressed a handkerchief to her lips, her stern composure betrayed by trembling fingers. Slughorn, for once, is white as parchment, whispering to himself about "the noble House of Black..." as if the name suddenly tastes like ash.

And Dumbledore--he watches it all with cool, calculating calm. His hands are folded neatly before him, his eyes shadowed but not sorrowful. If anything, there is something disturbingly detached in his expression, as though this tragedy was already weighed, measured, and folded into the great tapestry of sacrifice he has long since decided upon. A flicker of cold steel passes across his face before his usual serene mask returns.

The students don't notice it. They are too shaken up, too wrapped in their own confusion.

"They're Harry's family," someone says in a low, wavering voice. "That was his father. Why would he... why would he stay, knowing he'd be hurt like that?"

No one answered. Only questions.

The silence stretches long and uneasy, broken only by the sound of a few stifled sobs, the scrape of a bench as someone shifts uncomfortably, the faint creak of the old castle itself.

As the day winds down, the hall is left not with understanding--but with disgust, horror, and an aching sadness that such a thing could have been allowed to happen at all.

Chapter Text

[HOGWARTS— CORRIDOR, 1976]

The memory opened into a long, dim corridor of Hogwarts, its torches burning low in the late hours of the night. Shadows stretched across the flagstones, the silence broken only by the faint echo of footsteps. It was empty--too empty for anything innocent.

// Severus Snape appeared, striding down the hall with his usual air of cold composure, when a hand shot out from the shadows and slammed him against the wall. The impact resounded sharply, a crack against stone. //

Students and teachers watching the memory from the present stiffened, leaning in as the figure stepped forward into the flickering torchlight.

// Regulus Black.

He stood rigid, his pale features hardened, eyes burning with an icy ferocity. "Say Severus," he greeted with venom, his tone deceptively calm, but the contempt was unmistakable.

Snape's expression never shifted. Even pinned to the wall, he remained stone-faced, his black eyes void of fear or panic. His mask was impenetrable, as if carved from granite. Not a flicker of emotion betrayed what he was thinking. It unsettled those watching the memory--how he could stand so still, so expressionless, with another's wand pressing close.

"You must not know your place," Regulus hissed, stepping closer.

"What is the reason for this, Black?" Snape's voice was quiet, measured, edged with irritation that barely touched the surface. He sounded like a man brushing off an annoyance rather than someone being threatened.

Regulus's glare sharpened, voice dropping lower. "I hear you've been telling people Lupin is a werewolf." //

The words slashed through the silence like a blade. In the present, gasps erupted from the students packed into the viewing room. Some clapped hands over their mouths in shock. Others exchanged hurried whispers--Lupin, a werewolf. For many, this was their first time hearing the truth.

The Gryffindors stared in disbelief, while the Slytherins smirked or scowled depending on where their loyalties lay. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked stricken, their eyes darting to each other, already imagining the weight this moment must have carried for Remus.

McGonagall's lips thinned into a hard line, her eyes flashing with disappointment. Not at Remus, not at Regulus, but at the bitter cruelty of the secret being spoken aloud and used as a weapon. Dumbledore, in contrast, sat quietly, his gaze steady and analytical, every word and action absorbed with the precision of a man who saw far more than most would admit. His fingers were folded, his face calm, but his eyes burned with silent calculation.

// In the corridor of the past, Snape's voice broke the tension with chilling indifference. "So what of it? You're conspiring with blood traitors. What if your mother were to hear about this?" His words were sharper than any hex, deliberately aimed where he knew it would wound.

The effect was instantaneous. Regulus's face darkened, the icy calm fracturing into something dangerous. He stepped closer, wand pressing into Snape's throat with sudden force. The tip glowed faintly, the threat unmistakable.

"You dare," Regulus spat, his voice trembling with fury, "to use her name against me? You insolent fool." He leaned closer, eyes blazing. "My brother may be disowned, but he is still a Black. While I tolerate him only to a point, I tolerate you less. You think because I despise Sirius that I would let you expose Lupin? That I would let you put a target on his back?" His voice grew lower, colder. "You are wrong."

Snape remained immovable, his expression as lifeless and sharp as ice. But his silence carried weight--like an iron door refusing to yield. It infuriated Regulus, whose hand trembled with restrained rage.

"I'll make this clear," Regulus growled. "You will not say a word of Lupin's condition. You will not whisper his name in malice. You will not use my family against me." He pressed the wand harder against Severus's throat, his voice dropping to a whisper thick with threat.

"Because if you do--you won't live long enough to regret it." //

The present-day audience was spellbound. Gasps and murmurs rolled like waves across the room. Some students stared at Regulus in disbelief--he was defending the Marauders? Defending Lupin of all people? To stand against Snape, and by extension against those who would exploit Remus's secret, was a twist none of them had expected.

Whispers broke out. Why would Regulus care? Wasn't he supposed to be loyal to his family's ideals? Some of the Slytherins looked outraged, others impressed, while the Gryffindors struggled to hide their awe and confusion.

Hermione's brow furrowed, her voice soft but tense. "He was protecting Remus..." Ron only shook his head, stunned. Harry's jaw tightened, understanding the magnitude of the moment--Regulus wasn't the loyal follower everyone believed him to be.

McGonagall exhaled sharply, her disappointment deepening-- not in Regulus, but in the reminder of how dangerous it was for children to carry the burdens of adult wars. She saw bravery there, but also recklessness, the kind that destroyed young lives too soon.

Dumbledore, however, tilted his head ever so slightly, the gleam in his eyes betraying his thoughts. He saw strategy in Regulus's fury, saw a choice made not from blind temper but from conviction. His silence was not disapproval, but consideration of what he should've done with that. How he could've used it to his advantage.

// In the corridor, the standoff stretched like a taught wire, every second heavy with danger. Snape's blank, cold stare never wavered. Regulus's wand pressed harder, his threat hanging like a curse unspoken. //

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the memory froze, leaving its watchers with the suffocating echo of unspoken words and a truth that weighed heavier than any spell.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight spilled into the dormitory, painting the stone walls in warm gold. Harry blinked against it, his eyelids heavy, his body reluctant to move. His grey-green eyes, so unlike most others at Hogwarts, caught the light in a way that reminded him painfully of Regulus. He lay still, breathing slowly, as though silence and stillness might hold off the ache rising in his chest.

His thoughts, as they always did, circled back to the parents he had never truly known—James Potter and Regulus Black. He had heard stories, scraps from others, bits pieced together like a fragile mosaic: James’s laugh, reckless and brilliant, Regulus’s sharp wit and fierce loyalty hidden beneath layers of control. But he’d never felt the warmth of their arms, never heard their voices telling him they loved him.

And then there was Sirius, his uncle who had fought so hard to protect him, and Remus, his godfather, who had been a steady, gentle presence even when haunted by his own grief. Both of them had tried to give Harry pieces of what his parents might have given, but it wasn’t the same. Gratitude lived in him, yes, but so did the hunger for what he could never have.

Harry closed his eyes again, letting the silence hold him. For a rare moment, there was no immediate danger, no looming battle—only the sharp, twisting ache of absence.

A loud snore snapped him out of it. Ron had rolled onto his back, his head tilted at a ridiculous angle, mouth wide open. Harry let out a soft huff of laughter despite himself. For a heartbeat, the heaviness in his chest lifted.

He swung his legs over the bed, dressed slowly, and padded downstairs to the common room. The fire had burned low, leaving only embers glowing faintly. Hermione was already there, curled in an armchair with a massive book balanced on her knees. Morning light streamed over her hair, turning the curls into something almost ethereal.

“Hey, ’Mione,” Harry said quietly, settling onto the couch beside her.

She looked up at once, her gaze assessing, too perceptive as always. She marked her page and set the book aside. “Morning, Harry. You look… well, you look like you didn’t sleep much.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered automatically, staring at the fireplace as though it held the answers he needed. The words rang hollow even in his own ears.

Hermione tilted her head, her expression soft but insistent. “Are you really? I know it’s hard—seeing them.”

Harry’s throat tightened, the lump forming before he could swallow it back. “It just… hurts,” he admitted quietly. “I’ll never have the family I want, not the way I should. But at least now I know what they looked like. What I could’ve had.” His voice cracked. “It feels cruel, almost, being given that glimpse.”

Hermione’s eyes softened, and she leaned over, laying her head gently on his shoulder. Her hand found his arm, grounding him. “You may not have had them, Harry, but you were loved. Sirius, Remus… they gave you what they could. And you still have us. Me, Ron, the Weasleys. You’re not as alone as you feel.”

Harry turned toward her and hugged her tightly, desperate for the comfort. “Thanks, ’Mione,” he whispered, voice breaking.

A few minutes later, Ron stumbled down the stairs, hair sticking up at impossible angles. He mumbled something incoherent and immediately began piling food onto his plate once they reached the Great Hall. Harry picked at his breakfast, appetite dulled, his mind elsewhere.

Afterward, he slipped away, pudding clutched in his hand. Outside, the September air was crisp but not biting, and he found a tree near the lake where the water reflected the morning light like scattered diamonds. Settling against the trunk, he closed his eyes, breathing in the cool air.

He almost startled when a shadow fell across him. Opening his eyes, he found Theo Nott standing there, expression calm but attentive.

