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Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy strode through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, his polished shoes clicking against the floor with a rhythmic precision that spoke of years of pureblood training; confident but not aggressive, purposeful but not rushed.

He was technically here to represent the interests of the Malfoy family (i.e. being asked for money), but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Ever since the war ended, he found himself feeling, well, lonely might be the best word for it. It was amazing how quickly his days filled with tedious meeting after tedious meeting and yet he felt like he did absolutely nothing.

As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with a figure moving at a brisk pace in the opposite direction. Draco instinctively reached out to steady himself. He looked up, his usual sneer ready to surface, but it faltered when he recognized the unruly black hair and vivid green eyes of Harry Potter.

Potter looked... different.

Of course, Draco had seen countless pictures of the war hero since the final battle. His face was still plastered all over the newspapers and Draco would deny it until his dying day, but he couldn't help but track his shifting look.

Despite its absurdity, he would need to be blind not to have noticed Potter's improvement since the war. Oh, he had looked like shite at first - the horror of it all and the funerals taking their toll on the golden Gryffindor.

But in the last few months, Potter had started looking more polished. He put on more muscle, got some color back in his skin, cut his hair into some decidedly Muggle style, and perhaps biggest of all, got rid of his trademark hideous glasses. Some Muggle procedure involving something called a "laser" left him with near-perfect eyesight, according to the Prophet.

It had been the front page of the paper for a week straight when it happened. 

Draco half wished it didn't work; Potter's unobscured eyes were horribly distracting. 

There was an edge to him now, a simmering anger just beneath the surface. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes, usually so full of determined fire, were dark with frustration. The air around him seemed to crackle with barely contained magic — not a visible display, but something Draco could feel raising the hair on his arms.

It was an unfairly good look on him. The prat. 

"Watch where you're going, Malfoy," Harry snapped, shaking off Draco's hand.

Draco raised an eyebrow, more out of habit than genuine disdain. "Potter. Always a pleasure," he drawled, but the words lacked their usual venom.

Potter's eyes flashed, and for a moment, Draco thought he might actually get hexed in the middle of the Ministry.

The thought probably should have worried him more than it did. Instead, Potter just huffed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more wildly.

"Something on your mind, Potter? You look like you could murder someone," Draco remarked, unable to resist poking at the beast. He found himself oddly fascinated by this darker version of Potter — so different from the righteous hero he remembered from school.

Harry let out a humorless laugh that sent a shiver down Draco's spine. "Yeah, well, that's pretty much how I feel," he muttered. His fingers found a packet of cigarettes in his pocket, pulling one out and rolling it between his fingers without lighting it.

Draco's curiosity was piqued. He'd never seen Potter like this — so raw and volatile. "Care to share, or is this one of those 'suffer in silence' things you Gryffindors are so fond of?"

Potter glared at him but seemed to deflate a little. "Not that it's any of your business, but I just got out of a meeting with Kingsley and Head Auror Robards. Apparently, it's been decided that I can't join the Auror program."

Draco blinked, genuinely surprised. "What? Why not? You're practically the poster boy for heroism and all that rubbish." 

"I'm too much of a liability to be on the force —"

"Probably right." 

"— according to them. Robards is worried it'll draw undue attention if the public knows I might be responding to calls. Actual threats and people causing issues just in the hope of seeing me." Potter's magic flared again, a wave of pressure that made the air feel thick. "They told me they would rethink it in a year or two after some of the hype dies down."

He shot Draco a sideways glance, those unnervingly green eyes intense. "So laugh it up, Malfoy. You've come out of this all surprisingly well. The Malfoy name still carries weight around here."

Draco's expression hardened. He does want to laugh at the absurdity of Potter's statement. It certainly didn't feel like he came out of it well. He avoided Azkaban, in no small part due to the angry wizard before him (although he still wasn't sure how he felt about Potter telling the entire Wizengmont that Draco "was a bit of a shite Death Eater"), but that was where the good part ended.

He was trying to move forward, but Draco was a pariah in the wizarding world. He would have been written off entirely if not for the Malfoy fortune. 

"You'd be surprised, Potter," he said carefully, letting his pureblood mask slip just slightly. "Redemption isn't as easy as it looks. Though I must say, the whole dangerous outcast thing you've got going is quite fetching. Certainly more interesting than your previous savior routine."

Potter's eyes widened slightly at the compliment before his lips quirked into a slight smirk. "Careful, Malfoy. Keep talking like that and I might think you actually like me."

"Perish the thought," Draco drawled, though he couldn't quite hide his answering smirk.

There was a moment of silence between them, filled only by the distant murmur of Ministry workers and the shuffle of parchment. It was a fragile truce, a brief understanding between two former enemies.

Potter sighed, the fight seemingly leaving him. “Sorry. I just, I’ve been feeling a bit… lost, I suppose, lately.”

Draco studied Harry for a moment, the usual animosity between them tempered by an unexpected flicker of empathy. "Lost, huh? I suppose the Chosen One doesn't get to feel lost very often."

The Gryffindor gave a half-hearted shrug. "I thought defeating Voldemort would make everything clear, you know? But it just... left a void. I figured the Auror program would give me purpose, but now that's been taken away too."

Draco nodded slowly. "I know the feeling. Everyone expects you to just... fit back into the world, like nothing happened. But everything's different."

Harry looked at him, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "And you? What do you do now that you're not... you know, being a Death Eater?"

Draco stiffened at the mention of his past but forced himself to relax. Surprisingly, he thought Potter was one of the few people not holding his mistakes against him, or at least less than the public did. "Rebuilding, whatever that means. Trying to prove that the Malfoy name can stand for something other than darkness and terror. It's…not easy."

Potter nodded, the tension between them easing slightly. "Right, well, so long as we’re both suffering."

Draco smirked, a glimmer of his old self shining through. "Who would have thought? Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, bonded by our personal crises."

Harry chuckled softly. "Stranger things have happened."

Draco's expression softened. "Look, Potter, if you need... I don't know, someone to talk to or whatever, let me know.”

A beat passed as Potter stared at him, eyes intense as he seemed to search Draco’s face for something. “Yeah, okay, let’s get drinks tonight, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, caught off guard by the sudden invitation. He felt a wave of emotion at the offer — years of hope flooding to the surface embarrassingly quickly. “Drinks? With you?”

Harry shrugged, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Why not? We both seem to need it. Besides," he added with a dangerous grin that made Draco's stomach flip, "you did just admit to finding me attractive."

Prat.

Draco hesitated, then nodded. “Alright, fine. The Leaky Cauldron at seven?”

Potter shook his head. "Not the Leaky. I can't go anywhere near Diagon without it showing up as the front page of the Prophet the next day." Potter scowled as he said it. "Let's go somewhere Muggle."

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Somewhere Muggle? Alright, I suppose I can manage that. Where exactly?”

Harry thought for a moment. “There’s a decent pub near Charing Cross Road. The Crown and Anchor. Meet me there?”

Draco nodded, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “Fine. The Crown and Anchor at seven.”

"Try not to look too much like a pureblood, yeah?" Potter gave a lopsided grin as he said it.

Draco raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, his grey eyes flashing with a hint of amusement. "And here I thought you preferred me just as I am, Potter. But very well, I shall endeavor to blend in with the common folk."

***

By the time Draco arrived at the Crown and Anchor, he felt a strange mix of anticipation and unease. He had changed three times before he left his apartment. His final choice — a pair of tailored dress pants and a button-down shirt under a sweater felt sufficiently Muggle. Although he kept his dragonhide dress shoes, liking the way they pulled the look together. 

Draco strolled into the pub, his eyes quickly scanning the place for any sign of Potter. He spotted him almost immediately, sitting at a table in a shadowed corner, nursing what looked like a pint of beer. Draco approached with measured steps, trying to quell the odd fluttering in his stomach. 

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted, his demeanor more relaxed than Draco had ever seen it. “Glad you found the place.”

“Potter,” Draco responded, sliding into the seat opposite him, feeling the privacy charm already on the booth. “Interesting choice. I don’t think I’ve been in a Muggle pub before.”

Potter smirked. “First time for everything. What’ll you have?" Draco glanced at the selection behind the bar. “Some sort of whiskey. Whatever you recommend."

The Gryffindor signaled to the bartender for another drink. As they waited, Draco took in the surroundings — the worn wooden tables, the dim lighting, the eclectic mix of patrons. It was worlds away from the opulence of his usual wizarding establishments, and yet, it felt oddly... comfortable.

Their drinks arrived, and Draco took a tentative sip. The whiskey was surprisingly good, and he found himself relaxing a bit more.

Harry leaned back in his chair, eyes glancing around around the room as he fiddled with an unlit cigarette. Draco took a minute to study him.

"You look different," Draco noted.

"Different bad?" Potter asked, an amused smirk on his face. 

“No, different good," Draco assured him.

“Considering how pretty you are, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Harry grinned over the top of his glass as he took a sip.

Draco smirked back, a curl of satisfaction twisting down his spine at the idea of Potter finding him pretty, and at the ease with which they had slipped into their usual banter. “Well, we can’t all carry off the disheveled hero look as charmingly as you do, Potter.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his glass. “Glad to hear I have something going for me.”

He paused, his expression sobering slightly. “Thanks for coming, by the way. I know it’s... well, unusual for us.”

“Unusual is putting it mildly,” Draco replied dryly. “But these are unusual times, aren’t they?” He took another sip of his whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through him.

“Indeed they are,” Harry agreed, gazing into his drink. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier. About feeling lost and trying to rebuild. I never expected any of this — the aftermath, the void. It’s... overwhelming at times.”

Potter took a pause, looking contemplative as he played with his cigarette. "Things haven't been easy since it ended. I didn't cope so well. Still not doing great, if we're being honest. Hermione's been on my back about it, says I have quote unquote unhealthy coping mechanisms."

Draco stared at him, understanding more than he cared to admit. His eyes traced the tension in Potter's shoulders, the barely contained power that seemed to radiate from him. "Do you?"

“What?”

“Have unhealthy coping mechanisms?” Draco asked. He hesitated before adding, “Not that anyone would blame you for it. You've had a bit of a shite life.”

Harry laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. "Yeah, you could say that. But I'm trying to find healthier ways to deal with everything. I started running a while back. Trying to replace the urge to go and pick a fight somewhere.”

"Always were a violent thing, weren't you?" Draco quipped, though there was genuine intrigue in his voice. He'd noticed Potter's new physique, of course. 

Harry's laugh this time was genuine, a spark of something lighter flickering in his eyes. "Only on the best of days, Malfoy. But it's a start, right? Trying to channel it into something less destructive."

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table between them. "And you? How are you handling things these days?"

Draco hesitated, his gaze drifting momentarily to the window. "I read a lot," he confessed quietly. "Fiction. Nonfiction. Muggle and magical...trying to understand more than just the wizarding world. It helps distract me from... well, from everything else."

He wasn’t sure why he admitted that. Outside of his mother, Draco hadn’t told anyone about his sudden interest in Muggle fiction. 

He looked back as Potter's unnervingly green eyes stared at him, contemplative and far too perceptive.

Uncomfortable with the continued vulnerability, Draco took a breath in. "So running? Anything else? Besides terrorizing the Ministry and making Robards nervous, that is."

“In my defense, they deserve it,” Potter laughed before giving a little shrug. “Gotten into music lately.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, “I had no idea you were musically inclined.”

Harry snorted lightly, “Oh, I’m not at all. It’s mostly me banging about on a piano, but it’s been fun. Kind of nice to enjoy being bad at something.”

"You are so very humble," Draco laughed into his drink.

"Shut up, you know what I mean," Harry said.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure life has been hard when you're a natural prodigy at Quidditch and have enough raw magic to level a small country." Draco joked back, though he couldn't help but notice how true the latter statement felt — Potter's magic could be almost overwhelming. 

He was such a prat. He could have at least been a terrible person if he was going to be so bloody powerful. 

Potter rolled his eyes but the smile tugging at his lips was genuine. "Well, when you put it like that, I sound almost bearable."

Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair and studying Harry with a more pensive gaze. "You're more than bearable, Potter. You always have been. Infuriating, yes. Reckless to the point of stupidity, absolutely. But more than bearable."

There was a moment of silence as both men allowed the weight of Draco's words to hang in the air. The pub noise swelled around them, people laughing and talking as they sat in their own little world. 

Harry cleared his throat slightly, breaking the quiet. "Thanks, Malfoy. That... means a lot, coming from you."

Draco nodded once, sharply, acknowledging the moment but pushing past it. "So, this Muggle pub," he gestured around with a slight frown, "is this going to be our new regular spot then? Or are you going to make me suffer through more of your questionable taste in establishments?"

"Maybe, depends on how much you annoy me tonight," Harry said with a pleased grin, reaching into his leather jacket to pull out a Muggle coin. “Alright, let’s flip to see who buys the next round. I’m heads.”

Draco huffed a laugh. “Fine, but if it’s you, just know I have expensive taste.”

Potter laughed and flipped the coin with a practiced flick of his thumb, catching it on the back of his hand. He unveiled it to Draco, who groaned playfully.

"Looks like I'm buying then," Draco said, flagging down the bartender and ordering another round of drinks.

“Where’d you get that anyway?” Draco asked, nodding his head at Harry’s beat-up biker jacket. “It’s surprisingly stylish for you.”

Potter’s grin faded, and an air of melancholy surrounded him as he looked down at the jacket. “It was my godfather’s. He left it to me. Along with some of his other Muggle stuff. Records, motorcycle, stuff like that.” Potter cleared his throat, looking back up. “You never would have met him, but I’m sure you know about Sirius."

He wanted to snort at Potter's casual statement. He left it to me. Along with some of his other Muggle stuff. As well as the entire Black family fortune and Noble house. Not that Potter seemed to care for either in the slightest. 

Draco's features tightened slightly at the mention of his wayward cousin, his lovely complicated family relationships once again settling uncomfortably around his shoulders. "I've heard a lot, mostly from my own family's less than favorable perspectives," Draco admitted, his voice even.

"Which I’m sure was in no way biased," he joked, his eyes locking with Harry's. The underlying tension softened as Harry nodded in acknowledgment.

"Sirius was... he was a lot of things," Harry said slowly, searching for the right words. "Rebellious, fiercely loyal, a bit unhinged really. Not sure if that was Azkaban or not. But he cared deeply about the people he loved."

"Sounds complicated," Draco replied thoughtfully.

"Complicated," Potter echoed with a small smirk. "That's putting it mildly. No offense to you, being cousins and all, but that whole family was a complicated mess.”

Draco chuckled, the sound tinged with a hint of bitterness. "No offense taken. The Black family could give ancient Greek tragedies a run for their money."

Harry's smile widened. “A few of them turned out alright. Not particularly happy endings, but they were good people.”

Potter brought his glass back up to his mouth. “Perhaps there’s hope for you, yet,” he joked softly, those unnervingly green eyes focused on Draco. 

Draco felt a mix of pride and guilt in his stomach. Absurd how that simple statement brought such hope to him; the idea that perhaps he was not a lost cause after all the terrible decisions he made these last few years.

He raised his glass in a mock toast. "To hope, then, and complicated legacies," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. They clinked glasses, the sound sharp and clear over the din of the pub.

"Right, lovely talk about the past, that," Draco started, setting down his glass and leaning forward with renewed interest, "I'm more curious about what you plan to do next. Running, music... but what else? You've always been one to chase after something bigger. Usually something likely to get you killed."

“That’s the question, innit?” Potter said, taking a deep inhale. “To be honest, now that the Aurors is out, I haven’t the foggiest. Might just wait for Hermione to figure it out for me,” he laughed.

Draco smirked, swirling the last of his drink in his glass. “How is Granger these days?”

The shorter wizard gave a genuine smile. “She’s good. She’s been off doing some project with one of the programs she got into after she graduated. She pops between England and France a couple times a week, it feels. All very secretive, but she seems happy enough.”

He nodded, "Sounds about right. She always had a knack for finding her way into the heart of mysteries. Good for her."

Potter chuckled, his eyes drifting to the window where the night had deepened, shadows flickered with the passing headlights. "Yeah, she's doing what she loves. Can't really ask for more than that."

“And her and Weasley are officially over?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded slowly, a hint of relief in his eyes. "Yeah, they ended things amicably enough a while back. Both realized they were better off as friends. Ron's doing well too, keeping busy with the shop and all."

“Well, huzzah for us all, then,” Draco said, raising his empty glass. “Alright, Potter, let’s see, we covered coping mechanisms, your dead godfather, my fucked up family, and your wildly successful best friend, right?” Draco said, counting off the topics on his fingers. “Anything else we need to do to call this a success?”

“Jesus, Malfoy,” Harry laughed while taking the last sip of his beer.

Draco’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with humor. "Just making sure we're thorough. Wouldn't want to miss any traumatic topics."

Potter set his empty glass down and slapped his hand on the table. “Alright, let’s take a walk. I’m getting restless.”

Draco nodded, pushing himself up from the table with the grace his mother had drilled into him, pulling his overcoat on, and leaving a few Muggle bills for the drinks. Potter assured him it included a tremendously generous tip. They stepped outside into the chilly winter night, the air crisp with the threat of snow.

The streets were quieter here, away from the raucous laughter and clinking glasses of the pub. Potter shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, his breath puffing out in the cold as he finally lit his cigarette.

How long had Potter smoked? He doesn't remember him doing it at school. 

They walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Draco who broke the silence first. "How are you and the Weaslette doing?”

"Delightfully offensive, Malfoy," Potter huffed, smoke curling from his lips. "Ginny and I broke up a while ago. Surprised you don't know that."

He did know it, actually. Hard not to when it was all over the bloody papers for weeks straight, especially once they sniffed out the fact that Potter was an equal opportunist.  

"And here I thought you’d end up a Quidditch husband, cheering from the stands with a big foam finger. Well, apologies for not keeping up with the latest gossip columns," he remarked dryly.

“Yes, it’s a shame. You may never find out what shampoo I’m using now.” Harry smirked.

They continued walking, chatting about Quidditch and other light topics, their steps syncing as they meandered through the dimly lit streets. 

Draco was about to call it night and head home, embarrassingly proud of how well it had all gone when Potter paused abruptly in the street. Hands went frantically into pockets until he pulled out a small mirror. A voice was calling from it. Harry held it up, "Mione? What's wrong?"

The pleasant buzz from the alcohol vanished instantly at the strain in Granger's voice. "Are you home? Can you meet me at my lab? Something's wrong. I'm being followed, I think. I don't know who, but they know about the project."

She paused before breathing heavily as if she were moving quickly. "I need to get my notes. I can't explain everything over this. There's no time. Meet me there?"

Without hesitation, Harry nodded. "Of course.”

Potter pocketed the mirror and gave Draco a searching look, silently asking if he was coming.

The question felt monumental. The idea that Potter might trust him enough to bring him along was almost overwhelming. Draco didn’t hesitate. "Let's go."

And then he was following Potter. The streets blurred past as they made their way to the nearest Apparition point, further away than either of them hoped.

Finally finding it, they vanished with a crack from the London street and reappeared in a quiet suburban road. “C’mon, it’s a few streets over,” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s arm.

They quickly made their way to a somewhat secluded building housed at the end of a private lane.

“Shite,” Potter swore as they approached the building. “The wards are down.” Draco's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the situation, taking in the lingering magic in the air. "Not good.”

Harry nodded grimly, moving towards the entrance with quick, determined steps. Draco followed closely behind, his wand already drawn. They entered the building, the silence inside ominous and thick with tension.

"Stay alert," Harry whispered as they moved through the quiet hallways, their footsteps echoing softly. The dim lighting cast long shadows that seemed to flicker as they passed.

As they approached the main room, Harry paused, a hand held up to signal Draco to stop. He leaned close to the door, listening for any sound from inside. Hearing nothing, he carefully pushed the door open and peered inside.

The lab was in disarray, furniture tipped over and half destroyed, papers scattered everywhere, and a large hole in the wall at the opposite side of the room. Granger was nowhere to be seen.

"Hermione?" Harry called out softly, his voice tense with concern. His magic swirled dangerously around them, ready to lash out at any threat.

There was no response.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger turned the key in the lock of her apartment door, her mind still churning with the details of the day's long meetings. She had portkey’d back from France this morning and had been in meetings all day with her contact at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She was exhausted.

She thought about the stack of parchments left on her desk at the Institue. Reports to file. Proposals to draft. Correspondence from international magical creatures departments awaiting replies. The pile seemed to grow every day.

Hermione rubbed her temples. Was this too much?

Even going back for 8th year had been hectic. Between classes, she was constantly rushing off to the Ministry. Testifying at Death Eater trials. Advising on new programs. Going to Grimmauld Place to drag Harry out of bed when the nightmares got too much. Or dragging him back to Grimmauld Place when he got bored and started hanging around the Ministry too much.

Things didn’t get any easier after graduation. Months of non-stop work. Meetings. Research. Proposals. Her mind raced constantly.

Guilt gnawed at her. How could she complain? So many doors had opened. Research grants, policy committees, international collaborations. All because she was Hermione Granger, war hero.

It was her chance to make real change. To fix the broken systems they'd fought against.

And they were already seeing real progress, even if Harry kept telling her that she didn’t need to do it all right away.

The hall was unusually silent as she pushed the door open. Instantly, a chill of unease trickled down her spine. The wards felt wrong — not broken exactly, but altered. Someone had been here.

As she stepped inside, her eyes swept across the living room in a practiced scan. Everything appeared normal at first glance—the books were stacked neatly on the shelves, the cushions on the sofa perfectly plumped. Yet, the subtle shift in the magical residue was unmistakable. The air held traces of unfamiliar magic—something metallic and sharp. 

Her hand instinctively reached for her wand as she began methodically checking each room. She cast detection spells silently as she moved, cataloging any magical signatures. The kitchen was clear. The bathroom untouched. But her study...

Her study held lingering traces of multiple magical signatures.

She took in the full room, gaze searching every corner for a sign of something. A paper that she had left on her desk, one about the effects of lycanthropy on pregnant women, was now askew. Not in the spot she remembered it being the last time she was home. Her mind raced as she considered the implications.

