Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Echo

Prologue

2^nd of May, 1998.

“Avada Kedavra!”. A flash of light illuminated the sky above Hogwarts. Voldemort slowly became fearful as he realized he couldn’t avoid the coming spell. His body, stretched to the limits of humanity by his many rituals, dissolved into ash, scattering into the wind.

It was done. Voldemort was dead. The Death-eaters, dead, dying or imprisoned. They had won. They had done it. He had done it. After everything, it was finally over.

As Harry stood among the remains of Hogwarts grounds, the Elder wand still trembling in his hand, the last screams of battle began to fade away, until only silence remained. The air was thick with magic, the scent, a mix of blood, sweat, and acrid smoke.

He walked the grounds, his gaze, vacant, tired, drifted across unfamiliar faces, most were beyond recognition after the carnage that just took place. Yet he searched, a desperate and useless hope settling inside him. He knew it was futile, but still he searched.

He finally found them; Ron, his first friend, and Hermione, the sister he never had, lying dead together, blood marring their hair, despair etched across their faces. Not knowing what to do, he just knelt beside them, his hand shaking above their face, afraid to touch them.

Slowly, he closed their eyes, and only then did realization hit him; they are gone. Their skin, cold. Their presence, absent. His two best friends, his anchors through every hardship he ever had to deal with.

As he made his way up to the great Hall, he saw them. Neville, Ginny, Luna, and so many more he could barely recognize.

He choked on a sob as it hit him: he had won, but at what price? What left did he have worth living for? All he had ever fought for had led to this, solitude. Grief, blame and pain took over him, unbearable pain as he understood he had nothing left, no one to share this victory, if it could be called as such.

And as felt sorrow wash over him, almost consuming him whole, he felt the air being torn from his lungs, his control of his magic evaporating. His magic, this comfortable, pulsing sense that had always made him feel alive, was now tearing him apart. It pulsed, a frantic, desperate beat.

Sparks of uncontrolled energy began to fly from his aching body. The air crackled. People began shouting around him, but he couldn’t distinguish what they were saying.

“Harry!” Someone screamed, but he couldn’t tell who.

“Help me…,” he gasped, his own voice a pitiful, suffering cry to anyone who would listen. It was rough, broken, and hardly audible, even to himself “No more, please, I can’t… I can’t take it any more”.

But his magic, left unleashed, roared louder than any call for help he could muster. The shaking intensified, a searing pain shooting through his being, starting from his chest and spreading through every nerve ending.

An invisible hand reached into him, wrapping around his very core, and ripping it in half. His magical essence, what made him who he was, was not only aching, but he could feel it shattering. He couldn’t see anymore, the last thing left to feel was this agonizing pain that was about to kill him.

“So, this is it…” he thought, no longer caring, but eager for it all to be over.

Despite the roaring in his ears, he heard a sound, sharp, clear, like glass shattering into a million pieces. A cold and terrifying emptiness took hold of him as the world around began to distort.

The walls of the Great Hall wavered, the air shimmering, the bodies of his friends and foes alike blurring into indistinct shapes.

Unbeknownst to everyone, reality was tearing itself, shaping into something else. Harry was seeing glimpses of indescribable things, a chaotic kaleidoscope flashing in front of his eyes. His being, stretched almost to its breaking point.

And then, the memories, fragmented, raw, flashed before him.

Sirius’ grin before falling through the veil. Dobby’s bright eyes fading as he died, protecting him, as he had always done. Remus and Tonks, lying still, hands clutched together.

More and more came, each memory piercing his already shattered soul.

A scream, “Not Harry! Not Harry! Please no, take me, kill me instead- “, his mother. His final thought went to the woman who had sacrificed herself so he could live.

Then, there was only darkness. An empty void. It was terrifying, suffocating, and for what felt like eternity, he simply existed within it, unable to do anything but fall through endless darkness. No up or down, no beginning or end. Just the quiet silence of the non-existence.

He wasn’t sure how long he drifted – hours, days, or a millennium? He wasn’t even sure time was a thing here, a concept tied to a reality that had just been destroyed.

(Break)

25^th of June, 1970.

After drifting inside the void, the first sensation he felt was cold. Not the bitter chill of winter, but a deep, invasive cold that seeped inside his being, and started leaking outside of him. Then came the whispers, faint, barely audible sounds, carrying fragments of long-past conversations.

Little by little, he could feel shapes taking form. Words started making more and more sense.

“Abraxas came yesterday, he hinted at a betrothal between you and his son”, said a voice that Harry didn’t recognize – deep, clearly elderly, with an air of authority.

“Lucius? Uncl- My Lord, please, you know what will happen to me if I marry him.”, this voice, high-pitched, clear and precise, with an unmistakable aristocratic tilt, and yet tinged with apprehension and fear, he was almost sure he knew it, but couldn’t quite place it.

Lucius? Lucius Malfoy? He died during the final battle. I saw him fall. What is happening?

“I know, Narcissa, and that is why –” Narcissa?!

That name could only be associated with one person. And her lord and uncle? That meant…

He opened his eyes, or tried to, rather. But there was nothing to help him get a sense of where he was and what was happening.

Finally, he could see forms, walls, a room, he was in a room, a grand, vaulted room with tall windows and dark tapestries. A massive, ornate desk on one side, behind which sat a man he didn’t know, yet instantly recognized as a Black.

His features, though aged, held a distinctive resemblance to Sirius, and even Bellatrix, echoes of faces he both loved and hated. If this was Narcissa’s uncle, and the Lord Black, then it had to be Arcturus Black, who had been dead for decades!

In front of the man, standing proud despite her youth, was a young witch not yet out of her teens. She had long, pale blonde hair cascading down her back, sparkling like the moonlight on a dark night.

Her face, even in youth, was sharp and aristocratic. A delicate nose, high cheekbones, grey eyes fiercely focused on her interlocutor.

Narcissa.

The implications of it all hit him as if it were a physical blow. Arcturus Black, alive. Narcissa, much younger than he had ever seen. Harry’s head was spinning, trying to grasp the reality he found himself in.

He wasn’t just in a different place, but in a different time. He was back, not a few hours like a time-turner allowed, but decades. To a time before Voldemort’s wars.

He tried to speak. No sound. He tried to move, but no muscle responded. He could see, hear, but couldn’t interact. He was like a silent observer, an unseen presence. A ghost… No, less than a ghost. An invisible perturbation, of a past already written.

He tried to reach out to them, a plea full of despair already forming in his mind, but he had no voice. He wanted to scream, to be heard, seen, anything to bring him to life, to break him free from this terrifying, ethereal prison he found himself in.

As panic started to build inside of him, he tried to reach out with his non-existent hand, and as it passed through the air between them, their conversation stopped, their bodies stiffened, their heads snapping up.

“Did you feel that, Uncle?” Narcissa said, her voice low, her eyes scanning around the room.

Lord Arcturus Black, a man who had faced countless horrors in his long life, merely raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, barely. How odd. It feels like a ghost. But there are none in this house, and the wards wouldn’t allow any to enter.” He paused, his gaze lingering on the empty air where Harry ‘stood’. His eyes narrowed as he tried to comprehend what they had just felt.

Harry felt a pang of despair so profound it threatened to splinter his very being, after everything, is this what I become?

Suddenly, the room grew colder, the candles’ flames flickered, and a cold breeze went through the room.

They couldn’t see him. Could only feel the residual cold of his fragmented soul, the chill created by his movements. He was truly alone, a silent, invisible witness to a story he already knew, a past he couldn’t change.

Am I condemned to see it all happening, powerless to do anything?

He was the guardian of a terrible knowledge, cursed to watch the inevitable unfold. The chill that emanated from him wasn’t just physical, it was the bitter despair of a man completely alone, forever cut off from the living, a spirit trapped in a world that couldn’t see him.

(Break)

30^th of June, 1970.

As days went by, Harry remained bound to Black Manor. He found himself drawn to Narcissa. She was different here, younger, of course, but also untouched by the war that had hardened her in his time.

As he trailed her path, he began to learn how the house worked – a place governed by rules of aristocracy and privilege, utterly foreign to his own life. Each room, each hidden hallway, whispered of traditions and expectations he’d never known.

Mornings brought lessons for both Narcissa and Andromeda. They were mostly tutored by the best money could buy, but occasionally by their mother, Druella Black née Rosier, or their aunt, Walburga Black. The subjects would range from Ancient Runes to Magical Etiquette, the latter filled with exhaustive details on how to comport oneself at pureblood galas or Ministry meetings.

How boring, Harry thought, and it seemed he was not the only one.

“Honestly, Cissy,” Andromeda sighed one morning, letting her quill drop onto the table. “If I have to recite the Rosier lineage one more time, I might hex myself”.

Narcissa, ever the diligent student, just offered a small, knowing smile. “It is expected, Dromeda.”

“Expected, but not interesting,” Andromeda mumbled, earning a soft, reproachful cough from their tutor. “What’s the point of memorizing who married whom three centuries ago?”

“Because,” Narcissa said smoothly. “Uncle Arcturus says knowing our House’s history is important”.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “History is boring”.

And there was a glimpse of her independent nature, clear even beneath the polite veneer of their education. Narcissa, on the other hand, simply applied herself as much as possible, whatever the subject presented to her.

Harry would spend these times hovering above them, a silent, unseen spectator, absorbing every detail of this foreign past, learning more and more about this family he had barely met in his time.

He watched Narcissa’s delicate hand meticulously copy runes. He observed her practicing her Charms, her wand movements precise and elegant, her brow furrowed in deep focus.

Afternoons were even more boring – pureblood families visiting, conversations of alliances and status subtly hinting at the shifting political climate.

Narcissa’s unease was palpable whenever Lucius Malfoy was mentioned, or more so when he visited, and it was worse during the conversations with her parents, Cygnus and Druella, about their likely engagement.

Although the Lord Malfoy had yet to officially ask for a contract, her parents acted as if it was a done deal.

“Really, Cissy, darling,” Druella cooed over tea one afternoon. “The Malfoys are simply delighted with the prospect. Such a good match for you.”

“Lord Malfoy hasn’t made an official proposal yet, Mother.” Narcissa’s voice didn’t waver, but Harry could see a flicker in her eyes.

Cygnus chuckled at her naivete. “A mere formality, daughter. It is the natural course of action for our houses. A Black and a Malfoy, united. Two of the greatest houses sharing blood.”

“But I… I have my studies, things I wish to do and -” Narcissa tried, her voice small.

“Nonsense my dear, a Lady’s duties are to her husband and children, nothing more. You will have plenty to busy yourself with, do not worry.” Druella’s words were firm and dismissive, not acknowledging Narcissa’s dreams as important.

Narcissa’s protests were timid, and immediately dismissed.

She wanted to cry.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, the air around them grew colder.

(Break)

He was also a witness to Bellatrix’s gradual slide into fanaticism. She was older than Narcissa, of age and just out of Hogwarts, and already possessed a dangerous, almost feral gleam in her eyes that made Harry’s spectral hackles rise. She would often corner one of her sisters, her dark eyes gleaming with an almost feverish excitement.

“Have you heard, Cissy? Rodolphus says our Lord is gaining more and more support! Soon, those Mudbloods will learn their proper place.” Bellatrix would whisper, but her fanaticism was clear to anyone listening.

Narcissa usually just gave a thin-lipped, evasive answer. “Bella, must you speak of such things? Mother says it’s quite ill-mannered to discuss politics at tea.”

“Ill-mannered?” Bellatrix would scoff, a cruel twist to her lips. “It’s the future, little sister! Purity. Power. The way it was always meant to be. Our family, leading the way.”

Andromeda, on the other hand, was much more radiant, and kind, a warmth she was forced to carefully hide in the Black’s ancestral manor. Her conversations with Narcissa were filled with a subtle longing for freedom, a clear reminder, to him, of her own rebellion against the ideology Bellatrix was already embracing.

“Sometimes, I just want to run away, you know,” she had confessed once, her voice a low whisper. “To find a place where no one would expect anything from me.”

Yet, beneath the surface of these casual observations, a deeper frustration started to grow within Harry. He was a spectator, yes, but also a prisoner.

Every conversation about power and blood purity, every cruel sneer from Bellatrix or Walburga, every calculating glance from Lucius – each was a familiar and painful reminder of a war he had already fought.

His inability to do anything, to make a difference, slowly started to stir something inside of him.

He wasn’t quite a person anymore, that much he knew. He was more like a storm of emotion, held together by memory and a power he couldn’t comprehend. He had noticed that, the more agitated he became, the more the air around him seemed to shift.

It wasn’t intentional, these were just his emotions spilling into the world around him. For now, it was faint; rooms that were warm would grow cold, a breath of wind would manifest where none should be.

The changes were subtle, easy to dismiss unless you were sensitive to the magic and atmosphere of the manor.

And Lord Arcturus Black knew the manor intimately, for he had lived there for decades. Its every whisper and subtle shift, its very stones and currents of magic were ingrained in his being, and so he grew more and more conscious of the peculiar anomaly within his home.

Harry would frequently find himself floating in his large, private study, watching the old wizard deeply focused over ancient texts, scrolls, and essays. Arcturus would mumble to himself, making notes on long rolls of parchment, drawing complex diagrams with obscure runic sequences.

Harry could tell he was genuinely trying to comprehend the odd occurrences that had been happening, immediately understanding that these were no accidents or tricks of the light. The subtle nature of the disturbances suggested a deeper, more profound origin.

Narcissa noticed, too. One afternoon, she sat alone in the library. A soft chill passed by her cheek, and she paused. Her magazine shifted slightly. She held out a hand, uncertain. “What…” she whispered, fingers brushing the air.

But when it happened in the garden—when the temperature dropped hard enough to cover the leaves in frost — it shook her. Her breath turned misty. She dropped her wand. She stared, wide-eyed, at the frozen petals.

“Strange,” she murmured, a faint frown settling on her brow. She held her hand out, cautiously. Her fingers passed right through him, feeling only the lingering cold. “It feels like… one of the Hogwarts ghosts passed through me. But there’s none here.” She pulled her hand back, rubbing her arm, a prickle of unease settling over her. “Right?”, she added, a bit more loudly, her voice laced with unease.

As these occurrences became more frequent, she decided to mention them to her uncle.

“Uncle Arcturus,” Narcissa began, her voice less hesitant in the confines of the Lord’s study. “I’ve been experiencing some unusual things lately.”

Arcturus peered at her over his desk, his expression unreadable. “Unusual, Narcissa?”

“Yes. Odd temperature drops,” she explained. “and bursts of chills appearing from nowhere. Sometimes, things just seem to… move. Subtly.” She then recounted the incident in the garden, the frost on the leaves.

Arcturus listened, carefully, his eyes thoughtful and focus. “The manor’s wards are really ancient, powerful,” he mused, peering over his glasses. “Perhaps they are reacting to some magical stress, or a shift in the ambient energies we are yet to perceive.” He offered logical, if ultimately unsatisfying, explanations, preferring to exhaust all known magical theories before considering the truly inexplicable.

He didn’t want to think about ghosts and other magical creatures just yet, especially one that seemed to defy any known parameters, if that’s what it truly was. Their family had extensive knowledge about such beings, yet none seemed to fit the occurrences that were taking place.

“I would like you to take notes, Narcissa,” he instructed, his voice firm. “Actual records. The times, places, and exact sensations you perceive.” He wasn’t humoring her. He was onto something.

Harry felt relief and frustration at the same time. Relief, that they were not dismissing what was happening, even if they didn’t know what it was. Frustration, because they were yet to get closer to the truth.

It would take time, he knew, but this didn’t stop him from being slightly miffed, especially as he could do nothing to help them understand.

So, he watched as Narcissa started to dutifully fill her notes, sketching small diagrams of the manor rooms, marking “cold spots” and “flickers”. He felt a strange intimacy develop in this shared, unspoken secret.

(Break)

4^th of July, 1970.

As time passed, Harry’s ghostly presence appeared to have more impact on the world around him. The initial chills and gusts of cold air grew more potent, and more frequent. It was no longer only associated with his grief of a past that hadn’t happened yet, or other negative emotions, though it still produced some of the worst drops in temperature.

Sometimes, however, it would be his complete focus, often while reading over Narcissa’s shoulder, that would cause the air to thicken, warning the witch of the sudden shift in the manor’s ambient magic. She would cock her head and narrow her eyes as she tried to find the source of the disturbance.

Narcissa had by this time assembled several pages of her detailed observations. Her initial apprehension had given way to a profound, almost scholarly interest, with a subtle touch of awe and curiosity. She’d sit by herself in her sitting room, the notebook across her lap, quill at the ready, looking into the empty air, waiting. Harry, drawn by her gentle, persistent presence, would often drift nearby, fascinated by her resolute pursuit of this mystery.

She had jotted down questions, trying to categorize what she was experiencing: Is it connected to the manor? Is it a spirit? A ghost?

One afternoon, Narcissa’s investigations grew bolder. She reached out, palm open, passing through a cold spot that had just appeared. She was trying to interact with something she couldn’t see, but could feel was around.

“It’s like… living cold”, she whispered to herself, and unknowingly, to Harry as well. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”

He felt an onslaught of mixed emotions – anger at being unable to speak, and also a glimmer of hope that she was getting closer. He focused, using every shred of his ghostly will, trying to make an impact. He didn’t want something big, just enough to leave no doubt.

His eyes fell on the delicate quill on her desk. Slowly, the quill began to roll and dropped on the floor.

It had been subtle, yet too deliberate to be an accident. Narcissa gasped, her hand covering her mouth, her heart racing. She gazed at the quill, picking it up, almost reverently.

Her eyes, wide in a mix of fear and astonishment, were fixed on the empty space above her desk, right where Harry floated.

A heavy realization hit her then: this was real. Something was here. Her face paled, yet a fierce determination seemed to quickly take over. There was fear, yes, but mostly it was curiosity that dominated.

She swallowed, hard, then whispered, “Are you here to harm us?”

(Break)

Meanwhile, Arcturus Black had been far from idle. His study had become his sanctuary. His desk filled with ancient and obscure tomes. He had noticed a pattern in the disturbances; the cold areas, the inexplicable breezes, the randomly moving items – they manifested with a distressing predictability, often when this new movement and its Lord were discussed.

Most intriguing of all, these events seemed to frequently happen in the vicinity of his niece, Narcissa, especially when the Malfoys were visiting, as if this presence could sense her discomfort at being in Lucius’ presence.

I can certainly feel it, Arcturus thought to himself.

He sat at his desk, a heavy tome on the oddities of ancient ward magic placed in front of him. He had searched his library for any mention of such occurrences, but nothing matched what he had witnessed so far. These were not simple ghosts, mischievous spirits or even the malevolent specters one could sometimes find in the very ancient houses.

This was something different, much rarer and more powerful. Something alive, yet unseen. Arcturus rose, a silent, imposing figure, and walked slowly across his desk, his senses heightened.

He knew that certain bloodlines, particularly those most connected to old magics, could occasionally, and often inadvertently, call up rare, powerful magical beings.

But these required heavy magical rituals, and none had taken place in this house. He would have felt it through his connections to the wards.

What he felt was nothing like that. He glared into the empty space around him, looking for something, anything, that could give him a clue to what he was facing. He could feel the temperature dropping slowly, as if responding to his internal interrogations, and so he decided to voice them.

“What are you? What is your purpose here?” he asked.

Harry tried to focus his will, attempting to convey anything he could to the older man.

A small, barely perceptible vibration coursed through the chandelier over Arcturus’ head. It was faint, Harry knew it, but intentional bursts of magic were still hard for him.

However, Arcturus didn’t need more than that, and so he nodded, face grim, as he went back to sit behind his desk. While it didn’t give him any clear answer, it was enough. Something was listening, attempting to communicate.

His mind reeled. This was no ordinary ghost. This was something he had never heard about. Something invisible, faint, almost imperceptible. And yet, it could understand, and was trying to communicate with him.

The stakes had just risen tenfold. He would need to be constantly focused.

(Break)

6^th of July, 1970.

The dining room felt particularly heavy that evening, a palpable tension, characteristic of purebloods gathering, hung heavy in the air. Harry, ever the observant, was looking at the happenings from afar.

Lord Black was seated at the head of the long, dark, wooden table. To his right was his wife, Melania Black née Macmillan, the Lady of the house. To his left was his son, Orion, a handsome man in his forties, exuding an air of authority that resembled his father’s. Walburga, his wife and mother to his heirs, sat quietly beside him.

Across from them were Cygnus and his wife, Druella, Narcissa’s parents. Cygnus, leaner than Orion, hid his never-ending ambitions beneath a smooth demeanor.

The younger generations filled out the rest of the seats. Bellatrix was beside her mother, her eyes burning with a dangerous, near-mad intensity. To her right sat Andromeda. Harry could feel the tension in Andromeda's stiff shoulders, the subtle shudders she'd give whenever a sensitive subject arose. Narcissa sat beside Andromeda, already displaying a confident presence.

She hardly ate, her gaze wandering around, but Harry saw how quickly she’d recover her composure whenever he mother or aunt happened to look at her.

Harry ached for her, a delicate girl caught up in this ruthless world.

Walburga’s sharp voice pierced through the polite chatter as she addressed Cygnus. “I just spoke with Abraxas today, Cygnus. He thinks the Ministry is ready for some… reforms. Too many incompetents in power, too afraid to make the right decisions. The Lord is eager to start making changes.”

“Indeed, Walburga,” replied Cygnus, a glint in his eyes. “We are seeing the dawn of a new age. The time for indulgence must come to an end. Our own people are suffering when we should be revered.” He glared intently at his wife, and she nodded willingly.

Bellatrix appeared to vibrate with passion and excitement. “And his vision, Father! No more half measures. No more tolerating those who dilute our blood and power. He will restore everything to its proper place!” She was talking in a low, searing voice.

“It’s unfortunate Sirius and Regulus are not present tonight,” Druella replied questioningly, looking at her sister-in-law.

“They are at Alphard’s place in London, but considering the guests we are to receive soon, it may be better for them to not be here for now.” Walburga answered, anxiously looking at Arcturus.

After all, they knew that, despite their confidence, the Lord Black had yet to commit to any side, and the coming meetings would be determinant in the future of their House.

Harry had long stopped listening, though. Sirius. That name, so casually spoken, hit him like a fist. He had been so absorbed in his own predicament, in this odd version of a time he didn’t know, that thoughts of his godfather hadn’t crossed his mind. But Walburga’s random mention of him brought it all to life.

Sirius was alive. The only relative he ever had, the one who had suffered so much. The man who had died, by his fault.

The thought submerged him, and the suffocating burden of all that had happened to him shook his shapeless body. He was overwhelmed with pain and grief. Everything began to burst forth from him in waves he could not contain.

Air in the dining hall thickened, the warmth sucked out as an abrupt cold settled over everyone present. The beautiful chandelier, suspended overhead, was swaying with rage, and its hundred pendants started clanging, ready to fall at any time.

Delicate silverware knocked against the various pieces of porcelain, some sliding close to the edge, only held in position by, Arcturus knew, the prompt intervention of the house elves. The fireplace erupted into a roaring flame, heating up the last shivers that lingered.

A terrified gasp rang through the room as Walburga clutched Orion’s arm, his face more tensed than afraid. Druella let out a small, shrill scream. Narcissa’s face paled, unconsciously looking toward the empty area where Harry had been a moment ago, her eyes widening in comprehension.

Arcturus’ own face stayed calm but his body stiffened, eyes flicking to the location of the disturbance, his magical senses fully alert.

As Harry regained control of his emotions, the magical manifestation of his distress started to lessen and the room slowly returned to normal, leaving behind a biting, bone-deep cold that refused to dissipate.

Regaining her composure, Walburga glared around the room. “What in Merlin’s name was that?” she snapped, her eyes darting to the quivering chandelier. “Did the wards fall?” At that, everyone turned to Arcturus, for only the Lord could feel the wards.

Arcturus didn’t reply immediately, his mind already hard at work. He already suspected, of course, but the more it happened, the more he felt like he was on the right track.

But what had caused it this time? Arcturus thought.

Not wanting to alarm them, he answered his daughter-in-law. “No, the wards are fine.”

Arcturus gazed at Narcissa, a shared understanding passing between them. An unspoken acceptance of the impossible reality they alone knew. In her gaze, he could see fear, but also a growing determination that mirrored his own. The resumed conversations faded into a background noise.

Whatever had just transpired was no mere magical anomaly; it was a reaction, by something, or someone, of such an overwhelming power it defied all known classifications.

The implications were mind-blowing, and as Arcturus shifted his thoughtful gaze back to the family seated around the table, he knew their lives – and perhaps even the fate of House Black itself – had irrevocably changed.

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know in the comments. Next chapter should be up soon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 – Whispers of Darkness

8^th of July, 1970.

The first week of July had ended, but to Harry, time remained blurred. His overwhelming grief, while still present, was slightly eased by his new reality that offered him something to focus on. The knowledge that those he had lost were either alive or not yet born had also helped.

His attention, however, was increasingly drawn to Narcissa, whose delicate magic seemed to vibrate in response to his own. He observed the routines of her days, absorbing all the details about her life.

He also spent hours watching Arcturus in his study as he pored over ancient magical texts. His analysis of the disturbances Harry caused, combined with Narcissa’s tentative reach, spurred a fierce determination in him.

He yearned to respond. He needed them to acknowledge his existence and so, he began experimenting, focusing his intent rather than letting emotions control him.

One afternoon, Arcturus sat in his study, a low murmur escaping his lips as he pored over a massive book on magical theories. “Fascinating”, he breathed, tracing a finger along a line of archaic runes.

His eyes scanned the pages, searching for answers, muttering to himself. “Not a ghost, of that there is no doubt. A rogue spirit of some other form perhaps? No… no, the wards would have picked up on it.”

Harry focused on the page the Lord Black was reading, a complex diagram about some sort of magical ritual. He channeled his fractured energy and the yellowed paper let out a heavy flutter.

Arcturus glanced up, looking intently in front of him. The more he focused, the more he thought he could discern a shape taking form, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

Harry leaned back against the wall, or at least, as much as was possible in his current state. A feeling of victory coursed through him. He was making progress.

(Break)

Later that day, Harry was with Narcissa while she was attempting a difficult vanishing spell. She was struggling, and Harry could feel her building frustration. “Come on, damn you!” she hissed under her breath.

Harry tried to focus his magic to make her relax, and suddenly, Narcissa felt a small wave of calmness wash over her.

She looked around, a question in her gaze. “That was… odd,” she murmured, and then rushed to her diary to note the exact time and location of what had just happened.

The collective effect of these occurrences cemented Arcturus’ determination to solve this mystery and so he had summoned Narcissa.

She arrived, quill and notebook already in hand, her face a blend of apprehension and curiosity.

“Close the door, Narcissa,” Arcturus commanded, his voice low, not more than a whisper. He didn’t give her time to sit down before he started. “The events of the last week, they are not accidental, I am now certain of it.”

Narcissa nodded, her grip on her notebook tighter. “I’ve made notes, Uncle. The locations, the time it happened, the intensity. Sometimes, it feels like it’s random, but there seems to be a pattern. It seems stronger whenever we have… guests,” She emphasized the word, and Arcturus chuckled at that; he knew too well her opinion of certain families.

“But also…” she stopped, unsure, “also, when I’m frustrated, I feel waves of calmness wash over me, maybe I’m imagining things but, I think, somehow, it is connected to me.” She looked up, her gaze anxious.

Arcturus’ own eyes, shining with intelligence, looked straight back at her.

“Your observations are sharp, my dear. My findings concur. Added to the mess that happened at dinner, I think they appear in response to some emotional stress – this entity’s and… possibly yours.”

He paused, leaning forward. “This is not a typical haunting, Narcissa. I have contacted some friends, and so far, none has ever heard about an invisible entity that could interact with our world, especially one that wouldn’t trigger wards as powerful as the ones we have. Nothing they know behaves like this being. It is somewhat intelligent, powerful, even in its current state. And I think it is attempting to communicate with us.”

Harry, hovering beside a vast bookshelf, was shocked. He hadn’t realized they were this far in their observations. Maybe he had been more impactful than he had thought. He stayed still, hope going through his body.

“Communicate?” Narcissa gasped, staring at her Lord. “How?”

“That is the question,” he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Its power is subtle, but growing. We cannot expect it to talk to us. But maybe there is an easier way.” And with a flick of his wand, a golden service bell appeared in front of them. “One ring for ‘yes’,” he declared, moving a finger over it, creating a clean, sharp ring. “And two for ‘no’”.

“Do you think it will work, Uncle?” Narcissa seemed doubtful, but Arcturus had a confident look on his face. “It seems to understand our intent, to a degree, and to be able to impact our world. If it can direct a bit of magic towards this bell, then it should.”

Narcissa’s expression cleared with understanding. “And what should we ask Uncle?”

“We will start with simple questions. To confirm its nature, its limitations. We cannot risk making assumptions about its knowledge or intentions, we still know nothing about it and for now, we ought to be careful”. Arcturus’ gaze, while seemingly directed into empty space, was encompassing Harry quite accurately. “I believe it is here right now. Let us test our theory.”

Harry felt a rush of adrenaline. This was it. A chance. If he could make this bell ring, then they would be a step closer to solving this mystery.

Arcturus rose to his feet, his voice firm and commanding, his wand in his hand, just in case something goes wrong, he thought. Even though this entity hadn’t shown any malevolent intent so far, it never hurt to be prepared.

“Do you understand us?”

Harry focused on picturing a single, clear chime. He felt his magic, and then pushed towards the bell.

Ding.

Narcissa gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide fixed on the bell. Arcturus remained impassive, but a fleeting look of grim satisfaction passed over his face. He nodded, then asked the next question.

“Are you bound to the manor?”

Harry stiffened, frustrated at his situation, realizing he had no reply. He had never tried to leave, after all. He pushed with all he had, wanting the bell to show his lack of a distinct answer.

Ding, ding, ding.

Narcissa’s brow furrowed, her eyes flicking between the bell and the Lord Black. “Three times, Uncle? What is it supposed to mean?” Her voice was laced with confusion.

Arcturus’ face grew more contemplative, his eyes narrowed as he tried to comprehend the unexpected answer. Had they been wrong with their experiment?

“Not a ‘yes’,” he breathed, speaking to himself. “And not a ‘no’…” His eyes rested on Narcissa, a glimmer of understanding breaking in his eyes. “Uncertainty. Perhaps it cannot answer, or doesn’t know its own limitations.”

Harry felt relieved. They had made a breakthrough, however small it could seem.

“Uncle, this is… remarkable,” Narcissa gasped faintly, eyes wide with awe, fear, and a burning need to know more that mirrored Arcturus’.

“Remarkable indeed, my dear, remarkable indeed.” Arcturus replied. He wanted to push for more, but he knew they didn’t have time right now; they had a meeting to attend, one he could already tell would leave him with a throbbing headache.

It didn’t matter, though. They had made an incredible discovery today, and the implications were staggering.

He really is a formidable man, Harry mused.

(Break)

Arcturus glanced at the grandfather clock ticking in the corner of his study. There was a meeting to attend, a gathering that promised to be less intellectually stimulating than their recent discovery, and certainly much more taxing.

Harry, a bit dizzy from the effort, could feel his strength coming back to him much quicker than in the beginning. Perhaps he had needed a time to adapt to his new situation. 

He hovered over them as they swiftly tied up the study before leaving the room. Their shared moment of impossibility had ended, to be replaced by the more pressing matter of pureblood politics.

Soon enough, the manor’s air was filled with another sort of chill, one that was in no way related to Harry’s ethereal form. This was stemming from political maneuvering.

Narcissa and Andromeda, too young for such discussions, were already confined to one of the private sitting room, an arrangement for which Harry suspected they both felt a profound relief.

Arcturus had sent Melania with them, knowing her quiet and kind nature was not suited for the talks to come. Not that I am in such a hurry myself, Arcturus thought.

Harry, clinging to the sides of the grand drawing room, was ready to witness tonight’s pleasantries. He knew what this would be about, or at least, strongly suspected.

A meeting with some of Voldemort’s most fanatical followers? This can only mean one thing: Voldemort is ready to act and wants the Blacks on his side.

He could only hope this wouldn’t be the time where they put their lot behind him. He had become quite attached to the Lord Black and his niece, and didn’t want the same things that had happened in his time to repeat themselves.

He would have to wait and keep faith that Arcturus was smarter than his relatives. After all, in his time, he had almost never heard about him.

Walburga, Cygnus, and of course, Bellatrix, had been fanatical followers of the Dark Lord, but he couldn’t recall much about the ancient Lord.

Maybe something happened to him before everything started.

The guests started to arrive. First, Lord Corvus Lestrange, a stern man with hard looking eyes and a grave expression on his face.

Then came Lord Malfoy, Abraxas, impeccably dressed as always, an insufferable smirk Harry knew too well from a different time, already set on his lips.

Last to arrive were Travers and Nott, less prominent but no less fanatical in their beliefs, their faces etched with a sense of self-importance.

These men would be a part of the inner circle of one of the most feared Dark Lord of all time. The crimes committed by the persons present here were innumerable, cruel acts that would scar an entire generation.

The pleasantries were brief, a prelude to the real to the real agenda of the evening. Arcturus, seated at the head of the table, exuded an air of authority that would accept no challenge, even from his family.

Walburga, sitting close to him, her back stiff, her face closed, nodded sharply in quiet approval as the conversation finally drifted towards the evening’s real purpose.

“The Ministry is the same as ever,” Abraxas Malfoy began, his voice smooth. “Their policies bordering on betrayal to our noble blood since that old fool Dumbledore has taken up his positions. They refuse to see what is needed for true progress.”

Corvus nodded in agreement. “Power, Abraxas. Firm hands. The rot has set in too deep, and gentle probing will not cut it out.” His cold, unforgiving eyes glanced around the room, lingering briefly on Arcturus. The ancient Lord had been quiet so far, not taking part in the small talk.

Bellatrix quivered with fervor, her eyes burning with passion. “Our Lord has that power. I have never seen anything like it. He knows our traditions, knows how in danger they are. And he is not afraid to do what is needed. Mudbloods are infesting our world, threatening our way of life!”

If he had a body, Harry would have rolled his eyes. These are amongst the most privileged people that exist and they dare to be unhappy.

Harry held back the magic he could feel building up inside of him as much as he could. Lashing out now, while potentially very satisfying, would serve no real purpose.

The discussion went in circles, each man trying to top the other in his loyalty to their Lord’s vision. They spoke of “purging their world”, “restoring the true magical blood”.

Arcturus listened, reading between the lines, distaste and disapproval growing inside of him. He understood really quickly that they were not talking about political actions.

For all their talks about the Ministry, it seemed like this new Lord wasn’t looking to be the next Minister.

War, that is what this is leading to, and potentially the ruins of everything I ever fought for, Arcturus mused silently.

“Lord Black, your political acumen, wisdom and magical prowess would be invaluable to our cause. And of course, having the formidable Noble and Most Ancient House of Black on our side would be a boon to our cause.” Nott was finally addressing the real purpose of this meeting: an official alliance.

For years, he had seen the signs, heard the whispers, but he had refused to take a side, even as he witnessed his family slowly drifting towards this new movement. Alas, it seemed that soon, his neutrality might not be respected anymore, and he would have to make a choice.

But I need more time to prepare.

Arcturus slowly swirled his glass, taking a long sip before answering. “The House of Black has always been a house of power and tradition, Nott. But power is not in bald displays of force. It is about prudence, planning, and foresight.” He paused, his gaze flashed towards the members of his family in quiet warning. “A commitment of this magnitude requires… thoughtful consideration.”

Bellatrix, despite the clear warning, couldn’t stop herself.

“But Uncle, surely you can -“.

The Lord of the House didn’t let her finish. “Quiet, girl. I will not risk centuries of history for someone whose face I’ve never seen. Any definitive answer would require a meeting with this Lord of yours.” He didn’t agree nor refused anything, leaving all doors open.

He recognized the values of their vision: a world dominated by purebloods, led by his House, would propel its members to the top of the hierarchy.

But we are already at the top. No family can rival with our wealth, history, or knowledge. What are we to gain from such an endeavor?

Arcturus was a pragmatist, a survivor, a Slytherin. He would not charge into war without considering all the variables, all the likely cost.

He had served his house faithfully for decades, protecting it during the war with Grindelwald, rising it to heights never reached before by any Lord Black.

He wouldn’t be the one to lead it to its ruin. His first and only allegiance was to the Black name, nothing more and nothing less.

Harry watched him, his respect for the old Lord growing even more. Arcturus was walking on a tightrope, with most of the adults in his family already aligned with Voldemort.

“Of course, Lord Black,” Travers intervened, a thin, knowing smile curling his lips. “We would expect nothing less. Our Lord is a patient man, and doesn’t require an immediate answer. Maybe after witnessing our progress it would be easier for you to decide.” Travers cast a glance at Malfoy, a silent understanding flashing between them.

Unlikely, Arcturus thought.

Once the political discussions trailed off, the formal courtesy diminished. Soon, Travers and Nott took their leave, and the rest of the Blacks retreated to one of the smaller parlor.

(Break)

Same time, one of the many private room of the manor.

“I’m glad we’re not in there,” Andromeda whispered, the relief in her voice evident.

Narcissa’s hand, resting on her book, tightened slightly. “Mother and Father seem to think I should be honored. That it would be a blessing to be married to a Malfoy.”

Andromeda scoffed, annoyed. “Please, Cissy. This isn’t just about proposals. Malfoy, Lestrange, Travers and Nott? This is about this new Lord and his movement, isn’t it?” She asked, turning to her aunt.

Melania’s eyes, sharp and knowing, met Andromeda’s. She didn’t lie. “It is. I believe they will try to officially recruit Arcturus to their cause, one way or another.” She took a sip of her tea, her eyes going from Andromeda to Narcissa.

“And I fear marriages would be an ideal way,” Melania continued, her voice dropping. “If they marry their sons into our family, we would be as good as allied with them. Abraxas and Corvus, they have been hinting at proposals for a while now. I believe they came tonight to officially ask for your hand, Narcissa, and for Bellatrix’s.”

