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Chapter Text

Hallie is vastly different from Hadrian Potter. Her hair- bright copper- is straight, tame. She has a scar that cut down across her cheek, but no other ailments. Her eyes are their mothers, bright green but cut like glass. Hadrian was a carbon copy of their father, messy black hair and brown eyes. Hallie wears her clothes casually, perfect, while Hadrian throws them on carelessly. She has a fierce independence about herself- someone who grew up relying on no one, overlooked due to her twins fame.

Hallie finds her comfort in her friends- Fred, George, and Percy Weasley. She spends her days between the three boys- tucked in between them all with her mother’s notebooks open before her, writing and copying runes.
“You’re too good at that, the runes I mean,” Percy blurts out one day. They had all three snuck away from Potter Manor, overwhelmed by the celebration of the twins receiving their Hogwarts letters.
“Yeah..” Hallie faltered, like something was on her mind. Fred looked at George sharply, before sliding his arm over the girl's shoulder, filled by the ease of a 12-year-old.
“You seem bothered,” Fred said simply, not elaborating or explaining himself further.

Hallie hesitated, unsure how to say it out loud at first.
“They’re celebrating him again, of course, I mean mum has given me her notes as a celebration, and old books but i just.. don't seem like enough,” Hallie huffed, her face flushing at how stupid her feelings sounded. As if Fred read her mind he didn’t miss a single beat.
“You have a right, you know, they always celebrate him,” Fred answered easily, both of the other boys nodding in agreement.
“I hope I'm in the same house as you guys,” Hallie sighs, snuggling into Fred's arm and curling her feet in Percy’s lap.

“You will be,” Fred replies- in such a way that Hallie allows herself to believe him.

–

She stands in the line to be sorted, having watched her brother's altercation with Draco. Personally she couldn't care what her brother did, but it was rude to turn draco away like he did. So, she planned to talk to him later, after the sorting died down. Hallie paused for a moment as her name was called, before she squared her shoulders and walked into the hall, sending an appreciative glance to the twins who let out a loud “whoop!” when she walked out. Percy sent her a quiet thumbs up before the hat slid over her eyes.

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat shouted proudly, and even though there were only a couple of cheers, she couldn't be happier. Hallie took her spot between the twins, Percy frowning as she slid her notebook out of her robes pocket, slapping it on the table as if she owned the place.

That night, as the feast went on and the others laughed and jostled, Hallie tucked herself even tighter between the brothers, quill scratching against parchment. Fred leaned over, smirking.
“Runes? You’re meant to be celebrating.”
“Runes are better than pumpkin pasties,” she said without looking up.
“Blasphemy,” he muttered, though he grinned, making sure her plate stayed full while she worked.

–

As classes go on during the week, Hallie works in her notebook, silent but comfortable between the boys. Even in lessons she finds herself sitting in between one of them. Whether it's Percy, Fred, or George. But, then the class she was dreading the most came up. Potions. Her mother made sure she was brilliant at the subject, late night brewings, her learning about the teacher at Hogwarts: Severus Snape. How he was her mothers friend.

The dungeon was cold, damp stone pressing close. The smell of stewed roots and sharp vinegar hung in the air as Snape swept into the room, black robes whispering like wings.
“Potter,” he sneered, his eyes immediately finding Hadrian. “Our new celebrity.”

Hadrian’s shoulders hunched as the other students snickered. Snape’s voice was venom, deliberate, the old hatred dripping from every syllable. He stalked forward, wand twitching toward the blackboard as instructions appeared in curling white letters. But then his gaze shifted. Hallie sat beside Percy Weasley, quill already poised, her copper hair gleaming faintly in the torchlight. When she lifted her eyes to him, green, sharp, so achingly familiar- Snape faltered. For the briefest of moments, the mask cracked. His breath caught.

Lily.

He crushed the thought down, jaw tightening. “You,” he barked suddenly, pointing at Hallie. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Without hesitation, Hallie answered. “A sleeping potion so strong it’s called the Draught of Living Death.” Her voice was steady, sure.

The faintest flicker of something, not approval, but recognition- crossed Snape’s face. He pushed harder. “Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat,” Hallie said at once, eyes locked on his.

“And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“They’re the same plant. Also called aconite.”

The class fell silent. Percy blinked at her in surprise; even Fred and George weren’t smirking.

Snape’s lip curled, but his voice was softer now, brittle at the edges. “Correct. At least one Potter inherited a brain.”

Hadrian shifted uncomfortably, but Hallie only bent her head to her notes, pretending not to feel the weight of her professor’s eyes on her. The class continued, silent and wary, without an incident.

–

“Merlin, Hallie! I thought he was going to eat you alive!” Fred laughed. But Hallie wasn't laughing- because she saw it. Her brother's fury. That afternoon, after noticing Hallie's mood shift, Fred leaned over her parchment that was labeled ‘Charms.’
“You write like Mum,” he said. “Perfect, tidy, probably spells actually work when you say them.”
Hallie arched her brow. “Unlike yours?”
“Exactly.”

Hallie grinned, joy filling her. Fred never failed to make her smile.
“Dimwit,” Percy laughed at Fred. Fred gave a wry smile, not denying Percy's statement as George elbowed him and whispered something in his ear, making him go bright red.

Chapter Text

It began quietly- Lily watching her daughter when Hallie thought no one was paying attention. A quill that leapt into her hand before she reached it. Runes carved with instinctive accuracy, far beyond what her mother had taught her. Candles flickering in time with her emotions. Hallie’s magic was not wild in the clumsy, accidental way most children’s was; it was directed, raw and deliberate, as though the girl’s will pressed on the world and the world obeyed.

Lily felt pride, yes—but also unease. She had seen raw power before. She had known what it could do to those too young to bear its weight.

One evening in the sitting room at Godric’s Hollow, while James entertained Hadrian with a flying Snitch, Lily lowered her voice to Remus Lupin, who was nursing a cup of tea by the fire.

“Remus,” she said softly, “I think… Hallie’s magic is more than she can handle. More than I can guide her in.”

Remus tilted his head, thoughtful, his amber eyes catching the firelight. “She’s her mother’s daughter, Lily. Clever, disciplined. She won’t waste it.”

“That’s what frightens me,” Lily admitted, twisting her hands. “I see her control, even now. It’s more than natural—she bends magic without meaning to. If she doesn’t have someone steady to show her the weight of it, it could—” She broke off, unable to voice the darker possibilities.

Remus’s expression softened. He knew what Lily wasn’t saying. Power without grounding could turn brilliance into something sharp, isolating. He had seen it in too many young witches and wizards, students who mistook talent for mastery.

“You want me to guide her,” Remus said, his voice low.

Lily nodded. “Not as a teacher—she’ll have plenty of those. But as… as someone who understands what it is to carry something inside you that makes you different. Someone patient. Someone she’ll trust.”

There was a silence, the crackle of the fire filling it. Then Remus gave a small, steady nod.

“For you. For her. I will.”

And from that night on, an unspoken pact began.
–

It was different when Hallie got to Hogwarts. James was the DADA teacher, and while Remus helped him, he kept true to his word. He offered her little teachings, tips when her magic flared around other students. Remus didn't want her to be corrupted before she even got the chance to grow.
Hallie felt herself begin to shift, begin to change as she watched James’ blatant favoritism towards her brother. She grew into something fierce- something fair.

It was later in the dorms when Remus found Hallie awake, scribbling in her notebook as she always did. Runes so intricate that there was no way Lily had taught her them.
“You’re still awake, little lioness?” Remus questioned, using her nickname from childhood as he settled into a chair beside her. The tension in her shoulders seemed to fold inwards for a moment before she stopped writing.

“Couldn’t sleep,” She replied curtly, edging polite. Remus conjured himself a cup of tea, sitting for a moment before the words broke free from Hallie's throat- almost as if they stung.

“They don’t see me.” Her words were quiet, almost unheard if not for Remus’ sharp hearing. Remus blinked, eyes softening as he seemed to realize who she was talking about. Hallie’s throat ached with the truth of it.
“It’s always Hadrian—his spells, his Quidditch, his scar. He’s… shiny. And I don’t mind, not really, except...” Her voice cracked.
“Except sometimes I feel like I’m… extra. Like if I disappeared into Fred and George’s pocket, no one would notice.”

Remus’s throat constricted in a painful way, heart twisting. She looked so much like Lily when they were younger, the woman confessing all of her fears to Remus- her best friend. Hallie's quill rolled off the table, quiet, subtle, but Hallie turned her head towards it and Remus’ breath caught as he watched the quill snap still mid-air. He understood what Lily meant, suddenly. Her power, raw and emotional, needed to be honed. She could be brilliant- but also dangerous in the wrong hands.

“Hallie, I see you. I see all of you. The cleverness, the weight you carry, and the way you hold back so you won’t scare the people you love. That’s not extra. That’s extraordinary.” Remus spoke softly, moving to take her hand in his so she could not just hear him talking, but sense that he meant it. Hallie stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. The tiniest nod, but it was enough.

And Remus knew: Lily had been right. Hallie Potter was standing at the edge of something vast. With a little guidance, she could become a light. Without it—she could be consumed by her own fire.

–

Fred and George seemed to notice a change in Hallie the next day, how she seemed lighter, her laugh carried more than it had the past couple of days. The next day she sat down at breakfast, copper hair falling like a sheet in front of her face as she clutched her notebook to her chest. She let the boys' noise wash over her. Percy was defending something with a passion and George was returning the heat. But as she sat down, they turned to her briefly, making her smile, before they returned to their conversation.

Fred was the first to notice. He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “Well, if it isn’t our Potter with a proper smile. Did someone sneak you a joke book last night?”
Hallie only smirked, plucking a piece of toast from the plate before him with nimble fingers. “Or maybe I just beat you to the punchline.”

George blinked. Her laugh that followed—it wasn’t the soft, careful chuckle she usually gave when Fred prodded her into it. This laugh rang. Full, un-hesitant, it carried like a bell, catching everyone in its wake.

Percy even looked up from his tea, studying her with a frown that softened into something closer to curiosity. “You’re… cheerful this morning,” he said, almost accusing. Hallie only shrugged. “Just realized some things, that's all.”

Fred leaned across George, eyes narrowing playfully. “Dangerous words, that. What sort of things?”

Hallie tapped her notebook shut, smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The twins exchanged a glance—one of those silent twin glances that meant we’re keeping an eye on her. Percy, though, adjusted his glasses, watching her with a more thoughtful gaze. Something had shifted. She wasn’t trying to disappear today. She wasn’t just there. She was present. And though none of them could have said why, they all felt it: Hallie Potter was starting to take up her own space in the world.

Chapter Text

It wasn't the first time Hadrian had snapped at Hallie. Far from it, actually. But this time it burned. Hadrian had answered a question wrong in transfiguration, so Hallie corrected it, softly, but enough for the class to hear. McGonagall praised her, correcting Hadrian. And Hadrian felt it under his skin, the anger, festering and raw. And something more- envy.

“Always have to show me up, don’t you?” Hadrian snapped at her after class. One wouldn't think anything of it- Hallie knew she wasn't, but the insult still stung. Fred watched, heard the insult, and began to drag Hallie away, George right behind him as they began to joke about a “lioness protection club.” And the sting began to ease. Hadrian watched them drag her away- envy setting in, even sharper now.

Hallie finds the first year before anyone else does. He’s crouched down, whispering to himself about something, and he flinches when she enters the library. Hallie hears it in his voice- the subtle shake, and sees his shoulders tremble. She stops for a moment, noticing the robe colors. But then she makes up her mind- kindness should be extended to all houses- it’s what it means to be a Gryffindor.

Hallie knelt, careful not to startle him. “Hey. What happened?”

He glanced up, eyes red. “They.. they said I wasn’t a real Slytherin. They broke it.” His voice cracked. He half-turned away from her, ashamed. His wand was snapped clean in two, the edges splintered. Hallie ran through spells in her mind, focusing on wands specifically, and she picked up his wand gently, whispering something as she pointed her wand to it, mending it perfectly. The boy blinked at it, then at her.

“Why’d you—”
“Because no one deserves to be left like this,” Hallie said, rising to her feet. She smiled, not wide and mocking like Fred or George would, but small, warm, and unshakable.
“Even Slytherins.” She offered her hand. He stared for a moment, then took it, letting her pull him up.

When he walked off, still clutching his wand as if it were gold, Hallie’s lioness flickered at her shoulder — a brief shimmer of golden fur before vanishing again into shadow.

And in the darkness, Hallie realized she didn’t need the world to know. Kindness, after all, wasn’t about being seen.

–
That moment wasn’t the first time she’d seen the lioness. It appeared, again and again, at her side. Students began to whisper in awe- even of the flickering form- they knew there was something special about Hallie.
Hadrian overhears it and snarls internally, he backs away from the students asking if he could do the same thing.
“It’s a stupid weakness,” He says hollowly, knowing that isn't true. By dinner the story had already slipped its way into the corridors — a Slytherin first year walking around with a wand still faintly scarred from a Gryffindor’s mending spell. Hallie hadn’t thought much of it. She’d expected it to fade, like most whispers did. But Fred and George caught her before she even reached the Gryffindor table.

“You,” George said, grinning as he slung an arm over her shoulder.

“-are officially our hero,” Fred finished, bowing with mock solemnity.
“Slytherins! Hallie Potter, single-handedly bridging the ancient house divide.” Hallie rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed.

“I just fixed a wand.”

Fred tapped the side of his nose. “Not the wand that mattered.”
George chimed in, “The boy’ll never forget it. He’ll be bragging until he grows a beard that he owes his magic to you.” They shared a look, twin grins, and before she could escape they both kissed her on the top of her head, earning groans from nearby second years. Hallie laughed, ducking away—until she met her brother’s gaze across the table. Hadrian’s fork scraped against his plate, the sound sharp.

“Stupid,” he said flatly. “You waste your magic fixing scraps for Slytherins, they’ll just spit in your face next time. You’ll see.”

Hallie seemed to shrink in on herself at his comment. “That’s what makes me different about them, though,” Hallie defended, quietly. Fred grinned, elbowing George. Percy smiled from where he sat at the table, defiant. Hadrian dropped his fork with a sour face, retreating from the table. Hallie was supposed to feel warm, supported, but she only felt coldness. The line between her and her twin was becoming definitive, and she was scared to lose him.