“Hey, Harry,” Theo said, lowering himself to the ground beside him. “Rough night?”

Harry gave a humorless laugh. “You could say that.” His fingers tightened around the pudding, as though it were an anchor. “It’s been a rollercoaster. I just… I’m glad I got to see their faces. James and Regulus. For once I don’t have to rely on half-remembered stories or bits of secondhand memory.”

Theo’s expression softened. He reached out, resting his hand over Harry’s, steady and reassuring. “I won’t pretend I know what that’s like. But I do know what it feels like to be haunted by things you can’t change. You don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here. Always.”

Harry’s chest tightened, but not from grief this time. He managed a small, real smile as he squeezed Theo’s hand. “Thanks,” he murmured. Together, they split the pudding, sharing a quiet moment of companionship that eased the ache inside Harry, if only slightly.

But peace never lasted.

When Theo left, Harry wandered the castle corridors without thinking, his feet leading him where his mind refused to go. By the time he stopped, he was back in the abandoned classroom. The blasted mirror loomed under its tarp like a living shadow. His breath caught.

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t.

But his feet moved anyway. His hand reached out, trembling as it brushed the dusty cloth. The mirror’s pull was magnetic, irresistible. He froze, every nerve in his body screaming both yes and no.

A sob ripped from his chest. He fell to his knees, shoulders shaking. The want was unbearable. He wanted James’s arm slung around his shoulders, Regulus’s quiet reassurance, their laughter, their love. He wanted to stop feeling like he was piecing together a life from scraps.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his palms to the cold stone floor. He wept until he had nothing left, until the storm inside him left him hollow and shaking. His eyes were swollen, his throat raw, but the mirror remained untouched.

At last, he forced himself to his feet, each movement slow and painful. An hour had passed. His body felt heavy as lead as he trudged back to the Gryffindor common room.

It was empty. He sank onto the couch before the cold fireplace, staring into the ashes. His thoughts churned endlessly. Should he call for Sirius? For Remus? Did he dare reach out to Moony and Pads, the only pieces of family he had left?

The questions clawed at him, but no answers came. All Harry could do was sit in the quiet, the shadows of his parents lingering in his mind, their absence both unbearable and impossible to let go.

Chapter Text

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Harry woke without the heaviness pressing down on his chest. The mirror still haunted his mind, its pull lingering in the back of his thoughts, but today was different. He had promised himself—no, he had promised his parents—that he wouldn’t let grief swallow him whole. Not today.

When he made his way down to the common room, Sirius was waiting, sprawled across one of the couches with the most unconvincing look of innocence Harry had ever seen.

“There he is!” Sirius declared, springing to his feet. “The man of the hour. Thought we’d lost you to brooding forever. Remus and I have decided it’s officially illegal for you to frown today.”

Remus appeared behind him, smiling faintly, though there was a softness in his amber eyes that told Harry he understood more than Sirius ever would. “He’s right. You’ve carried enough weight on your shoulders lately. Today, we’re going to give you something else to remember.”

Harry felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward despite himself. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. “It means we’re nicking food from the kitchens, dragging you outside, and actually letting you live for once. Come on.”

The day unfolded like a gift. They picnicked by the lake, the sunlight warm against their skin, the air filled with the sound of laughter and splashing as Sirius tried—and failed—not to fall in while showing off some sort of “Black family dive.” Remus sat back with Harry on the grass, shaking his head fondly at his best friend’s antics, occasionally joining in just enough to keep Sirius from doing something truly idiotic.

For a while, Harry just soaked it in—their presence, their warmth. He could almost imagine what it would’ve been like if things had gone differently. If James and Regulus had lived. If Sirius had been Uncle Padfoot all along, loud and ridiculous, and Remus had been the steady voice of reason at the table.

When the sun dipped lower in the sky and the three of them stretched out under the tree’s shade, Harry found himself speaking without planning to.

“I saw you,” he said quietly, his voice carrying more weight than he meant it to. Sirius, sprawled beside him, cracked one eye open. Remus tilted his head, giving Harry his full attention.

Harry swallowed. “When I was pulled into those memories—I saw all of you. Dad. Regulus. You two. Even Peter. And Pandora.”

Sirius froze for a heartbeat, then sat up a little straighter, his bravado slipping. “You… saw us?” His voice was careful, as though the wrong word might shatter him.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. You were my age. Maybe a bit older. Dad had this ridiculous grin—like he thought he could take on the whole world with just his wand and a broomstick. Regulus was right there with him, quieter, but… he was the one who kept pulling James back when he went too far. And you—” Harry’s mouth tugged into a smile as he looked at Sirius. “You were loud, and cocky, and you kept trying to make everyone laugh even when McGonagall was glaring daggers at you.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “That sounds about right.” But Harry didn’t miss the way his eyes shone, the way his voice trembled with the effort to stay steady.

Harry turned to Remus. “And you—you were always the one watching. Making sure no one did anything stupid, even though they didn’t listen. You had this way of… pulling them all together. Like glue.”

Remus’s expression softened, his lips curving into a sad smile. “That was my job, I suppose. Herding the Gryffindor lions.”

Harry hesitated, then added, quieter, “Even Peter. He was nervous. Always second-guessing himself. But you all still made room for him.”

For a long moment, none of them spoke. The air was thick with memory, with ghosts of laughter that weren’t really there. Then Sirius nudged Harry with his shoulder.

“And Pandora?”

Harry’s grin grew at the memory. “She was different. Like she didn’t care about rules at all, but not in your way, Sirius. She had this… energy. Mischief, but softer. She could make Regulus laugh, really laugh. And she was brilliant—saw things the rest of you didn’t. I think… she made all of you better.”

Sirius let out a long breath, leaning back against the tree. “Merlin, I’d forgotten how much she meant to him. To all of us.”

They sat there, bathed in golden light, trading pieces of the past. Harry spoke of the glimpses he’d seen, and Sirius and Remus filled in the blanks, their stories spilling out—of stolen midnight feasts, of Regulus’s dry wit, of James’s reckless Quidditch stunts, of the way Pandora had dragged them into schemes none of them had thought of first.

By the time the stars emerged, Harry’s sides ached from laughing, and yet his chest felt lighter too, as though a weight had lifted.

For once, the day wasn’t about war, or loss, or the shadows of what had been stolen from them. It was about the people they had loved, and the family they still had left.

And Harry, lying back on the grass between his godfather and his uncle, felt—for the first time in a long time—that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he’d always believed.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was silent. The memory had been projected larger than life for everyone to see, the enchanted screen rippling with the flicker of Regulus Black’s past. Students and professors alike leaned forward without meaning to, each drawn in against their will, unable to tear their eyes away.

The scream hit first. Raw, jagged, unrestrained agony that echoed so vividly through the enchantment that several younger students clapped their hands over their ears. Hermione’s face went stark white, her quill clattering out of her grip. Ron stiffened beside her, muttering something sharp under his breath, his freckles standing out like a rash against his pale skin.

Luna sat very still, her wide eyes glimmering strangely in the candlelight, as though she were seeing something beyond the scene. Neville fidgeted with the hem of his robe, his knuckles whitening. Even Theodore Nott, who usually carried himself with languid indifference, sat forward, frowning deeply, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as though shielding himself from the rawness of the scene. Draco Malfoy’s jaw clenched so hard it looked painful; he tried to mask it, to school his features into cold detachment, but there was a crack at the corner of his mouth, something sharp and wounded flickering there.

Regulus lay writhing on the floor in the memory, blood streaking his collarbone, his face contorted from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus. Sirius, in the present, inhaled sharply as though he’d been hit. McGonagall’s lips went thin, disappointment and pain etched in every line of her face. Dumbledore’s blue eyes were narrowed, not cold, but intent, the kind of look that unraveled and measured all at once.

And then Regulus rose. Slow, deliberate. No tears, no sound save his quiet breaths. His steps up the stairs echoed like the tolling of a bell, and the watching crowd unconsciously leaned forward, caught between dread and awe.

// Inside the memory, Regulus’s mind flickered in fragments. He thought of Sirius — laughing too loud, defiant, free. Of James with his reckless grin and maddening loyalty. Of Remus’s quiet steadiness, the way his presence was a comfort in itself. Of Evan, who joked in whispers during long detentions. Of Pandora, who once gave him a flower pressed flat inside a book and told him the world was wider than the walls of Grimmauld. Of Barty, sharp-eyed and dangerous but devoted in ways that felt like a lifeline. These faces flared in him like sparks against the dark, and for a moment a glint returned to his gaze.

He could not break here. Not yet. Not while people who mattered still breathed.

His door closed softly, no slam to betray his rage. Kreacher appeared, loyal as ever, hands fussing over bandages and blood. Regulus sat rigid, back straight, eyes narrowed in thought. He wasn’t crying. He was planning. His silence was a crucible, thoughts lining up with deadly precision: how to survive, how to endure long enough to make choices that might matter. //

The hall seemed to hold its breath with him.

Hermione’s eyes shimmered, not just with pity but recognition — she understood the calculating edge, the need to cling to something bigger than grief. Ron muttered again, though his voice cracked, and he didn’t seem to realize how tightly his fists were curled. Luna tilted her head, her voice soft and almost dreamlike, though it cut the silence: “He isn’t breaking. He’s turning it into something else.”