This wasn't just a break-in; it was a targeted search.

Quickly, Hermione pulled out the small, ornate mirror she carried with her and called Harry’s name. It wasn’t even a thought, but instinct. Harry would help.

Perhaps she should have called the Institute as well?

The surface of the mirror shimmered before Harry's face appeared, lines of concern etching his features. "Mione? What’s wrong?”

Hermione’s brain sped through worst-case scenarios. If they knew about her project, they likely knew about her lab.

She needed to get her notes. She started moving through her study quickly, grabbing anything she thought might be of use. “I need to get my notes. I can't explain everything now. There’s no time. Meet me there?”

Harry’s expression hardened. "Of course." The connection ended abruptly.

Hermione didn’t waste a moment. She threw books, papers, and several vials into her bag with practiced efficiency. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs, each beat a stark reminder of the danger looming over their research.

She was packed in under a minute.

She threw a handful of powder and called out the address for the building she called her lab.

She had used some of her research grants to buy it. It was a small house in a tiny neighborhood near Wanstead Flats, unassuming and Muggle. Of course, she has warded it rigorously. No one could Apparate or Floo into the building. The only exception was the direct Floo line she had in her apartment.

As she spun, Hermione's mind raced, sorting through what might have been compromised, what needed to be secured first upon arrival. She stepped out of the fireplace quickly, wand raised. As she felt the wards around her, she gave a shiver of relief but remained on high alert.

Hermione searched the front entryway quickly, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of intrusion. She moved quickly to the main room with her workstation, her wand casting a bright orb of light that floated above her, illuminating the room.

Her notes were piled across the desk, much like she had left them, but now they seemed horribly vulnerable.

She began gathering them with trembling hands. 

A ripple in the wards made her pause, head whipping around to stare out the door of her work area. She grabbed the last stack of papers that she could and quickly shuffled them down into her expandable bag before cinching it shut and shoving it into her pocket.

Wand in her hand, she stepped towards the door before feeling the wards fall completely. She inhaled quickly. They were here, then.

She flicked her wand to close the door to her study, intending to secure herself in the room as much as she could, but a blasting hex cut through the wood before she could. It was followed immediately by several more spells towards her.

Hermione rolled away, spells sizzling past the space she had just vacated.

She shot a barrage of stunners towards the doorway, her breath quick in her throat. No direct hits, but it bought her some time. Scrambling to her feet, she began knocking over any piece of furniture she could to block the path, weaving in shields as she did, creating a temporary barricade. She knew she couldn’t hold them off alone for long. The room flickered with the lights of spells hitting the barriers she hastily threw up around herself.

She looked at the window at the end of the room. She threw a powerful blast at the glass as she ran towards it, debris exploding outward. As the window shattered, Hermione didn't hesitate. She leaped through, glass scraping down the side of her arm.

The cold night air hit her face like a wave as she landed clumsily on the grass outside. Without pausing, she sprinted across the lawn, spells flying over her head.

She just needed to make it to the Apparition point, she thought.

As she reached the end of the first street, a spell clipped her ankle, sending a jolt of pain through her leg and tumbling her to the ground.

With a desperate effort, she rolled behind a thick tree trunk, heart pounding furiously. Her ankle throbbed painfully, but she forced herself to focus on the threat at hand. Another curse slammed into the tree, bark exploding inches from her face.

Peeking around the trunk, Hermione saw Augustus Rockwood moving quickly towards her. Three more robed figures behind him.

Hermione's breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs. She knew Rockwood by reputation — one of the most prominent and violent of Voldemort’s staunch supporters who had evaded capture. The Aurors had been searching for him since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Rockwood was closing the distance with predatory speed, his wand outstretched and lips curled into a sinister smile. She gritted her teeth and dashed out from the tree, a flurry of spells leaving her wand as she tried to slow him down enough to get to safety.

The Apparition point was at the end of the road, a glimmer of hope in her chest that was squashed just as quickly when she felt footsteps catching up to her.

Before she could reach it, sharp pain erupted in her shoulder as a spell hit, knocking her off her trajectory. Hermione fell, scrambling to get to her feet, but felt strong hands grab her by the back of her shirt, lifting her off the ground.

"Got ya, Granger," Rockwood's voice was like a cold blade against her ear.

Before she could say a single spell, she felt the world spin wildly. The ground vanished beneath her feet, and she felt the telltale sign of a Portkey as she was slammed into the dirt floor of a forest.

Rockwood had lost his grip on her as they landed. She pushed herself up quickly, blindly sending a stunner and Bombarda behind her as she started running. She heard additional footsteps crunch behind her — a sign that Rockwood's companions had arrived after him.

The dense underbrush tugged at her clothes and scratched at her skin as she moved deeper into the woods, trying to put as much distance between herself and Rockwood as possible.

Hermione reached into her pocket, fingers closing around the cold metal of the fake galleon that Harry had insisted they all carry for emergencies.

They were different from the ones they used at Hogwarts. Hermione had reworked the Protean Charm to be able to send location information to each other. It would send Harry the information to the closest Apparition point.

With trembling hands, she sprinted as she clasped the coin, whispering the activation spell under her breath: "Revertar Signum." A warm glow pulsed against her skin, a silent beacon out to Harry.

The moon was full, and its light pierced through the canopy, casting strange shadows that danced across the forest floor. Hermione's breath was ragged, her heart racing as she dodged between gnarled trees and leapt over tangled roots. Sounds of pursuit were fading, but she knew better than to slow down.

As she pushed deeper into the forest, an eerie howl split the night.

Hermione froze, blood running cold.

Werewolves.

The realization hit her like a bludger. Tonight was the full moon. Rockwood brought her to a forest full of werewolves. Of course, he did.

Scanning her surroundings desperately, Hermione spotted a dense thicket that could provide temporary cover. She darted towards it, every sense alert. As she approached the mess of trees and bushes, another howl resonated through the woods and a flash of golden eyes caught her eyes, closer than she was comfortable with.

She turned to run in the opposite direction, heart pounded in her ears, each beat echoing. She needed to buy time. She could hear the Death Eaters crashing through the underbrush behind her, their shouts somewhat muffled by the distance but no less threatening.

She continued to sprint, ankle and shoulder throbbing. The trees were thinning out, an unfortunate fact that was making it hard to find cover. If she could just get a moment, she could search her bag. She had an emergency Portkey somewhere in it.

Unable to stop, she could hear the Death Eaters closing in on one side, and werewolves on the other.

She debated which way to go before deciding she would rather take her chance with a werewolf over Rockwood.

"Hermione!" The voice cut through the chaos around her. She almost sobbed in relief.

Harry's magic hit before she even saw him — a wave of power that flooded the forest clearing, making the air thick and heavy with ozone. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as his magic saturated the area. She felt the familiar euphoric edge to it that always made her worry these days.

Harry's voice was unmistakable, even amidst the cacophony of the forest. Hermione spun around, barely making out his silhouette as he emerged from between two large oak trees, with Draco Malfoy of all people just a few strides behind him.

She would question him about that after all this. 

"Move!" Harry yelled suddenly. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a Bombarda behind her that decimated an entire copse of trees. The boom echoed through the forest as splinters rained down around them.

A yelp of pain suggested he'd hit at least one target.

"Show off," Draco muttered.

Hermione wasted no time and sprinted towards them, her shoulder throbbing in pain with each step. The moonlight glinted off Malfoy’s platinum hair, like a beacon in the night.

As she reached them, Malfoy grabbed her arm, steadying her. "Alright, Granger?" he asked, scanning her for injuries.

"Just a spell hit," she gasped out, clutching at her wounded shoulder. "Rockwood... and werewolves."

Harry's eyes darkened at the mention of Rockwood. “We need to get back to the Apparition point. It’s back a ways.”

"I have an emergency Portkey in my bag," Hermione whispered hurriedly. "Just need a moment to grab it."

"Oh yes, let's all stand around while you dig through that beaded monstrosity," Draco cut in sarcastically, though he moved closer to cover her. "Not like we're being hunted or anything."

"Less sass, more shield charms, Malfoy." 

Hermione, crouching low, fumbled through her bag. Her fingers were slick with sweat as they brushed past various artifacts and tools until they wrapped around the familiar shape of the Portkey. Hope blooming, she pulled the tattered hat out of her purse.

“I have it!” She said, looking up at the pair of wizards.

“Wonderful. Let’s go, now!” Malfoy urged, his tone sharp as several curses came flying out of the trees towards them. A booming crack sounded through the forest as Harry’s shield met the curses head-on and sent them flying back.

Hermione nodded, clutching the hat tightly in her hand. She reached out, grabbing both Harry and Draco’s arms to ensure they were connected.

As she whispered the activation phrase, two things happened simultaneously.

First, she caught a glint of gold in the moonlight; the chain of a necklace tangled up in the hat. Too late she realized it was a time-turner.

Second, a bright purple spell raced toward them, hitting the Portkey.

She felt the glass of the time-turner shatter as the world spun violently around them, Harry's magic surging wildly as they were pulled into the vortex.

Chapter Text

The world twisted violently around Harry, everything blurring into an indistinguishable whirl of colors. He felt Hermione's hand on his arm tighten as they spun. A metallic tang filled his mouth, as if he had just bitten down on tinfoil. It made his stomach lurch even more, and he could taste the bile rising in his throat.

The magic felt wrong. Not like a normal Portkey - this was raw, wilder. He could feel it thrumming against his own magic, setting his nerves on fire.

Finally, with a jarring thud, they landed. Harry stumbled forward, catching himself before he hit the ground. The earth was cold and damp beneath his palms. Trees towered above, stars peaking through between branches. Malfoy staggered beside him, his usually immaculate posture undone by the journey.

"What the bloody hell kind of Portkey was that?" Malfoy asked, a breathless edge to his voice. His grey eyes locked onto Harry's, a mix of concern and something else flickering in their depths.

Harry turned to look at Hermione. Her face was ashen as she stared down at her hands. Harry's eyes narrowed in concern. "Hermione?" he asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently.

She inhaled sharply, pulling a chain from the beat-up hat in her hands. She looked up to Harry, her face drawn. "I didn't see it until it was too late."

Harry followed her gaze to the chain, tracing it to the end where thin gold circles glinted in the moonlight. Shards of glass sat alongside it in her hands. His stomach dropped as understanding hit him.

The metallic taste in his mouth suddenly made horrible sense.

Slowly he looked back up at her, seeing the panic starting to set into her eyes. "How bad could it be?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer. He could feel it in the way his magic was still unsettled, like static electricity under his skin.

"Could what be?" Malfoy asked, eyes darting between Harry and Hermione. He had moved closer, close enough that Harry could smell the lingering trace of his expensive cologne.

Hermione raised a trembling hand to hold up the broken time turner from the Portkey. The moonlight caught the shattered glass, making it sparkle ominously.

Draco's face blanched when he saw the shattered pieces, understanding the gravity of the situation instantly. "What the hell were you doing with a time-turner, Granger? I thought all of them were destroyed by your lot back in fifth year." His aristocratic features were tight with tension, but Harry noticed the way his hands shook slightly before he shoved them into his pockets.

Hermione swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "The ones in Britain, yes. But they gave it to me as part of my research program with the Institute in France. A way to get more work done during the year." She bit her lips nervously. "It must have been in the stuff I grabbed from my apartment, I - I didn't see until the last second. One of the spells hit it while it was activating."

"The spell must have interfered with the enchantment matrix," she continued, her academic tone barely masking her rising panic. "Time turners operate on a delicate balance of temporal magic. If the spell disrupted that while we were using both it and the Portkey..."

"The magics could have combined," Draco finished, his face grim.

Harry felt his chest tighten at their words. He had enough experience with magical accidents to know that unprecedented combinations rarely ended well.

Taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself to focus. They needed a plan, not panic. He might not understand the intricacies of time magic, but he could at least keep them safe while they figured it out.

"We need to get somewhere safe, first," he said, casting a careful glance around the shadowy woods. The moon, no longer full as it had been earlier that night, hung low in the sky, casting an eerie light on the dense undergrowth. "Everything else can be figured out after that."

He couldn't help the edge of hysteria that hit him as he realized that it was no longer winter. Wherever and whenever they were - the season was different.

The implications of that made his head spin.

Hermione bit her lip, her brow furrowed as she rifled through her thoughts. "I think I can make an educated guess about where we are based on the celestial positioning," she murmured, looking up at the stars thoughtfully. "But Harry's right -- It's not just about where we are; it's about staying hidden until we understand what's going on.”

Malfoy nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on Harry for a moment longer before he scanned the dense forest surrounding them. "Right, then. I don't suppose you have anything else in that bag of yours?"

Hermione's eyes flicked momentarily towards her bag, a small smile igniting in her expression. She knelt, opening the bag and rummaging through its contents. Her hands emerged holding a tent—a small, tattered thing that looked barely capable of fitting one person, let alone three.

Harry felt his chest constrict at the sight of it. Memories of those endless months hunting Horcruxes threatened to overwhelm him - the cold, the hunger, the constant fear. He pushed them back, focusing on the present. At least this time there wasn’t a Horcrux around his neck.

"It doesn't look like much," Hermione admitted with a grimace, "but it's what we used when we were on the run. It should keep us out of sight and give us enough space inside."

"Brilliant," Malfoy commented dryly, though the relief was evident in his voice.

"Let me set it up, Mione," Harry said, gently taking the tent out of her hands.

"You've had a rough night." His gaze wandered over her shoulder and down her tattered outfit, anger flaring in his chest at the sight of dried blood. His magic flared in anger. 

Malfoy's breath hitched lightly and Harry forced himself to take a deep breath, reining his power back in. The last thing they needed was his magic drawing attention to their location.

Hermione gave him a small, grateful nod and handed over the tent. Harry pushed aside his rising anxiety about their unknown location and time, focusing instead on the task at hand. With a few practiced movements born from too many nights spent in similar situations, the tent expanded into a surprisingly spacious shelter.

Once inside, Hermione started to pull out various magical items from her bag—some books, a map, and a rather intricate-looking compass that glinted faintly in the dim light of the tent.

"Where was the original Portkey supposed to go?" Malfoy asked, peering over her shoulder as she set her items out on the table.

Hermione paused, her fingers tracing the edges of the map as she collected her thoughts. "The park outside of Grimmauld Place."

Harry looked up at that, eyes finding hers. "Grimmauld Place?"

Her warm brown eyes held his and a small smile graced her tired face. "I just always assumed I would either be running to you or already with you. Grimmauld seemed like the best spot."

Harry's heart warmed at Hermione's words, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding him. And despite the pounding in his chest at the situation, he knew it would be okay if Hermione was here with him. She had never once left his side, not really.

Malfoy let out a low, tense laugh, the sound barely cutting through the thick air of the tent. "Always a plan, Granger," he said with an appreciative nod, but his gaze shifted back to the broken time turner, his expression growing serious once more. "But this... this complicates things."

Hermione sighed and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her face shadowed by the weight of their predicament. "Yes, it does," she agreed quietly.

"First things first," Hermione continued, her voice steadying as she slipped into problem-solving mode. "We need to determine when we are to figure out how much damage might have been done. And we can't do that until we figure out where we are."

He heard the shakiness in her voice. The hint of panic right on the edge of her words. Harry stood from where he had been crouching, laying out the sleeping cots. His eyes scanned the space they were in—modest but familiar in its magical expansion.

He walked over to Hermione and put a comforting hand around her shoulder, pulling her in. "We've handled worse," he reassured her, though his mind helpfully supplied several ways this could actually be much worse than anything they'd faced before. He held her for a moment, hands tightening around her before finally letting her go.

Malfoy watched their interaction with an unreadable expression, though his grey eyes seemed to soften slightly at their display of friendship. Harry caught himself staring at the way the dim lighting cast shadows across the sharp planes of his face and quickly looked away.

Harry stepped back and gave himself a quick mental shake, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing in on them. His magic thrummed under his skin. "We'll stay here tonight," he decided, moving to sit beside Hermione.

"But first, let's get you healed up Mione, and then take stock of what we have," Harry said, trying to focus on immediate problems rather than the looming disaster of their situation.

She gave him a nod and a tight smile. "I have a medi-kit in my pouch, can you get it?" Harry started rummaging through the beaded purse. As he did, Hermione began gently removing her cardigan, revealing blood on her shirt under it.

"Let me help, Granger," Malfoy said, moving closer to the table and raising a hand to her shoulder. His voice was softer than Harry had ever heard it.

Hermione tensed beside him, voice clipped, "I'll handle it, Malfoy."

Draco's hand paused in mid-air, the tension palpable. He slowly lowered it, nodding slightly. "Of course, Hermione."

The use of her first name seemed to give Mione pause. Harry saw the tension ease slightly.

"I'm sorry," She apologized to the blonde. "It's just been a long night. And, not that I'm not grateful for the rescue and all, but what, exactly, were the two of you doing together?"

Draco exchanged a glance with Harry, the flicker of a smirk crossing his lips. A strand of his usually perfect hair had fallen across his forehead. "Well, funniest thing. I ran into Potter at the Ministry earlier and next thing I know, he's basically begging me to get drinks with him."

Harry rolled his eyes, a small chuckle escaping him despite the situation. "That's putting a bit of slant on it."

Malfoy's grin widened, grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're right. You also told me I was pretty."

Harry determinedly did not think about the fact that the Malfoy Heir (Lord, now?) was really, unfairly, good-looking. 

Hermione shook her head, a mixture of exasperation and amusement clear on her face as she finally eased the blood-stained shirt off her shoulder to address the wound. "Okay, forget I asked," she muttered, but her tone was fond.

Harry found the medi-kit just as Hermione was cleansing the shallow cut. He handed it over to her, his eyes full of concern. "You sure you’ve got that?" he asked.

“Yes, Harry. It’s not my first scrape,” Hermione reminded him gently. She quickly applied Dittany to the wound, wincing slightly at the sting before securing a bandage over it.

Malfoy watched both of them with a thoughtful expression on his face. Harry could feel his gaze like a physical weight, but he forced himself to focus on Hermione instead.

As Hermione busied herself with the ointment and bandages, Harry's gaze betrayed him, returning to Draco, who now sat across from them. The light filtering through the fabric of the tent gave his face an ethereal glow, making his normally sharp features seem softer, more vulnerable. The perfectly pressed shirt he'd been wearing at the pub was wrinkled now, the top buttons undone, and Harry had to drag his eyes away from the exposed skin at his throat.

"Hey," Harry said quietly, catching Draco's attention. "You okay?"

Malfoy blinked slowly, then focused on Harry. "Yeah," he replied after a moment's pause, but his voice betrayed him slightly — it was too carefully neutral. Harry knew better than to push; Malfoy would handle the stress of the situation however he needed.

Hermione finished her shoulder and leaned down to pull her pant leg up, revealing her bruised and swollen ankle.

A wave of concern and fury coursed through Harry's body as his eyes fell upon the violent wound. The air grew thick with magic as his anger built. He wished he could go back to the woods with Rockwood and his cronies and make them regret whatever they had planned for Hermione. His fingers itched for his wand, even knowing it was impossible.

"Reign it in, Potter," Malfoy said softly, grey eyes fixed on him. "Your magic is making it hard to breathe."

Harry started, not having realized how much power he was letting loose. He took a deep breath, pulling his magic back in. 

Malfoy stood, concern etching his features. "Are you sure you don't need help with that?" he asked Hermione, clearly trying to redirect everyone's focus.

She gave a half-hearted huff, handing him the medi-kit without hesitation this time. A small pleased smile flashed across Draco's face at the show of trust.

Malfoy kneeled beside her, his fingers gentle as he applied a cooling salve to the swelling. His touch was light as he slowly turned her ankle in different directions to check for a fracture. Harry watched, fascinated by this softer version of his former rival. The careful way he handled Hermione's injury, the quiet concentration on his face - it was a far cry from the sneering boy he'd known at Hogwarts.

Harry watched them, a swell of gratitude rising in his chest at the fact that he wasn't alone in this, even if it was Malfoy here now instead of Ron. Still, he was jittery - adrenaline still pumping from earlier and anxiety sitting heavy in his mind. He reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. Hermione was sure to yell at him for it, but he felt the situation warranted it.

He snapped his fingers together to light it and took a deep breath, letting the smoke curl into the cool air of the tent before exhaling slowly.

Hermione watched him with a frown. "Really, Harry?"

Her voice was laced with both irritation and concern. She knew what it meant when he started smoking - knew it was a sign his nerves were shot.

"Just this once, please," he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. She frowned but didn't say anything. It was better than his previous binge drinking. 

Draco finished up with Hermione's ankle and sat back, observing Harry with an unreadable expression. "Didn't take you for a smoker, Potter."

"Think about me a lot, Malfoy?" Harry said back, a wry smile on his lips around the cigarette. He blamed the adrenaline and stress for the way the words came out more flirtatious than intended.

The moment held a teasing lightness that seemed to ease the tension within the cramped tent. Hermione, now somewhat patched up, shot them both a look that was half-amused and half-exasperated. "You're impossible, both of you," she muttered, though the fondness in her tone was unmistakable. She gathered up the remnants of the medi-kit and began stowing them away neatly back into her pouch.

Harry took another drag from his cigarette, the burning in his lungs comforting. The smoke filled the small space with its acrid scent, a stark contrast to the earthy dampness of the forest outside.

"We should plan our next steps," Hermione said quietly, breaking the silence as she zipped up her pouch. "The sooner we understand where and when we are, the better."

Harry nodded his head as he took a last drag and dropped the cigarette to crush it under his sneaker. His magic pulled the lingering smoke from the air without conscious thought. "Right," he agreed, his tone turning serious. He stuck a hand into his other jacket pocket and pulled out a small leather pouch the size of his fist.

Tapping his wand on it, he watched it expand to the size of a messenger bag before he opened it. The runes he'd carved into the leather glowed faintly at his touch, responding to his magic.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. He looked up and saw the excited and, dare he say, proud look on her face. "You made your own expanding bag?" Harry grinned at her, the pride in her gaze bolstering his own satisfaction. He'd spent months getting the enchantments right.