Melania’s gaze did not waver as she looked at her nieces. “Walburga, Cygnus and Druella are all too eager to marry you off. Because they believe in this Lord, they are convinced that having you married to these families is the best move: you would be married to powerful and ancient houses, and they would cement their positions in this faction.”

Narcissa’s heart filled with despair. No… I don’t want that.

Melania, sensing her niece’s distress, quickly took her hand, squeezing it. “But don’t worry, my dears,” she said, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I know my husband better than anyone. He is a pragmatist, a real Slytherin. He would not tie his house to a cause that could lead it to its ruin. And, even if he doesn’t always show it, your happiness matters to him.”

Andromeda stayed silent, not entirely convinced, but Narcissa’s eyes filled with hope. “Do you really believe that?”, then she added with her voice not more than a whisper. “I really don’t want to get betrothed now, especially not to Lucius. And I don’t want to get involved with this Lord.”

Melania didn’t add anything, but she smiled at her niece, squeezing her hand one more time.

(Break)

As only Arcturus, Corvus and Abraxas remained in the grand sitting room, the atmosphere turned more intimate.

“With the current shifts in our world, Arcturus,” Corvus began, his voice slightly softer than it had been. “I believe you’ll agree it’s time to secure our families for the future. You and I, we’re pragmatic men. We know what alliances can do.”

Arcturus’ eyes flashed with annoyance. He knew precisely where this conversation was heading. He had been waiting for it since Abraxas had first hinted at a potential contract for Narcissa’s hand.

And considering we might soon be engulfed in a civil war, there is no way I’ll give away my nieces to men who will be at the front of it. Arcturus thought darkly.

“Indeed, Corvus,” Abraxas picked up, his voice laced with arrogance. “You know well how most of us have long held your House in high regard, its history, influence and purity have long been points of admiration among us. If you allowed our Houses to be joined, we would be extremely honored and would feel… indebted to you and yours. With young Lucius coming of age in a year, I believe an official betrothal to young Narcissa would be an excellent idea.”

Harry felt a shiver ran down his spectral spine. This was a pivotal moment for the future of their world.

If, as Harry suspected, something had happened to Arcturus in his time, then, whatever he would decide would be voided by these potential marriages.

He remembered Narcissa as a strong woman, but burdened by years trapped in a golden cage.

His heart ached for the young, innocent girl he had grown fond of, whose presence, wits, and charm had become a quiet source of comfort to him, brightening his monotonous existence.

He wanted to roar loudly, to scream with anger at the injustice of it all.

They are discussing her future without her being even present, like she’s some pawn whose input isn’t required.

Slowly, the temperature began to drop. A chill coursing through the room. It was faint, a proof that, even under strong emotions, his instinctual control was getting better.

No one seemed to notice, but Arcturus had a thoughtful look etched on his face.

“And my Rodolphus,” Corvus interjected, not one to miss an opportunity. “He’s a strong, committed wizard, bent on upholding our traditions and legacy. Bellatrix seems to be of a similar mindset, I believe they would be a formidable pair.”

The Lord Black shifted in his seat, his face revealing nothing. He cherished power, yes. He acknowledged the strategic value of such alliances. But he was not stupid, this would tie him up with their lot more than he wanted.

He was also aware of the dangerous fanaticism growing in Bellatrix, something that Rodolphus would only fuel, and he wasn’t sure this was the best idea.

They hadn’t proposed anything concerning Andromeda, yet, but he knew he would soon have proposals for her too. He liked her sharp intellect, and Narcissa’s delicate sensibility.

He wasn’t naive enough to believe their potential husbands wouldn’t crush their spirits, especially Andromeda’s yearning for freedom and Narcissa’s delicate nature.

He didn’t want to lose any of them, even Bellatrix, and have them bound to men like these, immersed in an ideology he himself held with caution.

“The girls are young,” stated Arcturus, his voice even. “And Bellatrix, though passionate, has much to learn of the world beyond Hogwarts before committing. These decisions would require discussion with them first, and their consent, before I can decide anything.”

Abraxas and Corvus glared at him, not considering the girls’ consent as important or required. The Lord Lestrange was not put off. “They are coming of age, Arcturus, and their permission, though precious, should not be reason enough to refuse the needs of their House. As daughters of such a noble House, they know their duty well. Their station requires it. The Malfoys rose high in the last decades. My own family has always been among the best of our community, only supplanted by your own. There are few better matches that you could find for them.” His eyes shone with greed, he was obviously eager to get his hands on at least one of the Black Daughters.

Arcturus’ eyes narrowed as Lestrange finished his tirade. “Your fervor is duly noted, Corvus, Abraxas,” he stated, his voice resonating with an undercurrent of steel. “But Daughters of House Black are not bargaining chips. They are Black. Their consent, their happiness, hold a weight that you, perhaps, do not fully appreciate, but that is important to me. I will consider your proposals, and we shall discuss them again at a more… opportune time. For now, consider the matter closed.” His gaze, sharp and unwavering, swept across the disappointed faces of the assembled men, leaving no room for protest.

Abraxas and Corvus shared a frustrated glance, their faces a mixture of disappointment and grudging acceptance. It was clear they were not happy at not getting what they had come for.

The meeting clearly over found them quickly standing, the scraping of chairs the only noise in the room, before they took their leave.

As the last footstep faded away and the chill of calculated ambition began to recede, Harry remained, quietly watching the old Lord.

Arcturus Black, the devoted guardian of his House, had once again stood strong. But the air around him remained thick, heavy with unspoken threats and the weight of decisions he had yet to take.

Harry knew this was just a brief reprieve, and the first war that would decide, not only the Black’s Family future, but also that of the whole Britain’s wizarding world, had just started, but he felt a huge satisfaction at how the meeting went.

The Lord Black had denied them, and even if it was only temporary, it was more than what he had expected.

Chapter Text

AN: Here’s the new chapter, I hope you will like it!

I own nothing, everything belongs to JKR and/or Warner Bros.

Enjoy.

Chapter 2 – For Whom The Bell Tolls

9th of July, 1970.

The burden of the previous night clung to Narcissa. Arcturus had informed all the family of what had been discussed. Her mother, Druella, had cornered her this morning.

"Such a wonderful match, Cissy," Druella gushed. "The Malfoys, dear. So powerful and influential. You'll want for nothing." She squeezed her daughter's arm.

Narcissa reluctantly smiled back. "Of course, Mother. I am… very lucky". The words felt empty, but she still had a tiny hope, born from her talk with her aunt Melania.

"Lucky indeed! You couldn't hope for a better match! We only need your uncle approval before we can announce it officially." Druella was beaming, clearly not noticing her daughter's discomfort. She then swept away, no doubt to share her triumph with Walburga.

Narcissa retreated to the Black Library. The pressure to accept her future without complaint, with a man whose smirk already annoyed her, was immense.

She felt trapped.

This isn't fair, she thought. She had dreams; to learn all the magic she could, to help people, to contribute to her family's legacy in her own way.

She may not know yet what she wanted to do after Hogwarts, but she knew Lucius wouldn't tolerate her working.

A Lady of such an old house would never be allowed to be anything else than a lady, whose role would be to appear beautiful and host galas. And she didn't want that. I really hope Uncle will not agree to this. For now, nothing has been decided.

She had spent her day alone in the library. The old tomes were her sanctuary, a brief reprieve from realities she didn't want to face.

She tried to lose herself in her spellwork, but her wand felt heavy in her hands. She attempted a spell to change the color of an old tapestry but lost her focus.

Instead of the deep red she had thought of, it changed from brown to green before settling back into its original state.

She let out a frustrated sigh and clenched her jaw, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She wanted to scream at the injustice she found herself in.

Harry, her silent shadow, was watching from the sides. He could feel her pain clearly. Her usually calm magical signature was now pulsing with anxiety.

When Narcissa tried the spell again, wand shaking in her delicate hand, a feeling of peace washed over her. Her brow unfurrowed, her breath steadied, and the tapestry shifted into a rich, beautiful crimson.

A bemused look on her face, she glanced around the empty library. She had felt it again.

Harry watched, a quiet satisfaction spreading through his being.

Suddenly, a thought formed in her mind: the bell. I need the bell. She knew it was stupid – dangerous, even – to try and rely on an unknown entity, and surely her uncle would disapprove of her doing it alone.

But she needed answers, and maybe it could give them to her.

She knew her uncle was too busy for another session, but she didn't need him. The presence seemed to be following her anyway. All she needed was a bell.

Conjuring one herself was beyond her current skill – a NEWT-level spell – but with the entity's calming presence, a fierce determination ignited inside of her.

She closed her eyes, focusing, envisioning its golden glow, the single, clear note it would produce. Harry, sensing her intent, pushed his own magic into her, not to aid in the conjuration, but simply to keep her mind clear.

There was a gentle pop, and a small, golden bell appeared on the library table.

Narcissa gasped, eyes wide.

I did it!

She stared at the bell, then around the empty library.

Holding it like a lifeline, she hurried back to her own room. She would be safer there. She sat on her bed, heart pounding, the small bell gleaming in her palm.

"Are you here?" she whispered.

Ding.

It truly was following her. She didn't know if she should feel afraid, but so far, it had done nothing wrong to her.

"Were you a wizard once?" she asked, a logical question considering her Uncle had already ruled out many possibilities.

Ding.

Curiosity tightened in Narcissa's chest. A small smile touched her lips as she closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts.

Her uncle's research and their combined observations had confirmed that, while his power was growing, it was still limited. She needed to choose her questions carefully.

"Will things be alright?" Narcissa asked quietly, unsure if she wanted the answer to this specific question.

Ding, ding, ding.

Of course.

She couldn't tell if he was genuinely unaware of the outside world, or if he was but simply couldn't tell what would happen to her family.

Feeling the bell linger, a sign of the entity's waning energy, she knew this would be her last question. She weighed her thoughts. Then, recalling the conjuration she had just performed, she asked, "Do you think I am strong enough?"

Ding.

Yes.

A single, resounding 'yes'. She felt pride filling her chest. She knew she should be wary of a presence she didn't really know, and barely understood, but after all her recent despair, she couldn't bring herself to turn away something that felt so profoundly good.

Harry, on his part, didn't know if she was strong enough now, but after all his observations of her, he knew she had the potential to be one of the most formidable witches of her time.

If she doesn't end up trapped with Malfoy, he thought bitterly.

The direct questions stopped after this, replaced by a different kind of interaction.

Narcissa began to talk. About the Malfoy proposal, her fears, the expectations thrown upon her.

"They just don't understand," she murmured. "Father says it's my duty, Mother says it's the best match possible, but I… I can't imagine spending my life as just a wife to some lord. I want to learn, to explore magic, not just be a trophy. What about my own choices? My happiness? Don't they matter to them?"

She paused, staring blankly in front of her. "No, of course not, all they think about is the prestige we will gain from allying with these families."

She spoke of Andromeda, her fear that her sister's free spirit would eventually clash with their family. "Andy already told them she didn't want to be betrothed. Mother was so mad. Father, he just looked at her with disappointment in his eyes," she continued, her voice low. "I understand her, though, for I don't want it either, but I'm not as strong as her. I don't want to fight with them."

She paused, looking around. Her gaze lingered on the tapestries and bookshelves of her room, as if expecting some reactions, but there was nothing.

Until she felt it, a familiar, soothing chill that washed over her. Not a biting cold, more like a comforting wave of magic. The air in the room felt lighter.

A small laugh escaped her lips. "I… I feel better. Thank you," she whispered to the empty space in front of her. "Silly, isn't it? Talking alone to… I don't even know what to call you. But you don't judge, do you? And you're a good listener," she added, a smile on her face.

Narcissa closed her eyes, feeling relieved for the first time today. Harry felt it too. The soft, delicate magic of Narcissa Black was thrumming happily.

As the day came to an end, Narcissa slowly drifted to sleep, Harry silently keeping watch over her.

(Break)

Later that night, Malfoy Manor.

"My friends," Voldemort's voice was laced with a cold amusement. "for too long, our kind has been forced to hide. Our power limited by petty laws aimed to protect the filth. The Ministry is filled with incompetent blood-traitors." He paused, his gaze focusing on his followers assembled in the grand dining hall of Malfoy's Manor.

"For years, I have been training you. Tonight, they will learn that some of us are not afraid to do what is needed. To prove to everyone that our traditions, our history, our blood, matter. They have allowed our world to be poisoned by their disgusting ideas. Mudbloods and muggle-lovers are an insult to our kind."

The Death Eaters shifted in excitement, agreements rising from their ranks.

"Why should we hide when we are the ones with power? What can these distasteful muggles ever hope to do against us? We will show them! Soon, they will know that there is none more powerful than us." His voice was filled with confidence and authority, his followers hanging to his every word.

"Tonight will be a lesson. To the Ministry, for their weakness. To the blood-traitors, for their foolishness. And to any that would dare stand against us. You have your orders. Show them why you should be feared. Show them what it means to be a Death Eater."

Roars erupted in the hall. Wands were drawn, and distinctive pop of apparition filled the air as the Death Eaters disappeared to complete their Lord's will.

After years of careful planning, I will finally get what is mine. He thought, the phrase a small hissing in his head. They will see, they will all see. The Ministry, the Mudbloods, the Muggles… Even the Purebloods, they will all bend the knee to me.

(Break)

Unnamed muggle village.

Screams transformed the once quiet village into a nightmare. Spells of various colors were flying everywhere, destroying buildings and painting the streets red with blood.

The Death Eaters moved like a single, evil tide, lopping off heads and cutting short the lives of any innocent that crossed their path.

Beautiful. Lord Voldemort stood on a hill above the village, watching the devastation in silence. He would not take part. This night was for them. His faithful followers. He felt a swell of cold pride within him.

He watched as his followers, intoxicated by the power he had granted them, began the destruction of the small village, their movements efficient and unforgiving.

"Incendio," he heard someone shout, the local pub quickly turning to flames, trapping and burning any patrons that were inside.

The muggles stood no chance. Some were running, trying to escape a tide that would spare no one, others tried to protect their family, but most had been caught asleep in their bed and were turning to ash with their house.

Here, a woman was thrown against a wall, her spine breaking with an audible sound. There, the cries of a small child were silenced by a flash of green light.

A group of men, desperate to defend their homes with shovels and garden tools, were met with laughter before the Death Eaters turned them into a puddle of blood and bones.

Amid the fires and screams, two masked figures had paused and were looking at the bloodshed around them. "Look at them," one said, a chilling glee in his voice. "So helpless. They have no idea what is happening."

"Indeed, but even if they knew, what could filth like them do against our might?" the other replied. "So, what do you think we shall do next? I think I've seen some vermin running down this street."

"Ah, now you're thinking. We can definitely not let them escape, can we? The message would feel… incomplete."

As they closed on the running muggles, one tried to charge at them with a shovel. A flash of red sent him screaming on the floor, soon turning him into a gibbering mess.

"Now, now, friend," one of them started, his voice mocking. "No need to be so hostile. We're just here for… a little chat."

The man, on the floor and already broken, couldn't take part in this little chat.

"Don't worry," the other continued. "It won't hurt … much." He let him thrash on the ground for a little longer, before a flash of green took his life.

After what felt like an eternity, the slaughter finally ended. The village was now a giant smoking ruin, a testament to the cruelty that had taken place.

The Death Eaters shared a final roar of triumph, leaving behind a silence more terrifying than the screams that had preceded it, as they started to apparate away.

Voldemort watched silently as his subordinates started to leave.

Before he followed them, he shouted: "Morsmordre!", and the sky, the only unblemished part of the landscape so far, was now marred with a mark everyone would soon learn to fear.

(Break)

The stillness was broken by multiple sound of apparition as figures started to appear in the now devastated village. As Aurors, led by Bartemius Crouch Senior, looked upon the scene, horror painted their faces.

He was a stern, unyielding man, but even he took a few steps back, his face pale. In his days as an auror, he had seen death, but nothing like that.

The scene upon them was worse than anything he could have imagined.

Who could be cruel enough to inflict such violence on innocent people? He thought, darkly, as his eyes gazed around at the carnage.

The streets were littered with bodies. The air thick with the stench of dark magic and death.

"This is madness," Crouch murmured, his voice tight. He turned to his aurors. "Try and find any survivors, but I don't think we will need the Obliviators tonight. And someone go back and warn the Minister, I reckon they will be as busy as us for the rest of the night."

A lone figure emerged from the edge of his group, his long, silvery beard, unmistakable. Albus Dumbledore, his face grave, slowly walked among the toward him.

Crouch turned to him, confused. "And what do you think you are doing here, Albus? The Headmaster of Hogwarts has no business on a crime scene."

The scene he had walked upon had seemed to age him, as he kept looking around him. He finally met Crouch's eyes. "The Headmaster of Hogwarts, perhaps, but I am also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. It is my duty to be aware of what happens in our world, and to prepare for what is to come."

Crouch scoffed. "What is to come? I'll tell you what is to come. We will find them, apprehend them, and then they will stand trials before we leave them to rot in Azkaban. We have laws for this, and I will not tolerate this kind of…" His voice trailed as he waved his hands around him.

"I am afraid justice will not be enough, Barty." Dumbledore said. "You can punish them all you want, but I fear the man behind this will not be stopped so easily. This was not a single, isolated act. This was planned." He paused, his eyes finally noticing the mark in the sky. "I believe this is just the beginning."

After a few more observations, he left the scene, his heart heavy and his eyes shining.

What have you done, Tom?

(Break)

Terror in the Night: Muggle Village Ravaged by Pure Evil.

This morning, the wizarding world woke up to a new, cruel, reality. A Muggle village in south Wiltshire has been completely ravaged by what we suspect is an organized group of dark wizards.

Details remain scarce, as all information has been classified by the Ministry of Magic, and any attempt made by this reporter to get answers from Minister Jenkins or Director Crouch have been met with silence.

Eyewitnesses on the scene – primarily Aurors and St. Mungo's healers – described a terrible scene. "It's an atrocity. Whoever did this is a monster." An old auror reported, his face pale and grim. "In twenty years of service, I have never seen anything like it. Blood, bones, everywhere. More than two hundred muggles lived there, and none survived."

A healer, still shocked from the horrors she witnessed, stated, "We were called in the middle of the night, but there was nothing we could do. No one needed healing. There were only corpses and… destruction."

From the testimonies we could gather, it appears that, hovering above what was left of the village was a green smoky skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. The trademark of this terrorist group? Should we fear more attacks in the coming weeks?

"It's not a singular act. This is a declaration, a message sent to the world." Remarked a senior Auror, his voice flat.

For years, the Ministry has downplayed the disappearances and skirmishes, assuring the public that they were isolated acts, not part of a larger organization. Now, it seems that they are ready for more than simple brawls.

We, at the Prophet, believe that the future of our world is at risk, and that we need to act in a decisive manner if we want to ensure our survival. This public display of immense cruelty leaves no room for half-measures.

An undisclosed source has confirmed that his movement, formed of 'Death-Eater', is led by a new Dark Lord named 'Voldemort'.

As demonstrated by the gruesome display of the night, these men are dangerous and not afraid to use dark magic. If you ever encounter one, we can only urge you to flee and immediately alert the Aurors.

The very foundations of our society are now under threat; a war we so desperately hoped would never come seems to be on our doorstep, and we beseech the Ministry to make the required decisions to end this threat before it is too late.

We will keep you updated as soon as we have new information.

By Barnabas Cuffe, for the Daily Prophet.

Harry felt the words uttered by Arcturus like a physical blow. He hadn't seen it, but he didn't need to to know that what was described by The Prophet was far from the reality of what Voldemort and his followers would have inflected on these innocent muggles.

A wave of rage washed over him. While his control had increased, he couldn't stop his magic from leaking into the room.

The candles on the table flickered, and a bone-deep cold washed over the room. The windows opened under the winds he had created, making everyone present jump in their seat. Everyone but the Lord Black, who quickly understood what had happened.

So, this entity really is against this Voldemort's ideology. Or his methods.

It was intense but short, as Harry quickly regained control of his magic.

Walburga gasped. "What in Merlin's name is happening again? I tell you, this house is haunted!" she snapped, her eyes darting nervously around her.

Arcturus, however, was quick to regain his composure. He glanced at Narcissa, and although he could discern a slight apprehension, it was understanding that dominated her face. "It is nothing, Walburga. A small malfunction in the wards, no doubt. Perhaps they need a… recalibration." He lied effortlessly.

Orion still looked shaken, but he nodded slowly, trying to steady himself.

The rest of the family nervously settled back into their seats. Bellatrix, completely oblivious, had been staring at the paper since Arcturus had finished reading it.

She blurted out, a satisfied smile spreading across her face, "Look at this," she exclaimed. "They actually did it! 'Terror in the night'. This will send a message they can't ignore."

Arcturus looked at her, his face impassible. "A message, what message, Bellatrix?"

"We will be feared, Uncle," Bellatrix hissed. "This will show what we are capable of. They will understand that they are inferior to us. This is the first step toward a new world dominated by us, Purebloods."

"Fear is good, but fear alone will lead us nowhere. Respect, awe, this is what you should aim to inspire, dear niece," he stated, his voice still low but filled with a cold authority that silenced even Bellatrix. He took a slow breath, his eyes meeting each person at the table.

"A House as ancient as ours does not need to slaughter Muggles to prove our worth. People know, and they respect us. For our history, our knowledge, and our blood. We have stood strong for centuries, outlasting empires and entire generations of fools who mistake brute force with true power. The government will be forced to respond to this attack. It will bring the Ministry down on them, and if they push too much, the whole of Wizarding Britain. Patience is key, and those who rush to the front lines will be the first to fall."

He paused, a cunning smile gracing his lips. "Let them tear each other apart while we wait. As they are busy fighting each other, we will profit from panic and confusion. Our survival is the only thing that matters."

And there was glimpse as to why the Lord of House Black, in every generation, was respected and feared. Their power, ambition and cunning were unparalleled.

The entire family was looking at him, hanging to his every word.

Even Harry felt enraptured by his speech, and he was talking about leaving everyone to their own demise.

I can't really blame him for not wanting to take part in this war, but I'm not sure any side will accept his neutrality.

Arcturus' smile faded, replaced by a focused expression. "So, effective immediately, you are all forbidden to actively take part in these… raids." Arcturus said, his disdain apparent to everyone. "I will not have my family becoming mass-murderers."

It was clear some wanted to interrupt him, to challenge him, but they knew better.

He took a long pause before continuing. "But we will not remain passive. I will have tasks for each of you. I know some of you are involved with them." His eyes paused for a moment on Bellatrix.

"First of all, Cygnus, Orion, I want you to start compiling a list of anyone you know or suspect to be involved with them. Use every resource our family has at its disposal. At the same time, discreetly reach out to our contacts on the continent. We need exits ways ready should the need arise."

His then turned to Walburga and Druella. "I want you two to take part in any meetings with the wives of known supporters of this Dark Lord. Information will be key. We need to know as much as possible. Their plans, their weaknesses, anything that can help the family."

He added, his gaze, usually so unyielding, softening almost imperceptibly as it rested first on Narcissa, then on Andromeda: "For now, any talks about betrothal and marriage are suspended. In these challenging times, we cannot have Daughters of House Black put into danger."

Narcissa and Andromeda were the only one looking relieved. It was like all the tension accumulated these past few days had all but vanished. The others looked ready to burst, but they knew better than to challenge him now.

"Narcissa, Andromeda, you will continue with your lessons as usual. It is imperative that your education continues unimpeded. Knowledge is your greatest strength."

He finally turned to Bellatrix, her face a mask of furious indignation. "Bellatrix, for now, you are to stay in your rooms, I will speak with you later." His voice held no room for argument. "You are all dismissed. And as Lord of your house, I expect these orders to be followed to the letter, do not try me on this."

Arcturus had made plans for all possibilities, allowing him to react at a moment's notice, whatever the choice he would make.

As the family members rose, he could see the anger and disagreement on their faces, but he knew they wouldn't dare challenge him openly.

A quiet tension hung in the air. They all understood that the future of their house might have dramatically changed.

Once the room was empty, he relaxed in his seat, and quietly called. "Kreacher."

Not a second later, a small pop was heard, as the house-elf of House Black appeared in front of him.

"Master called for Kreacher?" the elf squeaked, bowing so low his nose almost touched the ground.

"Kreacher," Arcturus said, "the family is… divided. I need you and the other elves to watch them, all of them except Andromeda and Narcissa. I will soon give you a list of names, people they are forbidden to meet with. I need to know if any disobeys me. Remember, your loyalty is to House of Black, to your Lord, not to anyone else."

"Of course, Master. We will not fail."

"Good," Arcturus said, "now, go to Alphard. Tell him he and the boys are expected by the end of the week. They will spend the rest of the summer here. If they ask questions, tell them I will answer once they arrive. Help him pack his things and seal his place in London. Then you are to bring them here."

Kreacher bowed low, and then popped away to carry out his master's will.

Arcturus, his mind already spinning with plans, strategies, and contingencies, walked to the far end of the room. The chessboard was now his, and he would play the game his way.

He was the Lord of House Black, a title earned through cunning, not through foolish bravado. And he would see his House survive this war, and every war to come, by any means necessary.

Finally, after this eventful breakfast, he retreated to his study, the heavy door shutting out the world.

AN: Thanks to anyone taking time to read, and review.

Let me know your thoughts on this chapter!

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – The Ties That Bind.

10^th of July, 1970.

The Black Lord’s Study.

Arcturus had just sent for his niece, Bellatrix. He knew she was the most devoted to this movement amongst his family, and he needed to deal with it.

He knew the orders he had given to his family may not be enough to keep them in line. He had to be more assertive.

A moment later, the heavy door to his study opened, and Bellatrix strode in, her face closed, indignation and anger in her eyes.

She stopped in front of his desk, “You wanted to see me, Uncle?”

Arcturus did not look up from his glass. He took a deliberately slow sip, before putting it back on his desk. He didn’t reply straight away, letting the silence hang between them.

Finally, he said: “Close the door, Bellatrix, and sit.” His voice was devoid of emotion.

Bellatrix’s jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists, but she relented. She shut the door and sank into the chair in front of him.

“I will not tolerate your behavior, Bellatrix. Not in my house. I have no quarrel with your beliefs, my niece; you are a Black, and ambition is in your blood. But you will not question my authority.”

“I did nothing wrong!” she protested, leaning forward, her eyes alight with righteous fury. “I was only showing my loyalty, to our Lord!”

“Your loyalty is commendable, but ultimately misplaced. You are a Black, no one is above you, and your loyalty should first go to your name. What do you think your Lord wishes?”

Bellatrix’s anger wavered slightly, and Arcturus could see a flicker of confusion instead. “He wants to restore the old ways. To bring us to our rightful place!” she declared with confidence.

Arcturus chuckled at that. “And you believe that is the way?” he asked, waving a hand to the morning edition of the Prophet. “You truly think that mass-killing muggles will show that he is any different from any dark lord that came before him?”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Bellatrix kept silent, her mind working, fanaticism clashing with the cold, hard logic of her family’s Lord.

“Political acumen, knowledge, connections, bribes and blackmail, are what led our house to where it is now, and this is what will keep us there. In case you have forgotten, our supremacy is already well established.” He looked her straight in the eyes, trying to see if his words had any impact.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping low. “Tell me, Bellatrix, have you thought about what will happen to you if you get caught? Because I have. The dementor’s kiss, the veil, or life at Azkaban. This is what this Lord will lead you to. And if you somehow avoid these fates, what do you think will happen to your brilliant mind after spending years delving in the Dark Arts to slaughter muggles, half-blood, and purebloods alike?”

Bellatrix’s face twisted. “He would never ask that of me! He fights for our rights. Only muggles, mudbloods and blood-traitors will be punished.”

“Don’t be naive. He will not hesitate to kill any who would defy him. Because that is what Dark Lords do,” Arcturus said, the last words chilling her. “And that is what he will ask of you. Your devotion, your ambition, he will use them against you until you either get caught or you are no longer useful to him.”

He knew she was a brilliant witch, the ambition he had once praised now turned against her. But he would not give up on her; she was family.

A reluctant understanding seemed to settle on her face. Anger and frustration were still present, but less so than when she entered his study.

“He wants power, for himself. He may share some with his followers, but never enough for his place at the top to be questioned. Am I right?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “I have heard things. How he dealt with some that questioned him,” she paused, a flicker of her devotion returning, “but that is his right, he’s the most powerful wizard ever, he should be the one to lead us, and our family would benefit greatly from this!”

“Perhaps. But if we find ourselves at war, and don’t take me wrong, we will be at war, our family could be gone before he even rises to power. Your sisters, sold to his followers, or dead. Is that what you want? Why should we risk everything for uncertainties, when we have ways to ensure our future?”

Arcturus took a sip of his glass. “I want you to understand, that nothing matters more than the House of Black. The Ministry, Hogwarts, the purebloods or blood-traitors: they can all become ash for all I care. As long as my family is there to rebuild it all, I will be content. Your sole allegiance should be to your blood, Bellatrix.”

He lowered his glass with a quiet thud. “As I said this morning, you are not to take part in any raids or meetings. I will know if you disobey me.”

As their meeting came to an end, Bellatrix finally took her leave. Arcturus watched her, a smile slowly gracing his face. He hadn’t won, yet, but he felt closer from saving her than before.

Now, he had other things to deal with.

(Break)

“So. Onto this mysterious wizard,” his niece had informed him of the ‘conversation’ she had had with him – he had not been happy with her, but it did make his job easier. She had not mentioned how she had confided in him. It felt too private and not really relevant to this mystery.

Arcturus conjured a new bell, ready to ask some questions. “Are you here?” he asked, looking intently around him.

Nothing.

Of course. He must be with Narcissa. I should summon her next time I have questions for him.

He slowly put the bell away, and moved to a hidden alcove in the library. Here were books on long forgotten – and forbidden – magics.

The shelves were lined with ancient tomes bound in dragon hide and serpent skin. The darkest of them, he was certain, were bound in human skin.

These were texts on esoteric magics, some of which would see him sent to Azkaban if uttered to the wrong person.

From Narcissa’s confession, he knew it had been a wizard before. A living, breathing wizard, once upon a time.

So, the question was, how did he find himself in this state? A ritual gone wrong, and his ‘spirit’ would have been transported here? But why? What could have drawn him here?

His mind race through possibilities: soul-binding, consciousness transfer, even accidental travel, or perhaps the fallout of a wizarding duel of unimaginable power.

He considered the sheer magical power required for this to happen, and for him to survive.

This is madness, he thought. The implications for any of these events would be unprecedented. This could shatter most of our theories on magic.

He spent the next several hours lost in the library, poring over complex formulas and cryptic rituals. He scribbled notes furiously, filling parchment after parchment with theories and new questions.

This was an intellectual puzzle unlike any he had ever come across, one that both alarmed and excited him.

Later that evening, the scratching of his quill ceased, and he put away his notes and theories.

He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, and began to write. His contacts in the Department of Mysteries would need to be discreetly consulted.

Even with his name and reputation, there were certain limits to what one was allowed to explore.

(Break)

A week later, Hogwarts.

The silence of the Headmaster’s office was currently replaced by a heavy, anxious chatter. It was late in the evening, and the portraits were already asleep.

Albus Dumbledore was seated behind his large desk, his usually twinkling blue eyes looking tired. Seated before him were his closest friends and associates, whom he had called upon.

Minerva McGonagall, his faithful friend for many years, sat beside Filius Flitwick, whose hands were clasped tightly. Pomona Sprout, her face etched with concern, was standing beside Molly and Arthur Weasley.

Dedalus Diggle looked nervous, fidgeting the edges of his robes, as was Horace Slughorn, his potion instructor. Elphias Doge, Edgar Bones and Rubeus Hagrid all looked somber and sorrowful.

Aberforth Dumbledore and Alastor Moody stood at the back, looking quietly around them.

“My friends,” Dumbledore began, his voice calm. “I regret to gather you under such circumstances. As you are all painfully aware, the warnings we witnessed these last few years finally demand action.”

He paused, his fingers drumming his desk. “The destruction of the muggle village was not an isolated act of deranged men. This was a declaration of, what, I suspect, will soon escalate into war.”

A collective shiver ran through the room. Most had suspected this likely outcome, but to have the great Albus Dumbledore confirm it just made it all too real.

“Our world is quickly changing. If we are to live through what is coming, we need to be ready,” Dumbledore continued. “We cannot afford to remain passive. We have many things to do, and I suspect this will only be the first of many meetings.”

He sat down, allowing his words to sink in. Minerva was the first to speak, her voice sharp. “Albus, our first priority has to be the students. The children are vulnerable and many will soon live through loss and grief. We must be there for them, and do everything we can to prepare them, especially the later years.”

They all agreed with her, most were parents themselves, and the protection of children was paramount to them.

“And we must ensure,” she added, her eyes burning with determination, “that this ideology, this hatred, finds no purchase within these walls. We have to be vigilant, and protect their minds as much as their bodies.”

“Indeed, Minerva,” Flitwick chirped, his voice grave. “We must reinforce the values of acceptance and unity and for this, we cannot let the rivalry between the houses continue. I suspect some students to be the children of his followers, mostly in Slytherin. We have to do all we can to stop them from recruiting our young charges, and for this to happen, they need to feel included and protected.”

Molly leaned forward, her hand clutching Arthur’s. “Albus, protecting the children is one thing, but, outside of these walls, what can we do to stop them?”

Alastor Moody, still standing at the back, stepped forward. “Aye, puttin’ a stop to it? That’s gonna be a right mess. I’m tellin’ ya, Dumbledore, we’ve had damn near twenty-five years of peace since you offed ol’ Grindelwald. The auror’s department has been gutted, budget cuts after budget cuts. One hit? We can probably manage. Multiple at once? No bloody chance.”

He leaned closer. “There is something we could try, though. A rapid-response team. Rotatin’ members so it’s always ready. For where the Ministry can’t go. If we can stop ‘em or help the people, then good, but we should try and get our hands on one of ‘em, then we… keep him until he sings all his dirty secrets.”

Silence. Some nodded, convinced, others shifted uncomfortably. It was Elphias Doge, member of the Wizengamot, who spoke. “Alastor, you are an auror! How can you even suggest this?”

“I can suggest this because this ain’t some students stealing sweets at Honeydukes! This is war, if you wanna survive it, you gotta do dirty things!”

Dumbledore listened, his expression thoughtful. “Alastor, your directness is valued. The Ministry’s limitations are indeed grim. A responsive unit to cover those gaps is sound, but we are not enough at the moment. We will still implement it and we will do what we can for now.” He paused.

“As for getting our hands on one of them, as you say… If we go down that path, it could have many consequences. We are a vigilant group, and I fear Bartemius wouldn’t be too happy if he knew about us. Everyone will think about it and we will decide at the next meeting.”

He then looked to Edgar Bones and Elphias Doge. “Edgar, Elphias, your insights from within the Ministry will be invaluable. Keep us apprised of any information you deem necessary.”

They both silently nodded.

Hagrid cleared his throat. “I’ll do anythin’, Headmaster. Anythin’ at all. Gonna keep an eye on the forest too, see if the centaurs hear somethin’.”

“And I,” Aberforth grunted from his corner, “will keep my ears open at the Hog’s Head. Folk get loose-tongued after one too many drinks.”

Dumbledore offered them a small smile. “Thank you, Rubeus, and you, Aberforth.” He then turned to face everyone. “I have to remind you that secrecy is paramount. As I said, this group has no official standing, we will operate outside of any legal structure. We may have to break laws at one point. If any of you is uncomfortable and wants to leave please do so now.”

When no one left, he concluded. “Good, then, we will meet again in a few days. I will let you know of the time. By then, please, be careful and stay safe. Horace, I will need to speak with you in the coming days, please keep yourself available.”

“Of course, Headmaster, I will wait for your letter.” The portly man replied reluctantly, clearly not eager about being involved.

Everyone understood the dismissal, and they quickly left the Headmaster’s office.

When only Albus remained, he picked up an envelope he had received shortly before the meeting. It was light with no recognizable mark on it – no seal, no emblem.

The message was heavily warded, protected by ancient spells only the most knowledgeable wizards would have heard of, and even less would be able to dismantle.

Fortunately, Albus was one of them, something the mysterious sender had to be aware of.

After half an hour of complex spellwork, Albus was finally able to read the message; four simple words:

We need to talk. APB.

APB? Albus thought, before sinking back into his seat.

(Break)

Black Manor.

The last week had been tense for the House of Black. Orion and Cygnus had, begrudgingly at first, gotten on with the tasks their Lord had given them, and they were now seeing the wisdom of his words.

No, the problem mostly lay with their respective wives.

Druella was upset at the loss of opportunity of marrying her daughters to two of the oldest Houses, while Walburga was more displeased with the lack of an alliance with the Dark Lord.

And they would voice their complaint anytime they were together, alone. Or so they thought.

What they didn't know was that Arcturus heard everything. Kreacher and other house-elves moved through the manor like shadows, reporting every whisper of discontent back to him.

But for others, this week had been peaceful. The headline in the Prophet had stirred a fierce determination in Harry. His despair began to fade, leaving him with a clear purpose in mind.

For Narcissa, it was the halted marriage talks that relieved her of her stress. Her sadness receded, and her mind was at peace.

Their bond had deepened into something more intimate. They spent hours together, often in the quiet of the Black Library, where Narcissa read and practiced magic while Harry, unseen, focused on his magical essence. Now, even when they were apart, they could feel each other. It was always present, a quiet, warm connection that they didn’t fully understand.

They used the bell a lot during the last week, Narcissa asking a flood of questions about the situation of the magical world and also more private question to this former wizard she wanted to know better.

“Is the Dark Lord really that powerful?” This had been her first question, her voice barely audible. Ding. “Of course, my family wouldn’t have thrown themselves at him so quickly if he wasn’t”. “Will the Ministry be enough against them?” Ding, Ding. “Will I be safe when I got back to school?”

That question had brought a long pause from Harry. He knew Voldemort’s reach would eventually extend to Hogwarts, but he didn’t know when.