–

Hallie decides to try to cast a patronus one night. She knows she probably won't get anywhere with the spell, but she decides to try anyway. She seeks shelter in the library. The library was silent, save for the steady scratch of the quill in her lap and the slow creak of the old building in the wind. Candles had burned low around her, their pools of light trembling in the drafts. Everyone else had long gone to bed, but Hallie stayed.

Hallie stood steady, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she stuck her wand out, not whispering, but not too loud, announcing the words correctly.

“Expecto Patronum.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then light spilled from her wand, not thin or weak, but alive. It burst outward in a silver rush that stole her breath. The lioness stepped forward onto the worn stone, massive and proud, her mane catching in the candlelight as if made of liquid moon. She moved with a grace that was both terrifying and beautiful, head lowering until she looked directly into Hallie’s eyes.

Hallie’s knees nearly buckled.

Her breath caught in her throat, tears burning at the edges of her vision as she reached out a trembling hand, though she knew she couldn’t touch. “You’re… you’re real,” she whispered, as if afraid the spell would shatter at the sound of her voice. The lioness paced once around her, a protective orbit, tail flicking before settling just at her side.

Hallie let out a shaky laugh, pressing her free hand to her chest. “It’s you. You’re me.”

No applause. No one told her what it meant. No brother in her shadow, no parents comparing her glow to his. Just her, and the creature her soul had chosen to become.

And for the first time, she felt whole.

Chapter Text

The change in the twins was quiet, subtle. Hadrian's snide remarks were sharper,cutting deeper. And Hallie.. She didn’t bother to defend herself anymore. It was late at night, past curfew, when Hallie and the others gathered in the room of requirement. She hadn’t really wanted to show anyone, but the twins needled her for the information.
“C’mon, Lioness, show us your secret,” George teased. And so she did.

She gathered them around her, proudly whispering the spell- without her wand- and watching as a silver lioness, large and proud, appeared by her side. Alive, breathing. Fred stumbled back, grin so wide it almost looked painful. But the moment of peace- the moment she had been waiting for, the awe, the pride, shattered.

Because Hadrian was at the door.

–

The damage was already done by the time Hallie got back to classes the next morning. Her parents pulled her into the study by the time classes were over.
“What have you done, Hallie?” Lily asked, her voice hollow as she looked at her daughter. She was only 11- she was supposed to be watching quidditch and worrying about classes, not conjuring live patronus’.

Hallie shrank in on herself, feeling small as her parents eyed her. Not with awe, not with respect that Fred and George had- but with fear. Tears sprang into her eyes, and a lioness flickered into form next to her, rubbing its head against Hallie's arm. As Lily gasped and James merely stared, Hallie let out a sob and ran out of the room.

The lioness turned to her parents, sitting and staring at them before flickering and disappearing. Lily didn’t know what all she felt, but the bigger feeling in her chest was fear.

—

Hallie ran until she couldn't feel, until she couldn't feel the ache in her chest. Oddly enough, it wasn't the twins, or Hadrian that found her. It was Snape. The dungeon corridors were nearly silent at this hour, the cold stone breathing with faint drafts. Hallie had tucked herself against the wall, knees drawn up, face buried in her arms. She hadn’t even heard the steps until his shadow cut across her.

“Potter.”
Her head jerked up, eyes red. For a moment she looked ready to flee, but Severus Snape only lifted one brow, the sharpness in his voice dulled by something else.
“Even you must realize,” he said, carefully measured, “that crouching in the dark won’t solve anything.” Hallie swallowed hard, pushing hair from her damp face.
“No one sees me.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Not really. Not even them.”

Snape stilled, and in that silence, something unfamiliar flickered across his face. He crouched down, not close, but enough to meet her eye level. His voice lowered, quieter than she’d ever heard it.
“Being unseen is… not always a curse. Sometimes it keeps you alive. Sometimes it sharpens you into something stronger than the ones in the light.” She stared at him, the ache in her chest throbbing.
“Then why does it hurt so much?”
For once, he didn’t sneer. He drew in a thin breath, like the question had struck him somewhere deep.
“Because you still care. That… is not a weakness. It is the very thing that makes you different from them.”

The words lodged in her throat, trembling. Her fingers gripped her wand before she could think, and in a sudden, desperate whisper, she cast.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Light burst in the gloom, pure and blinding, until the form of a lioness padded forward. Her flanks rippled as if breathing, golden eyes blazing in the darkness. She circled once before resting against Hallie’s side, tail flicking protectively.

Snape’s breath caught. Just barely audible, but real. His gaze was fixed, unblinking, the mask slipping from his face. Not fear, something rawer. Reverence. Hallie’s hand trembled as it sank into the glowing mane, and for the first time she looked at him with something almost like hope.

“Do you still think it’s not a weakness?” she whispered.
Snape’s jaw tightened, voice low, hoarse. “It is the mark of someone… extraordinary. Don’t let them take that from you.”
The lioness flicked its ear toward him, as if in agreement, and for the briefest heartbeat, Severus Snape looked like a man who had been struck by a ghost.

–

Snape found them that afternoon, Lily and James, huddled by the fire as they argued. He surprised them, of course.
“Snape-” James began, wand hand twitching towards his wand as he usually did. But Snape’s eyes weren't on him, they were on Lily.
“You.” His voice was low, lethal. “How could you not see?” Lily’s brows furrowed, confusion knitting with offense.
“See what?” she asked, but he continued.
“You give her advanced ruins, call her extraordinary when you think no one is looking. You have Lupin mentor her- but alas, you are afraid of her when she shows you that extraordinary power- and you draw back,” Snape snarled.
James shot to his feet, bristling. “You don’t get to come in here and tell us how to raise our children-”
“Then perhaps, you should try raising both of them,” He paused for a moment. “Together.”

Lily was quiet, shaking. James was furious.
“You come here, trying to tell us how to raise our children,” Jame snarled, and Snape whirled on him.
“I bet you don’t know what she likes, that she hides in the castle when she cries. I found her, crying,” Snape countered, a sneer on his face. But there was something in his eyes. Something Lily knew well. The need to not let another child turn out how he was.

“She was- upset?” Lily asked, her mind going back to her daughter, her sweet daughter, who had run out of the room crying earlier.

“Upset? She conjured a Patronus, Evans.” His voice dropped lower, almost reverent. “A lioness. Breathing. Alive. The kind of magic witches twice her age cannot touch. And do you know what I saw when she looked at it? Not pride. Not joy. Fear. Because she thought the people who matter most to her would look at her gift and see a monster.”

James faltered, blinking, but Snape pressed on, his eyes burning.

“She thinks no one sees her. She thinks no one wants to.” His gaze locked on Lily, voice trembling despite himself. “And she’s right. You’ve been so consumed with polishing the Boy Who Lived, you’ve forgotten there’s another child who carries fire just as bright- who will destroy herself believing it’s a curse.”

The words hung, sharp and merciless. Lily’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes glassing with horror. But by the time she had conjured the words to speak, he was gone, robes trailing behind him.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore kept his eyes on Hadrian. The boy shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
“I fear you have to do it, Hadrian, you have to find the stone.”
Hadrian looked at Dumbledore, who suddenly looked much older, in surprise. Hadrian faltered, for a moment, the look on his sister's face- the pride- when she cast her patronus stuck in his mind like a sore.
“You must not think about her now, it is up to you,” Dumbledore said as if he was reading Hadrian's mind. “The stone is hidden in the castle, your friends will help you find it and save it.”

The meeting ended there, with Dumbledore staring after Hadrian with a grim face.

–

Hadrian was facing him. He had fear etched into his frame as he stood in front of the mangled man. And suddenly he was on the floor, trying to get the man's hands off of his throat. As his vision swam, he saw her in the corner of his eye.

A spell was cast, suddenly, and Hadrian could breathe as Voldemort flew off of him, hitting the wall with a sickening crack. Hallie was in front of him in a moment, shielding him. Hallie leaned down towards her brother, tugging him up and over her shoulder.

“I had hoped it would be you, Hadrian Potter,” the voice mocked. “The one the world whispers about, the boy they call Chosen.”

Hadrian lifted his chin, though his knees shook as Hallie held him up.

“But..” The voice lingered, savoring the pause. “It was not you I wanted.”

The air thickened. Hallie’s breath caught in her throat as the red eyes flared in the mirror’s glass, not on Hadrian, but on her.
“It was always her.” Voldemort’s hiss cracked like a whip. “The girl. The twin who should have died in your place. The one who carries what I lost. Such fire in her veins… such hunger.”

Hallie nearly staggered back, every muscle screaming to flee, but she held steadfast, determined to save her brother, and get out of there.

Her lioness circled them, protective, and as Voldemort made a move, it lunged. Teeth ground against flesh, so alive, so real, and Hadrian flinched.

“You came?” Hadrian asked, his throat raw. Hallie gave him a gentle smile. “No matter how much you hate me, Hadrian, I will be there,” Hallie spoke with such conviction, such sureness, that Hadrian, even for a moment, believed her.

He let her shoulder him out of the depths of the castle, humming a small tune in his ear as his eyesight faded.

–

Hallie would never regret saving her brother. But Voldemort's words still whispered in her mind. As everyone crowded around Hadrian, fussing over him, Hallie tugged her sleeves down over the fire that had scorched her getting to her brother. Her lioness flickered into view, making a few people pause as they watched it nuzzle her. She met their eyes and they looked away quickly.

As the lioness faded, Fred and George were at her side in a minute, bright grins as Percy fussed over her.
“Such a mother hen,” Hallie rolled her eyes, forcing a grin. She didn’t want Percy to mother her- she wanted her mother. That hole sat in her chest as she watched people tend to Hadrian's wounds. And even as he met her eyes, she knew nothing had changed. The world had chosen their hero- their chosen one. And it was not her.

And as the day continued into night, Hallie shouldered her wounds, realizing they made her feel something she had not felt in a while- alive.

–

By the next day, there were whispers in the castle. How Hadrian saved the day, how awesome he was. Not a whisper, or a mention, of Hallie. Fred and George, as well as Percy praised her in their own ways, as they knew what she had done. But the thought still stung.

Hallie slipped away to the kitchens at dinner time, pressing her hand to the hot stove. She pulled back immediately as she could feel the fire burning her skin. But it made her feel, it gave her a sense of adrenaline.

Hallie gasped as she heard a soft ‘pop’ behind her and turned to see a house elf, cowering but bravely speaking to her.
“Misses Potter shouldn't do that, no,” The house elf spoke rather softly, and Hallie recognized her as one of their own.
“Don’t tell mum, or dad,” Hallie pleaded suddenly, dropping to her knees in front of the house elf. Tears, what she had held back, finally began falling. The house elf stood rather awkwardly, before reaching out and taking her hand. The house elf healed her wounds, not making the scar fade, but patching her up for now.

When she went back to the common room for the last time to pack- her eyes were dry, but there was something different about her. Hadrian cornered her in the common room, away from the eyes of others.

“Hallie, you can’t repeat whatever it was he said,” Hadrian spoke quickly, his eyes darting around the place. Hallie paused, grief blooming in her chest.
“You would rather lie? That no one knows the truth?” Hallie asked, indignation in her tone. Hadrian's eyes met hers for a second, as if considering her in a new light.
“I don’t need you ruining everything, ruining what I've set up. If you say anything- I’ll ruin you,” Hadrian threatened. Hallie stood, shock and coldness settling in her core.

After everything she’s done, after walking through literal fire to save him, he still closed himself off to her. But Hallie didn't argue, just watched as he walked away and joined Ron in laughing, as if he hadn't just threatened his own sibling.

She wasn't sure how to bridge the gap that sat between her and her sibling this time, so she chose to do what she did best. She ignored it. She made plans to stay at the burrow for most of the summer, to help Ginny prepare for Hogwarts, and she avoided her parents like the plague. They seemed to recognize that something was wrong- for once.

“Hallie,” Lily started to talk to her as soon as she was near her, but Hallie turned away, making an excuse to go practice ruins.

Fred and George found her in the potions lab of the potter manor. By the time they had arrived and Hallie had been warned by the wards of their presence, she slipped into her robes- covering her arms with sleeves.

“Alright, spill-” Fred began.
“You’ve been off,” George finished his brother's sentence, both standing with their arms crossed. Even at 13, and even though she was 12, they still towered over her.
“It’s nothing,” She replied easily, dismissing them. They looked at each other and jumped on her suddenly, entangling her in their arms.

“You’ll tell us eventually,” Fred promised, and Hallie couldn't help but let a small smile slip through. And even as fear at the thought of telling them gripped her heart, she couldn't help but want to treasure the small moments she had with them so far.

Chapter Text

The summer went fast. Hallie barely spent time at the Potter Manor, and when she was there she had someone with her- Ginny, Fred, George, and even Percy. Her parents pushed it off, glad that she had friends. Though Lily noticed. She always noticed. She noticed the way Hallie's sleeves seemed longer, the way she hid more and more, distracting herself at the burrow.

It started with little things. Ginny came to her, asking about help with her textbooks. Then it became Hallie teaching the young girl runes.
“What are you doing to her? Forging her into a weapon?” Fred joked one night as they sat on the balcony outside of the twins room.
“I’m showing her how to not be a shadow,” Hallie replied. Her voice sounded so small, so unseen, that it made Fred’s heart hurt. He slid his hand into hers silently, catching her off guard as she looked at him sharply.
“You’re not one either, you know?” Fred asked and Hallie looked away, shame burning in her gut.

–

One night, Ginny and Hallie laid on the floor together in Ginny’s room. “This one- this means protection,” Hallie explained as she pointed to an intricate rune on her notebook.
“Will you always be there?” Ginny asked suddenly after a moment of silence. Her fear shone on her face, but it disappeared as a lioness appeared around her, curling into her side.
“No matter what, Gin,” Hallie promised. But a voice whispered in the back of her mind. ‘You can’t protect her,’ It mocked, and sounded vaguely like Hadrian's voice. She pushed it out of her mind, giving herself this moment of peace.

–

One night, when the twins were scheming elsewhere, Ginny caught Hallie staring into the fireplace, her sleeve pushed back too far. She didn’t ask about the red lines there, just quietly slipped her hand into Hallie’s.
“Promise you won’t disappear on me when I go to Hogwarts,” Ginny said, voice small.
Hallie squeezed her hand back. “Never. You’ll always find me.”
Ginny smiled at her as the lioness shimmered into view.