"Took me a while to perfect the runes for it," he admitted. "But I do listen to you, sometimes, you know? The arithmancy was a nightmare though." He didn't mention how many times the bag had exploded before he'd gotten the calculations right. In his defense, he had no idea what he was doing most of the time. 

Hermione's eyes sparkled with admiration as she leaned in to examine the bag more closely. Her fingers traced over the intricate rune work with appreciation. "It came out good," she said thoughtfully. "The expansion matrix is quite elegant."

Malfoy, still sitting on the floor beside where Hermione had been treating her injuries, looked up at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Impressive," he conceded, though his tone held a hint of surprise as if he was reminded that Harry's talents extended beyond Quidditch and somehow not dying.

Encouraged by their approval, Harry opened the bag fully, revealing several compartments and pockets inside. "After the war, it just seemed smart to have things on hand. Just in case…” His voice trailed off, but the unspoken words hung heavily in the air. The memory of war was still too close.

Draco nodded, seeming to understand the sentiment all too well. His gaze shifted back to Hermione, then to Harry, a putout look on his face. “Am I the only one who doesn’t have a magical bag of tricks, then?”

Harry chuckled, “Well, you know what they say about Gryffindors, we’re always prepared.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but the amusement was clear in his expression. "That was most certainly not what I was saying about you lot," he quipped back, getting to his feet and brushing himself off.

Hermione stood as well, her ankle visibly better though she still favored it slightly. "Alright, focus. I know what I have in my bag, Harry. What do you have?”

Harry reached into the bag and started flipping through the compartments, occasionally pulling things out. “A bunch of books from the Black Library, and other ones that I thought would be helpful.  Clothes, money, my Firebolt, mini medi-kit, standard healer’s potions kit, stuff from the joke shop that can be used strategically, stuff that Sirius left me, my Cloak, the map, and other odds and ends.”

He looked up as he finished laying the majority of it out on the floor of the tent. Hermione nodded in approval, her curious gaze scanning the collection. "Good, very good. More than I could have hoped for, honestly.”

Draco moved closer, his eyes scanning the various objects Harry had managed to pack. "You really are prepared," he commented, picking up Harry’s cloak and letting the material run through his fingers. “Your Invisibility Cloak. How long have you had it?”

Harry quirked an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing across his eyes. “Since my first year at Hogwarts,” he revealed, the memory pulling a faint smile onto his lips. “It was a gift from my dad, but Dumbledore gave it to me.” 

Draco lowered the cloak, laughing lightly. “Figures. That man's bias for Gryffindors was truly astounding. No wonder you seemed to get away with so much,” he said dryly, but there was no real sting in his words.

Hermione, ever practical, redirected their focus. "We need to use everything we have wisely. Especially considering we're not sure how long we'll be stuck here."

She took a deep inhale as she said it. Harry saw the flash of panic that seemed to pass through Hermione as she said it, her mind likely spinning through a dozen different thoughts at once.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be okay, Mione.”

Chapter Text

“Whatever happens, it’ll be okay, Mione.” Draco Malfoy could appreciate Potter’s optimism, even if he thought it rather foolishly naive. 

Getting sent to an unknown place in an unknown time after shattering a time turner in a portkey did not feel like something one just bounced back from. It felt much more like a catastrophically complicated situation that could go very bad, very quickly. 

And yet as Draco stood there in front of Potter’s determined face and steady voice, he felt a swell of reassurance. Because as crazy as this entire situation was, he couldn’t imagine a better duo to be stuck with. An absolutely absurd thought considering the history between the three of them.

Of course, he wouldn’t have been in this situation if he had just said no to Potter for drinks, but there wasn’t a scenario in the world where Draco would have turned down Harry’s tentative hand at friendship. Draco had spent the better part of the last decade chasing after that friendship, his efforts getting increasingly more vicious and violent as he did until it had all spun out of his control.

How stupid he had been, but it had eaten at him to sit at the Slytherin table and watch the Golden Trio joke around, go on adventures, and generally have each other’s backs. He was raised the perfect pureblood - which meant that friendship was a commodity, driven by usefulness, and you never revealed how much someone meant to you. Especially if they weren’t related by blood.

He hadn’t realized how much he hated it until he saw the other side. The way Hermione and Harry openly orbited each other, pulled together by something deeper than blood or duty. It was a genuine affection and fierce loyalty that Draco had longed to have in his life.

Of course, Weasley was part of that group, but Draco thought of him sitting outside of the two. His friendship always a touch finickier; his jealousy burning brighter. No, Granger and Potter were uniquely their own unit. 

And he was reminded of that as he watched Harry and Hermione interact with each other tonight. How Potter hadn’t even paused before rushing off to Granger’s side. How Granger had such implicit trust that Potter would be there. Neither questioned the other in the slightest. It made a lump form in his throat.

It should scare him, how much he wanted it, but he couldn’t help himself.

Standing here in a tent in the middle of nowhere, with no idea of where or when they were, surrounded by a haphazard collection of books and artifacts, Draco felt closer to that reality than ever before.

Draco watched as Granger meticulously arranged their surprisingly robust resources into some semblance of order. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a testament to her unyielding ability to focus even in the strangest of circumstances.

Harry paced back and forth, his hand running through his wild hair. He tried not to stare too much at the Gryffindor, but it was hard not to when the fireplace was casting a glow on his face.

Draco hadn’t been prepared for this new Potter - the one who wore a leather jacket and smoked cigarettes. He couldn't shake the image of Potter smirking at him through a cloud of smoke earlier; eyes intense. Draco shivered at the memory.

This slightly wilder Harry Potter was a stark contrast to the boy Draco had known in school, yet it intrigued him all the same. The way Harry now carried himself — with an edge of defiance and a deep-seated competence — made Draco even more drawn to him.

“We need to figure out our next move,” Potter muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His gaze fell on the scattering of maps spread out on the makeshift table.

Needing to be useful, Draco cleared his throat, stepping closer. “Granger was right earlier. We should check the alignment of the stars tonight,” he suggested, his voice steadier than he felt. “It might give us an idea about the time period we’re in. Help with the location as well.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes lighting up with a spark of hope. “Oh, right. yes, good idea.”

She grabbed a thick tome from the pile, a light layer of dust puffing off as she flipped it open to a section marked with a ribbon. “These star charts should help us if we can match it up with what we see outside.”

Harry stopped his pacing and looked between Draco and Hermione, something akin to gratitude softening his features. “Let’s do it then,” he said briskly, moving to the tent flap. The night air was crisp, a slight chill brushing against their skin as they stepped out from under the trees to see a sprawling canopy of stars.

Draco stood slightly apart, his gaze upward. “There’s Orion,” he pointed out, his finger tracing the familiar shape in the sky. “And there's Ursa Major,” Hermione added, aligning her charts with the stars above them. Harry stood close by, his eyes squinting slightly as he tried to follow their hands.

Harry chuckled softly, head tilted up to stare. "I'll never get the hang of this," he admitted, but his tone was light, teasing even. Draco glanced at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Fortunate for you that you have two people here who actually paid attention in Astronomy.”

The banter was easy, familiar in a way that Draco had always envied. Now, standing here as part of it, feeling included, it fortified him more than the night air ever could.

Hermione looked back and forth between the two constellations, her expression thoughtful. "This puts us somewhere in the 1970s or early 80s," she murmured, eyes narrowing as she studied her charts more closely. "And I think we’re somewhere in the United Kingdom still, if not still in England.”

Draco nodded, the information sinking in. "That would make sense given the intended location of the original portkey," he agreed, his mind racing through the possibilities.

"If we’re right about the time period, it could position us around the First Wizarding War."

Draco debated whether he should point it out or not, given the company he was in. All three of them had been mixed up in the second war, but Potter’s ties to both wars were extensive. And painful.

A long moment passed in complete silence. Harry’s gaze darkened, the lightness in his earlier demeanor fading as he followed Draco’s thoughts. With a shaky inhale, Harry pulled out his pack of cigarettes, lighting one with trembling hands. Across from him, Granger’s brown eyes tracked every movement he took, face pinched in worry.

“My parents,” Harry started, “my parents, Mione.” He raised his head to look at her, with a haunted look in his emerald eyes, tears welling. “And Sirius. Remus.”

He was breathing quickly now, jerky movement in and out. Draco's throat tightened as he observed Harry’s distress. He wasn’t used to seeing this type of vulnerability in people, and it took all of Draco's will not to reach out and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Instead, he shuffled closer, in an attempt to offer support without crossing invisible lines.

Hermione stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "I know, Harry. I know," she said, pulling Potter gently into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around him. "We're here, Harry. We're together in this. We'll figure this out.”

Harry's breath hitched as he tried to compose himself, nodding slowly at Hermione's words. "Right," he murmured, his voice hoarse. He took a long drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke linger before exhaling slowly.

Draco stood silently on the other side, watching the exchange with a complex emotion swirling deep in him. After a short pause, he stepped forward, joining the small circle of their orbit. "Potter," he began, his voice low and somewhat hesitant, a stark contrast to his usual poised demeanor. "We are seriously out of our depth here, but there’s no one else I’d rather be in this mess with."

Harry let out a half-choked laugh, the sound brittle but genuine. "Thanks, Malfoy," he managed, his usual guardedness faltering under the weight of the moment. His gaze shifted between Hermione and Draco, an unspoken acknowledgment in his eyes.

The three stood together under the canopy of stars, swirls of Potter’s smoke visible in the air. The silence that settled was not uncomfortable but still weighed heavy. 

Finally, breaking the silence, Hermione pulled away slightly from Harry and turned to both boys. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves until we know more. We should get some rest," she suggested pragmatically, though her eyes lingered on Harry with a palpable concern. "Tomorrow we'll start looking for clues about where we are—exactly—and what's really going on."

Draco nodded in agreement, and they slowly made their way back into the tent. Preparations for sleep were made quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. Granger forced a careful mix of dreamless sleep potion and calming drought down Potter’s throat, knowing there would be no chance of sleep otherwise for him in his current state.

Harry was asleep before either of them could finish setting up their respective sleeping areas, face looking pained even with the potions.

Draco sat on his cot, his mind racing with the possibilities and dangers of their current predicament. Despite the comfort brought by their recent camaraderie, the gravity of their situation was palpable; the historical implications alone were daunting. When he looked up from his thoughts, he caught Granger’s eyes on him, brows slightly furrowed.

She offered him a tired smile. "Quite the night," she whispered, her voice carrying a weight of resilience.

Draco nodded, leaning back against the canvas wall of the tent. "Understatement," he replied, his tone dry. The reality of their situation was sinking in deeper with each passing moment.

Hermione sighed and sat down on her own cot, pulling her knees close to her chest. "We'll need to be careful about how much we influence things," she said thoughtfully. "The slightest change could have massive repercussions on our timeline."

Draco let a moment pass in silence before asking the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind all night. He steeled his nerves. “Do we still have a timeline, Granger?”

Hermione's eyes tightened at the gravity of Draco's question, reflecting the flickering light from a small lantern that cast long shadows across the tent. "That's the million galleon question, isn't it?" she murmured, her voice laced with fear. "I've never heard of anyone traveling more than a few hours. But regardless of what happens, we have to try to keep things as they were—or at least close enough."

Draco nodded slowly, his gaze drifting toward Harry's sleeping form. “You gonna tell him that?” Hermione met Draco’s gaze squarely, her eyes resolute despite the uncertainty that tinged her voice. "Yes, when the time is right." She paused, then added more softly, "And when he's ready to hear it."

Draco looked doubtful but nodded, understanding the delicacy of their situation. He glanced once again at Harry, who now seemed so vulnerable in sleep.

"Tomorrow," Hermione continued, "we start gathering information. We need to figure out the specifics of the time and who we can reach out to for help without drawing too much attention to ourselves." Draco agreed with a grunt as he shifted uncomfortably on his cot. The thought of navigating through their parents' younger years without altering anything significant was daunting. "We'll need aliases and a plausible backstory," he mused aloud.

“Yes, and we must be cautious not to reveal too much about ourselves or our knowledge of future events,” Hermione added.

Draco's mind churned as he lay back, the deadening ball of guilt and fear gnawing at him. “Is there any scenario where we don’t reach out to Dumbledore?” he whispered to Hermione in the dark.

Granger hesitated, her silhouette barely discernible in the dim light. "I'm not sure," she confessed softly. "He's one of the few who could understand our situation—or at least believe us without too many questions. I...worry about going to anyone in the Ministry. I don't know what the Unspeakables might do if they find out how much we know about the future. They're just as likely to wipe our memories as they are to help us. I can’t imagine we can really get around going to Dumbledore, despite what both of you may wish.”

Draco desperately wanted to ask why Potter would want to avoid the previous headmaster but knew better than to push it. His own issues were more than enough for now.

Silence fell between them again, each lost in their thoughts about the complexities ahead. Hermione eventually lay down on her cot, her back to Draco, signaling an end to their conversation. Draco continued to stare at the darkness, his mind whirling.

Chapter Text

Hermione slept fitfully that night. She tossed and turned, her mind racing with the events of the day, leaving her restless. Beneath it all lurked the ever-present worry for Harry and the responsibility she felt for their actions in this unfamiliar time. 

She kept thinking back on Malfoy’s questions the night before. She wasn’t an expert on time travel by any means, but she knew enough. Knew that their situation was precarious. She wasn’t sure which idea was scarier: the idea of trying to reserve engineer a way to get home from this or the idea that they might never see their friends and family again if there was no way back.

As dawn approached, she finally succumbed to a shallow sleep, from which she awoke feeling less than refreshed. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and glanced over at the empty bed where Harry had slept. A surge of panic briefly flared within her until she looked across the tent and saw him using one of the support beams to do pull-ups.

Dressed in only a pair of joggers, she watched his back muscles flex and relax as he moved. Most likely, he had been up for a while. Sweat was dripping down his neck, hair sticking to his forehead, a tremble in his arms.

She knew it was his way of coping, pushing his body to its limits when his mind was overwhelmed. Normally, it was running, but he wouldn’t take that chance here. Not if it meant him leaving them on their own. 

Eyes trailing over the scars that decorated his body, she felt the swirl of love and sadness that so often came up when it came to Harry. Selfishly, she was happy he was here with her.

Begrudgingly, she could admit she was also a little bit happy Draco Malfoy was with them, even though she was confused as to the why of it.

Like Harry, Hermione had given the pureblood prince some slack after the war. Schoolyard rivalries felt trivial in light of some of the things they learned about him at his and Narcissa’s trials. No, his version of fighting hadn’t been the same as theirs, but the small things spoke volumes to Hermione.

His inability to kill Dumbledore, the way he covered for Harry at the Manor. His attempts to stop Crabbe in the Room of Requirement. The way his wand worked so well for Harry - a sign that Harry seemed convinced meant something.

His weren't overt shows of bravery, but Hermione and Harry had talked at length about the Malfoy heir before his trial and both could admit that neither could comprehend the pressure and torment he must have faced with Voldemort living in his house, basically holding his parents hostage.

Ron had been less forgiving. His black-and-white view of the world was harder to shake. It had chaffed at him for both of them to speak in Malfoy’s defense. It had devolved into one of their endless fights.

And, ironically, Malfoy was the reason Harry was still alive. If he hadn’t fought Harry in the Manor, Harry never would have won the Elder Wand’s allegiance. Not that the blonde boy had any idea, but still. Hermione found she could forgive quite a bit when it meant having Harry by her side.

Besides, she had been worrying for Harry lately. He was struggling after the war. Trying to find his footing in this new world. Hounded constantly by reporters and politicians, chased by ghosts. It all seemed to come to a head at the one-year mark. The trials and funerals were over by then. Hogwarts had been rebuilt. Things were starting to move on. Left without anything to distract him, he spiraled.

Suddenly he was out at muggle bars, drinking himself into oblivion and picking fights. How many mornings she showed up to Grimmauld Place to see him with a black eye or a split lip.

She had bargained with him when she got her acceptance for the Lyon Institute for Magical Research in Paris. She would only accept it if he promised to go into therapy. She knew he would accept it, if only because she asked, but she thought it prudent to add more weight to it.

It was helping, she knew that. But seeing him last night with Malfoy had shown her a flash of her old Harry. The Slytherin seemed to give him a slice of normalcy that he so desperately needed. It was another point in his favor.

Harry paused mid-pull, sensing her gaze. He dropped to the ground, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Morning," he said, his voice hoarse with exertion. "Morning," Hermione replied, her voice soft. She pushed herself out of bed, grabbing a spare shirt to throw over her sleepwear. She joined Harry near the makeshift kitchen area they had set up inside their tent.

"You were watching," Harry noted, not as an accusation but as an observation. Hermione nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her fatigue. "It's hard not to," she confessed. "I worry about you."

Harry gave her a half-smirk, a shadow of his usual grin. "I'm fine, Mione. Just needed to clear my head. Last night was…a lot."

Hermione considered bringing it all up again. After all, there was still so much to speak about. But she knew well enough that if Harry wasn’t mentioning it, it meant he wasn’t ready.

They moved in tandem around the kitchen area, fixing a simple breakfast of porridge and tea. The silence was comfortable, familiar. It was a reminder of countless mornings spent together not so long ago. As they ate, the flap of the sleep area rustled softly and Malfoy emerged, his expression composed as ever. He gave a short greeting to Hermione before turning his attention to Harry. "How did you sleep?" he asked, concern thinly veiling the usual crispness of his voice.

Another point in his favor, Hermione thought.

Harry shrugged, avoiding direct eye contact as he spooned another mouthful of porridge. "Well enough," he replied evasively.

Draco's gaze drifted down to focus on Harry’s shirtless state for a long moment, eyes pausing over the dark tattoo of lilies and sunflowers that decorated Harry's collarbone. She had yelled at him when she first saw it - mostly because he had been completely drunk when he got it and the Prophet had a field day over it, but she could admit it added a rebellious flair to his look. 

Eventually, the pureblood tore his gaze away and joined them at the makeshift table. Despite the early hour, he was already perfectly polished; yesterday’s clothes free from wrinkles, hair brushed back, clean shaven.

Hermione watched the interaction closely. There was an undercurrent, unspoken but palpable between Harry and Draco. She had always had an inkling that there was something there between them. Malfoy’s actions in their younger years had reminded her of a boy pulling a girl’s hair for attention. 

Malfoy noticed her gaze and shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "So, what's the plan today?" he asked, effectively changing the subject. His eyes flicked briefly to Harry, as if seeking reassurance or perhaps approval.

"We should search for ley lines in the area," Hermione replied. “We can follow one to a nearby apparition point. From there, I think we need to get to Diagon Alley. Set up a spot in the Leaky and get some confirmation on the year we’re in.”

Draco gave a nod. “Sounds good. We can work on aliases and backstories from there.”

Harry just nodded in response, his expression tightening slightly as if steeling himself for the day ahead. They finished their meal in quiet efficiency, each lost in their own thoughts about the task at hand. Once breakfast was cleared away, they started packing up their gear.

Hermione could feel the tension mounting as they prepared to step back into the uncertain world outside their temporary respite. She graciously did not yell at Harry when she saw him sneaking a cigarette as she checked her bag for the umpteenth time, ensuring she had all her notes and the few magical items that could be crucial for their journey.

As they finally packed the tent back into her bag, the fresh morning air felt like a slap against their faces, sharp with the scent of dew and earth. The sky was a clear blue. She hoped it was a sign of good fortune. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” Malfoy asked, gazing around. “Just run the detection spell in various areas until we see a sign of a ley line?”

Hermione was going to agree with him but stopped as Harry took his wand out and flicked it in a wide arc around him. Gold sparks shot out in a circle, each darting off in different directions until one glowed brighter than the rest.

Draco looked at the glowing spark of magic with a mixture of awe and confusion. “Or… we can do that. Whatever the bloody hell that is.”

Hermione smiled slightly at Malfoy's reaction, always appreciative of Harry's ability to surprise with his magical insight. "Harry's always had a knack for intuitive magic," she commented, stepping closer to examine the direction the brighter spark had flown.

“Intuitive magic,” Malfoy drawled. “Sure. Some of us would call that making it up, but that’s a nicer spin, Granger.”

Harry flashed a quick grin at Draco, his eyes lighting up with a hint of pride. "Call it what you will, but it works," he said, his tone light but with an underlying firmness that spoke of confidence in his skills.

Hermione couldn’t help the small smile watching them. 

Malfoy’s response was a soft chuckle, conceding the point. He then looked towards Hermione, his expression shifting back to one of practicality. "Alright then, lead the way."

The trio started walking in the direction indicated by the spell, their steps cautious yet determined. After a few minutes of trekking through the woods, Hermione spoke up again, breaking the silence that had settled over them. "Once we reach Diagon Alley, we'll need to be careful about how we present ourselves. We’ll use temporary glamours to get a room, but we need to figure out something more permanent after that.”

Draco nodded, his gaze scanning the surroundings as they walked. "We should also think about resources. Money, primarily. We'll need funds to get ourselves set up properly. How much gold do you have in your little magical bag, Potter?”

Harry glanced at the blonde as he kept walking, “I don’t know. Like, 10,000 galleons?”

Draco’s foot stumbled. Hermione also stopped walking.

Harry chuckled at their expressions, his earlier tension easing slightly. “I wasn’t exactly on the greatest terms with the goblins after the war. I emptied one of my vaults when I finally went back. Was a little worried they might not let me back in again.”

Draco still looked taken aback by the sum. “Merlin, I gotta say, you lot don’t do things by the halves. Alright, well, you owe me a new set of robes, then.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself and laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rustling leaves around them. "That's settled then. Harry buys the robes, and we'll figure out the rest as we go."

They continued on their path for another hour or two, guided by the spark Harry had conjured. The forest began to thin, revealing bigger patches of sunlight. They were close now; the air tingled with the latent magic of the ley line. Harry slowed his pace, his eyes scanning the area with a focused intensity.