Ding, ding, ding.

After a flow of grim answers, Narcissa would often shift to more personal questions, trying to understand the silent presence that kept following her, becoming more and more present in her life.

“Are you from here? From Britain?” Ding. “Do you feel lonely?” Ding, ding.

Narcissa had felt the air around her grow warmer, he wasn’t lonely, not with her here, and that knowledge had made her happy.

“Are you afraid?” Ding, ding.

No. Harry had felt a surge of resolve. He knew the horrors that lay ahead, and the power that Voldemort held. He had known since he was eleven, and fear had never been a part of him. I am a Gryffindor, we might be stupid sometimes, but we are not afraid.

Narcissa, sensing his certainty, had found a new reassurance settling over her. Maybe not everything is as bad as I thought, she realized.

Do you have a family waiting for you somewhere? Now that they had a way to communicate, she had thought that, maybe, she could help him find his family or friends.

Ding, ding.

A profound sadness had grown in the space between them at that. For Narcissa, it was a pang of sympathy for what had become her silent friend, someone who was clearly trying to help her.

For Harry, it had been a sharp reminder of those he had lost. His grief had gotten better, but thinking about Ron, Hermione, Ginny, or just the simple comfort of the Burrow, had brought him back to his grief-filled state of just a couple of weeks back.

As a reaction to their sadness, the air in the library had grown thick and cold, a chilling ache settling inside them.

“Oh,” Narcissa had whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

After a long moment of silence, she had asked another question, shyly.

“Do you… like me?”

Ding.

A faint blush had spread across her cheeks, a soft warmth contrasting to the otherwise cold room.

(Break)

Harry had also been pushing his abilities, delving into an intricate form of mind art. Not just as a shield like occlumency, but as a way to organize his thoughts and to project his magical essence, to communicate more complex thoughts to Narcissa.

He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to try something.

One afternoon, as he was once again trying to shape his thoughts into magical images, Narcissa felt a heavy disturbance in the air around her.

"Are you... okay?" she whispered, almost to herself, her fingers lightly tracing the bell she always had on her now. She had gone and buy one, instead of having to conjure one every time she wanted to ‘talk’ with him.

Harry focused on the bell. A gentle ding echoed softly from it.

Narcissa's fingers stilled. A soft breath escaped her.

"Good," she murmured, a small, tentative smile touching her lips. "What were you doing with your magic? The feeling was… different than before." She didn’t expect any answer, but she was curious.

Well, time to test if it was worth spending so much time meditating, Harry thought, starting to focus his mind as much as he could.

He sent her a wave of pure magic, but he struggled to control it properly. In her mind formed, not a clear picture of what he had been doing, more like incomplete and, at first, incoherent sensations. It was impossible for her to perceive; it all hit her at once.

Narcissa gasped, pressing a hand to her temple. The intensity of it nearly overwhelmed her, leaving her with a small headache. “What was… that? Did you do that?”, she whispered, her voice strained under the onslaught of pure magic.

Harry, recovering from the effort, sent a single ding to the bell: Yes.

Narcissa, her eyes wide with awe, couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Are you sending me… images? Like legilimency?”

Ding.

“Can you do it again?”

No more answer came after that.

 (Break)

In another part of the manor, Orion was silently performing his duty to his Lord, when the sudden sound of the floo activating drew his attention, pulling him from his study. He felt a knot tighten in his chest as he made his way towards the great hall. His sons, Sirius and Regulus, along with his estranged brother-in-law had arrived.

Alphard Black was already there, his usual air of detached amusement on his face. Behind him, Sirius followed, a defiant spark in his grey eyes even at ten years old. Finally, Regulus stepped through the fireplace.

It seemed everyone had heard the fireplace, or had been warned by Kreacher, as most of the present Blacks arrived to welcome the younger members of their family.

Narcissa felt a surge of genuine warmth. Her cousins! She adored Sirius and Regulus, their presence a welcome relief from the usual tension. Sirius, especially, with his rebellious spirit.

The greetings were stiff. Orion offered a firm nod to Alphard, a quiet welcome to Sirius, and a softened glance for Regulus.

"Sirius," Walburga began, her voice low, "that... incident in Muggle London was quite unacceptable. Such behavior brings shame upon our family name."

Sirius's eyes glinted, ready to retort, but Alphard cleared his throat loudly. "Walburga, I believe we have more important matters to discuss than your son’s prank on this muggle baker."

Walburga's mouth snapped shut, her face tightening. Sirius's eyebrows shot up, surprise on his face. His mother, silenced? Just like that? He shot a quick, bewildered look at Regulus. This was new. This was... intriguing.

Well, looks like things have changed a bit while we were in London, he thought.

Unseen by them all, Harry's essence quivered. Sirius. Ten years old, vibrant, whole. Not the gaunt, haunted man Harry remembered. A wave of profound, overwhelming relief washed over Harry.

The grief, the blame for his godfather's suffering, was slowly replaced by a surge of pure warmth. His magic, although diminished from his previous experiences, flared from within him. Narcissa, standing close, felt this radiant heat bloom around her.

It was unlike anything Harry had projected before—pure joy, profound unburdening. Her hand instinctively tightened on the bell. She looked at Sirius and Regulus, her brow furrowed. Were they the cause of it?

Harry sensed her unspoken question, her curiosity, but he couldn’t make her understand how relieved, how happy, he felt. She didn’t need to though, she could feel it, even if she didn’t understand why.

Sirius, feeling the unexpected quiet, subtly nudged Regulus forward. "Come on, Reg," he muttered, placing a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Let’s find something to eat, I’m starving." Regulus, still trying to process the shift in the house's energy, leaned into Sirius's touch.

That evening, the family gathered for dinner in the dining hall. Arcturus sat at the head, a silent, imposing figure, his gaze sweeping over each family member.

"You're awfully quiet, Sirius," Druella purred, her eyes calculating. "Lost your fire already?"

Sirius turned, a half-smile on his face. "Just observing, Aunt Druella. It seems the Manor has... changed. Quite peaceful. A welcome change from Cousin Bellatrix's usual rants." He glanced pointedly at Bellatrix, who glared back, a muscle twitching in her jaw.

"Watch your tongue, boy," Orion warned, his voice low.

"He's merely stating the obvious, Orion," Alphard interjected smoothly, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The subtle jab at Walburga and Druella, and the tacit approval of Sirius's observation, hung in the air. Walburga stiffened, but held her silence. Sirius felt a surge of unexpected satisfaction.

This version of the Black Manor, where Arcturus's cold authority seemed to suppress his mother and cousin’s fanaticism, was... almost bearable. He found himself thinking that perhaps, there was a place for him here after all.

"Sirius," Walburga began, her tone clipped, "I trust you remember your manners at the table."

Sirius met her gaze evenly. "Of course, Mother. I'm well aware of how to conduct myself at a formal dinner."

Orion shot a warning glance at his eldest. "That's enough, Sirius."

"Indeed," Arcturus's deep voice cut in, silencing them both. "Let us focus on more pressing matters. Alphard, your journey was uneventful? How is it in London?"

Alphard nodded. "As uneventful as can be expected. The mood in Diagon Alley is... tense. The whispers of the Dark Lord grow louder by the day. Merchants report a drop in sales, people are staying closer to home."

"Expected," Arcturus murmured.

Narcissa, however, felt a strange lightness as she looked at her cousins. "It is good to have you both back, Sirius, Regulus. The Manor has been... quiet without you."

"Too quiet, perhaps," Sirius winked at her, his voice low enough not to draw Arcturus's ire. "I prefer a bit more... life. But I must admit," he added, looking around the room, "Mother, Aunt Druella and Bella are surprisingly subdued. A new management style, perhaps?" He looked conspiratorially at Narcissa and Andromeda.

Bellatrix let out a soft, sharp scoff. "It’s not like we had a choice." Her eyes, when they met Arcturus's, held a flash of challenge, a silent resentment for his methods.

Regulus, quiet throughout, simply focused on his food, though Harry could sense his young mind absorbing everything.

As the uncomfortable meal concluded, the younger cousins left the adults discussing the current changes in the magical world.

Sirius and Regulus found themselves talking quietly with Narcissa and Andromeda in a smaller sitting room.

Harry, observing them, felt his core settle even further. Seeing Sirius alive, interacting with his family—however flawed it might be—was a balm to his soul. The cold weight of his past, the unbearable guilt, had lifted significantly.

His magic thrummed in happiness. The pain wasn't gone, but it was eased, overshadowed by his new purpose.

This scene in front of him; Sirius looking free and unburdened, his cousins, happy and laughing, even young Regulus who mostly stayed quiet, observing. This was what Harry would do anything to protect.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – Political Maneuvering

20th of July, 1970.

Two days had passed since the arrival of the younger Blacks, and Arcturus had not rested much. The day before, Narcissa had asked to see him privately.

The atmosphere was relaxed, intimate, as a soft knock preceded Narcissa’s entrance in the Black Lord’s study.

“Uncle Arcturus,” Narcissa began, “thank you for seeing me.”

“Think nothing of it, my niece. I am as much, if not more, curious as you are. Even if this being hasn’t proven evil so far, this is a fascinating puzzle I wish to solve.” Arcturus’ voice was soft, a contrast to his usually authoritative tone. He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, sit.”

Narcissa settled, her hands clasped in her lap. She had played this conversation in her mind a few times already, balancing her trust in her uncle and her instinctual urge to protect this unique bond she shared with the ethereal wizard.

Arcturus leaned forward, offering a small, rare smile. “So, Narcissa, what revelations have prompted you to seek me this morning? Tell me everything, even details you would think are unimportant. With unheard magics such as this, even the smallest thing can be essential.”

“Well, I kept communicating with him through the bell. He confirmed to me that the Dark Lord was very powerful. Also, he doesn’t think the Ministry will be enough, and is not sure Hogwarts will be safe for me.” She kept silent on the more personal matters they ‘discussed’, but still added, her voice low, “and he has no family left.”

Arcturus listened carefully, mentally noting everything Narcissa was telling him. He nodded, encouraging her.

“His emotions are incredibly strong. I feel them radiating from him, though I believe he’s trying to suppress them, or to keep control over them.”

She then moved to the more recent occurrences. “When Sirius and Regulus arrived, it changed. You know, it was usually a deep chill filled with… something like sorrow. But this time, it was more like… pure joy. Or relief. It was unlike anything I felt before. You would have felt it too if you were present. And I am sure it was because of Sirius and Regulus.”

Arcturus’ eyes sharpened. Why would this wizard feel joy at seeing them? Does he know them? But how? It feels like the more answers we get; the more questions keep coming.

This was critical, he could feel it. If this wizard was in some way related to his grandsons, and his niece, then it could explain why he would have been drawn to their manor in the first place. “Joy, you say? What else, Narcissa?” He could feel his impatience building, he wanted – no, needed – to understand it better.

Her throat tightened. This was the most unsettling part, the reason why she had asked to see her uncle in the first place. “We were in my room. I felt his magic, but it was different. It felt more potent. More present. I asked him if he was okay and then, I felt magic surging through my mind, it was almost overwhelming. It felt like a mixture of emotions, I’m not really sure.” She confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “It was messy, I couldn’t really discern anything, but I think it was more than emotions… maybe like memories. Fragmented pieces of memories. He confirmed he was trying to tell me something.”

The relaxed atmosphere became heavier. Arcturus remained still, but his mind was working furiously. An ethereal wizard, capable of complex Legilimency, projecting emotions and memories, and reacting to specific members of his family.

He drew a slow, deliberate breath. “Legilimency… A former wizard, in this degraded state, was able of entering your mind. This could be disastrous. We may have to find a way to contain him, if that is even possible.”

At that, Narcissa stiffened, her hands clenching in her lap. “Uncle, no! I really don’t- “

Ding, ding.

No.

The bell. They had forgotten about the small instrument that was now always present on the Lord Black’s desk.

“No?” Arcturus seemed amused, but still troubled. The capabilities of this wizard were growing at an alarming pace, and he wouldn’t take any risk where his family was concerned.

“My apologies, Wizard, but as long as we cannot be sure about your intentions, I cannot take any risk. You entered my niece’s mind, who is quite proficient at occlumency. While it speaks volumes about your own power, you must understand that, as Lord Black, I cannot allow you to continue.” He paused, leaning into his chair. “If you do not want me to contain you, then you will comply with this order, is that understood?”

He was bluffing, of course, but Harry didn’t want to take the chance. His goal was to help them, he didn’t want them to be scared of him.

He needed to find a way to reassure them, or more specifically, to reassure Lord Arcturus Black of his intentions.

He focused his will, pushing a warm wave of calm towards the two Blacks. He also pushed towards Arcturus’ mind, trying to convey his intentions.

All the Lord Black could feel was the warmth of his magic before a single thought entered his mind: Protect.

Arcturus stood, his hand going to his temple. “I guess it was you?” He asked, his voice slightly trembling.

Ding.

“Protect? Protect from what? This Dark Lord?”

Ding.

“Do you know anything we don’t know about him?”

Harry hesitated. While he wanted to help them, he wasn’t sure if giving up all he knew now was the best way. He could try to find a way to contain him, or worse, fully destroy him, once he had all the answers he needed, or if he deemed Harry too dangerous.

But in the end, he had vowed to protect them, and he couldn’t do that in his current state. His best option would be to trust them.

Ding.

“Interesting. So you, a wizard reduced to your current state, has knowledge about this Dark Lord, information that me, as the Lord of House Black, could not find?” He asked, genuinely curious.

No answer.

“Very well. We will talk about this later, I have a Wizengamot meeting to attend soon.” He stood, then turned to his niece. “Narcissa, it may seem obvious but, you are not, under any circumstance, to talk about this to anyone. Even your sisters.” Of course, he was talking about Andromeda; Narcissa hadn’t been close to Bellatrix in the last few months.

“This stays between the three of us. Absolute secrecy, for your own safety, his, and this family’s. Also, I would like you to keep communicating with him. Do not strain yourself too much and do not forget your lessons, but I believe this could be more important than any teaching these tutors could give you.”

He dismissed her with a brief nod, already turning towards one of the drawers, looking for a specific piece of parchment.

As his niece left, he scratched most of the theories he had formulated before, and thought: This is fascinating, truly fascinating.

(Break)

Later, Wizengamot’s Chamber.

Among the Lords present today, Arcturus Black was seated amongst the more neutral families, such as the Greengrasses and the Macmillans, his wife’s family. He was not engaging in the small-talk with either, though; he was observing.

His gaze swept over the chamber, noting the anxiety of the light-aligned members, and the subtle, almost imperceptible smirks on the faces of those who favored the rising movement.

His aim was to avoid becoming a target for the Dark Lord, but not so much as to alienate himself completely from the Ministry's influence; thus, his placement today with the neutrals.

As everyone settled and the chatter died down, the Chief-Warlock stood, his voice soft but perfectly heard by every member. “Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, we are gathered today because of the threat that our country, both its magical and muggle side, is facing. As you all know, a week ago, a terrorist act claimed the lives of over two hundred muggles.”

He paused, his blue eyes sweeping across the assembly, lingering for a moment on the faces of those known for their pureblood ideology, before continuing, "Innocent lives, brutally taken, for no other crime than existing. It is our duty, as leaders of the magical world, to ensure that we, and those we protect, are shielded from this growing darkness. For too long, we have had to deal with unrest, brawls, of what we thought were isolated acts. However, the evidence now clearly points to a coordinated force, one that threatens the very foundations of our society. I will now defer to Bartemius Crouch Senior, who, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, will elaborate on his findings of the past week."

Dumbledore settled back in his seat as Crouch rose from his.

“Chief Warlock” Bartemius nodded to Albus, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Our investigations into the recent terrorist act have yielded very conclusive results. The analysis of the attack site done by members of the Department of Mysteries have revealed magical signatures darker than any they had ever seen. We believe this was made not by common dark curses, but by knowledge acquired by years of delving into the worst magic has to offer.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts and letting his words sink in. “In addition, in the last forty-eight hours, two members of the auror department were found to be under the imperius curse. Their unusual behavior, initially dismissed as stress, has raised alarm with Senior Auror Moody, who confirmed their state and informed me of the situation. Thanks to the best legilimens amongst the Unspeakables, they have been able to break free from the curse, but this proves that our enemy’s reach extends to the very heart of our law enforcement.”

The revelation sent a ripple of fear through the Wizengamot.

No one is safe, was the dominant thought going through the minds of the members present. 

“These are the undeniable facts,” Crouch stated, his voice ringing with absolute conviction. “And these are the reasons why we believe we are indeed facing an organized group, and that a new Dark Lord has risen, one who has maybe searched deeper than any before in the darkest aspects of magic. Therefore, as representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I request the immediate authorization for the following measures: Firstly, a substantial increase in the DMLE’s budget. Secondly, that any individual apprehended in connection to this group be immediately sent to Azkaban, without bail, until a full, secure trial can be arranged. Thirdly, our Aurors, facing foes who wield magic without restraint, must be allowed to use lethal force in the line of duty when lives are at stake. And finally, to protect the very integrity of this Ministry, I propose that all Ministry employees, be subjected to an interrogation under Veritaserum, to clear our ranks from any hidden sympathizers.”

A stunned silence followed Crouch’s stark demands, broken only by a few sharp intakes of breath. Minister Jenkins, however, cleared her throat, her expression attempting to project calm, though her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed her robes.

“Now, Barty,” she began, her voice a little too high, attempting to dismiss the heavy atmosphere. “While these are indeed concerning findings, we must avoid inciting undue panic. Such extreme measures could, I fear, be counterproductive. We must avoid creating panic amongst the public and not give in to fear and discard the very principles that define us. The Ministry is fully capable of handling this matter with the resources we currently possess.” She offered a wan, reassuring smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Among the rows, subtle smirks flickered across the faces of certain Lords. Abraxas Malfoy, sitting with his usual elegant composure, shared a brief glance with Lord Nott, a shared moment of amusement at the Minister’s apparent naivete.

Fleamont Potter, lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter, however, was already on his feet, eyes alight with resolve. "With all due respect, Minister," he began, "I believe what Director Crouch is proposing is not extreme, but necessary. The evidence he has presented is undeniable. We are not facing common criminals. We are facing an organized force led by a Dark Lord who has demonstrated a chilling disregard for life and law, and who has already proven he was able to infiltrate these very halls."

Fleamont swept his gaze across the chamber. "To maintain 'public calm' by ignoring the true threat, or to uphold 'due process' when our Aurors are outmatched and our Ministry compromised, would be nothing short of criminal negligence! Lord Crouch speaks with wisdom. We must grant him these powers, and more. This is a matter of survival. I, for one, wholeheartedly agree with every proposal Director Crouch has laid before us."

As Fleamont resumed his seat, Lord Nott rose slowly. "The Minister is wise," he stated, his voice smooth. "Panic benefits no one. And as for what you propose… these are measures that strike at the very heart of Magical Britain’s liberties. Loyalty, true loyalty, is cultivated and earned, not extracted under duress or suspicion. Such proposals would create an atmosphere of distrust and resentment, making us weak from within, and I believe no one wants that, right? We must remember who the true enemy is."

It was Lord Rosier who then rose. "Lord Potter's concerns are, of course, understandable. Our Aurors are indeed courageous, but to grant such powers, particularly to use lethal curses, without oversight, is a perilous path. We risk compromising the very principles of justice we claim to uphold. And as for sending anyone immediately to Azkaban... surely, even in times of crisis, the right to due process remains sacrosanct? We must be careful not to create a system where the innocents are swept up with the guilty, merely for the sake of appearances." His words were carefully chosen, designed to sow doubt and fear.

Minister Jenkins, emboldened by Nott and Rosier’s careful opposition, offered a small, self-satisfied smile. She nodded towards the two Lords, a show of appreciation for their measured stances.

“Precisely, Lord Nott, Lord Rosier,” she stated, “We must avoid rash decisions taken in the heat of the moment. These measures, if allowed, could compromise our liberties. While Director Crouch’s diligence is appreciated, I find his recommendations rather disproportionate to the current situation. Instead, I suggest the creation of a Special Committee, whose role would be to thoroughly review these measures, before we revisit them at our next session, in a month. For now, I believe the Ministry should continue as we have: patrols in magically populated areas such as Diagon Alley, and increasing public awareness regarding vigilance and report of suspicious activity, which I assure you, are perfectly adequate to handle any further unrest we might encounter.” She finished with a reassuring nod, as if to settle the matter.

A wave of silence, more profound that any before, washed over the chamber. Then it broke. Among the light faction, gasps of disbelief turned into murmurs of furious outrage. Faces paled, and many shook their heads in despair and realization at the complete uselessness of one of their leaders.

The extremists exchanged satisfied smirks. Lord Nott offered a subtle, triumphant nod to Rosier, a silent congratulations for playing their part to perfection: avoiding any valuable measure while keeping their true loyalties hidden.

The neutral families shared defeated looks, all recognizing what had just happened, and realizing this could only lead to one of two outcomes: they were already doomed under such incompetent leadership, or Jenkins had signed her political death, and they would soon be led by someone else.

Arcturus, thinking back to his latest conversation with Narcissa, realized that the mysterious wizard had been right: with people like Jenkins in power, the Ministry would never be able to handle the coming war. He didn’t want to involve himself too much, but he knew he couldn’t do nothing or Voldemort would face little to no resistance.

Foolish woman, he thought. I fear you leave us with no choice, Jenkins.

Before the Minister could even fully retake her seat, Fleamont Potter was on his feet again. His face now contorted with a mixture of fury and exasperation. His voice cracked, echoing through the ancient halls of the chamber.

“Minister Jenkins!” His voice boomed, hand rising and pointing straight at her. “You are not merely dismissing Director Crouch’s obvious evidence, you are also dismissing the lives of two hundred muggles and the lives of all the future victims. You are dismissing the hard truth that the auror department has been compromised. You are dismissing the rise of a Dark Lord who threatens us all! I believe your preference for inaction and disregard for the truth makes you unfit to lead us in these perilous times!”.

He spun to face the rest of the chamber, his voice rising with absolute conviction. “My Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, I call for an immediate vote of no confidence against Minister Eugenia Jenkins!”.

A cacophony immediately erupted in the chamber; horrified gasps, furious murmurs and indignant exclamations filled the air. The controlled decorum of the ancient assembly broke, dissolving into chaos as Lords and Ladies rose, gesturing wildly around them, their faces a mixture of fear and outrage.

Albus Dumbledore, who had stayed quiet since the beginning, raised his gavel, “Silence!” his voice cutting through the clamor. “Lord Potter has called for a vote of no confidence as is his right,” he stated, his voice calm but authoritative. “As Chief-Warlock, I second that motion. While the vote would usually take place at a later date, I believe the circumstances leave us with no choice but to proceed. I will give you half an hour to think about it, and then we will vote.”

While every Lord was entitled to his own vote, there was an unspoken hierarchy all members adhered to. The Light didn’t need direction: the proposal was coming from one of them, and was immediately endorsed by Albus Dumbledore; they all knew what they had to do.

The neutrals quietly talked amongst themselves, but they knew the final decision would be taken by the Lord Black. While anyone could decide to go against his wishes, none wanted to alienate him.

Arcturus’ mind was spinning. While he didn’t want to expose himself so soon, he couldn’t let such an incompetent Minister in charge. This would be risky for him and his family, but he had other ways to ensure their safety, so, he subtly nodded at Lord Greengrass, who would pass the word along.

The dark, of course, were the most angered by this course of event. They looked at each other, frustrated, talking furiously about what they could do to stop this vote. Jenkins was incompetent, and this fitted perfectly with their Lord’s plans. Having a competent and united government would make their goal this much harder to reach.

But in the end, they knew there wasn’t much they could do. If they had been given more time, they could have tried to bribe some members to get their votes, but as it was, they could only pray the neutrals would tip the balance in their favor.

After the allotted time came to an end, the Chief Warlock called for the vote, and as the wands began rising and lighting, it became clear to everyone what the outcome would be.

“Minister Jenkins,” started Dumbledore, “with a clear majority of votes in favor of this motion, you are hereby removed of your post as Minister. You have one week to prepare for the transition of your successor. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I now call for a second vote to appoint an interim Minister for the duration of this war, at the end of which, a new election shall take place to designate a new Minister. I propose Director Crouch, he is the most obvious choice and is one of the most engaged in this crisis. No one could doubt his loyalty to the Ministry and I believe his efficiency is what we need. To replace him as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I put forward Lord Bones’ name, who, as Head of the Auror Department possesses all the required qualities to lead this pivotal office. And finally, to fill the Head of Auror position, I suggest Senior Auror Alastor Moody, whose reputation is well known between our ranks.”

The Chief Warlock’s propositions were quickly agreed to, and soon, a wave of relief seemed to sweep over the Lords of the Light faction, while anger and frustration took over most of the extremist members.

But it was done now and there was nothing any of them could do. Our Lord won’t like that, was the most prominent thought in their minds.

As the members started to rise, preparing to leave, Lord Black’s eyes glanced around the room, trying to subtly catch Dumbledore’s own. As he finally succeeded, he sent the Chief Warlock a faint nod. It was a fleeting moment, not more than a couple of seconds, but it was enough for Dumbledore, and it finally clicked.

APB… Arcturus Phineas Black. How did I not realize before? He thought as understanding came over him.

At the same time, he had been rather busy these last few days and, even more, these last hours. But as the ancient Lord looked and nodded at him, it finally made sense. Only a powerful and knowledgeable wizard could have sent such a warded note. And only Lord Black fitted the initials. But why does he want to meet with me? Before this session, I was sure he and his family would have already been aligned with Tom. It seems I was wrong. That could be highly beneficial for our world if the Blacks do not support them.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the chamber had almost emptied by now, with only Director – Minister, now – Crouch and himself.

As he began to rise and started to leave, he felt his pocket flutters, and reached inside with his hand. Another note, much more protected than the previous one.

Not wanting to decipher it here, he decided it would have to wait for him to be back in the safety of his office at Hogwarts.

He finally took his leave, letting silence return to the sacred chamber of the Wizengamot.

(Break)

Back in his office, Albus had taken time to remove all the protections on the note that, he knew now, had been given to him by Arcturus. On it, a time and a location, nothing else.

Midnight, abandoned boathouse, Shuna Island, Loch Linnhe.

And so, he found himself, in the middle of the night, in front of the boathouse he had noticed from atop a hill, after apparating as close as he could. He couldn’t feel any magical signature: no presence, no ward, nothing. This was truly abandoned, and far from any magical settlement. Actually, the closest magical sites would be Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.

 As he reached the door, it opened on its own before he could knock, and he heard a voice coming from inside.

“You sure took your sweet time, Dumbledore. I thought your wits had left you and you hadn’t been able to decipher my little notes.”

Dumbledore chuckled, instantly recognizing Lord Black’s voice. It seems I was right, and it looks like he didn’t lose his sharp tongue.

“Lord Black, a pleasure to see you again. I must admit, though, that your note left me surprised. I wouldn’t have thought you of all people to try and get a meeting with me. Especially in such a… reclusive place.” Albus’ famous twinkle was present in his eyes. As infuriating as ever. Just as I feared, lamented Arcturus.

Arcturus stepped out of the shadows, a faint smirk on his lips. “And I, Dumbledore, wouldn’t have thought you would show up. After all, this could have been a trap. And as for the location, this shack has been in my family for centuries, and the whole island has been long abandoned. No one knows of its existence. It is the perfect place to meet.” He paused, gesturing at the interior of the boathouse. “Though I must admit, the ambiance leaves something to be desired. Do try not to get splinters, Chief Warlock, one only knows what it would do to a body as old as yours.”

Albus’ smile widened. “Always the pragmatist, Arcturus. And always one for dramatics, it seems. Nevertheless, I don’t believe you asked for this rendezvous to exchange pleasantries. You requested this meeting, so tell me what, precisely, has compelled Lord Black to seek out Albus Dumbledore?”

Arcturus’ amused smirk faded, replaced by his usual calculating expression. “Circumstances, Dumbledore, have a way of forcing one to adapt. For centuries, my family has thrived on influence, knowledge, and also, at times, more unsavory dealings, but never have we subjugated ourselves to the whims of a Dark Lord. We are Blacks, and above everyone else. However, some amongst my family would have thrown it all out the window and happily bent the knee to this Voldemort.” His voice held a clear note of contempt.

“It might seem like he is fighting for our rights, but I believe his only goal is absolute power, for himself and no one else. I have seen enough in the Daily Prophet’s report to know that siding with him would never lead us to greatness, but to our ruin. And that is the reason I forbade any member of the House of Black to take part in this movement. I assigned them tasks to carry out, and I have the most… fervent of them watched at all times by my house-elves.”

Dumbledore’s eyes were still twinkling, though a flicker of surprise could be seen within them. “What a surprising development, Arcturus. I admit, I had thought your family to already be in tow with them. I even suspected some had taken part in last week’s raid. The ‘purification of our society’, something to appeal to your blood and ambition.”

“As I said,” Arcturus retorted sharply, “no one is above the House of Black, especially not an unknown dark wizard, no matter how powerful he thinks he is.”

“Oh, I assure you, Arcturus, he is as powerful as he thinks he is.” Dumbledore’s eyes lost their twinkle, profound regret taking its place.

The Lord Black didn’t acknowledge Dumbledore’s interruption, and instead continued. “The survival of my family is my only concern, and while I may have been tempted to stay neutral, I know the chances of this happening are very slim, especially considering I had a part in the ejection of Jenkins. And a society ruled by a Dark Lord is not something anyone should aim for, no matter their stance on blood and purity. That is why I believe that, while an official alliance between us is impossible, we should try and help each other. And to that effect…” He reached into his robe and withdrew a piece of parchment, giving it to Dumbledore.

“This, Chief Warlock, is a list. Names of those who have shown clear leanings towards this faction, those who have been approached but are yet to decide, and those who are firmly on his side, some supporting him from within the Ministry.”

Dumbledore took the scroll, unfolding it carefully. His brow furrowed as his eyes scanned it, the light in his eyes dimming with each name. Some were expected – Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, he could have placed them on the list himself. But others were really surprising – Augustus Rookwood, an Unspeakable! Corban Yaxley, whose family, while on the darker side of the political spectrum, had always stayed neutral.

The list continued – renowned merchants, ‘respectable’ Ministry officials, and even more members of the Wizengamot.

Maybe Crouch’s idea to force everyone to be interrogated under Veritaserum has merit, Albus thought grimly as he finished reading the list. This is way worse than I could have imagined.

“This is… Impressive, Arcturus. Far more complete than what my own network has been able to uncover. Such a level of infiltration, already? This is disastrous. He could likely take over the Ministry from within.”

“Indeed, Dumbledore. But with the new government, we might have a chance to deal with some of them. I will let you inform our new Minister. Now, tell me, what has your network been able to uncover?”

“Very well, Arcturus. First of all, and to maybe help you convinced the more… recalcitrant members of your family, Voldemort is not the name his mother chose for him: his real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Son of Tom Riddle Senior, and Merope Gaunt.”

“Gaunt? As in the pathetic, inbred branch of the Slytherin’s line? And Riddle? A pureblood from the continent perhaps? I have never heard this name before.”

“Yes, Marvolo’s daughter, supposedly a squib. And I would have been surprised had you ever heard of the Riddles. Surprisingly, they were muggles. A somber story about love potions. The most important part being, this Dark Lord pushing for pureblood supremacy is in fact, a half-blood.”

Arcturus’ eyes widened, his jaw clenched and a vein appeared on his forehead. For a moment, his impassive façade cracked, revealing genuine, raw disgust.

To bend the knee to a pureblood would have been a disgrace, but to the son of a muggle and a squib?!

“A half-blood,” Arcturus spat. “The champion of blood purity. What a colossal joke! He asks us, purebloods, to follow and obey him, while he’s not even pure himself? This needs to be made widely known, Dumbledore! It would shatter his carefully constructed image, it would turn his most ardent followers against him.”

“It could, Lord Black,” Dumbledore replied, “unfortunately, I believe his most fervent followers already know. Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, Mulciber and Nott: they were all at Hogwarts together with Tom, and were already akin to his followers. I suppose they are following him for his power, not for his blood.” He paused, letting his words sink in.

“It could still be exploited to convince some of the less committed, but it must be used at the most opportune moment, or his retaliation could be one of great savagery, especially against the one who reveal it.”

Silence fell between the two men, before Dumbledore continued. “I have also been informed by one of his former professors that he was quite… obsessed, during his years at Hogwarts.”

“Obsessed? With what? Dark Magic? Not the news of the century, don’t you think?” Arcturus had found his wits again, after his rage had finally receded.

“He dabbled in obscure magics, of course, but no, that is not what I am referring to. His obsession lay more with the concept of… immortality.”

“Immortality?!” Revulsion began to crept over Arcturus’ face: it was a known fact that any path to immortality lay with blood, death, and the fracture of any known law of the magical world. Even the famed Philosopher’s stone was rumored to have required the death of innocents for its forging.

“Yes, my source noted a morbid fascination with theories and legends to extend one’s life beyond its natural span. He believes Tom Riddle sought ways to cheat death, not merely delay it. However, my source affirmed that he never succeeded. I don’t know if I can trust him on this, though, and even if he didn’t, Tom isn’t one to give up, and I believe it is only a matter of time before he does find a way.”

Dumbledore’s eyes, devoid of any warmth, held a deep, troubled gaze. Arcturus remained silent, absorbing the troubling implications. Such ambition, coupled with his already terrifying power, painted a far grimmer picture than he had imagined.

The man wasn’t only a threat to their way of life; he was a magical abomination in the making.

“I thank you for sharing these pieces of information. We both have a lot to think on before we decide what to do from there. If he has indeed delved into ways to become immortal, then this turned much more complex than I previously thought.” Arcturus’ voice was flat, yet his eyes held a fierce determination.

“Before you depart, there is another reason why I requested this meeting. A matter defying all known magical theories and has all of my contacts from the Department of Mysteries completely baffled. If you want to know more, I will have your Wizard’s Word.”

Albus straightened in his seat, his gaze sharpening. He was, first and foremost, a scholar. He lived for this kind of things. He was already bursting with curiosity, barely able to contain it. The decision was not a hard one to make.

“Very well, Lord Black. Then, I give you my word that I shall never utter a word of what we are about to discuss to anyone.”

While not an Unbreakable Vow, a Wizard’s Word was said to bring bad luck to those who broke it. It was not something one would casually give if they didn’t intend on respecting it.

Arcturus silently nodded, satisfied. “A couple of weeks ago, an entity has appeared in Black Manor.”

“An entity?”

“Yes, myself and my niece, Narcissa, who was there when it first materialized, have since identified it as a former wizard who somehow found himself in this state. It all started with...” Arcturus then explained all the odd occurrences that had happened, ending with their latest discovery: the wizard’s capacity to send emotions and intentions directly into one’s mind.

“My contacts have confirmed it is unlike anything they ever heard about. They confirmed it was likely a very powerful wizard before, but have no idea what it is now, nor how it came to be like this or if there is a way to restore it to a physical form, but they agree this is something defying every understanding of life, death and magic we have.” He paused, before looking at Dumbledore’s wide eyes. “So, Dumbledore, did I manage to surprise you?” Arcturus concluded, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Albus looked at him with wide eye, utterly bewildered. “Yes… yes, I believe you did. I must admit, I have never heard of anything like this.” He had spent decades researching the most intricates forms of magics; rituals of any kind, alchemy, dark and light magic. Yet, he had absolutely no idea of the hows and whys.

The threat of Voldemort and his death eaters seemed totally forgotten in the face of this mystery. While he wanted to spend the next weeks buried under his rarest books, he knew this wasn’t a possibility. But he may have a way to quicken things.

AN: The longest one so far! That was already true before but, from now one story will start deviating from canon even more. Don’t be surprised. I hope you liked it, let me know in the comments.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 – Beyond What We Know

Nurmengard, Austrian Alps.

The air was heavy as Albus approached Nurmengard, a castle as black as the secrets that its only occupant held. Secrets he had come to uncover.

Yes, Albus Dumbledore was visiting his old friend, Gellert Grindelwald. He had quickly realized that this would be the fastest way to solve the mystery Lord Black had presented to him. He didn’t have time to waste on endless, and likely useless, research. For all the horrible things he had done, Gellert was still the most knowledgeable wizard he knew, even more than him.

A single, hooded guard met him as he got closer to the gates, his face an impassive mask. He nodded respectfully to Albus.

“Chief Warlock, we were not expecting you.”

“My apologies. The matter is… delicate, and off the record.” The guard merely nodded, understanding in his eyes. He silently led him through long, dark corridors. They descended to the lowest level, to the only cell that was occupied, at the heart of the fortress.

The door, sealed with numerous magical locks, slid open under the wand of the guard.

“If you need anything, call for me.” He then pointed towards the cell, and Dumbledore stepped inside, the door closing behind him.

The cell was spartan. A thin mattress on a side, a pitcher of water on a small table. There was no window, and thus, no light.

“Lumos.” And then he saw him, in the center of it all, sitting on the ground, his back straight and hands clasped over his knees. Gellert Grindelwald.

Twenty-five years in this cell had taken their toll on him. He was far from the charismatic man he had been friends with all this time ago. This man was a ghost. It was already surprising he had survived this long, all alone, in this dark and damp cell.

His hair was dishevelled, his face wrinkled, but the most striking of all were his eyes. The light in them had dimmed, but they still burned with an intellect only a few possessed.

Gellert looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Albus,” his voice was dry from years of disuse, “what a pleasant surprise!”

Dumbledore simply stood there, not quite sure of what to tell to the man he had once been so close to.

“Gellert,” the pain in his voice was palpable, as if it had never truly left him. “I would not have come, if I had another way.”

“No, I suppose not. So, tell me, Old Friend, what problem do you find yourself in that only a madman who has been imprisoned for twenty-five years could help with?”

Joining him on the ground, Dumbledore wasted no time in exposing the issue. “Despite all that happened, you know I never doubted your power and knowledge. Out of the two of us, you delved into the darkest forms of magic. I find myself in need of that knowledge today.”