Across the room, Draco shifted uncomfortably, his grey eyes locked on Regulus’s teenage face. He looked… rattled, as though he had just seen a mirror tilted toward him, showing a path he might yet walk. Theodore Nott’s expression was unreadable, but his hand tapped against his armrest in restless rhythm, the smallest sign of agitation.

The professors reacted in kind. Flitwick pressed a hand over his mouth, small frame trembling. Sprout blinked furiously, as though willing herself not to cry. McGonagall looked away for a heartbeat, then forced herself to look back — not to turn from what had been shown. Dumbledore remained statuesque, his gaze thoughtful, cataloguing, almost sorrowful.

And at the center of it all, Sirius. His breathing ragged, knuckles white where they clenched the table. Watching his younger brother rise in silence, plan instead of cry, nearly undid him. Remus leaned close, steadying Sirius’s shaking frame with a firm hand on his arm. Harry watched with a kind of hollow ache — this boy in the memory, so young, so hurt, so like him in too many ways.

When the memory cut, Regulus sitting with Kreacher, eyes like steel behind exhaustion, the silence in the hall was unbearable.

He had not cried. He had not shattered. He had planned. And somehow, that was harder to watch than a thousand tears would have been.

The Great Hall was filled with people — friends, enemies, strangers — but for a moment, all of them were bound by the same truth: Regulus Black had chosen to survive, and survival, in that house and with that family, had meant something sharp, dangerous, and not yet finished.

Chapter Text

The day starts off normal, now normal is a foreign thing to Harry because his life has been anything but normal with a homicidal ugly wizard trying to kill him, being able to see his parents and uncles' lives, and overall, just having this all be possible.

Harry is going through his classes when he gets a strange feeling, like a gut feeling that whatever happens next is painful, like a kind of pain you get when crucioed, like it's never ending, like you want to forget but can't after seeing it or feeling it.

Harry doesn't realize that he stopped in the middle of the hallway until he feels a hand on his shoulder and his name is called. "Harry?" Theo calls to him. Harry startles out of his thoughts turning to look at Theo.

"You okay" Theo asks a little concerned as he just saw Harry standing there staring at nothing with the halls almost empty as class is going on. "Yeah, was just thinking" Harry says with a sheepish smile after looking around at the empty halls, wondering in his mind on how long he's been standing there like a stunned corpse. 

"Well, anyway, Harry, the Hogsmeade trip is coming up in a week and I was wondering if you wanted to go get a butterbeer with me" Theo asks a little hopefully, also hoping that the major crush he has on Harry is not showing though as he doesn't want to seem too eager for Harry to say yes.

Harry thinks about it, thinking it'll be good for him with all the stress of seeing his dead parents, his workload of homework and classes, and the tired feeling that comes with trying to get up like everything's ok, he finally decides that maybe he needs this break. a break from the feelings and expectations of feeling ok for just a moment, a break to just be with himself and someone else in the moment.

"Sure, I would love to go." Theo looks so happy he almost shouts an ok from his giddiness, calming himself down to not be seen to excited like a dog --- although Harry saw it anyway and gave a tiny fond smile at his excitement--- Theo gives an ok and walks Harry to his next class which is runes.

------------------------------------------------

In the Great Hall, everyone is there, sitting and talking as its dinner time and the memory watching will start after that. Sitting at the Gryffindor table, Harry is talking to Ron and Hermione who are on the other side of the table facing the wall, about what memory might be next. "Let's hope the next memory they show is light, I don't know how many tears I have left to give."  Ron says, taking a bite of chicken in his right hand, another in his right.

Hermione looks at him with a slight disgusted look as he's talking with his mouth full of food. "I'm surprised you have any time to shed tears with how much you eat" Hermione says with a sarcastic tone as Ron is ticking off her last nerves with his disgusting habits. Ron just gives her a mocking laugh and continues to eat his food.

Harry laughs as lowly, masking it as a low clear of his throat as he sees her giving him a side eye, waiting to scold him too for one word said. Continuing to eat, Harry feels a person sit next to him. He looks over and its Luna. "Hey moons." Moons is a nickname for Luna as her name means moon in Latin and it's a play on from uncle moony's. "Harry, your decision is a good one, you need it as your energy has been low for days." Harry quite used to this doesn't ask how Luna knows about his answer of saying yes to Theo asking him on a date... Date?... OH MY GOD! ITS A DATE! Harry screams in his mind, a blush starting to form in his mind.

Luna just looks at him with a fond smile, letting him process as she rubs his head in comfort. Ron and Hermione just look mildly confused, although used to Harry and her dynamics after years at Hogwarts together. Even if they won't be fully use to it, they ignore it as Harry is fond of Luna and their relationship is like no other, like they get each other without the need for excessive words, even if he sometimes doesn't understand most of the things she tells him unless explained further.

"Thanks moons, I really need this." Harry says with a small smile after finally calming down enough, getting used to the date he agreed to that's in a week. Dinner comes to an end and people get in their seats, except Luna who stays in her seat beside Harry, even though she's Ravenclaw, no one says anything in fear of Harry's glare anytime someone says any mean comment about Luna.

Sirius and Remus come in and sit by him too, Sirius giving him a ruffle of his hair and Remus giving him a smile in greeting. Harry leans into Sirius as he already knows from the feeling he got earlier, this is not gonna be a good memory. The screen starts and the memory starts to play.

[GODRICS HOLLOW--OCTOBER 31, 1981, HALLOWEEN]

The date. this specific date causes both Remus and Sirus to pale, Sirius losing a little color in his skin and Remus to slowly grip onto Sirius hand. Harry looks at them and knows whatever memory this is, he isn't gonna like it if its already got them like this just by the date and name alone.

Sirius holds back his tears, squeezing Remus hand for support so he won't break down. Up at the teachers table, McGonagall has a forlorn expression on her face because this is the day she lost two of her children, children she watched grow up and will never get to see again.

the memory starts in a house full of light, with toys in the living room, baby Harry on the floor and James right next to him playing with him. Harry looks at him and his dad with a look of want, the want of a dad he barely knows as he never got to grow with him but has seen pictures and heard stories of the want of needing to know him instead of just hearing about him.

// Regulus comes out of the kitchen, sleaves up past his arms, and hands wet from doing the dishes.

"James, Harry needs a bath and then its bedtime"

James looks up from his place, looking at Regulus with so much love I'm surprised he didn't melt from being stared at from the sun.

"Nu uh love, it's your turn to bath him, you promised." James said with a smirk on his face. Regulus just looks on with a mock irritated look as he promised when he was indisposed and not in his right mind to actually think about his answer. He was being seduced.

"Fine Mr. Potter, but next time it's your turn" Regulus says with the flick of his wet hands at James before wiping them off and picking up Harry,

"Of course, Mr. Potter, anything for you" James says with a loving smile, loving that Regulus is now a potter, now married to him, now his.

Regulus goes upstairs to bathe Harry while James stays downstairs to pick up the toys //

Remus and Sirius chuckle softly at James and Regulus banter, missing them more and more. Harry looks on in sadness and fondness at how loving his parents are. Other in the Great Hall laugh and coo at the soft display, not knowing a man more in love with their partner than James is with Regulus.

From across the hall, Theo looks at the memory and wanders. Will him and Harry be like that when they're married. Theo then blushes before shaking his head a little, getting to ahead of himself. Marriage!? they're barely out of Hogwarts yet and he's already thinking of marriage, and they haven't even gone on their date yet. He puts that out of his mind until later, far into the future later and continues to watch the memory.

// James is still putting up the toys when the doorbell rings. James gets up and grabs the bowl of candy because he likes to feed the trick or treaters, even though Regulus doesn't know why when they aren't theirs to feed, but oh well.

James opens the door and sees Pete. "Oh, hey Pete, what are you doing here."

Peter doesn't say anything at first, just stands there for a few seconds. "James..... I'm sorry...."

James doesn't understand. Until he does.

He pales and drops the bowl.

Regulus who bathed and dressed Harry heard the smash and starts to come downstairs with Harry in tow in his arms. "James?"

James who heard Regulus calls turns to the stairs and yells "Regulus! its him! Go!"

Regulus in flight mode after hearing his tone doesn't question it and runs back upstairs with Harry.

James goes for his wand and realizes soon after a second that its left on the couch. He curses but doesn't get a chance for anything else as a blinding green light hits him and he drops to the floor...lifeless, no light left in his eyes. //

Everyone in the Great Hall is silent after witnessing what just happened, but Remus and Sirius....They have tears in their eyes. Finally seeing what happened that day before they got there. How their best friend was now gone, all because he left his bloody wand on the couch.

Harry though, he looks on in shock. Seeing his dad drop just like that, no light in his big brown eyes. All warmth just...gone. Ron and Hermione cover their mouths in shock, staring at the memory with horror at how one powerful man can just die just like that. Because of one spell.

The Great Hall is silent as the memory continues.

// Regulus gets to Harry's room, closing the door behind him, Harry still in his arms. On Regulus face is a stricken but determined look as it doesn't take long for him to realized that his husband is dead, the warmth of him in his bones of his husband is gone. 

He struggles to hold back his tears from spilling and holds Harry tight.