He pointed towards a clearing up ahead and took a deep inhale. "There," he said quietly. "Do you feel that?"

Hermione closed her eyes and focused, breathing in deeply as she tried to reach out with her magic. There, just as the end, was the tiniest whisper of something. She opened her eyes and smiled at Harry, feeling the rush of relief at knowing they found it.

Draco followed their gaze, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. As he tuned into the subtle vibrations of the ley line, his expression cleared, a nod signaling his understanding. “Right then,” he said, his voice filled with newfound determination, “let’s get to it.”

As they approached, the air seemed to thrum with power, a subtle vibration that resonated through their bones.

"Brilliant," Draco murmured as they stepped into the clearing. The ground was slightly indented, grass bending in swirling patterns that suggested the natural flow of magical energy beneath their feet.

Harry knelt, touching the earth gently. "This is it. We can use this spot to jump near Diagon Alley." He looked up at Hermione and Draco, his green eyes sharpening with focus. Hermione nodded, pulling her wand out. "We'll need to blend in. No offense to either of you, but both of you are distinctly a Potter and a Malfoy. We need to tone it down a bit."

Malfoy smirked. "Fair enough. Let's make us unremarkable then, shall we?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled slightly, her wand at the ready. "Hold still." With a few complicated twists of her wrist and murmured words, Draco's features blurred and shifted subtly. His hair darkened, his jawline softened, and his aristocratic features became more common.

Harry watched amusedly, then held out his arms. "Your turn to work some magic on me."

With another set of incantations, Hermione worked on Harry, toning down his vivid green eyes to a dark brown and lightening his hair to a light chocolate brown. She even added a few freckles across his nose for good measure.

"Look at us, practically common folk," the Slytherin joked as he inspected his new appearance in a small mirror Hermione had.

She gave him a small smile and took a shaky breath in. It had been easier to ignore the thoughts spinning in her mind when they were focused on finding the ley line. Now that they were only one apparition jump away from Diagon, she felt her anxiety rise. Who knew what they would find once they left this quiet forest?

Harry must have caught the slight tremor in Hermione's hands as she pocketed her wand. "Hey," he said softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We've got this. Together."

She nodded, her expression firming up with resolve as she met his gaze. "Right. Together."

Chapter Text

The sensation of apparating never ceased to unsettle Harry, even after countless instances. One moment he was in the sunny field of that unknown forest, the next he was in a small back alley, facing the bustling chaos of muggle London. Beside him, Hermione landed with her usual precision while Malfoy appeared slightly disgruntled, a faint scowl creasing his forehead as he adjusted to the overwhelming noise and movement.

"Remember, low profile," Hermione whispered, scanning their surroundings with practiced caution. Her eyes flickered with that familiar intense focus as she took in every detail, from the fashion of the pedestrians to the models of cars rushing past.

Harry nodded, the weight of Hermione’s glamours settled on him like a cloak. The streets were teeming with life; people moving about their businesses without sparing them a glance.

They were just down the road from the Leaky Cauldron, but already, the differences between their time and this one were apparent. There was no doubt that this was London in the 1970’s - perhaps the early 1980’s. The fashions were notably outdated, the cars older and clunkier, and the general pace decidedly slower than what they were used to.

Harry took a deep breath at the irrefutable proof that they were indeed two decades in the past. He pushed down the rising anxiety in his gut and focused on keeping them moving. "Alright, let’s go. Stay close," Harry advised, leading the way through the crowded sidewalk.

As they approached the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione's grip on her bag tightened imperceptibly. Inside, the pub was dimly lit and filled with a low buzz of conversations — witches and wizards huddled around their tables, oblivious to the trio’s nervous entrance.

Tom, the barkeep, looked up and gave them a nod in acknowledgment. His appearance was staggeringly similar for someone who was twenty years younger.

"I’ll get us a room," Hermione said as they made their way in. “Find a table. We’ll get something to eat before we do anything else.”

Harry would rather be doing anything else besides trying to sit nonchalantly while eating lunch, but he wasn’t one to go against Hermione and her plans.

Draco followed Harry to a secluded corner table, his expression morphing into one of less visible discomfort as they maneuvered through the familiar yet foreign environment. He pulled out a chair with a grace that belied his agitation, settling into it with an almost audible sigh.

"One step down," Malfoy murmured to Harry, keeping his voice low enough to blend with the hum of other conversations.

Harry merely nodded, throwing a quick glance around the pub. His eyes lingered on a group of wizards at the bar, their loud laughter cutting through the general murmur. It was surreal, being here in this timeline, surrounded by faces that held no recognition of who he was—or rather, who he would become.

Hermione returned shortly, her face set in a determined line. "Room secured," she announced, sliding into a seat beside Harry and setting down a trio of mugs filled with steaming tea. "I asked him to send a copy of today’s Daily Prophet up to the room. We’ll head up ourselves in a few minutes and can see what’s happening in private. It’s better than doing it in the Alley.”

Draco nodded, taking a cautious sip from his mug. “Good thinking. We need to know what we’re walking into before making any moves.”

Harry played with the handle of his mug, his mind racing as he considered the implications of their presence in this era. It wasn’t just about avoiding the spotlight; every action they took could ripple across time.

He decidedly ignored the massive nagging at the back of his head that repeated over and over again that his parents, Sirius, and so many others were likely alive in this time.

The tension eased slightly as Tom brought over a tray laden with food. The smell of fried eggs and toast filled their corner of the pub, grounding Harry momentarily in the normalcy of having lunch. As they ate, they were cautiously silent - not wanting to risk saying anything that might be overheard.

Finally, after twenty restless minutes, Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed his plate away and stood from the table. "Can we head up now?" Harry asked abruptly, voice edged with urgency. Draco and Hermione glanced up, immediately picking up on his tone.

Once they reached the privacy of their rented room, Hermione quickly shut the door behind them and cast a series of privacy spells that she had perfected over the years. Only then did she allow herself a moment to lean against the wooden surface, exhaling deeply.

"That was far too crowded for my liking," Draco commented dryly, walking over to the window to peer out at the bustling street below.

Harry paced a little, looking for where the newspaper had been left. Finding the Daily Prophet folded neatly on a small sidetable, Harry snatched it up and spread it open with a flick of his wrist.

The air left his lungs as he read the date at the top of the paper: August 25th, 1982.

They really were more than twenty years in the past. Hermione grabbed his hand and stared at the date with him.

“Okay, so 1982, that means…” she murmured, doing the math.

“…My parents are about to start their last year at Hogwarts.” He added, softly. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

"The First Wizarding War is about to hit its peak," Malfoy whispered, grey eyes looking up to meet Harry and Hermione’s gazes.

The weight of the realization hung heavily in the room, thickening the air with tension. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand tighter, a silent show of support. "We need a plan," Hermione stated, her voice firm despite the softness of her previous actions. "We can't just jump into this. There are too many variables that could change everything."

Harry nodded, sitting down slowly on the edge of one of the beds as he continued to scan the newspaper. His eyes flitted across mentions of increased Death Eater activity and talks at the Ministry of Magic about how to bolster defenses.

He tried not to think too much, but he could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

Draco walked back from the window, his expression thoughtful. "We should start with aliases and backstories. We’re gonna need to leave this room to get more information.”

"And we must be careful," Hermione added. "Every move we make could alter the future—our present. I mean, what if—"

Harry cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I know, Hermione. We need to tread lightly."

As they sat to strategize, Harry removed the glamours from both himself and Draco, the magic itching the longer it set. "We should consider how we're going to interact with people from this time. Any relationship could be a potential risk," Draco pointed out. The room fell silent for a moment, each of them lost in their thoughts, contemplating the daunting task ahead.

Finally, Hermione spoke up again, her voice carrying a new resolve. “We need Dumbledore.”

Harry tried not to flinch as she said it. He knew it was coming - knew there wasn’t any way to avoid the esteemed Headmaster given his connections and knowledge. A war of emotions churned in his gut - fear, anger, and a deep sense of betrayal - at the thought of facing the man who had taught him so much while also hiding crucial information from him. The man who had known all along that Harry was a Horcrux, and may have seen him as nothing more than a pawn in a larger game. Despite his efforts to remain composed, every fiber of Harry's being winced at the mere thought of seeing Dumbledore again.

He could hear the blood thundering in his ears even louder. 

Harry was disappointed to see Malfoy nod in agreement with Hermione's suggestion, though his features tightened at the mention of Dumbledore. "If anyone can give us guidance without too many questions, it’s him. But we must be cautious about what we reveal."

Harry leaned back and rubbed his temples as the enormity of their task settled over him. The prospect of interacting with Dumbledore was daunting—not only because of their complicated personal history, but also because of the depth of the wizard's insight and perception. "He'll know something's off," Harry muttered. "He always does."

"We'll stick to the basics," Hermione assured, her voice steady. "We need his help with the broader time travel situation without getting too personal. Remember, he doesn’t know us as we are now. We don’t tell him anything specific about the future."

“So what’s the plan?” Malfoy asked after a pause, eyes flicking between the two of them. “We ask him for help and what? Rent a room in the Alley and just hang around until we figure out if we can get back to our time?”

Hermione frowned slightly at Draco's question, chewing her lip. Harry could see her mind racing with strategies and scenarios. "It would be better if we could find a reason to stay near Hogwarts. Hogwarts Library is one of the largest collections in Great Britain. It will have far more resources than local bookshops.”

“Do you realize what you’re saying, Granger?” Draco asked, eyes sharp as he stared at her. “Stick around Hogwarts at the same time as Potter’s parents and godfather? It’s a recipe for disaster.”

A flash of anger goes down Harry’s spine at his words. He wanted to lash out and hit the blonde for mentioning it as some terrible thing. What’s so wrong with Harry getting the chance to see his parents, Sirius, Remus again? For having a chance to see his loved ones again. He deserved the chance, didn’t he?

And then a twinge of guilt crept in - did he really it? Did all the sacrifices he made justify this reunion? Especially if it meant potentially ruining their timeline. All the things they fought so hard to protect.

He's desperate for a cigarette. 

Harry clenched his fists, taking a deep breath to cool his rising temper. "It’s risky," he said, his voice low and controlled. "But Hermione’s right - outside of the Department of Mysteries, we’re not likely to find anywhere else with information like Hogwarts. And I don't trust the Ministry enough to depend on them for this.”

Draco met his gaze squarely, the tension palpable between them. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "I know that, Potter. But we need to think this through thoroughly. Any interaction could potentially alter our future—your future."

Hermione interjected, aiming to diffuse the tension. "Let's focus on establishing our cover first. We’ll talk to Dumbledore and then we can decide how closely we interact with anyone from this time once we're settled and have a better grasp of the situation." Her rational tone brought a semblance of calm to the room.

Harry exhaled slowly, his anger subsiding as he listened to Hermione. "Alright," he conceded. "Let’s start with the basics then. We need identities that will give us the freedom to move around and something to tell Dumbledore.”

Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We need disguises, new identities, backstories." He looked at Harry seriously. "Especially you, Potter. Wasn’t everyone always going on about you looking like your father?”

Harry felt a wry smile tug at his lips despite the tension. "Not that you’re one to talk, but yeah, it'll be a bit of a problem."

Hermione cut in. “It’s not as bad now that you got rid of your glasses. The haircut helped a little, too.” She gave him a small smile. “We can find a photo later and see how much we need to change, but we need to plan how we can do it without it being noticeable or something that might fade.”

She chewed her lip again, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Polyjuice Potion could work, but it requires constant upkeep and preparation. It would cost a small fortune. We would need hair from someone else, someone who won't draw attention. And we would need to make sure they weren’t known by anyone in this time.”

Harry listened, eyes staring off into space. The thought of transforming into someone else was disconcerting. And the process would be tedious. He had no idea how Barty Crouch Jr. managed a whole school year of it.

Draco's eyes narrowed slightly as he contemplated. “It’s too much to juggle. Too many variables - especially if we’re doing it for both Potter and myself.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, tapping her fingers on the table. "We might have to consider non-magical options. There are charms that can alter our appearances subtly without the need for Polyjuice, but wearing a glamour constantly is going be draining. Plus, the magic builds over time. People would be bound to notice. I think it needs to be muggle.”

Harry felt a spark of relief at the suggestion. The idea of not relying on a potion daily was appealing, given their uncertain situation. "That sounds more manageable," he admitted, glancing between Hermione and Draco. “Can magic strip away muggle hair dye?”

Hermione’s face lit up. "Harry! You’re a genius. Finite and other detection spells won’t do anything against muggle dye since it’s not magic. It’s perfect.”

Malfoy’s perfectly sculpted brow rose as she spoke. “Is that true? Magic won’t work against muggle methods?”

Hermione practically bounced in her seat. "Well, I'm sure it would work against some things. But hair dye works by causing a chemical reaction. It's not influenced by magic, so it's harder for any spells to detect or undo. We can adjust our appearances enough to avoid immediate recognition without constantly worrying about maintaining a spell or potion."

Draco leaned back, looking mildly impressed. "That might actually work," he conceded, the lines of stress easing from his face somewhat. "We change our hair, maybe alter our style a bit... it could give us just enough change."

Harry felt a mix of excitement and anxiety at the plan unfolding before them. Disguising themselves using simple muggle solutions was less complicated and far safer in terms of magical detection. Yet, the idea of approaching Dumbledore and Hogwarts in general under false pretenses twisted his gut uncomfortably. Hogwarts had always been his home. 

"We'll need new names too," Malfoy added thoughtfully, running a finger along his jawline. "Something common enough to blend in, but also something we’ll be able to actually remember and respond to.”

Hermione pulled out a small notebook from her bag and began to write down notes, hand flying across the page. “Harry and I can be siblings. Cut down on the amount of backstories we need to keep track of when we get asked questions.”

Harry met Hermione’s warm gaze and couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Makes sense. You’re already my sister, Hermione.”

The smile she gave back was dazzling, eyes going faintly glossy. “Always,” she said softly.

Draco's gaze shifted between them, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Family ties make for stronger cover stories, I suppose. Although, you two look nothing alike. Outside of the somewhat curly hair."

Hermione chews on her bottom lip. "That's fair, but siblings don't necessarily need to be super similar. We could be half-siblings if needed."

Malfoy gives a somewhat reluctant look but doesn't push it further. "And what about me? Surely, I don't become the estranged cousin twice removed?"

Hermione laughed softly, the tension dissipating slightly. "No, I think three family members all together is a little too much. Besides, and I don’t mean this in a negative way, but you’re far too pureblooded to be related to us. You hold yourself in that aristocratic way.” She waved her hand up and down in his direction as she said it.

Malfoy's lips quirked into a half-smile, accepting the playful jab. "Fair enough, Granger. So what? I’m a family friend of some kind?”

Hermione scrunched her nose as she looked at her notes. “It doesn’t feel fleshed out fully, but I guess that would work for now. We just need enough to be able to tell Dumbledore so he doesn’t know who we are.”

Draco contemplated the situation, his grey eyes thoughtful. “So we create backstories and names to talk to Dumbledore. Tell him we’re time travelers, keep it all vague and secret, and need his help, and then what? What if we are to stick around Hogwarts? What’s the story for being there?”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he mulled over Malfoy's question. "We could say we're here on some sort of exchange program? Maybe not from another school - I don’t think we know enough about Beauxbatons or Durmstrang to be able to pull it off. But a special program or offer that Dumbledore himself is involved in? It gives us a reason to be around and interact with others without too many questions."

Draco nodded slowly, tapping his finger against his lip in thought. "It’s plausible. Dumbledore's known for his…quirks. It would not be entirely out of character for him to host something unique like that."

Hermione looked up from her notebook, her eyes bright with the spark of ideas. "If he’s willing to back it, it’s perfect. And it allows us some freedom to attend classes and gather information without sticking out too much."

"Okay," Harry added, his expression turning serious again, "let’s not focus too much on that. We need the basics to even reach out to Dumbledore. The rest is dependent on what he says.”

Hermione nodded. “Fair enough.”

As the trio set their plan in motion, they began to work on the finer details of their new identities. Harry and Hermione went through a list of common Muggle names, trying to choose ones that felt natural enough for them to respond to instinctively.

After much debate and several discarded options, they settled on Henry and Jean Parker—a slight nod to their own reality hidden within the anonymity of their assumed names. Parker was for Harry, since it sounded close enough to Potter that he figured he would be able to respond back to it. Hermione insisted that she could learn to respond to anything, which Harry fully believed.

Hermione had initially been opposed to using first names so close tied to their original identity, but Harry argued that it was grounding to maintain some semblance of their real selves in the unfamiliar time.

“We’re already changing everything else about ourselves, Hermione,” Harry said, hand reaching out to grab her own. “We need to keep at least little things.”

He could see her wanting to argue against it - practicality ruling over emotion - but she ultimately relented, giving Harry a pursed look. “Fine.”

Harry smiled at her, hoping to convey how much it meant to him.

Draco, meanwhile, was having a harder time finding a name that went with a backstory. According to him, he needed a name that straddled both Muggle and pureblood wizards - something that would be hard to track, but give an air of plausibility to his mannerisms. There weren’t many of them.

Eventually, he settled on 'Davies' as a sufficiently common surname that it wouldn’t draw undue attention. There was a small branch of Davies pureblood wizards. Harry remembered Roger Davies and his brother from their own time. But it was also one of the most common Muggle last names around so it wouldn’t be unusual for there to be an errant wizard around with it.

The first name should have been less difficult, but Harry found the blonde particularly picky about it. Apparently, he hadn’t quite shed all of his pretentious tendencies from school.

“Over my dead body will I go by Michael, Potter,” the blonde snapped at him, a disgruntled look on his face.

It shouldn’t be such a comfort to hear his snobbish tone, but Harry found that it helped settle his lingering anxiety.

“I just thought you might like keeping something with an M, you prat,” Harry responded, rolling his eyes with a laugh.

Draco’s glare softened slightly, and he let out a reluctant sigh. "Yes, fine, but I don’t need it to have an M. Something dignified if you please."

Harry thought for a moment, eyes scanning the blonde, taking in his appearance. The tall build, platinum hair, the sharp jawline - he really was a bit ethereal looking. “Perhaps we stick to the star names, just less obvious. What about Leo?”

Draco rolled his eyes at him, “the Lion constellation, really?”

Harry grinned slyly. "Well, it's strong, regal, not too common. Same kind of flow as Draco. Leo, Draco, Leo, Draco - see, same flow! Fits you perfectly."

Draco considered it, the corners of his mouth twitching as if fighting off a smile. "Leo Davies, then. It's...acceptable," he finally conceded with a nod that seemed more to himself than anyone else.

With their names and basic cover stories set, the trio spent the next few hours refining their approach to Dumbledore. They needed Dumbledore's trust and assistance, yet they had to keep him at arm's length from the truth about who they really were.

They sat around the small table in their room, the sun finally starting to settle in the long summer day.

“What do we say if Dumbledore asks how we got sent back? I imagine saying rogue lingering Death Eaters is off the table. No need to inform him how long the war lasts.” Malfoy asked, leaning back in his chair.

Hermione looked up from her notebook, eyes meeting his. “We’ll tell him an edited version. We were attacked by wizards opposed to research I was working on.”

Harry can see the way Draco contemplates his next question - the pause he takes before he asks. The blonde is more tactful than in school. “What was your research on, Granger? The actual research - not whatever you will make up to sell the story.”

Hermione paused, her fingers drumming lightly on the table as she formulated her response, her brow furrowed in thought.

Harry found himself leaning forward at her reaction. He spent enough time with the brilliant witch to recognize her body language. Whatever she had been working on was important.

She bit her bottom lip as she stared down at her hands. A deep inhale. “I was part of a team working on a theory,” she starts, so softly that Harry almost missed it, “a theory to cure lycanthropy.”

Whatever comfort Malfoy may have found over the course of the day disappears in a flash as he sits up straight, eyes sharp. “A cure cure? As in a way to stop it?”

Harry’s blood once again thunders in his ears as he stares at his best friend.

Hermione nodded solemnly, her gaze meeting Draco's intense scrutiny. "Yes, a potential cure. It’s theoretical still. We were likely still years away from testing anything on humans, but initial experiments were promising.”

Malfoy inhaled sharply, his typically composed demeanor giving way to a flicker of vulnerability. "That's... incredible, Granger. Salazar, but your mind must be a fascinating place."

Harry felt a surge of protectiveness and pride. Merlin, but she really was the smartest person he had ever met. He thought back to whatever it was he’s been doing since the war ended. Drinking and fighting and wandering aimlessly from Ministry event to Ministry event. Meanwhile, she was off trying to solve one of the biggest magical illnesses in the world. A curl of guilt settled in his stomach.

He knew the stakes were incredibly high for Hermione; her research wasn't just academic—it was deeply personal, motivated by her encounters with werewolves and the injustices they faced. The war had left more people infected than ever before. It was incredible and important and it explained why Rockwood and others were after her.

“Rockwood found out?” Harry asked, eyes searching hers.

Hermione nodded, her expression grim as the weight of the situation visibly bore down on her. “Yes, I don’t know how, but he must have. He found my lab somehow.”

She takes a deep breath in. “It’s the reason we’re in here. I’m the reason we’re here.” Her eyes were filled with guilt as she said it.

Harry reached across the table, taking Hermione's hand in his. His voice was firm and resolute as he spoke to her. "You're not the reason we're here, Hermione. Rockwood is. I would have been in those woods with you no matter what, but knowing what you were working on - what you’re trying to accomplish. Gods, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. Not a single regret, Mione, no matter how this all goes.”

Harry’s voice is thick as he talks, emotions rising as he grips her hand. After everything she had done for him, he would follow her into anything. To the very edge of the world. 

Hermione squeezed their clasped hands, gratitude evident in her gaze. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion.

Draco's voice broke the momentary silence that hung at the table, his grey eyes softening as he regarded Hermione. "Perhaps I underestimated what I was getting into when I agreed to go with Potter when you called, but no regrets on my end either. I made my choice.”

He gave a wry smile. “Besides, these are the risks one takes hanging out with you Gryffindors.”

