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Chapter Text

The night on the 31st of October in 1981 was cold and chilly, which was a bit unusual for the beginning of winter. The bitter and icy feeling couldn’t be escaped no matter the layers of clothes and applied warming charms. The cold seeped into people's bones like death and accompanied them like an old friend on their way. It was welcomed as such by their bodies while their souls were far away enjoying every moment of what this day had to offer for them.  

The date was celebrated differently around the world, depending on the culture, region, and the people. For the muggles of London, it was made memorable by dressing up as what your heart dictates and having fun with family and friends while knocking on strangers' doors and receiving sweet treats. So, it wasn’t surprising to see the crowds of people on the brightly lighted streets at nightfall, in colourful clothes that sometimes were unbelievably horrid. The atmosphere was lively; sounds of amusement could be heard, but if someone looked close enough, they could see the faults of this holiday called Halloween.  

By the time morning arrives, many will regret eating candy; it’s being the cause of their stomach bug. Many will be sitting at the kitchen table nursing their cup of black coffee and staring into the liquid, which is a reminder of the dark dreams they had the previous night, feeling remorseful for still not being able to endure horror films. And as people leave for their work, they will come across the streets full of litter that is still waiting to be cleaned. As the celebration is over, the decorations will be put away or thrown out, and the carved pumpkins will begin to rot eventually.  

All this couldn’t have been more different from the wizarding world’s way of honouring the day. Even with the looming Dark Lord Grindelwald on the horizon of Britain, the witches and wizards still celebrated Samhain amongst themselves. The holiday marked the end of harvest and the start of the wizarding new year. They celebrated the dead of their ancestors and honoured them by setting up altars, lightning, candles and bonfires, being together as a family, and giving offerings for the deceased.  

During this time of the year, it was said the veil between the dead and the living was at its thinnest, allowing easier connection and communication for people with their ancestors and spirits on this day.  

Sirius Black was supposed to spend this holiday with his best friends and his almost one year old godson. Because of the war, the days have been harder, especially with the recent death news in the Prophet and Grindelwald strike for power in the country. He knew they were mostly safe thanks to the fidelius charm on their homes. It’s been weeks since Lily and James changed their secret keeper from him to Peter, it was his request as he spent most of his time in France, and couldn’t be here to tell new people the location of the house every time it should’ve been done. Moony didn’t know yet, but he was planning to tell him today, it had been too long since they had last seen each other he just couldn’t wait to give him a bone-crushing hug. Least to say the dog animagus was more than excited to spend the night with his chosen family and even more thrilled to witness Harry’s first Samhain. He apparated with that thought in mind only to find Godric’s Hollow in ruins and void of life.  

~A few hours earlier~  

Godric’s Hollow is a small village located in the West of England, habituated by mostly wizards and rumoured to have been the home of Godric Gryffindor himself, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Therefore, it was a suitable fit for Lily and James Potter to live in. It could be described in only one word: peaceful. The wide streets were lined by cottages, and the residents of the town were at home seeking protection and warmth by the fire of the hearth. No soul roamed the cold cobblestones of the moist passage that lead to the square of the town where the church of St Jerome stood in all its glory preserving the style of the 13 th century's architecture masters. Located next to the old building was an equally aged cemetery, which was said to be hunted by both muggles and wizard kind and around this time of the year it was certainly true.  

During the times of celebration and war it was no wonder that the two cloaked figures who appeared out of thin air went unnoticed. They neared towards the Potter family’s home, which shouldn’t have been possible if the identity of the secret keeper remained the same, but it was changed to Peter Pettigrew, who was viewed by many as a coward and the lesser one of his friend group, the Marauders, not only by others but mostly by himself. Still, he took pride in being resourceful and seeing his only option of survival, even if it meant betraying his friends and everything he previously stood for in the process. People seem to forget that rats are cunning and intelligent, and Peter was too in his own way.  

He walked side by side with Armelia Carrow his Lords right hand, despite her being a woman she was no less bloodthirsty and quick to anger than any other with a twisted heart and disturbed mind. The heels of her combat boots left dirty, brown spots in the fresh snow —spots that would soon turn red. She carried herself with confidence only a pureblood could master by enduring harsh etiquette classes and torment by a strict mother, under the watchful eyes of an expectant father. From an early age she was made aware of her worth, she was to marry before 18 or be disowned and cast out of pureblood society. Others in her year in Slytherin at Hogwarts were named heir of their house, nonetheless being able to bear children, needless to say, she was furious for having a father who only saw women as a tool and a prize. She spent countless nights in the library and studied hard, to show her prejudiced father how wrong he was, but no matter he couldn’t be swayed.  

It started with a letter in her seventh year of Hogwarts, the stamp portraying a circle inside a triangle was as well-known then as it is now. She knew there would be no turning back if she chose this path, but she couldn’t refuse her freedom handed to her on a silver plate, and she didn’t. Her talent and powers were recognised by the Dark Lord, and if she proves her usefulness, she will be set free.  

In the years leading up to this day's events, she climbed the rankings of the Alliance and became the right-hand woman of Grindelwald. She was hardened and shaped into the perfect weapon, hard enough to not break under pressure and sharp enough to kill with one move.  

She was sent with the rat to prevent any mistakes from happening, or if she couldn’t and failed, make them disappear, even if it meant erasing him from the plane of the living. She didn’t mind, the young man was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, this mission only served as a warning for the old fool's supporters.  

Peter knew the risks he took when he joined the Alliance “For the Greater Good”, but now it all seemed unreal. While he stood in front of the cottage, he had been invited to spend the night here and enjoy the celebration of the wizarding new year. Carrow looked at him expectantly from the side of the home. The rat animagus took a deep breath and knocked on the thick wooden door. He could feel the nerves in the pit of his stomach, it was almost like someone was squishing it as hard as they could. In a moment of clarity, he wanted to take it all back, how dare he betray the people he holds the closest to his heart? When the second was over the selfish side of humanity sank its claws into him and didn’t let him go ever again.  Despite this bile started to rise in his throat, and then he heard the footsteps inside the house and James's voice called out:  

“Be right out, just a second” came the muffled sound of his friend's voice. Peter tightened his grip on his wand and refused to look at Carrow, he knew the next few seconds would change his life...for the better right?  