–

It was only a week and they were back at Hogwarts. Ginny thrummed with excitement and fear, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She sat on the stool, and as fear gripped her she thought of Hallie's fingers brushing through her hair, of Hallie's own fear, and she felt her heart steel in determination.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Cheers rang out, loud and defiant, but Ginny found the one person she had been waiting to sit by, to eat dinner with in a different area.
“Hallie!” She called loudly, excited. Hallie grinned as the girl toppled into her. She hugged her fiercely, lioness flickering in view just for Ginny. Hallie had learned that she could choose who saw her patronus, and only the ones she thought would need it saw.

Down the table, Hadrian grinned as people praised him for “guiding his friend's sister to the right house.” Hallie could feel her knuckles dig into her thighs, anger rearing its head. Hadrian did not guide her. Hadrian didn’t speak to her, Hadrian didn't brush his fingers through her hair, speaking to her when she was afraid. Hadrian did not guide her through the magic of runes, didn't spend late nights with her.

But Ginny drew Hallie back to reality, gripping her hand as she drew her attention away.
“You’ll have to show me everything in the tower!” Ginny laughed as she pulled Hallie away from the table, leading her back to the tower.

Hallie glanced back at Hadrian, sensing his stare on her back. But he wasn’t smiling. He was glaring.

–

The feast emptied into the usual chaos of first-night shuffling: prefects calling, candles bobbing, robes whispering across stone floors. Ginny skipped ahead with Hermione, her chatter echoing down the corridor.

Hallie lingered, slower, her feet heavy.
A hand caught her elbow.
Hadrian.

He steered her into a dim alcove, shadows swallowing the edge of his grin. His eyes gleamed with something sharp, something that always seemed to seek her pain.

“You heard them, didn’t you?” he murmured, voice low enough no one else could catch it. Hallie swallowed, trying not to show the flinch.
“…Heard what?”

“Them. Mum. Dad.” His smirk widened. “You know it was me who guided Ginny. Me who gave her courage. They said it themselves.”

Her lips pressed tight. She tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened.

“Even she belongs to me now,” he whispered, leaning close enough she could smell pumpkin juice still on his breath.
“The little sister you think you’ve found? She’s mine. Like everything else.”

Hallie’s chest burned. For a heartbeat she wanted to scream at him, to spit the truth—that Ginny had clung to her hand, that it was her voice that had steadied the girl’s Sorting. But her throat closed around the words. What good would it do? Their parents had already chosen the story they wanted to believe. She jerked free at last, her voice brittle as glass.

“She isn’t yours, Hadrian.”

And before he could answer, before he could smirk again, she fled down the hall, following Ginny’s laughter like it was the only light left in her night. Hadrian stayed behind in the alcove, smirking curdling into something darker, eyes shadowed with the kind of satisfaction that came only from wounding her where it hurt most.

–

Remus saw it first. Something was on Hallie's mind.
“What were you up to for the summer?" Remus asked, sitting his tea down in his office. Hallie stayed quiet.
“He takes everything," Hallie blurted, ears turning red as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Remus stilled. His brow furrowed, the words hanging heavy between them.
“Who does, Hallie?”

She blinked fast, realizing too late what she’d said. Her mouth worked, scrambling for a cover, but her chest was too tight, her eyes too bright.
“My brother,” she whispered at last. “Hadrian.”

Silence again. Except this time, it wasn’t the same. Remus’s eyes softened, that sharp thread of concern buried under his quiet strength. He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t fill the space with platitudes or easy comforts. He just leaned forward, hands folded, and said, low and even:
“Not everything, Hallie.”

Her breath shook, eyes darting to the flicker of the firelight as though it could swallow her words again. But Remus’s gaze was steady, grounding, enough that she didn’t run.

Not this time.

–

Remus stayed quiet. He didn't share the moment with Sirius, Lily, or James.

“He takes everything.”

He could still see the way she’d said it. Not bitter, not angry, but hollow. A child too used to being emptied out. His first instinct was to tell Sirius, to storm into James and Lily’s quarters, to demand they look harder at their daughter. But the fragile, wide-eyed way Hallie had looked at him stopped him cold. If he spoke too soon, too loudly, he might shatter the thin thread of trust she’d offered him tonight.

So he chose silence. For now.

But it wasn’t inaction.

That week, he began sitting nearer to her in lessons he proctored, careful not to hover but always close enough she’d feel his presence. He checked in with small questions, gentle prods, offering space she could step into if she wanted. He let her catch him watching, sometimes, but never with judgment. Always with the quiet steadiness of someone who had noticed and would keep noticing.

He wouldn’t take this from her. Wouldn’t take her words and make them bigger than she was ready for. But he wouldn’t let them go, either. Remus carried them with him. And because of that, Hallie was no longer quite as invisible as she thought.

Chapter Text

The lies started small. Whispers in Remus’ ear. Breakfast blurred around her, the clatter of plates and chatter of voices muffled beneath Hallie’s tired thoughts. She’d hardly slept, the glow of the lioness flickering faintly at her bedside like a restless sentinel. She’d drawn comfort from it, but it was brittle, fraying the longer she sat unseen.

Across the table, Hadrian laughed too loudly. His eyes caught hers like a snare.
“You know what Hallie did last night?” His voice was light, playful—innocent to anyone else. “Stayed up sneaking around the library. Again. Nearly gave Filch a heart attack when he caught her.”
Hallie’s spoon stilled in her porridge. “That’s not true—”

Hadrian’s grin widened. “Oh, come on, Hallie, no need to be shy. She’s always wandering off, you know. Never where she should be.”

Remus, just sliding onto the bench beside them, frowned. “Is that true?” His tone was gentle, concerned but something in it made Hallie flinch.

“I wasn’t—” she started, heat prickling behind her eyes. But Hadrian was already leaning close, dropping his voice like a confidant.

“She’s been…different. Since the end of term. Moody, secretive. I try to help, but she doesn’t listen.” He sighed, playing the part of weary brother to perfection. “I worry about her, Uncle Moony.”

Remus’s eyes softened—on Hadrian. Not her.

Hallie’s throat closed. Her protest shriveled to silence. Hadrian smirked into his pumpkin juice, triumphant. Hallie slips away to the library after dinner to study with Ginny. The next morning, Hadrian tells Remus,
“She’s been disappearing a lot lately. I think she’s hiding something from us.”

Remus doesn’t confront her, but he starts watching.

Hallie comes back to the common room with ink stains on her hands after late-night rune practice. Hadrian sighs to Remus:
“She’s not keeping up with homework. Always distracted.”

Remus notices the ink, the tired eyes—and the story clicks too neatly into place.
Hallie drifts at breakfast, barely touching her food. Hadrian murmurs: “She skips meals sometimes. I don’t know why she does this to herself.”
Remus quietly nudges her plate toward her, urging her to eat. Hallie stiffens—thinking it’s kindness, never realizing it’s pity born of lies.

Hallie bumps into Remus after class, books piled high.

Hadrian whispers: “She’s been snapping at me a lot. Short-tempered. She won’t talk to me about what’s wrong.”

Remus studies Hallie’s clenched jaw, the way she hugs her books too close, and wonders if Hadrian is right, that she’s lashing out instead of reaching out.

Hallie spends a late night with Fred and George, laughter echoing in an empty corridor.
The next morning, Hadrian plants the sharpest seed yet: “She’s reckless, Uncle Moony. She’s going to get in trouble one of these days, and I won’t always be there to protect her.”

The words sink deep. Protection. Guidance. The very things Remus believes Hadrian is trying to give her, when really, Hadrian is carving space for himself as the “good twin.”

By midterm, the damage is done. Hallie feels the shift without understanding it. Remus still smiles at her, still asks how she’s doing—but there’s always a trace of doubt behind his eyes, a hesitation before he believes her. And Hallie, who has always struggled to be seen, now feels even more invisible.

It happens in the common room after dinner, when the firelight is low and most of the other students have gone up to bed. Hallie’s bent over a roll of parchment, jaw tight as she scribbles furiously in runes.

Hadrian saunters in late, all casual smugness, and drops into the chair nearest Remus.

“She’s been sneaking around again,” he says lightly, as though it’s just banter, just harmless. “Fred and George caught her near the Restricted Section last night.”

Hallie’s head snaps up. “That’s not true.”
Hadrian shrugs. “I saw you slip out.”

“You didn’t.” Her voice cracks sharp, desperate.

Remus leans forward, steady, cautious. “Hallie, if you were—”

The words slice through her. That hesitation. That if you were. It’s the confirmation she didn’t know she feared—that Remus believes Hadrian’s story more easily than her own truth.

Her chair scrapes against the stone floor as she stands too fast. “You think I’m lying.”

Remus tries to soothe, to steady. “No one’s accusing—”

But the damage is already done. “You are! You all are. You just sit there and nod when he talks, when he—he takes everything, and you let him! You don’t see me. You never see me!”

Her sleeve slips down as she throws her arms out in frustration, scars half-visible in the firelight, but her fury keeps anyone from moving close.

And then, like a spark struck, her lioness erupts at her side. Brilliant, silver, blinding in its raw defiance. It snarls, a great prowling thing, tail lashing as if daring anyone in the room to say she’s lying again.

The common room goes silent. Even Hadrian freezes.

Hallie’s chest heaves as tears burn hot behind her eyes. The lioness presses closer, its form flickering and steadying, as though feeding on her fury.

“Believe him if you want,” she spits, her voice hoarse but ringing. “But don’t you dare call me weak.”
And before anyone can gather words, she storms out, the lioness striding beside her, its silver paws leaving embers in their wake.

–

It was the next day, a quidditch match. Hallie had been thrown off of her broom in the middle of the match, and was sent to the infirmary. The scent of antiseptic potions clung thick in the infirmary air. Hallie lay motionless in the bed nearest the window, bandages wrapped along her ribs and one arm set in a sling. Madam Pomfrey had said the fall could have been much worse, if not for the lioness that had burst into being beneath her at the last second, cushioning her crash.

But now the lioness prowled faint and translucent at her bedside, pacing, pacing, sometimes flickering entirely before reforming with a soundless growl.

Remus sat rigid in the chair, hands gripping his knees. He’d been there since she was carried in. He hadn’t left, leaving was the very thing that hollowed her out.

Hadrian had denied everything, of course. Claimed a rogue Bludger had caught her. James and Lily hadn’t questioned it. They’d praised him for finishing the match. But Remus had seen the faint trace of spellfire clinging to the broom handle. He smelled it, he knew.

When Hallie stirred at last, eyelids fluttering open, her gaze went first to the lioness, then to the ceiling. Only after a long pause did she notice him.

“You stayed,” she rasped, voice raw.

“Yes,” Remus said simply. “And I’ll keep staying.”

For a long moment she didn’t answer. She only turned her face slightly, as if to hide from the weight of his words. The lioness flickered, then settled at her side with a sigh. Her voice was small when it finally came.

“He takes everything. Even the sky.”

Remus’s throat closed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, keeping his voice steady even though he wanted to shake the whole world apart.

“Not this time. Not you.”

Her eyes found him then- dull, tired, but searching. For once, he didn’t look away. The silence stretched until her lashes lowered again, exhaustion pulling her back under. The lioness, still watching him, gave a soundless rumble and pressed against her side like a guard dog unwilling to move.

Remus stayed.

Chapter Text

The infirmary doors had barely shut behind him when Hadrian caught the sound of voices—low, firm, and waiting. He froze, his hand still clenched around the strap of his satchel. Ginny Weasley stepped forward first, fire in her eyes. Fred and George loomed behind her like shadows, their grins gone for once, replaced with hard stares that matched Percy’s silent disapproval at the far end of the hall.

“Thought you’d slink off, did you?” Ginny said, her voice clear and sharp enough to cut stone.

Hadrian’s jaw tightened. “Move.”

“No,” Ginny said. She squared her shoulders, small but unyielding, her brothers’ presence solidifying her stance. “Hallie nearly died because of you. And you think anyone’s going to let you near her again?”

Fred folded his arms, echoing with a grim finality, “Not happening.”

George added, “Not while we’re breathing.”

Hadrian’s hands trembled, but whether from rage or the sudden weight of their stares, he couldn’t tell. His throat felt tight, the echoes of Lily’s words still ringing in his ears—her tears, her apology. For Hallie. Not for him. Never for him.
“They all-” His voice cracked, and he forced it steadier, darker. “They all choose her. You’re choosing her. Why? What has she done that I haven’t?” Ginny didn’t flinch.

“She doesn’t have to do anything. She just is. Brave. Kind. Worth it.” Her chin lifted, stubborn and certain. “You’ll never understand that, Hadrian.”

The words hit harder than any hex.

For a fleeting heartbeat, his mask faltered—the boy beneath all the jealousy and fire peeking through, bewildered and aching. But it was gone in an instant, his face twisting back into fury, his teeth gritted.

“You’ll regret this,” he spat, eyes burning with resentment. “All of you. You’ll see. She doesn’t deserve any of it.”

Fred stepped forward, wand flicking just enough to remind Hadrian he wasn’t untouchable. “Funny. Because to us, she deserves everything.”

The silence that followed was thick, the kind that pressed down like storm clouds.

Hadrian shoved past them, his shoulder knocking hard into Percy’s as he stalked away, his anger leaving scorch marks in the air.

Ginny exhaled only when he was gone, her fists still clenched. The twins lingered at her side, protective and unyielding.

And for the first time in years, it was Hadrian—not Hallie—who walked away alone.

–

He stormed through the castle like a shadow came loose from its tether, ignoring the startled glances of younger years and the whispered speculation that followed him. His fists were balled so tightly his nails dug crescent moons into his palms, but the sting only sharpened the roar in his skull. They were supposed to choose me. Every word Ginny had spat replayed in his mind, a dagger twisting deeper each time. Brave. Kind. Worth it. She’d said it like a verdict, like a truth carved into stone. And his parents—his parents who had finally begun to open their eyes—had looked at him with doubt for the first time.

Doubt.

Hallie had always been small, quiet, breakable. She wasn’t supposed to matter. Not compared to him. Not compared to the Boy Who Lived. Yet here he was, pushed aside again, their affection bleeding into her shadow. She hadn’t even had to fight for it. She just existed, and people bent toward her like she was the sun itself. His breath came harsh, ragged. He ducked into an abandoned classroom and slammed the door behind him. The silence pressed in, suffocating, too empty—until he filled it with his own low, venomous hiss:

“They’ll regret it. All of them.”

He tore his wand free and began casting, wild bursts of magic slamming into the walls, sparks scattering like embers. Bookshelves cracked. A chair splintered. The floor bore the scorch marks of spells no second-year should’ve been touching.

But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing he did seemed enough- not when Hallie could summon a lioness of light and he was left with only his name, hollow and brittle.