Malfoy's attempt at lightening the mood earns a small smile from both Harry and Hermione, but the gravity of their situation still hovers like a dark cloud above them.

"We've got work to do," Hermione said after a moment, her gaze now steely with determination. "First, we make sure we have a cover story for Dumbledore without revealing too much. Second, we continue to research discreetly on time travel."

Harry nods, his expression mirroring Hermione's resolve. "And we keep each other safe," he adds firmly. His eyes flick to Draco, silently communicating his unwavering support.

Whatever their past issues were, Malfoy following Harry into those woods to save Hermione meant something. His continued support in this mess of a situation meant even more.

Hermione pulled her notebook back towards herself. Harry can see her shifting back into planning mode. “We should draft up a letter to send to Dumbledore, asking for a meeting. We can send it in the morning and then go into muggle London and see about our hair and such.”

Draco nodded, leaning back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his usually stoic face. "We need to look the part if we're going to blend in. Wizarding fashion doesn't change too quickly, but we should still make sure we get appropriate outfits."

Hermione's lips quirked into a small smile at that, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Yes, and perhaps Leo can finally let go of his beloved dragon-hide dress shoes?"

Draco looked down at his polished shoes, feigning insult. "These are classic, Granger."

"But hardly inconspicuous," Harry chimed in, chuckling. Malfoy’s shoes likely cost more than Harry’s entire wardrobe.

Draco sighed dramatically but nodded in agreement. "Fine, but if we're doing this, we're doing it right. No shabby second-hand robes."

"Agreed, you can be our wizarding fashion guide, Malfoy," Hermione quipped as she began to jot down a list of what they'll need. "We should also consider picking up some textbooks on current magical theories and practices. We need to make sure we aren’t doing spells that haven’t been invented yet.”

“Hear that, Potter?” Malfoy drawled. “No more breaking the rules of magic like it’s no big deal.”

Harry scowled playfully at Draco, a spark of good-natured challenge in his eyes. "I'll try to restrain myself, Davies.”

Chapter Text

Draco awoke to the muted hum of the Leaky Cauldron mingling with the early morning light that filtered through the heavy drapes. His body felt stiff from the long discussions of the previous night.

Across the room, Hermione was already up, her hair pulled back in a frizzy ponytail, scanning a pile of notes they had scribbled down in their fervor to craft the perfect letter to Dumbledore.

Harry was still asleep, his dark hair wild around his head, his breathing even and calm. Draco couldn't help but stare at him, taking in every detail of his features. His eyes trailed down to the tattoo of intricate flowers that adorned the Gryffindor’s clavicle, adding another layer to an already attractive man. Merlin help him, but seeing Potter shirtless back in the tent the day before had almost undone him.

For years, he had known Potter as a scrawny, gangly youth. But now, it was clear that whatever workout routine Potter was following had done wonders for his body. No longer the awkward and underdeveloped boy he once was, Potter was now solid and toned. The scars of war still marred his skin, but they only added to the strength and resilience that radiated from him. He moved with more confidence and grace.

It was terrible. He absolutely did not like it.

"Morning," Hermione whispered, forcing Draco to tear his gaze away from the sleeping Gryffindor. "Sleep well?"

"Hardly," Draco muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We should get moving soon. We have a busy day ahead."

Hermione nodded, her eyes serious. "First things first, we need to get into Diagon and send our letter to Dumbledore. Then convert some of our galleons to muggle currency.”

“We need clothes,” Draco added, rising from the bed and gathering his things for the day. “I can’t keep wearing the same outfit and since I was not aware of the magical bag requirement, I have nothing else with me.”

Hermione chuckled softly, a sound that dissipated some of the tension hanging in the air. "I think we can manage a shopping trip. London and the Alley should supply us with everything we need. But let’s do hair first, clothes after."

As Draco pulled on his sweater, his gaze drifted back to Harry, who was beginning to stir. His movements were slow and languid as Harry rubbed at his eyes and sat up.

"Morning," Harry said groggily, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "What's the plan for today?"

"We're heading to Diagon Alley," Draco replied before Hermione could speak. His voice was steadier than he felt. "We need supplies."

Potter nodded, glancing between Draco and Hermione. There was an edge to him this morning, the remnants of dreams perhaps still clouding his thoughts. He swung his legs out of the bed and began to get himself dressed.

Draco couldn’t help the momentary flash of irritation that Potter had multiple outfits to choose from. As a Malfoy, he was used to having his comforts - especially after the war. Being stranded in a foreign time with no money was a discomforting feeling.

Harry caught Draco’s gaze, an eyebrow quirking upwards as he pulled on a shirt. "Need something, Malfoy?"

Draco's cheek heated. "Just thinking it would be easier if I had my own supply of clothes."

Hermione, ever the problem-solver, jumped in. "We’ll fix that today. After we send off the letter and sort out some money issues."

The three of them got ready quickly after that. Once dressed and re-glamoured, they made their way downstairs, carefully avoiding the curious glances of the other patrons of the Leaky Cauldron.

The early morning summer sun hit them as they stepped outside, already promising to be a muggy day. Draco once again regretted only having his one outfit to wear. It had been significantly colder when they left their own time.

They moved swiftly toward Diagon Alley, their steps echoing on the cobblestones.

"Remember," Hermione whispered as they approached the entrance hidden behind The Leaky Cauldron’s brick wall, "we're here with a purpose. Keep interactions to a minimum.”

As the wall magically reshaped to reveal Diagon Alley, they stepped forward into the bustling street. The colorful storefronts and hustling crowd offered a stark contrast to the dimness and quiet of the Leaky Cauldron. Draco felt a pang of nostalgia; despite everything, this place still held so many memories for him.

Granger led them directly to the owl Post Office first. The wooden interior smelled strongly of ink and parchment—a comforting scent that brought an unexpected smile to Draco's lips. Hermione handed the carefully sealed letter to Dumbledore over to the clerk with specific instructions for delivery.

"Next," Hermione said as they stepped back onto the crowded street, "money exchange and then back to muggle London."

They made their way to Gringotts. Draco could see the way Potter tensed as they got closer and remembered what he said about the Goblins after the war. Silently, he could admit it was slightly funny to imagine people who weren’t worshipping Golden Boy Potter after the war.

Harry deserved the praise, but still.

Once inside Gringotts, the goblins eyed them with a mix of curiosity and distrust. Draco remained close to Harry, hoping his presence offered some sort of reminder that the Goblins had no idea who they were.

"All transactions are final," the goblin said gruffly, sliding a stack of crisp bills toward Hermione as she asked to exchange the gold.

"Thank you," she replied, her tone polite but firm. They quickly left the bank, stepping back into the bright light of the Alley.

With their tasks in Diagon Alley completed, they made their way toward the muggle streets of London, blending with the crowd. The city was alive with noise and movement, a pulsating energy that seemed to invigorate Hermione and Harry even as it left Draco feeling slightly unnerved.

"Let's find a hair salon," Hermione suggested, pulling them into an alley to remove the glamours before leading them down a busy high street lined with shops.

Wearily, Draco thought Granger was a little too excited to get them into a muggle salon, but he kept that to himself.

Draco followed her, a little apprehensively, keenly aware of the mundane surroundings that could never quite match the magic-infused atmosphere of Diagon Alley.

They passed several shops before Hermione stopped in front of a brightly colored salon that somehow also seemed oddly sterile.

Through the large glass windows, they could see stylists buzzing around, the air filled with the hum of some sort of machine and faint chatter.

Harry, appearing more relaxed now that they were far from goblin eyes, grinned at Draco. "Ever had a muggle haircut?"

Draco snorted softly. "Can't say that I have.”

Hermione pushed open the door, and they were immediately greeted by a cheerful receptionist. "How can I help you today?"

"Uh, we’re looking to do a bit of a makeover or two," Hermione stated, glancing back at both Draco and Harry.

The perky woman behind the desk raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Fantastic! We love a good transformation here. Just a minute.” She walked away.

Harry looked around the waiting area with fascination before turning to Hermione. “So, what’s the plan? Just Draco and I getting our hair done?”

Hermione nodded, her eyes scanning the array of styling products displayed on a nearby shelf. “That’s what I was thinking. Why? Do you think I need to change my hair?”

She pulled on an errant curl in contemplation.

"No, definitely not," Harry responded quickly, his eyes meeting hers with a reassuring smile. "You don't have the immediate familial recognition we do. I just wasn't sure if you wanted to join in as well."

Hermione shrugged slightly, her gaze drifting back to Potter. "I think I'll sit this one out. Focus on you two for now. I can always come back.”

As the receptionist returned, she ushered them toward the back of the salon where two chairs were waiting. “Right this way.”

Harry followed eagerly, eyes taking in every detail of the place with childlike curiosity. Draco, though slightly hesitant, couldn't help but be caught up in the infectious enthusiasm. Hermione watched them both with a satisfied smile, seeming pleased to be moving forward with their plan.

The stylist assigned to Draco was a young woman with vibrant red hair and an easy smile. "So, what are we thinking?" she asked as she draped some sort of cape over his shoulders.

"Uh…,” Draco said, unsure of how to instruct her. He glanced at Hermione and Harry seated nearby. Potter was swirling his own cape around in his chair while Granger was sitting across from both of them, holding a muggle magazine in her hand.

Catching Granger’s eye, Draco did his best to convey his hesitance.

“We’re thinking of going dark,” Hermione said, coming to stand by the redheaded stylist. “We need a color that’s easy to maintain.”

The stylist nodded. “Black is your best bet, then. It’ll be easier to match and recolor as it grows out.”

Her hands deftly began to comb through Draco's hair. He couldn’t help but wonder what his father would think if he knew Draco was letting a muggle touch him. 

"Dark, sleek, something classic then?" the stylist asked with a quick glance towards Hermione for confirmation.

"Yes, exactly," Hermione agreed. Draco relaxed slightly under the confident sound of Granger’s voice.

“Is this your natural color?” The stylist was holding a platinum strand, staring at it.

Draco nodded, “Yes.”

The stylist’s eyes widened. “Feels a bit like a crime against humanity to dye hair this beautiful.”

A flash of pride ran through Draco, grateful that even muggles could appreciate his natural coloring.

"But sometimes," Hermione interjected with a smile, "change is necessary."

Drumming his fingers nervously on the armrest, Draco watched as the stylist mixed the dye. Beside him, Harry was chatting animatedly with his own stylist, a young man with spiked hair and a quick laugh. The ease with which Potter adapted to new situations never ceased to amaze Draco. He turned his attention back just as the stylist started applying the dark dye to his hair, the stark contrast making him wince slightly.

Needing to distract himself from the process, Draco watched Potter, curious to see what Harry had planned for his infamous hair. “What are you doing?”

Harry glanced over, a playful smirk forming on his face. “Thinking about going blonde.”

Draco laughed until he realized Potter wasn’t joking. "Seriously? You're going to steal my former glory?"

Harry's emerald eyes twinkled with mischief. "Why not? It's not like you'll be using it. Besides, feel like I need something drastic to distract from any lingering…similarities.”

Draco shook his head, unable to suppress a smile.

Beside him, Hermione chuckled softly at Potter. “Leave it to you to make maintenance as hard as possible when we're supposed to be going for easy. But I’m sure you’re both gonna look very cute,” she commented, looking from the dye in Draco’s hair to the foamy-looking concoction being prepared for Potter.

“Please, with his eyes and dimples, he could pull off anything,” Harry’s stylist said with a smile, running a hand through Potter’s locks.

Draco rolled his eyes at the compliment but couldn't fault the stylist's observation. Potter did have a natural charm that seemed almost relentless, especially when wielded with that notorious Potter sincerity. The thought caused a warmth to spread through Draco, though he quickly quashed it, focusing instead on the sensation of the dye being meticulously applied to his hair.

Meanwhile, Hermione was engrossed in her magazine, occasionally glancing up to assess their transformations.

The stylist finished applying the dye to Draco’s hair, coating his eyebrows last, and set a timer. “There,” she said cheerfully. “Now we wait. It’ll look fantastic, I promise.”

Draco merely nodded as she stepped away, his usual retort swallowed by a sudden nervousness about the outcome. His gaze drifted back to Harry, whose stylist was pulling out strips of shiny paper and lining them up next to his chair.

Draco felt his brows furrow as he tried to follow along with what was happening.

Granger seemed to sense his confusion, coming over to stand near Draco. “Foils, help keep the dye in the places you want and trap heat. They’re keeping his roots dark.”

Draco nodded like that meant anything to him. He could admit there was something mesmerizing about the process. The stylist, skilled and swift, weaved through Potter's wild hair with the foils, working deftly as if performing some intricate spellwork without a wand.

***

Draco's shoulders shook with silent laughter as he watched the ridiculous scene unfold. The amount of shiny paper tangled in Potter's already messy hair was almost comical.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Harry grinned, white teeth glinting out from his lopsided smile. Dimples somehow on full display despite his three-day stubble.

Draco's laughter tapered off as he caught the twinkle in Harry's eyes. Hermione leaned against the back of Draco’s chair, hand draped on his shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips as she observed their interaction.

“Alright, but just wait. I’m gonna be the prettiest blonde around now,” Harry joked, his tone light-hearted yet filled with an undertone of challenge.

The comment sparked a competitive gleam in Draco’s eyes. “We’ll see about that,” he retorted, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of something else—perhaps anticipation.

As the stylist returned to check on Draco's dye, Harry leaned back in his chair, watching the foils being adjusted in his own hair. "You know," he said thoughtfully to Draco, "this is actually kind of fun."

Draco raised an eyebrow but couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, staring up at the ceiling. “I never thought about dying my hair before. Didn’t want to hear about it for months on end. But here…”

His voice trailed off as he gazed around the bustling salon, his eyes lingering on the different people and their transformations.

Draco found himself nodding, understanding. The press had been frantic in their coverage of Potter since the end of the war. He could imagine the idea of being anonymous was appealing to the war hero.

Hermione, overhearing their conversation, smiled warmly at them. “Might as well make the most of it all, right?,” she chimed in, her gaze softening as she looked between the two.

The stylist returned to Draco's chair with a warm smile, telling him it was time to wash out the dye. As Draco followed her to the washing station, he felt a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness about seeing his new look.

With the dye being washed from his hair, Draco found his thoughts wandering. Despite the lingering anxiety in the pit of his stomach about the monumental nature of being stuck decades in the past, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration.

He had spent his childhood being proud to be Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the most prominent pureblood families in Wizard Britain. He had felt so sure about his worth, his value, his superiority. Until it all meant nothing. Until he learned that almost everything he knew about the world was wrong. Then he wanted to be anyone but Draco Malfoy.

After the war, being a Malfoy was an everyday balancing act. Traditionalist purebloods looked down on them for his and his mother’s betrayals in the war. Everyone else looked down on them for their part in supporting Voldemort. He had his own share of Prophet reporting, none of it good.

His father was serving a life sentence in Azkaban, not that Draco had any real desire to see the man. Watching his fall from grace over the course of the war had permanently shifted Draco’s perception of the once proud wizard. Pansy left for France, licking her wounds after her suggestion of giving Potter over to the Dark Lord. Blaise finished his 8th year at Hogwarts and then was off to a Charms mastery apprenticeship in Italy.

And his mother. Well, his mother was doing her best, but he could see how it unmoored her to have her high-ranking pureblood life pulled out from underneath her. 

The idea of being Leo Davies, no name wizard who wasn’t running from all his terrible decisions, well, that was appealing.

As the water cascaded down, Draco felt an unfamiliar lightness. His past, with all its burdens and expectations, seemed momentarily distant, and here in this muggle salon, he was just another customer.

Draco returned to his seat beside Harry, awkwardly holding a towel around his head.

Harry glanced over, his foils crinkling with the movement. "Looking good, Leo," he teased, using Draco's new name.

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Shut it, Henry," he retorted, using Harry's alias. He settled into the chair, pulling the towel off to reveal his newly darkened hair.

It was different—so different—and for a moment, he hardly recognized himself in the mirror.

Granger abandoned her magazine to come and see. "Oh, goodness.”

Uncertainty curls in Draco’s stomach. “What? Is it bad?”

Harry was trying to peek his head around Granger to look at him.

“No, no,” Hermione said quickly, “it’s good. You just look…a bit like Sirius.” Her voice trails off. Eyes glancing over to Potter as she says it.

Draco's eyes widened at that, and he instinctively ran his fingers through the damp strands of his hair. His heart thudded uncomfortably as he turned to catch a glimpse of himself again. She was right, he realized.

Without the brightness of his platinum hair, he could see how many of the Black features he inherited from his mother. The grey eyes, the nose, the sharp jawline.

With black hair and eyebrows, it suddenly all came together.

A part of him wondered if that would make things between them even more complicated.

“Should we change it?” he asked, hesitantly.

Potter, who had been staring intensely at Draco from around Granger, shook his foil-filled head. “No, it’s fine. It’s great. Some similarities for sure, but I don’t think it’s so bad you need to change it.”

Draco nodded in relief, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "Alright, if you say so."

Harry smiled, catching Draco's gaze in the mirror. "I do say so. It suits you.”

Hermione also gave a small smile, catching the subtle acceptance on Draco’s face. “He’s right, it does suit you," she said earnestly.

Draco glanced back at the mirror, reassured by their calm responses. He studied his reflection, trying to see past the similarities to his cousin and focus on this new version of himself.

"Thanks," Draco murmured, slightly embarrassed by the depth of his own insecurity disclosed by this simple change of appearance.

***

The stylist removed the last of Harry's foils, revealing an array of ashy platinum streaks that contrasted dramatically with his naturally dark roots. It was a bold look, but annoyingly, it somehow worked on him, his still dark brows and stubble accentuating his green eyes and giving him an edgier, rebellious appearance.

Harry flopped his hair, amused at his own reflection. "Well, Jean," he said to Hermione with a mock bow from his seat, "how do I fare in your esteemed judgment?"

Hermione crossed her arms, giving Harry a critical once-over. "Well, it’s certainly not subtle, but I think it suits you wonderfully,” she admitted with a grin. “This, plus the lack of glasses, will do wonders to set you apart.”

Harry laughed, the sound warm and genuine as he shook his head slightly, making his hair flop again.

"Do you think I should get an eyebrow piercing?" he quipped, the humor evident in his tone as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

Draco couldn’t help the sharp inhale he took at Potter’s joking suggestion. The Gryffindor was already looking dangerously good. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

Harry laughed, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "We’ll come back to that," he said, letting his stylist lead him away to the sinks.

Draco caught Granger’s eye as Potter walked away. “Are we sure about this? I don’t know if making Potter into a smokeshow is the best approach to not draw attention to us.”

Hermione chuckled softly, her eyes following Harry as well. "It's a bit late for second thoughts now, isn't it? Besides, he needs this. If we can let him have some happiness in this whole mess, we should, right?”

Draco sighed, watching Harry's confident stride. He knew Hermione was right. Still, a protective streak in him flared up. "Just seems like we're swapping one kind of attention for another," he murmured.

Hermione returned to her seat beside Draco, giving him a knowing look and a smirk. "Perhaps," she conceded. "But it's his choice. We have to trust that he knows what he's doing."

Draco gave her a slight nod. “Fair. What about you, Jean? Are we still the only ones getting makeovers?”

Hermione huffed and stared at him. “Do I need one? I don’t have the family ties you two have.”

Draco shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the mirror, watching Harry's reflection from afar. "It's not about need," he said thoughtfully. “Besides, you’re boy wonder’s sister. How are you gonna keep up?”

Hermione pondered his words, her eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and resolve. After a moment, she nodded slowly. "Maybe. I’ll think about it."

Their conversation was interrupted as Harry returned, toweling off his newly washed hair. His stylist pulled on some of the longer strands at the top. “You want to keep your cut?”

Harry glanced at his reflection, considering. “I like the short sides with it longer on the top. Let’s trim up the sides and leave the top a little wild.”

“Yeah, yeah, a bit of a fade up the sides. Love it.” The stylist nodded, turning around to grab some tools.

Draco’s stylist returned then, a similar question on her lips for him. Unlike the lounging Gryffindor next to him, Draco decided to stick to the more traditional wizard style and kept his normal clean cut with it longer in the front.

His choice, simpler and less dramatic, let him keep some semblance of familiarity amidst all the changes. Draco watched Harry's lively interaction with his stylist, a pang of envy mixing with his admiration.

Harry, catching Draco’s eyes in the mirror, winked at him.

When the bloody hell did Potter get so smooth? It was unfair for him to be able to pull off a move like that when Draco had just seen him sitting in the chair looking like a frenzied Christmas tree twenty minutes earlier.

Draco rolled his eyes, trying to hide the warmth spreading through him at Harry's playful gesture. "You're ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him by turning upwards.

Harry's chuckle filled the air, light and infectious. Draco found himself fighting a losing battle against the smile that wanted to dominate his face.

As Draco’s stylist used some sort of handheld machine to dry his hair - and really, muggles did seem to find ways to replicate a lot of magic for people without it - Draco couldn’t help but stare at his reflection.

Looking more like his mother was a warm comfort to him, even if there was a question in the back of his mind about if he would ever see her again.

As Harry's stylist finished his look, shaping the hair into what was likely a trendy yet wild style, Draco found himself mesmerized by the transformation. Especially when Potter turned those green green eyes on him. Impossibly, they looked even more intense with this new look.

"You'll turn heads," Draco remarked, his tone light but his words tinged with genuine concern.

Potter ran a hand through his hair, gaze turning serious as he met Draco’s eyes. “Not anything I can’t handle - I’m used to that.”

He ran a long look over Draco, eyes darkening, “Besides, it’s not like you’re exactly average looking.”

Draco felt a flush warm his cheeks at Harry's compliment, quickly looking away to regain his composure. "Well, we all have our curses to bear," he quipped back lightly, hoping his voice didn't betray the quickening of his heart.

Harry chuckled, the sound teasing and affectionate. "Indeed, we do," he agreed, standing up as the stylist declared him done. "Shall we?" he asked, extending a hand out to Granger to pull her out of her chair.