Albus paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “I have encountered… an entity. Invisible, but whose magical presence is quite strong. I’ve had the Unspeakables investigate, but even they couldn’t tell me anything valuable, only that they had never heard about something like that.”

Grindelwald’s eyes narrowed, his mind already working hard. “The Unspeakables are baffled? Now this is interesting. All right, you have all my attention, Albus, not that I have anything better to do, so, tell me everything you know, and I will decide if I help you or not. Of course, my help will not be free.”

“Of course, Gellert, and what would you ask? I can’t get you out of there, not that I would if I could.”

“I didn’t expect you to, Albus, no, what I want is much simpler: news from the outside world, a better cell, with a window. And I would like you to come back if you ever solve this mystery. There aren’t many exciting things to do here, you know, and I admit you piqued my curiosity.”

Albus carefully thought about his demands; they were all perfectly within his power to grant, and quite easy to agree to.

“Very well, Gellert, if you help me, I will grant your requests.”

Gellert leaned forward, ready to listen to his old friend. “Perfect! So, onto this mysterious entity. What do you know?”

Dumbledore recounted everything Lord Black had told him, minus the details on the Black Family and anything that would lead to them.

He spoke of the raw, unstable magic they could sometimes feel leaking, of the way this former wizard had managed to project his intentions into their mind, somehow using a form of legilimency.

The more Albus delivered, the more Gellert’s eyes seemed to fill with an almost predatory hunger. “Fascinating…” he breathed, his voice a whisper. “A wizard who lost his corporeal form, yet not a ghost and still capable of primitive magic, and a form of legilimency. Truly fascinating.” He paused, looking blankly at a wall. “It sounds like a magical soul ripped from its body but unwilling, or unable, to fully cross over. The soul, from a very powerful wizard, staying on this plane, but for what reasons? This is all impossible.” He was not even talking to Albus anymore, just musing to himself.

Then, his head suddenly snapped towards his friend, his eyes holding a flicker of something akin to bewilderment. “Oh… There might be a way.”

Albus’ back straightened, and he leaned forward, eager. “A way? For what?”

“To help him, of course. To get him to cross over, or for him to regain a body, I do not know. But this is all linked to his soul, of that there is no doubt. And there is one book that could help you. I can’t be sure, but if you don’t find what you need in this book, then I fear there is nothing to be done.”

His eyes widened, his hope stronger than his suspicion. “Where?”

Grindelwald smiled faintly, a genuine, sorrowful smile. “Remember this old shed behind my aunt’s house, in Godric’s Hollow?”

Of course, Albus remembered. They had spent days holed up there training their magic.

“Yes, I do.”

“Beware of the wards. It should be easy for you, but still. Even after everything, I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

Albus nodded, silently thanking him. As he took his leave, Gellert called for him one last time. “This is not the only book you will find here, Albus. Dozens, about things you wouldn’t believe. Do not let them end up in the wrong ends, My Friend.”

(Break)

A couple of days after Albus retrieved the books, he finally found what he needed. The book, ‘Liber Tenebris’, had been the most warded, and he was sure this was the one. The theories discussed, the rituals, even the simplest spell depicted would see him in Azkaban for life. Gellert was right, this should never fall into the wrong hands, or their world would be doomed.

The part about soul magic was what interested him, and he had been baffled. Even with all his years of research, he had never heard of most of it. The manipulation of one’s soul was a heavy taboo in most magical communities, and with good reason.

One wrong move, one wrong word, and your soul could be shattered. And he feared this was exactly what had happened to this wizard.

While no explanation was given on the hows, the consequences were quite fitting. His soul, or what was left of it, had been transported to a place his magic felt drawn to, consciously or not.

Arcturus was right. This wizard, somehow, is related to one or more of the Blacks.

Miss Black, he was sure of it, was at the center of it all. The book explained that a partial soul would try and latch onto something, someone, to survive. The soul was not acting like a parasite, but like a symbiotic partner, clinging to the one that most vibrated with its own, which would act as a lifeline.

So, if something happens to Miss Black, it is very likely this soul will be in danger, and in the worst-case scenario, it could fully disintegrate, or whatever happens when a fragmented soul suddenly loses its anchor.

It was, in a way, feeding on her magic, but it was also fuelling it, making both stronger. The partial soul had found a sanctuary, holding to it for its survival, and in doing so, it had created a bond that, while fragile due to its unstable state, would become impossibly strong as more time passed.

Albus sat back, rubbing his temples. His mind was reeling, the implications of this situation turning into a strong headache. This was beyond anything he could have imagined.

A partial soul? How? What in Merlin’s name happened to him? And why the Blacks? No Blacks in the last generations suddenly disappeared, and none, save for perhaps Arcturus, would be powerful enough for his soul to survive being severed. But at the same time, there is no way this is just chance that brought him there. There had to be a reason. A former friend of the Blacks? Or a rejected lover of Miss Black, perhaps? No, no, it’s more than that.

But if Lord Black’s words were to be believed, then it was also somewhat related to his grandson, Sirius. His reaction to the mention of his name, and then to his appearance, seemed to point that way.

As he reached the end of the section, the book finally depicted a ritual that could maybe help them. It was theorized that it could help restore one’s soul. If it worked, his completed soul would either cross to its next great adventure, or the ritual would recreate a body to host the soul. How? He had no idea, and the ingredients required were… frightening, to say the least.

A unicorn’s heart, freely given and phoenix’s tears, freely given, symbolizing purity, life and restoration.

A thestral’s heart, freely given, symbolizing death, one of the two possible outcomes.

The anchor’s blood, freely given, representing their bond, the source of its survival.

And finally, pure magic taken from the one performing the ritual.

While the tears should be easy enough to procure, the benefits of having a phoenix as a friend, the hearts would be much harder, if not impossible, to acquire. And then the ritual itself; hours spent in a trance, reciting chants, sending one’s magic into it. So many ways it could go wrong.

Actually, the hardest part might be convincing Arcturus to let Miss Black participate. If something goes wrong, it could affect both of them, and I’m not sure this is something he would agree to.

But before anything else, he needed to see this entity for himself.

(Break)

A few days later, Arcturus finally contacted him. He had managed to rid the manor of all it’s inhabitants. He had sent Orion and Cygnus on the continent. His wife, Melania, was with her family, alongside Druella and Bellatrix, who seemed to be spending more and more time with her aunt.

Good, Melania has a lot to teach her, if she’s willing to listen.

Walburga went to one of the smaller Black’s house. He had allowed her to hold meetings there with members of the Dark Lord’s faction, to glean information.

The younger ones were all visiting Diagon Alley, supervised by Alphard. Even Narcissa. He didn’t want anyone here apart from himself and the wizard.

He had exchanged letters with Dumbledore these last few days.

Albus had informed him of his findings, and Arcturus had been… livid. It was worse, way worse than anything he could have imagined.

He didn’t care about the wizard, not really. It was more an intellectual interest, but if he couldn’t help him, it was not his problem. No, the problem was that it involved his niece much more than he had thought, and much more that he was comfortable with.

If anything went wrong, she could die. He could lose her, because this wizard’s soul had somehow latched onto hers.

Soul magic was not something he had studied, this was beyond his field of expertise. And he was really not happy with this situation.

As Arcturus started to get lost in his thoughts, anger began to grow in him at the situation they found themselves in. The floo suddenly activated, announcing Dumbledore’s arrival, and he lashed out.

“You must have lost your mind, Dumbledore!” Arcturus spat, the words a low, dangerous growl, “If you believe for one second that I would let you perform this ritual, risking my niece’s life, then it seems old age finally caught up with you. And you, Wizard! I know you’re here. Couldn’t you go and bother someone else? My niece didn’t ask for any of this!”

As Albus fully stepped inside the room, a magical presence could be felt nearby. It was ancient and powerful, there was no doubt about that, but also warm and… inviting. Giving a nod to the empty air, he said: “Greetings to you as well, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He then turned to Arcturus and nodded. “Lord Black, I have an accurate understanding of the risks, which is the reason why I am proposing it in the first place. I will not lie to you; your niece being his anchor puts her at risk if the ritual goes wrong. But the price she would have to pay if we do nothing is much worse, and certain, not likely. The book is clear: a fragmented soul, no matter how powerful and stabilized, will eventually disintegrate, taking a piece of the anchor it bound itself to. The more time passes, the stronger the bond grows, and the riskier it gets, for everyone involved.”

Arcturus sneered, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “A piece of her soul, you say? The very essence of her being, what makes her who she is?” His anger receded somewhat as he came to the realization that Albus was right; no matter how risky the ritual would be, it was best to act and have a chance to save them both than letting it fester which would only end badly.

Silence fell upon the room, the Lord Black walking to a drawer to pour himself a glass of firewhisky, before he downed it in one gulp.

Harry stayed silent, absorbing what he had just heard. While he had felt a sort of bond to Narcissa, he would have never imagined his soul had latched onto hers. And he wasn’t really eager to discover what would happen if they didn’t ‘fix’ him. He had almost accepted that he would always stay in this state, and was content with the ways he had found to help the Black Family.

But it seems it wouldn’t be safe for either of them in the long run.

Dumbledore then seized this opportunity to address him, turning to where he had felt the magic earlier. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry. Lord Black contacted me to see if I could be of any help regarding your situation, and I believe I may have found a way, but we will need your full cooperation.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, warm magic swept through the room, both wizards feeling it deep inside them.

“He understands, he trusts us, and I believe he just agreed to help us.” Dumbledore’s affinity for ambient magic was without equal. He had been able to understand everything Harry had tried to convey, without the need for words.

Arcturus let out a long sigh. “Right. First, I would like to read this book, I want to know everything that is written within its pages. Now, tell me what does this ritual of yours entail? What kind of ingredients does it require?” He finally gestured for Dumbledore to take a sit opposite him. “My family’s fate is now connected to this, and I will do anything to ensure my niece survives it, with her soul intact.”

“Of course, Arcturus. I would expect nothing else.” He said as he reached into his robes and handed him a copy of the small book. “As for the ritual itself, it requires the heart of unicorn and the tears of a phoenix, both freely given. The blood of the anchor – your niece – and a thestral’s heart, also freely given. The ritual will feed from these ingredients and from the magic of the one who performs it. Mutual trust between Miss Black and the wizard will also be requi-”

Suddenly, the air grew cold, a frozen wind passing through them. Glasses exploded, and the wizard’s magic began leaking from his being like never before.

Harry was struggling with the onslaught of emotions – not his own – that was entering his mind. He quickly understood what was happening, and there was only one thing he could do.

As he focused to regain control of his magic, he pushed his thoughts towards both wizards.

A single name entered their minds, sending the Lord Black into a panic for the first time in years: Narcissa.

And then, the presence was gone.

Arcturus jumped to his feet, concern written all over his face. He rushed to the floo, screaming “Leaky Cauldron” before he was even fully inside.

Dumbledore stood, alarmed but somewhat calmer than his co-conspirator, and followed suit through the floo.

(Break)

Earlier, Diagon Alley.

The bright sun present today was a stark contrast to the storm brewing in the wizarding world, which reflected in the almost empty Diagon Alley. While it used to be so full of life, only a couple of wizards here and there could be seen, most of them hurrying to purchase what they needed before leaving.

This mood however seemed to not affect the young Blacks, supervised by their uncle Alphard. He had taken them out for a few hours of normalcy, after the Lord of their house had asked them to vacate the manor.

They had just finished a visit to Gringotts, where Sirius had loudly complained about the stiffness of the goblins, something they hadn’t really appreciated, much to the quiet amusement of Alphard and Narcissa’s exasperation.

Now, they were standing outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, Alphard patiently waiting for them to decide.

“I don’t care what you say, Sirius, I want a double scoop of chocolate and vanilla,” Regulus said, his voice quiet but firm, a stubborn frown on his face.

“Don’t be so boring, Reggie! Try something new for once!” Sirius protested.

Narcissa smiled, a rare sight these last months. “He’s right, Regulus, a bit of adventure from time to time will do you good, you know.”

Regulus, after a moment of consideration, sighed dramatically. “Fine! But if I don’t like it, you’re buying me another one.”

Alphard chuckled, a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. He was a tall and handsome man, and had always tried to keep the peace in his family. Taking care of the younger members was something he had always done, and enjoyed greatly.

As he watched them, his thoughts drifted to the current political climate. He knew of Arcturus’ machinations. He had known him for many years, and understood what he was trying to do. To keep the family safe, no matter what.

The whispers in the family, the rumours from his own small network: it all suggested that the Dark Lord was growing impatient, and an attack on Diagon was not out of the question. This was why he didn’t want to linger too long, and tried to hasten his nephews and nieces.

Unconsciously, his hand tightened on his wand, a flicker of unease darting through him. The thought of a possible attack chilled him to the bone.

We shouldn’t have come here.

Then chaos erupted as shouts were heard and wizards and witches came running, wands drawn, from one of the streets leading to Knockturn Alley. Curses began flying in every direction as patrolling aurors immediately engaged them.

Alphard’s face hardened into a mask of grim determination. “Everyone, behind me!” he barked, pulling out his wand.

People were running, or trying to find cover. The street had been almost empty, so the aurors and death eaters had all the space needed to battle.

A red light – a Diffindo, Alphard immediately realized – was heading straight to Narcissa. It was a powerful one, and she wouldn’t have time to dodge it.

In that moment of pure terror, time seemed to slow down, as something inside her snapped. The bond, that gentle, comforting connection she had become used to, suddenly flared to life. It was no longer quiet either. Magic, not her own, started to flow from her. She held onto it, trying to convey her desperation and fear.

A desperate plea for help.

Suddenly, she felt him nearby. His presence, invisible, was bursting with power. As the curse was about to hit her, a small shield deflected it, sending it back to the caster who fell on the ground, screaming.

Not taking time to reflect on what had just happened, she drew her wand, ready to defend her cousins. Meanwhile, Alphard hadn’t been idle, and was fighting furiously any dark wizard coming their way, taking down almost as much as the aurors.

Andromeda was shielding their cousins, while he was shielding her.

Sirius, his face pale and his hand shaking, stood in front of his younger brother. He held his wand, but quickly realized how useless he was, and that angered him.

But the one who was truly furious, even if no one could see him, was Harry. His magic was leaking like never before, casting small shields, strong enough to repel one spell at a time. He could feel his core stretching to its limits, but he wouldn’t stop. He’d rather die protecting Narcissa – and Sirius – than letting anyone die.

He tried a disarming spell. He could feel the final vestiges of his magic building inside him, about to comply, and then, nothing. He had failed, his magical reserves drained, but it had been enough.

The death eaters, confused as to where the shields were coming from, were taken down one by one by the aurors, until a shout from the center of the alley was heard, “Dumbledore is here!”

And just like that, they started to flee, running away in every direction, aurors after them, trying to catch as many as they could.

Two figures appeared in the alley, their faces grim and wands at the ready. Arcturus and Albus had arrived. It had taken them only a couple of minutes to run from the Leaky Cauldron.

They rushed to the children’s sides, assuring they were safe. Scared, traumatized, but safe.

“Children! Are you alright?” Arcturus asked, his voice filled with a rare, genuine concern, a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, the other on Narcissa’s cheek, and his eyes glancing over them all, checking for injuries.

Albus had already cast a diagnostic charm on all of them and nodded at him. “They are unharmed, Arcturus, save for a few bruises.”

Silence fell upon them, the only noise coming from the aurors dealing with the death eaters, who had either been captured or killed – one of Crouch’s measures that had been quickly adopted.

Suddenly, fear returned to Arcturus, as he noticed someone was missing.

He looked around him. On the ground, in the shops, in the side alleys.

He finally found him, in the rubble beside Fortescue’s Parlor.

Alphard, lying still, face pale, eyes wide and unseeing, forever etched in a mask of silent pain. Next to him were the bodies of two death eaters. He had not gone down without a fight.

“Uncle! No!” Sirius let out a heart-wrenching sob, falling to his knees. Alphard had always been his favourite uncle, the one who talked to him and reassured him when things were bad with his own parents.

And now he was gone, gone, forever.

He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with grief.

Narcissa and Andromeda simply stood there, a hand over their mouths, eyes wide with shock.

Regulus, quiet as always, simply stood on Narcissa’s side, his hand in hers, silent tears tracing a path down his cheeks.

The Lord of House Black had always been a man of steel. Yet in this instant, it was not the unforgiving Lord that stood among them, but a grief-filled man who had lost a member of his family. A brave, kind man who had died protecting the future of their house.

Dumbledore, his face grim, simply put a hand on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry, Arcturus. He was a brave man. You should bring them all back to your house, we will handle the rest. The aurors may contact you later.”

He nodded, his jaw tight. He looked at the chaos around him, before turning to the children of his house, “Let’s go home. Stay close to me.” He said, casting one last glance at Alphard, knowing Albus would see to his body for now.

Then, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, not looking back, his family following him, a silent line of grief.

Harry watched as everyone left. He stayed there, watching the aftermath of the attack, knowing he couldn’t take the floo with them, and wondering how he would ever go back to Black Manor.

His magic – or was it Narcissa’s? – had brought him here, but he no idea how, and he had temporarily emptied all of it anyway.

Panic started to build inside him, as he realized he very well might be stuck here. He felt his entire being trembling. The air grew heavy around him. And then, his core stretched, pulled by an invisible force. And he was gone.

(Break)

Back at Black Manor, Narcissa headed straight for her room. She didn’t speak a word, didn’t acknowledge anyone else. She needed to be alone. The world outside her door ceased to exist as she entered the privacy of her chamber.

She wanted to lose herself in her grief, but as soon as she closed her door, she felt her core pulling something. Her magic flared, unstable. Objects started to move around her; frost formed on the edges of the windows. Her magic was leaking around her. But she didn’t notice, too focused on these sensations she didn’t understand.

She had never felt this before. The bond, this magical thread usually so warm and comforting, felt icy, as if it was about to break.

It ended as suddenly as it had started; books dropped on the ground and her magic returned to her.

And then, he was here. And it hit her. Their bond had pulled him back. She hadn’t even thought about the fact that he would still be at Diagon. But their bond had understood. Just as it had called him when she needed him, this time, he had needed her, and her magic had answered.

Harry was confused. One moment, he was panicking in Diagon Alley, not knowing what he would do, and the next, he was back in Narcissa’s chamber.

This wasn’t me. My magic stopped responding to me. It must be her. Or the bond.

Then Dumbledore’s words came to his mind.

‘Your niece being his anchor…’

This was not about magic. Their souls were intertwined, in a way that had perhaps never happened before. This had to be the reason, first, for his forced ‘apparition’, and then for him being pulled back here.

As Harry began to lose himself in thought, Narcissa took deep breaths to calm herself. She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped in her lap, staring blankly at the wall opposite her.

After the rush of adrenaline had faded, she felt empty, a void that was rapidly filling with sorrow and felt like it would never go away. Her body was rigid, her face a pale, beautiful mask of numbness. Her mind was replaying the last few hours over and over again.

He died, to protect us – me – and I couldn’t do anything to help him. The words were echoing in her mind as guilt washed over her. Sharp, cold, and unforgiving. This is my fault, if only I had been stronger.

While Harry had long been used to death, Narcissa had not, and the loss of someone so close to her made the pain all the more unbearable.

Harry snapped back into the present as he felt her emotions intensifying. He wanted to help, to make her suffering disappear, to envelop her in a cocoon of warmth where she would only feel joy and hope. But he was empty, his magical reserves drained to their last drop.

I really am useless, he thought, feeling guilty. He didn’t realize she likely would have died had he not protected her. I can’t even help her. I’m just here, and she can’t see me, nor hear me.

But maybe he didn’t need magic. His soul had latched onto hers, their essence connected, and while it had seemed pretty scary when Albus had said it, maybe he could use this to help her.

He focused, feeling their connection. He banished all other thoughts, focusing only on his desire to help her, to protect her, and all the affection that he had for her.

He let his entire being flow into her.

Narcissa felt it. It was faint, tentative, like a fragile thread trying to hold onto her she could barely perceive. Then it began to grow, expanding slowly through her entire being from her very core.

The weight of loss in her chest didn’t disappear, but it softened. A feeling of profound affection, a desire for protection, bloomed where before there was only sorrow. A silent, powerful source of strength that would do anything to defend and cherish her.

What is this? It’s… Coming from inside? It’s warm… she thought, her mind starting to clear. It’s him. It’s my wizard. He’s here, helping me; it feels like he’s holding me. A faint blush rose on her pale cheeks. The thought, while embarrassing, was comforting. He always tries to make me feel better, even now when he must be so tired.

“Thank you,” her voice was weak, but the emotions she conveyed were clear. “Thank you, for everything.”

Her posture softened, her shoulders relaxed, and she finally let out a long breath. A single tear, the first since the attack, traced a path down her cheek, and then another, and another, until she was silently crying, the numbness finally breaking. She didn’t wipe them away.

She closed her eyes and, for the first time since she had entered her room, she felt something else than rage and pain. Hope. It was small, but it was there.

Harry had felt it all. First her profound sorrow, and now the peace that he was bringing her, the sense of safety that had grown from their connection.

I am here, he thought. I am here.

She didn’t hear his words, but she didn’t need to. His intentions were clear, clearer than anything before. He would be there for her, and that thought brought a small smile on her face, as she lay on her bed, closing her eyes, and slowly drifted to sleep.

Harry stayed silently on the sides, keeping watch over her, before leaving her to rest.

Chapter Text

Everything belongs to JKR and/or Warner Bros

Enjoy.

Chapter 6 – Picking Up The Pieces

As Narcissa emerged from her sleep, memories from the previous night came back to her, and a faint, tentative smile graced her lips. Sorrow was still present, but it was not the dominant emotion in her anymore. She felt hope, hope, that despite everything that happened, and would happen, he would be there for her.

Taking time to really analyze everything that had happened yesterday, she came to the realization that she wasn’t just able to feel him and his magic. They shared a connection much deeper than that. Something unique. Why it had happened to her, she didn’t know, but she was glad for it.

Oh, how she wished she could have met him as a wizard and not this ethereal being – communicating with him was so frustrating.

She was slowly readying herself for the day when she was interrupted by the soft pop of a house-elf.

“Mistress Narcissa, Missy is sorry but Master Arcturus has asked for everyone to come to the great hall immediately.” Her message delivered, she popped away, leaving the young witch confused.

The Night Before.

After dealing with the children’s distress and sending them to their room, Arcturus had locked himself in his study. The Dark Lord had attacked his family, and there would be hell to pay.

A half-blood, the son of an inbred squib, dares to lay a hand on my blood? He was furious. As soon as the door closed, he immediately floo-called his contacts. He needed answers, and he would have them tonight. Favors, bribes, or blackmail; he would use them all if necessary.

Unfortunately, after a couple of hours of fruitless requests, it became clear that this Dark Lord was smarter than he had imagined and had purged his ranks of any potential spies. Even his contacts in the aurors department had been unable to give him any crucial information. This attack made no sense, and no one could give him a reason as to why he would have had his followers attack such a heavily controlled area.

He only managed to get the names of two of the Death Eaters, the ones killed by Alphard, one of whom was his murderer.

Travers and Nott.

Not the Lords, no. Two unimportant members of these great Houses. But it didn’t matter. They had killed a Black, and he would ruin them.

He was the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and it was time the vermin remembered their place.

He had spent the whole night in his study, and by morning, his anger had receded, replaced by a cold, sharp determination. Suddenly, a soft pop broke the silence.

“Master! Kreacher is sorry for interrupting Master but…Tipsy disappeared... We… Kreacher doesn’t know where she is!” It was Kreacher, and he looked panicked.

“Calm down, Kreacher. I should be able to feel her through our bond.” And so, he focused. As Lord of House Black and Master to all the house-elves, he could feel their magic and immediately know where they were.

It only took him a couple of seconds. “She is in the townhouse in London, the one I sent Walburga to. Wait here for me.”

With that, he apparated straight to the dusty parlor of the smaller house. He followed the elf’s magic, and found her stunned and bound in a closet. He quickly released her, and as she came back to her senses, her wide, fearful eyes locked onto his.

“M-Master! Mistress Walburga she… She had a meeting with bad wizards. She told them Mistresses Narcissa and Andromeda would be at the Alley and then… and then, they talked about… about capturing one of them, but the bad wizard caught Tipsy before she could get away.” She broke down, sobbing.

Arcturus, feeling her distress, sent a wave of magic to calm her. “Nothing happened to them, Tipsy. Go back to the Manor, I will deal with her.”

Reassured by his words and his magic, Tipsy silently popped away. Fury was radiating from him as he apparated back to his study.

“Kreacher! Go and bring back every one. If any tries to resist, you are allowed to use force. Now!” His voice was a low growl, thick with rage and authority.

With a low bow, Kreacher disappeared.

Arcturus paced in his study, trying to calm his nerves and gather his thoughts.

Betraying her own blood… For this half-blood Dark Lord…

(Break)

Once everyone gathered in the great hall, Arcturus entered, his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists. His grief had been overshadowed, replaced by a righteous anger that wouldn’t be tamed until he had his vengeance – and his answers.

As soon as he saw her, gagged and bound to her chair – the result of defying Kreacher – he drew his wand. “Crucio!”

They all jumped in their seats, not expecting their Lord to torture one of them. They hadn’t understood when they had seen Walburga bound and gagged, and neither did they now. But they all knew better than to try and question the Lord Black now.

“Tell me, Walburga! Why did you do it?!” He removed her gag, and her screams echoed into the room, turning into sobs and whimpers as Arcturus lifted his spell.

“Husband, what is happening?” It was Melania. She was calm and composed, but a flicker of apprehension appeared in her eyes. She knew her husband, she knew he would never do that without good reason. And to use this curse meant something very bad had happened.

Walburga gasped. “I did it for the Family, Arcturus! The Dark Lord promised us power. He promised to bring us to our rightful place.” Arcturus didn’t miss the hint of madness in her voice. “He said you were blind, and that a little show of force was the only way for you to see that this is inevitable!” She rambled, tears streaming down her face. “He said he only wanted to show you how wrong you were, that he would spare our family if we joined him!” Confusion was written on the adults’ face, the only ones not yet aware of the previous day’s events.

Arcturus cut her off, his anger on full display for everyone to see. “A little show of force? Is that how you call the death of your brother?! Alphard is dead, Walburga! Killed, because of your idiocy! I warned you,” he paused, turning to the rest of the family. He noticed Sirius shaking, looking at his mother with fury; Regulus sobbing quietly, with Narcissa trying to appease him.

Melania was pale, disbelief written over her face, but she was the Lady of the House, and had a duty to its members. She regained her composure as much as she could, and rushed to Sirius and Regulus’ side, trying to comfort them.

Druella, Orion and Cygnus were pale, looking at Walburga, refusing to believe what they were hearing. Bellatrix was the only one who seemed unconcerned, but Arcturus could see anger in her eyes. “I warned everyone of you not to take part in this! And not only were you aware of this attack, you are the one who warned them and agreed to have your nieces captures!”

“No he-he said he wouldn’t kill anyone! He said he just needed one of the girls…”

Narcissa and Andromeda’s faces had paled, realizing what they had truly escaped. Being kidnapped by these men would surely be a fate worth than death.

Thank you, Narcissa thought, a silent acknowledgment, for Alphard, who died protecting them, and for the mysterious wizard. If it were not for them, she likely would have died that day, or been severely harmed before they kidnapped her.

Arcturus had heard enough, and he now needed to deal with his daughter-in-law, permanently.

“Sirius, Regulus, Narcissa,” his voice was sharp and allowed no argument. “You are dismissed. Go to the sitting room, I will see you later.”

Sirius and Regulus stood frozen, their faces covered in tears. They couldn’t understand why their own mother had betrayed the family, risking their lives in the process without a care in the world.

Narcissa quickly stepped forward, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Come on, you two,” she said quietly, guiding them away from here. Harry followed them. None could see him, but Narcissa clearly felt his presence as they made their way toward the sitting room, leaving the heavy atmosphere of the great hall.

“Andromeda, you are almost of age, you may stay here if you wish, but I believe you would be more useful helping Narcissa with Sirius and Regulus.”

She nodded her head, silent, before she followed her sister and cousins.

“Melania, could you-” She didn’t let him finish. She didn’t need to.

“Of course, Arcturus.” She left, going after the children. She didn’t need to stay. Her husband would tell her everything later.

With only the adults remaining, Arcturus’ back straightened. His gaze swept over them. “Walburga Black. By your betrayal, you caused the death of one of us, and could have led to your own nieces’ capture.”

Walburga tried to protest, but Arcturus silenced her with a single look. “Know that the only reason I do not take your life is because you share my blood. Had you not, you would be dead already. Instead, I will take everything else. Your magic, your connections, your freedom.” Arcturus paused, letting his words sink in. They were not only meant for Walburga, but for everyone else.

At this statement, every person in the room gasped. This was the reason why the Lords Black had always been feared: they were ruthless, even with their own family, and would not tolerate disobedience, or worse, betrayal.

“You will be confined to a small house, alone. You are forbidden to leave its border, and no one will ever visit you. I will have wards put in place, and elves watching over you at all time. Your wand,” at that, he drew his own, and silently ‘accioed’ hers, “is now mine. You will never use magic again.” He pocketed it, and then concluded, “you are nothing. Every dream you ever had are gone.”

Walburga shrieked in despair, the insanity in her eyes visible to all. “No! My Lord! I did it for the Family! For the glory of House Black! You are the one betraying us!” Her screams echoed in the room. Seeing she would not convince him, she turned to her only niece present. “Bella! You know I’m right! You agreed with me, with him, before this weakling,” she had turned to Arcturus as she spat the word, “denied us our rightful place! Do something, help me, kill him! Our Lord will see you rewarded beyond your wildest dreams if you bring the Blacks into the fold!”

She was cut off in her ramble by Bellatrix, as she cast a single spell on her. “Crucio!” A sharp intake of breath was heard, as eyes widened and mouths opened. Even Arcturus seemed surprised. Although he managed to keep his composure, his eyes had slightly widened, not expecting her niece to react that way. Walburga could only scream, her voice echoing against the walls of the manor, as Bellatrix kept her spell on her aunt.

“Uncle Alphard died because of you!” she spat, anger burning in her eyes. “You would have had my sisters kidnapped!” She lifted her spell, but kept her wand raised. “If you ever put their lives at risk again, you’ll be begging for death!” She turned on her heels, and left the room. She needed to spend time with her sisters and cousins.

Her uncle had been right. From the beginning, he had been right. Nothing matters more than the blood of House Black, and he does not care about blood. All he wants is power.

The others had watched, silent.

“Kreacher,” Arcturus called, not waiting for him to appear, “you will take her to the house in Kent. She is not allowed to leave and no one is allowed to come. You and the other elves will keep watch over her. She will stay there for the rest of her days. Now, take her out of my sight before I do something I might regret.”

Arcturus didn’t even give her time to say her goodbyes, not that she deserved it. He then turned to the rest of the family.

“Cygnus, Orion, are the safe houses on the continent ready?” His eyes were back to being cold and calculative.

“Yes Father,” Orion nodded, still troubled by his wife’s punishment, but he knew there was nothing he could do, not after what she had done. “We have one ready in France and another one in Greece. I already dispatched house-elves to prepare both. They are awaiting orders.”

“Uncle, I have gotten in touch with our contacts,” Cygnus spoke up, “we have everything ready. Unregistered portkeys, new identities and money, both magical and muggle.”

“What are you planning, Arcturus?” Druella asked, face still pale at the happenings of the day.

While it seemed everyone had already recovered from their shock, Druella was still struggling. She may be a Black by name, but she didn’t have their blood, and she noticed, maybe for the first time, one of the reasons it made them so different from any other pureblood family. They were pragmatist, all of them, and would adapt to any situation in a matter of seconds, especially if their blood was threatened. They didn’t let grief control them.

“I haven’t discussed it with them, but I will send Sirius and Regulus away. I will not risk the future of my house. I will also ask my wife and Andromeda to go with them. We can hire tutors for her so she can finish her schooling. I believe their presence will be good for Sirius and Regulus.”

“My Lord, could I be allowed to go with them?” Druella asked. She really didn’t want to stay in Britain any longer. She was not made for war, betrayal, and death. She had been raised as a Lady, and while she had enjoyed it so far, she feared her family would be too involved in the weeks to come, and she had no desire to be in the middle of it.

“Of course, Druella, I wouldn’t keep you here against your will.” She nodded her thanks silently.

Arcturus paused, gathering his thoughts, more plans forming in his head. “We will be using the house in Greece. It should be far enough. Orion, warn the house-elves that Sirius and Regulus must be watched at all time. Cygnus, have the portkeys and papers sent to me as soon as possible. They leave by week’s end.”

He stood, concluding this dreary family reunion. “I will go and inform the children, prepare everything.”

They nodded to him, and made their way to their own study to carry out his orders.

Arcturus’ footsteps were measured as he made his way to the smaller sitting room. He pushed the heavy door open, finding his wife and nieces around his nephews.

They all looked his way as he entered. His gaze paused on all of them, but lingered a bit longer on Bellatrix. It seemed she had finally understood what he had been trying to tell her. Maybe his wife had helped, too. It was sad it had required the death of one of them, but he was glad she hadn’t succumbed to her ambition.

“Children,” he started, his voice holding a rare softness. “I had plans in place in case things went wrong. I didn’t expect it to be so soon, but with things as they are now, I believe it is not safe for you to stay here.”

They had many questions they wanted to ask, but all stayed silent, waiting for their Lord to continue. “Sirius, Regulus, you are leaving Britain. You will go to one of the Black’s house in Greece. I know this is a lot for you, and I’m truly sorry, but I do not have any other choice.” He knelt beside them, trying to comfort them, something that seemed to shock them more than the whole situation they were in. “You both are the future of this family. Sirius, if anything happens to me or your father, you will be the Lord of house Black, and I cannot have anything happen to you. Regulus, you are too young and things are becoming more dangerous every day.”

Harry, observing as always, was stumped. This had certainly never happened before. And that is when he realized, for the first time perhaps, how much impact he had had on this timeline. His anger at the mention of the death eaters, his confirmation to Arcturus that Voldemort was dangerous and that he knew more than him, everything that had happened since his arrival, had stirred the Lord Black in this direction, irrevocably changing the future.

His knowledge of events to come was becoming less and less relevant the more changes happened, and he feared it would soon become completely unreliable.

But there were things that wouldn’t change; his knowledge of Voldemort, of the person he was, and of what he had done… His horcruxes.

He focused back on the discussion, barely hearing the end of what Arcturus was saying, “… the two of you to go with them, if you agree of course. Druella is going, too, so you would all be together. Everything has been prepared already.”

Andromeda just nodded, a small smile gracing her lips despite the heavy atmosphere. Clearly, she was eager to get away from this war.

“Of course we will go Arcturus. We will look after them, don’t worry. We will be safe there.” Melania had taken Arcturus’ hand in her own in a rare gesture of affection.

“Thank you,” he then turned to his last two nieces. “Bellatrix, if you truly meant what you said earlier, then I will personally tutor you. There are many things I could teach you.”

“I will do anything to protect our family, Uncle.” She said with a nod.

Well, that is one change I am glad happened, Harry thought, and indeed, Bellatrix had been one of the deadliest Death Eater ever. Stopping her from joining their ranks was a massive win.

“Narcissa, we need to talk. Things have… changed.” He didn’t say more, but Narcissa could feel worry in his words.

Everyone else was confused.

Harry knew what Lord Black had meant, but he also knew there was nothing they could do for now. He sent Narcissa a small, warm wave of magic when he felt apprehension growing inside of her.

She instantly relaxed.

“Of course, Uncle, I will wait for you to call for me.”

“Good,” he then turned back to face Sirius and Regulus. “Boys, you leave at the end of the week, so be prepared. Now, there are many things I need to do, if anyone needs me, I will be in my study.”

With a final look, he took his leave, retreating to the silence of his private office.

(Break)

Malfoy Manor.

Voldemort was furious. They had just made themselves known, and already they came back with nothing but failure and excuses?

“My faithful followers…” he started, his voice just above a whisper. “I must have misunderstood you, so please enlighten me. Are you telling me that getting your hands on two underage girls was too hard for you?” His gaze swept over the Death Eaters that had taken part in the failed mission.

“You went there, twenty of you, with the sole purpose of kidnapping at least one of them. Only half of you return, with nothing to show for it?!” His magic flared for a moment as he vented his frustration.

“My lord,” one of them had been brave enough to step forward, kneeling in front of his Lord. “There were aurors everywhere. They engaged us as soon as we arrived. We tried to reach the Blacks, but one of them began firing curses at us!”

Another one had stepped forward. “My Lord,” his voice was composed, but his face and his eyes could not hide his nervousness. “There were… shields, protecting them. Weak, small, but they kept appearing. I don’t know if someone was hidden somewhere or disillusioned, but…”

“A few aurors? And a ghost? And you, the mighty Death Eaters, couldn’t do anything? Is that what you are telling me?!” The death eater’s head snapped up, and as he looked in his Lord’s eyes, he could see a flicker of red.

“No, My Lord… We-we were about to reach them, we had just dealt with the Black fool, but then-”

Lord Voldemort cut him off, “Dealt with the Black fool? What have you done?!”

“Nott’s cousin and Alphard Black, My Lord… They-they killed each other.”

A sharp intake of breath was heard, as they all knew what his instructions had been: Capture them, but do not harm them.

“Alphard Black. Dead.” Silence fell upon the great hall of Malfoy Manor. “How… Strange. I thought I had made it clear none of them were to be harmed?” He paused, looking at the assembled Death Eaters in front of him. “Were my instructions… unclear, perhaps?”

No one answered. “Do any of you realize what you have done?! I wanted the House of Black on our side! Do you think that will happen now?” Again, no one spoke up. “Answer me! Yaxley!”

“N-No, my Lord.” His voice was trembling, his fear apparent for all present.

“Rosier?! Do you think Lord Black will join us now that we killed one of his own?” His eyes lingered on one of his first followers. Maybe he should have sent the veterans instead of new recruits, but it had seemed like a simple enough mission.

