Chapter Text
The house still creaked with ghosts in every step. Grimmauld Place remained dim despite all the candles Harry had lit. The dust had returned like it had never left, and the Black family tapestry stared down at him with silent disdain. Even in peace, the place refused to forget war.
Harry rolled up his sleeves and picked up another box of moldy books from the library. Kreacher shuffled behind him, grumbling to himself as he dusted the shelves. Harry moved aside the boxes of books and approached the tall cabinet. “This one, too?” he asks and opens it. Kreacher didn’t answer. His large eyes had gone still when he saw where Harry was standing. His eyes were fixed on Harry’s feet–eyes fixed on something beneath the floorboards. Something he seemed to know was there.
“What is it, Kreacher?” Harry asks, looking confused at the house-elf. The elf couldn’t speak, the long silence making Harry more curious. The elf moved, trembling, to the far end of the room. It muttered words and a flick of his fingers, and the floor creaked, revealing a hollow beneath it. Harry looked down–inside it is a thin metal box, etched faintly with the initials R.A.B.
Kreacher walks towards him, kneeling as it lifts the thin metal box. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to hide it,” he murmured. “Said it was not for the war. Said it was for her.” It added, the elf’s trembling hand slightly embracing the metal box. “Her? Who is she, Kreacher?” Harry asks, his voice slightly cracked–afraid that it might bring yet another chaos. Another secret he has to unfold.
The elf held out the box with reverence, like it weighed far more than it looked. “Master hides something–someone he never got to hold.” It said, and a nervous look appeared on its face, “master had a daughter..” Kreacher said, barely a whisper, and handed Harry the box. Harry, on the other hand, slowly reached for the box and sat down on the dusty couch. “Kreacher will leave, the secret is in safe hands.” The elf murmured and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Harry gulps, and an unexplainable fire crackles in his heart as he slowly opens the box. Inside were folded letters–aged, unopened, unsent. One was addressed to a woman, Clara Vale, and the other one was without a name. Beneath the letters was a photograph of a boy and a girl in their Hogwarts uniforms. The girl’s smile was calm, and the boy’s eyes were tired, but soft as he looked at her.
Another showed a photo of a person he can recognize–Sirius. They were standing on the Quidditch pitch. Sirius had his arm slung around Regulus, ruffling his wind-swept hair. Sirius was grinning, wide and wild. Regulus shows a small smile, almost awkward. Awkward–but happy. Beneath the photographs, there was tucked a tiny pair of enchanted baby gloves. Still soft, still warm. Like it hasn’t been inside the box for a long time. Harry shut the box carefully. His throat was tight.
That night, right after he finished cleaning with Kreacher assisting him, he sat alone in the drawing room. Fire casting shadows along the walls, the box rested beside him. The silence of the house pressed inward. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t known what to do.
A sigh escaped his lips as he stared at the photograph of Sirius and Regulus. Sirius had never told him. Maybe he didn’t know. Or maybe he thought it was too painful to speak aloud. Harry thought for a long time; Did he want to find her? Did she want to be found?
He looked down again at the gloves inside the box. Yes. He did.
Without a second thought, he grabbed the box and left Grimmauld Place, apparating straight to the burrows. “Harry!” Ginny greeted him as soon as he stepped inside, “What brings you here?” Ginny asks and fixes his slightly lopsided jumper. “Is everyone here?” He asks, and Ginny nods. “We’re having dinner. Hermione arrived earlier. Decided to cook for us, come on. You look worried.” She said, pulling him to the kitchen.
“Oh, Harry dear!” Molly gleamed and walked towards him, giving him an embrace. “I hope I’m not intruding?” Harry joked, and Molly shot him with a stare. “Bloody hell, mate. Should’ve told us you’re coming.” Ron exclaimed, still chewing his food. “I have something important to say, but you probably should eat dinner first.” He said and left the kitchen. He sat down on the couch and saw Hermione walking down the stairs. “Mione,” he greeted with a smile. “Harry!” Hermione gleamed and ran towards him, arms wrapping around his neck. “You didn’t tell us you’re coming.”
“I thought you were used to it.”
“You feel so special, do you?” Hermione playfully said and let go of him. “You should probably eat first. We’ll talk later.” He said, tone serious, and Hermione could only nod.
Harry waited until everyone finished their meal and then huddled in the living room. He wasted no time and placed the metal box on the table. “I need help to find someone,” he started, and gulped. “Regulus Black has a daughter with a woman named Clara Vale. Does that ring a bell?”
