Chapter Text
Samhain 1981
The embers in the fireplace glowed a brilliant orange as the evening shadows deepened inside the room and reminded him why he had to wrap up this meeting post haste.
The haze of Samhain flooded over the gathered wizards like a snake from a doused fire and his magic simmered under his skin; delivering a scorching promise of the night ahead.
Samhain.
Another Sacred Day.
Lord Sirius Orion Black’s face was devoid of emotion as he stared at his subordinates. Thirteen wizards occupied the seats around the large table in his office in Grimmauld Place.
Swaddled by the unbreakable Black wards, he had no fear or worry. Thick magic blotted out their existence while the velvety darkness of his home shielded them from prying eyes.
Seated across from him, the Syndicate members’ lips were pursed in displeasure, their unease blatant in the disturbance filling their rebelling magic.
They wanted to take action.
What a reckless mistake had Dumbledore made...
He had unwisely believed that Voldemort would honour their temporary truce. He must believe his own voice, Sirius thought sarcastically. He must truly think himself to be as invincible as the great stories of his duel with Grindelwald exaggerated. Surely that was the reason he seemed so unconcerned over the Potters and Longbottoms' dire circumstances now.
The arrogance of the man infuriated him. By Merlin, he looked merry all the time as if they were not in the midst of a raging war
A feeling of unease settled in Sirius' mind as he continued to watch his fellow Syndicate members.
His gaze clashed with the most brilliant mind in their organization and he stilled.
Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood seemed deep in thought. Under all the layers of refinement, Sirius saw the hunter, primitive and fearless, waiting to be set free and pounce.
So he wasn’t hallucinating. Something dreadful was about to take place this Samhain.
Sirius’ Grim clawed against his skin, its roars filling his head and bit by bit, taking over his senses.
The Grim was never wrong.
James, his sworn blood brother and Leader was in grave danger.
“We have to make a move and skip this charade,” Antonin Dolohov; their Russian Liaison and friend complained, “I don’t care if Wizarding Britain finds out about the Underworld. We can always obliviate the lot of them. We have to save Lord Potter and his family. It is paramount.”
The agreement by the others with vigorous nods and grunts almost swayed him.
How he wanted to take all the Syndicate soldiers and turn Voldemort and his sycophants to dust.
The deranged wizard should know that he had underestimated his opponent. It was the glaring truth, the one that sent his Grim into a frenzy.
Lord James Charlus Potter wasn’t an ostentatiously virtuous Gryffindor. He was a valiant Leader and the Head of the Irish Syndicate after Lord Charlus Henry Potter died a year ago.
Being the descendants of the notorious Ignotius Peverell, the Potters had dealt with death and wars for eons. Their stealth and skills were nothing short of legendary.
They were among the Underworld Masters. Their established seat at the head of the organization was never vacant as every Potter was taught about his roots from the moment they took their first breath.
What a reckless mistake James made when he agreed to leave the safety of Potter Manor and keep the farce, taking sick pleasure in fooling Dumbledore time and again.
A nagging voice told Sirius that his friend didn’t believe wholly in Dumbledore’s warning about Voldemort’s plans.
Yet, that same voice kept whispering that for once, Dumbledore wasn’t lying. Voldemort intended to end his goddaughter and the Longbottom Heir.
“You know as much as I do that we can’t put our existence in jeopardy. James won’t allow that. Not to mention, it would be rather irksome to deal with the Ministry.” Sirius replied. His cold contended voice belied his thoughts.
“Then what are we to do? How long would Lord Potter remain contained into that cursed cottage?” Liam Bole queried.
“After tonight’s celebrations, I will do my best to make him leave Godric’s Hollow. Our soldiers cannot go unseen there. The village is too small and there are many Mugggles around. He needs to take Lily and my goddaughter back to Potter Manor,” Sirius asserted in an orotund voice.
He wasn’t above dragging James back to the manor if need be.
It saddened him to admit the truth, but unlike the previous head; Lord Charlus, James didn’t take his safety seriously.
He hadn’t lost that playful streak yet; the one that wanted to pursue danger and laugh in the face of death.
Sirius wouldn’t have that. Not with the brother who took him in when his own mother threw him as if he were nothing.
James and his family were his responsibility and he would do his best to….
A brittle sound left his throat when fire scorched his wrist.
Sirius’ hand shook as he lifted his sleeve, baring his tattoo.
His action was mirrored by every member of the Syndicate.
For a moment, Sirius thought his troubled mind was playing tricks on him.
He actually shook his head in silent denial. And then his eyes caught on the lines of the Dara Knot marking him as the Head’s Right Hand.
The lines were blurred for a moment before they morphed in front of his eyes.