Hearing footsteps, he kisses Harry on his head before putting him in his crib and squatting right in front of it. He looks at Harry as the door opens.

One final look at Harry and Regulus stands up before turning around, body positioned in front of harry like protection.

"Regulus" Voldemort says, or more like hisses. "My 'faithful' companion. move aside"

Regulus gives him a glare. "Not a chance" he says with a hard voice.

"Then die for your betrayal"

Regulus gives Harry one last look, full of love, longing, and a sadness that he won't be here to see his son grow. He mouths "Je' taime" before green light flashes and Regulus too is lifeless on the ground, in front of Harry's crib. //

At this, Sirius finally breaks. A sob racks out of him before he turns into Remus who has unshed tears in his eyes. Sirius cries hard like this happened yesterday and not years ago, the memory now relived, still just as painful as the day it happened.

Harry, hearing the cries of his uncle cries too, silent tears streaming down his face as he finally sees how his parents died and what last words were said. Luna beside him, grabs his hand in comfort, having her own silent tears stream down her face.

McGonagall in her seat, closes her eyes, as the tears come out of her eyes at her two children, now lay dead. Lifeless and cold.

The Great Hall is in silence, listening to the cries of a grown man who's lost the people important to him, and relived it over again with this viewing.

"Oh, come on, it's still gonna play and not give us a break" Ron says in a little irritation and a small voice as he was crying to, for harry.

No one says anything as the memory continues.

// Baby Harry in his crib, not knowing what's going on but sees his papa on the ground, not moving starts crying.

Voldemort steps over regulus and looks at harry.

"This! This child is my downfall" Voldemort snickers coldly at the child before pointing his wand

"AVADA KADAVRA!"

The green light hits, but it bounces off back towards Voldemort, hitting him and he disappears, leaving a crying harry with a now lightning bolt scar and a silent house with two corpses who were once full of life. //

------------

The memory switches over to the Black-Lupin household, showing Sirius who's in the kitchen making hot coco, hair up with his wand in it. Harry and Sirius seeing this watch on in silence, eyes red from crying.

// Sirius with his and Remus hot coco in hand stops mid walk as a name pops up in his mind. "Godric's Hollow"

The cups in Sirius hands drop in shock and panic. Sirius starts to panic as he wasn't supposed to know that name. Why does he know that name.

Coming downstairs, Remus stops in the doorway of the kitchen, same panicked look on his face and that snaps Sirius back into focus and starts getting dressed, Remus too.

Once all dressed, they apparate to Godric's Hollow. Getting there to the door open and a body on the floor, lights still on but silence.

Sirius has tears in his eyes seeing James dead body. He goes over, squatting near him, looking in pain and sadness at his dead best friend. Remus right beside him with the same look.

"Regulus" Sirius whispers after, before running upstairs. Remus takes some time getting up there as the moon was not long ago and the effects are still there.

Up there, Sirius is by Regulus side, holding his face with his trembling hands.

"No no no no no no, not my baby.... not my brother.... you can't be dead... not now" Sirius says with so much pain, looking at Regulus likes he's, his child. Because he is his child. Sirius did everything for Regulus. Took the brunt of their parent's abuse, raised him, fed him, was by him. And now.... he's gone.

Remus is by the door with tears down his face, watching Sirius spiral over Regulus body, whispering "no no, not my Reggie, I don't believe that your gone" over and over like a mantra, like he's trying to convince himself that this is not real.

Remus looks over and sees a tired and puffed up harry as he was crying and finally calmed down enough to sleep. He goes over and picks him up before squatting by Sirius who then turns and cries into Remus.

In another place another person wakes and cries after seeing the whole thing, she weeps into the night as her best friend is dead, and she couldn't do nothing to stop it. //

The memory ends and the great hall is silent. Silent for the fallen wizards, silent for the three people in this room that lost the ones they loved and had to relive it, silent for the pain the deaths of the two people brought to the people they love.

As people start to leave, some to go owl their loved ones, others to be alone. Harry, Harry brings with him Sirius and Remus to the room of requirement to grieve together, not wanting to be alone after what was seen.

In the quiet of the room when the crying stops, Remus and Sirius tell stories of the old times, and they laugh softly keeping the memories of the two people alive in their minds and hearts, that one day they will see each other again, all they go to do is live their life and wait

Chapter Text

The screen flickered again, pulling the Great Hall into silence as words stretched across the enchanted surface:

[LONDON FLAT -- 1979]

Murmurs rippled through the crowd — the year already heavy with implication. Sirius went rigid beside Harry, and Remus’s eyes darkened with recognition.

// The scene unfolded in warm tones at first: a small flat cluttered with books, teacups, and discarded cloaks. Sirius and Remus were draped over a battered sofa, Dorcas Meadows stretched out on the rug with a book, James perched backwards on a chair, and Lily leaned against the counter, hair shining in the sunlight streaming through half-drawn curtains. The war was pressing in on all sides, but here, in this fragile pocket of peace, they looked young — too young to be carrying so much.

James laughed at something Dorcas had said. Remus’s lips curved lazily as Sirius flicked a cushion at him. The moment was easy, unburdened.

Then came the pop.

The sound cracked through the memory, sharp and unnatural. A glass shattered as the wards of the flat bent around elf magic. Everyone in the room froze.

And then he was there.

Regulus Black.

Unconscious. His skin pale as parchment, slick with sweat, his body crisscrossed with deep bleeding scratches that tore through what little was left of his clothing. He collapsed onto the floor with a dull thud, Kreacher clutching his hand tightly as if anchoring him to life. The sight was violent in its suddenness, turning laughter into dread in a heartbeat. //

Gasps filled the Great Hall. Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth. Ron muttered “Bloody hell” under his breath, his voice strangled. Luna tilted her head, wide eyes blinking, as though she’d been expecting this moment all along. Draco Malfoy’s composure cracked fully this time, his lips parting as his chest rose in a quick, sharp breath. Theodore Nott clenched his jaw and crossed his arms tighter, staring fixedly at the screen.

In the memory, Sirius shot to his feet, wand drawn. James mirrored him instantly, protective fury in every line of his posture.

// “What the hell—” Sirius spat, eyes cutting to Kreacher, hatred flashing. “What trick is this?”

Kreacher’s big eyes swiveled toward him, filled with a desperation Sirius had never seen. “The blood traitor will shut his mouth and help Master Regulus,” the elf croaked, voice thick with something far more urgent than malice. //

Harry’s breath caught in the present. His eyes locked on Regulus’s broken body, and his chest tightened painfully. “Sirius…” he whispered.

Sirius, watching, pressed a trembling hand over his mouth. “I remember this,” he rasped, voice strained. “I was so angry — angry at him for… for what he’d chosen. I thought he was throwing his life away for Voldemort. And then he just — just dropped in front of me like this. Like death itself had dragged him to our door.”

// On screen, Lily darted forward, dropping to her knees beside Regulus. “He’s freezing,” she murmured, fingers brushing across his throat, feeling for a pulse. Her face hardened in focus. “Remus, with me.”

Remus was already moving, crouching on Regulus’s other side, his healer’s training surfacing in quick, precise motions. He pulled torn fabric aside to examine the damage, murmuring stabilizing charms under his breath.

James didn’t move. His eyes were locked on Regulus’s face — pale, sharp features drained of all color, the dark hair matted with blood. For the first time in years, James Potter wasn’t laughing, wasn’t teasing, wasn’t fighting. He just… stared. Something shifted in his gaze, recognition and guilt twining together.

“James…” Dorcas whispered uncertainly, glancing at him.

But James didn’t answer. //

Back in the present, Harry watched his father’s younger self with a knot in his throat. To see James frozen like that — seeing his papa like that — twisted something deep inside him.

“He looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time,” Harry whispered, voice unsteady.

Sirius gave a humorless laugh, sharp and broken. “That’s because James never let himself really look at Regulus before. He saw my brother as a Slytherin, a Black, a Death Eater-in-training. But not… not the boy he used to race us to the library with, not the one who carried too much for too long.” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand across his face.

// In the memory, Sirius’s temper lashed out at Kreacher. “What happened to him?” he barked, wand leveled. “What did you do?”

Kreacher trembled but didn’t flinch. His voice broke as he repeated: “Help Master Regulus.” Then, with a crack, he was gone.

The frustration rolled off Sirius in the memory, his expression caught between fury and fear. His fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes darting from his brother’s limp body to Lily and Remus working furiously.

And there — around Regulus’s throat, barely visible in the mess of scratches and torn cloth — gleamed a locket. Blackened, strange, unsettling in its weight. //

Harry leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “That locket…” His chest tightened. “I’ve seen it before, haven’t I?”

Sirius blinked hard, staring at the faint glint. His breath quickened. “I… I think I have too. Merlin, Harry, I—” He broke off, voice strangled.

The memory froze with Lily and Remus bent over Regulus, magic sparking faintly from their wands. James’s eyes remained locked on Regulus’s face, awe and disbelief carved deep into his features. And Sirius — standing taut, wand still raised, anger and fear twisting together until he looked ready to shatter.

The screen went black.

The silence in the Great Hall was heavy, suffocating.