His chest heaved as he gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. “She stole it from me,” he muttered, half a growl, half a prayer.
“My place. My name. My future.” A darker thought slid into place, insidious and sweet.

If she weren’t there… it would be mine again.

The lioness would vanish. Their parents’ eyes would turn back to him. Sirius and Remus would remember who they were meant to protect. The Weasleys would fall in line.

It was so simple.

Hadrian sank to his knees, his wand still clutched tight, his breath sharp as knives in his lungs. The rage burned hot—but underneath, coiled tighter and colder, was something far worse.

Resolve.

–

It started small. Too small for anyone but Hallie to notice.

Ink spilled across her homework before she could turn it in, her quill snapping in her hand without explanation. A potion, once carefully brewed, erupted into smoke that burned her arms raw. Her trunk went missing for days at a time, hidden in places she would never have found without Fred or George.

When she glanced at Hadrian, he was always there. Watching. Smirking faintly, or worse, expressionless, as if she were beneath even his amusement.

She told herself it was bad luck. Her clumsiness. The world tugged at her threads a little harder than usual. But every time she tried to shrug it off, his voice would slip in.

“You’d be better off disappearing, you know. You ruin everything just by staying.”

It was always soft. Always where no one else could hear.
And slowly, she started to believe him.

Her lioness flickered more often, no longer pacing with her steady, protective stride. Sometimes, when Hallie caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, it seemed thinner—its golden form patchy, light leaking away. And when her burns grew worse, when she pressed cloth to skin that still stung from another “accident,” the lioness only lingered at a distance, as though uncertain whether to draw close.

Fred was the first to notice. The way Hallie tucked her sleeves tighter. The way she smiled less, her voice smaller in their shared corners of the common room. But whenever he asked, she brushed it off. “Clumsy, that’s all.”

George frowned, too, but Hadrian’s act was impeccable. He was the golden boy in the open, tears quick at the right moments, smiles ready for Lily and James. No one else could see the shadows twisting beneath.

No one but Hallie.

And when she lay awake at night, sleeve tugged down over fresh burns, she thought she could hear his whispers echoing louder than her own breath:

“You take everything from me.”
“You don’t belong.”
“You should’ve been the one to die.”

The lioness curled in the corner of the dormitory, dim and flickering. When Hallie finally closed her eyes, it let out the faintest, mournful growl, as though even it didn’t know how much longer it could hold on.

Chapter Text

It was small, one day, when Hallie saw her. She was a new first year, one Ginny had befriended. She had a mysterious air about her. The girl walked past Hallie before turning around and beaming at her.

“You have gnargles hanging around your head. Not everything they say is true, you know?” Luna said in a dreamy voice. The words hit Hallie like a blow to her stomach. Her face crumpled and she sniffled, trying her best not to cry then and there. Luna walked closer, reaching out and patting her on the head. Hallie's lioness appeared beside her, stronger than ever, tail swishing as it stood beside her proudly.

Luna smiled dreamily as the lioness butted its head against her arm. Hallie sniffled, whispering a quick “thank you,” before running off, a spark lighting in her veins.

“Not everything they say is true.”

Deep down Hallie knew Luna was right. Deep down she knew that she wasn't just her name. She wasn't just the second twin. She was stronger, could be stronger, and would be better.
She threw herself back into her studies, spending hours in the library until Madam Pince had to shoo her out. Her parchment filled with runes and charms and careful notes, not for herself alone, but for others, Ginny, who she guided through hexwork; Neville, whose shaky hands she steadied in Herbology; even a nervous first-year Ravenclaw who couldn’t get their spell to hold.

Every act of kindness, every spell mastered, every person she helped- it stitched her back together. Quietly, steadily, she remade herself, a little stronger each day.

The lioness walked with her always now, not a warning, not a burden, but a promise.

–

Lily paced in front of the fire at Potter Manor. Her mind was going a mile a minute.
Where had they gone wrong?

One twin cast to the side, a shadow that many of them warned them about. And the other? So intertwined in fame that he hated his own twin, his own flesh and blood. She stopped suddenly, pressing her palm against the mantle as if the cool stone might steady her. They had loved Hadrian, they had poured everything into him, lifted him up, told him again and again that he was their miracle, their boy who survived. Had they blinded themselves in the process?

Merlin, how many times had she brushed off the look in Hallie’s eyes, chalked it up to shyness, to being the “second twin”?

Lily’s throat closed. Second twin. Forgotten twin. The words hit like knives. But why? Why would Hadrian hate her so much? Why would he need to break her down until there was almost nothing left?

She pressed her fists to her temples, shaking her head as though she could dislodge the answer. Was it envy? A hunger for something he thought she had? Or was it them—her—who had created this divide by lavishing attention on the wrong child, mistaking survival for strength, mistaking silence for resilience?

James’s voice floated in from upstairs, soft, restless, but Lily couldn’t move. Not yet. The firelight threw her reflection back at her, fractured in the glass of the hearth screen. She didn’t recognize the woman looking back.

Her daughter was fading. Her son was the one holding the torch to her.

Lily’s eyes stung, hot and aching. “Where did we lose you both?” she whispered, to the fire, to the night, to the part of her that still believed she could make this right.

–

Hadrian noticed before anyone else.
He always did.

It started small: Hallie walking straighter, her eyes clearer, her lioness not flickering anymore but pacing with a quiet, golden confidence at her side. She wasn’t cowering the way she used to, shrinking under his words, under their parents’ indifference. No, she was smiling. She was helping others. She was… visible.

And it burned.

Every time he walked into a room and saw Ginny leaning toward Hallie with an eager question, or Neville laughing with her in Herbology, or even Luna trailing at her side with that airy look, something inside him twisted tighter. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Hadrian was supposed to be the one they looked to. The chosen one. The one who mattered. Their parents said so, Dumbledore said so, everyone said so. And yet- Hallie was slipping through the cracks, seizing pieces of light he’d thought belonged to him.

Why did they go to her? Why did they smile at her?

He hated the way she carried herself now, like she wasn’t afraid. He hated the lioness most of all, that great, gleaming beast that followed her, radiating something untouchable. It made her look strong. It made her look like she belonged.

But the truth? The truth he couldn’t stand to face was simpler, uglier: he hated her because she survived what he tried to do to her. He hated that she could be kind after everything. He hated that she kept choosing to rise where he wanted her to fall.

And deep down, he envied her.

Hadrian clenched his fists when he saw her bent over a table in the common room, Ginny beside her, parchment spread between them. Her laugh-soft, real-cut through him. He thought of how their parents would still never notice her, how he could still make her bleed if he wanted, how easily he could twist Remus back against her.

But it wasn’t enough anymore.

For the first time, he felt something like a fear coil beneath his fury, because if Hallie kept shining like this, if people kept turning to her instead of him, then maybe the prophecy, the “chosen one,” the golden boy, maybe none of it would matter. Maybe they’d all see what he already knew.

That Hallie was stronger than him.

And he would never let that stand.

Hadrian formed a plan. Slowly and surely. He planned carefully. He etched it out in his notes. He would- and could- use an unforgivable on her. Pretend to be the one to find her, tears and all. Everything would work out. And if it didn't, he would find another way.

The opportunity came soon enough.

–

The library was nearly empty when Hallie stumbled upon him. Draco Malfoy, pale and scowling at a book he clearly didn’t want to be reading. She almost passed him by. Almost.

But something tugged her back.

“You’re holding it upside down,” she said softly, stopping at his table.

Draco blinked, then turned the book the right way up with a sharp flush of embarrassment. “I knew that.”

Hallie didn’t laugh, didn’t tease him. Instead, she slid her own book onto the table beside his. “It’s about ancient curses, isn’t it? You need to look at the etymology, not the incantations. Half of them are mistranslated.”
For a moment, Draco just stared at her, as though no one had ever bothered to help him before. Then he leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

Hallie shrugged, eyes flicking to the lioness pacing faintly at her side. “Not everything they say is true.”

It was small. Barely a handful of words. But something in Draco’s expression shifted, flickering between suspicion and reluctant interest. He didn’t reply, only closed the book and muttered something about “considering it.”

Hallie smiled faintly before slipping away.
And in the shadows, Hadrian watched.

His sister- his sister, talking to Draco Malfoy like they were equals. Like she could belong anywhere, with anyone. His blood boiled. It was the perfect moment, the perfect opening.

Hallie had just reached the turn in the corridor when it hit her. Searing, white-hot agony that ripped through every nerve, stealing her breath. Her scream tore free, echoing off the stone walls, her body crumpling as if her very bones wanted to twist apart.

The Cruciatus.

Hadrian’s wand hand trembled from the sheer power of it, from the intoxicating thrill of control. He let it linger just long enough to see her collapse, her lioness roaring in fury before faltering, flickering away in a haze of pain.

And then he was gone, slipping into the shadows, into the role he was always meant to play: the witness, the savior. By the time others came running- Slytherins and Gryffindors alike- Hadrian was already pointing, voice sharp and trembling just so:

“It was Malfoy! I saw him-he cursed her!”

All eyes turned on Draco, who stood frozen, pale, his mouth open but no words forming.

And in the chaos, no one thought to look twice at the golden boy who had delivered the accusation.

Chapter Text

The castle was a flurry of chaos. It seemed to settle the moment Lucius Malfoy set foot in the castle. Whispers followed the taller man, but he ignored them as the infirmary doors swung open. The adults meeting seemed to stretch on, precautions being put in place, asking how anyone could do this. Lucius was getting impatient.

“Did you test his wand?” Lucius interrupted whoever was speaking, his voice steady, boiling underneath with fury. Remus stopped short.
“No-”
“Do it. Now,” Lucius demanded.
“You have no right to be making demands when your son!" Sirius started, before faltering as the Auror cast the spell, Draco’s wand lighting up as clean.

“And who, do tell, was the one to accuse Draco of this?” Lucius asked, his voice purring now. All of the adults faltered, their eyes turning to Hadrian who was seated next to his sister, who was still unconscious, reading a book. Hadrian seemed to quiver in his seat for a moment.

“ I wasn't lying, I saw him do it!” Hadrian said defiantly, crossing his arms across his chest as he sat his book down. Hadrian seemed to pale as they reached for his wand. He did a cleansing spell, sure he wasn't as good as Hallie at charms, but it should have worked. Hadrian willingly gave his wand, giving them a moment to do the spell.

Hadrian's wand flickered, but in the end- it was green. Evidence of the spell.

–

The Potter drawing room felt colder than usual, the fire snapping sharp instead of warm. Lily sat rigid in her chair, arms folded tightly, while James paced like a caged stag, jaw clenched.

Remus and Sirius stood opposite them, still cloaked from their return to Hogwarts, eyes dark with what they’d found. or what they hadn’t.

“Well?” James demanded, his voice carrying too much impatience, too much fear. “You said you were going to test their wands. What did you find?”

Remus exchanged a glance with Sirius before answering, his voice careful, deliberate. “Both came back clean. Malfoy’s wand has traces of minor hexes- schoolyard things- but nothing like the Cruciatus. Hadrian’s wand…” He paused. “…wasn’t clean.”

Lily let out a sharp breath, half relief, half vindication. “Malfoy found some way around the trace, or he used another wand. We knew Hadrian wouldn’t-”

“No,” Sirius cut in, voice low and dangerous. His hands were fists at his sides. “No, Lily. Don’t twist this into what you want to hear. If Malfoy had cast it, the wand would show it. The Cruciatus leaves a mark you cannot scrub away. He didn’t do it.”

James turned sharply on him. “Are you saying our son is lying?”

“I’m saying,” Sirius growled, stepping forward, “that you’re both too blind to see what’s right in front of you. Hallie was tortured. Tortured. And your golden boy just happens to be there with the perfect story, the perfect villain to point at? Doesn’t that sound too clean to you?”

Remus’s voice was quieter, but it struck deeper. “We checked every angle. There’s no evidence against Malfoy. And Hadrian’s story…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t hold. There’s a gap somewhere, and you don’t want to look at it. Plus his wand holds the spell”

Lily’s lips trembled, her nails biting into her palms. “Remus, Sirius, he’s our son. You’re asking us to believe that Hadrian, our Hadrian, could cast an Unforgivable on his sister.”

Sirius’s voice cracked like a whip. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you. Because if it wasn’t Malfoy then who else was close enough, who else had the motive?”

The silence that followed was deafening.
For the first time, James’s pacing faltered. Lily’s gaze dropped to her lap, her breath shuddering.

Remus, watching them both, felt the weight of Hallie’s lioness in his mind’s eye, flickering, waiting for them to admit what they already feared.

–

Hallie stirred against the crisp white sheets of the infirmary, the smell of potions sharp in her nose. Her arms ached, her body heavy, but the weight on her chest wasn’t from the fall or the pain. It was the silence. The silence of waiting for no one to believe her. But when her eyes opened, Sirius was there. So was Remus. Both looked as though they hadn’t slept in days, shadows carved beneath their eyes.

“Hallie,” Remus said softly, leaning forward. “You’re safe.”
Her throat burned as she swallowed. “No, I’m not.” Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. She forced herself to look at them, her lioness flickering faintly at her side. “It was Hadrian.”

The words spilled into the air like broken glass. She waited for them to be swept away, dismissed like always.

But Sirius didn’t blink. He didn’t tell her she was wrong. Instead, his hand clenched into the bed frame, knuckles whitening. “I knew it,” he breathed, fury flashing in his eyes. “I knew that little—”
Remus reached for Hallie’s wrist, grounding her with gentle fingers. “Thank you for telling us,” he said, steady and calm, but his jaw was tight, his eyes bleak. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

Something inside her cracked open then—relief so sharp it hurt. Her lioness shimmered brighter, brushing its head against her shoulder like it was proud she had spoken.

Sirius straightened, his voice leaving no room for argument. “She’s not staying here. Not another bloody second.”

“Padfoot—”

“No, Moony. Enough.” His voice shook with restrained rage. “Dumbledore, James, and Lily, they’ve all let her rot in Hadrian’s shadow. I won’t. We won’t. If the Potters won’t protect their daughter, then we will.”

Hallie blinked at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”

Remus’s hand lingered over hers, warmth in the quiet words. “It means you’re coming with us, Hallie. We’ll train you ourselves. Properly. No more lies. No more being overlooked.”

Sirius crouched at her bedside, voice low and fierce, a vow carved in stone. “We’ll give you a home where you’re seen. Where you’re wanted. From this moment on, you’re ours. Do you understand?”