Her hand instantly went up and started touching Potter’s new haircut, fingers running over the short sides up to the bleached highlights. Draco couldn’t tell if it was just them or if it was a Gryffindor trait to be so open with physical touch.

She gave a warm smile. “Well, if we’re finished here, we should probably head out. We still need to go clothes shopping.”

“Gods, yes,” Draco agreed, unable to help the excitement at the thought of getting something different to wear finally.

Granger giggled and rolled her eyes, but proceeded to pay the receptionist.

The trio exited the salon and walked down the bustling streets, their eyes scanning the various shop windows they passed. The afternoon light cast long shadows on the pavement, and the air buzzed with heat.

“We should do a mix of muggle and magical outfits,” Potter said as they passed by storefronts, turning to look at Draco. “Mione and I have the basics, but you’ll need a little bit of everything.”

Draco did his best to suppress his irritation that he needed to rely on Potter for his basic necessities.

He nodded stiffly, aware of the gaze Harry fixed on him. "That sounds reasonable," Draco conceded with a forced calmness.

Inside, his stomach churned at the prospect of being indebted to anyone, let alone Potter. A man who had already saved his life and kept him and his mother out of jail.

Harry seemed to pick up on Draco's discomfort. "Hey, it's not like that," he said, his voice low and earnest as they continued walking. "Think of it as... mutual support. We're in this together, aren't we?"

Draco glanced sideways at Harry, noticing the sincerity shining in those green eyes. It was almost disarming how open Potter was. 

"Right, together," he muttered, almost to himself.

Their first stop was a small muggle shop tucked between a bookstore and a café. The bell above the door jingled as they entered, announcing their arrival to the cluttered yet inviting space. Draco was relieved to see a decent selection of suits and more traditional dress clothes.

Potter and Granger could wear all the jeans they wanted, but Draco was used to a more styled daily look.

Harry and Hermione drifted towards the casual section, thumbing through racks. Draco watched them for a moment before turning his attention back to the suits. He picked out a few that seemed promising, feeling the fabrics between his fingers.

As he was examining a particularly sharp-looking blazer, Harry appeared beside him, holding up a leather jacket. "Try this on," he suggested with a grin. "It might not be your usual style, but it could work."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "A leather jacket? Really?"

"Come on, it’s fun to mix things up," Harry insisted. He draped the jacket over Draco’s shoulders with an ease that spoke of their growing familiarity.

Draco looked at himself in the mirror. The jacket was surprisingly fitting, molding to his form in a way that was both unfamiliar and intriguing. He turned slightly, inspecting the look from different angles.

"It's not terrible," Draco admitted, reluctantly. “But the new hair and this might be too similar to Black.”

Harry laughed, a sound rich and full of warmth. "I think he would have been flattered, you know. He had style."

Draco couldn't suppress the slight smile that tugged at his lips. "Perhaps," he conceded, still staring at his reflection. The leather did lend him an air of rebellious sophistication, distinctly different from his usual pristine robes.

"Just don't let it go to your head," Hermione advised, joining them by the mirror. Her tone was teasing but her eyes scanned Draco thoughtfully, as if reassessing him in this new attire.

"Too late for that," Potter quipped, causing Draco to roll his eyes as he shrugged the garment off.

Harry laughed, folding the jacket over his arm before joining Hermione who was holding up various shirts towards Draco, trying to gauge what might catch his fancy.

Draco couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. He had never shopped with anyone who wasn’t his mother or father before. It was nice.

The trio moved through the shop with ease, picking out a few more items that blended practicality with a touch of flair. Draco had amassed a small collection of items that could be mixed and matched.

For himself, Potter had almost immediately found two pairs of beat-up jeans that fit his thighs far too tightly for Draco’s comfort, and several soft-looking teeshirts. He forced a few of the more muted colored tees into Draco’s arms, insisting he could at least use them for bed.

Granger had her own stack of hangers as they kept moving, one being a particularly chic mini skirt that Potter insisted she get. “I found a few things suited for the time, the rest I can get at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”

Draco couldn’t help the sense of relief he felt at the idea of going to the magical shop next.

As they stepped out of the muggle store, bags in hand, the late afternoon sun was dipping lower, casting golden hues across the bustling street. Harry adjusted his hold on his bag, glancing at Draco and Hermione with a satisfied grin. "Alright, to the Alley, then? I think we've done enough damage here for one day."

Draco nodded, feeling a renewed sense of comfort as they turned towards Diagon Alley. He felt more at ease among the magical community. The familiar sights and sounds of the wizarding hub enveloped them as they entered, blending into the crowd.

The bell above the door to Twilfitt and Tatting's tinkled as they walked in, the rich scent of new robes and polished leather wafting toward them. Draco immediately veered towards the section displaying finely tailored suits and robes, a smile tugging at his lips. Here, he could almost forget that he was stuck twenty years in the past with two people his family actively tortured and tried to kill.

Hermione followed close behind, her eyes scanning the racks with a practiced eye. She reached for a midnight blue robe, the fabric shimmering slightly under the shop's soft lighting. "What about this?" she called out, holding it up against herself.

Draco turned, considering the robe she held. It was elegant, a flattering cut, and it reminded him of home in a way that both comforted and unnerved him. "It's beautiful," he admitted, “not quite your usual style, but it’s a classic look. Timeless.”

Hermione smiled, nodding. "We need to blend in, after all. And perhaps a bit of style wouldn't hurt." She draped the robe back onto the hanger with a gentle touch.

Harry, meanwhile, had wandered to the other side of the store, his attention drawn to the shoes and boots. Considering the beat-up sneakers Potter was currently wearing, he certainly could use a pair or two of nicer shoes.

Draco watched him for a moment, a smirk forming on his lips as Harry picked up a particularly sturdy-looking pair of dragonhide boots. "I thought dragonhide shoes were pretentious?" Draco asked, strolling over to where Harry stood.

Harry glanced up, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Dragonhide dress shoes, yes. Dragonhide boots are a different story," he replied, setting the boots back down but keeping one hand on them, as if afraid they'd disappear if he let go.

The light banter eased some of the tension between them, and Draco found himself relaxing further. It was odd, this camaraderie that was blossoming in the most unlikely of settings—trapped out of time with Potter and Granger.

As they finalized their selections, Hermione efficiently organized their purchases, her sharp mind clearly keeping track of their budget and necessary items. Draco appreciated the way she managed everything without making it feel like an imposition.

Potter came up just before they were getting ready to leave, a sharp-looking leather briefcase in his hands. He proudly held it up and beamed at Draco. “Look, it can be the start of your magical bag.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, taking the briefcase from Harry's hands. He examined it, appreciating the fine craftsmanship and the subtle enchantments he could feel woven into the leather. "It's actually quite impressive," Draco conceded, a rare compliment slipping out as he traced the stitching with his fingers.

"Thought you might like it. We can work on adding in the right charms and runes later," Harry said, his grin widening. He looked genuinely pleased with himself for finding something Draco approved of.

Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics but her lips twitched upwards. "Shall we then?" she suggested, gesturing towards the door with an arm full of bags.

Two hundred galleons later, they stepped back into the cool evening air of Diagon Alley, the sky painted with streaks of pink and orange as the sun set.

"We should probably head back," Granger said, staring down the cobblestone street towards where the Leaky was.

Potter hummed in agreement, bouncing lightly on his feet. “Yes, we should.” He bounced a little higher, a smile on his face. “But…perhaps ice cream first?”

****

A look at how I kind of picture Harry with his new hair color and without his glasses. 

Chapter Text

Hermione closed the door behind them, her arms laden with shopping bags, and surveyed the room with a satisfied sigh. It had been unexpectedly pleasant, this tryst into the bustling heart of London and Diagon Alley, weaving through crowds with Harry and Draco in tow. She set down her parcels on one of the small beds that creaked under the weight, her mind replaying the events of the day.

The transformation of Harry into Henry Parker was remarkable. The blonde highlights had settled into his hair just right, giving him an entirely different look that somehow emphasized those vivid green eyes even more.

And despite the lingering uncertainly of well, everything, Harry had seemed to thoroughly embrace his anonymity here.

She hadn’t seen him so easygoing in years. He seemed absolutely delighted at the ability to traverse London and the Alley without anyone coming up to him or people following him for photos.

And watching Draco Malfoy react to Harry’s transformation was equally entertaining. She couldn’t stop her smile when she saw him struggle to keep his composure when Harry’s new hair was revealed.

Hearing him call Harry a “smokeshow” was an experience she would remember for the rest of her life.

Not that Harry was any better. Hermione had never seen him so flirtatious before, even in his relationship with Ginny. His eyes followed the Malfoy heir everywhere. And she hadn’t missed the wink he shot Draco in the mirror at the salon.

She had been worried initially at the dark hair on the pureblood. He had looked so much like Sirius for a moment that she wondered if Harry would be able to overlook it. Not that it was bad - quite the opposite.

He had always been pretty, loathe as she was to admit it in school. There was something about the platinum hair that kept your attention no matter where you looked. The dark hair toned him down, but the contrast between his hair and his features was all the more striking now.

There had certainly been a strain on Harry’s face initially, but he seemed to be able to look past the similarities quickly enough. It probably helped that Harry's memories were of an older and post-Azkaban Sirius.

The ease between them was something Hermione hadn't expected but was grateful for it. It reminded her how adaptable Harry could be, how he'd always found ways to see beyond the surface. His empathy and ability to forgive were immense. All the more impressive when you consider all he had been through in his short life.

She watched him unpack his bags, holding up the pair of dragonhide boots he picked out earlier. He laughed as he held them out to Malfoy for approval. She stared at him, watching the ease of the moment. She was glad they could give him this today.

All too soon, the other shoe would drop. The reality of the situation would creep in and they would need to address the fact that they were in a time filled with dead loved ones and a once more alive Voldemort.

She was worried. Worried about the potential to ruin their timeline. Worried about the idea they might not have a timeline to return to, worried about the fact that Harry was going to grow too attached to this new identity, to this sense of normalcy that could shatter at any moment.

She took a deep breath in and tried not to spiral.

Draco got up to go to the bathroom and Harry put his boots down and caught her gaze as he looked back up. Dark brows furrowed as he stared back.

He walked over and sat next to her on the bed. "Knut for your thoughts?" he asked, voice soft but clear in the quiet room.

Hermione shook her head, attempting a reassuring smile that felt far too wobbly. "Just thinking about everything," she said.

Harry gave a small hum and bumped his shoulder against hers.

“You know, a really brilliant witch once blackmailed me into therapy,” he started, eyes staring across the room. “And one of the things my mind-healer told me was not to borrow tomorrow’s problems. Tomorrow’s problems are for tomorrow.”

Hermione gave a teary laugh, “That’s not exactly my strong suit, Potter.”

Harry laughed softly, reaching out and pulling her closer, a gesture of solidarity. “No, it’s not," he said. "It’s a curse that comes with that beautiful mind of yours.”

He ran a hand through her hair and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “You are the smartest person I have ever met. The way your mind works - the things you know. You blow me away daily. And you saved my life more times than I can count. But, and I mean this nicely, you’re just one person, Hermione. Not even you can control every what-if.”

She breathed deeply, allowing Harry’s words to wash over her. She knew he was right; she couldn’t control everything, even if her mind incessantly urged her to try. It was a lesson she found herself learning over and over again. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just hard, you know?”

“I know,” he replied, squeezing her shoulder gently. There was a warmth in his tone, a familiar comfort that brought a sense of peace to the chaotic thoughts spiraling in her head.

The bathroom door creaked open and Draco stepped inside, his eyes quickly taking in the scene. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked, a hint of hesitance in his voice as he noticed the proximity between Harry and Hermione.

Harry shook his head and smiled at the Slytherin. “Not at all, Malfoy,” he said. “Just having one of those fun deep existential chats.” He patted the bed beside him, inviting the taller wizard to join them.

Draco hesitated for a moment, his gaze flitting between Hermione and Harry before he finally walked over and sat down, maintaining a respectful distance. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he leaned back against the wall.

"So," Draco began, his voice laced with a cautious curiosity. "What's the topic of today's deep existential crisis then?"

Hermione let out a small chuckle, appreciating Draco's attempt to lighten the mood. "Just the usual fears of accidental timeline alterations and the overwhelming pressure of unforeseen consequences," she replied with a wry smile.

“A completely normal situation for you two, I’m sure," Draco drawled. 

She felt Harry give a huff of a laugh. “As it stands, this is only the second time we’ve potentially altered the future.”

“Oh, well, color me surprised, Potter. How reserved of you.”

Malfoy's sarcasm drew a genuine laugh from both Hermione and Harry, easing the tension in the room. Not for the first time, she reflected on how Draco had changed, softened around the edges, his sharp tongue still present but tempered with a sincerity that was new.

Harry let go of her and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked at Draco with a playful glint in his eye.

"Well, Leo," he began, "we're trying not to make a habit of it. Although there are significantly fewer dementors and Hippogriffs than last time."

There’s a pause in the room as Draco’s dark brow furrowed at Harry’s statement. She can see his eyes barely widen when it clicked together. “That’s how that monstrosity got away? You time-traveled to save a hippogriff?”

Harry's grin widened, mischief sparkling in his green eyes. "That hippogriff deserved a second chance as much as anyone," he replied, his tone light but his underlying seriousness palpable.

“Besides, Buckbeak wasn’t the only one we saved that night. That’s how we saved Sirius from the dementors and from being captured by the minister.”

Draco shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. “You were thirteen! Who gave third-years a bloody time turner.”

Hermione's eyes met Harry's, and both shared a knowing look before she turned back to Draco. "Technically, the ministry and McGonagall. They granted me one so I could do extra courses. But it was Dumbledore who told us to use it to save Sirius," she explained, her tone matter-of-fact.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching as if deciding whether to be annoyed or amused.

"That doesn’t make it any less insane. Arguably, it makes it much more insane," he remarked dryly. “And what’s with people giving you time turners, Granger? You’re a genius and all, but I don’t see why you need to run yourself into an early grave for it.”

Hermione feels a quick flash of gratitude at this chastisement. It was surprisingly nice of Malfoy to see her beyond her intelligence.

Harry chuckled, the room filled with the soft familiarity of their banter. "She does have a notorious habit of overachieving," he teased gently, nudging Hermione with his elbow.

Draco rolled his eyes but there was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Clearly, the wizarding world’s standards for handing out incredibly dangerous magical objects are as lax as ever." He glanced at Hermione with a mock-serious expression. "Try to keep your time-manipulating antics to a minimum moving forward?”

Hermione laughed, the tension from earlier easing further. "I’ll do my best, but no promises," she replied, her tone light but sincere. There was a comfort in this room, in this moment, that felt like a balm against all uncertainties outside their little circle.

In the midst of the peaceful pause, Harry unfolded his legs and extended them out from the bed. “I think today went well, all things considered. I feel like we very successfully do-Pottered me.”

Malfoy snorted, casting a sidelong glance at Harry. "It's unnerving, actually. Like looking at a ghost of someone I should know but don't. It’s a bizarre fit.”

“Assuming James Potter never went through a similar rebellious hair-dying stage at this age, you two should definitely be different enough to avoid immediate suspicion,” Draco added. “Don’t suppose you have any photos of your parents as teens in your bag of tricks, do you?”

Harry’s expression shifted to thoughtful as he considered Draco's question. “I do, actually. Hagrid put together some photos of my parents for me when I was in first year. I keep it with the rest of my personal stuff.”

Hermione gave a quick thought to the gentle-hearted gameskeeper and all that he did for Harry over the years as she watched Harry rummage through his leather bag.

“I don’t remember any blatant teen rebellion photos,” Harry admitted as he pulled the album out and came back to the bed, “but to be honest, I don’t have a ton of photos from that time.”

He sat himself back in the middle of the bed and opened the book across his lap.

The small set of photos was a mix of candid shots and more posed moments, a snapshot of the youthful innocence and carefree laughter of the young Marauders. James Potter was unmistakable with his wild hair and lopsided grin, looking every bit the troublemaker Hermione had always heard about. Beside him in several pictures stood Sirius Black, his features sharp and striking.

Draco pointed at one of the photos, where James was laughing as he smiled up at the camera, a broomstick across his shoulder. "You have the same smile," Draco commented quietly, “and dimples.”

Harry nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he studied the image of his father. "Yeah, we do." His finger traced the outline of James's face in the photo.

Hermione followed Harry’s finger, eyes going back and forth between the photo and her best friend. “It’s hard to believe how much the lack of glasses helps. I’m glad you listened to me.”

Harry gave a hum of agreement, eyes still fixed on the photo of his father.

Malfoy leaned closer, his interest piqued. “How did you fix your eyesight? Was it really a muggle surgery?”

Harry nodded, his eyes still on the photo but his voice animated as he explained. "Yeah, laser eye surgery. It's increasingly common in the muggle world. Hermione suggested it might help with blending in—no more glasses to make me instantly recognizable."

Draco seemed genuinely intrigued, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "And just like that? Your vision was corrected?"

"Pretty much," Harry confirmed. "It was quick, and honestly, not having to deal with glasses anymore is well worth it. No worries about suddenly being blind in a duel or fogging up in Quidditch. It’s nice."

Draco was still staring at Harry. “It’s impressive that they found a way to do that when even magic hasn’t figured out how to permanently fix eyesight.”

Hermione smiled softly at Draco's curiosity. "They have their ways of making up for lack of magic. Sometimes, it's even more advanced.”

The moment lingered briefly before they turned back to the photo album, Harry still staring down at images of his teenage parents.

“You’re quite a bit lighter than your father.”

Harry blinked, eyes finally tearing away from the photo to look up. “What?”

A look of embarrassment washed over Malfoy, his cheeks pink. It might be the most flustered she's ever seen him. “I just mean - your father clearly got more of the Shafiq skin tone from his mother. You’re like a light golden at best, Potter.”

She sees Harry blink again before a smirk flicked across his face. “‘Light golden at best?’ …How much time do you spend looking at me, Malfoy?”

Draco’s cheeks deepen in color, the pink flush now unmistakably red. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting away for a moment before meeting Harry’s eyes again. “It’s hard not to notice when we spent nearly every day together for years, Potter. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Harry’s smirk widened into a grin, clearly amused by Draco's discomfort. “I’m going to consider myself very flattered,” he teased, his voice light but his eyes glittering with something unspoken.

Hermione watched the exchange, a smile tugging at her lips. Merlin, she doesn’t remember them being this bad in school. She wished she was back in their own time if only so she could take bets on how long it would take for them to finally do something about it.

“Anyway,” Malfoy said, clearing his throat, looking decidedly flustered but trying to regain his composure, “I only meant that it would help put some distance between you and James as twins. I imagine more people would assume you’re a wayward Potter bastard before they think you’re a time traveler, considering no one has ever heard of anyone traveling back more than a few hours. Your mix of features and coloring will make it harder to connect the dots.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry echoed, amusement still clear. “Well, if that’s the only reason you noticed it, then thanks.”

Draco glanced away, embarrassed irritation flickering across his features before he managed to smooth it into a semblance of neutrality. He gazed again at the photo album, eyes landing on teenage Sirius. “And you’re sure I don’t look too much like Black now?”

Harry leaned in closer to examine the photograph alongside Draco. "I don’t think so," he answered after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “Sirius always kept his hair long. You’ve got enough differences in your features. Plus you're pale as shite, Malfoy. Add in the well, wild edge, Sirius always seemed to have in his eyes, and I think we’re fine.”

The Slytherin gave a somewhat skeptical look but nodded slightly. “Alright, you two are the higher authority on this.”

His grey eyes returned to the album, head tilted as he took in the last photo on the page. “Who’s this?”

Hermione tracked his hand. “Remus Lupin.”

She felt her heart skip a beat as she glanced down at the photo of a younger Remus. He was seated on the grass, surrounded by the other Marauders, his laughter almost tangible through the photo. His sandy brown hair was tousled charmingly by the wind, and there was an ease in his posture that spoke of happier times.

Draco’s head snapped back up and he looked at both of them in disbelief. “That’s Professor Lupin? Merlin, he looks good.”

Harry laughed heartily at Draco's blunt assessment, the sound filling the small room. "Yeah, Moony was quite the looker. In that swotty, scholarly way."

Hermione nodded in agreement, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched Draco's reaction. "He was always the quieter one. It made people forget how devious he could be.”

Draco's cheeks still held a trace of red from earlier, but he leaned forward with renewed interest, pointing at Remus in the photograph. "He looks... different from what I expected. Less... I don't know, worn out?"

"That's because you've only ever seen him after the world beat him down. He had a hard life," Harry commented softly, his expression turning a bit somber as he regarded the image of the werewolf.

The room fell into silence as each lost themselves in their thoughts, the album open between them. 

After a few moments, Draco spoke up again, breaking the spell. "So we have our disguises sort of figured out," he mused, tapping his finger lightly on the edge of the album. "We’ve got a vague backstory for us all. What else do we need to do while we wait for Dumbledore to respond?”

Hermione perked up at the mention of Dumbledore, her mind already racing through a list of logistical considerations. "We should probably draft some sort of contingency plan. In case he doesn’t cooperate with us.”

“He’ll cooperate with us,” Harry said, voice hard.

Malfoy gave him a look. “You seem pretty sure about that.”

Harry shrugged, staring across the room. “I know a lot of secrets.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, a mixture of admiration and concern flickering across his face. "Blackmail? That's a bold strategy, Potter."

"It's not blackmail," Harry responded quickly, his gaze sharpening. "It's leveraging knowledge. There's a difference."

“How Slytherin of you,” Draco drawled.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Our goal is to minimize our impact here, remember? We don't want to create more problems than we solve."

"I know," Harry admitted, closing the album with a soft thud. "But we need to have all our options on the table."

She bit her lip and watched him get up to put his album back. He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “I’m gonna go for a smoke, I’ll be quick.”

Hermione wanted to stop him, hating the idea of him on his own for even a few moments, but knew that his lingering turmoil with Dumbledore was a sore point.