“My Lord, there could still be a way.” While he was also afraid, it was barely visible. A testament to his many years of service under their Lord. “An assault on Black Manor.”

Gasps were heard throughout the room, disbelief and confusion written on everyone’s face.

“An assault, on the ancestral house of the family I want to join us? Please explain, Lord Rosier, because I fail to see how this would lead to the desired results.” Lord Voldemort’s anger and frustration had turned to curiosity and amusement.

“My Lord,” Rosier said, his head bowed. “With your knowledge and power, no wards would resist us. Once inside, we can either kidnap one of the children, and move forward with our initial plan, or we manage to get to Arcturus, and in front of your might, he would have no choice but to pledge himself to you.”

He paused, tilting his head up to see his Lord’s reaction, but his face was unreadable. “I believe the best would be to get our hands on one of his nieces. He refused betrothals to some of the most honorable families, because he cares about them. This is a weakness we could exploit. If we get to him without leverage, forcing him to comply will be much harder.”

Lord Voldemort was pensive, thinking about Rosier’s proposal.

This could indeed be our only way to abduct one of the girls. With  this Black’s death in such a public place, he won’t risk their safety again. They might all soon be confined in their manor.

“Very well. Find me everything you can about this place: location, wards, who is present. Malfoy will help you.”

Malfoy nodded in acknowledgment.

“Good, now that this is settled, there is another matter we need to discuss.” The heavy atmosphere had somewhat been lifted now that the issue of Alphard’s death had been dealt with. “The new minister, Crouch. We cannot allow him to continue with his measures. Already, aurors are using lethal spells. Soon, his idea about using Veritaserum on anyone entering the Ministry might be enforced, and I do not need to tell you how detrimental this would be.”

Some of them shifted, uncomfortable. Many were either members of the Wizengamot, or worked at the Ministry. Such a measure would not only reveal them as Death Eater, but it could force them to give away their Lord’s secrets.

“My Lord,” it was Malfoy who had spoken. “We will not be able to deal with him politically, as was proven when Black took control of the neutrals. I fear we will have to deal with him more… physically.”

“Fear? Why would you fear such an option, Malfoy?” Lord Voldemort’s voice was mocking as he set his eyes on the blond Lord.

“Because he is even more paranoid than Black, My Lord. He is either locked up in his office, in the middle of the aurors department, or in the ancestral home of the Crouch Family, which would be as heavily warded as Black Manor, if not more. An assault on his residence would require careful planning, and a lot of time, My Lord.”

Lord Voldemort was pensive as he registered Malfoy’s words. It seemed they had a lot of planning to do, and a lot of wards to break. It would take some time, but he was Lord Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin’s descendant, and no one would stand against him.

 (Break)

A few days after the attack, Alphard’s funeral was held. It was intimate; only the direct family. Grief and pain were on everyone’s face.

It was a solemn affair, with only a few words exchanged. Surprisingly, it was Bellatrix who delivered the eulogy. A beautiful and heartfelt tribute.

She may not have spent as much time with him as Sirius, but she had known him really well. When she was younger, she had spent entire summers with him, before… before it all went wrong. And it had taken his death for her to realize how wrong she had been.

I am sorry, Uncle, she thought as the stone coffin was laid to rest in the Black’s crypt.

Once they were back in the manor, Bellatrix had made her way to her room. She would gather all the information she had on the dark Lord’s faction. Undecided up until then, she hadn’t given anything to her uncle. But now, there was no doubt in her mind about the path she would take.

Her family, her sisters, her cousins. Only now did she realize she could have lost it all for empty promises. Lord Voldemort would see their world burned if it meant he would rule over the ashes. He didn’t care about blood. He didn’t care about their traditions. All that mattered to him was power, no matter who needed to die.

And while she was not the most expressive with her feelings, she loved her family. She had been blinded, her ambition used against her, and she would make them pay.

She would train, harder than ever before. She would be the wand shielding them, and Merlin be her witness, she would kill any who would try to lay a hand on their heads.

Later that day, she decided to visit her sisters. It had been a long time since they had talked, really talked, just the three of them.

Andromeda was busy with preparations for their coming departure; another thing she was glad for, even if it meant she wouldn’t see them for quite some time. At least, they would be safe.

Narcissa had locked herself in her atelier, shutting out the rest of the world. She would do that, when pressure became too strong, or when she wanted to escape and spend time alone.

As she approached, she could see the door slightly ajar. She paused before entering, gathering her thoughts and her courage. This wouldn’t be an easy conversation, she knew it, and she didn’t deserve for it to be easy.

She stayed at the door for a moment, observing. She was content to see her sister so serene, despite the situation. She had always loved watching her sketch, there was something… soothing in the way her hand glided across the parchment, as her brow furrowed in concentration.

She was about to enter when she felt it. A small, warm wave of magic, carrying emotions and intentions she could feel from here.

It was not the first time she had detected it, but she had dismissed the occurrences as either the wards acting up or the residual magic of the ancient manor.

But this was much more than that. It didn’t seem dangerous, but it was still unsettling.

“You have beautiful eyes, Harry.” She heard her sister say.

Harry? Who in Merlin’s name is Harry?

She fully opened the door, stepping inside.

“Cissy, who are you talking to?” Her voice was laced with confusion, as it was clear there was no one else inside.

Narcissa gasped, her head spinning around. Her pencil dropped on the ground as her eyes widened.

“Bella! Wha-What are you doing here?”

~

AN: I hope you liked it, let me know in the comments!

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 – Truth

“You have beautiful eyes, Harry.” She heard her sister say.

Harry? Who in Merlin’s name is Harry?

She fully opened the door, stepping inside.

“Cissy, who are you talking to?” Her voice was laced with confusion, as it was clear there was no one else inside.

Narcissa gasped, her head spinning around. Her pencil dropped on the ground as her eyes widened.

“Bella! Wha-What are you doing here?”

Earlier

As soon as her uncle’s funeral ended, Narcissa made her way toward the small studio where she went to draw or paint. She wanted to be alone. Or as alone as one could be while being followed by an invisible wizard. But she needed to empty her mind of all the sorrow that had befallen her these last few days.

First, her uncle had died, protecting them. Then, they learned that Walburga, his own sister, had been the cause for his murder. She had agreed to her nieces’ capture, and in the process, risked her own sons’ lives.

This was too much. She never would have expected her to do something so… so cruel! They didn’t know what her punishment was, but Uncle Arcturus had told them they would never see her again.

The news had affected her cousins in very different ways. Sirius had been relieved. He had never gotten along with his mother, and knowing she was the one responsible for his favorite uncle’s death would have made it impossible for them to live under the same roof.

Regulus had cried. Despite everything, she was his mother, and while she was never the most pleasant of women, she always had a soft spot for him. He was too young to understand what was happening, one of the reasons why he was sent away.

Shaking off the memories, Narcissa slowly settled into a comfortable armchair, grabbing pieces of parchment and a pencil on the way.

She stayed there, staring blankly at the pieces of paper, but nothing came. Her mind, usually swirling with ideas, was empty. Or rather, it was full of things she had no intention of drawing. Grief, anger, guilt, at the loss of her kind and courageous uncle. She had to get it out of her head before she wallowed in the sorrow it brought her.

Drawing had always been her way to cope with the negative aspects of her life, but never had she lived through such a loss.

Every shape, every color, every texture her mind usually came up with felt meaningless now. She was about to throw her pencil in frustration when she felt it. She had known he was there. He was always there, but, up until now, he had stayed silent.

The warmth, so gentle and familiar, washed over her. It was no longer an external feeling. She didn’t fully understand it, but their ‘bond’ had grown. It had evolved.

At first, she could only feel his magic when it was coming from him, whereas now, she could feel it from within, as if it were a part of her.

At ease, she started drawing, but was ultimately dissatisfied by the abstract lines she had laid upon the parchment. She crumpled the piece of paper, tossing it aside and started again, and again, with the same unsatisfying results.

Harry could feel her frustration building as she threw parchment after parchment. He wanted to help her, so, he focused on a clear portrayal of a stag. Not just any stag, of course. His patronus, born from his happiest memories.

He noticed the moment it formed in her mind. Her hand had paused mid-air, her eyes narrowing as she focused.

Her lips parted into a beautiful smile, before she nodded.

She started to draw, Harry watching over her shoulders. It was stunning, an almost perfect replica.

“I suppose it was your Patronus?” She asked, not lifting her head from her drawing.

Yes.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, brushing her fingers across it.

Not as beautiful as you. The thought was his alone, a private sentiment he had no intention of sharing.

Or so he thought, as he saw a faint blush forming on her cheeks, and a shy smile gracing her lips. He was sure he hadn’t tried to communicate this thought to her. If he had a body, he would have blushed at his own clumsiness. 

The bond seemed to be acting on its own. He would need to be extremely careful from now on. He had never attempted to communicate in full sentences and a part of him was terrified at the prospect.

What would it be like to truly be able to talk with her?

“Thank you”. She whispered, her voice trembling slightly from embarrassment and pride.

Through their bond, Harry felt her longing to see him, to know who he was and what he once looked like. He suddenly felt very stupid.

Not once during their recent communications had it crossed his mind to send her his name – or a representation of himself. It didn’t feel important to him, but of course it would be to her.

The thought was amusing. After all they had lived through together, and all they had shared, she didn’t even know his name. It was a mistake he intended to correct.

Harry.

“Harry? That’s your name?”

Yes.

“I like it.”

Harry chuckled internally at the absurdity of his situation. With all that had happened, he hadn’t really taken time to stop and think about it. Yet, here he was, almost thirty years in the past and spending most of his time with Draco’s mother.

Draco Malfoy. One of the many thoughts he had subconsciously pushed away these last few weeks. The name of his former nemesis was now a painful reminder of a life he had likely prevented from existing.

He hadn’t asked to be sent in the past, but the changes he had made were on him. While he didn’t have much control in the beginning, it was now fully intentional.

He needed to be more careful, lest he prevent the lives of people he actually cared about.

Snapping back to reality, he watched as Narcissa was slowly scribbling his name on her parchment. He needed to send her one more image. He focused on the man he had once been: his messy black hair, the faint scar on his brow, his emerald eyes hidden behind glasses.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as the image hit her.

Almost immediately and before it faded from her mind, she started drawing, eager to have a clear depiction of him. She was almost done and he was forced to admit that she was truly gifted. She had already proven it when she had drawn the stag, but this was a perfect representation of him.

“You have beautiful eyes, Harry.”

Lost in their own little world, none of them had noticed that someone had been observing Narcissa from the doorway, until a sharp voice cut through.

“Cissy, who are you talking to?”

Narcissa gasped, her head spinning around. Her pencil dropped on the ground as her eyes widened. “Bella! Wha-What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” She had fully stepped inside, and was making her way towards her sister. She even passed ‘through’ Harry.

She leaned over Narcissa, noticing the drawing she had just finished. Her sister tried to hide it, but Bellatrix was way faster, and she snatched it from her hands. “Who’s that? He’s pretty handsome. Is that ‘Harry’? I agree with you, he really does have beautiful eyes.”

Harry was really embarrassed now. Finding Narcissa Black, once Malfoy, beautiful, was one thing. But to have Bellatrix Black, once Lestrange, find him, handsome? Now that was something he would have never imagined.

“Give that back!” Narcissa was trying to get the drawing back, but Bellatrix was having none of it. She was a bit taller than her sister, and was dangling the piece of paper above her head.

“Not until you tell me what is happening.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but her voice left no illusion that she wouldn’t leave her alone before she had her answers.

Harry could feel – and see – that Narcissa was conflicted. Only her uncle was aware of his presence. It already felt private before, but it was so much more now, and she didn’t want to share this with anyone. But she knew that she couldn’t keep this secret forever.

“Alright, you dolt, but don’t damage the drawing, it’s the only one I’ve got.” While Narcissa had always been the kind one among the Black Sisters, she also had a fierce side, and it was showing now.

Harry felt a surge of warmth that it was emerging on his behalf.

Bellatrix was bubbling with curiosity as she accioed an armchair and settled beside her sister, “Tell me everything!”

Narcissa was looking intently in front of her, trying to gather her thoughts and find the best way to explain all the impossible things that had happened since Harry’s arrival. “It started several weeks ago. I was with Uncle Arcturus when we first felt his magic. It was subtle at first, but sometimes…” Narcissa had turned around to face her sister, and she could see her eyes narrowing, the gears turning furiously in her head.

“The dinner, it was him, wasn’t it?”

Narcissa nodded, before she continued, “His power started growing. Uncle Arcturus and I investigated as much as we could, and we eventually managed to communicate with him.” She then went on to explain how they had used a bell to ask him simple questions, and all they had learned thanks to that.

“Wait, wait,” Bellatrix’s words seemed confused yet her entire being felt excited at this magical anomaly. She was a Black, and had spent years studying the intricacies of magic, yet had never heard of something like this. “So, a wizard lost his body, ended up as this… invisible entity? And decided to haunt our house?!”

Narcissa chuckled, “I’m not sure he decided anything, to be honest. And I don’t believe he’s haunting the house either.” She paused, looking at her hands, before she added, “I believe he is, in a way, tied to me.”

That made Bellatrix’s gaze widen with surprise. A former wizard turned into an unusual kind of ghost, why not? They lived in a world where they could apparate, conjure things out of thin air, and cast deadly curses with the wave of their hand. But why, how, would it be connected to her sister? “What do you mean?” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

“I started… feeling something inside of me. It’s like a growing warmth that fills me from inside. I can feel his emotions as if they were my own, and he can feel mine the same way, I believe,” Narcissa said, looking at where she knew he was.

At that, Harry, who had stayed silent so far, sent a soft wave of his magic to the witches, showing his agreement at her statement.

Bellatrix’s head shot up, looking around the room. “That was him?”

Narcissa nodded, “Yes, that’s his magic.”

“That is incredible, Cissy. I don’t know as much as Uncle Arcturus, but I could swear this is something unique.” The glint in her gaze told her sister how eager she was to lead her own investigations.

Her sister blushed as she recalled all the private moments she had shared with him.

“Are you blushing?! Narcissa Cassiopeia Black, are you hiding something?” Bellatrix’s awe and confusion had quickly been replaced by a playful grin, not one to miss an opportunity to tease her younger sister.

“Shut up! There’s nothing between us…” She tried, but her voice wasn’t really convincing.

Harry could feel the lie through their connection, and for some reasons, it made his heart flutter, something he had never felt before. It was strange, considering they had never interacted normally, but it also made sense, given all they had been through in a short time.

Bellatrix didn’t need a bond to know her sister was lying, if the smirk on her face was anything to go by. The way Narcissa avoided her eyes, or how she was fidgeting with the hem of her robes, was enough for her to know she hadn’t been completely honest.

“And there is more…” Narcissa’s blush receded as she recalled the tragic event of the last week, “When we were at Diagon Alley I… There was a curse coming for me, I wouldn’t have been able to dodge it or draw my wand in time. I thought I was about to die, but the next moment, he was there, and he deflected the curse.”

“Cissy… That’s… That’s impossible.” At that, Bellatrix lost her teasing smirk. That was absolutely incredible. She had unconsciously called this mysterious wizard to her side.

“Tell me about it.” Narcissa’s tone was amused, as ‘impossibilities’ had become quite common in her life these past weeks.

“He saved you… my sister,” she muttered to herself more than to her sister, “I will help you!”

“Help me? With what?”

“Getting your wizard, of course!” Bellatrix’s grin was wide, but she was serious. This wizard had saved her sister, and perhaps Andromeda, Sirius and Regulus too. If there was anything she could do to help him, she would do it.

“He’s not my wizard!” Narcissa said, her voice high-pitched, as she threw a cushion at her sister’s face.

Bellatrix laughed, catching the cushion with a flick of her wrist and setting it on her armchair with a smile.

“Fine, he’s not your wizard…” ‘Yet’, she added silently for herself. “But he’s one of us now, and that’s all that matters.” She glanced at the drawing of Harry that was now laying on the floor, and a serious expression settled on her face. “And we need to get him a body,” that was once again replaced by a playful smirk, “otherwise, how are you gonna make cute, blond, green-eyed babies?”

Narcissa blushed. Harry definitely would have if he could. And they both felt the other’s embarrassment. Bellatrix just laughed, amused at her sister’s face.

After that, the serious topic dropped, and the two sisters spent some time together, for the first time in many months, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

(Break)

Harry had decided to give the two sisters some privacy and had left the room a little while ago. He was roaming the manor. He had seen most of it already, but it was huge, and there were a lot of rooms he had yet to visit.

He was currently in the ballroom, a grand space that must have been used for great receptions in the past, but had been somewhat forgotten. With the current climate, such frivolities were no longer a priority.

He moved towards the grand windows that offered a breathtaking view of the gardens. From here, he could see house-elves tending to the magnificent flowers. In the back, he could see animals, magical and ordinary ones, running freely on the Black Manor’s grounds.

His mind started drifting. He thought about everything that had happened since his arrival. His journey to control his magic, the increasing tension caused by Voldemort, and, of course, his growing relationship with Narcissa.

In the beginning, it had been hard to see her as anything other than ‘Narcissa Malfoy’. To him, she had always been a cold and aristocratic Lady. But he had quickly learned that she was so much more than that.

Whatever would happen between them in the future, he was glad he had found his way here, in this time, if it meant he could have prevented her from being tied to Lucius. He strongly suspected that their marriage had completely stifled her dreams and her potential, reducing her to being Lucius’ wife.

He didn’t know the details of her previous life, but the differences between Narcissa Black and Narcissa Malfoy were startling. Here, she was full of life, eager to discover magics and serve a greater purpose. There, she had looked like a statue, always prim and proper. Perfect. As if her only purpose had been to show her beauty to the world.

But the most striking difference was found in the eyes. Narcissa Black’s held innocence, eagerness and hope despite the dramatic events that had happened whereas Narcissa Malfoy’s were dull and devoid of emotion. Either because she had long accepted her fate, or because she had learned how to hide her emotions, he didn’t know, but he sure preferred the younger Narcissa.

His thoughts then drifted toward the larger conflict that was currently happening outside these walls. Voldemort. He may be able to retrieve a body soon, and if he did, he would do anything to destroy him, and his Death Eaters, once and for all.

He was not a ruthless man, but he wouldn’t risk the lives of innocent people by trying to stun the Death Eaters. He would deal with them the way they all should have done in the first place. Answering fire with fire could be dangerous, but if the snippets of conversation he had heard in the manor were to be believed, the new Minister seemed to agree with him.

Another change he hadn’t seen coming. In his timeline, Crouch had never been Minister and the magical community had been stuck with an incompetent one for much longer. And her replacement hadn’t been better. Fudge. He hoped he would never have to deal with him and his Senior Undersecretary ever again.

Eventually, his mind settled on two names he had, so far, done his best not to think about.

James Potter and Lily Evans.

He would never be their son. Would never know them as loving parents. If he ever regained a body, he would be seventeen years old while they were not even of age to attend Hogwarts.

But it didn’t matter. His relationship with them was not important. He would save them. They would have the happy life they deserved. Maybe they would marry again, or maybe Harry would make stupid decisions that would see them take different paths.

But they would live, as would Sirius, and Remus, and much later, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and all the people that had died because of Voldemort.

He reiterated the vow he had made a few weeks ago. He would protect them all, and if he had to lose himself in the process, then so be it.

As a new, fierce, determination settled over him, his magic began to glow around his invisible form. Had someone been there, they could have seen golden sparks floating around the room.

Elsewhere, a certain blond witch felt something deep inside of her. A determination stronger than anything she had ever felt. She knew who it belonged to, but she didn’t know what it was aimed at.

(Break)

After talking with her sister, Bellatrix had been summoned by her uncle and as they headed toward the basement, Arcturus was looking at her with pride.

He was glad that she had finally seen reason, and chosen her family over this would-be Dark Lord. She would be a valuable asset against his movement, but above all, she was his niece. He didn’t want to fight against his family, but if one member threatened the safety of the others, he would show no mercy.

But it seemed it wouldn’t come to that. Orion and Cygnus had adapted well to his directives, Walburga had been dealt with and Druella would soon leave the country.

The sound of the door leading to the basement opening pulled him from his thoughts.

“Alright, Bellatrix,” he started, wand already drawn. Without a word, he waved it over her. A faint shimmer of magic washed over her robes, causing the heavy fabric to dissolve, instantly replaced by something far more practical: a simple, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark, tight pants that provided complete freedom of movement.

He performed the same charm on himself, before meeting her questioning gaze, “You will find it much easier to train and to fight in this rather than wearing robes. I have ordered proper combat attire for when the need arises, but this will do for training.”

She nodded silently, before following him. In the center of the room lay an intricate runic circle, carved into the stone floor. She knew it well, since she had spent many hours using it. It had been created by one of their ancestors, and was used to practice dodging.

Once activated, it would cast non-lethal spells – but still painful – at any magical presence in the room until said presence was unconscious.

They walked further to the back of the room, where, on the shelves lined along the walls, lay hundreds of books. Her uncle tapped the tip of his wand on a shelf in a specific order, and it opened, revealing a hidden room she had never seen before.

Her face must have conveyed her surprise, as her uncle gave her an amused smirk, “Don’t think you know all the secrets of this house, Bella. There are many things you still need to learn, and this is one of them,” he said, while grabbing a small, leather-bound book, from the hidden alcove.

He handed it to her, “This contains spells you have never heard of. In its pages, you will find everything you could need. Offensive and deadly curses, or rare and powerful magical shields, but also ways of escape none can ward against. Read, memorize, and practice, but do not share it with anyone not of our blood.”

Bellatrix nodded as she reverently took the book, looking at it as if it had been written by the Founders themselves.

They made their way back towards the center and gestured for her to stop while he walked a bit further.

“I know what you should be capable of, but I want to see it for myself. For now, we’ll duel; no lethal or incapacitating spells. I’m not testing your spell knowledge but the way you fight: how you move, how you cast, how you dodge. Understood?”

Bellatrix only nodded. This was a facet of her uncle she had never seen before. She knew he was powerful, everyone knew it. But she had always thought of him as more of a politically inclined wizard rather than a fighter.

She was about to understand that he was both. His first spell left the tip of his wand much faster than she had anticipated, and she threw herself on the ground.

Not giving her any time, Arcturus had already cast another one, forcing her to roll away from it.

“Not bad, but you need to be faster,” her uncle said, “do not think. The split second you take to think about what’s coming is a second you do not have. Act first, think later. Again.” And he didn’t wait for her to be ready to cast again.

“Urgh-” She hadn’t seen the spell coming and was immediately hit with a stinging hex. She watched her uncle’s expression. His face was impassive and he seemed to be waiting, his wand lowered to his side.

With no other option than to comply and walk right into the obvious trap, she fired a stinging hex of her own, quickly followed by a disarming charm.

She watched as the spells raced to him. They were about to hit him when a shimmering, golden dome, formed around her uncle, absorbing them both. Before she could react, her spells were returned, much quicker, and hit her straight in the chest.

She dropped to one knee as her wand flew toward her uncle – who hadn’t raised his own – and gaped at him.

“Wha-How?!” She panted, dumbfounded at what had just happened and trying to catch her breath.

“Read the book.” Arcturus’ smirk, which spread over half of his face, only added to Bellatrix’s frustration. But knowing this kind of shield – or whatever he had done – was possible only made her more eager to dive into the small book.

They kept training for a while before Arcturus stopped and cast a Tempus. “It’s almost time Bella, we should go back up.”

Bellatrix nodded. Today was the day a part of the Black’s Family would leave and she didn’t want to miss it, considering she had no idea when she would see them again.

The Great Hall of Black Manor

All the family was present, and after tonight, for the first time in their house’s history, more members would be living outside Britain than within. But war often forced people to make decisions they would have never thought about in peacetime.

Arcturus was the last to arrive. The moment he stepped inside, the room fell silent and everyone turned to him.

He made his way to his grandsons, “Sirius, Regulus,” his voice was surprisingly soft, something few had ever witnessed before the start of the war, but was becoming more frequent since Alphard’s death. “I urge you to behave yourself. While it should be safe, one can never be too sure. Do not take unnecessary risks, and listen to your elders.”

They both nodded, accepting the veiled order. Even Sirius, usually so cheerful, was subdued. His mood had been somber since Alphard’s death, and Arcturus hoped some time away would be good for him, for all of them.

The rest of the family were exchanging teary farewells when Narcissa walked up to Arcturus, “Uncle, I would like to ask you something,” She was nervous, and wouldn’t look at him in the eyes.

As he nodded silently, she continued, “I would like to leave with them for a couple of days, just the time to see them settled. You know how I love them and how much I will miss them. Soon, it will only be Bellatrix and I, with you, Father and Uncle Orion, but, I thought that maybe I could-”

Arcturus had put a hand on her shoulder, effectively stopping her ramble, “Take a breath, Narcissa. You may leave for a couple of days but no more, I will need you back…” He didn’t finish his phrase, but he didn’t need to, as Narcissa perfectly understood what – or rather, who – he was talking about.

Thinking about leaving Harry felt odd, even if it were just a couple of days. She tried to push all her affection through their bond, hoping he would feel it and wouldn’t be mad at her.

Harry, who was observing from the sidelines, felt unease settle over him at the news of her imminent departure. He had only been separated once from her since his arrival, and he’d rather not dwell on this day.

He wouldn’t share his sentiment with her, though. It was her life, and he had no right to interfere with it. He could only pray that everything would be alright, as he doubted their bond would be strong enough to bring him all the way to Greece in case anything went wrong. 

He felt the wave of affection she had sent him, and responded in kind, bringing a smile to her lips.

Be,

Safe.

She nodded discreetly.

As Bellatrix hugged her sister and mother one last time, Arcturus pulled the Portkey from his pocket and unshrunk it before giving it to his wife.

“Alright, everyone, it’s time,” all those leaving had gathered around Melania. “Please, be safe. If you need anything from me, call Kreacher.”

Everyone nodded, and soon, the Ancestral Black Manor felt emptier and far more silent than it had in many years.

-

 AN: I hope you liked it! Let me know in the comments what you think.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 - His Anchor

Black's Private Island, south of the Aegean Sea – Greece

The first light of morning spilled across the white-marble terrace, reflecting on the gentle ripples of the Aegean Sea. Birds were chirping faintly in the distance, and the salty breeze carried the scent of blooming lavender.

Melania let her gaze sweep over her family, noting their relaxed expressions and quiet chatter. They had arrived the previous evening, and while it was still early, it was already warm enough for them to enjoy an outdoor breakfast.

It appeared the sunny weather of the Mediterranean Sea had already worked its wonders, as everyone around the massive table was smiling and cheering, the troubles of their homeland quickly pushed to the back of their minds.

House-elves had prepared a feast for their first morning, with more dishes than they could ever hope to finish. The scent of freshly baked breads and golden pastries mingled with those of steamy beverages and freshly squeezed juices. They were all eager to dig in and soon, everyone started savoring the delightful meal. They truly were enjoying themselves, and for Melania, it was all that mattered.

Narcissa was talking quietly with her cousins, already planning a trip to explore the island, while Andromeda and Druella were discussing its history; part of a long-abandoned archipelago, it was free of muggles, and had been heavily warded against anyone not carrying the Black's name.

As the first meal of the day concluded, they all made their way down the stony path, eager to spend some time on the beach. Everything had already been prepared by the house-elves: wooden lounge chairs, silk towels, even cold drinks and some food, in case they hadn't eaten enough.

Narcissa and Melania decided to lie down as the others all jumped into the warm water the moment Druella had changed their clothes into swimsuits.

"You'll be happy here, Aunt. I'm glad you all get to escape the war," she murmured longingly. She would have liked to escape Britain, too, especially now that she had seen the villa, the sandy beach, and the translucent water. Who wouldn't want to spend some time here?

"One day, you will have to tell me what you and Arcturus are hiding," she replied knowingly.

"I… I don't know what you are talking about, Aunt." But her voice betrayed her, not that Melania had needed it.

"Cissy, I know my husband well. I do not pry, because that is not my place, but I know when he's hiding something from me," she said calmly.

Narcissa sighed. She knew her aunt could be trusted, but she had promised her uncle not to talk about it, even though she had needed to tell Bellatrix. "It's… complicated, Aunt. And Uncle Arcturus made me promise not to say a word."

Melania's smile softened, but the knowing glint in her eyes remained. "It doesn't matter, dear. You don't have to tell me." She paused, her gaze shifting to the sea where her nieces and nephew were enjoying the water. "All I ask is that you be safe. I know you're not a child, but be careful when you go back."

Narcissa nodded. She had no intention of risking her life. "Once Uncle and I have dealt with our… problems, maybe I could come here." The more time she spent here and the less she wanted to return home. The only reason was her family, and Harry, but maybe they could all come here and sit this war out.

But deep down, she knew that it would never happen. Her uncle was a proud man, and the House of Black had been a pillar of the British Magical Community for centuries. He would never abandon it, and it seemed Bellatrix was following in his footsteps. She was glad she had finally come to her senses, but she didn't want her to risk her life.

And Harry… They needed to find a way to 'heal' him, if such a way existed in the first place. But Bellatrix had seemed enthusiastic at the prospect and with her uncle's knowledge and resources, if someone could do it, it was them.

She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't hear her aunt, but she felt the hand on her shoulder. Her head jerked up, and her gaze met Melania's. "Cissy?"

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry. I was just thinking of home." Narcissa said, her tone sounding a little strained even to her own ears.

Suddenly, an ache settled inside of her, as a shiver ran its course down her body. She tried to shake it off, but it was no use and only made her dizzy. She lay down on her lounge chair, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

"Are you alright, dear?" Melania asked, concern in her words as she drew her wand. She cast a warming charm, and Narcissa felt the warmth envelop her.

"Thank you, I don't know what happened." Her voice held a hint of unease. "The heat must be getting to my head."

Melania nodded slowly, unconvinced. She would need to look after her closely.

After a few minutes, she tried to get up, but only managed to stumble and was about to fall when Melania caught her.

The shivers had returned, much stronger, and her face had gone pale.

"Mopsy!" Melania shouted, and immediately a small house-elf appeared in front of her. "Mopsy, take us to Narcissa's room and bring me potions to treat cold and fever."

Mopsy only put his hand on hers and apparated them away from the beach.

(Break)

In Britain, the ancestral manor of the House of Black was quiet, more than it had ever been in recent memories, especially as Orion and Cygnus had been sent on the continent to meet with some of their contacts on Arcturus' behalf. Harry had spent the morning with the last remaining Blacks, Arcturus and Bellatrix, observing as they trained.

Harry had been a skilled wizard once. He had, after all, been fighting for his life since his first year at Hogwarts. But he was shocked to see just how good Bellatrix already was. He had supposed she had become so deadly after years of training under the Dark Lord, but it seemed Voldemort had only reaped the spoils of her years of practice.

She was not as fast as he was, but she knew many more spells. When she was reading, he was there, over her shoulder, memorizing the ancient spells that lay in the secret books of the Black Family. He couldn't practice them, but he would at least have the knowledge, and could watch Bellatrix practice.

If Albus' ritual worked, he would be ready for what came after. He didn't want to think about the possibility that it might not work. Or that it would but his soul would be forced to cross over. He didn't care about dying, he had made his peace with death a long time ago, when he had walked alone into that dreary forest.

No, death wasn't something he feared. But he couldn't leave without sharing what he knew of Voldemort. He needed to tell someone, most likely Albus or Arcturus, or both.

And it seemed he would have an opportunity to do so much sooner than he had anticipated. He was present in the Great Hall when the floo activated and watched as Albus stepped through it, wearing his usual colorful robes and half-moon glasses.

"Albus," the Lord Black said with a slight bow of his head. "Let's not waste time, please follow me."

The Chief-Warlock only responded to his greeting by a bow of his own and followed him. It seemed he could feel Harry, or suspected he was present, as his eyes kept darting around him.

The moment they were settled in the comfortable chairs of the Lord Black's study, Arcturus started, "I have news, Dumbledore. It isn't extremely important, but I thought you might be curious." He reached inside one of the drawers and handed him a piece of parchment.

It was a copy of the drawing Narcissa had made of him.

Albus looked at it intently, before muttering to himself, "Harry…". His thumb brushed the paper softly, as if trying to decipher the mystery this wizard was.

"How did you get this?" he asked, giving the drawing back to Arcturus.

"Bellatrix told me Narcissa drew it, but she has no idea how," the Lord Black replied as he put it away.

"She must have seen him through their bond, that is the only explanation I can think of."

A comfortable silence settled over them as Arcturus conjured two crystal glasses and filled them with a dose of firewhisky. He offered one to Albus, before taking a sip of his own.

"I also have news." At that, the atmosphere, already serious, dropped to an even colder level. Albus' tone left no doubt that what was to follow wouldn't be pleasant. "Concerning the attack on Diagon Alley."

Harry could see Arcturus' body stiffen, but his expression gave nothing away. "We identified the Death Eaters. Those alive have been interrogated under Veritaserum and sent to Azkaban." Albus paused, his gaze lingering on the old Lord. "Unfortunately, they didn't know anything useful, and most had already been disowned by their family, no doubt at Voldemort's behest."

"So they won't face repercussions for that?" His hands clenched into fists and his lips pressed into a thin line at this information.

"Our Minister would like nothing more than to raid their houses and arrest them all," Albus informed him, "but he too must respect the laws. We have no proof their families knew about the attack or if themselves are following Voldemort. We can't send everyone to Azkaban."

Arcturus only nodded. He wouldn't tell him that he already had plans in motion to deal with two of these families. While they were working together on a magical mystery, he was still the Chief Warlock, and Arcturus didn't think he would appreciate what he had planned.

They kept talking about Voldemort, the likely places he could attack next, how he would try to deal with the Ministry, and what could be done to counter him. Albus also informed him that his list of names had been transmitted to Crouch, who had every name on the list watched closely. At the first sign of treason, they would be arrested, interrogated, and sent to Azkaban.

That's something, at least, thought the Lord Black.

When the conversation died down, Harry decided to take his chance, and to share his knowledge about one of the most cruel pieces of magic one could practice.

He pictured the word so few dared to speak aloud in his mind, and focused on the two wizards present. He could feel his magic building. It was not as instinctual as it was with Narcissa. With her, he almost had nothing to do to share his thoughts.

Without warning, he lost control over his magic. It started leaking from him, in a way it hadn't since his arrival. Pain erupted inside of him that would have brought him to his knees had he still possessed a body.

Around him, everything started shaking. Albus and Arcturus barely had time to draw their wand and cast a quick Protego as the windows exploded, shattering glass across the room.

Arcturus immediately activated one of the wards, freezing everything, and Albus cast diagnostic spells where he believed Harry was. They had both understood who was responsible for that.

Unfortunately, no matter how advanced his spells were, they were useless on Harry's actual form.

His magic was still leaking and the temperature had dropped so low frost had begun covering the walls, the windows, and even the mantle of the fireplace.

"Arcturus, I believe we may have to move forward with the ritual sooner than I expected," Albus' voice was composed. It seemed not much could perturb him, even when confronted with such a powerful magical anomaly. "Could you fetch young Miss Black? We should explain the situation to her first."

"She is not there. She is in Greece and is due to come back tomorrow." Albus paled at the implication, and understanding settled on both of their faces.

"Hence his reaction… Arcturus, when I told you she was his anchor, it was not a figure of speech. At the moment, I believe his soul must be stretched between them both, and over such a great distance… Miss Black might be in a similar state. I fear we may not even have time to enact the ritual. She must come back immediately!" He blurted out as his deep blue eyes lost their usual twinkles.

Arcturus wasted no time, "Kreacher!" he shouted, and was immediately answered by the characteristic pop of apparition. "Kreacher, I need you to bring back Narcissa immediately! We'll be waiting in her chamber. That is an order none can supersede, not even my wife, understood?" His tone left no room for argument.

"Kreacher understands, My Lord," and with a deep bow, he disappeared.

Meanwhile, Harry's pain hadn't decreased in the slightest and it was slowly becoming unbearable, not that he could do anything to alleviate it.

He tried to rein in his magic, to get a grip on his control, but nothing worked. He pictured himself sitting, meditating in a calm environment, but his magic didn't answer him anymore. He could feel his soul being stretched to its limits, and he didn't want to imagine what would happen if it went beyond.

(Break)

Black's Private Island, Greece.

Narcissa had fallen ill a couple of hours ago, and her fever had only grown. She had been bedridden since. They had tried all the healing spells they knew and potions they had, but so far, nothing had worked.

Melania wanted to call a healer, but the wards placed on the estate would prevent anyone not allowed from entering, and she didn't have the authority to alter them.

All she could do was pray her fever would recede, or she would be left with no other choice than to bring her back home, where they could call their healer. She would give her till noon before bringing her back. Although fever could be dangerous, she didn't seem to be in pain and was still conscious.

She left the room to freshen up and get something to eat when she ran into Andromeda and Druella, both waiting outside.

"How is she?" Druella was nervous. Wizards and witches didn't fall ill like that, and when they did, a single potion was usually enough to treat them. This situation was really unusual, and none of them were expert in healing.

"Not worse, but not better. Potions are not working," Melania informed them, trying not to show her own nervousness, "if she isn't better in a couple of hours, I'll call Kreacher so he can bring her back to Arcturus." She then turned to Andromeda, "How are the boys?"

"Playing outside, Tipsy and Mopsy are watching over them. I'll go back to them, I just came to see if there was any news."

They hadn't informed the youngest Blacks of Narcissa's situation. There was no need to alarm them. Instead, they had been told she was tired and was simply resting.

"Druella, could you watch over Narcissa for a moment please?" Melania asked, to which Druella nodded silently as she stepped inside her daughter's room.

The air inside was damp and heavy, and it was dark. They had closed the curtains to dim the sunlight filtering into the room, and had cast refreshing charms, yet it seemed to be of no use as her daughter still appeared to be feverish.

As she reached her side, she could see her hair was soaked with sweat, and she was breathing heavily.

"Cissy," she called quietly, "Cissy, how are you darling?"