Hallie couldn’t speak. The lump in her throat was too big, the tears too hot. She nodded, clutching Remus’s hand like a lifeline as her lioness let out a silent roar that only the three of them seemed to hear. And just like that, the decision was made.

–

Chapter Text

The oak door to the Headmaster’s office rattled on its hinges as Sirius slammed it open without waiting to be invited in. Fawkes gave a startled trill from his perch, and Dumbledore looked up, his eyes flickering with the calm that always seemed to carry an edge of condescension.

“Sirius,” he began, “to what do I owe-”

“Don’t you dare.” Sirius’s voice was a whipcrack, his magic buzzing so hot it made the silver instruments on the desk tremble. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t know. You’ve known for years. You let it happen.”

Remus stepped in behind him, calm as always, but his calm was dangerous this time. A quiet storm. “Hallie is leaving. Tonight.”

Dumbledore leaned back, steepling his fingers. “I assure you, Hadrian-”

“Hadrian?” Sirius barked a laugh that had no humor in it. “This isn’t about your bloody Golden Boy. This is about Hallie. The girl you’ve been content to sacrifice on the altar of prophecy. The girl you ignored until she bled for your silence.”

Remus’s voice cut through, quieter but sharper. “We tested wands. We’ve seen the burns. You can’t spin this, Albus. Not anymore.”

For the first time, Dumbledore’s composure faltered. His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You don’t have the authority to remove her-”

“Oh, I don’t?” Sirius leaned forward over the desk, his voice molten with fury. “Watch me. James and Lily forfeited their right to protect her the moment they chose blindness over their own daughter. And you–” His lip curled, a snarl barely contained. “You don’t get to play puppet-master with her life.”

Remus laid a hand on Sirius’s arm, not to restrain him, but to anchor him. “We’re done here, Albus. Hallie’s coming with us. And if you try to stop us—” His amber eyes glinted like the wolf just beneath his skin. “—you’ll find we’re not as tame as you’ve come to believe.”

Dumbledore said nothing as they turned and left, Sirius’s robes snapping like a banner behind him.

–

Hallie stood in the Gryffindor common room, a small trunk at her feet, her lioness pacing at her side. Students whispered, wide-eyed, but no one dared stop her. Fred and George were there, flanking her like sentries, silent but burning with pride. Ginny clung to her hand until Hallie squeezed it once and gently pulled away.

When Sirius and Remus appeared at the portrait hole, she felt her chest crack open. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t walking alone.

“Ready, little star?” Sirius asked, softer now, the storm behind his eyes banked for her sake.

She nodded. And with her lioness gleaming bright beside her, Hallie stepped through the portrait hole. She didn’t look back.

–Three year time-skip-

The study at Grimmauld Place had been transformed over the years. The shelves were no longer dust-coated reliquaries of Black family arrogance, but stacked with books Sirius had scavenged for her — spell theory, rune work, dueling tactics, obscure magical histories. A warm fire crackled in the grate, painting the room in golden light.

Hallie sat in the deep leather chair Sirius always called hers, legs tucked up, hair falling into her face as she stared down at the letter she’d written and rewritten at least a dozen times. Her lioness was gone — not lost, but absorbed. The strength she once borrowed now lived in her bones, in her steady breath and unflinching gaze. She didn’t need the ghost of protection anymore. She was her own guardian.

When she finally spoke, her voice didn’t tremble.
“I want to go back.”

Across from her, Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance — one of those wordless ones that still spoke volumes after years of co-parenting a girl they’d built back up from ash.

“Back?” Sirius tilted his head, sharp gray eyes narrowing, though his tone was careful. “You mean—”

“Hogwarts,” she said, setting the letter flat on the table. “Not as Hallie Potter. Not anymore. I’ve grown past her.” Her lips curved into something fierce, certain. “I want to walk into that castle as Hallie Black.”

The fire popped, sending sparks into the air.

Remus leaned forward, studying her as if weighing the truth in her words though he already knew. He’d watched her earn every scar, every triumph, watched her tame her own magic until she was a force in her own right. “You’re not asking because you need to prove anything,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “No. I’m asking because I want to. Because I’m ready. And because… no one gets to write me out of that story anymore. Not Dumbledore. Not them.”

Sirius’s hand slammed down on the arm of his chair, sudden and loud, though his grin was wolfish, proud. “That’s my girl. Walking in as a Black— my Black.”

For a moment, Hallie’s composure cracked and she laughed, shoulders easing. Then, steady once more, she held their eyes. “There’s something else. The animagus spell- it worked.”

Remus raised a brow.

She stood, uncurled herself in one fluid motion— and then her body blurred, shimmered, and reformed. A lioness stood before them, sleek and radiant, her eyes molten gold and unblinking. The embodiment of everything she had survived.

Sirius’s breath caught, pride warring with awe. Remus rose to his feet slowly, reverently.

Hallie shifted back, her hair wild, her expression steady.
“I don’t need her anymore. I am her.”

The silence that followed was thick, electric, reverent.

Then Sirius threw back his head and laughed, the sound shaking the windows. “Merlin’s bones, Moony — do you see her? Do you see her? They’ll never know what hit them.”

Remus’s smile was quieter, but it burned no less brightly. “Hogwarts isn’t ready.”

Hallie only smiled, fierce and certain. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t returning as a shadow. She was returning as herself.

–

The Great Hall was already alive with chatter, plates filling, goblets clinking, students shouting across tables. Then the doors opened.

For a moment, nothing stopped — until two tall redheads sauntered in, broad grins splitting their faces. Fred and George always drew eyes, always stirred whispers. But this time, it wasn’t the twins who caught the room.

Between them walked a girl, silent and steady, her steps unhurried.

Her copper hair caught the torchlight like flame, her green eyes cut through the space like shards of glass. Whispers rose before her name was even spoken.

“Black—did you hear that?”
“Wait, Hallie Black?”
“Wasn’t she—didn’t she leave—?”

She didn’t look at them. She didn’t need to. She had the Weasley twins at her flanks, like guards sworn by choice, not duty. Every flicker of sound, every gasp of recognition, she let wash over her as if the noise belonged to someone else.

At the Gryffindor table, Hadrian Potter froze.

He’d recognize her anywhere, even after three years. The copper strands, the eyes that used to be soft green, now sharp enough to wound. But it wasn’t just that she’d grown taller, stronger. It was the weight she carried in her silence, the way her presence filled the hall as if she belonged to no one, not even the whispers.

For the first time, he sensed it— not the fragile shadow he’d once controlled, but something bigger. Something dangerous.

Hallie slid into her place without a glance his way. The twins sat with her, shoulders brushing hers, and the entire table shifted to make space, unconsciously yielding to the girl who had returned not as forgotten blood, but as something entirely new.

“Hallie Black,” the name rolled across the tables, breathed in both shock and challenge.

Hadrian’s knuckles whitened against the edge of the bench. She had come back. She had dared to come back — stronger, brighter. Better.

And she hadn’t even looked at him.

Chapter Text

At the staff table, James’s fork clattered against his plate. He hadn’t even realized he’d dropped it, hadn’t realized he was standing until the scrape of the bench echoed louder than the whispers.

Lily was already on her feet beside him, one hand at her mouth, her eyes burning with something torn between disbelief and longing.

“James,” she whispered, but it was all she could manage.

The copper hair, the eyes that had always reminded her of her own. Only now they were harder, sharper, carrying weight no fifteen-year-old should bear. Hallie wasn’t just walking into the hall; she was commanding it. Not meek, not overlooked, but every bit the storm Lily had prayed her daughter would grow into — except without them.

“She—Merlin, she’s—” James couldn’t finish. His voice cracked, his usual bravado faltering. For once, he didn’t have the words.

Hallie didn’t look at them. She didn’t need to. She sat flanked by the twins, shoulders squared, chin lifted. She carried herself with a pride that wasn’t theirs to claim, forged somewhere far beyond the reach of their home.

“She’s different,” Lily breathed, and her heart twisted. Different because they hadn’t been there to see her become this. Different because she no longer shone for their approval.

James swallowed hard, fists curling at his sides. Pride warred with shame in his chest. “She’s ours,” he muttered, but even as he said it, he knew — no. She wasn’t. Not anymore. Not in the way he meant.

Hallie had returned, stronger, better. But she’d done it without them.

And that was the cut they both felt most.

–

Ginny didn’t wait for the whispers to die down. She pushed herself up from the Gryffindor table, ignoring the looks, ignoring even her brothers’ warning glance. She crossed the hall with her chin high, her chest tight with something that felt like relief breaking open.
“Hallie?”
The name slipped out softer than she intended, but it was enough. Hallie turned, and for a moment the sharp edges in her eyes melted.
“Gin,” she said, and that was all it took.
Ginny threw herself into her, arms winding around Hallie’s shoulders like she was anchoring herself against a tide. Hallie caught her easily, steady, unshaken despite the sudden force. For Ginny it felt like breathing after holding her lungs empty for years.

“You came back,” Ginny whispered into her shoulder, voice thick.
“I told you I’d always find you,” Hallie murmured, and her tone carried none of the brittle steel she’d shown the hall. Just warmth. Just the truth.
When Ginny pulled back, Hallie’s smile — small, quiet, but there — was hers alone. It was the kind of smile Ginny remembered, not the sharp, guarded girl everyone else was staring at.
“I don’t care what name you use,” Ginny said fiercely, her eyes shining. “Hallie Potter, Hallie Black—you’re mine either way. My best friend. My sister.”
Hallie’s throat worked, her composure wobbling for a flicker before she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Ginny’s in the quietest gesture of thanks.
“They can all whisper,” Hallie said. “Let them. I’ve got you.”
And in that moment, Ginny knew Hallie hadn’t just come back stronger — she’d come back, at least in part, for her.
–

From their vantage point next to Hallie, Fred and George didn’t miss a thing.

The hall was thick with whispers, the crackle of speculation sharper than firewhiskey, but their eyes were fixed on Hallie — on the way she bent down slightly so Ginny could cling to her, on the way her guard slipped for that barest second.

“She still smiles for Ginny,” George murmured under his breath.

Fred’s grin was small, but it had a sharp pride behind it. “Of course she does. Our lioness doesn’t forget who her pride is.”

The word wasn’t tossed casually — not when they remembered her Patronus from years ago, not when they remembered nights she fell asleep between them after whispering truths too heavy for anyone else.

Across the table, Ron was staring, baffled. Hadrian — was stiff as a board, his jaw tight. But the twins didn’t care. Their eyes tracked only Hallie.

Fred leaned back, folding his arms. “Still ours,” he said simply.

George nodded, expression uncharacteristically serious. “Always.”

And as Hallie lifted her head, that copper hair catching the light while Ginny clung to her side like she’d never let go again, both twins knew something the rest of the hall hadn’t figured out yet.

She wasn’t returning alone. She was returning with them.

–
The Great Hall had gone unnervingly quiet.

Whispers still hovered, but they were drowned by the weight of two siblings standing across from each other — Hadrian with his wand loose but his smirk razor-sharp, Hallie still as stone, her copper hair catching every flicker of torchlight.

“So you’ve come back,” Hadrian drawled, his voice low enough to slither beneath the silence. “Didn’t think you’d have the guts. Thought you’d stay tucked away, forgotten. Where you belong.”

Hallie tilted her head, those green eyes no longer soft, no longer pleading for someone to see her. They cut like glass. “Funny. I don’t remember belonging to you.”

The hall collectively inhaled.

Hadrian’s smile cracked into something feral. “You should’ve stayed gone.” His wand snapped up, a curse ripping through the air.

Hallie’s wand moved like water, her shield snapping up with sharp precision. Sparks skittered across the floor, the clang of magic ringing in everyone’s ears.

The duel ignited instantly — hex against counter, curse against shield. Hadrian’s fury made him sloppy, but his power was undeniable. Hallie, though—Hallie moved like someone forged, her spells swift, seamless, controlled.

The Weasleys were on their feet. Teachers surged toward the scene, but none dared step too close. Not yet.

Hadrian sneered as he sent a blasting curse that shattered the flagstones near her feet. “You’ll never be me, Hallie. No matter what tricks Sirius stuffed into you.”

Her lips curved into something like pity. “I don’t need to be you.”

Then she dropped her wand.

Gasps rippled through the hall. For one heartbeat, Hadrian’s smirk returned — until Hallie’s form blurred, bones snapping and reshaping in a clean, terrifying shift. Copper hair vanished, robes shredded at the seams, and in her place stood a lioness — massive, muscled, her golden coat glowing in the torchlight, green eyes burning brighter than fire.

The lioness roared, the sound shaking the rafters, rattling goblets on every table.

Hadrian stumbled back, his face pale for the first time in his life.

The hall erupted — shouts, awe, disbelief — but above it all, that lioness stood steady, tail lashing once, her gaze locked not on the crowd, but on her brother.

And for the first time, Hadrian Potter looked small.

Chapter Text

Fred had seen her in a hundred different lights—laughing under the Burrow's rafters, fierce in the shadows of corridors, quiet and broken when she thought no one noticed. But this—this was different.

The girl standing in the middle of the Great Hall wasn't just Hallie. She was the lioness.

Her shoulders squared beneath Sirius's hand. Her spine held straight under Remus's quiet, steady touch. Her chin lifted like she didn't care how many people were watching, how many were whispering.

Fred's chest tightened until it hurt.
He'd always known she was strong. Strong in the way that mattered—the kind that let her sit beside Ginny and whisper runes into her ear, or lend her warmth to someone drowning in shadows. But now everyone else was seeing it too, laid bare in front of them: that Hallie Black was not someone to be overlooked, or pitied, or forgotten.

George nudged him softly, catching the look on his face. Fred didn't deny it—couldn't. His eyes stayed fixed on her, burning with something that wasn't just pride. It was awe.

"She's brilliant," he muttered, the words thick in his throat. And though it wasn't meant for anyone else, George heard, and for once, didn't tease. He only nodded.

Because they both knew it—Fred most of all.
Hallie wasn't just his friend. She was more.
And she was magnificent.

The hall was still buzzing—whispers darting from table to table like sparks—but all of it dimmed for Hadrian. His chest was tight, fists clenched at his sides.

A lioness.
She wasn't supposed to have that. She wasn't supposed to have more. For years he'd been the chosen one, the name on everyone's lips. And now—Hallie, with her gleaming copper hair and those sharp, glass-green eyes—was standing taller than he ever could. And people were looking at her. Looking at her with awe. With pride.