The heavy door opened slowly, showing James smiling at him happily. He was wearing his deer jumper with his usual jeans and colourful fuzzy socks. He looked so alive and cheerful, only if he’d known what the next minutes would bring.  

“Hi Peter! You are here early, but it’s okay we could use a plus hand.” he paused and looked at him “Well are you coming in or will you just stand there?” he asked with a smirk.  

After a moment of silence and James's questioning gaze Peter finally answered sealing the fate of his friend. “I’m sorry, James...I have to do this for myself you- have to understand, it’s me or you.” said Peter with a raspy voice and raised his wand to cast the unforgivable curse.  

“Peter, no-” the man's eyes were wide with horror as the realisation reached him.  

“Avada Kedavra” the green light coming from the wand hit his friend square in the chest, who immediately collapsed to the rug of the entrance hall. His expression of fear and terror was frozen on his lifeless face.  

Peter stared at the dead body lying before him, at the time he didn’t know this expression would come back to haunt him in the rest of his short and pitiful life to come. He sensed the numbness spreading through in his body, he couldn’t feel his hands, but they didn’t move after he cast the spell, they stayed like that, with his knuckles clenched so hard that they were white as a bone.  

It wasn’t until then that Carrow stood beside him and said in a monotone tone of voice like this was just another day in her life, because for her it was: “You have your uses after all...come let’s kill the spare.” And Peter snapped out of it, there was no going back, only going forward, not matter what it takes.  

They walked inside the lovely and cosy house radiating warmth and love at the guest even if Peter wasn’t one, not anymore after this. He felt a sense of remorse, while looking at the pictures of him and his friends lining the walls. Suddenly they heard a scream coming from the top of the stairs, where a witch with fiery red hair stood, there were tears sliding down her freckled face, her expression was one of betrayal and determination. She turned around and fled upstairs, Carrow smiled a horrible smile and ran after Lily with her wand out and ready, Peter followed.  

As he did, he noticed pictures of Harry on the wall and his blood ran cold. He ran faster than ever as he took the stairs by two, he knew where the child's nursery was so he didn’t hesitate as Lilys screams and pleas got louder, he heard sound coming from the room. When he entered, he saw Harry softly crying in his crib, when the babe looked at him it was Lily’s eyes, he was seeing. The crying stopped and little arms raised and opened for him. Harry wanted his parents' murderer to pick him up, it was a devastating feeling.  

Peter knew he had to kill the child, but it wasn’t that easy, he just couldn’t bring himself to do this. In a split second, as the screams from the other room began to grow faint he made his decision. He drew his wand and pointed it above Harry's head hopping it would only wound the child, not kill him, then murmured: “Diffindo” The result was exactly what he had hoped for, there was an ugly looking wound on his forehead, but he was alive and now crying loudly. He cast a silencing charm at him, then wiped the child's forehead with his sleeve, so it would have his blood on it and left the room with one last glance at the boy.  

When he reached the end of the short corridor, he saw Carrow standing in the doorway of the room Lily went into, there was blood on her face, clothes and boots, Lily’s blood.  

“Must you look at me like that? She was magical but lesser, she was a mudblood, she deserved to suffer, and I believe she wouldn’t have had much to live for after you killed her husband and son. Did you kill the Potter heir Peter?” she asked with boredom written on her face. Peter was aware that this was his only chance to be convincing, if he failed, he would also die in the process and then everything was for nothing. With all his willpower he looked into the cold-hearted woman's eyes which were narrowed at him suspiciously and answered with a firm “Yes.”, before Carrow could voice her scepticism a loud sound could be heard from inside the house.  

“We have to leave now! This is the alarm system I told you about, it will notify Dumbledore and the aurors, because the last person holding the wards is dead. If we don’t leave we are done for.” Peter explained hurriedly and went for the stairs as they couldn’t apparate  from inside. When he reached downstairs he heard a window break, Armelia must have broken it and jumped out of it to be faster. He reached for the handle of the door and tore it open and looked to the side only to see the woman was already gone, her footsteps in the snow still could be seen as they were coloured with the fresh blood. The rat animagus looked back at the now cold body of James and turned on his heel, with a pop he disappeared into the night.  

With that the silencing spell broke and the newly orphaned Harry Potter’s cries joined the horrible sounds of the alarm.  

The Potter’s cottage before was full of life and joy shared between a loving family and their friends, now left behind was a house robbed of its magic and character by someone who once revelled in the warmth and hospitality provided by its owners. It would always be a proof of human cruelty and misplaced trust. For all cruelty springs from weakness formed by fear and cowardice.  

Aurors arrived to the scene in their blood-red duelling robes with Albus Dumbledore who was the one to call upon them. The newly appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has taken the position after Dippet resigned due to his old age and saying he wanted to explore magical jungles in the Amazonas. With the war still at large unleashed by his old lover no less and the start of the first term Albus wasn’t on top of his game just so to say. Back in the castle he was preparing to retreat for the night as the Halloween feast finished and Samhain celebrations ended, he wanted no less than to sink into his comfortable bed and sleep like there was no tomorrow, but then he heard one of the alarms go off. He acted as quickly as he could and informed the policeman of the wizarding world and prayed to all deities that were willing to listen at his moment of panic under his red beard that whatever happened was a false alarm, but deep down he knew that Gellert was not as merciful as he once was.  

He showed up hot on the heels of the task force appointed for the night and felt out of place in his colourful attire. As this night in Godric’s Hollow lacked colour and was a reminder of war even if the day was to celebrate a new start. It would be a new start in many ways, for many people, but not the way they would’ve hoped.  