Hermione exhaled shakily. Ron looked between Harry and Sirius, his face pale but determined. Luna’s soft voice drifted: “Sometimes, broken things arrive where they’re needed most.” Draco turned away sharply, jaw clenched, though his eyes were glassy. McGonagall’s lips thinned again, her gaze moving between Sirius and Harry with quiet devastation. Dumbledore sat utterly still, blue eyes locked on the darkness where the memory had been, his mind already racing.

Harry leaned closer to Sirius, voice barely above a whisper. “He looked like he was dying.”

Sirius shut his eyes, his arm wrapping tight around Harry’s shoulders. “He was,” he said hoarsely. “And I nearly missed it. I nearly missed everything.”

Chapter Text

The enchanted screen shimmered once more, but this time, no date appeared. The Great Hall grew taut with tension, unease spreading like a ripple through the students and staff. Whispers darted between the rows — was it broken? Was this memory something so dangerous that it had no time attached?

The flicker steadied, and a voice emerged. Familiar. Commanding.

// “James. Regulus.” //

It was Dumbledore. His image filled the screen, robes sweeping as he stood within the glow of his office. His expression was grave, his hands folded before him, but his eyes still twinkled faintly — though the weight of what he was about to say dimmed even that light.

Gasps echoed through the hall at once. Students shifted in their seats, shocked at hearing the headmaster’s voice come from a memory, not the man himself. McGonagall stiffened visibly, lips thinning, while Dumbledore himself remained perfectly still at the staff table, gaze sharp and unwavering as though measuring every reaction.

Two young men entered the frame. James Potter — older now, war-hardened, though his grin still lingered faintly even in serious moments. And beside him, Regulus Black. The hall seemed to collectively exhale at the sight. His inferi scars trailed pale and jagged across his skin, but it wasn’t the scars that made everyone stare. His hand rested lightly on his middle, the faint swell of pregnancy unmistakable even beneath the folds of his robes.

The hall erupted with noise.

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, whispering, “Oh, Merlin…” Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he stared. Luna tilted her head with a dreamy kind of awe. “Life and death balanced in one body,” she murmured.

Draco looked rattled, mouth parted slightly, his pale face even paler. Theodore Nott’s brow furrowed deeply, as if trying to piece together puzzle fragments that no one else could see. Even McGonagall gasped softly, her composure slipping for just a heartbeat, before she schooled her expression into stern control.

Harry’s chest constricted. His heart pounded painfully in his ears as his gaze locked on Regulus — his papa, younger, scarred, but carrying him. “That’s… that’s me,” Harry whispered hoarsely. Hermione’s hand found his under the table, squeezing tight.

On the screen, Dumbledore’s voice carried a heavy weight:

// “The prophecy speaks of you both. A child born as darkness falls, to parents bound not only by love but by defiance. That child will have power the Dark Lord knows not — and through him, one shall fall. But there will be betrayal. The closest of friends will turn, and destruction will follow in his wake.” //

The words echoed like a tolling bell. The Great Hall was so quiet that even the rustle of cloaks seemed too loud.

Regulus’s expression darkened. He shifted slightly, protectively, his hand brushing against the curve of his stomach as his voice rang sharp with defiance.

// “I don’t trust your riddles, Dumbledore. You speak in circles and plans no one else sees. I’m a Black — I’ve lived in shadows long enough to know when someone thinks they’re pulling strings. We’ll handle this our way. With the people we trust.” //

In the present, Sirius’s breath caught. His eyes softened, glistening as he whispered, “That’s my brother… stubborn as hell, always thinking three steps ahead. Merlin, he never trusted anyone unless he had to.”

Remus gave a faint, sad smile. “And for good reason. He knew the cost of misplaced trust better than anyone.”

The memory flickered, shifting to a modest sitting room in the Potter-Black household. The firelight danced as James and Regulus sat together, tension thick in the air. James leaned forward, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn.

// “We need to protect the house,” James said firmly. “The Fidelius Charm. Only one can know the secret. No one else.” //

Regulus’s eyes narrowed, calculating, the scars across his face stark in the glow. “Then it should be Sirius. Or Remus. They’re the only ones I’d trust with our lives.”//

In the Great Hall, Sirius straightened abruptly, chest heaving. He muttered under his breath, “He wanted it to be me?” His voice cracked as though the realization tore something open in him.

// On screen, James shook his head. “Too obvious. Voldemort would expect that. Everyone would. It has to be Peter. No one would ever suspect Peter.”

Regulus turned sharply toward him, eyes flashing. “That’s exactly the problem. He hasn’t been around. He’s been acting different, off. You don’t notice it because you don’t look for it, James, but I do. I was raised to watch people, to notice every lie, every twitch. Peter’s hiding something.” //

Hermione gasped. Ron’s ears went red, his mouth opening and closing, trying to form words. “Bloody hell,” he finally muttered, horrified.

Harry’s breath hitched, fury and grief tangling in his chest. “He knew,” he whispered. “Papa knew Peter couldn’t be trusted, and no one listened.”

// On screen, James leaned forward, voice pleading. “Reggie, please. Voldemort would never think it’s Peter. That’s the whole point. It’s safer this way. Trust me.”

Regulus looked torn, his suspicion warring with his love for James. His hand pressed lightly against his stomach again, his expression grim. At last, reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine. But if you’re wrong…” His voice cut off, too raw to finish. //

The screen went black.

The Great Hall erupted into whispers, louder and sharper this time.

Hermione’s eyes were wet. “If they’d chosen Sirius or Remus…” she whispered.

“None of this would’ve happened,” Ron finished bleakly.

Draco shifted in his seat, jaw tight, as though fighting with something unsaid. Theodore looked grim, his gaze flicking briefly toward Harry with something almost like pity.

At the staff table, McGonagall’s eyes shimmered with restrained grief. Flitwick dabbed at his eyes with a kerchief. Sprout shook her head, murmuring, “The signs were there. He saw them.”

And Dumbledore — silent, pensive, his gaze fixed on the blank screen. For once, his twinkle was gone entirely.

Sirius broke the silence with a rough whisper, “He begged for it to be me. And I wasn’t there to fight for him.”

Remus’s voice was low, steady but heavy. “He saw Peter for what he was. He read the danger, but… he was overruled. By love, by trust. And it cost them everything.”

Harry sat rigid, fury and grief warring inside him, his friends close on either side. His fists clenched so tightly his nails cut into his palms. “He knew,” Harry said again, his voice shaking. “My papa knew. And no one listened.”

The silence that followed weighed heavier than any scream.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The Great Hall hushed as the silver mist coiled again, pulling everyone into the next memory. The date shimmered faintly:

[KINGS CROSS --1972.]

The scene unfolded not in a classroom or house, but on the familiar scarlet train with steam billowing and the sound of chatter and laughter echoing through the carriages.

At once, Sirius Black appeared — all boyish excitement and reckless energy, his dark hair wild as he ran down the corridor, darting between students with no care for who he bumped into. Behind him, smaller, paler, and composed in sharp contrast, Regulus struggled to keep up. His steps were quick, but controlled, his expression already one of faint disapproval. Even at eleven, his features carried that same aristocratic sharpness, and though he was clearly younger, there was already an air of distance about him, like he stood slightly apart from the world.

“Merlin, that’s him at eleven?” whispered Ron, eyes wide. “He looks like he’s judging the whole train.”

Hermione’s lips pressed into a line, though her eyes softened. “He looks… lonely, actually.”

// The mist swirled inside the train until it cleared to reveal a small compartment. James Potter was sprawled on the seat, mid-conversation with two boys — one sandy-haired with tired amber eyes, the other round-faced with a nervous twitch to his smile. The door burst open, and before any of them could react, Sirius launched himself at James with a shout of laughter. The two tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs. 

Regulus appeared in the doorway just in time to see Sirius and James wrestling on the floor. His gray eyes narrowed, unimpressed, and he stood utterly still, waiting. There was no outburst, no scolding — just that sharp, quiet look that somehow said more than words. //

“Bloody hell,” muttered Draco in the Hall, smirking faintly. “Even at eleven, he had that Black stare.”

// Inside the memory, Remus let out a long sigh, his young face already used to such antics, while Peter only shifted nervously, unsure whether to laugh or move out of the way. Then, as if only just realizing someone else was present, they all turned to the doorway.

Regulus didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his expression blank. To Peter, that look was intimidating, making him shrink back in his seat. But to Remus, there was something almost delicate in it — a cold mask, yes, but hiding a boy who seemed smaller, softer. His gaze lingered, curiosity flickering faintly across his young face.

Finally, Sirius scrambled up, brushing himself off before grabbing Regulus by the shoulders and shoving him forward with a grin. “This is my little brother, Regulus! Don’t let the look fool you, he’s all right.”

James beamed down at him, all warmth and mischief. “Reggie, is it? Nice to meet you.”

Regulus twitched. His eyes sharpened as he replied flatly, “Do not call me that.” //

The Hall erupted with laughter, some stifled, some loud. Harry couldn’t help it — a grin tugged at his lips at how familiar that tone sounded, a mixture of Black pride and teenage disdain.

“Straight to the point,” Fred muttered approvingly.

// Peter gave a timid wave. “H-hello.”

Remus leaned forward, his voice gentle. “I’m Remus.” He smiled, just faintly, trying not to startle the boy further.