Even Fred.

Something twisted deep in his gut, sharp and sour, and before he could stop himself, his wand was in his hand.

"You think this makes you better than me?" Hadrian spat, voice slicing through the hall. The whispers cut off at once, the silence thunderous. "You think being some bloody animal makes you worth something?"

Hallie turned, her head cocking just slightly, lioness still glimmering at the edges of her. Her gaze didn't waver.

"Hadrian," she said softly, too softly. "Stop."
But he didn't. His jealousy was a fire now, roaring.

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell cracked through the air, scarlet light sparking, and Hallie had only an instant to shift—her body folding into that familiar ripple of copper and gold, the lioness springing forward. The spell sizzled past her, missing Fred by inches, gouging into the stone floor.

The Great Hall erupted.
Students screamed, benches scraped, and wands lifted in instinctive defense. But Fred was the first to move. He was already charging forward, wand raised, voice tearing raw out of him.

"Don't you dare!"

But Hallie was in front of him in a second, lioness snarling fiercely as she stalked towards Hadrian. He tripped, falling backwards, pale and shaking, Hallie stalked forward until her snout was even with his face.

She snarled, a warning, before shifting back.

"Run off, and be a good little savior boy," she growled, her fierce protectiveness shining through as she snarled. Hadrian glanced at her wand in her hand before staggering up, forcing her to back up as he ran off.

The great hall doors slammed open, and Remus and Sirius charged forward.
"Hallie," Remus breathed first, striding forward, all other noise gone to him. His hands hovered at her shoulders as she turned, careful not to crowd, scanning for burns, for cuts, for anything.

Sirius wasn't careful. He closed the distance in two strides, his big hands cupping Hallie's face as though he could hold her together by sheer force of will.
"Did he hurt you? Tell me he didn't—"

"I'm fine," Hallie said quickly, voice steady but her breath ragged, copper hair plastered to her temple with sweat. "I'm—"

"Don't you lie to me." Sirius's voice cracked sharp. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, as though searching for blood that wasn't there. He glanced to Remus, wild-eyed.
"Moony—"

Remus's jaw was tight. He'd seen her in a thousand battles, in training and outside it, but never under her brother's wand like that. His hand settled lightly on her wrist, grounding. "She's telling the truth. She's whole. Shaken, but whole."

Hallie swallowed hard, blinking up at them. The lioness shimmer bled away, leaving her simply herself again, human and trembling.
Across the hall, students shifted nervously, whispering. But Fred stayed planted, refusing to let anyone near her but the men who had claimed her years ago.

Sirius pulled her into his chest without another word, fury still vibrating through his shoulders. "He'll never touch you again. Do you hear me, lioness? Never."

And for the first time since Hadrian's wand had flared, Hallie let herself sag into their arms, her eyes closing against the storm

—

The infirmary was quiet, the candlelight softened by drawn curtains. Hallie sat propped up on crisp white sheets, her copper hair damp from Madam Pomfrey's fussing. The room smelled of burn salve and antiseptic, the silence broken only by the creak of a chair. She had been cleared of injuries, but was exhausted.

Fred sat there, hunched forward, elbows on his knees. He hadn't spoken since he barged in behind Sirius and Remus, insisting he wasn't leaving her alone. Now, finally, his voice cracked through the stillness.

"You protected me."

Hallie blinked at him, caught off guard. "What?"

His head lifted, eyes blazing in that rare way that stripped him of his usual jokes. "Back there. When he—when Hadrian went for me, you put yourself in front of it. Again. Like you always do." His fists clenched on his knees. "I should be the one protecting you, Hallie. Not the other way around."

She drew in a long, shaky breath, her hand drifting to the faint ache in her chest where the curse had grazed. "Fred... you don't get it. I couldn't— I wouldn't let him hurt you. Not you."

Fred's throat worked. He leaned closer, his voice low and trembling. "And what if next time you don't walk away from it? What if your lioness isn't fast enough? You think I could live with that? With you burning yourself out to shield me?"

Her gaze softened, but her smile was bittersweet. "Fred, you're not something I'd ever survive losing. If it costs me—"

"Don't say it." His hand shot out, covering hers where it rested atop the blanket. His grip was firm, desperate. "Don't you ever say you'd rather lose yourself than lose me."

For a long moment, silence hung between them, threaded with the pounding of their hearts. Then Hallie turned her hand beneath his, twining their fingers together. "I'd rather you hate me for it than stand by and let you fall."

Fred's shoulders sagged, his forehead dropping until it rested gently against the back of her hand. He didn't cry—he never cried—but the tremor in his breath gave him away.

"You're going to break me one of these days, Hallie Potter," he whispered.

"Not Potter," she corrected softly, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. "Black. Remember?"
Fred huffed a sound that was halfway to a laugh, halfway to a sob. "Black. Right. Merlin help me, I'm in love with the fiercest Black there ever was."

Her smile, tired but radiant, told him she'd heard every word.

Chapter Text

Hallie spent most of her days training under Sirius and Remus, but Fred and George never stopped writing. That summer, they visited Grimmauld Place. Hallie showed them a charm Sirius had drilled into her until her hands shook — a shielding spell strong enough to withstand three hexes at once. Fred clapped loudest, but later, when it was just them in the kitchen with half-burned toast, he leaned across the table and spoke softly.
“You don’t have to show me your strongest self all the time. I’d like you even if you were rubbish at spells.”
Hallie didn’t know what to say, but her lioness flickered behind her in quiet approval.

–

The Burrow was wild with summer heat, and Fred caught her crouched barefoot in the garden, trying to coax Crookshanks away from terrorizing the gnomes. Her laughter, real and unguarded, startled him. She looked lighter that day, no scars visible, no weight dragging at her shoulders.
“You’ve been smiling more,” he teased, tossing a gnome over the hedge.
She glanced at him, the sunlight catching her hair in a breathtaking way.
“That’s your fault. You lot don’t let me brood properly.”
He grinned, but later he told George in a whisper, “She doesn’t know how much I’d burn down to keep her laughing like that.”

-

It was late at Grimmauld Place, the fire low. Fred found her sitting with parchment in her lap, hand clenched around a quill she hadn’t moved in hours.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said softly, his usual humor gone as he dropped onto the rug beside her.
Hallie hesitated.
“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve the way you all keep me close.”

Fred stared at her, jaw tight, then shook his head.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you ever think you’re not worth every second. You’ve been fighting so long to prove yourself. Don’t you get it, Hallie? You don’t have to prove a bloody thing to me.”
Her lioness stirred behind her, purring low, and Hallie realized for the first time that Fred wasn’t just her friend, her anchor—he was her choice.

–

Then nightmares start small. Green flashes of that night, words of “You’ll be strong enough.” echo in her mind long after she wakes up. It isn’t until she’s at the burrow that they progress.

She has dreams of the Burrow’s garden at night. The gnomes are gone, the grass blackened, and in the far corner, a snake coils around the old oak tree. Voldemort’s shadow unfurls from it, faceless, only burning eyes visible.
Hallie turns to run, but her feet are rooted. The snake lifts its head.
“Your twin can have the light. You, girl, are mine.”
She screams herself awake. Fred is the first to reach her door. He doesn’t ask questions, only sits on the bed and hands her a glass of water, muttering,
“You’re not alone.”

Sirius asks questions, trying to get through to her, but Hallie stays quiet. Until one night. She finds Sirius and Remus in the study, entangled together while Remus reads a book. The scene is so sweet- so quiet- that Hallie doesn't want to interrupt, but Remus is the first to notice her.

“Hey, little Lioness, what's on your mind?” Remus asks, detangling himself from Sirius. Hallie almost doesn't step forward, but she knows that Remus can see by her face that something is wrong, and something is on her mind.

Hallie sits, hesitant to say anything at first before Sirius speaks up.
“You’re finally ready to talk about the nightmares, huh?”
Hallie’s hands twisting in her lap. The fire crackles. Sirius and Remus flank her now- Sirius leaning forward, elbows on knees, Remus more still but watchful.

Hallie begins talking, her voice barely above a whisper.
“They’re not just nightmares anymore. It’s like I’m there. Like I can smell the smoke, feel the stone beneath my feet. He’s talking to me. Like he knows I’m listening.”

Sirius’ jaw tightens instantly. Fury, not at her, but at the thought of Voldemort reaching her.
“No. He doesn’t get to touch you. Not in your dreams, not in your thoughts. You hear me? He doesn’t get that power.”
He stands to pace in front of the fire, hands in his hair, muttering about ripping Voldemort to shreds. Then he stops, crouches in front of Hallie, voice rough but soft.
“You are mine, cub. You’re ours. He doesn’t get you. Not now, not ever.”

Hallie says nothing at first, before her voice breaks through softly.

“Do you think something would have been different? If- if he chose Hadrian instead? If he didn't choose someone like- well, like me?” Hallie asked suddenly. Her hands had stilled, no longer twisting, as if she was coming to a dawning realization.

“Would- would he be gone if I was gone?” Sirius and Remus exchange a look—different instincts, same resolve. Sirius pulls her into his arms, Remus’s hand resting steady on her back.
“Don’t say that, don't ever say that! You’re ours, and nothing will change that. Not even nightmares,” Sirius whispers fiercely, tightening his grip on Hallie.

–

It was late when Hallie went to bed, but Sirius and Remus stayed up, her words still echoing in their minds.

“Would he be gone if I was gone?”

Remus is quiet, but his eyes are sharp with concern.

“Sirius, this… it sounds like more than dreams. Voldemort has ways of slipping into places he shouldn’t—into people. She might be seeing what he’s doing, not just imagining it.”
Sirius snaps suddenly “Don’t say that, Moony!” but Remus just shakes his head.
“We have to face it. If she’s connected to him, even unwillingly, then we have to prepare her. Denial will only get her hurt.”

Sirius quiets down, but he knows his lover is right. At this point the only thing they could do is prepare her.

–
The house is silent. Grimmauld’s old wards hum faintly in the walls. Sirius and Remus are asleep in their rooms when it begins.

Hallie thrashes in bed, her sheets twisted around her legs. Her body arches violently—her fists clenched, jaw tight. A strangled scream rips out of her throat.
In her dream, she’s not herself. She’s in him—in Voldemort.
She sees the cowering figure of a man, bound to the ground, begging for mercy. And then—
“Crucio.”

The scream tears through her chest as if the curse is on her. Every nerve burns, her skin aflame. She claws at her arms, leaving red welts.
Sirius bursts through her door first, wand in hand. The sight freezes him. His goddaughter writhing, her voice raw from screaming.
“Hallie, Merlin, no.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He’s at her side, hands trying to pin hers so she won’t hurt herself. His voice is wild, desperate:
“It’s not real, cub, it’s not on you, it’s not– come back to me!”

Remus is right behind him, and for once, Sirius isn’t the loudest one.
Remus drops to his knees, his hand to her temple, whispering a grounding spell, his voice low and steady:
“Hallie, you’re here. You’re safe. Hear me—hear my voice, not his. You’re not there. Come back.”

When the screaming finally breaks into sobs, she clutches Sirius’s shirt, gasping:
“I felt it. He cursed someone, and I felt it. It was real, it wasn’t a dream, he’s in me, I’m in him– I can’t–”

Sirius’s fury detonates. He looks ready to tear the world apart, to hunt Voldemort himself that very second.
“I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll kill him before he ever touches you again.”

Remus grips his shoulder hard, because rage won’t fix this. His voice is grave, softer but colder than Sirius’s fury, he is quiet so that Hallie doesn’t hear him.
“It means the connection is worse than we thought. He’s not just showing her– he’s sharing it.”

Hallie curls between them, trembling, her nails still red from clawing herself raw.
Sirius strokes her hair like she’s a child again, muttering fiercely: “You’re mine. He can’t take you. You’re mine.”

Chapter Text

It’s not long before Remus seeks out the one person who was there that night. Lily Potter. He doesn't wait, instead after Hallie has fallen into a restless sleep, he heads over to the Potter Manor.

When he arrives he doesn't bother with the pleasantries, simply calling a house-elf to grab Lily.
“Remus? At this hour–” Lily starts to say but Remus cuts her off, his voice cold.
“We need to talk.”

–

The tension is awkward at first, before it melts into something akin to regret.
“Hallie, she's having.. Dreams, no, something more than dreams. Visions, where she can feel him, Voldemort, and see what he’s doing,” Remus starts. Lily draws in a sharp breath, hands trembling as she sits the tea she had been drinking down.

“Oh, god, I-I didn't think it’d come to this. I didn’t-” Lily starts rambling but Remus cuts her off again.
“You knew about this? You- what did you do?” Remus asked, his voice pushing on the edge of anger as his amber eyes flashed.

“That night, when there was one choice, one chance, I stood in front of Hadrian. I thought he would be stronger, better, but- he went for her. And I wasn't fast enough,” Lily’s voice cracked as she spoke, and Remus could feel a pit of dread coiling in his stomach. Remus stood suddenly, pulling back as Lily reached out to touch his hand.

“You can’t tell anyone, they– they can't know,” Lily pleaded but Remus’ eyes flashed at her suddenly, and she knew, someone would know.

“You keep choosing wrong, Lily, you keep choosing Hadrian over her. She burned herself- because of how you guys treated her, and yet you haven't seemed to learn your lesson,” Remus said softly, too soft, too quiet. Lily knew, as he left, that she’d made yet another mistake, though she wasn't sure what it was this time.

–
The fire at the Grimmauld house is low when Remus returns, casting long shadows against the stone. Remus has been pacing for an hour, words catching in his throat. Sirius sits sprawled on the sofa, eyes sharp, tracking him like a dog waiting for the snap of a trap.

Finally, Remus says it.
“Lily admitted it. That night– she chose Hadrian. She thought he’d be stronger. She left Hallie to face him.”
The silence afterward is suffocating. Sirius’s hand tightens around the arm of the sofa until his knuckles turn white.
“She…what?” His voice cracks, low and vicious. “She had two children in front of her and she picked– like one was worth more than the other?”
Remus swallows hard. “She said she thought Hallie would.. break first. That Hadrian would survive.”

Sirius is on his feet in an instant, pacing like a caged storm. “Merlin’s blood, Remus, she’s carried everything. The scars, the silence, the bloody nightmares. And Lily– Lily put that weight on her the moment she drew breath.”
His voice drops, ragged. “And we wondered why Hallie thought she wasn’t enough. Why she looks at us like we’ll leave her if she falters? They taught her that. They branded it into her.”
Remus nods, shoulders slumping, grief pressing down. “I know. And now the bond with Voldemort—if it’s what it seems, she’ll suffer for that choice the rest of her life.”
The silence with that statement hangs heavy.