The alarm that previously disturbed the silent night quieted down after help arrived. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except the front door of the house was left open, as if someone wanted to flee the scene in a hurry and there were shards of glass in the snow with specks of blood near them. The auror in charge was a man named Theseus Scamander, who Albus knew from having attended school together back in the day. While he was a Gryffindor, Theseus was one with a loyal heart and patience. He was a few years older than the Hufflepuff so they didn’t interact much before. The man in question approached him after securing the scene of the crime.  

“Albus Dumbledore, right?” he asked with a sadness seeping into his words.  

“Yes. And you are the auror in command I assume?” He looked at him already knowing the answer.  

“Indeed. You would be correct. I wouldn’t have expected the night to go like this, it’s horrible...” he glanced at the house, now full of red robe wearing man and women. “May I ask what your relationship was with the Potter family?”  

“Ah I was their transfiguration teacher back in Hogwarts, both Lily and James possessed great talent for my subject, and we kept in touch after they graduated. They were lovely people and they would’ve been even better parents to their young son Harry.” with a newfound sense of hope he looked at the auror. “Is Harry alive?”  

Theseus's eyes widened and he immediately went into the cottage, he left the older man rooted on the spot, after a few moments he came back with a small child cradled in his arms fast asleep. On the boy’s forehead was a cut shaped like a lightning that ran all the way down to his eyebrow slashing them apart. His face and clothes were bloody, but the wound stopped bleeding. “He was sleeping in his crib; it looks like a spell gone wrong.” he handed Harry to Albus and waved his wand performing an in-depth diagnostic charm on the boy.  

“He seems to be fine except for the cut, but it wouldn’t hurt to take him to St. Mungo’s to get him checked out.” said the auror sighing deeply. “Does he have anyone to look after him?”  

“I believe yes, he does have a godfather named Sirius Black. He is, or was one of the family's closest friends. The news is going to break him. The house was under the fidelius charm, I can’t fathom what led to this betrayal.” murmured Albus while looking at Harry’s sleeping form in his arms.  

“Who was the secret keeper for the Potters?”  

“At first it was Sirius, but he asked them to switch to Peter as he spends most of his time in France, because of the war. So, it was Peter Pettigrew...I would have never expected this of him, but it seems war makes monsters out of the best of us all.” said Albus sorrowfully remembering the long way Peter had come from the shy boy he once was when he first stepped inside the castle's walls, he had a bright future ahead of him, but it might have been tainted from the start.  

As the two men were talking a shadow in the form of Sirius Black approached the house feeling dread taking over his body. This must be some insane prank the others have pulled on him, right? When he saw Albus he went up to him, he felt awareness awakening in his mind, something must have happened with the alarm. “Headmaster what happened? Is everything okay with the alarm?” he asked rapidly wanting to get answers as soon as possible.  

Dumbledore turned his head; the moment his grey eyes met the older man's blue he knew something horrible transpired here.  

“Sirius, I am sorry to inform you that Lily and James had been betrayed by Peter, they have sadly passed away tonight.”  

“No, they can’t be dead, I-” Sirius felt empty, like he hadn’t been in many years, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the utterly ridiculous sentence that just left the mouth of his former professor. “Let me see them! Take me to them! NOW!!” he raised his voice and tried to stay on the edge which was threatening to slip away from under his feet with every second that passed. A man he hadn't paid attention to before denied his request by addressing the problem firmly. “You can’t see them; it’s against protocol and as you are an auror, you must be aware that we must follow the rules precisely at all times.” said auror Scamander, whom he just recognised now in his state of shock.  

He looked at the cottage and was reminded of Harry. “Where is my godson?” he asked worriedly.  

“He is alright Sirius apart from a minor cut.” with that Albus revealed the boy hidden behind his colourful robes and handed him to the closest thing to a family member the boy had left.  

“Thank Merlin!” said the black-haired man sighing in relief. He held the child close to his chest trying to shield him from the night’s events. He looked at the boy and wondered who could inflict such atrocity at this sweet child. “Was it Peter?”  

“Yes, I believe so. Sirius you know you are the only one who could give Harry the life he deserves right?” asked Albus a warning clear in his voice.  

The dog animagus felt his blood boil, he fought against the venom of his anger, it took every single fibre of his being to stay relatively calm and collected, if it wasn’t for Harry in his arms, he would be tearing down everything he could put his hands on to find the traitor and end him, consciences be damned.   

Theseus cleared his throat “I will send out teams to look for him, and a warrant will be issued for his arrest. Fret not we will bring justice to the Potters”  after exchanging pleasantries the man walked away.  

Dumbledore put his hand on Sirius's shoulder and slowly led him away from the cottage. “The night is still young and there is a lot to be done, you must take him to the hospital.”  

“Remus...” was all Black could say feeling numbness spreading from his mind to his body.  

“Yes, I will inform him about the unfortunate news and tell him to look for you in St. Mungo’s. You have to stay strong for Harry, Sirius, you must!” and with that he disappeared into thin air, Sirius to this day doesn’t know how he managed to get to the hospital, but he assumed it had something to do with wanting to give a good life to his godson.  

With the passing of the Potters the veil between life and death was stretched even thinner in the small village of Godric’s Hollow. No one was there to see the ghosts of the deceased spring to life once again, awakened from their endless slumber. Lily's and James Potter's souls had not yet left the world of living with their last bits of magic they helped Sirius along his way. This could only be done due to the special celebration that took place at the time of their death. The spirits of the dead stayed until the sun rose on the first of November with a deep red hue, mirroring last night’s events, only after the passing of Samhain did, they depart fully from the mortal world.  

Chapter Text

2003, September 27

Autumn in Britain, on the contrary, was not at all different from the weather in France at this time of the year, except maybe for the frequent rain that hit the streets of London and washed away the dirt carried by the wind. The architecture was mostly the same as it is generally in Europe and the UK, too, having lived through the same coherent periodical architectural styles. Perhaps the biggest difference was the people, how they acted and got on with their daily lives.

The feeling of superiority was still in the air, despite it always smelling like mud and wet dog all the time, aside from a few occasions throughout the year, instead of freshly baked goods and the horrific smell of litter piles on the streets indicating unhappy French citizens protesting against the current happenings in their country. One would call both places home...