Harry slipped out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. Malfoy's eyes lingered on the closed door before he turned back to Hermione, an uncertain look crossing his face.

"Is he gonna be okay seeing Dumbledore?," Draco asked, his voice soft. "I don’t know the backstory, but clearly something happened between them.”

Hermione nodded gently. "It’s his story to share," she said quietly. "But there were some things Harry learned after Dumbledore’s death that were…hard."

Draco nodded slowly, the concern evident in his expression. "And we're just supposed to sit back and hope it doesn't explode when they meet again?"

Hermione leaned back in the bed against the wall, her mind racing through scenarios, planning for contingencies as she often did. "We'll support him," she assured Draco. "Whatever happens, we'll be there for Harry."

Hermione tentatively reached a hand out and laid it on Draco’s arm. “Are you going to be okay seeing Dumbledore again?”

Draco glanced at her hand on his arm and then met her eyes, a softness appearing in his usually guarded expression. "It's complicated," he began, his voice low. "I think Dumbledore always saw more in me than I saw in myself. But the idea of seeing him again…it dredges up a lot. The last time I saw him was the night he died."

Hermione squeezed his arm gently. "We've all changed, Draco. This Dumbledore won’t know it, but we do, Harry and I, we’ve seen the difference."

He nodded, offering a tentative smile. "Thanks, Hermione. I guess I needed to hear that."

The room was quiet again save for the soft rustling of the wind outside the window.

“I don’t think I ever said it, even after the trial, because I was still licking my wounds, but I am sorry for, well, for everything, really. I was a right shite to you in school. And that’s the better part of my actions,” Draco laughed bitterly, voice thick with emotion. “I made awful decisions, Granger. I’m the reason people died.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes screwed tight. “I was so fucking dumb. You should hate me. Both of you.”

Draco's eyes met hers. His voice was barely a whisper, cracked with emotion.

Her expression softened. He seemed so young and vulnerable in that moment. She couldn’t help but wonder what it must have been like to grow up under Lucius Malfoy’s hand. "We were all young, Draco. We made choices based on the worlds we knew, the pressures we faced. You've come so far since then."

“Harry saw it first, you know?” she said and moved closer, hand clasping his. “You drove him up the wall at Hogwarts. He always assumed the worst. Never shut up about it, actually. But then it all got so much worse and we saw what real evil was. You were a right prat, Malfoy, but you’re not evil, not truly. You made hard choices, not always the best ones, but you found your way there. I think that spoke volumes to Harry.”

Draco's eyes flickered with surprise, reflecting a tumultuous mix of old guilt and new hope. "And you agree?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. "I do. And I trust Harry's judgment on this as well."

Draco squeezed her hand in return, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Thank you.”

Hermione smiled gently, her gaze steady on his. "We've all got our demons. What matters is how we face them now. And you’ve got us. I know the situation is less than ideal, but we’re in this together now. For better or for worse."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Draco's mouth, a sincere expression that reached his eyes. "I think that's the first time anyone's ever been so explicit in their support of me. It means a lot.”

The moment lingered between them, a silent acknowledgment of their shared past and the forgiveness that lay ahead. It was broken by the sound of the door creaking open as Harry returned, the smell of smoke clinging to him.

He paused at the threshold, eyes glancing between Hermione and Draco. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he shrugged off his jacket. "Everything alright here?"

Draco let go of Hermione's hand and shifted slightly on the bed. "Just some necessary apologies and reassurances," he said quietly.

Harry nodded, a glint of understanding in his sharp green eyes. “Good. We might just make a Gryffindor out of you yet, Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes, though the hint of a grin betrayed his appreciation for Harry's attempt at levity. "Don't push your luck, Potter."

Hermione watched Harry toss his jacket back on the chair and make his way back towards the bed they were on.

Turning to Hermione, Harry spoke more seriously. "There's something else I needed to talk about," he began, glancing at Draco again. "I've been thinking about occlumency. With everything going on... with Dumbledore not knowing us here, and all we have at stake, I need better control over my thoughts and emotions. And I need to be able to keep people out.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. "It's a logical step," she said. "We all need to be more guarded."

Harry's eyes flickered back to Malfoy, “You’re good at occlumency, right? It’s a Black family trait, innit?”

Draco nodded, casting a look that was both solemn and proud. "Yes, the mental arts are a point of pride for the Black family. Mother insisted I learn early."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his gaze earnest. "Would you help me with it?"

"Of course," Draco replied, his voice steady. "It's the least I can do after everything. But if you’re worried, we can try and get a dragon fang from Knockturn or somewhere until your shields are better."

She saw the quizzical look on Harry’s face as he asked, “What do you mean? What’s a dragon fang gonna do?”

The pureblood stared back, his expression guarded. “The goblins enchant certain types of jewelry, usually something from a magical creature, to guard against legilimens. It’s a requirement for all humans working for Gringotts - unless you can prove you know occlumency. It’s why the eldest Weasley has that dragon fang earring.”

An anguished look passed over Harry’s face as Draco spoke.

“There are other options besides occlumency?” Harry whispered, voice breaking.

Hermione feels her heart break for him all over again. After everything he went through in fifth year, to think there were other things he could have tried to keep Voldemort out of his head. To prevent the vision that led to Sirius’ death.

Once again, she wonders what game Dumbledore was playing with Harry.

Harry sank further on the bed next to Hermione, burying his head in his hands. He’s silent, but she feels his shoulders shake.

Hermione reached out, her hand finding Harry's shoulder. "I’m so sorry, Harry," she said.

She met Draco’s confused gaze over Harry. She bit her lip, debating how much to tell him. “Harry used to get…visions from Voldemort. Dumbledore asked Snape to teach him occlumency in fifth year to prevent them. It didn’t go well. No one ever mentioned any other options.”

Draco's features tightened as he processed the information.

"I didn't realize it was that bad," he murmured, his voice dropping to a rueful whisper. "I knew about the visions, vaguely, but not the details. I’m sorry. It’s odd for Dumbledore and Snape not to have mentioned it. I can’t say for sure that goblin enchantments would have stopped the Dark Lord, but it at least would have helped against all normal attempts.”

He shifted closer, his voice firm. "We'll fix it, Harry. I’ll teach you occlumency. We'll start as soon as you want. And we can look in Knockturn for a dragon fang. The goblins aren’t exactly ones to share resources, but that doesn’t stop them from appearing in the…less reputable stores.”

Harry lifted his head, his eyes red but determined. "Thanks," he said hoarsely, managing a weak smile at Draco.

"It’s just... all those years thinking it was the only way." His voice faltered, reflecting the frustration still lingering in his tone.

"We should make some plans," Hermione suggested practically. "Tonight, Draco can start to go over occlumency with us. My shields are decent, but I’m sure I could benefit from pointers. First thing tomorrow, we can plan to stop into Knockturn Alley. I assume you have ideas where goblin items might be sold?” She looks at Draco as she asks.

Draco nodded, a trace of his old self-assuredness flickering in his eyes as he met Hermione's practical tone. "I know a few places we can check. Not the most savory spots, but I can get in and out without drawing too much attention," he assured them.

"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed slowly, seeming to gather bits of his usual determination. “Should we go with you?”

Draco shook his head slightly, his expression serious. "Better if I go alone," he explained. "Less chance of drawing attention with just one person, especially in those parts of the Alley."

He turned his attention back to Harry. "Let's focus on occlumency for tonight. It'll give you something else to think about."

The rest of the evening was spent in intense concentration as Draco began to teach Harry and Hermione the finer points of the mental arts.

He explained the importance of compartmentalizing thoughts and feelings, demonstrating techniques to shield and secure their minds. Hermione observed closely, picking up nuances she hadn’t mastered before, while Harry struggled at first, his emotions too raw to fully control.

But with each passing hour, he seemed to gain a bit more steadiness, his green eyes growing calmer with each exercise Draco guided him through.

“It’s like meditation, Potter.” The pureblood murmured as Harry lay on the bed. Hermione sat at the table, books scattered around her as she took notes while listening.

"But more intense," Draco continued. "You have to focus not just on emptying your mind, but filling it with barriers. Think of your mind as a fortress, or something similar. You decide who gets in and who stays out."

Harry nodded, sweat beading on his forehead as he concentrated. He glanced up at Draco, frustration evident in his gaze. "It's harder than it looks," he admitted gruffly.

"It is for everyone at first," Draco reassured him, his voice softening. "It just takes practice and patience—lots of both."

Harry relaxed into the bed, eyes staring at the ceiling. “Does it have to be a fortress? Can it be something I like more?”

Draco chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly gentle in the quiet room. "It can be anything you want, Harry. A garden, a library, even a Quidditch pitch, as long as it’s a place where you feel safe and in control."

Hermione watched them from her spot at the table, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. “Yeah. I use a library for my mental scape. Something familiar, where I feel like I have the upper hand. Then I hide my memories in books, using a system only I know.”

Draco gave a light snort of laughter. “That doesn’t surprise me at all, Granger.”

Harry's lips twitched into a small smile. "Yeah, I guess a Quidditch pitch could work," he mused, his eyes brightening a fraction. "Plenty of space to fly around, chase snitches, and... well, dodge bludgers."

Draco nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Use that imagery to keep unwanted thoughts at bay. Imagine dodging a bludger is like deflecting an intrusive thought or spell. Visualize it then. The stands, the sounds, the smells, the feelings. Focus solely on that until it’s the only thing you’re thinking about."

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His expression softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased. Hermione could almost see him there, flying high on his broomstick, completely absorbed in the game.

Draco watched Harry intently, his gaze flickering with approval. "Good," he said quietly. "Keep that focus. It’s your space; control it."

Harry managed to hold his concentration for several minutes before it broke and they finally called it a night. It was well past midnight by this point and Hermione felt her eyes getting heavy.

It had been a whirlwind of a day.

Draco stood, stretching his back. "You did good work tonight," he acknowledged, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "It's best we get some sleep."

Harry nodded, still lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Thanks, Draco," he murmured sincerely. The gratitude was clear in his voice, mixed with a newfound determination.

Hermione gathered her books, piling them neatly on the table as she caught Draco’s eye. "You’re very good at that, you know. Far better than Snape was about it," she said, her tone warm.

Draco's lips curved into a wry smile, and he shrugged slightly. "I suppose it helps that I don’t hate Potter. And perhaps I have a bit more patience than Severus."

Harry leaned up on the bed and fluttered his eyelashes at the Slytherin. “Aw, you don’t hate me?”

Draco rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Not today, Potter," he quipped. "But give it time. You might yet drive me to it again."

Hermione laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched their exchange. It was a relief to see Harry smile genuinely despite how the night had gone. "All right, you two. Let's get some rest. Hopefully, we’ll hear back from Dumbledore tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Dawn crept silently into the small hotel room as Harry, roused from a restless sleep, began his morning routine of stretches and exercises.

His body moved almost mechanically, each movement a step away from his thoughts about the previous tumultuous day. He paused briefly, his eyes unseeing as he considered the progress in his occlumency training. The idea of using a Quidditch pitch as his mental scape had sparked something within him—a flicker of hope and control amidst the chaos.

Draco’s uncharacteristically gentle guidance had been so drastically different from Snape's. Not for the first time, Harry couldn’t help but think about how different things could have been in fifth year if either Dumbledore or Snape had bothered to explain anything to him.

The muscles in his arms burned as he lowered himself back down into another push-up.

He felt himself on the edge of spiraling and took a deep breath. He exhaled and focused on his Quidditch pitch he started building last night. It was this newfound mental sanctuary that he clung to now.

He went through the rest of his workout mindlessly.

Eventually, his concentration broke with the light rustling of sheets as Draco stirred awake. Harry glanced over, noting the softness in Draco's expression. It was a stark contrast to the sharp, composed demeanor he usually wore.

"Morning," Malfoy mumbled, voice rough with sleep as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Harry tried not to stare, but seeing the blonde pureblood with dark hair was odd. Even odder to see him shirtless. Did he normally sleep shirtless? Harry wouldn’t know, but he found himself curious now. It didn’t seem very pureblooded of him.

Draco ran a hand through his newly darkened locks, an action both casual and somewhat disarming in its intimacy. Harry's eyes traced the movement before he consciously stopped himself.

Harry hadn’t been sure what to make of his new look initially. In some ways, it was eerily similar to Sirius, and yet, he was still so clearly Draco Malfoy, annoyingly pretentious prat who was far hotter than he had any right to be.

Draco noticed the lingering gaze and arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across his features. "You could say 'good morning' too, you know," he drawled.

Harry cleared his throat, feeling a warmth spread across his cheeks. "Good morning," he replied, managing a small smile. He picked up a nearby towel and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Sleep well?"

"Better than expected," Draco admitted as he stretched his arms above his head, causing the muscles to flex and relax in a way that briefly captured Harry's attention again. "And you? No nightmares?"

Harry shook his head. "No, not last night. The mental exercises helped, I think." He paused, considering Draco momentarily before adding, "Thanks for that. For all of it."

Harry probably should have cared more about the faint scar that ran down the Slytherin’s chest to navel, put there by his own wand, and should have been feeling guilty about it.

Or the faded Dark Mark tattoo that still graced Malfoy’s forearm, a permanent sign that that the Slytherin had once actively supported a murderous, bigoted regime that killed so many people Harry loved.

But instead, he found all he could focus on was the way Draco’s arms flexed, defined, and toned in a way they certainly hadn’t been in school—the broadness of his shoulders.

Christ, but clearly being in close quarters for days on end was taking its toll.

Draco rubbed the sleep from his eyes, nodding slowly. "You’re up early. Do you do this every morning?” He gestures a hand vaguely in Harry’s direction.

"Yeah, it helps me clear my head," Harry explained. “Gives me something I can control no matter what. Normally, I would be going on a run first, but still feels a bit risky right now so I’m making due.”

Draco stood up, stretching his long limbs once more before moving to the small kitchenette area. "How much do you typically run in a day?" he asked, filling the kettle with water for tea.

Harry joined Draco by the counter, leaning against it casually. “I don’t know - ten miles, probably?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, an expression of mild surprise etching his features. "Ten miles? You're basically a centaur, Potter. Except, perhaps, less hairy and definitely more restless."

Harry chuckled, the sound more relaxed than he felt. "I try to keep myself occupied," he admitted, watching as Draco busied himself with the tea. The mundane act somehow made Draco appear more grounded, more human.

"Occupied is one word for it," Draco murmured. He glanced over his shoulder, his grey eyes locking onto Harry’s for a moment before he turned back to the kettle. "You know, you could try slowing down sometimes. Not everything has to be done at a sprint."

Harry hummed. “Not really my style, Malfoy. You should join me sometime. Might do you some good to stretch those legs in other ways than just pacing around while scheming."

A smirk played on Draco's lips. "Pacing and scheming are vital elements of my charm. But maybe I'll take you up on that run—could be enlightening.”

A thrill of anticipation surged through Harry at the thought of racing alongside Draco. “I would say I could give you a headstart since I run daily, but given your mile-long legs, I feel like we’re evenly matched.”

Draco snorted in his cup. “‘Mile-long legs’? Who’s looking at who now, Potter?”

Harry's grin widened, the banter easing some of the tension that had built up over the last few days. "Can't help it if you're alarmingly tall, can I?"

Draco handed Harry a mug of tea, their fingers brushing briefly. The simple touch sent a subtle jolt through Harry, unexpected and not entirely unwelcome. “It’s not my fault that you’re basically five foot nothing.”

“Five foot nothing! I’m 5’8” you arse. It’s a completely average height!”

Malfoy chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously. "If you say so.”

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at his lips. "You're insufferable," he muttered.

Hermione, who had apparently been observing from her bed across the room, chimed in with a laugh. "Yes, yes, we're all appropriately tall. But for now, maybe focus on the more pressing matters? We have some things to get done today. First and foremost, we should check in with the Post Office and see if we got a letter back from Dumbledore."

Both men turned toward her, their playful energy shifting as they remembered the gravity of their situation. Harry nodded, his expression turning serious. "You're right, Mione."

As they gathered around the small table cluttered with various papers and books, Hermione began outlining their agenda with her usual precision.

Hermione looked at Draco, “how much do you think a dragon fang would cost if you do find one?”

Malfoy tapped his fingers against the table, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered. "They're rare, but not unobtainable. I'd estimate anywhere from a few hundred to a thousand Galleons, depending on the quality and size. It's Knockturn, though, so bargaining is expected."

Hermione nodded, jotting down the figure in her notebook. "We need to be careful with our budget. Every Galleon spent is less we have for other essential supplies."

Harry watched them, appreciating Hermione's forward-thinking and Draco's insights into the darker corners of the wizarding world. It was peculiar, he thought, how their dynamic had shifted so seamlessly.

“Go up to a thousand,” Harry said, pulling a small pouch out his messenger bag and slid it towards Draco.

“That’s how much I set aside for you. It’s a lot of money, but it’s necessary. The secrets I know…” Harry shook his head and blew out an exhale. The idea of anyone being able to see the truth about who they are, the Horcruxs, the Hallows, it was too great a risk. Not if they had another option.

Draco took the pouch. "I'll make sure it's well spent," he promised, his voice low and serious.

Hermione stood, gathering her own things. "I'll come with you to the Post. And then to Flourish and Blotts after, maybe Whizz Hard Books, as well."

Harry gave a soft laugh at that but certainly wasn’t going to be the one to argue against Hermione and bookstores.

As they prepared to leave, Harry rested his hand briefly on Draco’s shoulder shoulder. “Stay safe, yeah? When we get back, we’ll talk about making you a mirror and a galleon like Mione and I have. So you’ll always be able to reach us.”

Hermione smiled, adjusting her bag over her shoulder as she readied herself for the day’s tasks. "We all need to stay connected now more than ever," she added, reinforcing the sentiment.

Draco gave a small, appreciative nod, his grey eyes focused. "I'll be careful," he assured him. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "And I look forward to the Undesireable initiation.”

With a final nod to them, Draco slipped out of the room first, his cloak billowing slightly as he moved. Harry watched him go with a sense of unease at the thought of them separating for the first time in days.

Hermione picked up on the subtle shift in Harry's demeanor and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "He'll be fine, Harry. He knows what he’s doing."

Harry nodded, pulling himself together as he turned to Hermione. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go check for that letter.”

With a final check of their belongings, they departed from their temporary quarters. Hermione and Harry stepped out into the bustling streets, blending in with the crowd as they made their way towards Diagon Alley.

At the Post Office, Harry handed over his name to the clerk, a witch with spectacles perched precariously on her nose. She flicked through the parcels and letters with practiced ease. After a moment of searching, she pulled out a thick envelope sealed with a familiar wax stamp.

"Here you are, Mr. Parker," she said, handing the letter over.

Harry's fingers trembled slightly as he took it. The weight of the content, both physical and metaphorical, made his heart beat faster.

"Should we open it now?" Hermione asked, her voice laced with both excitement and apprehension.

Harry nodded, carefully breaking the seal and unfolding the letter. They huddled together at the side, reading through the looping script of Dumbledore's handwriting.

Dear Mr. Parker, Miss Parker, and Mr. Davies,

I trust this letter finds you in good health, though it appears your circumstances are quite the contrary. It is with a heavy heart that I extend my sympathies for the ordeal you described in your recent correspondence. The complexities of such magical misadventures are vast and, indeed, perilous.

Your situation is most unusual and certainly warrants a thorough discussion. To this end, I kindly invite you to join me at Hogwarts, where we can converse in a secure environment and explore potential resolutions to your predicament. Please make your way to the castle at your earliest convenience, and notify me of your intended time of arrival so that the necessary arrangements can be made to receive you.

While I am inclined to offer whatever assistance I can, it is prudent—as I am sure you can appreciate—to approach your claim with a degree of caution. These are, as you well know, times in which the shadows of mistrust stretch long and dark, and the truth is often cloaked in ambiguity. It is essential, therefore, that we ascertain the veracity of your situation and ensure that it does not serve darker purposes.

Rest assured, should your circumstances prove as genuine as they are extraordinary, you shall find in Hogwarts a steadfast ally. Please prepare to discuss your experiences, including any interactions that may have precipitated your current state of displacement.

I look forward to our meeting and hope to provide you with some solace and assistance. Until then, stay safe and vigilant.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster

Harry's eyes lingered on the signature at the bottom of the page, a mix of relief and anxiety churning in his stomach. "He's willing to help," he murmured, more to himself than to Hermione.

Hermione, ever analytical, bit her lip as she pondered Dumbledore’s words. "Yes, but cautiously. He's being careful about this—understandably so."

"We need to plan our trip to Hogwarts," Harry said, folding the letter with precision and slipping it back into his coat pocket. "He wants reassurances, but we can’t risk revealing too much.”

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. "We should send a reply right away. Let him know we'll be there tomorrow. It’s a quick turnaround, but term starts soon. We need all the time we can get before students are there.”

Harry agreed with a nod.

Hermione wrote up a quick reply and handed it over to the same witch who had given them Dumbledore’s letter.

As they stepped out into the bright morning again, Harry glanced towards Hermione with a thoughtful expression. “Now we just have to wait and prepare. Got everything you need for this meeting?”

Hermione adjusted her bag once more, checking mentally. “Yes, I think so. But let’s stop by Flourish and Blotts. I was hoping to pick up some books relevant to this time. We might consider stopping into the Prophet's offices - see if they have copies of recent papers. Give us a better idea of what specifically is happening.”

Harry agreed with a relieved smile, happy for the distraction.

Upon entering Flourish and Blotts, the familiar scent of books washed over him, and he could see how it relaxed Hermione, the tension in her shoulder easing slightly.

They wandered through the aisles, Hermione running her fingers along the spines of books, her eyes lighting up with each title she recognized. Every now and then, she'd pull a book from the shelf, flipping through pages before adding it to the pile in her arms.

Harry watched her, a faint smile playing on his lips. The seriousness of their situation was momentarily lifted by the sight of Hermione in her element.

At the Daily Prophet, Harry and Hermione managed to secure a stack of the past week’s newspapers without much fuss. Tucking them under his arm, Harry felt a slight sense of accomplishment. They now had a fresher view of the current events.