Narcissa slowly opened her eyes. They were puffy and red, as if she had just been crying. "I'm fine, Mother," but her tone was raspy, "I'm fine, don't worry, it's just a cold." She coughed, and Druella quickly summoned a glass of water and guided it to her lips.

Narcissa drank greedily, and it seemed to appease her coughing. As she lay back in her bed, though, her shivers intensified and a bone-deep cold seemed to take hold of her. "Mother I'm… I'm cold," Druella had to lean forward to hear her daughter.

She pressed the back of her hand to her brow, and it was hot, yet she had goosebumps all over her body. It seemed the fever was getting worse. She immediately started casting warming charms on her, but she kept trembling, the spells proving inefficient.

She tried casting soothing charms, healing spells, anything that came across her mind to help her, but nothing was working, and panic grew inside of her.

Lady Druella Black was a pureblood, born and raised in a world that had taught her from the youngest age not to show her emotions. To be cold, distant, and to prioritize societal advancement over sentimentality. But this was her daughter, and in that moment, she was not a pure-blood lady, but a mother scared for her child.

She sat on her bed, delicately bringing Narcissa's head on her lap, caressing her face and her hair, "Shh, it's alright sweetheart, you'll be alright soon."

She started rocking her softly, murmuring a lullaby her own mother used to sing to her. She started crying as her daughter kept quivering in her arms.

Narcissa's eyes closed and she was barely conscious. The shivers had brought pain with them, and all her limbs were hurting. The ache in her had grown, and she could feel her magic pulling on her core. As the last shreds of consciousness started leaving her, she muttered a single word her mother wasn't sure she had heard properly, "Harry…"

"Cissy?", her mother asked, but she received no reply. Shaking her lightly, she asked again, "Cissy? Darling, do you hear me?"

When she realized her daughter had lost consciousness, her panic grew to a level she would have never thought was possible.

I'm losing her, she thought. I'm losing my daughter!

As she was about to stand, a soft pop was heard, and Kreacher appeared right beside the bed. He didn't say anything, he just put his hand on Narcissa's arm and apparated them both away, straight back to Britain, in Narcissa's chamber.

A few minutes later, as Melania returned to an empty room, she understood immediately what had happened: house-elves magic always left a trace, and she could feel a hint of it in the air.

They had gone back to Britain, and that meant Narcissa's state must have deteriorated in the time she had been absent. But at least she would be where she could receive proper treatment.

Back in Black's Manor, Kreacher appeared straight to Narcissa's chamber, where Lord Black and Albus Dumbledore were already waiting.

"Thank you Kreacher," Arcturus said, his gaze not leaving the pale face of his niece. "Leave us."

The moment they had appeared, Albus had cast advanced diagnostic spells on her. They didn't tell him anything they didn't already know, unfortunately, as no spell he knew had been created with this situation in mind.

She had a fever, of that there was no doubt, and her body was shivering. But her condition improved immediately, and color started returning to her face.

Harry, on his part, was still in a world of pain, but it had become more bearable, and his essence wasn't stretched anymore. While he felt better, he wouldn't be able to endure this for days. At least his magic had stopped leaking from him. He approached Narcissa, not caring about anything else in that moment.

Dread spread through him as he realized he was the cause for her condition, This is my fault, he thought, this is my fault. He wanted to reach out to her, take her hand, and tell her everything would be alright. He wanted to ease her pain and take it for himself. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. But there was nothing he could do. He just hovered near her, hoping she would be alright.

Arcturus stepped toward his niece, gently caressing her forehead with his hand, "My dear, I believe we will have to take care of this much sooner than we thought." He murmured softly, trying to soothe his words, a contrast to the danger she might soon find herself in.

"Arcturus, I'll immediately reach out to my contacts and call in every favor I must to procure the ingredients for the ritual. I don't know if-"

But Arcturus cut him off, and with a flick of his wand, sealed jars appeared in front of them, "No need, Albus. I already took care of it."

And indeed, in front of Albus' surprised face, floating in the air, were two hearts of the most magical creatures, and a small vial containing a transparent liquid that could only be the Phoenix's tears.

"Wha- How?! I wasn't even sure it would be possible?" It was not every day one managed to shock Albus Dumbledore, and had the situation not been so dire, Arcturus may have chuckled. Instead, he simply waved his wand, banishing the ingredients back to the storage room.

"I am the Lord of House Black, Albus, and there is nothing I can't achieve, especially when it concerns the survival of my own niece." His tone was hard, his jaw clenched in frustration. It was not Arcturus Black in front of him, but the Lord of the most powerful house in wizarding Britain.

Druella, who so far had stayed silent, was gently stroking her daughter's hair. She hadn't been consciously listening to them, but she had caught Arcturus' last words. "Her survival?" Her head snapped in their direction. "What are you talking about, Arcturus?"

"I apologize, Mrs. Black, but we don't have time to explain everything." Albus' voice was calm despite the emergency they were facing. He leaned toward Narcissa, asking quietly, "Miss Black, can you hear me?"

Eyes closed, she slowly nodded, not uttering a single word. "We may have a way to help you both, but we will need a large quantity of your blood. I have Blood-Replenishing potions ready for you to take if you agree."

Before she could agree, Arcturus added, "I had planned on talking to you about it soon, but I fear this ritual is the only way to save you both. It would be too long to explain everything now, but I urge you to trust us."

Again, Narcissa only nodded her agreement. She felt better, but her fever was taking its toll on her, and she was more tired than ever.

Suddenly, the door to Narcissa's chamber burst open. "What is happening?! What happened to my sister?!" Bellatrix had run, it seemed, if the sweat dripping from her brow was any indication. "Aunt Melania called and asked me how my sister was!"

"Be quiet, Bellatrix," Arcturus snapped, without looking at her, "in case you didn't notice, your sister is not at her best." Bellatrix turned to the bed and rushed to her sister's side. "What happened?" she asked again, her tone much lower this time.

"It's because of her bond with this wizard." Bond? Wizard? Druella's brow furrowed, as confusion replaced her anxiety, but she knew better than to interrupt now. "Albus found a ritual that could help them. We are not sure if it will work, but we are out of options." Arcturus' words were harsh, and held a hint of desperation none had ever witnessed in the old Lord.

He then drew his wand and started drawing her blood, while Albus summoned the Blood-Replenishing potions he had tasked Slughorn to prepare.

From time to time, Arcturus would glance at Albus questioningly, until he nodded at him, letting him know that was enough.

Sealing the jars, he sent them with the rest of the ingredients. "Albus and I will prepare the room to hold the ritual. Druella, Bellatrix, keep an eye on her."

Harry wasn't listening. He hadn't noticed her face paling as her blood was drawn, nor the color returning as her mother fed her the potions. Instead, he was focusing on their bond, trying to soothe her. He didn't know if it had any effect as he could barely feel her through it, but that was all he had left. He sent all the affection he had for her, and his fear of losing her.

Half an hour later, Arcturus and Albus came back into Narcissa's chamber. "Everything is ready. But no one is to come inside. Once we enter, the door will be sealed and guarded by Kreacher." He then reached Narcissa's bed and picked her up in his arms. Albus had advised against using magic directly on her and so, he would carry her himself.

"Mr. Harry, it is time we proceed," Albus said, looking around, waiting for something. After a few seconds, he sensed a small, tiny wave of magic. In that moment, that was the best Harry could achieve, and it seemed Albus understood as he simply nodded.

With that, they all left and made their way to where the ritual would take place.

As soon as everyone was inside, the door closed itself and they sensed the wards sealing it, effectively stopping anyone from disturbing the ritual.

Inside, runes had been drawn in Narcissa's blood, forming a circle at least eight feet wide.

Arcturus laid his niece in the center of the circle, and Harry followed. He didn't look around him, solely focused on Narcissa. Even as her uncle vanished her clothes, his gaze never left her face.

All he could see were creases forming on her brow, her eyes moving under their lids and her damp, yet still beautiful, hair clinging to her cheeks.

He didn't hear Albus and Arcturus talking quietly behind him. He didn't notice as the latter summoned the rest of the ingredients, placing the hearts strategically inside the runic circle and emptying the phoenix's tears on Narcissa's body.

He didn't hear Albus begin his chants, nor did he feel his magic leaking from him, fueling the runes that started glowing.

But as the ritual truly began, he felt a pain in the deepest part of his being, as though his soul was being torn apart.

It was as if every single nerve was being set ablaze, and had he still possessed a voice, he would have screamed until his vocal cords broke. This was worse than anything he had ever experienced. Worse than the Cruciatus, worse than dying, and worse than what had brought him to this time.

He tried to focus on something – anything – that could take the pain away from his mind. The first thing that came was her smile. He focused on it as much as he could. The way her lips would shyly tug upwards, or her full, melodic laugh that he clearly hadn't heard enough.

It was a tad more bearable but still excruciatingly painful.

Just beneath him, Narcissa's body arched upwards but she didn't scream. The ritual's agony was reserved for Harry, as it was his soul being worked upon. Had he been conscious enough to notice, he would have been relieved at her silence.

Albus' magic was flowing and glowing around them, and Narcissa's blood started hissing as puffs of smoke emanated from it.

Then, the hearts floated toward Narcissa, and stopped where Harry was located. The unicorn's heart started consuming itself until it unleashed a wave of pure magic, fueling the runes even further, leaving a cloud of luminous white smoke around Harry.

After that, the thestral's heart did the same but its magic was a somber wave, heavy and dark. The black smoke it left behind wrapped around the white one, creating a perfect balance of both. They were not mixing, but dancing around each other.

Albus gasped, breathing heavily on the edges of the circle. The ritual was becoming harder to maintain, but he continued his chants. He knew interrupting a ritual, especially one of this magnitude, would be terrible for everyone present.

He clenched his fists, and his knuckles turned white as his magic kept leaving him in droves. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep this for much longer, but he had to push himself, he couldn't abandon these two young souls now, even if he had to sacrifice himself.

Eventually, the tears that had been emptied on Narcissa's stomach began glowing, golden sparks erupting from her and joining the dancing smokes.

Unbeknownst to them, their bond, unique but present in them both, started reacting to the ritual. While not a sentient being, one of the bond's purposes was to keep its two halves alive. Sensing one helping the other, fueling him with her essence, he helped them by amplifying the flow.

Arcturus, who had stayed on the sidelines as an observer, was astounded at what was happening in front of him.

He had never seen such magic before, and wouldn't have expected it to be so taxing on Dumbledore. He was, after all, one of the most powerful wizards to ever live, and he didn't want to imagine what would have happened if anyone else had tried to perform the ritual.

At last, the smokes, the tears, the magic and the blood, everything started to coalesce, swirling together, until it condensed into a minuscule orb of unimaginable power. And then, the orb erupted in a blinding flash of light, unleashing its power and sending Albus and Arcturus crashing into a wall.

They slowly got up and noticed the room had been completely cleansed, with almost no trace of the ritual remaining. The only thing that proved something incredible had just taken place was the golden cocoon a few feet away from them, where Narcissa had been just moments ago.

They could feel it pulsing from here, like a heartbeat, slow but steady, releasing small waves of magic that thrummed through the very air. And within, they could discern not one, but two figures.

AN: Well, there it is! There are so many things coming, but I'm glad we've finally reached this part. I hope you liked it, let me know in the comments!

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 – Living Again

The two old wizards delicately made their way toward the center of the room. The golden sphere was something neither of them had ever encountered. It was pulsing, like a heartbeat, and emanated a magic of the purest kind.

They watched, eyes wide and mouths agape. Arcturus tentatively reached out, but a magical tendril erupted from the cocoon, lashing out to strike his palm and leaving a stinging, burned mark.

He quickly recoiled as more sprouted in front of them. Drawing his wand, he prepared to cast a Protego, but they only coiled and weaved themselves in a protective stance, ready to defend whoever was inside.

Albus, completely drained from the ritual, was sitting a few feet behind the Lord Black. He had an amused look on his face as he watched him getting attacked. “I believe it will protect them until the healing is complete.”

Arcturus nodded and then stepped toward Albus, extending his hand. “You have the thanks of my house, Albus.” Dumbledore quietly dipped his head as he took the offered limb. “You probably saved my niece’s life, not only thanks to the book in which you found the ritual, but by performing it. A feat I believe no one else could have accomplished.”

Albus smiled sadly at the mention of the book, his mind drifting to his old friend, without whom nothing would have been possible. Not one to take credit that wasn’t his, he sighed softly. “You are very welcome, Arcturus, but I have to be honest with you. The book was given to me by someone else. Someone I reached out to after our first meeting.”

Arcturus was about to reply when they heard a soft metallic ting coming from the center of the room. They both turned around, and watched as the magic that had so far enveloped the young witch and wizard slowly started to recede. The magic split in two, each half merging with one of them.

Albus stood, and the two wizards approached.

Harry was lying on his back on the cold stone, Narcissa curled up against him with her head resting on his chest.

Arcturus’ focus was solely on his niece. He quickly knelt beside her, carefully casting diagnostic spells to check on her condition. Her pulse was faint, but steady, and her magical reserves were empty. Colors had returned to her previously pale face, and her fever was gone.

The Lord Black felt a wave of profound relief wash over him, and let out a sigh he must have been holding since Albus had told him about the ritual.

Dumbledore, however, was focused on the young man. His gaze, usually twinkling, was fixed and unblinking. He felt like he knew these features – the messy black hair, the strong, defined jawline – but couldn’t place it. Perhaps his tired mind was playing tricks on him.

He cast his own diagnostic spells but the results were the same as Arcturus’: a faint but steady pulse with empty magical reserves. Considering the absolutely impossible ritual that had taken place, these were not as dire as they could have been.

They would need to observe them both carefully once they woke to check for any lingering issues they might have missed.

His focus then shifted to their current state. They were both naked, and it seemed Arcturus had noticed at the same time.

“Ahem,” Arcturus cleared his throat then cast a spell on them both, effectively covering them with casual clothes.

A very observant eye might have caught a tiny blush rising on his cheeks, not that anyone would ever dare voice it to him. And if the returned twinkle in his eyes was any indication, Dumbledore had noticed.

“It seems they are in good condition and stable,” Arcturus said, pushing himself up from the floor. “We should get them into proper beds, who knows how long they are going to sleep.” He cast a levitation charm, and Narcissa’s body rose gracefully from the floor as he made his way to the door. Albus cast his own charm on the young wizard, before he followed him.

As they left, silence returned to this room that had just witnessed a ritual taking place for the first time in history. A feat that might never be replicated ever again.

(Break)

Harry’s eyes slowly fluttered under their lids. It worked, he thought, as he felt sensations he had long since forgotten. The cool air on his skin. A small ache present in his body. The faint, but present sound of his heart beating. The flow of his magic through his body.

He couldn’t believe it. After weeks of being trapped, he finally had a body back.

His sight was blurry at first, but as he blinked several times, clarity slowly returned. He was in a four-poster bed in a luxurious room that was only lit by a few candles and the dying embers in the hearth.

His gaze shifted toward the large windows and, despite the heavy velvet curtains blocking the view, he could tell it was the middle of the night as no light was filtering into the room.

He began testing his body, flexing his fingers and toes. It was slow, but it worked.

As Harry finally realized that this was real, a massive wave of relief washed over him. He wouldn’t have to communicate via a bell, waves of magic or trying to push his thoughts into other’s minds. He wouldn’t be just a silent observer anymore. He could be again.

It might take a while until he was back to full strength but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was-

Narcissa!

The thought of the young witch that had risked so much for him pushed everything else away.

He could feel her. Their bond was intact. He had thought that if the ritual worked, the bond might disappear. But it was still here, stronger than ever.

Focusing on her, he realized he could feel more than her presence. He knew exactly where she was. That she was actually sleeping on silk sheets. He could feel how the ritual had tired her and how her magic was keeping her asleep to allow her time to recover. He could feel the ache in her limbs as if it were his own.

It was an incredible thing to experience, but he needed to see her. To make sure she was okay. Even if their bond was screaming to him that she was, he needed to see it for himself.

He slowly made his way toward the door. Each step was difficult, not painful, but like a newborn taking its first steps. His movements were stiff and uncoordinated but filled with a purpose that wouldn’t allow him to stop, no matter how long it might take.

He fell to his knees a few times, but he got up, until he finally reached the door. He was about to open it when a soft pop resounded behind him.

“Sir.” Harry didn’t need to turn around to know who that was. He would know that voice anywhere. “Kreacher must give you potions,” the elf of house Black said as he snapped his fingers.

A full set of potions appeared on the bedside table, and while he didn’t recognize them, he knew they would taste as bad as any potions Madam Pomfrey had ever given him.

He nodded, before taking the first one and drinking it in one gulp. It was easier that way, but it still tasted foul. He forced himself to drink them all and they immediately started working. He could feel the ache in his body recede, and his dull limbs felt more responsive.

When he was done with the last one, Kreacher nodded, satisfied, and popped away, taking the empty vials with him. Harry pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway, his movements easier now.

Only stiffness remained but it was manageable. He was still struggling a bit but could walk without collapsing.

The hallway was silent, with only a few floating candles lighting it, casting long shadows along the walls. He didn’t stop to observe the many portraits he had already seen in his time here. He had a destination in mind, and he knew precisely where she was.

He made the last final steps slowly, before he stopped in front of the dark wood door. His heart was beating hard inside of him. This was it, the moment he would finally see her for real.

He inhaled deeply, his hand shaking slightly as he pushed the door open. The room was vast and filled with the low, orange glow of a crackling fireplace, the only source of light in the chamber. A massive four-poster bed, with emerald green curtains, dominated the space.

And there she was.

Lying asleep on her back, her expression peaceful and her long blond hair fanned out across the pillows.

A wave of relief washed over him at seeing her. He knew she was fine but it was like a part of him had refused to believe it. But their bond had been right. She was only resting, her breathing soft and even as her chest slowly rose with each intake of breath.

She’s beautiful, he thought, as his eyes landed on her for the first time.

Harry took a step, and realized he was not alone. In a high-backed armchair by her side, Druella Black stood vigil, watching over her daughter intently. She didn’t move or flinch as Harry stepped closer.

“So, you’re awake,” she whispered as she shifted toward him. Harry felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Her face was an impassive mask, but her whole posture reflected the protectiveness a mother held for her daughter. He had endured many trials in his life – a basilisk, a dark lord, and so much more – but this moment where her gaze seemed to see right through him might be the one where he felt the most vulnerable.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry responded, trying to keep his composure. “I-I needed to see her.” Surprisingly, his voice was not raspy even after weeks without uttering a word.

“Indeed.” Druella stood, stepping away from her daughter. “A fine time to be wandering about, isn’t it? Especially when you are the one responsible for her condition.”

Her tone was not accusatory, just stating the blunt truth. But he didn’t need her to say it aloud to feel guilty. He had been blaming himself since she was brought back from Greece.

Despite it all, Harry held his head high, his gaze fixed on hers. “I’m sorry ma’am. It was not my intention to bring her so much pain nor to risk her life,” Harry said, bowing his head in apologies.

Druella gestured toward two armchairs further on the side, and as soon as they sat, the questions started. “Who are you? Why, how are you here? Why my daughter?”

When he was just an invisible presence, he never thought about this as he didn’t know if he would ever get a body back. And since he had, he didn’t really have time to think about what he would say.

But in the end, he couldn’t lie to this family. Not after everything that had happened, in this timeline and in his own. He wouldn’t tell her everything, but he would try to be as honest as possible.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, leaving them messier than they were a second ago. And as he did so, he realized how he had missed such simple gestures.

Taking a deep breath, his attention locked on Narcissa’s mother. “It’s… complicated,” he started, “to be honest, I’m not really sure I understand it myself.”

His mind went back to his final moments, years in the future. The roar of battle, the scent of blood, the cries of his friends and their bodies lying on the ground, lifeless. He took a deep breath but to his surprise, these memories didn’t bring the same agonizing grief that he suspected had been the cause for all this. It felt… muted. The sorrow was there, and would likely always be, but it was overshadowed by a new purpose, a new determination.

He could stop it all from ever happening. He was back, with a new body and memories that would be invaluable, and perhaps, they could end this war years earlier than the first time.

“My name is Harry… Evans.” If Druella noticed his hesitation, her face betrayed nothing. He had blurted out his mother’s name on instinct, not sure saying he was a Potter would be a good idea.

He paused, trying to find the best way to tell his unbelievable tale. In the end, he chose to be direct. There was no way to make it more convincing than being as trustful as he could, and Harry hoped it’d be enough.

“About two months ago, I lost most of the people I loved. When I saw their bodies… something… broke inside of me. Next thing I knew, I was in this manor, invisible, bodiless, looking at Narcissa and Lord Black.”

Druella’s brow furrowed. She had been listening in stony silence, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her mask wavered almost imperceptibly at his use of her daughter’s first name, but she didn’t comment on it. “You simply… appeared here?” she asked, “and at my daughter’s side no less?”

Her eyes narrowed, studying him with the same scrutiny she’d have given a cursed artefact. “That is no ordinary accident, boy. People have suffered loss for millennia, and you don’t see them falling out of thin air, landing on innocent witches,” she said, the iron in her tone unmistakable.

It made Harry shift uncomfortably, but he didn’t flinch away from her gaze.

“I know how mad it seems, ma’am,” he replied, trying to convey his honesty, “I wouldn’t believe it either if I were you, but that is the truth.”

He then explained everything that had happened since. How Lord Black had found a way to communicate with him, how he had struggled with his magic, and was the one responsible for ‘the wards acting up’ during dinners or Death Eater visits.

He took a deep intake of breath as he was about to confess one last, shocking information. “Ma’am, I really have no idea how or why, but according to Dumbledore, my soul has… it has latched onto your daughter’s… and I believe what happened yesterday was because of it.”

That seemed to be the last straw for her, as she stood abruptly, her mask cracking. Her gaze became cold and her jaw clenched. “Latched? Onto my Cissy?” Her tone was sharp, carrying her disbelief and outrage. “Do you have the faintest idea what you’re saying? You dared touch her soul?!”

Instead of drawing her wand like the witch she was, she backhanded him, reddening his cheek and surprising him. Clearly, he’d have expected her to curse him, not to hit him like a Muggle.

He didn’t react to it, though – what could he have done, tackle her to the ground? – because he knew he deserved it. However unintentional everything had been, he had, in a way, touched her soul. A taboo in their world, and any known magical communities.

He had risked her life, even if he’d have sacrificed himself had it been required to save her.

In the end, he only turned his head, looking straight into Narcissa’s mother eyes. She raised an eyebrow, daring him to voice his displeasure at the slap he had just received, but that wasn’t his intention. He only inclined his head, acknowledging that he had, indeed, deserved it.

She sighed heavily, her head dropping slightly. “I shouldn’t have hit you,” she said as she shifted toward her daughter, “it’s just… it has been a hard day. I thought I had lost her, and then… you appear and tell me-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, ma’am,” Harry cut her off, shaking his head.

They stepped closer to the bed, watching Narcissa sleep, her features peaceful – a contrast to the previous day.

“I love all my daughters,” Druella murmured, “but Cissy… She’s the youngest, and the sweetest. All I wanted for her was to be happy, and I thought having her married into a good family was the way to go.”

She paused, gently taking her daughter’s hand, tracing circles on its back with her thumb. “But I was wrong. All that matters is for her to be free to be whoever she wants.”

Harry stayed silent, nodding his head in agreement. It was indeed the only thing that mattered, and he would do all he could for her to always have this choice.

Druella’s words pulled him from his thoughts. “I know you didn’t tell me everything there is between you and my daughter…” She left her words hanging, waiting for him to continue.

“We- Your daughter and I…” Harry stammered, not sure how she would take what was to come, “it seems we are bonded, in a way…”

He expected another slap, or a curse, anything but the silent inclination of her head.

As no other reaction came, he continued explaining what he knew. “I don’t know what it truly entails but… I can sense where she is, how she feels, and… and I believe she can do the same for me.”

“I suppose we’ll be seeing you around, then?” she asked flatly, not sure how she felt about it.

Harry nodded hesitantly. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen now, but the one thing he knew was that he didn’t want to be separated from Narcissa.

Druella let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Very well,” she said, her voice measured, yet softer now. She flicked her wand and, for a second, Harry thought this was it – the moment she’d curse him.

Instead, she conjured a pair of plump pillows in silk cases and a heavy, velvet blanket edged with silver thread that she dropped on the armchair by the bed.

“You can spend the rest of the night here if you want,” she started, “but if anything happens to my daughter, I will have your head, is that clear?”

“I would die before letting anything happen to her, ma’am,” Harry replied, not perturbed by the threat.

She stepped back, glancing at her daughter, asleep and peaceful. “I will check on her again later,” she added, giving Harry a sharp, though not unkind, look.

She gave one last look to her daughter, before she turned and walked away. The soft click of the door closing behind her left Harry alone in the room, and the quiet was filled only by the crackle of the fire and the steady rise and fall of Narcissa’s chest.

Alone at last, Harry took the seat beside the bed, Narcissa never leaving his sight. She looked peaceful under the firelight, her breathing steady.

“I’m sorry, Cissy,” he muttered. His fingers instinctively sought hers. He traced slow, absent circles over her skin with his thumb, as if reassuring himself she was real.

He lingered here, not sure what to do or what to say – not that she could hear him. Instead, he just let the warmth of her presence seep into him, taking in everything of her. The flickering light of the fire painted her face in soft shadows, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheeks and the gentle slope of her nose.

He couldn’t resist brushing a stray strand of golden hair from her forehead, tucking it carefully behind her ear.

Touching her felt much more tangible – almost overwhelming – than what he was used to. He could feel something warm stirring deep within him, sensations he had never known before. Their bond hadn’t only grown stronger as he regained a body, it was changing.

In that moment, perhaps more than ever, he knew his future would be closely tied to the young witch lying there, sleeping peacefully. He hoped Arcturus wouldn’t object to him staying there, as he didn’t know what he would do should he be separated from her.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching over her, but eventually, his head lowered to rest on the edge of her bed. Sleep claimed him without warning, and he drifted off, lulled by the soft sound of her breathing.

When he stirred again, it wasn’t to the sound of voices, but to delicate fingers threading gently through his hair, slow and careful, as if memorising the feel. The sensation was warm and a soft purr escaped him involuntarily. He hadn’t realized how much it had missed physical contact – of any kind, although this was the softest one.

His eyelids remained shut as he unconsciously leaned deeper into the gentle caress. A faint chuckle reached his ears, followed by his name, whispered  more tenderly than anything he had ever heard.

“Harry.”

He opened his eyes. Narcissa was smiling widely at the sight of him, her fingers still running through his messy hair. For a moment, he simply stared, drinking in the sight of her – the elegant lines of her face, the warmth in her gaze. She really was a surreal sight. 

Narcissa was staring too, searching his face with a quiet intensity, as if making sure he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Her chest tightened, her heart skipping a beat, and a faint blush started spreading across her cheeks. He had stayed – through the night, by her side – until sleep had taken him. Her heart fluttered at the thought, the feeling stronger and more certain than it had ever been.

She could feel it, their bond. It was deeper than prior to the ritual, stronger than she could have ever imagined.

The affection she had for him had increased tenfold, and she couldn’t believe that he was finally here, in the flesh. More than a flicker of magic in her mind, or the feeling of a bond neither of them truly understood.

“You’re here,” she whispered, tears welling up and threatening to spill. “You stayed.”

Harry gave a slow, gentle nod. He tightly gripped her hand, as if a continued contact would anchor him in this reality. “I am, I had to see you were alright. And to… to thank you.” His voice cracked, thick with emotion, husky and soft all at once.

She blinked back a tear and turned her palm up against his, letting her fingertips brush lightly over his skin. The touch was feather-light but it sent a shiver down their spines. “I haven’t done anything, Harry. You’re the one who-”

“But you did,” he interrupted, his voice a faint whisper, fragile but insistent. His fingers tightened just a bit around hers. “More than you know.”

Narcissa’s breath hitched, and her eyes fluttered closed. She sank deeper into the pillows, a faint smile gracing her lips. “I’m glad, then,” she murmured.

She didn’t need to know more. The only thing that mattered was that he was there, with her.

After that, they stayed in a fragile silence for a moment, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and their synchronized breaths. Harry’s gaze drifted down to her, taking in the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way the firelight caught in the strands of her golden hair. He could hardly believe this was real – that she was real.

Eventually, Narcissa yawned, a simple gesture that Harry found equally lovely and worrying.

“You should sleep, Cissy,” Harry finally said with concern as he studied her carefully. “You’re not… fully rested yet.”

In that shared and intimate moment, Narcissa thought she had never heard her name spoken so softly and with so much affection.

Her lashes lifted slowly, eyes shining in the obscurity. “I really don’t want to, now that you’re here.” In that moment, her voice reflected a profound vulnerability. “I don’t-I don’t want to wake up and realize you are gone, that this was just a dream.”

Harry gently sat on the edge of her bed, before he cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch, and she started sobbing quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cissy, I promise you.” He leaned forward, calling upon his inner Gryffindor, and slowly brushed his lips against her cheek. “I’m here, I’m real.”

Her dam broke and she threw herself into his arms, burying her head in his neck. Tears flowed freely as the weight of the past few weeks finally lifted. Without thinking, Harry’s hand found her back, tracing circles in an attempt to soothe her.

“Stay?” she whispered, but to Harry, it was clearer than anything else.

“Of course,” he replied, keeping her tightly in his arms.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was warm and comfortable. Harry stayed awake long after her breathing evened out, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Every few minutes, he’d give her hand the lightest squeeze, just to reassure himself he was still there.

The bond pulsed faintly between them, like a second heartbeat in his chest.  The unspoken promise that he would always stay by her side.

(Break)

In Scotland, Albus had just woken up after sleeping longer than he ever had, and he was still tired. The ritual had taken much more than he would have thought possible. Not only had he never been so tired in his entire life, he could feel holes within where his magic had once roared.

He didn’t know yet if it would be permanent, but that had him worried. He didn’t regret doing it, not one bit. He would have given his life to save them, had it come to that.

But he needed to know where he stood. What he could and couldn’t do. He’d have to wait to be fully rested to test his magic.

Right now, his thoughts were on the guests he was about to receive. Alastor Moody, his old friend, had been on a mission for the last days. A mission that, according to his latest message, had been successful.

The other guest wasn’t part of the order yet, but considering his stance during the last Wizengamot meetings, he knew convincing him to join wouldn’t be a problem.

He hadn’t so far because, while he knew his family reputation, he wasn’t familiar with the man. Then his mind had been filled with more pressing matters, but now was the perfect time to at least talk to him about it.

And if his suspicions were correct, he might have just saved a lost member of his family. He had just replayed the memory of the ritual in his pensieve. Now that his mind was clear, he was almost certain of Harry’s real identity.

How a Potter had found himself in this situation, he had no idea, but there was no denying the resemblance. He wouldn’t voice his suspicion to his guest just yet, as he could still be wrong and Harry’s looks could be a coincidence.

But he knew his existence wouldn’t stay a secret for long, and if he had made the connections, others would too. He needed the Potters on his side if he wanted Harry to join him.

Arcturus might be firmly against Voldemort, other members of his family might try to get rid of him to align themselves with Tom. He couldn’t leave such a powerful wizard fall into his hands.

He was pulled back from his thoughts when his fireplace roared, and a figure stepped inside his office. Fleamont Potter, the Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. He was carrying himself with grace and dignity, a quiet presence radiating magical power.

Albus could feel it from where he sat, the same vibrating notes as Harry. The resemblances went much deeper than just physical looks – even though now that he was close to the Lord Potter, he could see it clear as day.

There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind anymore: the thick hair, once black as a raven that had given way to streaks of silver, the strong jawline and the straight nose, were too similar for it to be a coincidence. Had Albus seen Harry’s eyes, he suspected they’d be of the same hazelnut shade.

“Albus,” the powerful Lord greeted him with a nod of his head, “always a pleasure.”

Dumbledore returned the greeting, gesturing to the seat in front of him. “Fleamont, I thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I believe we have many things to discuss.”

Once he was seated, Albus flicked his wand, conjuring two crystal glasses that he quickly filled with Firewhisky. He handed one to the Lord Potter and they both took a sip.

He was about to go straight to the reason of this meeting, when the floo roared again, and a second figure emerged.

Alastor Moody, clad in full auror uniform, looked dead on his feet, with dry blood stuck to his clothes and a deep cut on his cheek that would leave a nasty scar. He glanced at the two wizards present, and greeted them both with a sharp nod. “Albus, Potter.” He plunged into the seat next to Fleamont, not waiting for Albus to tell him to, much to the latter’s amusement.

“I got one, Albus,” he announced without preamble, a satisfied glint in his eyes, “didn’t come quietly, made a mess of the alley we found him in, but still, we got him.”

Dumbledore sighed sadly. Not at what they had done, but at having been forced to resort to such measures.

Fleamont was looking at them both. “What are you talking about?” he asked, confused, “who did you get?”

Albus and Alastor looked at each other; the latter smirked while the former sighed heavily, as he started explaining their plan.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 – A Quiet Awakening

It was early morning when Harry woke up. The first rays of day had yet to pierce the curtains, and the room was only lit by the dying embers in the hearth.

Stretching his arms, he shook off the last traces of sleep as he glanced at where Narcissa was lying. Her breathing was soft and even, her face peaceful. He could feel her presence in his chest, as steady as his own heartbeat.

Since waking in this new body, he had tried to focus on their bond, trying to understand it. He could feel her, always present deep inside of him.

A constant that could not be dislodged – not intrusive, just another part of him. They would have to explore it together, to learn what it truly was and what it meant for them.

Without noticing, his fingers had found hers, intertwining like they belonged there. When he looked down at their joined hands, he realized how much he enjoyed that simple contact. Every time he touched her, it felt as though he had found something he hadn’t known he was missing.

He slowly traced circles on her knuckles while his gaze lingered on her beautiful face. He was about to lose himself in his staring when a low, traitorous growl echoed from his stomach.

“Merlin, I’m starving,” he murmured. Feeling her deep in sleep, he decided to surprise her with breakfast. Standing quietly, he slipped from the room.

The corridors were quiet as he made his way down to the kitchen. The few floating candles cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. Each step echoed softly, filling the empty halls with a gentle rhythm.

The air was cool and as he got closer to his destination, it started carrying the inviting scent of baking bread and fresh pastries. It made his stomach rumble and he licked his lips in anticipation, already thinking about all the delicious food he would finally get, after weeks of being denied.

Not that he had been feeling hungry, but now, with the scents filling his nostrils, he realized how much he had missed it.

His feet carried him to the kitchen door. After a soft knock, he opened it and stepped inside. A couple of house-elves were already hard at work.

They all turned to face him, and one of them stepped forward. “Sir,” the little elf greeted him, her head bowing low, “what can Missy do for you?”

“Hello Missy,” Harry said, his hand running through his hair, “I wanted to make some breakfast for Narcissa and I wondered if I…”

She cut him off with a snap of her fingers. Several trays, filled to the brim with fresh bread, pastries and hot beverages, rose into the air and started floating in front of him.

“Sir is not allowed to cook, this is house-elves duty,” she said in a no-nonsense voice, “but Sir may take this for Mistress Narcissa and himself.”

Knowing a battle was lost when he faced one, he only nodded to her. “Thank you, Missy.” She didn’t reply, but gently pushed him to the door so they could all get back to work. He chuckled as he stepped out, shaking his head, before he started making his way back to Narcissa.

He had barely climbed the first steps of the staircase when a sudden jolt ran through him, a sharp twist inside his chest. A sense of panic grew inside of him, one that was not his.

Narcissa, he thought, as he started climbing the steps two by two, not caring anymore about the trays following him.

By the time he reached the door, his heart was beating hard in his ears.

“Cissy!” he called out worryingly as his pushed inside. And then he saw her standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, clad only in her nightgown. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes still clouded by sleep.

She froze, shoulders tense and head down, then whispered, “I… I thought you’d left me.”

He sighed, relief washing over him, as he stepped closer to her. He cupped her cheek, lifting her head. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you, didn’t I?”

She gave a shy nod, taking a deep breath as if to ground herself and let her head rest against his chest. She closed her eyes, clutching his shirt tightly, reassuring herself that he was here, with her.

“I knew you were close, but I-I don’t know, you were not here and…”

“Shh,” he murmured as his arms wrapped around her, “It’s okay.” She trembled against him, burying her face in his neck, breathing him in.

They stayed in each other’s arms in silence for a few minutes. Her breathing evened, her panic gradually receding, until she stopped trembling completely – and only then did the tightness in Harry’s chest begin to ease.

“I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what took over me…” she murmured.

Harry didn’t answer, but he kept tracing soothing circles on her back.

Eventually, her gaze fell on the many trays still floating behind Harry. “What’s all this?” she asked, her voice slowly coming back to its usual soft and warm tones.

Harry’s stomach growled, reminding him why he had left in the first place. “Uh I-I was hungry and decided to grab some food, I thought we could eat together.”

Narcissa blushed at his thoughtfulness, and she rose onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you, Harry.”

He slowly led her toward the bed, sitting on its edge, Cissy not leaving him. It was as if she feared that, by letting him go, he would disappear.

Harry eagerly took a croissant, breaking off a piece and biting into it with a hungry sigh of relief.

“Really, Harry? It looks like you haven’t eaten in days,” Narcissa teased, a soft smile gracing her lips.

He tilted his head, a silent ‘are you kidding me?’ passing across his face.

She giggled, a sound he found completely endearing, and one he had never heard coming from her. She leaned over to him, her hand gently brushing a stray crumb from his chin. “I suppose that’s understandable,” she whispered, her tone full of warmth and affection. “We will get you fattened up in no time, I promise.”

This time, it was his turn to blush and instead of stammering, he took a large bite of the croissant and savored the simple pleasure for a moment.

They ate in a comfortable silence. Narcissa watched him with an indulgent smile, a small, private happiness filling her chest. She finished her tea and set the cup down.

Narcissa’s gaze drifted over his brow and stayed fixed for a moment before her breath hitched. “Harry, your scar… it-it’s gone.”

Instinctively, his hand jolted up to where his infamous scar had always been. He couldn’t feel it. He had always been able to feel the edges of his lightning-bolt scar but this time, there was nothing.