–

The castle was hushed, its stones cooled by the late hour. Fred nudged the classroom door open with his shoulder, George just behind him, both of them whispering about a prank that would never see ink because they froze at the sight.

Hallie was slumped against a desk near the window, the moonlight painting her copper hair silver. Her books were scattered, quill slipped from her hand mid-sentence. She hadn’t meant to sleep there, anyone could tell.
Fred’s grin softened into something gentler, something he rarely showed outside his twin.
“Merlin, George… she’ll burn herself out.”
George sighed, stepping closer, brushing a stray parchment back into the pile. “Already is.” His gaze flicked to her arms, hidden in sleeves even in the warmth of summer. His chest tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “Come on.”

Fred slid his arms beneath her before George could argue, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She stirred faintly, mumbling, but when her head fell against his shoulder, Fred froze, then glanced at George.
“She trusts us,” George said quietly, opening the door wider.

They carried her through the silent corridors, keeping their footsteps soft. When they reached the common room, Fred hesitated before setting her on the sofa. Her hair spilled over her cheek, and George tugged a blanket free from the back of the chair, draping it over her.
For a long moment, the twins stood side by side, watching her chest rise and fall.

“She deserves this,” Fred whispered, almost to himself. George glanced at him.
“Deserves what?”
Fred’s jaw clenched, then eased. “A place she doesn’t have to fight to be seen.”
George’s eyes softened. “Then we make sure she’s got it.”

It wasn't long before Hallie stirred, rubbing her eyes tiredly. The two boys had perched on either side of her, heads falling onto her shoulders as they dozed softly. Hallie smiled to herself. She didn't remember falling asleep in the common room, so she assumed the boys had brought her back here. She wouldn't say she minded.

–

The corridors of Hogwarts were never truly empty. Magic lingered in the stones, humming faintly in the air, Hallie could always feel it. But tonight it pressed closer, heavier, as though the castle itself were holding its breath. Hallie’s footsteps echoed softly, steady at first– until her lioness instincts stirred, prickling along her skin. A shift in the air. The faint hiss of something foreign slicing toward her.
She dropped instinctively, body twisting just as a streak of green light tore past her shoulder and splintered the stone wall. Dust rained down, stinging her cheek. Her wand was in her hand before she’d even thought of it, her breath sharp in her throat.

“Who’s there?”
Silence.
The hall stretched ahead, yawning and endless, shadows spilling between torchlight. She scanned each corner, senses sharpened to a knife’s edge, her lioness thrumming at the back of her mind. Danger. Hunt. Be ready.

She edged forward, her pulse pounding in her ears. But the corridor was empty. No rustle of robes. No retreating footsteps. Whoever it was, they had vanished as swiftly as they’d struck.
Hallie exhaled shakily, lowering her wand only an inch. She pressed her palm against the wall where the hex had landed—still warm, humming with dark residue. A warning, not a mistake.
The lioness inside her growled low, restless, and she whispered into the silence,

“I know you’re out there.”
But the corridor gave her nothing back. Only the echo of her own voice, thin and hollow.
She turned and walked on, but her steps were quieter now, her head high, shoulders squared. Whatever game was starting, she was not going to be the prey.

–

Hallie sat rigid in the corner of the common room, her hands curled tight around the mug of tea someone had pressed on her but she hadn’t touched. Her lioness prowled low inside her chest, unsettled, still coiled from the attack.

Fred and George dropped onto the sofa across from her, their usual lazy grins gone.

“You’re sure it wasn’t a trick of the light?” George asked carefully.

Hallie gave him a look sharp enough to cut. “Do you think I don’t know the difference between shadows and a curse aimed at my back?”

“Right,” Fred said quickly, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His jaw flexed, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, stripped of its usual teasing lilt. “Someone tried to hex you, and then they ran. Coward move.”
“They didn’t just run,” Hallie murmured, eyes fixed on the fire. “They vanished. Like they were never there.”

The twins exchanged a glance over her head. It wasn’t just worry in their eyes—it was calculation, a quiet acknowledgement of something building, something ugly.
George tried for gentleness.

“Whoever it was, they’ll think twice before trying again. You’re not exactly easy to catch off guard.”
Fred, though, didn’t bother with comfort. He sat back, arms folded, his eyes still on her like he could memorize every line of her face, every bruise that wasn’t there but could have been. “Doesn’t matter if you dodged it. Someone aimed at you, Hallie. And that means this isn’t random. Something’s brewing.”

Her fingers tightened around the mug, knuckles white. The fire crackled, filling the silence she couldn’t.
She didn’t need to ask what they meant. She already felt it in her bones— the storm rolling closer.

And over in the corner of the common room, someone grinned.

Chapter Text

The chamber was cold, slick with damp stone and the stench of rot. Hadrian’s breath fogged before him, shallow and uneven. His knees ached against the floor where he knelt, head bowed, but not low enough. Not enough for the man — the monster — who loomed above him.

“Your blood was always meant to run with mine,” Voldemort whispered, voice curling like smoke around his ears. “But your sister… She has stolen too much. Too long have you been cast in shadow.”

Hadrian swallowed hard, his throat dry. He should have denied it. He should have said something brave, defiant. Instead, his voice trembled when he spoke.

“I don’t want to be in her shadow anymore.”

A hiss of approval. Pale fingers reached, skeletal, and pressed the tip of a wand against Hadrian’s bared forearm. Pain seared instantly—white-hot, crawling under his skin like acid. He bit down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood, his body arching against the force of it.

When it ended, the mark was there. Black and raw, carved into him forever.

“Rise,” Voldemort commanded.

Hadrian staggered to his feet, clutching his arm, his chest heaving. He told himself this was power. This was freedom. But as he Disapparated from that chamber, the echo of the Dark Lord’s hiss followed him: mine.

–

In the dorms, James found him first. The boy stood by the window of his room, staring out into the dark grounds, his sleeve tugged firmly down.

“Hadrian?” James’s voice was cautious, softer than it had been in years. “You’ve been quiet, son. Is something—”

“I’m fine.” The reply came too fast, too sharp.

James crossed the room anyway, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to be fine. Not with us. You know that, don’t you?”

Hadrian stiffened beneath the touch. For a moment, something broke through—raw fear flickering in his green eyes, the same shade as his sister’s. Then he jerked away.

“Stop pretending you care now. You never cared when it mattered.”
James reeled as if struck.

Lily appeared in the doorway, worry etched into her face. “Hadrian, please. Talk to us.”

His throat constricted, words sour and tight. He wanted to tell her—about the burning, the mark, the way it felt both like a brand and a chain. But instead he shoved past them both, muttering, “It’s too late.”

The door slammed behind him.
Lily reached for James, her hand trembling. “We’re losing him, too.”
James stared at the closed door, his chest hollow. He didn’t say what they were both thinking—because in his gut, he knew they already had.

–

The library was quiet, candles burning low, shadows stretching long across the stone floor. Hallie sat at the far table, books piled high around her like barricades, her quill idle in her hand. She didn’t need to look up to know who had come in; she felt him before she saw him.
“Hadrian,” she said softly, without turning.

His footsteps were hesitant, almost reluctant, but he came closer. When she finally lifted her gaze, she caught him staring at her with something sharp, almost feral, buried in his expression.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late,” he muttered.
Hallie tilted her head, studying him. His shoulders were tight, jaw clenched, and his sleeve tugged awkwardly over his arm. She swallowed. “Neither should you.”

He looked away, fingers flexing against the fabric of his robes. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me,” she urged. “Let me. You’re my brother. Whatever you think you’ve done—whatever you think you’re becoming—I don’t see you as a monster.”

His breath hitched. For just a moment, something fragile broke through his mask. But then—
A hiss. Not from him. Not from the room. Inside her.

Hallie gasped, clutching her temples as pain lanced through her skull, white-hot and blinding. Images crashed into her mind: a serpent coiling, Voldemort’s bloodless face, his voice rasping with hunger.

“She will not save you. She will ruin you. She is mine to break.”
Hallie screamed, falling to her knees. Her lioness flickered in her mind, roaring in defiance even as the vision dragged claws through her mind.

“Hallie?” Hadrian’s voice was panicked, unsteady. He reached for her—but froze. Because he recognized the echo. Because he knew it was him.

Her eyes snapped open, green blazing even through the tears. “What did you do?” she gasped.
Hadrian staggered back, shame and fury warring in his chest. His sleeve slipped, the edge of the Dark Mark peeking in the candlelight.

Hallie saw it.

“No—” he rasped, before bolting. His footsteps pounded against the stone as he fled the library, leaving his sister collapsed on the floor, no lioness crouched over her trembling form, nothing to save her now.

–

The library doors burst open after the screaming died, Sirius skidding to a stop at the sight of her. Hallie was crumpled on the flagstone, her body shuddering in shallow jerks, lips trembling as though words were caught in her throat. The lioness—flickering, half-real—stood over her like a sentry, eyes glowing molten gold. The lioness wasn't- it was her now- it wasn't supposed to be here.

“Merlin—” Sirius dropped to his knees, hands hovering helplessly above her shoulders before he dared touch her. She was burning. Too hot.

Remus caught up, breathless. “Hallie?” His voice cracked, softer than he intended. He crouched beside her, fingers brushing her clammy forehead, the heat of fever radiating out.

Her eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat, unfocused. “He… he won’t let me go,” she whispered, the words rasping like glass dragged over stone. Then she slumped back, chest still rising but shallow.
Sirius’s jaw tightened. “These aren't just nightmares anymore.”

Remus shook his head, horror creeping into his features. “No. It’s him. Voldemort has a hold of her. A tether.” He swallowed, as though saying it aloud might make it more real. “She won’t be free of him until he’s dead.”

The lioness let out a low, mournful sound, then flickered again—so faint Remus thought for a terrifying moment it might vanish altogether.
“Don’t you dare leave her,” Sirius hissed at the phantom, his voice breaking on the edge of desperation. He gathered Hallie against him, feeling the way her body burned and sagged limp, like she was already halfway gone.

Remus pressed a shaking hand to her wrist, seeking a pulse. It fluttered weakly beneath his fingers. “We have to get her to the infirmary. Now. Before—” He couldn’t finish.

Sirius swept her up, her copper hair falling over his arm, her too-still face tilted against his chest. “She’s not going to leave us,” he growled, as though daring the world to argue.

But when they reached the corridor, Hallie gave a sudden, sharp gasp—and then stilled. Her breathing slowed, her body limp, and the lioness dissolved into mist.

Remus’s heart plummeted. He pressed his ear to her chest, relief breaking out in a ragged exhale when he still caught the faint rhythm of her heart. “She’s alive… barely. But Sirius—she’s slipping.”

They ran, two grown men carrying a girl who had been forced to carry too much, knowing with bone-deep certainty: this wasn’t just a fever. This was Voldemort’s grip tightening.

By the time they laid her on the infirmary bed, she was already gone into herself—her face pale, her body restless only in the twitch of fingers curling against invisible chains.

Madame Pomfrey checked her over, whispering words that Sirius didn't understand to Remus. Sirius tracked their movement with his eyes, noticing every spell they cast to check her over, every moment that her breathing stilled or became more shallow.

“She’s in a coma,” Remus said hoarsely, staring down at her. “And we don’t know if—or when—she’ll wake.”

Sirius gripped the rail of the bed, knuckles white. “Then we fight like hell until she does.”

–

They came in a scatter of footsteps and ragged breaths — Fred and George, cheeks hollowed from running, eyes wild with a panic that had no place to land until they saw her.

The infirmary hummed with the low drone of warming charms and Pomfrey’s clipped orders, but the moment the twins crossed the threshold everything else fell away. Hallie lay pale and impossibly still beneath the white sheets, a single stray curl of copper splayed across her forehead. The steady, too-quiet rise and fall of her chest was a small, cruel thing to pin hope on.

Fred didn’t move at first. He just stared, as if the sight of her could be argued into normalcy. Then something in his shoulders broke and he folded, the sound of him hitting the floor soft and final. For a long moment he made no sound but the hiccuped breaths of someone whose lungs had forgotten how to hold air. When he did speak it came out through tears that scalded his face.

“When is it over? When will she get peace?” His voice was a raw, bright thing—anger and grief braided tight. He pressed his forehead to the hospital sheet as though he could bruise reality into answering.
George’s face went white, but he did not collapse. He moved with that frantic precision people have when panic turns to purpose: quick, focused, searching for anything to grab hold of. He shoved past an offended-looking prefect and planted himself between Fred and the bed, as if he could physically wedge the world from taking more.

“She’s not gone,” George said, arguing in his tone as much to the adults as to himself. He jabbed a finger toward Hallie’s still hand. “She’s sleeping. She’s sleeping and you—” He stopped because there were too many adults in the room to lash at and because even he knew shouting couldn't stitch flesh back to safety. His jaw clenched. “You don’t get to tell me she’s gone.”

Sirius, at the bedside, had been holding Hallie’s cool hand; he looked up at that and every line around his mouth hardened. Remus knelt, calm and furious all at once, reading charts and muttering potions they might try, stabilizing charms they could cast. Pomfrey moved with brisk efficiency, but even she cast worried glances at the two young men who had brought the storm with them.
Fred raised his head then, eyes blazing despite the salt trails on his face.

“I’ll find him,” he said, voice sharp as a broken blade. “I know Hadrian did this. I swear I’ll find him.” The vow hung in the air like a promise and a threat both.
George’s response was immediate, a low growl that had always been there when mischief turned to defense. He stepped closer to his brother until their shoulders touched, solidarity as sure as armor. “You won’t do it alone,” he said. “You never will.”

They were children again and men at once — two halves of the same fierce thing. Around them, the room closed into a ring: Sirius’s jaw tight, Remus’s composure brittle, Pomfrey’s hands poised for anything the body might need. Lily and James stood at the doorway, faces paling, mouths moving soundlessly. The truth had landed like ice.
Fred’s shoulders shook. He pressed his palms flat to the mattress as if he could anchor himself to the single proof he had left of her — her body, alive and fragile and worth the world.

“She doesn’t get to suffer like this,” he whispered, more to the mattress than to anyone. “She doesn’t get to carry this alone.”
“No,” George agreed, voice low and steady, eyes hard as iron. “She won’t. We’ll make sure of that.”
In the hush that followed there was no easy comfort; there were only plans that had not yet formed and a promise that would not be broken. The twins stayed, one collapsed in grief and one braced for the hunt, each holding the other in different ways — and both holding, with one blunt, trembling certainty, that someone would answer for the bleeding silence that had become Hallie’s life.