Gazing through the stained glass of a huge window at number 12 Grimmauld Place, these thoughts took root in a young man's head. Looking at the slightly faded, soft curtains with moth-eaten holes surrounding the view of the lonely streets of London, he felt extremely happy, and a smile crept across his face. He was at last home, where he was intended to be originally, but fate had other ideas, that much was clear.

Sure, the house was in pretty bad shape, but there is nothing hard work and magic couldn’t fix together. He will ask Dobby to assist him; it would be for the best, he decided. It’s been too long since he last saw him. Now the elf was still at Hogwarts, living his life free from harsh masters and enjoying spending his days helping out where he could.

Harry wasn’t unfamiliar with stuffy pureblood mansions and ancestral homes soaked in unspoken rules and customs, for he had spent most of his childhood in one, aside from attending various playdates arranged by his guardians and, of course, attending Hogwarts. He wasn’t a stranger to the Muggle world either; Remus thought it was important to educate him about it, seeing that the majority of the Earth's population consists of Muggles. Padfoot agreed with the wolf, but he wanted Harry to try the fun things they had and wizards lacked.

Growing up, he had lived and experienced both sides of the same coin, as had Sirius, who knew what it was like to jump from one setting to another; with his help and support, it was easier to get used to life this way. The picture he started to form about the world was like a canvas touched by one brush with two ends; one was softer and not as vibrant, while the other was rough, with rich colours, paint built by layers upon layers.

He grew up around Sirius’s relatives after they got over their initial problems and sorted them out, which, admittedly, took longer than the dog animagus would have liked. Narcissa Black, now Malfoy, was the first one to reach out towards his godfather, as she had a child the same age as him at the time, soon followed by Andromeda, who had a daughter only four years older.

Some days were hard. The heavy topics that were shuffled under the rug and could no longer be hidden became a pressing problem that needed to be talked about, but as time passed, there was less and less that had to be discussed.

With Draco by his side and the friends he made along the years leading up to entering the ancient gates of Hogwarts, he had nothing to fear. They formed a strong seed that was at first only built on familiarity, but soon their foundation became stronger, fuelled by long talks in the common room by the fire of the hearth and time spent together in the library studying for exams and lying in the grass around the great lake. Growing up together, sharing memories and many firsts of their lives with one another.

Even when the fame surrounding his birth came back in various ways to haunt him, he stood strong. If being a Slytherin taught him anything, it was that adaptability is a great strength because people who can thrive in a variety of situations while being affected by different circumstances and bend without breaking can use their environment fully to their advantage. It wasn’t second nature to him at first, but after many years of practising, it became one.

After graduation and a heartfelt goodbye from his home of seven years, he went back to France to pursue his dream of stepping into his father's footsteps in becoming an Auror; he wanted to be with his family while he juggled Auror training full-time and learning about politics and wizarding law on the side with the help of his guardians. Admittedly, it was fairly different from going to school, but he enjoyed it almost the same, it was a new experience which was welcomed.

He met many new faces and made just as many friends as enemies; he found company on sleepless nights so he could spend them away from dreaming. He trained hard and pushed himself to do better every passing day. He learnt about magic like he never did before, without the restrictions of a corrupted government led by single-minded fools.

Soon the training came to an end, and a serpentine path of dangerous and unknown obstacles opened, and he stepped on it with both feet firmly on the ground. He had many things to learn still, but there were people offering him guidance and support, for which he was immensely grateful.

He had seen many things in his three years being an Auror on duty in Paris; the capital is always in flames, luckily mostly metaphorically, but sometimes fires are caused and need to be dealt with.

Being young and “fresh” out of training was hard. That’s because parts of the job they had only heard tales about suddenly became their reality without a warning when it came knocking on the door, and there wasn’t an instructor holding your hand and ordering you to do 100 push-ups if you messed up. No, then it’s on you, and the only people you can trust are the team of six you started out with and the assigned leader, for seven is the strongest magical number of them all, but it doesn’t change a lot if the links are weak and you are on your own.

He gained battle scars that healed over time, but the mental scars he had to learn to live with. So, he did that. After a long day of battling the evil, coming home to his family was hard; he needed to master how to leave the job in front of closed doors. Sirius tried to help by sharing his own experiences and being there like Remus, providing support silently if it needed to be like that, accompanied by a mug of hot chocolate.

There were drawbacks to being young and inexperienced, such as being looked down upon and ordered around by senior Aurors to do chores. Respect had to be earned, and it showed. Competition was fierce, and you had to live to tell the tale, so survival became the measure of success, which was only an option if you were strong enough.

The pressure of being Sirius Black's son weighed on his shoulders heavily. Many of his superiors had high expectations; others wanted to be his acquaintances and his fellow peers; some of them had things to say about that. He was ready to prove his worth to everyone, but mostly to himself.

He worked tirelessly. Picked up overtime, which took a toll on his social life, but in the end it was worth it. After his third year there, he got assigned to the team responsible for solving a case about a terrorist group that has risen in France in the last couple of years.

The Main de la Vie carries further the legacy of Grindelwald by wanting to find the hallows and master death. The people of this organisation were a part of a cult that believed in the resurrection of Merlin, they dabbled in necromancy and used their terrorist activities as offerings to Magic. It was ironic, really; they should’ve called themselves the Hand of Death, they preached life but left nothing living in their wake. At the altar of magic, their currency was death.

They drank wine and preached about water, as the saying goes.

While the magical law in France was not as strict in the usage of dark magics as the UK, disturbing the dead was still a taboo. The cult members had always gotten away in time, before the Aurors arrived at the scene. But whenever they would get caught, they would suddenly, mysteriously drop dead, leaving the investigation with nothing to work towards.

The fact that the cult had begun to spread its propaganda overseas was causing the division to grow increasingly alarmed. They recruited young wizards and witches who had just graduated from school and lacked a strong sense of self. Not many could resist the offering of a better world, power, purpose and salvation.