"Clara Vale… goodness, I haven’t heard that name in years,” Arthur said, and everyone turned to him. “You met her before?” Harry asked, and Arthur nodded.
"She was in Ravenclaw, bright as anything. I covered a Charms lesson once, back when Professor Flitwick was off at a dueling exhibition. Most students looked ready to nap through the whole thing, but Clara—" He chuckles softly. "She stayed after class, asked me about the enchantment principles behind flying cars. Not broomsticks—cars." Arthur added, obviously amused by the memory. "Sharp mind. Quiet, but she didn’t miss a thing."
Harry pulled out the photo of Regulus and Clara from the box. “This is a photograph of Clara Vale and Regulus.”
“I’m not wrong, son. She’s one of the brightest witches—reminded me of our Hermione here.” Arthur said and handed back the photograph to Harry. “Like Hermione? You mean she’s also a Muggle-born?” Ron asks. “She is,” Arthur said with a nod.
Ever since that night, they reinforced their connections to find Clara Vale but found none. Not even a single trace of her was found in the Wizarding World. Until Hermione suggested finding the woman in a world where she was most likely not to be found. The Muggle world.
Hermione being Hermione, oh, when was she ever wrong? Two weeks later, they found her, tucked away in the village of Lavenham—a quiet, old place in Suffolk, its cobblestone streets weathered and sweet. It has a post office, a bakery, and not a single trace of magic. Her house sat at the edge of a field lined with wildflowers, stone walls, ivy, and a worn wooden porch. Harry breathed deeply, standing at her gate, uncertain.
Someone opened the door before he could knock. She looked at him. His eyes cannot help but notice the similarity between Regulus to the woman in front of him. Regulus. Dark curls, pale skin, story-grey eyes—the sight made Harry's breath catch. “Hello,” he said. The woman tilted her head, “You’re not selling anything, are you?”
Harry smiles faintly and shakes his head, “No. I’m Harry Potter, I’m looking for Clara Vale.”
A pause fell on them. The woman cleared her throat before fixing her composure. “Oh,” she said, without much interest. “Right. Sorry to break this to you, but my mother died a year ago.”
Harry froze and lowered his said, looking for words to say. “I’m sorry,” he started, looking up once again, his hand reaching to get the photograph from the pockets of his jacket. “But perhaps you want to talk about this.” He held out the photograph of Regulus and Clara. The woman looked down, staring, but didn’t speak. “Your father…Regulus Black.”
The woman looks up at him once again, “My mother showed me the same photograph before. She never told me his name. Not really. Just that…he left.” Harry nodded. “Perhaps he thought it would protect you.”
She scoffed and stepped down from her porch, now facing Harry. “It didn’t.” A silence settled between them until Harry cleared his throat. “Listen, if you have nothing else to say, leave, I still have a job to attend.” She said and turned her back from him. “Wait! I know this is strange, but I found a diary. Some letters—Regulus left them for your mother, and perhaps you.”
She didn’t move, “I thought you might want to see them. One day. If you’re ready.”
“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” she said quietly. “I’ve never been part of your world.” She said and faces him once again.
“You never—wait. You didn’t attend Hogwarts?”
The woman shook her head. “My mother taught me magic at home. She used to tell me stories. Showed me spells, but she stopped when I was fifteen. Said it was safer.”
“The Trace,” Harry murmured. “It didn’t find you?”
“We used natural magic. Nonverbal spells in controlled environments. Ancient tricks.” She paused, “She was clever like that.”
Harry studied her. She has the stillness of someone who has spent her life watching, not acting. Someone who never fit in either world. He held out his hand, but she didn’t take it. Giving him only a slow nod, as if accepting something invisible between them.
He reached into his pocket and placed the folded paper on the wooden fences of the gates, “I’ll leave this. If you ever want to talk, or learn, or just…know. You can give me a call.” He said and turned her back on her, walking down the path, toward the field. “Eira! My name is Eira!” The woman shouted in the distance, and he nodded.
She stands still in front of the gates of her house. She watched him go.
Eira plopped down on the wooden bench on her porch, pulling out the same photograph Harry showed her from her wallet. She didn’t cry or call after Harry to tell her more. But as the sun dipped behind the fields, she pressed her fingers to the photograph and whispered the name aloud—“Regulus”