Chapter Text

Hadrian ran.

The corridors of Hogwarts blurred around him, shadows streaking like claws across the stone. His chest burned with every breath, but he couldn’t stop. He could still hear it—her scream. It hadn’t been the first time he hurt her, but this… this was different. This had gone further than anything he had meant to.

His hand pressed against his sleeve, clutching the place where Voldemort’s mark burned faintly, a constant reminder of what he had chosen. He thought it would make him powerful. Strong. Untouchable. But instead, it felt like chains. Chains that pulled him tighter into the dark with every step.

Hallie’s face flashed in his mind, pale and writhing on the floor. Her lioness is gone. Her breath was shallow. He hadn’t wanted her to die, not really. He only wanted her gone enough to stop shining, to stop making everyone love her. To stop making him look small.
But now she might never wake up.

Fear clawed its way up his throat, hot and bitter. If the Dark Lord found out he had lost control, if his parents discovered the truth, if anyone ever pieced it together—he was finished. He would lose everything.
And yet, buried beneath the fear, shame coiled like a snake. It whispered what he didn’t want to admit: that he had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. That maybe Sirius was right, that maybe his parents were blind, that maybe Hallie had been right all along– he was becoming a monster– despite everything she said.

Hadrian stumbled into the open air, doubling over, his stomach twisting. His hands shook so badly he couldn’t unclench them. His head throbbed with the echo of her pain, as though the curse had lashed back into him. He wanted to blame her, to tell himself she had pushed him, that she had asked for it by always standing taller, brighter. But the words didn’t fit anymore.
Because when he closed his eyes, he didn’t see her defiance. He saw her crumpled and still.

And for the first time, Hadrian Potter was afraid not to be unloved, but of what he had already become.

–

The chamber was cold, always cold, and Hadrian knelt with his forehead pressed to the stone. His palms were slick with sweat, though he dared not wipe them. His mark burned, a steady pulse of fire up his arm, and he could feel him—feel it—drawing closer.

Voldemort’s voice slithered around him before he ever saw the figure.

“So… the little Potter comes crawling back.” A pause, a hiss of amusement. “How disappointing you look, child. Trembling. Ashen. Weak.”
Hadrian flinched, his mouth dry.

“I—my lord—I tried—”
“Tried?” Voldemort cut him off with a laugh so thin and sharp it felt like glass breaking in the air. “You tried, and you failed. That girl—your sister—still breathes, does she not? Foolish boy. You had the chance to erase her, and yet here you are, shaking like a frightened dog.”

Shame scorched through Hadrian’s chest, but it was laced with something else—terror at the way Voldemort’s eyes pinned him, stripping him down to marrow.

“She isn’t weak,” Hadrian whispered before he could stop himself. “She fights everything, even me. Even you.”
Voldemort went still. Then, slowly, his lips curled.
“Ah. There it is.” He circled Hadrian like a serpent, his robes whispering across the stone. “You think her strength diminishes yours. You think her light casts your shadow longer. You are right, boy. But what do shadows do, if not swallow the light in the end?”

Hadrian’s head jerked up, confusion tangling with his fear.
“You envy her,” Voldemort said, voice silk and venom. “Good. Feed it. Let it fester. Weakness is not that you hate her—it is that you hesitate. You still bleed guilt when you should drink it down and grow strong.” His pale hand seized Hadrian’s chin, forcing his green eyes up to the scarlet. “Love her death. And she will never outshine you again.”
Hadrian’s breath hitched, bile burning his throat.
He wanted to recoil, to deny—but Voldemort’s voice wrapped tight around him, weaving through every fear, every ache, every shameful thought. And beneath the terror, a dark seed was planted: the idea that maybe this was the only way forward.
“Rise, boy,” Voldemort whispered. “Or stay kneeling forever.”

–

The tasks came quickly, in short succession.

The night air stank of woodsmoke long before Hadrian lifted his wand. The village slept under a heavy fog, lanterns glowing faintly along the cobbled streets. He stood in the shadows of the treeline, palms slick with sweat.
“You hesitate,” Voldemort’s voice curled in his head, velvet and venom. “Weakness is unbecoming.”
“I—” Hadrian’s throat tightened. His wand trembled. “There are families inside.”

“And whose fault is that? They chose their side.” A pause, cold as a blade. “Prove you are worthy of mine.”

His stomach knotted. A dozen excuses rose and died. With a shudder, Hadrian flicked his wand.
"Incendio."

The inn went up like dry tinder. Flames licked greedily up its sides, shattering windows with the force of their hunger. A woman screamed, a man shouted for his children. The noise drilled into him, tearing down every shred of resolve.
He stumbled back, bile rising, but Voldemort’s approval slid like oil through his veins. Good boy. My boy.
And when the roof collapsed, green eyes reflected orange fire, hollow and endless.

–

Fred was breathless, dragging George through the crowd in Diagon Alley.

“I saw him—I swear on Merlin’s beard, I saw him!”
“Saw who?” George demanded, yanking his arm free.
Fred’s chest heaved, eyes darting wildly. “I—” He stopped. His face went slack, confusion replacing desperation. “I… don’t know.”

The twins stood in the middle of the cobbled street, swallowed by shoppers bustling past.
Just around the corner, cloaked in shadow, Hadrian pressed himself into a doorway, breath shallow. Voldemort’s enchantments shimmered across his skin, warping memory itself.

“They cannot hold you,” Voldemort whispered in his skull. “They cannot even see you, unless I will it. You are mine.”
Hadrian squeezed his arm where the Mark burned, shame and relief tangling in his chest.

–

The raid left smoke clawing the sky, houses gutted by fire. Sirius Black stumbled over broken beams, coughing, his wand sparking defensive wards.
And then—

“Hadrian.”

He froze. Just ahead, a figure moved through smoke. Messy black hair. The line of a jaw too familiar.
“Hadrian!” Sirius’s voice cracked, raw.

The boy turned, emerald eyes catching firelight. Recognition flickered—and then curdled. His wand rose.
“Reducto!”

The curse screamed past Sirius’s ear, splintering a wall behind him.
Sirius staggered, staring in horror.
“No—no, don’t do this—”
Another blast. Sirius dove aside, rubble raining down. He scrambled up, heart breaking as the boy smirked bitterly. “Don’t call me that,” Hadrian hissed. And then he was gone, smoke swallowing him whole.
By the time Remus pulled Sirius out, half-conscious, Sirius was shaking.
“It was him,” he rasped. “I swear it was him.”
But already, the memory frayed like loose thread in his mind.

–

A home in ruins. Wallpaper peeled by fire, the air sharp with blood and dust. Hadrian stood in the hallway, wand still warm from the spells he’d cast.
A child cried. Thin, broken sobs from the bedroom ahead.
His hand shook as he reached for the doorframe. His reflection in the cracked mirror opposite caught him—green eyes, wild and haunted, skin pale as parchment. A boy, not a monster.
His knees buckled.
“I can’t—”
Voldemort’s laughter slid through him like silk. “You always can. Weakness is the luxury of the dead. Do it, or I will.”

The crying hitched. For a heartbeat, Hadrian thought he might turn and run, just run until his lungs burned. But his wand lifted anyway.
Silence.
He didn’t remember leaving. Only the emptiness afterward, and the bitter taste in his throat.

–

At the Burrow, Ginny bolted upright in her bed. Moonlight spilled pale across the room, catching frost blooming on the glass.
She crept to the window, breath fogging the air. A handprint lingered there, pressed deep into the frost. Larger than hers. Familiar.
A figure stood at the edge of the orchard, black hair shifting in the wind. Green eyes glowed faintly, too sharp, too bitter.
“Hadrian?” she whispered.
The figure tilted its head. Then it was gone, melting into shadow.
She gasped, heart racing, and scrambled back. By morning, she couldn’t explain the tears staining her pillow. Couldn’t explain why her chest hurt, or why her skin prickled with fear.

–

The throne room was lit by cold fire, shadows crawling across the stone floor. Voldemort lounged on his seat like a king, pale fingers drumming the armrest.
At his right hand, Hadrian stood rigid, his robes dark, his Mark burning hot under his sleeve. The Death Eaters encircled them, masks gleaming.
Bellatrix sneered. “He’s just a boy.”
Lucius shifted uneasily. “Too young.”
Voldemort’s smile was a thin slice of cruelty. “And yet none of you have done what he has.” His gaze slid to Hadrian, piercing. “This one understands envy. This one understands hunger. The world forgot him. I will not.”
Hadrian bowed his head, though bile rose in his throat. His reflection in the polished floor was not his own anymore—eyes hollow, face shadowed, tethered to something darker.
And Voldemort’s fingers brushed his shoulder, claiming.
“My heir.”

Chapter Text

The manor was too quiet. For weeks, Hadrian’s absence had been chalked up to Hogwarts business, to “teenage independence,” to excuses neither James nor Lily truly believed anymore.
Now, the firelight flickered low across their faces as they sat in the drawing room, waiting for footsteps that never came.

James paced, his jaw tight. “He hasn’t written. Not once. Not to us, not to anyone. If he were with Sirius, we’d know. If he were with Dumbledore, we’d know. So where the bloody hell is he?”
Lily didn’t answer. She sat on the edge of the sofa, hands knotted together so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her eyes burned, not from tears but from exhaustion—the kind of exhaustion that eats through bone.
A knock at the window startled them both. An owl, battered, dropped parchment onto the rug before veering back into the storm. James snatched it up, scanning the words, his face draining of color.
“What is it?” Lily’s voice cracked.

James’s throat worked, but no sound came. He handed her the note.
Reports of fire in Yorkshire village. Casualties confirmed. Eyewitnesses claim a boy with green eyes and a black cloak among the attackers.
Lily read the words three times before the meaning struck. Her chest seized, her pulse roaring in her ears. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head violently. “No, that isn’t him. It can’t be him.”
But James wasn’t denying it. He was staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole. “Lils… it’s him. I think—Merlin help me, I think it’s been him for a while now.”
The room swayed. Lily pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Images flashed in her mind—the Mark on other arms, the sneer on other lips. The same darkness she had sworn to shield her children from.
Her voice broke as she whispered, “We’ve lost him, James.”

James’s fist slammed against the mantel, sending sparks showering. “Not yet.” But even he didn’t sound convinced. His shoulders hunched, as if the weight of failure pressed down on him harder than gravity itself.
For the first time in years, they sat in silence—two parents staring at the truth neither wanted to see: that their son was gone, and the path to bring him back might be soaked in blood.

—

The street was ash and silence. Houses burned in the distance, roofs caving in with long, keening cracks. Lily’s boots crunched glass as she moved, her wand drawn, heart racing with a mother’s instinct more than an Auror’s training.
She felt him before she saw him. A prickle down her spine, a wrongness in the air.
And then—out of the smoke—he appeared.
Hadrian. Hood drawn, wand loose at his side, the faint shimmer of a Dark Mark stark against his pale forearm. His green eyes, once so wide with boyish mischief, glinted sharp, hard—like emeralds carved from ice.

“Hadrian,” Lily breathed. Her voice cracked around his name.
He paused, no flicker of warmth in his expression. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You–” Her throat tightened. “You’ve been hurting people. Villages. I’ve read the reports. I didn’t want to believe–”

“Believe it,” he cut in. His words weren’t shouted. They slid, quiet and precise, like a blade slipping between ribs.

Lily shook her head, stepping closer despite the wand in his hand. “You’re my son. You’re my baby boy. Whatever he’s told you, whatever power he’s promised you, it isn’t worth this. It isn’t who you are.”
Hadrian’s lip curled, not in pain but in disdain. “Don’t pretend you know who I am. You never saw me. You saw Hallie. Always Hallie. She was light, wasn’t she? And I–” his hand twitched, the Mark burning on his skin “--I was shadowed. You made me this.”

Lily staggered back like he’d struck her. “No… no, Hadrian, we loved you–”
“You loved what you thought I could be.” His voice sharpened, bitter and crystalline. “The golden boy. The chosen one. Your savior. But you gave that title to me out of guilt. I wear it now because I choose to, not because you asked me to. Do you understand the difference?”
Her tears blurred the flames behind him, her wand slipping lower. “Please. Come home.”
His eyes flickered, just for a moment. A crack. A boy. Then it was gone, sealed under Voldemort’s will and his own seething envy.
He leaned forward, voice cold and final:
“I am home.”
And with a whip of his cloak, he vanished into the smoke, leaving Lily standing amidst ruin—her hand outstretched, her heart breaking in the ashes.

—

The smoke curled around him long after he Apparated, clinging to his cloak, his hair, his skin. He sat in the ruins of an abandoned manor Voldemort had given him as a “den,” the Dark Mark still searing faintly on his forearm.
But it wasn’t the burn that made him shake.

It was her voice.
“Hadrian.”
For years he’d imagined it. Dreamed of her calling him that with pride, with softness. Not with disbelief. Not with grief.
His wand clattered against the floor. He pressed his palms hard over his face, dragging in sharp, ragged breaths. He should have killed her. That’s what the others would say. That’s what Voldemort would demand. He’d had the chance, her wand had lowered, her guard down.
And yet… he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

The memory of her eyes cut into him like knives. Green like his own, though hers had been wet with tears, while his burned with fury. She’d said baby boy. As if she still saw him that way. As if she hadn’t turned her back years ago.

“Liar,” he hissed into the dark, though his voice trembled. “She doesn’t love me. She never did. Only Hallie.”
But no matter how many times he repeated it, the crack stayed. Her words burrowed under his skin, gnawed at him, tangled with the envy already eating him alive.
When the door creaked, he jolted, wand flying back into his grip. It was only a shadow—a servant, a fellow recruit—but the boy cowered before his glare and fled.
Hadrian stood, pacing, his chest tight, each breath too shallow. Voldemort’s lessons rang in his head: Emotions are weakness. Attachment is chains. Sever them, and you will be strong.
So why did he still feel chained? Why did he feel like the one who had been hexed?

He tugged at his sleeve, staring at the Mark. It pulsed faintly, a reminder of belonging, of power. But when he closed his eyes, he saw his mother again, reaching for him with hands that still shook.
For the first time since he took the Mark, Hadrian felt something dangerously close to fear—not of Voldemort, not of death, but of the truth.
That somewhere inside, he still wanted to go home.