Their target audience are outcasts from the magical community with no one to hold onto, like dark creatures, squibs and dark mages. With the promise of immortality and the reinstallation of the old ways of magic and a recognition. With this, they had taken hold of a social class long ignored by the ministry. This had happened before many times in history, and it didn’t end well in most cases; actually, it usually led to a coup d’état that caused the fall of the current people in power...

They wanted to restore magic and find the balance of light and dark, painting the world in the perfect grey. The members dressed accordingly in a grey cape with a large hood; the clasp was a triangle with a straight line cutting it in half and a circle in the middle.

Their slogan: Die to awaken. Rise to ascend. Implies a metaphorical death that is needed to shed humanity's ignorance and inherent selfishness. So, they can be reborn and reach higher consciousness, a transformation through death, they said.

The realisation came soon after the latest disappointment, a failed interrogation; they needed an inside man if they wanted to tear the sect apart.

Since he was the youngest, the choice fell on him. After that, his special training started; those couple of months were the hardest of his life, but he made it through. Pretending came easy for him, too easy, and that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

He joined the organisation and attended countless meetings and rituals; after a while they started to blur into each other, the same words told repeatedly, as if the vinyl got stuck in the record player, and no one was there to lift the needle off. The veil of manipulation got longer with each passing day; it was loathsome.

The hierarchy was clear; there were different rankings with leaders in their fronts. Some wore different clothes, their capes cut differently than the rest, not too dissimilar, but not subtle enough not to be noticed. Leaders remained faceless, without names; only whispers could be heard. Climbing the ladder was hard and seemed impossible. Information travelled fast, but it arrived heavily filtered – only including the crucial details. Rumours were sometimes true but more often than not wrong; to a spy wanting to prove himself, they were the blessing from Merlin to fill his reports.

After visiting endless, somehow religiously twisted prayers set deep inside a forest and writing just as many pointless reports, he started to get fed up with it all.

On a frosty night, they met after nightfall to attend the weekly glorification of Merlin. While walking amongst the members, his thoughts drifted to the sound of the muddy soil when he stepped on it with his high black boots; he could smell salt in the wind. They must be near the shore. Looking up, he gazed at the stars, which shone brightly in the darkness. He tried to make out the North Star to determine their location but failed. He knew that it was just them here, people gathered here clinging on to empty words and promises yet to be fulfilled, waiting for the salvation also still yet to come.

They arrived at a clearing not long after, illuminated by the moonlight. They sat on logs, positioned into a circular shape, next to each other. Inside of the circle in front of them stood seven people; he couldn’t tell their genders nor their ages. They made runes out of some kind of powder and held hands. He wasn’t close enough to take a look at the symbols used. The scent of various herbs and expensive oils lingered in the air, suppressing the saltiness of the sea.

He tried to ground himself as the others drifted into feverish chanting around him. It was Latin; some parts were only said by the ‘priests’, and how muggle that was, as they called them, and then every voice in the open space joined into one together.

At the end of the mass, the wards were lifted, and people apparated away in groups of ten. When he was waiting to leave, he stood in his appointed place, he heard two of the faceless believers whispering, so naturally he listened.

“...it’s happening soon; they are spreading the word to England.” said the taller one excitedly.

“Finally, we don’t have to wait anymore. With their weak ministry, they won’t know what hit them.” replied the other, sounding gleeful. A second later, they disappeared with a soft crack.

He followed soon after, arriving back at the alley he left from. He vanished his cape with a swish of his wand, already crafting the outlines of his report to the office back in Paris.

Soon he received direct orders from his superior telling him that he was needed in London to find out more about the workings of the Hand of Life and to join their still unstable network and rise in the ranks. As for the details about his mission, he would get notified later on. Something about this whole situation made him uneasy; obscurity was a thing he had to get used to from his superiors, but he wished to be let in about this matter. They needed eyes in the British Ministry? Sure, he could be that, but the secretiveness of all this he could do without.

He wrote a letter to his family explaining the situation.

Dear Padfoot and Moony,

How have you been? I have been missing you guys in these months; the calls in the mirror are not the same as talking in person.

I finished my mission, or a part of it, really... I need to go to London for the remaining time; how long is still unclear at the moment. I will explain more about it in person. Grimmauld Place should be the perfect project I could adopt while I’m there. If my memory is correct, it could do with some renovations.

When I get there, I will have some time to settle down until I get my next order. I was thinking of visiting old friends and family; you should come too. It would be great to be together again with everybody after many years of our tight schedules keeping us apart.

With love,

Harry

The answer arrived the following morning. He opened the seal resembling the Black family crest on the letter after he gave Hedwig a treat.

To Prongs,

We miss you too, kiddo. The house has been emptier without you.

That’s good news!! London doesn’t sound bad. You wanted to go there to build a life after you finished the training, but it just never happened. Now it’s your time.

Yes, that place is seriously due for renovations. Be on the lookout for that rude elf; while you’re at it, he might not be alive anymore, but you never know.

Remember our little crash courses in wizarding law and politics? You should visit Gringotts and take up our seats, as they are technically yours now. It would help the transition since the British magical community still holds onto its old ways, but you had a taste of that in your seven years there. But it will be different from navigating life in a school full of students, as the rules are not set in place by the teachers. We trust in your ability to handle this on your own. (but if you need us, just call)

Also, it’s time for us to get back out there.

We will arrange something; don’t you worry.

Hugs,

Your parents

P.S.: Beware of the doxies, by now they must be having a field day in the attic. The best is to not disturb them for your own peace of mind.

Then it was settled—he was going back to the UK.

He read the letter again, a smile tugging at his lips. The familiar warmth in Sirius’s words, the wry warning about the doxies in the attic, and the quiet reassurance in Remus’s voice between the lines—all of it wrapped around him like a well-worn cloak. It felt like home.

He packed his things slowly, not out of reluctance, but reverence. Each movement was a goodbye to the life he’d built in France and a welcome to something new—something old, too. He shrank his trunk, fastened the last clasp on his cloak, and looked around the apartment that had been his refuge and battleground for three years. His three years on active Auror duty – that won’t change, just the circumstances.