Regulus nodded, finally acknowledging someone properly. His eyes flickered to Remus’s scars, and though his face didn’t change, something softened in his gaze. For the first time, there was no judgment, only a quiet sort of interest. //

In the Hall, Remus shifted in his seat, his throat tight. He remembered that look — how strange it had felt to be truly seen by someone who didn’t flinch away.

// James tried to carry on as if he wasn’t staring. But he was — subtly, or so he thought. Sirius had always been striking, but there was something different about Regulus. Quieter, sharper, with a gravity that drew his eyes against his will. He forced himself into conversation with Sirius instead, trying to mask the fact he kept glancing at the younger brother.

Regulus, however, didn’t linger long. James and Sirius were loud, bumping into him repeatedly as they laughed and shoved each other. His patience thinned visibly until, with a cold flicker of his eyes, he stood and slipped out of the compartment without a word.

The view followed him down the corridor until he found another compartment — this one nearly empty save for a girl with long blonde hair and sharp, curious blue eyes. Pandora Lovegood looked up from the window, blinking as Regulus entered.

He sat opposite her without speaking, his posture composed and aloof. Pandora tilted her head, studying him for only a second before launching into conversation. Something odd, whimsical, about creatures or theories most would dismiss. Regulus blinked at her, his frown skeptical at first. But as she spoke, his eyes changed. His lips didn’t curve into a smile, but there was a glimmer there, the faintest acknowledgment that she made sense in her own strange way.

And so he stayed. Not speaking much, not smiling, but listening. For the rest of the ride, he remained with Pandora, the faintest thread of connection sparking between them. //

The memory dissolved, leaving silence in its wake before voices rose.

Luna’s wide, silvery eyes shimmered as she whispered, “Mum…” Her expression was serene, but her fingers curled tightly into her lap.

Hermione looked at her with surprise and quiet sympathy, while Neville reached to squeeze Luna’s hand gently.

Sirius, meanwhile, shook his head, a laugh rumbling in his throat. “Merlin, he was eleven and already thought he was better than everyone. Typical Reggie.” But his tone cracked — warmth and longing threaded beneath the words.

Remus’s voice was quieter, almost reverent. “He wasn’t better. Just… sharper. Quicker to see people for who they really were.” His amber eyes flicked to the fading memory, a shadow of regret passing across them.

Harry’s chest felt heavy, torn between laughter at his father and Sirius’s antics, and something deeper when he saw his papa — young, small, proud, but already so alone. “He found her,” Harry said softly, glancing toward Luna. “Even then, he found someone who understood him.”

Dumbledore’s expression was unreadable, though his eyes glinted faintly behind his half-moon glasses. McGonagall pressed her lips together, a flicker of something like sorrow crossing her stern face.

And the Hall — from Draco’s surprised stare to the muffled laughter of others still processing the sheer absurdity of Sirius and James wrestling on the floor — remained caught between amusement and something much heavier, the first glimpse of the youngest Black stepping out of the shadows.

Chapter Text

The mist thickened again, and the Great Hall fell silent as the next memory began to take shape.

[INFIMIRY]

It opened not with chaos or dueling, but with the sharp, sterile scent of the Hospital Wing. The pale light from the windows illuminated Madam Pomfrey’s stern face as she stood at the end of a bed, her hands folded, her tone utterly blunt.

// “You’re pregnant.” //

The words rang through the Hall like a spell. Gasps rippled instantly from students and teachers alike, their eyes snapping toward the small figure seated stiffly on the bed. Regulus Black sat there, pale as marble, his expression unreadable. His wide gray eyes didn’t so much as flicker. He was stone—completely frozen, as though the meaning of the words couldn’t sink in.

Harry’s chest clenched. He already knew — he existed as proof — but watching his papa at that age, so young, so unprepared, so blank with shock, felt like being pierced with something sharp and cold.

Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth. Ron muttered something half-formed, his ears red with shock. Even Draco, usually smug and composed, looked caught off guard, his gray eyes flicking quickly to Harry before he schooled his expression.

// In the memory, Regulus stood, moving like he wasn’t fully connected to his body. Each step toward the door seemed automatic, his mind replaying one word over and over: pregnant. He didn’t notice where he was going, only that his legs carried him away from the wing, down endless corridors, until he found himself in the dim glow of the Slytherin common room.

A voice broke through the haze. “Reggie?” Evan Rosier’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer. Regulus blinked, the fog of shock lifting just slightly, and realized where he was. He didn’t answer, only let Evan take his arm, guiding him quietly up toward the dormitory.

Inside, the familiar room was quiet until the door clicked shut behind them. Barty was on his bed, fiddling with some parchment, but looked up at once when he saw the state of Regulus’s face. Evan gently pushed him down onto his own mattress.

It burst out of him then, fast and sharp like ripping off a bandage. “I’m pregnant.”

The dorm froze. Evan’s eyes widened, his mouth working soundlessly. Barty dropped whatever he’d been holding, parchment scattering across the floor, his jaw falling open in shock.

The silence stretched unbearably, thick enough to choke on. Regulus sat stiffly, his arms folded tightly across himself, his face still blank, though his voice cracked with the weight of it. They had all grown so used to him being composed, unreadable, distant. Now, he looked smaller. Fragile.

It was Barty who broke the spell. He shot up to his feet, his voice pitching high with disbelief and energy. “You’re—Merlin’s sake, you’re serious? You’re pregnant? That’s—bloody hell, that’s—” He cut himself off with a half-laugh, half-yell, vibrating with the kind of chaotic excitement only he could muster.

Evan, by contrast, sank to sit beside Regulus, one hand hovering close but not quite touching. His dark eyes were wide, filled with worry. “Reggie…” he whispered, voice softer than usual, heavy with concern. “Are you all right?”

Regulus swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” His voice was hollow. “I don’t know what to think. I only know I need to talk to James… and Sirius.” His eyes darkened, a flicker of steel returning to them as his mask rebuilt itself piece by piece. “And Effie. Not… not my mother. Never her. She’ll only care about who the father is. She’ll want to twist it, use it. Set me up with someone she approves of.” His lips curled bitterly. “As if this is about her.” //

The Great Hall shifted uncomfortably. McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes stern but filled with unspoken sorrow. Dumbledore’s gaze was keen, analytical, as though absorbing every word and every choice made in this memory.

// Regulus pulled a piece of parchment toward him, his hands steadier than his heart. He began writing, the scratching of quill against paper breaking the silence of the dorm. He wrote a formal letter requesting permission to leave Hogwarts for three days, his words clipped and precise as always. He asked James and Sirius to speak with Effie — Euphemia Potter — to involve her, to have her make the request to Dumbledore. Beneath the icy exterior, it was clear: Regulus trusted Effie, more than he would ever trust his own mother.

When he set the quill down, he exhaled shakily. Evan picked up the discarded parchment on the floor, straightening it with nervous hands. Barty, meanwhile, began pacing, his energy uncontainable.

“You’ve got to tell Dorcas. And Pandora. They’ll lose it if you hide something like this from them.”

Evan shot him a look. “Not tonight.” His voice was firm, protective. “Let him breathe first.”

Regulus leaned back against the bedframe, gray eyes staring at the ceiling. His face was expressionless, but his thoughts were loud in the silence. Pregnant. Fatherhood. James. The war raging outside these walls. He could already feel the storm that was coming — and the weight of choices that would shape all their futures. //

The memory dissolved, leaving the Great Hall buzzing with whispers, shock, and awe.

Harry stared at the vanishing mist, his throat tight. He had never seen his papa look so young, so unsure, and yet so determined in the same breath. “He wasn’t ready,” he murmured, voice cracking, “but he didn’t back down.”

Sirius was pale, his jaw tight. “Effie,” he muttered, half to himself, half to James’s memory. “Thank Merlin he had her.”

Remus pressed a hand to his mouth, his amber eyes shining, his thoughts spinning too fast to form into words.

And Luna, wide-eyed and dreamy, whispered almost reverently: “He wasn’t alone. He had people. That’s what matters.”

The Hall quieted, the echo of Regulus’s blank voice — I’m pregnant — still hanging heavy in the air.

Chapter Text

[POTTER MANOR -- LIVING ROOM]

The memory rippled to life in the center of the Great Hall, colors and shapes bleeding together until they formed the familiar warmth of the Potter household. The moment the setting became clear, a murmur spread through the students and teachers watching — even before anyone spoke, everyone in the hall could sense it. This was the continuation. The next piece of the story they were all caught up in.

Regulus sat rigidly on the Potters’ worn but elegant sofa, his hands clenched tightly together on his lap. The usually composed young man looked... anxious. His black hair framed a face that betrayed more emotion than he’d likely ever want anyone to see. His eyes darted between the room’s occupants — Sirius pacing like a storm barely held in check, Euphemia Potter sitting gracefully in her favorite armchair, Monty Potter near the fireplace, and Remus and Peter off to the side, a stack of chocolate frogs between them.

In the Great Hall, Remus let out a quiet, nostalgic huff of breath as he watched the scene unfold. He remembered it too vividly — the charged silence, the uncertainty in Regulus’s voice, and how young they all truly were, even when they thought they’d grown up too fast.

The memory-Regulus finally drew in a sharp breath and blurted out,

// “I’m pregnant.” //

The words hit the room like a spell gone wrong.