“I guess… I guess this truly is a new start then…” he stated, his voice relieved, almost reverent as he stared blankly in front of him.

She didn’t want to push him, but her curiosity was too strong, “Harry… what do you mean?” she asked softly.

The playful moment had passed, replaced by a quiet intensity.

Harry stilled as he gathered his thoughts. He had vowed not to lie to her, and he wouldn’t. This might not be the best time to talk about it, but he didn’t think there would ever be one. “I’m not even sure where to start, Cissy. But, no matter how… mad it sounds, know it is the truth.”

“I know, I can feel it,” she whispered, her hand resting over her heart.

“That scar,” he started, swallowing hard, “that scar… it was done to me by Lord Voldemort when I was one year old… in nineteen eighty-one.”

“Eighty…one?” Her voice was confused as her brow creased, not sure she understood what he meant. She searched his face, looking for something, anything, that would tell her he was lying, or mocking her, but the bond didn’t waver, and neither did his eyes as he looked straight into hers. “Harry… that’s impossible,” her breath hitched, her fingers tightened around his, but she didn’t pull away, “you can’t mean…”

“I know, believe me, I know,” he paused, sighing heavily. “But it’s the truth. Somehow, I… I traveled almost thirty years in the past.” 

As he recounted the last moments of his life, something inside her shifted. She felt it, clearer than anything. A wave of grief so sharp it stole her breath. It wasn’t hers, but she felt as if she had lived it. The crushing weight of loss that had made him lose himself.

Her hand moved on its own, cupping his cheek and gently wiping away a stray tear, “Harry I… I’m so sorry…” He leaned into her touch, finding solace against her delicate hand.

“After I drifted for what felt like hours, I woke up here, in this time, in your uncle’s study, hovering just above you. Albus believes that is when my soul latched onto yours, and that the bond was formed.” Harry concluded, with a hint of nervousness in his tone. So far, she hadn’t shown any sign that she didn’t believe him, and he hoped it’d stay that way.

Narcissa was silent. She didn’t know what to say. A part of her wanted to scream that this was all impossible, that he was mocking her, but she could feel it was the truth.

The bond, a steady thrum in her being, told her that it was. And the desperate need to be believed she could see in his gaze only confirmed it further.

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped them. Her mind raced with questions, yet in that moment of shared intimacy, none seemed important. Instead, she simply said, “That’s completely mad…”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “But I believe you. And I’m glad you’re here, Harry. I’m glad to know you, and I don’t want you to leave me, ever.”

“I won’t, Cissy. Never. I promise.” The certainty in his voice made her heart skip a beat.

“Harry, do you… do you think we’ll be alright?” She looked down at her lap, uncertainty in her eyes.

This time, it was Harry who cupped her cheek, tilting her head up, “Yes.” There was so much confidence in this single word that Narcissa instantly believed him. “I will protect you, no matter what happens, you will be safe. I will not let anything happen to you, Cissy.”

The tension of Harry’s revelation was soon replaced by a more relaxed, intimate one. Harry looked at her with gratitude. He didn’t expect her to be so accepting of a tale he still wasn’t sure he understood himself.

But her unwavering belief in him ignited something he had never felt before. This was more than simple affection, more than a desire to protect her. This was something stronger, deeper even than the bond that seemed to connect them. In that instant, it was as if nothing mattered more than the young witch clutched to his side. The world could burn as long as she was safe.

Narcissa, eyes half lidded and filled with fondness, started leaning forward. Her mouth was slightly agape and she was clutching Harry’s shirt. She would have never expected things to move so fast, yet it felt so right,  she felt so at ease in his arms, as if she had been waiting for this moment without realizing it. Her body relaxed into his.

Harry’s gaze lingered on her lips, his hand still cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing slow, gentle circles. His pulse raced. He had never felt anything like that, not with anyone. In that moment, a part of him felt glad that he had been sent back. 

Their breaths mingled, lips hovering just inches apart. Tentatively, Harry closed the distance, brushing his lips to hers.

It was a soft, chaste caress, each savoring the sweet taste of the other as an electrifying jolt coursed through them both.

Something flared inside of them. The bond roared in satisfaction, amplifying everything they felt, smelled and touched.

They broke apart briefly, their brows resting against the other’s as they tried to catch their breaths.

They were completely lost to the outer world.

Had they not been, they could have seen a faint, golden glow emanating from them.

There, at that precise moment, the bond truly completed. A warmth surged through its two halves that went entirely unnoticed, for they were too engrossed in the other.

Unbeknownst to the young pair, amused eyes were watching from the doorway. Druella had come to see how her daughter was, and it seemed everything was fine, more than fine even. And she would be the only witness to the magical phenomenon that had just happened.

When Harry had told her about the connection between them, she didn’t really know what it meant. But now she did, and it seemed her daughter had found her wizard.

She might not have been happy with him at first, but even she couldn’t deny how her daughter responded to him. She could feel her happiness radiating from here, and knew that, although they might take time to truly understand everything, there was nothing that could ever separate them.

She looked behind her where her other daughter was waiting and trying to catch a glimpse to what was happening. She too was eager to see how her sister was, but Druella put a finger to her lips in a silencing motion as she shook her head and quietly closed the door, deciding not to disturb their intimacy.

“Come, Bella, it seems we might have to speak to your uncle,” she said quietly, a large smile on her face as she hooked her arm with her daughter’s, leading her away from the chamber.

The witches made their way towards the Black Lord’s study, and after a soft knock, were granted entrance. Arcturus lifted his eyes from the many parchments sprawled across his desk, and a faint smile broke his impassive face.

“Druella, Bellatrix,” he said, gesturing to the seats opposite him. They sat gracefully as Arcturus continued, “tell me, what brings you here?”

And so Druella told him of what she had witnessed, not giving too many details, but enough so her Lord had a good idea of what was actually happening right now, in another room of the manor. She then asked him if he would be against the idea of allowing Harry to court her daughter.

Bellatrix gasped, clearly not expecting this from her mother yet internally, she smirked, already preparing several ways to tease her sister and his wizard.

Arcturus seemed surprised – which only showed by his eyes slightly widening. Not a month ago, she was happy at the idea to marry her off to a Malfoy, and yesterday, she had slapped the man she now wanted to court her precious daughter. It seemed Alphard’s death and Walburga’s subsequent banishment had refocused her priorities, and now only her daughters’ happiness mattered. Added to what she had witnessed, it seemed she was of the mind that this wizard would be the only one able to make Narcissa happy.

In the end, he only nodded to her. He didn’t know the true nature of their bond, yet he understood his magnitude, and he suspected it would make it almost impossible for either of them to be with someone else.

He eventually dismissed the two witches, telling Druella he would first talk about it with them. He next called Kreacher. He needed his full report before he could summon them both.

Back in their chamber, Harry had laid down on the bed, Narcissa curled up against him, her head resting on his chest, feeling every rise and fall as he breathed.

Harry gently ran his fingers through her hair when an unnerving thought crossed his mind. “Cissy,” he called, his voice low and raspy, “I’m sorry, we didn’t really talk about it, and I don’t want you to think that-”

“Harry,” she cut him off, pushing her arms on his chest so she could face him, “I want you by my side. I want to see where this will lead us.” She paused, lowering her head again, resting it right where his heart was. “It may seem fast, but… it feels like I’ve known you for years. I feel… incomplete without you.”

She took his hand in hers, bringing it closer as she kissed his knuckles.

“I want that too, Cissy.”

Suddenly, a soft pop surprised them, making them jerk up in the bed. “Mistress, Sir,” Kreacher greeted them with a low bow of his head. “Master Arcturus asked you both to join him in his study.” And with that, he popped away.

Narcissa pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, before she said, “Come, let’s not make the Lord of House Black wait too long.” She stood, bringing Harry with her.  

As they reached Arcturus’ study, they could see the door already open. He was waiting for them, seated behind his desk.

“Uncle, you asked for us?” Narcissa started as they got closer.

“Indeed, Narcissa,” he told them as he stood, leaning forwards with both palms pressed against his desk. He raised a single eyebrow, a smirk on his lips, as he turned to face Harry, “I learned something very interesting today…”

He paused, reveling in the anxious faces in front of him. “So, a time-traveler, huh?”

Mouths agape, Harry and Narcissa looked at each other, not sure of what to say. But Arcturus didn’t give them time to try and craft a lie. “Don’t deny it, I had Kreacher listened on you.”

“You spied on us?!” Narcissa was furious at her Uncle, not believing he could have listened to their private conversation. Their bond expanded, and Harry could feel her magic flaring in the study. He felt a small pull on his own, but none seemed to notice.

Arcturus didn’t seem perturbed by her outburst. “Of course I did,” he said, sweeping his gaze from his niece to Harry. “Did you really think Druella would allow you to stay alone with my niece without my consent? Or that I would give it without ensuring… surveillance?”

Harry chuckled. “I should have guessed you’d do something like that, Sir.”

The Lord Black dipped his head, a small, satisfied smile gracing his lips, “Yes, you should have. You spent quite a lot of time in my presence, I would have expected you to at least be a little suspicious.”

Arcturus gestured for them to sit down, which they did, although Narcissa did it reluctantly. “How are you, Narcissa?” he asked as he sat back down, amusement lacing his words at her anger.

“Fine,” she said, looking away, her jaw tightening slightly. Her voice was sharp. Clearly, she didn’t appreciate being spied upon.

Harry squeezed her hand, getting her attention. “It’s alright, Cissy. I would have told him anyway.”

She sighed and nodded slowly. “I’m fine Uncle. I’m sorry it’s just…”

“Don’t. I knew you wouldn’t appreciate it, but you know why I did it,” he said, more like a statement than a question.

And she did. The Family. Always. Nothing was ‘too much’ or ‘too far’ when it concerned the safety of the House of Black.

“Good. Now, as I said, we have a lot to talk about, the three of us,” he told them, his tone leaving no room for argument, as he intently watched between his niece and Harry, before his gaze settled on the latter. “First, I would like to know your real name. Druella told me it was ‘Evans’, but I don’t believe it.”

Narcissa’s anger receded, as curiosity took over. While they had discussed a bit the night before and this morning, his name never came up.

Harry sighed heavily, as his eyes locked into Arcturus’. “My real name is Harry James Potter.”

Arcturus nodded, a triumphant smile on his face that looked so out of place. Sensing their confusion, he explained, “After the ritual, I only caught a glimpse of your face, but enough to  bring back memories of an old friend of mine,” he paused, his mind drifting to a time that was no more, “he left us years ago, but his face was eerily similar to yours.”

Harry knew he should have expected Potters to all look alike, considering how many times he had been said he looked like his father. “And his name was Potter?” he asked.

“And his name was Potter,” Arcturus nodded, “good thinking on crafting a name one on the go but, to be honest, with your looks, your relation to the Potters will not be hidden for long. Albus may already suspect something.”

“I didn’t make it up, Sir,” Harry informed him, “‘Evans’ was my mother’s name. It’s the first thing that came to my mind when she asked who I was, and I would like to keep carrying it,” he added with a hint of nervousness in his voice, not sure how they would react to his blood status.

Arcturus didn’t bulge at this information. Him being a half-blood wouldn’t change anything.

Most of the families who cared were already firmly with Voldemort, and thus, against him. And he had already proven how powerful he was, by the simple act of surviving the shattering of his soul, saved by a ritual performed by another powerful half-blood, perhaps the most powerful wizard of their time.

No, blood didn’t matter as much as some would like to think, Arcturus was well aware of that. Magical power was what mattered, and it didn’t discriminate someone’s blood. Quite the contrary, actually, as three half-bloods, if one included this Voldemort, were among the most powerful wizards of their time.

He had yet to see what Harry could do, but his past alone was proof of his power.

And finally, even he couldn’t deny how completely smitten they were with each other. Arcturus might be a cold and cruel man when the circumstances required him to be, but he would not break his niece’s heart.

He might have to deal with her father, though. He was still a pureblood supremacist, and his daughter mingling with a half-blood might be a step too far.

“Harry Evans it is, then,” Arcturus nodded at him, “I will have your identity forged, the only thing you’ll be required to be present for is your wand, and the opening of a vault at Gringotts, which I will fund myself.”

“Sir, I can’t accept it, I…” Harry protested, but Arcturus cut him off.

“You can and you will, Potter,” and Harry could tell he wouldn’t accept a refusal. He might even try and open it without his consent if he had too. “You are a guest of my family and will be afforded its full protection. That includes your identity and a vault.”

Harry knew when arguing would prove fruitless and so, he dropped the matter, nodding his head in thanks at the old Lord.

“Now, your bond,” everyone’s back straightened at that. Arcturus, because it concerned the future of his niece. Harry and Narcissa, because the conversation had taken a much more intimate direction they were not sure they wanted to discuss with him just yet, “I don’t know exactly what it entails, and while I won’t pry into your private life, ” They both released a breath at that, not keen on sharing anything about the bond with anyone, “none can ignore how close you are to each other. But I must ask you to refrain from… publicly showing your closeness.”

“Wha-what are you talking about, Uncle?” Narcissa stammered, confusion in her voice.

Arcturus’ face was impassive, but his eyes shone with amusement – teasing them would become one of his favorite pastimes. “Your mother witnessed a very specific event that took place in your chambers…”

He watched as their faces flushed. Narcissa was mortified, and Harry was looking anywhere but at the Lord Black.

“She asked me if I would allow you to court each other,” he continued, leaning back in his chair, “although I would be tempted to, just to tie you to my family, Potter, I also understand that this is all new for you both. I don’t want to overwhelm you with an official contract, but I want you to think about it.”

Narcissa didn’t seem opposed to the idea. She was embarrassed, not because of the betrothal itself, but because her mother had caught them, and neither had realized she was even there.

Harry was more hesitant. Not at the idea of being tied to Narcissa, but because he would have never imagined being the subject of such a contract.

“Sir,” he eventually addressed the Lord Black, his voice not as steady as he would have liked, “I believe the best would be for us to be allowed to explore this bond and our relationship at our own pace.”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I know what I feel for your niece is more than simple affection or childish infatuation. I already vowed to her that I would stay by her side.”

He could feel Narcissa radiating with happiness, and Harry was now even more sure that this was the right course of action.

“Good.” Arcturus inclined his head, a satisfied smile on his face. “You may do as you see fit but I must remind you to conduct yourself properly in any public setting. I will not have you tarnish the reputation of my house. Is that understood?” He declared firmly, allowing no argument.

“Of course, Uncle,” Narcissa said, nodding her head fervently. Her hand had unconsciously found Harry’s and she was squeezing his fingers.

“I will also let you inform your father once he returns, Narcissa,” he went on, and Harry could swear he had seen him smile, a smile that let him know the Lord Black was enjoying this whole situation way too much. But there wasn’t anything he could say, so he gulped instead, dread pooling inside of him at the idea of facing Narcissa’s father.

Narcissa simply giggled at his face. “Don’t worry, Harry, my father will like you.” But Harry wasn’t sure he would even have time to try to ‘please’ him before getting cursed. “Come now, I want to see my mother and Bella, and introduce you to them.” And that was when Harry thought that, maybe, not having a body wasn’t so bad, as Narcissa took his hand and led him outside her uncle’s study, who was chuckling under his breath at Harry’s misfortune.

“Before you go,” Arcturus called as they were about to leave, “Albus sent a message. He would like to see you both.”

Albus. Harry had completely forgotten about the man that had made all of this possible.

“Of course sir,” Harry dipped his head, his words laced with gratitude at the mention of the old wizard, “whenever suits him is fine with me.”

Narcissa agreed, eager to see the man who had saved them both.

“I will need a couple of days to have everything ready for you, Potter. Once I’m done, we’ll go get you a wand and open your vault. I will send a message to Albus so he can let us know when he’s available to meet us all.” Arcturus decided, and that was fine with everyone.

Harry paused on the doorstep, and turned, facing Arcturus. “Sir, may I ask you a question?”

The Lord Black acquiesced silently.

“You do not seem surprised by the time-travel? I could have lied. What makes you trust me?” he asked. He knew that making Arcturus doubt him might not be the brightest idea, but he was curious.

 “You could have lied to me, that is true,” he agreed, “but I believe you couldn’t lie to Narcissa without her noticing,” he said while glancing toward his niece, who shyly nodded, confirming one of his doubts.

“And though your situation is quite… unheard of, our world is filled with wonders and impossible feats. I am an old man, Potter, I have witnessed my fair share of unbelievable magics. And although on a totally different scale, time-travel, while not common, is still possible. It is not inconceivable to imagine one could push the limits of this phenomenon, however unintentional it was.”

Harry nodded, satisfied – and curious about what a man such as him could have witnessed in his many decades of existence.   

“There is much more we need to talk about, Potter. Until then, I will be watching you. You may go now,” he dismissed them. The threat was clear as crystal, but Harry didn’t intend to draw his ire in any form, and he would prove it to the ancient Lord.

Finally, the young pair took their leave, the witch eagerly leading away the not-so-eager wizard.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Harry and Narcissa had spent the last few days together, mostly alone, talking about their pasts. Harry had told her most of his Hogwarts years, and she was shocked at how much trouble he seemed to attract.

“Maybe you are more trouble than you are worth, Mister Potter,” she had said jokingly. “You have no idea,” Harry chuckled as he started telling her about the mess that was his fourth year.

By the time he concluded this year, she was appalled at the betrayals he had suffered, especially Ron and Hermione’s, but Harry quickly defended them. They were young, and had proven their loyalty time and again afterward.

Narcissa relented, but internally swore that she wouldn’t let anyone treat him that way. Harry might have vowed to protect her, but she wouldn’t be a helpless bystander; she would fight for him as well.

But as he began telling her about his fifth year, the light and playful tone shifted. His voice grew quieter, heavier with memory, and Narcissa could feel the grief he carried as if it were her own.

“We’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens. Together,” she said, squeezing his hand, a fierce protectiveness settling in her gaze. She hadn’t asked about the fate of the other Blacks. She didn’t need to. Knowing about Sirius was enough to ignite a determination in her like nothing she had ever felt before.

She would protect them all – her cousins, sisters, parents, uncles and aunt. And Harry too, of course. She didn’t need to know what would never happen to them – because she would never let it happen.

Harry felt a warmth deep within from her words, which echoed his own vow. “Together,” he told her, and that was all that mattered. They knew, unconsciously, that as long as they were together, those they loved would be safe.

Their bond roared in agreement, as if already aware of things they were not. Harry pulled her close, nestling his head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in, anchoring himself in this still new reality.

As he finished his tale – bereft of any mention of the Hallows, Horcruxes, or his own death – Narcissa began telling him about her own past. The air had immediately lost its heavy feeling, replaced by a more relaxed atmosphere.

In comparison, her Hogwarts’ years were much lighter, only punctuated by the occasional teenage drama. Yet Harry loved every single second of it. He had listened with a quiet smile, fascinated by the glimpses of a life so normal, and yet entirely hers. For a moment, the weight of the world lifted, replaced by the simple joy of knowing more about her.

But they didn’t talk only about dreary things. Sometimes, they would simply sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the other’s quiet presence.

They also spent time with Druella and Bellatrix. The former had, surprisingly, quickly adopted him – despite her initial reaction – and the latter had said several times how happy she was at Narcissa finally getting her wizard.

Her attempt to embarrass them had worked perfectly at first, making both of them blush. She and Druella would chuckle at their pink faces, until Narcissa decided enough was enough, and simply hooked her arm with Harry’s, giving her sister a smirk and a raised eyebrow. The embarrassment at the teasing they received was still present, but they decided to let it slide.

Bellatrix had been curious, of course. She asked who he was, where he came from and how he had ended up as he had. They had explained to her as much as they could without revealing he was from another time. They had told her the same things they had Druella, which was close enough to the truth for her not to detect the lie and seemed satisfied.

Cygnus and Orion were due to come back this morning, and as they were all taking their breakfast together, Narcissa noticed Harry wasn’t eating, just playing with his food. No doubt the idea of facing her father was making him nervous.

“Nervous, are we, Harry?” Bellatrix’s tone, sharp and amused, cut through the quiet dining hall. She leaned forward, a wicked grin on her face. “Don’t worry. Father won’t hurt you… too much.”

Harry’s gaze flickered up from his plate. “I’m not nervous,” he replied, which was a lie, something everyone caught on.

Druella and Bellatrix chuckled at his misfortune, and Narcissa, while amused, tried her best to comfort him. “Don’t listen to her, Harry. He won’t do anything,” she murmured, her voice warm as she squeezed his fingers under the table, a small smile on her face, “he’s just very protective, that’s all.”

Druella, her eyes twinkling with mischief, added to the teasing. “That’s right, dear. It might have been easier on his nerves if you had been introduced properly, but don’t worry… too much.”

Just then, they heard the Floo roaring to life in the Great Hall. A few seconds – and a squeeze of Harry’s hand by Narcissa – later and two figures stepped inside the adjacent dining room, still brushing some soot from their shoulders.

“Cygnus, Orion!” Druella exclaimed, rising from her seat and moving to greet her husband, a genuine smile gracing her lips. It seemed the more time passed, the more her pureblood persona seemed to fade, something which surprised her husband, not used to seeing her so expressive. He patted her awkwardly on the back, but his lips slightly turned upwards.

He looked glad to be back and to see his wife again.

Orion offered a small, polite smile to his family before his gaze settled on the young wizard sitting beside Narcissa. His smile faltered as he looked from the young man then back to Narcissa questioningly.

Cygnus, however, was not so subtle. He broke away from his wife and stalked forward as soon as he sighted Harry.

“What is this?” Cygnus growled. “Who is this? And why is he sitting near my daughter?”

“Sit down, husband,” Druella’s voice was calm and firm as she led him to the table. “And let us explain what happened.”

Reluctantly, Cygnus took his seat, his face still a tight mask of confusion and growing anger. He listened intently as Narcissa recounted everything of the past weeks, from Harry’s arrival in Arcturus’ study to the events of Diagon Alley, when Harry had saved her with his magic.

She told them about the bond they had but didn’t say anything about how close they really were – something Harry was glad for, as he surely wouldn’t have survived for much longer, had Cygnus known he had dared lay his hands on his daughter.

She didn’t tell him about the time-travel, of course, nor about the fact that he was a Potter. These were Harry’s secrets to tell. As she spoke, Cygnus’ gaze shifted from his daughter to Harry.

After she finished, Cygnus simply sat there, silent, his face turning a furious red. He had unconsciously drawn his wand, but kept it lowered to his side – for now – his grip tightening around it. “So you’re telling me… you, a no-name wizard, had the gall to come into our home” He snarled at Harry. “And now you are… bonded to her? This is an insult to the House of Black! A dishonor!” He stood, pointing his wand at Harry, a curse on the tip of his tongue ready to release his pent-up anger.

It appeared that he felt none of the confusion or awe the others had when learning his story. In that moment, he only felt fury at Harry for daring to bond with his precious daughter.

“Father, wait!” Narcissa cried, stepping in front of Harry, her hands outstretched in a protective gesture. “He didn’t do it on purpose! He was a victim just like me!”

Bellatrix quickly interjected, drawing her own wand, ready to defend the man who had protected her sister when herself couldn’t. “He saved her life. He did what no one else could have done. You should be thanking him. He is the reason Narcissa is there, breathing and alive.”

Druella softly patted his arm. “There, you see? He’s not what you thought at all. He saved our daughter, dear. He’s a guest of this house, and Arcturus offered him our protection. We should be grateful,” she said, winking at Harry.

Cygnus shot a look at his wife before he sat back beside her. He took a large bite out of a muffin as he kept muttering under his breath. His fury had not abated in the slightest, but he could see when a fight was lost, and even he wouldn’t want to face two of his daughters at the same time. He would have to take it in his stride, and look by himself for way to break this bond and get rid of this wizard.

Orion, who had been a silent observer this entire time, was the first to speak to Harry. “Welcome, Mister Evans. And thank you for saving a member of my family.” Orion didn’t need to know more, for now. His father would tell him all he needed to know. All he knew was that this wizard had saved Narcissa, and that was enough to welcome him in the family.

Harry, who had just been released from Narcissa’s protective grip, smiled weakly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Black.” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The meeting could have gone a lot worse.

After that, Druella and Cygnus left the manor, flooing to Greece. The former eager to see Andromeda and Melania, while the latter wanted to take some fresh air and get away from here, leaving their daughters with Orion and Harry.

Once they were gone, Harry and Narcissa decided to take a stroll in the magnificent gardens of Black Manor, enjoying the sun and quietly walking hand in hand. Today was the day Harry would finally get a new wand, and he was getting impatient to use his magic again. Until it was time to go, they wanted to spend some time together, after this eventful breakfast.

Narcissa nodded to a stone bench, nestled under a massive Lebanese Cedar from which a rich, slightly sweet scent emanated.

As they sat, Narcissa instinctively rested her head on his shoulder. “You know, I never expected to meet someone like you,” she started, relaxed now that she was alone with Harry and they had dealt with her father.

“Someone like me?” he asked while running his fingers through her pale blond hair. “I hope you mean ‘amazing’, or ‘awesome’, or perhaps ‘incredible’. I’ll take those.”

She chuckled, slapping him lightly on the chest, “No, you idiot. I meant someone I’d felt so at ease with.” She pulled back from her resting place to look him in the eyes, “I’ve never been comfortable around boys. But maybe that’s because of who said boys were.”

Harry didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. He knew most of the pureblood families her family used to associate with, and none of them were people he would ever want to spend time with.

He kept playing with her hair, curling them softly around his fingers. “You know,” he said, his tone distant as he remembered another life that now seemed so far away, “in my time, I never was comfortable around girls either.”

Surprise settled on her face at that. “Were you not?”

“No, no. To be honest, with all the things that happened, I didn’t really have time and when I did, I just never felt at ease. It was always… awkward.” He said, taking her hands in his. “But with you, it just feels like this is where I belong.”

“I feel the same, you know,” she said, looking at him with shining eyes, until a hint of nervousness took over. “Harry,” she started, “I wanted to ask you something.” Her gaze hadn’t left his, but her words were not as steady as they had been up until then.

He nodded to her, encouraging her silently. “Will you come to Hogwarts with me?” She asked quietly, and Harry understood that she dreaded going back there without him.

He hadn’t thought about it yet, but the idea of being separated from her scared him more than facing Voldemort, or her father.

Unfortunately, he instantly knew the answer to this question. Yet he didn’t dare voice it, as if affirming it would instantly take her away from him. But the more he pondered over it, the more he thought that, perhaps, there was another solution.

“I don’t think I will, Cissy…” Her gaze instantly dropped at that, and he could feel her starting trembling in his arms.

He pulled her against him and she buried her face in his neck as he hugged her close. He could feel wetness forming on his shirt and he hated himself for making her cry. He poured all the affection he had for her through the bond, enveloping her in his warm and soothing magic. “But I don’t think you need to either.”

“Wha-What do you mean?” Her voice was a low whisper, but Harry could discern a hint of hope at the idea of not being separated from him.

“Well, obviously, I’d rather you stay here with me,” he whispered, trying to lift her spirits, “first, because I believe you would be much safer here.” And while in his time – and surely this one too – Hogwarts was reputed to be one of the safest places in Magical Britain, Harry knew that wasn’t entirely true. “I could tutor you, or your uncle could hire someone to do it. And I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be separated for a long period of time,” he added while brushing her tears away. She leaned into his touch, a small smile gracing her lips as she nodded eagerly.

“I would need to ask my uncle,” and Harry hoped he wouldn’t deny her, especially if they played the ‘safety’ card, “but I like this idea. I don’t think Slytherin would be safe anymore for a Black, especially with Lucius still at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded, agreeing with her. Apart from not wanting to be separated from her, that was the main reason he didn’t want her to go back there alone. He didn’t know what Lucius was capable of at this time, but he knew what he would one day do, and he didn’t want Narcissa anywhere near him if it could be avoided.

They made their way back to the manor, and from there, to the great hall, where the Lord Black was already waiting for them, clad in luxurious dark robes. But he wasn’t alone. Orion and Bellatrix were there, too, and it seemed they would be coming with them.

“Given what happened last time, I decided it would be safer for us to all go together,” he explained, and Harry agreed with him.

Bellatrix made her way to him, smiling teasingly, “Don’t worry, Harry,” she said as she hooked her arm in his, “I will protect you!”

Narcissa shot her a deathly glare. “Move before I curse you,” she snapped, slapping her sister’s arm and taking her spot. Her anger was faked, but her jealously clearly was not.

Harry chuckled, eagerly taking Cissy’s arm in his, “I’m sorry Bellatrix, but it seems your sister doesn’t like to share.”

Bellatrix crossed her arms, tilting her chin up, giving them a faux-offended look which only served to make them all laugh.

As he looked at her, Harry still couldn’t believe how quickly he had been welcomed. He had always dreamed of having a family, and while he would have never – even in his wildest dreams – imagined that he would find it here, in the past, with the Blacks, he enjoyed every minute of it.

But Bella’s words reminded him of the reason they needed to get to Diagon Alley, and not being able to defend himself made him slightly nervous. He was eager to get a wand, and hoped nothing would happen on the way there.

Arcturus looked amused while Orion only shook his head, a small smile tugging his lips. While he had been shocked at the revelation, this man had saved his niece’s life, helped protect his sons and if Narcissa’s words were to be believed, was one of the reasons his family hadn’t joined the Dark Lord’s movement.

While he believed in the superiority of purebloods, he was not as fanatical as his wife, and, just like his father, he agreed that nothing mattered more than their own.

He was the heir of their family and after Alphard’s death, he had decided it was time he started acting like it. He had been passive, and had allowed his wife to act as she wanted. While he would miss the woman she had once been, he wouldn’t regret never seeing her again, not after what she had done.

She had forgotten herself, who she was, and where she came from. He wouldn’t do the same mistake, and it was thanks to this young man.

He didn’t have all the details, but something terrible must have happened for him to find himself in the position he had been. And although the bond to his niece could explain why he was staying with them, he suspected there was another reason.

Like not having a family of his own, or not being able to get back to it. In any case, after all he had done for them, the least he could do was welcome him.

His father’s words pulled him from his thoughts, as he gestured for them to move toward the floo.

“Remember, once in Diagon Alley, we do not linger, straight to Ollivander’s without pause,” he said, to which everyone nodded. “Good. Orion, Bellatrix, you go first, then Evans and Narcissa. I will come in last.”

They all nodded, and Orion stepped inside the floo, before he enunciated, loud and clear, “Leaky Cauldron!”

Soon, everyone went through, and they found themselves in the dusty pub that served as a gateway to Diagon Alley. It was almost empty, with only a few patrons either chatting quietly or enjoying a mid-morning snack.

Upon seeing them, Tom immediately made his way towards them, “Lord Black,” he started, slightly bowing in head in respect, “a pleasure to see you again, and your family.”

“Tom,” Arcturus nodded, before heading straight to the back room. Bellatrix and Orion followed him after a nod of their own.

Harry was staring intently at the man. It’d seemed the war had taken a heavy toll on him in his time, as he could barely reconcile this man with the one he knew. Here, he looked livelier, despite the clear lack of patrons caused by the ambient fear that had taken over the country. It seemed that going through two wars had aged him far more than he would have thought.

“Harry,” Narcissa’s soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He mumbled an apology and let her guide him through the entrance. None of them noticed the look that Tom gave him, following him until he disappeared from sight.

They quickly made their way through the almost empty streets of Diagon Alley. Harry’s gaze lingered on the shops he used to visit with his friends once a year, in what seemed to be ages ago. He felt a lump in his throat at where once had stood the Weasley’s joke store, just by Ollivander’s wand shop. He may not participate in and win the Triwizard Tournament this time, but he’d do all he could to help them fulfill their dreams.

He didn’t realize he had stopped, looking blankly in front of him, while everyone had already stepped inside, save for Narcissa who was still by his side, “Harry,” she said, her voice warm but holding a hint of concern, “are you alright?”

He shifted, looking at her, “Yes, yes. Sorry, just… memories,” he said, to which she nodded. She couldn’t even start to comprehend what he was going through.

While she had quickly accepted his tale of being from another time, she avoided thinking too hard on it, as it was bound to give her many headaches, but she knew it was hard sometimes for him.

Knowing there wasn’t much she could say at the moment, she cast a quick glance around the street to ensure they were alone before she pecked him on the cheek, earning a warm smile in return. He nodded his head in thanks, and they both stepped inside Ollivander’s.

The bell above the door chimed, echoing in the dust-filled silence of the shop. A single window let in a sliver of light, illuminating the many rows of boxes stacked from floor to ceiling.

It was exactly the same as he remembered, a change from what he had witnessed so far. But Ollivander looked way younger, his hair only showing a few streaks of gray and his face much less wrinkled.

Every face turned to the young pair as they entered, and the Wandmaker was the first to address them, “Good morning, Miss Black,” he bowed his head to Narcissa, before turning to look at Harry, “and good morning to you Mister…?”

“Evans”, he said. It was still weird to use another name than Potter, but at the same time, he was proud to somehow carry on the memory of the woman who had sacrificed her life for him. “Harry Evans, Sir. A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mister Evans,” Ollivander replied with a faint smile while gesturing toward the counter of his shop. “I believe you are the one in need of a wand?” Harry only nodded as he made his way further inside.

He felt an odd mix of nostalgia and apprehension at being here again, and for a second, he was back in his awe-filled eleven years old body. He missed his holly and phoenix-feather wand dearly, and hoped that, maybe, it would choose him again.

Ollivander didn’t utter a word, and instead observed him intently. He then waved his wand, and an enchanted tape started moving around Harry’s body, measuring his size, from head to toes, around his head, and from shoulder to fingertip. A repeat of an experience that – in Harry’s mind – belonged to another time.

After a few minutes of this treatment, to the amused looks of the two old wizards present and the discreet chuckles of the young witches, Ollivander eventually started searching through the many aisles. His fingers danced along the boxes, before he pulled a few out, bringing them to the counter.

“Let’s see…” he muttered to himself as he pulled the first wand out of its box, “Ash with unicorn hair. Seven inches, quite flexible. Here, try it.”

Harry took the offered wand, and while he instantly knew that it wouldn’t be his wand, he felt his magic surging through his veins, thrumming in happiness at finally being released.

He waved the wand around, and small sparks erupted from its tip. It was nowhere near satisfying enough, and Ollivander took it back immediately. His long fingers curled around it as he carefully put it back inside its box.

But Harry was feeling something, something he had never felt in his magic. Something foreign that didn’t belong to him.

He decided to focus more on this feeling on the next try, and as Ollivander handed him another wand, he slowly raised it. As he waved it, he could feel it again. A magic that wasn’t his.

He heard a gasp behind him, and everyone turned to face Narcissa. As his gaze fell on her, he understood that she had felt it too.

For her, it was like something was pulling on her core, using her magic without her consent. Their eyes locked, and understanding dawned on them.

They could use the other’s magic. It was extraordinary, and frightening at the same time.

Everyone was looking at them in confusion, save for Arcturus, who seemed to grasp the implications of what was happening as a calculating expression settled on his face, his mind hard at work.

Meanwhile, Ollivander was already back from the many rows of his shop, another set of boxes quickly set upon the counter and, after more dissatisfying tries, Ollivander offered him the last one he had brought. He was almost reverent, as if holding a precious relic.

“This one was made by an ancestor of mine, a long time ago,” he started, his eyes never leaving the wand he was handing Harry, “Blackthorn wood and Thestral tail hair. Ten inches, supple yet unyielding. If it deems you worthy, Mister Evans, you will never find a more faithful wand.”

As soon as Harry’s fingers curled around it, he could feel this would be the one. His magic was bubbling inside of him, eager to be released. He raised what he knew would soon be his wand and waved it around.

This time, it was not a gentle shower of sparks that erupted from it, but something akin to blackish smoke, pulsing with energy. Harry could feel it resonating deep inside of him.

His magic felt warm and heavy in the room and the many boxes slowly started shaking. Everyone took a step back at the show of power. Everyone but Narcissa, who instinctively moved forward, getting closer to him.

Harry’s head felt light as relief washed over him. After weeks of not being able to use his magic as he wanted, he finally had a wand – and a way to fulfill his promise of keeping Narcissa and her family safe.

Unconsciously, Harry had closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of his and Cissy’s magic flowing through him. He tried shutting hers out, and while he could feel it dampen, it was still present. The more he focused, though, the more he could feel something lacking… as if he was still missing a part of him.

He didn’t know where it came from. Maybe after weeks of inaction, he would need a bit of time to familiarize himself with using a wand again. As he pondered over it, his magic kept flowing from his wand. Too focused on this peculiar feeling, he didn’t notice Narcissa approaching him from behind.

She had moved purely on instinct, not knowing what had taken over her. Something was pulling her to Harry.

As she got by his side, she took his free hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and that is when they both felt it. That is when the lacking sensation disappeared from Harry.

The moment their fingers connected, a pure, luminous white smoke erupted from Harry’s wand, weaving around the black one.

Everyone’s jaw dropped at the display. Orion, mouth agape and eyes wide, was looking between his niece and Harry. Although he knew they were somehow bonded, he would have never imagined it would manifest in such a physical way, and neither did the two of them given their own shocked expression.

“Father,” he murmured, “what is that?”

Arcturus, while amazed at what was happening, had a knowing look on his face, because he had already seen it once. During the ritual. The exact same white and black smokes, dancing around each other in perfect harmony. The magic felt the same, too. Warm. Powerful. Able to face anything in its path.

“I’m not sure, son,” the Lord Black replied quietly.

Harry and Narcissa lost themselves in their world, staring intently in front of them. Harry had lowered his wand and the smokes were slowly fading, but they could still feel their magic mingling within them.

They turned, facing each other, a small smile tugging their lips, as they realized what this bond could allow them to achieve. Harry had never felt his magic so strongly and he supposed it was the same for Cissy. It seemed they would need to train even harder than he had thought if this was the kind of things they could do.

At first, they had thought the bond allowed them to know each other’s feelings and location. Then, they had started feeling the other’s magic from within, as if it were a part of them. But this was much more than that.