At the international apparition point, the rainstorm caught up with him. Despite being in the northern part of the country, the weather was surprisingly gloomy compared to what he was used to here. Others might have found it frustrating, but to him at that moment it was liberating. His heart was beating faster, and his chest tightened; the ache was welcomed.

He inhaled the damp air into his lungs and turned on his heel, his boots squeaking on the concrete.

.・。.・゜✭・✧･ ✫・゜・。.・.

Now he was here walking towards the infamous Black library with a freshly brewed Earl Grey in hand. With each step he made, dust began to rise in the dead air; the unused wooden flooring cracked, breaking the silence that had been inhabiting the old home for many years. It was almost unnatural. He wondered when was the last time these dim hallways had been filled with the sounds of unadulterated happiness.

According to what he was told, that might be something that hasn't happened yet. The Black family regarded many virtues highly, but delight wasn’t one of them.

Finally, he arrived at the door of the foundation of knowledge that shaped the young minds for generations of the family. It was hidden deeply from curious gazes and was plain to the eyes, nothing one would expect from people of wealth. It was uninviting; the handle was covered in grime, and the wood's sides were covered in spiderwebs.

He reached to turn the knob; as he touched it, he felt a burning feeling spreading in his palm. This was another part of the house where only mages carrying the bloodline could enter, and others could be allowed entry through them. Family magic never dies, only weakens; this proved as much.

When he walked into the room, he was hit with the smell of aged books and decay. He felt frozen in time; this was the first time he was captured by this feeling here. It’s surprising it didn’t occur sooner. Grimmauld Place is like a theatre set used in plays and abandoned after the final act, with actors leaving everything behind to flee home and head to find calmness. The war ended years ago, but the ancestral home was still left abandoned and forgotten. He would make sure this changed.

The Victorian era's style continued to be present inside of the closed door. Even the structure was fitting with ornate small details and asymmetrical designs. There was a hearth in the middle of the curved room; it was made from grey stone and hugged by dark brown wood. On the mantel of it was a silver candle holder, from which streaks of once white wax, which was now a yellowish colour, followed the carefully carved-out shape of the shelf.

The shelves were filled with thousands and thousands of books, and there were no empty spots or family portraits. Some scrolls were kept in place by jars containing preserved animals and their body parts; he wouldn't be surprised if amongst them were human remains too.

The interior rose to a ceiling covered in painted constellations; in the middle of them was the Black family crest and motto. Serving as a reminder of an old family tradition still used by relatives. Naming members using celestial names, emphasising their connection to a higher purpose. They truly have a connection to arithmancy, even though the origin of this belief is wrong in many ways. It was said that many of their ancestors were endowed by Lady Magic and the stars, possessing various magical abilities and seeing the future; they were being referred to as prophets, now called seers.

The room had three levels; he was unable to silently discern the order of the stars. He wondered if there was a telescope stashed away somewhere for him to gaze at the stars sometime in the future. The only way to gain access to the writings above was a sliding ladder or by magic. He should keep in mind that anonymous black magic was undoubtedly used to curse some of the collection.

The floorboards were covered by a Persian rug, its rich colours faded by time and constant use. On the left side of the library, there were two deep red comfortable-looking armchairs; on the right, a writing desk could be found, and on top of it lay old newspapers from before 1981. Quills with ink dried on their tips were deserted as if the person using them left in a hurry.

Next to the desk there was a table globe, showing the countries of the world while highlighting the magical communities. He knew that inside there must be old bottles of firewhisky and tumbler glasses.

After months of arduous labour, he half intended to sit down and lose himself in knowledge that had long been lost in time. However, his eagerness to see old acquaintances and friends almost overcame him. He needed to visit Gringotts and head to the tailor in Diagon Alley; buying books about politics and law published recently, not a century ago, would also do him some favours.

It was decided he would get his affairs in order so his transition would go smoother. With that, he put on his invisibility cloak, picked up some Floo powder and disappeared into the hearth positioned near the entrance.

Not even seconds later, he found himself in one of Gringotts private Floo rooms. This way the Goblins would be notified of his arrival and his wish to keep matters private and out of sight of prying eyes.

In the modestly designed small room, he waited patiently, in contrast to the main hall and foyer, which were adorned with numerous ornaments that demonstrated the Goblin nation's wealth.

After a few minutes, footsteps outside the door could be heard approaching quickly but quietly in the corridor. Only then did he put away his cloak. There would be no going back now, he thought as he took another breath and let it out.

The door opened, and in came a tiny creature with a frown on their face that didn’t change after he looked up at the man now standing in front of him. But soon his eyes reached the scar on the forehead, and his eyes widened.

“A pleasure, Mr Potter-Black...it’s been a while. To continue our conversation in a more relaxed environment, follow me.” his words were coloured by well-concealed surprise.

“Indeed, it’s been a few years, but now that I’m back, I would like to take up my lordships, Griphook. Would that be possible in a single visit?” Harry asked the teller, who had been the Black family's account manager for centuries, and after his late parents death, he became the Potters too.

"Yes, I see no reason why it shouldn't be. Come with me.”

They left the small room and walked down the hallway dimly lit by torches attached to the left side of the stone walls, where no doors could be found. Nearing the end of the narrow path, Griphook took a sharp turn to the left and stopped before a birdcage elevator. The goblin stepped in, and he followed suit. They began rising upwards; he was surprised by the fact that they must be deep inside the building.

The lift came to a halt just two floors under the first floor. The wall was still made of the same grey stone as before, and the air still smelt damp. He liked that the elevator was mechanical; it reminded him of the Muggle world; it was no wonder that Goblins were more in tune with them. While keeping up with the financial shifts around the planet, they must have adapted some technological changes too. He ought to look into Goblin history more; his education back at Hogwarts only covered the Goblin wars, since that is all Binns was around to experience in his life.