The Great Hall gasped almost collectively. Students whispered rapidly — some half in awe, others in utter confusion. Even the professors at the staff table shifted forward slightly. McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up, but there was something soft behind her expression, something understanding.

// In the memory, the silence after Regulus’s confession was thick and uncomfortable. His usually pale complexion was flushed, and he looked between Euphemia and Monty like he was awaiting judgment. His throat worked soundlessly as he tried to gauge their reaction.

Sirius froze mid-pace, staring at him as if he’d just announced he was the new Minister for Magic. For one, painful heartbeat, no one moved.

And then Sirius’s expression broke into wild joy. “I’m— I’m going to be an uncle?” he said, his voice rising, laughter bubbling up before Regulus could even react. “Merlin’s beard—my little brother’s having a baby!” He rushed forward, grabbing Regulus by the shoulders and shaking him lightly, his grin wide and bright with genuine pride. “I knew you were growing up, Reggie, but bloody hell—this fast?” //

Across the Great Hall, the real Sirius—older now, more weathered but still reckless in spirit—was red in the face from both laughter and embarrassment. “Merlin, I really did say that, didn’t I?” he muttered, shaking his head as laughter broke out among the Gryffindors.

// The younger Sirius in the memory was still rambling happily when realization dawned on him. He froze mid-celebration, his smile faltering as a slow horror crept across his features. He turned sharply toward James, who sat across from Regulus, face completely blank from shock.

And then Sirius lunged.

“You—YOU GOT MY BROTHER PREGNANT!” Sirius bellowed as the two went sprawling onto the carpet. His voice cracked between outrage and disbelief. “My baby brother! How—when—Merlin help me, I don’t even want to know how!” //

The Great Hall erupted with laughter. Even some of the professors were smiling. Ron was red in the face, snickering uncontrollably, while Hermione buried her face in her hands muttering something about “men.” Luna, however, smiled softly, her pale eyes flicking toward Regulus in the memory, as though she could see right through the layers of humor and into the weight beneath it.

The real Remus chuckled quietly beside Sirius, his eyes soft with nostalgia. “You were so dramatic that day,” he said, his tone fond but tinged with something wistful.

“I had a right to be dramatic!” Sirius huffed, though his grin betrayed him. “My brother—my little brother—and James of all people! What else was I supposed to do, clap and hand them flowers?”

From the staff table, McGonagall gave Sirius a pointed look. “Frankly, Mister Black, your reaction then and now seems to be about as subtle as a Howler.”

The laughter in the hall grew louder.

// In the memory, Euphemia and Monty exchanged amused but affectionate looks. Euphemia reached out to steady Regulus’s trembling hands, her expression full of warmth. “You’ll be fine, dear,” she said calmly, as if Sirius’s chaos wasn’t unfolding two feet away. “You’re strong. And you’ll have help—from us, from them.” She gestured toward the tangled heap of James and Sirius. “They’ll calm down eventually.”

Monty chuckled. “In a few hours, maybe.”

Remus, sitting cross-legged by the fire, smiled at Regulus in quiet understanding. “Congratulations,” he said softly. “You’ll do just fine, you know. You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”

Regulus blinked at him, still dazed, and nodded faintly. It was one of the few genuine smiles he gave that day — small, fleeting, but real. //

Back in the Great Hall, the real Remus looked toward the shimmering image of Regulus on the couch, his gaze distant, almost haunted. “He really was,” he murmured under his breath, “one of the strongest of us.”

Harry, sitting among his friends, watched in awe. His father and uncle were chaos incarnate, but the quiet dignity of the young man sitting in that memory drew him in the most. He’d seen Regulus’s name only on the Black family tree before this—now, he was watching him live, feel, and fight his fear.

Hermione glanced at Harry, seeing the way his expression softened as he watched. “He’s… nothing like how people described him,” she said softly.

Harry nodded, his voice low but steady. “No. He’s braver than anyone ever gave him credit for.”

On the memory’s edge, Sirius—young and flushed from wrestling James—was still muttering about being scarred for life, Remus was quietly laughing, and Euphemia was giving advice no one in the room could forget.

And when the light from the memory faded, the Great Hall was silent again, the laughter dying down into something gentler—respectful. Because this time, they weren’t just seeing another chaotic Marauder story. They were seeing a family being built in the strangest, most beautiful of ways.

Chapter Text

The next morning began with a strange tension in the air. Harry couldn’t explain it—something about the quiet felt off, heavier than usual. The castle’s magic seemed to hum louder, the corridors more echoing. He tried to shake the feeling off as he got ready, chalking it up to lack of sleep and the growing pressure of the war looming over them. After all, weird was practically part of his daily routine. Ever since he found out he was a wizard, normal had stopped existing for him.

But this weirdness felt different. It came with voices.

At first, he thought it was just the whisper of wind through the stone halls, maybe even Peeves pulling some prank. But the whispers weren’t random. They were words—faint, fragmented, and sinister. Sometimes they hissed his name, sometimes they spoke in broken riddles that twisted his stomach. And then there was the pain. His scar throbbed more than usual, a low, pulsing ache that never quite went away. It was like a background hum of warning he couldn’t escape.

By the time he reached Potions, Harry was trying his best to ignore it. Slughorn was prattling on about the properties of powdered moonstone, but all Harry could focus on was the faint echo in his skull, a low whisper he couldn’t decipher. He stirred the potion mechanically, barely registering Hermione’s side-eye when he nearly added the wrong ingredient.

When the class finally ended, Harry gathered his things quickly, hoping that maybe food would help. But as he walked the halls toward the Great Hall, the whispers returned—louder this time.

Come find me… come see what’s been hidden…

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. The voice was inside his head, curling behind his eyes. His scar flared hotly, and before he could think better of it, his feet began to move on their own. It wasn’t like the time with the Horcruxes or Voldemort’s visions—this felt older, more insidious, and yet somehow familiar.

He followed it down twisting corridors, past suits of armor and staircases that shifted lazily. He wasn’t even aware of where he was going until a voice—real and human—cut through the haze.

“Potter?”

Harry blinked and turned, the trance breaking. Blaise Zabini was standing by the entrance to the Slytherin common room, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Where are you going? The Slytherin entrance isn’t exactly your side of the castle.”

Harry blinked, disoriented. He looked around, realizing he had indeed wandered far from where he meant to go. “I—uh—I don’t know,” he admitted, rubbing his scar absently. “I think I got turned around.”

Blaise frowned. “You look pale. You alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry lied automatically, though his voice sounded faint even to himself. “Just… headache.”

Blaise studied him a moment longer, clearly unconvinced but too polite—or too cautious—to press further. “Right. Well, you should head back before someone thinks you’re trying to spy on us.”

Harry managed a weak smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two ended up walking together, talking idly about neutral topics—classes, the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, how Slughorn’s club was getting unbearable. Blaise had a calm, grounding presence that helped Harry’s head clear. By the time they reached the Great Hall, the whispers were gone, and even his scar had dulled to a faint throb.

As they entered, the others were already gathering. The enchanted Pensieve shimmered in the center of the room again, ready to project the next memory. Sirius and Remus were notably absent—they were working that day—but the rest of the staff and students were there. Harry’s friends waved him over, and he took his seat between Hermione and Ron, trying to shake off the unease.

Professor McGonagall gestured for quiet, and the silvery mist of the Pensieve began to rise. The scene formed slowly, settling into Dumbledore’s office. The familiar space—towering shelves, mechanical whirs of enchanted instruments—filled the Great Hall. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, quill scratching softly against parchment. His expression was patient, almost as though he were expecting someone.

Moments later, the door opened, and Regulus Black stepped in.

Harry’s heart clenched.

His papa.

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath. Regulus looked younger—still poised, but with that cautious tension Harry had come to recognize from the earlier memories. Dumbledore greeted him with that trademark calm smile and motioned for him to sit. Regulus hesitated but obeyed, his posture stiff and his eyes sharp.

// “Mr. Black,” Dumbledore began, voice gentle but probing. “I appreciate you coming. There are matters I wish to discuss, concerning… recent activities of certain individuals.”

Regulus’s gaze hardened. “If this is about my family, Headmaster, I assure you, I know nothing of what you mean.”

The tone was polite, but his words dripped with deflection. Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled. “I am simply curious, my boy. There are choices being made by those around you—dark choices. Ones that might affect more than you realize.”

“I’m aware of the choices being made,” Regulus said evenly, eyes fixed on a point beyond Dumbledore’s shoulder. “But they’re not mine to speak of. Nor are they your concern.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled faintly, a dangerous glint beneath the kindness. “You remind me of your brother, in some ways. Stubborn, proud. But even Sirius found that asking for help was not a weakness.”

At that, Regulus froze mid-motion. His face didn’t move, but the change in his aura was palpable. The hall could feel the shift—his magic tightening like a coiled spring.

“With all due respect, Headmaster,” he said quietly, his voice laced with cold anger, “you didn’t care when help was needed. You knew what happened in that house. You did nothing.”

Dumbledore said nothing, only studying him.

“If that’s all,” Regulus continued, rising smoothly, “I have assignments to finish.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out. //

The silence in the Great Hall was thick. Even the younger students, who didn’t fully grasp the tension, could feel the weight of it.