The intricate Oak Tree he had been carrying since the day he took his oath to serve the Syndicate faithfully took a lighter hue until it became almost invisible then a red Triskelion with its threefold spiral took its place.
The stages of life: Heaven, Earth and The Spiritual world.
Sirius staggered to his feet.
There was an ominous stuttering in his chest, a cavern newly carved, disrupted from its rest. An avalanche of terror slowly sat in as his sluggish mind processed what his heart refused to acknowledge.
His gaze became blurry for a moment. He took a deep breath and bit his lower lip when the Triskelion shifted yet again and took the shape of three interlaced arcs: The Triquetra; the symbol of The Triple Goddess.
A witch just ascended to Head of the Syndicate.
A child.
His goddaughter.
“Lord James Potter is no more,” Alexander Burke’s plumy voice sounded like a peal of thunder.
Sirius closed his eyes resisting the urge to scream and curse The Fates over this unforeseen twist in the events.
Immediately, he decided against the idea.
He was the Right Hand. Many lives depended on him, most importantly, his goddaughter’s life.
He clenched his hands into fists and announced. “James is gone and his daughter is the new Head. You are to honour your pledge to the Family. There will be no mercy for traitors.”
“What are we to do know, Lord Black?” Liam Bole stood watching and waiting.
“You are to do your duties as your ancestors did for eons and keep a low profile. It was James’ decision to uphold the Syndicate’s traditions and abide by the Code of Silence. I will contact you at my earliest convenience. Do not seek me out. Do not look for me or the Head. Do not raise suspicions. And remember….Natus Vincere.”
Every wizard in the room, except Antonin Dolohov, kissed the tattoo on their wrist and repeated after him. “Natus Vincere.”
The words hovered in the air. The might of their magic made breathing a harrowing task.
The new Triquetra pulsed with energy as it absorbed the willingly offered magic.
The lines became obsidian and Sirius clenched his teeth.
It was time to head to the thrice-cursed cottage in Godric’s Hollow.
ততততততততততততততত
He stumbled when he reappeared in front of the cottage.
“It reeks of Dark Magic,” Augustus Rookwood who insisted on tagging along noted.
Sirius couldn’t move, his eyes riveted to the door.
“Sirius…” Antonin clasped his shoulder. “We have to do this. Time is of the essence. The news will spread soon and we cannot let that happen before we take the Head away.”
Sirius fought valiantly against his grief and dragged his feet toward the entrance.
The wards were down, the Fidelus Charm broken after the rat betrayed James’ trust.
He paid scant attention to Augustus and Antonin’s whispers. His gaze was directed to the second floor.
Samhain's Blood Moon gave an eerie glow and outlined the shadows in his goddaughter’s room.
With a heavy heart, Sirius made his way inside.
He sagged against the wall panting when his eyes settled on James’ unmoving body.
“Take your time, I will secure the premises. Antonin will check on the kid,” Augustus croaked.
Nimbly, he nodded.
Sirius sank to his knees and took James’ left hand in his.
His Grim roared when he noticed the bare skin. The Dara Knot was no more like its previous carrier.
With something akin to reverence, he kissed James' wrist and swore. “Prongs…my brother….I swear…” he swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. “You know your best mate; Padfoot. I follow no set of rules written, down and ordained. I thrive in chaos and love nothing more than to unsettle people but…I follow my heart and do keep my word. You gave me faith, you gave me hope and a family and I swear there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep your legacy alive. If I could make one single vow now it would be to keep your daughter—our daughter safe. Natus Vincere.”
He knew grief, had tasted grief before when he lost his father, then Regulus.
Grief—he had learned the hard way—was love.
It was all of that unspent love and gratefulness he wanted to give back but cannot. He felt it in the wails of the magic filling his veins, in the lump in his throat and in the hollow part of his chest that would never heal.
But he intended to embrace that grief and armed with his pain, he would raise his daughter the way her parents wanted.
Sirius stood slowly. Without another word, he took the stairs two at a time.
“Pafoo…!”
He shook his head while he flexed his hands again and again, trying to force the numbness from his fingers.
There was little feeling in his legs but he dragged them toward the nursery anyway.
He averted his gaze when he spotted Lily’s lifeless eyes.
“Lily…”
“Pafoo....!”
Antonin cleared his throat and nodded toward the child held carefully in his arms. “She needs you.”
Sirius blinked and gave the child all his attention.
Antonin’s rimy eyes were scrutinizing the strangely shaped scar on her forehead.
“It’s a Curse Scar,” he murmured. “She survived the Killing Curse.”
Sirius gulped. “Lily was a mistress of her craft. She dabbled in Obscure Rituals. I believe she added another layer of protection in case the Fidelus Charm fell.”