He stopped his musings when a large wooden door opened before him; he walked into the small office and sat in one of the offered armchairs, while Griphook sat behind his desk and seemed to be writing something on a parchment. Harry didn’t mind; he had the time and used this time to familiarise himself with the contents of the room. It was nothing special; the only furniture aside from the table and the three pieces of sitting accommodation was a large bookshelf. The stone tiles were covered by a large rug with strange patterns that seemed like letters he hadn’t seen before.

He looked up when he heard the goblin shifting in his chair; in his hand there was the paper he scribbled on moments ago, rolled up. The small creature walked to the corner and brushed away the tapestry on the wall that revealed a small hole in the wall, where he pushed into the parchment, which soon disappeared.

“I sent for the documents needed to continue with the process; they will be brought to us shortly. Until then, let’s discuss the lordships.” said Griphook as he sat in front of him once more.

“I’m amenable to doing that!”

“I received a letter from Lord Black where he informed me that he would like to give up his lordship in favour of you, Mr. Potter. I assume you have known about this.”

“That is correct. Since I came back to Britain, and I will be staying for the foreseeable future, I would like to take up my responsibilities while entering wizarding society and restoring my family's place to what it was long ago.” explained Harry.

“Well, I’m delighted to hear that, and while it has been long, the Black and Potter family name still holds power; just people seem to have forgotten about it, but if someone steps up and shows they know how to wield that power, they might just shake the upper class. For that, I wish you luck, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you; I appreciate it.”

There was a loud knock on the door, breaking the comfortable silence that settled over them, and another Goblin came in carrying a black box in their hands. He bowed his head as he arrived at the table and put the chest close to Griphook so it could be reached, who acknowledged it with a nod but did nothing else while the other departed in silence.

After a moment he glanced at the raven-haired man and lifted the lid; inside there were two ring boxes sitting next to each other that, despite not being opened for decades, looked timeless. He then placed the two in front of Harry.

“May your ancestors deem you worthy, young wizard.” he stated without any real feelings behind the words.

Harry, who was waiting for the creature to start, took it as his sign and lifted the box engraved with the Black family crest. He assumed it must have been made of some sort of black stone because it was heavier than it appeared and much simpler than he had expected; even like this, it was elegant. The ring was made out of silver, which hugged the black obsidian perfectly. A star shape had been carved into the surface of the stone as the motto: Toujours Pur was engraved on the inside of the ring.

He slid it onto his middle finger, and time stopped as a vicious burning sensation overtook his body, starting from his hand. It soon passed, and coldness began to replace the fire he felt just moments ago. His mind was calm and sharper; he wondered if the family magics had anything to do with this.

The Potter one came next; the small box had the family crest on it and was made of a dark, warm wood. The interior was a rich red velvet that matched the colours of the crest, not like the dark purple that held the obsidian. The ring was made out of gold, with a square shaped ruby in the middle with the Algiz rune craved into its centre, for protection and spirituality. When he put it on, it shank to fit his finger precisely like the one before it. The sensation was different—warm but fierce—and it ended sooner than the other.

He felt overwhelmed by the combined pulsing of the rings, one old and the other hot. It would take him some time to adjust to them, but overall, Harry was incredibly happy.

“Now Lord Potter-Black If my memory serves me correctly, we have concluded our business for today.” said Griphook, interrupting Harry's musings.

“Yes, we did. Thank you for your assistance. After this, will I be notified of the next meeting of the Wizengamot?” asked Harry for confirmation.

“Yes, you will receive notifications in the form of letters, with the relevant briefing materials attached.” said the Goblin, while eyeing the door on the other side of the small office.

“That is perfect. Harry got up and said, "I would like to leave through the main door of the building." He still had to go to a store selling robes and maybe the little bookshop in Knockturn Alley, the one he used to sneak out to on the weekends he was still a Hogwarts student.

“That's fine; come with me, young Lord.”

As the room's door closed behind them, Harry was once again greeted by the sight of damp stone walls; this time, when they stepped into the elevator, the Goblin pressed a button marked ‘level zero’.

Harry reached for his cloak; the feeling of uncertainty was still plaguing his mind, and feeling like a speck of dust floating in the air was easy and made him feel calm. It’s been far too long since he explored the area.

Right now, keeping a low profile was for the best.

Come next week, his days would consist of adjusting to a new “workplace” and seeing old friends and enemies from the past after years of being away. Juggling ministry workers and an unknown system will be hard, but being a Slytherin has its perks at times like this.

With the quiet ding of the elevator bell, they arrived at the floor. The door slid o door slid open and Harry stepped and Harry stepped outside. The wizard faced the creature.

“Thank you for your assistance today, Griphook; I appreciate it.” with that, Harry disappeared into the crowd of people still waiting to sort out their matters.

The Goblin stood frozen in the elevator, the surprise clearly evident on his face.

The moment he stepped out of the shadowed archways of the main door, he was met with Diagon Alley in all its glory, which wasn’t hunted by old ghosts of the past anymore, only that he felt like one.

So much has changed, yet everything remained the same. Some of the shops from his school days have been closed off and sold, but in their place new boutiques welcomed curious guests offering various goods.

People were still the same; he saw two young witches fighting over the last love talisman at a vendor's shop and parents dragging their kids away from shopfront windows saying they would return another day. He tried to stick to the right side of the street where he wasn’t in much danger of bumping into someone while invisible.

The air smelt of butterbeer and the faint sulphur scent of new cauldrons. Only those searching for it could hear a magically composed piece that faded into the background noise of the crowd.

By the time he reached the doors of Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and rain began to fall from the sky with seemingly no intention of stopping anytime soon. He removed his cloak and prepared himself for his first encounter with a person since he arrived here.

The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped in; he was the only customer, which didn’t surprise him much; it was late in the afternoon and people must have escaped the rain by now. He looked back and found the streets of the alley deserted.

The smell of freshly washed and ironed fabrics hit him as a familiar voice called out to him.

“Hello, dear! How can I help you?” the old which emerged from behind a rack of green-coloured robes, measuring tape following behind her in the air.