Hermione’s brow furrowed in thought. “He knew about the abuse,” she murmured. “Dumbledore knew.”

Ron frowned. “Bloody hell… no wonder Sirius hated him so much.”

Harry didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His chest ached with pride and sorrow. Regulus had stood his ground, even against Dumbledore.

The memory shifted again, the image rippling until the scene reformed into a small London flat. The lighting was dim, warm, a fire crackling weakly in the grate. The camera—or viewpoint—panned inward to reveal a bed pushed near the wall. Regulus lay there, pale and still, his body littered with half-healed scars that made several students flinch.

In a chair beside him sat Remus, half-slouched but alert, his eyes soft with exhaustion.

// When Regulus stirred, Remus straightened immediately. “I wouldn’t try sitting up just yet,” he said quietly. “Those wounds won’t take kindly to movement.”

Regulus froze, then turned sharply toward the voice, pain momentarily forgotten. His gaze landed on Remus, and for a heartbeat, he looked almost startled. Then, his face shuttered into that cold, detached calm again. “How did I get here?”

“Kreacher brought you,” Remus replied, his tone calm, measured. “You were half-dead when he did.”

Regulus’s hand flew to his neck, searching frantically—until Remus said, “The locket’s safe. It’s still in your coat.”

The relief that washed over Regulus was fleeting but visible. He sank back against the pillow, every movement stiff and pained. “Where are the others?” he asked, voice low.

“Sirius went with James to clear his head,” Remus said, his eyes softening. “And Lily went to fetch more supplies. Your injuries… aren’t the usual kind.”

Regulus gave a short, humorless laugh. “You could say that.”

Moments later, the door opened. Sirius and James entered, mid-conversation—until they saw him awake.

The silence that followed was sharp as a knife. Sirius froze, emotion flickering across his face—anger, fear, guilt, relief—all tangled together. James looked equally stunned, his usual easy expression replaced by open concern.

Regulus wished he could sink into the mattress and disappear. His body was tense, shoulders rigid as if bracing for impact.

“Reg,” Sirius said finally, voice rough.

Regulus didn’t answer. He turned his head slightly, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

James exchanged a look with Remus, who gave a tiny nod, silently telling him to wait—to let Sirius handle it. //

The Great Hall was silent as they watched.

Hermione’s eyes were glassy. Ron’s fists were clenched on the table. Ginny’s jaw was tight, her heart aching for the quiet pride she saw in Regulus’s posture. Even Draco, from the Slytherin table, looked pale—his mind spinning as he saw the man his mother had called a traitor to the family treated with such care by the very people he’d been taught to hate.

Harry’s throat felt tight. Watching his father, godfather, and papa in that room together—broken, raw, but alive—was almost too much. He could feel every emotion flickering across Regulus’s face, could imagine the thoughts swirling behind those guarded eyes: the guilt, the fear, the impossible relief of being found.

Professor McGonagall’s lips pressed thin, her eyes suspiciously wet. Even Snape, half-hidden in the shadows of the hall, was utterly still.

When the memory finally began to fade, no one spoke.

The silence that followed was not awkward—it was reverent.

For the first time, they weren’t just watching history. They were witnessing the moment a man once written off as a Death Eater began to become something more: a brother, a survivor, a protector—and the quiet thread that had connected Harry’s family long before he was born.

Chapter Text

[LONDON -- PRIVATE WARD]

The moment the silvery mist of the Pensieve swirled to life again, the Great Hall filled with noise—very loud noise. A scream, sharp and furious, echoed from the screen, causing several students to jump. Even Professor McGonagall’s teacup nearly slipped from her hand as the scene came into focus.

Regulus Black was screaming.

But not from fear, not from battle, not from pain of any curse or injury.

He was in labor.

The realization spread through the hall like wildfire, gasps and whispers rippling through the students and teachers alike. Even Harry looked like his soul had left his body for a second before his brain caught up. “He’s—he’s giving birth to me?” he whispered, eyes wide as saucers.

Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Blimey, mate, I—uh—I didn’t need to see your dad’s birth story.” Hermione elbowed him hard before he could continue, though her cheeks were pink too.

On the screen, chaos reigned. Regulus was sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. The scars that once marred his body were faint now, healed into silvery lines that caught the lamplight. He looked pale but furious, his elegant composure long gone.

// “SIRIUS IF YOU DON’T SIT DOWN SOMEWHERE I WILL HEX YOU INTO NEXT WEEK!” he bellowed, his voice raw and commanding, the deepest anyone had ever heard from him. //

The Great Hall erupted with laughter. Even Professor McGonagall let out a very undignified snort that she quickly disguised with a cough.

// On the screen, Sirius was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his hair a mess, his hands trembling slightly. “I can’t sit down, Reggie! You’re having a baby! My baby brother is having a baby! This is—Merlin’s pants—this is insane!”

“Then pace quietly!” Regulus snapped through gritted teeth, groaning as another contraction hit. “And where is James?!”

Sirius froze mid-step, eyes darting toward the door. “He said he was coming! Probably finishing up—”

Before he could finish, the door burst open with a bang, and in ran James Potter—sweaty, breathless, and looking half-crazed with panic and joy all at once. “I’M HERE! I’M HERE!” he shouted, stumbling into the room. //

The hall filled with laughter again. Dean Thomas clutched his stomach. “That’s so him,” he said between chuckles. “Running late even for the birth of his kid.”

// James practically tripped over his own boots as he reached Regulus’s side. “I’m so sorry, love,” he said quickly, brushing sweat-damp hair from Regulus’s forehead. “I was finishing a mission when Sirius’s patronus came—bloody hell, I ran the whole way!”

Regulus glared at him weakly. “You’re lucky you did, because if I had to do this alone with your idiot best friend pacing like a—aghhh!” He cut off in another cry, squeezing James’s hand so tightly that the older boy winced.

“Okay, okay, you’ve got this, Reg. Just—just breathe and push, alright? Push for our baby boy.” //

The students collectively cringed and chuckled at once. Lavender and Parvati were practically leaning forward in fascination, whispering to each other about how romantic it was. Ron, meanwhile, had buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered.

Harry, though—Harry couldn’t look away. His heart pounded as he watched the man he’d only ever known through fragmented memories and stories—his papa—cry out, grit his teeth, and push through exhaustion and pain. There was power and determination in every motion, every breath. He looked fierce. Alive. Human.

// “Come on, Reggie, you can do it!” Sirius shouted, voice cracking with emotion, his pacing forgotten.

“Shut. Up!” Regulus ground out, his words trembling as he pushed again.

Then came the sound. A wail—sharp, pure, and new. //

The Great Hall went utterly silent. Even Peeves, floating high above the rafters, stopped mid-air.

Regulus fell back against the pillows, chest heaving, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. He was shaking from exhaustion, but his face… his face glowed with something almost otherworldly.

The healer—who’d been conveniently off-screen for modesty’s sake—handed him a small, squirming bundle wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

// Regulus looked down, his lips trembling as a wet laugh escaped him. “I endured you for months,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion, “and pushed you out, only for you to look like your father… Merlin help me.” //

The Great Hall burst into warm laughter, the kind that lingered through tears. Even Snape had the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

// James laughed too, his own eyes glassy as he leaned close, kissing Regulus’s forehead. “You did amazing, love.”

Sirius crept closer, unable to resist. He leaned over James’s shoulder, staring down at the tiny baby with awe and wonder. His voice was soft—softer than anyone had ever heard it. “He’s perfect,” he whispered. “Merlin’s beard… my baby brother made a baby.”

“Don’t make it sound like I did it alone,” Regulus muttered weakly, but there was humor in his tone.

James chuckled, pressing another kiss to Regulus’s temple. “Welcome to the world, Hadrian James Potter.”

The baby squirmed, his little fists waving. Regulus smiled tiredly, brushing a gentle finger across Harry’s cheek. //

In the Great Hall, Harry’s throat tightened painfully. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Hermione quietly slipped him a handkerchief. He smiled at her through the blur, unable to look away from the image of his parents—both of them glowing with pride and love.

On the screen, the door opened again, and a flurry of people entered—Lily with supplies, Remus trailing behind with wide eyes, even Peter hovering awkwardly near the doorway. They all crowded around, cooing over the baby, their laughter soft and real.

The entire hall seemed to melt. Laughter mingled with sniffles.

Neville smiled faintly, whispering, “It’s… kind of beautiful, isn’t it?”

Ginny nodded, watching Harry from the corner of her eye. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It really is.”

The camera—or rather, the memory—lingered on Regulus’s face one last time. His eyelids drooped, exhaustion tugging him under, but not before he looked at his baby one more time.

His final words, spoken in a whisper barely above breath, echoed through the hall like a blessing.

// “My little star…” //

The memory faded into silvery mist.

For a long time, no one spoke. Then, from the back of the hall, Seamus broke the silence with a nervous laugh. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “that’s definitely not the kind of Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson I was expecting today.”

It earned a few chuckles, easing the thick emotion in the air.

But for Harry, the scene lingered. His heart felt full, raw, and healed all at once. Seeing it—the love, the chaos, the laughter—it made everything feel real. For the first time, he didn’t just know he was loved.

He had seen it.