This was something that would make them more powerful while together. Would they always need to physically touch each other? Would it have unforeseen consequences, or a price to pay? They didn’t know. So, although it seemed incredible, they would have to be cautious.

Bellatrix had watched the whole scene, silently standing in the back. She was shocked, of course, but more than that, she was incredibly excited at the prospect of studying such a magical phenomenon. This was unlike anything she had ever heard of and she was impatient to hear their thoughts on it. She hoped they would actually talk to her about this. It felt so powerful, so much more than any magic she had ever felt.

She had only met Voldemort a couple of times, and even though she had been overwhelmed at first, this was nothing in comparison to what her sister and Harry seemed to be capable of.

This wizard, bonded to her sister, would be invaluable in the war, of that there was no doubt. But soon, realization dawned upon her that it would likely involve her sister. She might need to take more risks than Bellatrix would be comfortable with.

She would talk to them both later – now was not the time. She focused back on them as the smokes disappeared, but they were still engrossed with each other.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat, which had absolutely no effect. “Could the two lovebirds come back to us, please?” She tried teasingly. Orion and Ollivander chuckled at that, but Arcturus shot his niece a cold glare. He would have smiled had they not been in public, but he had a reputation to keep. Unfortunately, the time where he could make her obey with a simple glare was long gone, and she only looked at him, defiance written all over her features.

It finally brought the young couple back on Earth. A sheepish smile on their faces, they turned to them, and the magical yet heavy atmosphere faded away.

“Err-” her sister started, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, “Sorry, we got a bit… distracted.”

Laughs answered her; from Bella and Orion, while Ollivander was shining with excitement, apparently delighted at what he had just witnessed.

Arcturus paid for the wand, and Harry didn’t even try to protest this time. The Lord Black also bought several wand holsters. He kept one for himself and distributed the rest to each of them, stating that given the times they were living in, it was better if they could quickly get their wand in hand – to which the Wandmaker fervently nodded.

They eventually all stepped out from the shop, eyes squinting at the sudden brightness brought by the sun, and quickly made their way toward Gringotts. Although their destination was close, everyone was on guard with their wands in hand.

It seemed that, this time, it had been unwarranted, as no Death Eaters appeared from narrow alleys. They all quietly climbed the stairs leading to the Wizarding Bank and, once inside, a goblin immediately walked up to them, gesturing for them to follow him as he led them straight to a private office – the perks of being the Lord of the most powerful house in the country, and one of the wealthiest clients of the bank.

Narcissa, Harry and Bellatrix were a few feet behind Arcturus and Orion, whispering among themselves.

They eventually stepped inside a richly decorated office, where a high-ranking goblin was already waiting for them. He wore the usual Gringotts’ uniform and was perched above some parchments that looked more important than greeting them. They all waited quietly for him to finish and, as he raised his head from his desk, he quickly greeted the Lord Black and Orion. He then snapped his fingers, conjuring more chairs for everyone.

Once everyone was seated, Arcturus and Orion started on private matters of the House of Black. Harry thought that, maybe, he shouldn’t have been there for this, yet no one seemed to care about his presence.

The young ones chatted quietly, leaving their elders to deal with what were – in their opinions – boring formalities. They soon switched to the opening of Harry’s vault, which the Lord Black filled with a decent amount of gold. Harry tried refusing again, but only received a sharp glare from Arcturus, silencing his protests.

After that, they all made their way to one of the finest restaurants of Diagon Alley to have a quick lunch. A time Bellatrix enjoyed very much, despite the glares sent her way by Arcturus. He didn’t much appreciate her playful behavior – he didn’t mind per se, it was more the public setting in which it was taking place that bothered him.

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t stop her at all, as she kept bantering with Harry and her sister. She had wasted too much time that she could have not been able to get back and she wouldn’t do that mistake again.

She didn’t care about what others could think of her. She would enjoy her time with her sister to the fullest.

(Break)

Harry was making his way toward Arcturus’ study, alone.

As soon as they had come back from Diagon Alley, he had been summoned. He knew what this would be about, and had been surprised that he had been allowed a couple of days before what would certainly be a grave conversation.

Yet he also knew that this could not be delayed any further.

They had enjoyed a reprieve from Voldemort, but Harry knew him – perhaps better than anyone – and this could only mean something big was about to happen.

They needed to be ready, and he needed to share his knowledge with the powerful lord Black. With the resources at his disposal, plans could be formed, and the Horcruxes could be searched.

He eventually reached the heavy wooden door of the Lord Black’s study, which he pushed open after he was granted entrance.

Arcturus was already seated behind his desk and, as he gestured toward a chair, Harry took his seat.

“Potter,” he greeted him. “Let us cut to the chase, shall we?”

“Fine by me, sir.” And it was. Harry knew there was no point in beating around the bush.

The sooner it’d be done, the sooner they could act.

“Good. Now, you will tell me everything I want to know. If I have the slightest doubt about your trustfulness, I will dose you with Veritaserum until you spill all your deepest secrets, understood?” Here was the other facet Harry knew him. Not Narcissa’s uncle who would chuckle as he tried to embarrassed them, but the Lord of the most powerful house in the country, who would do anything to protect his kin.

“I will only tell you about Lord Voldemort,” Harry rebuked. He might be in his debt, it did not mean he would bend to each of his desires. That had never been him, and although his temperament had somewhat been tamed, he was still a Potter, and would not be cowed. “You already know more than I would have told you thanks to your little spying. That’s the deal, sir.”

Arcturus’ eyes locked in his, but Harry wouldn’t lower his gaze. It went on for almost a full minute, before Arcturus nodded, a sigh escaping his lips. “Very well. Speak then,” he said as he flicked his wand, summoning a quill and piece of parchment that would record everything he would say.

“Voldemort is not just dangerous. He’s not just a skilled wizard. He’s… I don’t even know if there’s a word that could describe him properly,” he began. “He doesn’t care about people. His followers are just a way for him to reach power. He does not care if they die or get captured. He does not care about anyone but himself. He does not only hate the muggles, I believe he hates everyone.”

Arcturus nodded in agreement. He had already suspected the kind of man he was, and was glad to see he had been right.

“In my time, he bribed, put his followers in high positions, captured and killed those who defied him, eradicating entire houses, no matter their blood. Among them were the Bones, the McKinnon, the Prewett, and… even some members of your house, sir.”

He paused, taking a sip of the glass Arcturus had conjured, giving him time to absorb his words.

A flicker of sadness settled over his features. Of course, he had prevented his family to take part in this madness for this exact reason, yet he couldn’t stop from feeling sorrow that, in another time, his kin would have happily joined a madman, only to end up dead for it.

“By the time he was defeated, he had infiltrated most of the Ministry,” he continued, before he breathed deeply, “and I was the one to end him, in nineteen eighty-one.”

Arcturus’ eyebrows rose at that, thinking his words a jest. And Harry did not blame him.

But it was the truth and, as Harry started explaining the events of this dreaded night, Arcturus could feel the honesty in his voice, and see it in his eyes. However unbelievable it sounded, it was the truth.

Harry told him how the first war ended, and how their world knew peace for fourteen years, until Lord Voldemort was brought back to life.

“Came back to life?” As the words escaped him, Arcturus thought back to his first meeting with Albus.

‘His obsession lay more with the concept of… immortality,’ he had told him. And it seemed he had succeeded.

“Voldemort he… he is a cruel, disgusting man, who dabbed in the worst magics known to wizardkind,” he started, “how familiar are you with ‘Horcruxes’?”

If the Lord Black’s reaction was any indication, then he at least knew what Horcruxes were. Disgust, anger, and a hint of nervousness were visible on his features, his fists clenched tightly.

“He made a Horcrux?”

“He made seven, Sir,” Harry corrected him. Arcturus’ face paled at the implication. Intentionally shattering one’s soul once was already considered an abomination, but seven times? Had he not been so disgusted, he might have been impressed that he had survived his soul being torn apart.

Albus had been right. This man was obsessed with the idea of cheating death.

Harry then explained to him what they were, and where he thought they could be.

Of course, Slytherin’s locket was not in the cave just yet, and the diary could not yet be in Lucius’ possession, unless his father had been the initial recipient. The cup might already be in the Lestrange’s possession, same with the diadem in the Room of Requirements.

Unfortunately, he did not know if Nagini was a Horcrux at this time, neither did he know if the ring was already in the Gaunt’s shack, though he heavily suspected it was.

The more he talked, the more Harry realized that, despite his knowledge and the resources he might have at his disposable, the Horcruxes might well be much harder to find this time around.

Throughout it all, Arcturus only nodded once or twice, keeping silent until Harry finished. But one could see he had already made the connections Harry was about to lay before him.

“There you have it. Voldemort’s most hidden secret. If we don’t get rid of his Horcruxes, we cannot kill him. Though to be honest, I do not fancy going on a hunt a second time.”

“A second time?” Arcturus asked, “You seemed to be awfully involved in this, Potter. Care to-?”

He paused mid-sentence as the clock chimed, surprising the two wizards who had been so engrossed in their conversation, time flying by without either of them noticing.

Arcturus’ eyes narrowed, before he muttered something under his breath that Harry could not catch. “I will have to cut this short, Potter, and I believe our next meeting shall be held with at least my son and Bellatrix, who will both be deeply involved in the coming conflict. In the meantime, you are allowed to do as you see fit, but do not take any risk with my niece, is that understood?”

Harry nodded quietly, yet inside he was amused. It seemed words were not enough for the lord Black when it concerned his family, and he would have to prove time and again that he would never endanger Narcissa.

He stood, making his way toward the door, before he shifted toward Arcturus. “Am I allowed to leave the manor?” he asked. He didn’t really have any plan for now, yet wanted to know where he stood.

“Of course, Potter, you are not a prisoner. But as I said, no risk must come to my niece, nor should you… dishonor her publicly.” He then gestured toward the door, dismissing him from his study, and Harry finally took his leave, his mind hard at work, forming plans, ideas, and solutions to each and every problem they would soon be facing.

They were only a few things that mattered, outside of the Black household: find the Horcruxes, then deal with the Death Eaters and Voldemort, while protecting the innocents that would undoubtedly suffer from all of this madness.

His mind elsewhere, he let his feet guide him to where he knew she currently was, eager to spend some time alone with her.

(Break)

Arcturus Black was making his way through the narrow streets of Knockturn Alley, a dark hood covering his face. He was meeting someone. Someone very special, who had been tasked with something of great importance, yet his mind was still filled with thoughts about his previous conversation with Potter. In the beginning, he had thought he could stay neutral.

Alphard’s death had shattered this possibility, yet he still did not want to be too aggressive against the Dark Lord, lest it brought more destruction to his own blood.

But now, now he knew what needed to be done.

The simple and efficient eradication of this lord, and all of his followers. He would not – could not – allow such an abomination to keep breathing and endanger his loved ones. He would throw the full might of the Blacks at him.

With Dumbledore, those following him, and Harry and Narcissa’s still unknown capabilities, he hoped that would be enough to end this farce before it truly began and tore their world apart.

He eventually reached his destination. The wooden door of the old pub looked battered and ready to fall off its hinges. He pushed it open quietly, and as soon as he stepped inside he made his way toward the barman.

He handed him a single coin – not a galleon, sickle or nut, no, these were coins only very specific people had access to. The barman pocketed it without a word and nodded toward the backdoor, which, Arcturus knew, led to private meeting rooms.

Arcturus left the barman to his own devices, and made his way behind the counter. None of the patrons inside the bar seemed to care about him, which suited him just fine.

As he reached the door, he could already feel the privacy charms the wizard inside had erected. They were strong, a credit to his capacities as a wizard, not that he had hired him for his skills in charms.

He stepped inside, and immediately found himself facing the tip of a wand. But he wouldn’t have been the Lord of House Black for long if it were enough to perturb him. So, instead of reaching for his own wand, he simply lifted his hood, and it was enough for the wizard to lower his arm.

“Lord Black,” he nodded sharply. He gestured to the armchairs, two glasses already filled with a brown liquor waiting for them, “apologies for my lack of manners, but one can never be too sure.”

Arcturus knew that all too well. Actually, his esteem for the wizard might have dropped a bit, had he not acted that way. “No need for apologies,” he shrugged with a wave of his hand as both wizards took their seats.

The man in front of him was clad in black, from head to toes. His face was hidden behind a hood, a spell blurring anything that could pass by. Arcturus had never seen his face, nor did he know his name.

He only knew of his many talents, his voice, and how to contact him, and that was enough for him.

Once seated, he took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. He watched carefully at the man in front of him, trying to discern something beyond his hood and hiding charms – more out of curiosity than anything – waiting for him to speak up.

He did, after taking a sip of his own drink. “We have them both, sir.” He reached out in his pocket and handed the Lord Black a photograph. On it were two men, blindfolded and chained to a wall. They had been beaten up, their faces carrying deep cuts and bruises. “My men will watch over them for the next week, as agreed.”

Arcturus nodded and flicked his wand, summoning a sack of gold. He checked it and then tossed it to the man. “Ten thousand galleons. Ten more when I’m done with them.”

The man didn’t even check the sum, pocketing it immediately, before he nodded to the Lord Black. “Always a pleasure dealing with you, Lord Black.” He stood, finishing his drink in one gulp. “Give the rest to my men when you’re done.” And he left, leaving Arcturus to his own thoughts as he kept glaring at the photography in front of him.

He had vowed to avenge Alphard, and it was now within his reach. He would make them suffer, slowly, and they would serve as an example to what happens when someone dares to attack the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Soon, they would all remember why his house had stood atop their society for centuries.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 – The Price to Pay

Lord Black was making his way toward an old Muggle warehouse. It was located on the outskirts of East London, in the Silvertown District, just by the banks of the Thames. It was a rundown, dodgy area, not a place one would come voluntarily.

But Arcturus didn’t care. He wasn’t scared of petty Muggle offenders, and could deal with them in a second if needed. His wand rested in its holster, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. But he never needed it, as the streets remained empty until he reached the warehouse he was looking for.

He knocked three times on the rusty door, and after a few seconds, it opened, seemingly on its own. His face wasn’t hidden this time, and he was immediately recognized by the men inside.

“Lord Black,” one grumbled roughly, bowing his head, “we were waiting for you.” He then gestured for him to follow.

As they reached their destination, he lifted his hood up. He didn’t want the two men inside to recognize him just yet.

The man was about to enter when Arcturus stopped him. “It won’t be necessary,” he stated, his tone low but steady, “stay here, I will… take care of them.”

The man stopped and simply stood guard on the side. “Call if you need anything, Lord Black.”

Arcturus nodded and pushed the heavy metal door open. As soon as he stepped inside, the stench hit him. The thick, metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils, but he could also discern the fetid reek of human wastes. The smell took him by surprise and for a brief instant, his well-trained composure faltered.

It lasted only a moment, until he drew his wand and cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself. Immediately, the stench receded. Focusing on the scene in front of him, he could hear a faint buzzing of flies echoing somewhere in the shadows. It was the only sound in the room, as the two men had long lost consciousness, something Arcturus decided to rectify immediately.

He approached the two men quickly, his wand already pointed at the first. Travers, he recognized as he got by his side. He cast a quick Rennervate on him, leaving him to stir awake as he moved to the other one. Nott.

He also removed their chains as they would only hinder him. They had been stripped of every wand and Portkeys they carried, and Arcturus knew these men. They might be strong in the political arena, but were weak with own magic and would never be a threat without their wands.

As soon as their eyes opened, they started shouting. Or they would have, if they hadn’t been previously silenced. But Arcturus wanted to hear them, so, with a quick flick of his wand, he cast a Finite Incantatem on both, and soon, the room filled with their loud howls. It was music to his ears, and he hadn’t even begun.

“Who are you?!” It was Travers. It seemed that, even in his condition, he hadn’t lost his usual arrogance. “Do you have any idea what you have done?!”

“Yes, I believe I do,” Arcturus replied as he lowered his hood. They recognized him immediately, and soon, understanding dawned on them. They knew who he was and why they were here. “I know exactly who you are and what you have done, Travers.”

“L-Lord Black I-” but Arcturus didn’t let him finish as he closed the distance between them and punched him straight in the nose with all his strength. It broke under the impact and blood erupted from it.

“Aargh-” Travers clutched his shattered nose, blood streaming between his fingers, his cries echoing in the dank warehouse. Arcturus stood over him, his face a mask of controlled fury, wand steady in his grip.

Nott tried to make himself scarce, crawling further back in the room. His whole being filled with terror as he realized the gravity of their situation, and what was likely to be waiting for them very soon.

“You thought I wouldn’t come for you?” Arcturus growled with venom that thickened the air. “My nephew’s blood is on your hands, and today is the day you pay your debt to the House of Black.”

He watched the two men in front of him. One defiant and arrogant, the other scared and crawling. Two pathetic vermin that had long outlived their usefulness to society.

Travers spat blood onto the floor. “You’re no better than us, Black! You think this makes you righteous? You’re just a filthy blood-trai-”

Arcturus’ wand slashed through the air, and a jet of red light struck Travers’ chest. A scream tore from his throat as his body convulsed, the Cruciatus curse igniting every nerve with unbearable agony. His limbs jerked violently, his eyes rolling back in his head. Arcturus held the curse for a moment, watching Travers writhing in pain, until he released it. Travers slumped forward, gasping, his body trembling uncontrollably.

Nott whimpered, his voice cracking. “Please, Lord Black, I-I didn’t know what they were planning! I swear, I-”

But Arcturus didn’t let him finish as he cast a cutting curse, reveling in the cries of the pathetic man in front of him. His body thrashed as blood gushed from his chest, soaking his tattered robes and pooling beneath him. The cut wouldn’t kill him immediately, but that wasn’t his intention.

His vengeance would feel… lacking, were they to be offered the quick release of death.

“Tell me, Nott,” he said quietly as he leaned down, a palpable fury visible in his gaze, “was it worth it? Was joining this dark…” He stopped himself as he noticed something, on the left forearm of the Lord.

Carefully, he fully lifted his sleeve, and there, a mark he had already seen once was etched on his skin. A skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.

He’s branding them, Arcturus thought, and he would have branded mine.

Nott, still bleeding profusely, regained a moment of consciousness as he realized what the Lord Black had discovered. He quickly tried to pull his sleeve down, but it was too late. Arcturus had seen it and he could feel it wasn’t a simple tattoo. It felt magical and was eerily similar to the one seen in the sky, in this Muggle village.

He quickly moved to the shaking form of Travers and lifted his sleeve. There, too, a black tattoo had been burned on his forearm. Storing this information for later, he went back to the reason he had come there in the first place: avenging Alphard.

He turned to Nott, who shook his head frantically as he saw him coming, tears mixing with the blood on his face. “No, no, please, I-”

Arcturus backhanded him, the force snapping Nott’s head to the side. Blood sprayed from his mouth, “I don’t want to hear your words, Nott,” Arcturus snarled, “only your screams.” He raised his wand again, this time casting a spell that made Nott’s fingers twist and snap, one by one, the bones cracking audibly.

Travers, still panting from the Cruciatus, slurred through his bleeding lips, “You’ll… pay for this, Black. The others… they’ll come for you…”

“Let them come”, Arcturus stated challengingly before he pointed his wand at Travers’ right arm and muttered, “Diffindo.” A precise cut severed the tendons at Travers’ elbow, and his arm went limp, dangling uselessly as he screamed. Blood spurted, soaking his robes, and Arcturus watched impassively as Travers thrashed, his arrogance finally broken. Barely conscious, he mumbled incoherently, his head lolling to the side.

The air grew thicker with the stench of blood and fear, the buzzing of flies louder now, drawn to the carnage. Arcturus paced slowly between the two men, his wand twirling idly in his hand. “You took something precious from me,” he pointed out, his tone almost conversational, though the rage beneath it was palpable. “Now, you will die, knowing that I will take everything from you.”

He pointed his wand at Nott’s legs and cast another spell, this one causing the bones in his shins to splinter inward. Nott’s screams were guttural, his body convulsing as shards of bone tore through muscle and skin, blood seeping through the fabric of his trousers.

Arcturus stepped back, surveying his work. Both men were broken, their bodies ravaged, their spirits crushed. Blood pooled beneath them, mingling with the dirt and grime of the warehouse floor. The buzzing of flies was now a constant drone, a fitting accompaniment to the scene of retribution.

His work done for now, he didn’t bother to chain them back to the wall or silence them. Without looking back, he stepped out of the room, leaving Travers and Nott to their agony, their screams a fading echo to his delighted ears.

He took a deep breath, his mind going to his nephew. This wouldn’t bring him back, of course, but any member of the House of Black deserved a lord that would avenge them. And this was just the beginning. He had vowed to take everything from them, and that is what he would do.

As he came back inside the warehouse entrance, he walked up to the men waiting for him. He flicked his wand, summoning a sack of galleons. “Ten-thousand more, as agreed. You remember what to do now?”

The man inclined his head, pocketing the gold. “Of course, Lord Black. Once they die, we wait for the opportune moment before we drop them off in Diagon and… deliver the message.”

He then reached inside his pocket, and handed a piece of parchment to Arcturus. “Here is what we got from interrogating them both. I believe this will be… enlightening.”

Arcturus only nodded to the man, pocketing the parchment. He left the Muggle warehouse, walking back the way he came to the empty street from where he could apparate back to his home. He was already thinking about the hot shower he would take to rid himself of the rank smell that seemed to be clinging to him, even now, in the fresh air of the docks. He had cast a quick Scourgify on himself, but the stench was still present in his nostrils. Or perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him.

As soon as he reached the deserted street, he drew his wand, and with a small, satisfied smile on his lips, he popped away.

(Break)

Once Arcturus was properly cleaned and changed, he made his way down the Great Hall, eager for some relaxing time in his favorite armchair with a glass of firewhisky in one hand.

As he stepped inside, he noticed his son, Orion, was already doing exactly that. He joined him, sinking into an armchair by his side with practiced nonchalance.

“Father,” Orion greeted him, his gaze lifting from the Prophet edition of the day, “where have you been? Bella was looking for you earlier.”

Arcturus poured himself a glass, taking a slow sip, enjoying the burning sensation before he answered his son. “Orion,” he started, his voice calm and steady, as if what he had just another part of a casual day, “what I am about to tell you will not leave this room, and I will only tell you about it because I will need your help soon.”

Orion’s back straightened, and he cast several privacy charms around them. It shouldn’t be needed given that they were the only ones present on this floor, but one could never be too sure.

“Of course, Father,” he said, his relaxed posture shifting instantly to one of deep concentration, his gaze sharpening, “you know I would do anything for the family.”

“I know, Son.” He reached inside his pocket, grabbing a photograph that he handed to Orion, the one his contact had given him.

Orion took it and while he instantly recognized the two men, he didn’t understand why they were chained to a wall, nor why his father would have this picture of them.

Until he uttered a word. A single name. “Alphard”, he had murmured quietly, his tone heavy with emotion at the mention of their lost kin. “These are the lords of the men responsible for his death.”

And Orion understood. Although his father had never voiced his plans, he knew he would never let it go unpunished.

“They will soon be done for,” he affirmed with no hint of triumph at what he had done, “but we need to deal with their families.”

“What do you need me to do, Father?” Orion asked, not perturbed in the least at what he had done. They were Blacks, after all, and dealing vengeance in the bloodiest way was a part of their history.

Arcturus had thought long and hard about it, and he knew exactly how to destroy them, both financially and socially. “You will reach out to our friends in the Prophet. I want them to publish articles, nothing major at first, just a few hints at shady deals orchestrated by pureblood families. In time, they’ll move on and target them specifically. I will even provide the proofs.”

Orion nodded, already planning how he would convince his contacts in the Prophet. Bribes should be enough, and if they proved to be difficult, then the threat of finding themselves under the wrath of the Black Family would do the trick.

“I will ask Bulstrode, he never liked Nott, and always loved a good sack of gold, it should be easy enough to convince him,” Orion muttered, more to himself than to his father.

“See that you do.” Arcturus then grabbed a piece of parchment from his pocket, handing it to Orion. “These are all the debts owed to us by these families. Once their reputations start taking a hit, you will call them all in full. If they don’t want to pay, we’ll involve the goblins who will seize their vaults. Either way, it should deal a heavy blow to their coffers.”

Again, Orion only nodded, silently taking and pocketing the piece of parchment. After that, they both leaned back in their armchairs, enjoying their drinks, the atmosphere more relaxed now.

Suddenly, they heard a heavy boom that shook the walls as a powerful wave of magic surged through the entire manor.

Arcturus stood, wand already drawn. “Kreacher!” he called loudly.

A second and a low pop later, the loyal house-elf was bowing to his master. “Master has called for Kreacher?”

“Do you know what just happened? It felt like an attack yet the wards are intact.” And indeed, the wards hadn’t bulged, which meant it had to come from inside the manor.

“Kreacher believes Mistress Bellatrix, Mistress Narcissa and Sir Evans are responsible, Master,” he informed them, not perturbed in the slightest, “they are in the basement.”

Arcturus thanked him and started making his way toward the basement, Orion following behind.

He was walking quickly, eager to know what these damn children had done to his manor. He had holstered his wand, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t draw it again to curse them if they had destroyed anything.

Earlier

After taking their breakfast with Bellatrix, Harry and Narcissa were left alone as she decided to lock herself in her room, reading books provided by her uncle.

The young pair decided to spend some time alone. They went to a private sitting room that was barely used, and where they wouldn’t be disturbed. On the way, their fingers instinctively intertwining together.

The room was like a cozy refuge, with a fire already crackling in the stone hearth – it was not strictly needed, but still welcome. Comfortable looking armchairs were sprawled in circle around it, and the old furniture looked like it could use a Reparo or two. The large, curtained windows filtered the light, bathing the room in a quiet intimacy that suited Harry and Narcissa just fine.

They made their way towards the armchairs, and settled in a comfortable silence as they watched the flames dancing in front of them.

Harry was the one to break it, broaching a subject that had played in his mind for a few days. “Cissy I…” he started, but Narcissa could feel his nervousness as he struggled to find his words. “I know you said you liked me but I thought that… I thought that, perhaps it was the bond talking and-and I don’t want you to feel forced in any way…”

His usual confidence slipped, revealing a vulnerability Narcissa had rarely seen – one she found irresistible.

But she understood what he meant, because she had felt it too. How could she not when it had become a part of her? But she also understood something that it seemed Harry hadn’t.

“Harry,” she murmured tenderly as she squeezed his hand in comfort, “I believe you are thinking about it the wrong way.”

He turned his head from the fireplace, looking at her. “What do you mean?” he asked, confusion lacing his words.

She stood, then sat back on his lap, her hands cupping his cheeks. “This bond, it is a part of us now. It doesn’t feel like some parasite trying to control us, does it?”

Harry just shook his head, not sure where she was going with it. “I like you, and you like me, right?” He nodded fervently, making her giggle.

“It’s not about why we like each other, just about how we feel,” she continued, her gaze firmly fixed on his, “and I… I feel like I’m finally myself. Before you came, it was like I was trapped in a cage, and you helped me find the key.” She traced the line of his jaw with her thumb, not looking away from him. “Perhaps it would have been the same without the bond, perhaps not. The thing is, we will never know, and it will always be there. Why doubt it, when we could just embrace it and try to make the most of this new chance at life we both have been given?”

Harry’s eyes were locked on hers. Her words resonated deep inside of him, silencing the doubting voice within. He marveled at how quickly she had managed to reassure him. More than ever, it felt like this was the place where he belonged.

It felt so good that he was scared she would one day wake up and resent him for forcing her hand, although the bond displayed her own ease and comfort quite clearly in his mind.

A new determination settled inside of him at Cissy’s words. He had already vowed to protect her, to always be at her side. But now, he vowed to do everything he could to prove he was worthy of her.

He pulled her tightly against him, pressing a kiss against her hair, as he whispered in her ear, “Thank you, Cissy.” She smiled, a sweet, warm smile, as she nestled against him.

The minutes drifted by as they lounged together in silence. Narcissa had closed her eyes as Harry slowly stroked her hair, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips.

She snuggled closer, pressing as much as she could as if looking to blend her body into his. His hand in her hair, the other on her back, his breath against her ear or the beating sound of his heart underneath his shirt, it was spreading a warmth through her, a warmth that, she knew, had nothing to do with the bond.

Now used to it, she could clearly tell what was coming from the bond, from him, or from herself.

And this, this was coming from the deepest part of her being. She didn’t dare put it into words.

She was scared that voicing it would risk what they had, and for now, she was content, just like that.

It would come, and what happened would happen, but for now, they didn’t need any more words.

She pushed lightly on his chest. She stared at his face for a few seconds, before she started leaning closer. Their breaths mingled together, and she felt his strong arms wrapping around her, slowly pulling her to him.

Her belly was warm, her hands trembling as she pulled on the collar of his shirt, her body thrumming with anticipation for what was about to come.

Or so she thought, as suddenly, the door burst open, startling them. They heard a voice coming from the entrance, filled with a frustration that mirrored the one the young pair was feeling. “Finally!” It was Bellatrix, and she didn’t sound happy. “Do you know how long I’ve looked for you? But no, of course you had to go in the most remote room of the manor!”

Narcissa pushed herself up from her resting place, looking over the armchair at her fuming sister. “You know you could have asked an elf?” she informed her, amused, though her voice held a hint of annoyance at being disturbed.

Realization dawned on Bellatrix at that, and she cursed herself for not thinking about it. “Merlin, what an idiot,” she mumbled as she slumped into the armchair Narcissa had vacated earlier. “I was sure I would quickly find you and I didn’t even think about it.”

They both chuckled as they properly sat, Narcissa not leaving Harry’s lap. “Well, tell me, dear sister, what made you seek us out?”

Bellatrix’s gaze eventually settled on them, and in the position they were in. She snickered as she looked at Harry, “Careful, Evans. If my father were to see you treat his daughter like this… I will not always be there to save you.”

They both blushed but didn’t pull back from each other. Instead, Harry pulled Narcissa closer to him, raising a single eyebrow in challenge – a confidence and insolence Narcissa supposed he would have never shown if her father, or uncle, had been present.

“Anyway,” Bellatrix shrugged, waving her hand dismissively, “teasing you, while enjoyable, is not the reason I came here.”

She leaned forward, clasping her hands. “I was going to the basement when I thought that you may want to train with me,” she said, her voice losing its teasing tone, “I suppose you’re a bit off, Harry, after so long without using a wand. And I admit, I am curious about what you both did in Ollivander’s shop.”

Narcissa and Harry looked at each other, as if a silent conversation was taking place – which wasn’t so far off the mark, even though no words were exchanged, neither loudly nor in their minds.

They both knew they would have to explore these new abilities they seemed to have. Harry was curious – excited, even – since he had never heard about anything even remotely close to what they had done. They needed to know as much as possible.

Narcissa was of the same mind and she slowly nodded to him, before turning to her sister. “You’re right, I’m curious too. And training will be good anyway,” she agreed as she stood from Harry’s lap, straightening her wrinkled robes. Harry followed suit, and they quickly left the cozy sitting room.

Narcissa and Bellatrix walked side by side as they all made their way down to the basement, Harry a few feet behind them.

The two sisters were chatting animatedly, eager to discover this new kind of magic, while Harry’s thoughts were straying to the blond witch in front him, his gaze fixed on her back.

In his time, he never really had time to think about girls, and when he did, it was simply awkward. But here, this… thing he had with Narcissa, it felt more natural than flying on a broom. He had feared she would come to regret it – and she still might – but she was also right.

This bond was a part of them now, and there was no reason to doubt it. They liked each other, they were at ease with each other, and that was the only thing that should matter.

In his case, he was sure that, even without the bond, his feelings would have been the same. She was smart, caring, passionate and, of course, beautiful. He would have fallen for her as he was falling now, with or without the bond, and he would cherish her as much as she allowed him to.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Narcissa calling his name. “Harry?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” He shook his head as he refocused on the present.

They eventually reached the basement and, once inside, Bellatrix immediately made her way toward the back of the room, where she activated the protective wards. She had said it was better to be careful since they didn’t really know what they would be capable of – something Harry and Narcissa agreed with.

She then gestured to where training dummies were lined along a wall. “I reckon you might want to try casting a few spells first.”

And she was right. He hadn’t cast a single spell in weeks – the shields he had somehow managed to cast to protect Narcissa didn’t really count as it was purely instinctual and without a wand. He was eager to try and he could feel his magic bubbling inside him.

He drew his wand and took a few steps forward, determination creasing his brow.

His first Reducto was feeble, only chipping the dummy’s shoulder. He tried again, and although it was better, it was still far from what he knew he was capable.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he focused on the source of his magic, trying to feel its flow. It was there, he could feel it perfectly, but it was… lacking. Again.

Bellatrix, leaning against a stone wall with her arms crossed, was watching him with a smirk, “Having trouble, Evans?” she asked teasingly, “I would have thought such a great wizard as you would have a bit more power than that.”

Harry knew she was only teasing and her words didn’t affect him at all, but Narcissa still took it personally, and shot her sister a nasty glare. She took a step closer to Harry, with a tender yet worried look.

“I know you can do it, Harry.” She smiled warmly at him and Harry thought he could lose himself in her smile if he stared too long.

But the hint of nervousness he had heard seemed to stir a fierce protectiveness inside of him. How am I supposed to keep my promise if I can’t even cast simple spells? he thought

He took a deep breath, lifting his wand again. His magic surged through his veins yet it was not the only one, as Harry felt Cissy’s magic mingle with his. He cast a swift Reducto on the same dummy, but this time, he blasted it to pieces.

A triumphant smile graced his lips. He had never cast a Reducto so powerful before.

Bellatrix whistled, impressed, while Narcissa clapped cheerfully as she closed the distance to Harry and hugged firmly from behind. “I knew you could do it,” she started as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Just needed a bit of encouragement, that’s all.”

Harry shifted, facing her, and whispered softly in her ear, “Thank you, Cissy.”

“Not bad, Evans,” Bellatrix praised, “you might not be as rusty as I thought.”

“Did I impress you, Black?” Harry asked, grinning.

“Did you feel it?” Narcissa asked, still pressed to his side, as they made their way back to her sister. He inclined his head slightly, still thinking about the sensations that had passed through him. It had felt odd, but not unpleasant.

“Feel what?” Bellatrix had perked up at that. “Tell me, I want to know!”

They looked at each other, not sure if they wanted to share everything – and enjoying the impatient look on Bellatrix’s face, who was almost bouncing on her feet. She seemed even more eager than them to discover all the intricacies of their bond.

Frustration took over her features as they took their time, until Narcissa, a small smile gracing her lips, answered her. “When he cast his last spell,” she started, “I felt… I felt a pull on my magic, as if I was casting it.”

“And I never cast a Reducto so powerful before,” Harry added, staring at his wand.

Bellatrix started pacing in front of them, “So your… bond allows you to tap into the other’s magic, amplifying your spells?” She asked, disbelief lacing her words. She didn’t doubt them – not really – but it was hard to comprehend.

She had read many treaties on magical theories during her time at Hogwarts, and even more since she had finished her education, and not once something like this had ever been mentioned.

“You should try, Cissy.” She gestured toward the dummies, and Harry nodded in agreement.

Narcissa drew her wand and took a few steps forward, focusing on the flow of magic within her. After a few seconds, she began feeling it. Her usually calm magic surged rapidly, and she could feel another one pulsing alongside hers.

Harry was standing just a few feet behind her and as she raised her wand, he felt a pull on his core. It strengthened as she cast an Incendio at the dummies.

Instead of the moderate flames they were expecting, a wave of fire erupted from her wand, incredibly fast. It quickly engulfed all the practice dummies, reducing them to ashes.

Bellatrix’s eyes widened as she started at the receding flames. She definitely had not been expecting something so powerful.

Harry noticed Narcissa had gone down on one knee and was breathing heavily.

“Cissy!” he gasped as he quickly stepped toward her. He bent down, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yes,” she stammered, “Yes. I may have forced it a bit too much. It took me by surprise, is all.”

Harry took her hand, helping her to her feet. “Maybe we should stop here. We have time to train and we don’t want to overdo it.”

Bellatrix agreed silently, still awed at what her sister had just achieved, but Narcissa shook her head. “Wait”, she said, pulling on his hand as he started making his way toward the door, “I’d like to try one last thing.”

He looked at her, a silent question in his gaze She simply nodded, and they came back to the dummies, now fully restored.

“I want you to cast a spell while I hold your hand, to see what happens.” They all remembered quite clearly what had happened in Ollivander’s shop, although none fully understood it.

She laced her fingers with his as he drew his wand. He closed his eyes and his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on his magical core. Narcissa’s magic started flowing through his, much quicker than before. They mingled, and soon, Harry couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

It was as if their magic had become one inside of him. Narcissa gasped beside him. Had she felt it too?

He breathed deeply as he opened his eyes, and cast a Confringo at the dummies. He had tried to cast a mildly powerful spell, but he soon lost control and a visible wave of pure, blinding magic erupted from them. A roar filled the air, deafening everyone.

Their magic destroyed everything in its path – the protective wards around the basement unable to contain it. Harry and Narcissa were sent flying, landing hard on the floor a few feet away, breathless and dazed. Bellatrix was sent crashing against a wall, fortunately charmed to soften the blow. She slowly stood and stared at them with shock in her eyes, her mind struggling to register what they had just done, albeit unintentionally.

The room was silent for a moment, except for the ringing in their ears. Harry and Narcissa slowly stood, their breathing ragged as they bent over, feeling utterly spent.

Narcissa, eyes wide with fear and awe, managed to ask: “What was that?”

“I… I don’t know,” Harry said, his voice shaky, “I felt our magics and then… I lost control.”

“Merlin… that was… that was brilliant,” Bellatrix muttered, still staring at them, her gaze filled with nothing but awe.

Suddenly, the heavy door to the basement creaked open. Harry looked up, his eyes meeting the sight of two figures in the doorway: Arcturus and Orion.

Their gazes landed on the mess around them, and Arcturus stepped forward, a small, barely noticeable, hint of nervousness in his voice as he spoke. “What have you done, Evans?”