“Impressive,” the dark-haired Russian exclaimed. “She was a gifted witch who never tired of defying her boundaries. No Muggleborn should possess this amount of raw talent.”
Sirius growled. “Lily is the brightest witch Hogwarts had ever known.”
He took his goddaughter in his arms and hugged her to his chest, basking in her familiar scent and the satin softness of her skin. “Honoria…” he kissed the top of her head and she latched on his neck.
“Pafoo,” she grinned toothily; her green eyes glowing in the dimly lit room. “Da, Mama?” She tilted her head adorably, looking around.
Sirius gulped and plastered a fake smile over his lips. “They…”
His eyes went to Honoria’s wrist and he brimmed with a sense of sadness and pride as he gazed at the tattoo on the child’s previously unmarred skin.
She was so innocent, yet her stubborn Potter soul would fuel her desire to follow in her ancestors’ steps and conquer.
His heart raged with fear and his Grim growled profanities as tenderness filled him.
The tether that linked them tugged at his core.
He would fight for her, go to war for her, kill and maim and steal for her.
He swore to turn her tears into diamonds in her crown and shield her until she needed him no more.
“Sirius,” Antonin’s calculating gaze went from him to Honoria. “You have to leave. I sense several Auras nearby.”
Sirius stiffened.
“May I offer help?” the Russian Bratva Liaison offered. “The Bratva had been the Syndicate's ally for decades. The previous Pakhan was fond of Lord Charlus Potter. He was an honourable wizard and a worthy Leader.”
Sirius remained quiet waiting for Antonin to elaborate.
There were whispers surrounding the wizard, hinting at his noble birth. While he was rumoured to be the new Pakhan’s Advisor, Sirius was certain there was more to the man.
No one knew of the Pakhan’s identity after the previous one was betrayed by one of his Brigadiers.
Yet…
Could it be…
“I do pity this child and the hefty weight she’s saddled with as of this moment. I’m quite familiar with her burden,” Antonin’s icy eyes regarded him with an unblinking stare.
Sirius furrowed his brows. “And you’ve been a good friend all these years. You are one of us, Antonin.”
The Russian’s smile was sad as his tattooed fingers lifted his right sleeve.
Sirius was curious about the strange behaviour until it finally made sense.
A mighty crowned eagle with icy-blue eyes flapped its wings. Its piercing gaze studied him, making him feel uncomfortable and in a way, lacking.
It was the Pakhan’s tattoo.
“Pakhan…” Sirius bowed his head.
“Nonsense, my friend,” Antonin gripped his upper arm. “I consider you the brother I never had. James was one, too.”
“Birdy?” Honoria squeaked and the tension left both men’s shoulders.
“I’m afraid Sergei would combust with worry if he learns that my identity is revealed.”
Sirius sighed and with a flick of his wand, summoned the Ceremonial Dagger from James’ room. “I’ll give you a Blood Vow, willingly.”
Antonin’s cool eyes shone with respect. “Your word is more than enough.”
The newly revealed Pakhan murmured words in Olde Slavic and the eagle bristled before it leapt from his skin.
Its eerie, silvery form hovered in front of them absorbing Antonin’s command. When he was done, the eagle disappeared in a burst of light.
“Woo,” Honoria clapped her small hands.
“Thank you, Lady Potter,” Antonin smiled. “The best course of action would be to lay down until Honoria is strong enough to appear in public. Dumbledore will do his best to control her like he tried, and I’m afraid succeeded, to control her parents. I’d like to suggest a place. No one would look for you there.”
“Where?”
“Sofia. My sister lives there. She’s married to Dragomir Krum. He’s my Liaison with Balkan countries. I have a safe manor I'll offer gladly or you can just take a wing in Dragomir’s home. Viktor would be ecstatic to have a sister.”
“Viktor?” Sirius asked.
“He’s my nephew and almost Honoria’s age? What do you say?”
Honoria’s head slumped over his shoulder the moment Augustus came rushing. “They’re almost here. You have to leave.”
Sirius lowered his gaze to Honoria’s wrist and said. “Augustus, you are to keep your eyes open and report what happens in the Ministry. Do not contact me until I do.”
The Unspeakable clapped a fist over his chest. “I will, worry not. Natus Vincere.”
After one last look at the cottage that took everything from him, Sirius took Antonin’s offered hand and said solemnly. “Take us to safety, my friend.”
Whilst the Magical World celebrated another Samhain, two heartbeats he cherished more than anything collided with a frozen death.
However, his will was not shattered.
The magic in his veins shall serve and shield the angel in his arms until he joined his blood brother.
He was ready to risk everything.
In his heart, he knew there was no other choice. He was the only one who could save Honoria now and he accepted the responsibilities and the consequences, knowing full well that retribution could wait for all he cared because he would get his revenge, eventually.