“Good afternoon, Madam Malkin! How have you been?” he asked sincerely.

Only then did the woman look at him properly; her spectacles slid down her nose as she looked him up and down with her eyes as if measuring him. Then her eyes settled on his scar and flashed in recognition.

“Oh my, Harry Potter! It has been years since I last welcomed you into my shop; I heard you were in France but nothing more. Come to the back, and we can start to discuss why you are here.” She then wandered farther down the narrow path lined with fabric piles.

Harry followed and took his time looking around, only stopping when Malkin guided him in front of a full-length mirror.

“Now, Mr Potter, what can I tempt you with today? I assume it's not Hogwarts robes," she asked, amused, quickly flashing him a professional smile, her wand flicking in midair as a golden light surrounded him and the measuring tape began its work.

Harry studied their reflection in the mirror and slowly answered after a few seconds, his tone collected. “Not quite, but something alike in a sense. I’m in need of a new wardrobe that is suited for both daily wear and special occasions. Robes appropriate for high society gatherings and sessions of the Wizengamot.”

The elderly witch's eyes travelled to his left hand in search of rings signalling his status. Attempting to hide her surprise, she responded promptly after receiving her confirmation. “I can most surely make that happen. What shade of colour did you have in mind for the clothes?

“Greens, blues and blacks, but I trust your expertise, Madam; you’d never give robes out of your hand if they were less than perfect.” he said with a charming smile.

"You flatter me, young lord. Anything else I could help you with?”

“No, thank you. That’d be all. The fee will be emailed to you through Gringotts, if that’s alright. When is the earliest I could receive them? I don’t mind paying extra.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter. By the start of the next week, you will be able to wear your newly made clothes.”

“That sounds great. Have a lovely rest of your day, Madam.” Harry said as he began to walk to the exit.

The rain was still pouring heavily when he stepped out. The sun was setting in the sky, and soon it would be dark; the timing was perfect for visiting Knockturn Alley. After that he’d only need his Auror robes and some combat clothes for the mission he needed to carry out, but he could handle that next week.

He looked around, and when he was sure that no one could see him, he put on his trusted cloak and apparated, thinking of the blackened, narrow alleyway a few run-down buildings down from the hidden bookshop.

Knockturn Alley was the safe haven of many dark —wizards and creatures shunned by people in power who fear what they don’t know but then again, not many humans have the bravery to seek out truths of the unknown.

Its community is colourful but held together by a sense of secrecy and mutual disdain towards the ministry and people like Dumbledore. Almost like a taboo; some refuse to say the name, others are less prejudiced but only whisper in shushed tones. Children are warned about the danger that seems to surround the area and its inhabitants, together creating the underground of wizarding London. Even the darkly aligned pureblood families steer clear of the alley and only step foot into it if it can’t be avoided.

The alleys and the passageways are impossibly narrow; the shops are closed by day and reopen at nightfall, when the already worn cobblestones are being used by nameless and faceless individuals that haunt the street. Screaming and shouting are not something unusual, even when accompanied by the deaths of the participants. People don’t stop to meddle in others' business; they mind their own. The night is young and secrets don’t stay hidden for long.

Harry took in his surroundings and cast a muffling charm on himself to mask the sound of his steps. Only when he was sure of being alone did he exit the grim lane and walk towards the store with soundless but urgent steps.

He was reminded of the time when he and Darco, under the disguise of the same cloak, used to visit the shady shopping street after a Hogsmeade weekend when the castle was having dinner and the students were still charmed by the special days behind them.

At first it was out of curiosity, having heard older students in Slytherin and their parents talking about it, but after a while it was out of need. They began to discover knowledge hidden from the ordinary minds of simple wizards. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been introduced to the darker ways of magic behind the safe walls of an ancient manor, but being considered a child put limits on what was deemed safe to learn and what wasn’t. This served as an escape from the watchful eyes of adults, because in here, nobody asked questions.

Arriving at the old shabby door of the shop, he turned the knob and stepped inside and lowered the cloak’s hood but kept his head tilted towards the floor as the loud crack of the door echoed unnervingly. The smell of dust and old parchment filled the used air; the candlelight flickered momentarily as the wind crept in through the window's broken cracks. He looked for the shopkeeper, who couldn’t be found anywhere.

He began to slowly move through the cluttered space to find the section he was looking for; he’d be in trouble if he hadn’t been a regular customer for years before. The shop continued to operate as a reasonably normal bookshop with a reasonably normal selection of books, but it sold the lengthy list of books that the government had banned in order to “get rid of them”.

He picked up a few books about politics, runes and history. Spending his last days away from the stress that will be caused by the transition of his workplace and other things related to that, he wanted to relax a bit before the storm.

Unseen hands in the magical politics of Britain by Octavia Bones, Necromantic Runes Coated in Blood, written by none other than a very distant relative of his called Vinicius Peverell and a book about magical cults through history; it could be of help, especially as of now, called Inside the Darkest Magical Cults by Chorintian Blackbriar.

He paid for his chosen books in the front, where the owner appeared as if sensing a paying customer. After shrinking the bought texts, he began to lift his hood to cover his face and walked into the rain-slick street when he noticed another figure already on the threshold about to enter —tall, cloaked in black. They both halted in the narrow doorway.

For a fraction of a second, the light from the candles of the store caught the stranger's eyes and they flashed crimson, bright and unnatural bright and unnatural, before blending into the shadow of the hood.

Something stirred in his magic; it became restless like it never was before. He felt it in his chest. The man seemed to feel this too, his gaze lingering a moment longer than courtesy of the alley allowed.

Harry ran as fast as his legs could carry him; he didn’t duck into the dark path he arrived at – he turned on his heel and didn’t stop until he was at the front door of Grimmauld Place. He slammed the door behind him, just as hard as his heart was hammering against the inside of his ribcage.

The stranger was gone, but the odd magnetic pull he had felt at that moment clung to him like an echo he couldn’t shake; it was a quiet, insistent hum nestled deeply beneath his skin.