As they stepped out of the Prophet's bustling office, Hermione checked the time with a quick glance at her watch. "We should head back and reconvene," she suggested. "We'll need to discuss everything we've gathered and make sure we're all on the same page before tomorrow."

Harry nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. "Right. And maybe he’s picked up something useful too."

The thought of his friend? - and Merlin, wasn’t it weird how quickly that had changed - left alone for too long in these uncertain times unsettled him.

They made their way through Diagon Alley. He was relieved to see Draco back in their room.

Malfoy was sitting at the small table, his posture rigid and his expression clouded with thought. He looked up as they entered, and his face softened slightly when he saw them.

"I was starting to worry," he admitted, pushing a stack of papers towards the center of the table. "But it looks like you've managed to gather quite a bit yourselves."

Hermione nodded, setting down their stack of newspapers next to Draco. "We went to Flourish and Blotts, and the Daily Prophet. Found some useful titles and caught up on recent events."

Harry dropped into the chair next to the pureblood. “Everything went okay in Knockturn? Did you find a fang?”

Malfoy nodded, a flash of satisfaction crossing his features. "Got it." He pulled a small, velvet pouch from his pocket and placed it on the table with a soft clink. "I may have needed to issue vague threats to Burke to get him to agree to connect me with the dealer, but he eventually did.”

Harry can’t help the huff of laughter that escaped. “We won’t judge, considering some of the things we’ve done.”

Hermione's lips twitched in a small smile, acknowledging the truth in Harry's words. "Well, it was for a good cause. I’m not opposed to pushing limits when it’s done responsibly.”

Harry’s laughed even harder at that. “Mhm, responsibly, says the witch that once kept Rita Skeeter hostage for months.”

“Harry!” Hermione hissed at him, cheeks flushed pink.

Draco’s dark brows flew up, eyes flickering between the two. “Granger? Are you serious?”

Hermione gives Harry a harder glare and jabbed her hand into his ribs. He winced. Fuck, her hands were bony.

“Harry, you promised not to bring that up again,” she complained, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a hint of amusement. “And, I did it for you, you prat!”

Hermione's face turned an even deeper shade of red, but she met Draco's gaze with a defiant tilt of her chin. "Fourth year. She was an unregistered Animagus, turning into a beetle to eavesdrop. I caught her and kept her in a jar to stop her from writing any more slanderous articles during the Triwizard Tournament."

Draco's expression morphed from surprise to something akin to admiration. He leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face. "That's rather ingenious, Granger. Slytherin could've used a mind like yours."

Harry chuckled, watching the interplay between them. "She had Rita buzzing in a jar for months. Threatened to let her loose in a jar of Streeler snails if she didn't behave."

Draco laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Merlin, Granger, that's devious. I never would have guessed. And here I was, thinking you were all about following the rules."

Hermione rolled her eyes but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. "Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. We do what we must to protect our own."

"Lions indeed," Malfoy agreed, nodding solemnly before his eyes sparkled with mischief again. "Makes me wonder what other secrets you might be hiding."

Harry grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Let's just say, life with Hermione is never dull."

"Nor entirely safe, it seems," Draco added, his tone light, causing all three of them to burst into laughter.

As their laughter faded, Hermione's expression sobered. "We need to be prepared for anything. And using what we have to our advantage—responsibly or otherwise—is something we're all quite familiar with."

"Absolutely," Draco said, pulling the conversation back to the task at hand. "Now, let's take a look at this fang while you tell me about Dumbledore’s letter.”

Harry nodded and began to unpack the contents of their recent acquisitions while Draco carefully extracted the fang from its velvet confines.

The Slytherin held up a pearly fang attached to the end of a stud earring, smaller than Harry would have expected, less than two inches. “It’s not a dragon fang - it’s from an ashwinder. Seemed fitting for it to be a magical snake given you’re a parslemouth, Potter.”

Harry took the fang from Draco, examining it closely. The opalescent sheen of the ashwinder fang glistened slightly under the dim light of their room. "It’s pretty," Harry said quietly.

“And you’re sure it’s goblin enchanted? We know it’ll protect against legilimens?”

Draco nodded confidently, his eyes meeting Harry’s with a steady gaze. "As sure as one can be with Goblin work. They value their craft highly, and the seller was reputable among the darker circles. I wasn’t going to ask anyone to try to read my mind in Knockturn, but I can feel the magic on it.”

Harry turned the fang under the light, admiring its craftsmanship. “Thank you, Draco. Really.” He looked up at the dark-haired wizard and gave him a smile, hoping to convey how much it meant to him.

Draco returned the smile, his usual reserve softened. "Anytime, Potter. We're in this together, as you two are so very fond of reminding me. Gryffindor camaraderie and all that."

Harry gave a lopsided grin back. “Sure are. Besides, you know what this means now, right?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his expression curious yet cautious. "What does it mean?"

"It means," Harry continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “that I’ll need to get my ear pierced.” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly. “What do we think? Two-for-one? Ear and eyebrow at the same time?”

A thrill ran through Harry's body as he noticed Draco's eyes darken in response. The urge to flirt with the pureblood coursed through him like electricity.

Did it always feel like this with the Slytherin? Harry liked it more than he thought. And, well, he wasn’t one to deny himself anything, good or bad, after dying on that forest floor.

Draco gives a soft laugh. "Only if you want to commit fully to your new identity as a rebellious time traveler."

Hermione, who had been quietly sorting through some of the books they'd acquired, looked up and shook her head, smiling despite herself. "Honestly, Harry, as if you needed another thing to make you stand out."

"Come on, Hermione," Harry teased, flipping the fang between his fingers. "It's part of my new look. One more thing to throw off anyone who might recognize me as a Potter."

Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I say go for it," he encouraged with a smirk. "If we're going to hide in plain sight, might as well have some fun with it."

“Oh, I do plan to have fun with it, Malfoy,” Harry smirked. He leaned a bit closer, his voice low and playful. "Plenty of fun."

A light flush crept over Draco's cheeks, but he didn’t break eye contact. Fun.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed a quill at them both, dissolving the charged moment. "Alright, alright, you two. Save the flirting for later. We have more pressing matters to attend to than Harry's newfound love for body piercings."

Harry and Draco shared a chuckle before getting back to the task at hand.

They each took turns examining the letter from Dumbledore.

“Hmm,” Draco hummed as he read it. “It’s appropriately cautious, although the man certainly isn’t concise, is he? But his apprehension is fitting for the time period. How much are we going to tell him?”

Harry leaned forward, his gaze intent on the parchment. "Only what he needs to know. We need to remain cautious. Dumbledore isn’t above using us if he thinks it’s what is best. We need to remember that.”

Harry pointedly ignored Draco’s raised eyebrow at that statement.

Hermione looked over to Harry, her eyes serious. "Are you ready for this? I mean, really ready?”

He gave her a small smile and took a breathe in. “Yeah. I’m good. We need him. Outside of the Department of Mysteries, he’s out best bet for help. I just need to remember he’s not the same man from our time.”

Draco interjected softly, "But he doesn’t know us, either. We can use that.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Exactly. We need to approach this as a negotiation, not just as students seeking guidance. We're equals in this scenario because of what we know and what we've experienced."

They shared a moment of silent understanding, their resolve firming.

“Okay,” Harry blew out an exhale, knee bouncing under the table as his fingers itched to pull out his pack of cigarettes. “I’m getting restless. What the plan for the rest of the day?”

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall, then back to Harry and Hermione with a deliberate look. “You already responded back to Dumbledore?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, we suggested flooing to his office tomorrow afternoon.”

“Alright, so we need to organize and pack our stuff up, see if there’s anything else we need. Pop back to the Post Office for his response. And boy-wonder over here needs to find a place to get his ear pierced,” Draco said, nodding at Harry.

Harry laughed, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. Yes, the perfect distraction. "I vote for that one first. We could look and see if Enchanted Ink exists in the Alley yet. That’s where I got my tattoo in our time.”

Draco’s eye flicked down to Harry’s neck. “That’s right, I forgot about the flowers on your collarbone. When did you get that?”

Harry couldn’t help the flirty smile he shot back at the pureblood as he tugged down the collar of his shirt to show the dark ink along his clavicle. “Got it done a few months ago. You like it?”

Draco's gaze lingered on the intricate tattoo. "It suits you," he said simply, his voice low, infused with a warmth that sent shivers down Harry's spine.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, gathering her books and notes. “Yeah, alright, fine. We’ll get lunch and find a shop for your piercings. But I’m brining the Prophet copies with us! We’ll read over lunch. And then when we come back, we need to make a list of things we should keep hidden at Hogwarts.”

The trio gathered their belongings and stepped out into the humid afternoon air, the cobblestone streets bustling with the daily thrum of magical folks going about their business.

***

They found Enchanted Ink tucked away between a used bookshop and a potions supplier. Harry felt a surge of excitement at the fact that it existed. Made all the better by the fact that his trip into the store wouldn’t result in a full page write up in the Prophet this time around.

Inside, the smell of ink and magic was strong, enveloping them as they entered. The proprietor, a middle-age witch with vibrant purple hair and a keen eye, greeted them warmly.

“Welcome! What are we in for today?” she asked, gaze roaming over the three of them.

“I'm here to get an earring," Harry replied, showing her the ashwinder fang. "And maybe an eyebrow piercing. And whatever these two are getting.”

Draco glanced at Hermione with a small smile before looking back at the witch. "Actually, we'll just be here to support him today," he said, his voice carrying a tint of amusement.

“Boo! Where’s your sense of adventure?” Harry asked, looking over the display case of jewelry. “Not even you, loving sister of mine?” He shot a mischievous look at Hermione.

Hermione sighed, her eyes scanning the various designs displayed before her. "You know I'm more the sensible type."

But she paused, eyeing a small shelf of loop earrings. "Though, I suppose a little spontaneity wouldn't hurt. Maybe just this once."

Harry let out a whoop and went over to look at the earrings with her, pulling her into a side hug. “That’s the spirit!”

The witch behind the counter grinned, her eyes twinkling with approval. "Brilliant choice. Now, let's find something that suits each of you." She led Hermione closer to the display, pointing out the subtler designs.

While Hermione browsed, Harry turned to Draco. "You sure you don't want anything? I think you would look wonderful with a lion tattoo, Leo.” He nudged the Slytherin playfully.

Malfoy rolled his eyes but let a brief smile flash across his features. "I think I'll leave the lions to you Gryffindors," he replied wryly.

Hermione held up a gold loop earring made up of tiny stars with diamonds in the middle of them. “What do you think? For my upper ear?”

Draco looked over, his eyes appraising the delicate piece. "It’s cute," he commented sincerely. “It suits you. Subtle, but it makes a statement.”

Hermione smiled, pleased with the feedback, and turned to the witch. "I'll take this one, then."

Harry clapped his hands together in excitement as he turned back to the witch. "And for me, let's do the ashwinder fang as an earring and...” He hesitated for a moment, eyes scanning the display. “Do you have anything you recommend for an eyebrow?”

The witch's eyes twinkled as she rummaged through a small, ornately carved box. She pulled out a sleek, silver hoop that shimmered with a subtle glow. "This one's infused with a charm for clarity and focus. Nothing staggering, of course, but provides a little boost. The enhancements last between six months to a year, depending on your own magical core."

Harry nodded appreciatively, running his finger along the cool metal. "I'll take it."

As the witch set about preparing their selections, Draco watched Harry with an amused expression. "Clarity and focus, huh? Should come in handy when you're trying not to get distracted by every shiny thing you see."

Harry turned, stepping closer and running his eyes over the pureblood. “Hmm…good thing we got rid of your shiny hair then. It was very distracting.”

Grey eyes darkened. "I think you managed to handle the distraction just fine."

Hermione, having finished with her selection, crossed her arms and gave them both a knowing look. "Are you two going to stop flirting long enough to get through this without turning it into a spectacle?"

Both men looked at each other, smirks playing on their lips as they turned back to Hermione. "No promises," Harry said, excitement curling in his gut.

Flirtatious bickering with Malfoy was proving to be exactly the distraction he needed.

The witch finished her preparations and beckoned Harry over. As he settled into the chair, Draco's eyes didn't stray from him, watching every motion with an intensity that made Harry's heart beat faster.

The piercings were quick, the witch deft and expert in her movements. When she was done, Harry felt the cool weight of the new additions and touched them lightly, pleased.

He looked up to find Draco still watching him. "You okay?" Harry asked, standing and approaching him.

"Yeah, just..." Draco paused. “Taking it all in, is all.”

“It looks okay?” Harry asked, hand drifting to his eyebrow.

The pureblood rolled his eyes, huffing a laugh. “You look good, and you know it, Parker.”

Harry grinned, his eyes lighting up with a mix of mischief and pride. "Well, glad to hear it from you, Davies."

Hermione stepped up next to them, hooking an arm with Harry, grinning up at them. “And what about me?”

Draco turned his attention to Hermione, who had the golden helix loop earring shimmering subtly under the shop's enchanted lights. “Merlin, but you lot are a needy bunch, aren’t you?”

His gaze softened, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "You look marvelous. Really suits you."

Hermione beamed back at him, clearly pleased with his approval. She turned to Harry, an expectant look on her face.

Harry met her gaze, his eyes dancing with approval. "You’re always stunning. It’s unfair, really, for you to be both gorgeous and absolutely brillant. But, I do really like the earring.”

Draco chuckled, shaking his head at their playful exchanges. "Well, if we're all done admiring ourselves, should we get something to eat?”

The witch waved them off with a broad smile, her eyes twinkling behind vivid streaks of purple hair. "Take care of those, now. Come back if you ever want to add to the collection!”

The trio made their way out of the shop, spirits high and the air around them filled with an easy laughter. As they walked, the golden hour cast long shadows on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.

Draco led them to a small café tucked away in a quieter corner of the alley. They found a secluded table by the window and settled in. Hermione pulled out the papers from her bag.

Harry grabbed the top one and started reading. His eyes skimmed over the first story, detailing Death Eater attacks on Muggle communities. The black-and-white images showed destroyed homes and the Dark Mark stark in the sky.

He felt a tightening in his chest, a desire to do something settling heavy around him. He knew they needed to be careful, to tread lightly in this unfamiliar time. To ensure that Voldemort’s defeat in their own time remained true, but it was chaffing at him to think about these attacks happening while he did nothing to stop them.

Hermione leaned over, her warm gaze flicking between the images and Harry's face. "We can’t intervene," she murmured. “Not until we know more about how this all works.”

Harry could appreciate the gravity of messing with the timeline, but felt the stirrings of impatience within him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the tumultuous feelings that threatened to override his sense. "Yeah, you're right. We've got to be smart about this."

Chapter Text

By the time they made it back to their room at the Leaky, Draco was exhausted.

The past few days had been a rush of ups and downs with Granger and Potter.

Potter's reckless charm and Hermione's sharp intellect constantly pushed him out of his comfort zone, yet he felt himself thriving in their company. And behind it all was the constant reminder of the looming threat they were up against.

Draco lounged on one of the beds, his gaze following Harry as he moved around the room. The blonde locks fell effortlessly across Harry's forehead, a stark contrast to the dark brows above those piercing eyes that now glanced back at him with an impish twinkle. Draco caught his breath.

There was a tension there, something unspoken and charged, but he couldn't be sure if it was a product of their precarious situation - Potter’s version of coping - or something... more.

"Are you going to help pack, or just keep staring?" Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts, a playful chastisement in her tone as she stuffed books into her bag.

With a shake of his head, Draco pushed himself off the bed and began to gather his own belongings. "Just thinking through the best way to pack," he lied smoothly, though his eyes strayed to Harry once more.

"Speaking of which, we need to make sure we keep our most important items hidden while at Hogwarts." Hermione pulled out Harry's invisibility cloak before handing it to him. "Especially this.”

And then she held up the folded sheet of parchment that Potter had brought as part of his magical bag. “And this.”

"What is that?" Draco quirked an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the item in question. “You called it a map the other day.”

Harry grinned, taking the parchment and unfolding it with a flair of his hands. "The Marauders Map," he said, his voice tinged with respect. "Shows every nook and cranny of Hogwarts, including everyone in it.”

Draco leaned over to look at the map closely, his curiosity piqued. The intricate details sprawled across the parchment seemed almost alive, tiny footprints marking the movements of the school's sparse summer inhabitants. "Clever," he admitted with a nod. "Very clever."

"We need to be careful with it," Hermione cautioned. “Given who made it, we can’t risk anyone seeing a copy of it floating around.”

Draco’s eye continued to trace the impressive piece of magic. “Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” he murmured. “Why does that sound familiar? I think Pettigrew mentioned something about them once.”

Harry caught the slight furrow in Draco's brow, his own expression dark. “Yeah, well, he would. He was part of them - the Marauders. My dad, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Pettigrew. That’s what they called themselves at Hogwarts. They made the map in their fifth year after they became Animagi to keep Remus company during the full moon.”

Draco blinked slowly at the torrent of information that Potter just revealed.

His gaze shifted back to the map, his mind whirling with the implications of what Harry had shared. "An impressive legacy," he murmured, trying to mask the awe and a budding sense of respect for the rebels Potter's father and his friends had been.

What must it be like to be following a legacy like that instead of one filled with death and bigotry?

Harry nodded, a shadow passing briefly over his features. "Yeah, they were something else,” he said quietly.

"Indeed." Hermione snapped the map shut. "But if the wrong person finds it..."

"We’ll keep it hidden," Harry said, a determined edge to his voice as he stowed the map away.

Draco watched Hermione and Harry shuffle through their belongings. The Marauder's Map, now safely tucked away, had sparked an unexpected reflection within him. Gryffindors; they were often loud about their bravery, but their cunning—Merlin, that was quieter, almost unassuming until it hit you square in the chest.

"Fred and George's Wildfire Whiz-bangs," Draco murmured to himself picking up one of the intricate fireworks that Potter had with him when they traveled back for some magic-forsaken reason. He recalled the Weasley twins' penchant for mischief and mayhem, their inventions always causing a stir.

They, like the Marauders before them, had left their indelible mark on Hogwarts.

And then came the Golden Trio.

Draco felt the weight of history pressing on him as he glanced between Hermione and Harry, their youthful faces set with the determination of those who've had to grow up too quick.

It struck him then just how much they were part of a continuing line of impressive Gryffindors, rebels and rule-breakers shaping the fabric of their world, willingly or not.

"Ready?" Harry asked, snapping Draco from his reverie.

"I suppose," Draco replied, but his mind still toyed with the thought of all the cleverness housed under one scarlet and gold banner. Once again, he is reminded that everything he grew up believing was a lie.

***

The green flames of the Floo Network swallowed them whole the next afternoon, and they stumbled out into Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts—a place that felt both achingly familiar and strangely distant. The Headmaster's cool gaze swept over them, his eyes alight behind half-moon spectacles.

He could feel the tension radiating from Potter next to him, and he couldn't blame him. A sudden wave of nausea hit Draco as he took in the man's familiar features and pristine robes. All he sees is the Headmaster falling from the Astronomy Tower over and over again.

It was only years of pureblood training that allowed him to keep his mask in place.

"Good afternoon," Dumbledore greeted, though the warmth of his voice seemed reserved, measured. "I trust your journey was comfortable?"

"Comfortable enough," Hermione answered, brushing ash from her robes.

Dumbledore nodded, and there was a moment where the air hummed with unspoken questions.

Before they got any further in the conversation, Draco’s eyes took in the office; the portraits on the wall staring down at the travelers in interest. He looked back to Dumbledore. “It would be better if we could have this conversation in private, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore's eyes flicked momentarily towards the portraits, then back to the trio before him. With a subtle wave of his hand, thick curtains cover each portrait, silencing their murmurs.

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed, gesturing towards the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

The three of them sat down, Draco positioning himself slightly forward on his chair, alert and guarded. Hermione's hands were neatly folded in her lap, her expression composed yet expectant. Harry’s fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, a nervous habit Draco had come to recognize.

Dumbledore seated himself behind his desk, steepling his fingers and observing them with an inscrutable gaze. "I gather there are matters of great importance you wish to discuss—matters concerning time and perhaps even destinies not originally your own."

Hermione leaned forward, her brown eyes locked onto the Headmaster's. "We're simply looking for guidance, sir," she said, the earnestness in her voice bridging the gap of uncertainty.

"Guidance I shall endeavor to provide," Dumbledore assured, turning towards the window where the morning light cast long shadows across the room.

"Thank you," Draco said, feeling the slightest ease in the tension that knotted his shoulders.

Draco watched as Hermione squared her shoulders, the flickering light of Dumbledore's office casting sharp angles on her determined face. "As we alluded to in our letter, we've been sent back in time," she stated plainly, nerves hidden well.

She gave him their curated version of what happened when they were attacked, careful not to mention anything too specific.

"So, in short, a time turner was hit by an unknown spell and shattered while using a portkey," Harry summarized, his words clipped, eyes dark with the memory.

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened behind his half-moon spectacles. “So it was an accident?”

“Depends on how you define accident,” Potter replied, tersely.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly, an expression of concern settling over his features. "I see. And your presence here, at this particular point in time—do you believe it was orchestrated?"

“No. Too coincidental to have happened by plan.” Granger followed up.

"How far back have you traveled?" Dumbledore inquired, his voice steady, betraying no surprise at the revelation.

"Decades," Hermione replied, locking eyes with the Headmaster. Her lips pressed into a thin line, signaling she would not divulge more.

"Indeed," Dumbledore mused, eyebrows furled. "A complex predicament. I have never heard of a wizard traveling that far back, although time travel is a mysterious area of magic. There is much that is not known."

The three exchanged glances, each feeling the enormity of their situation anew under Dumbledore's scrutinizing gaze.

Harry, still looking tense, decided to break the tension.

"We're not asking to change anything," he said quickly, catching both Hermione and Draco's wary looks. "We just... we need to know if there’s a way back."

"I shall make inquiries," Dumbledore offered, though his tone was measured, lacking the usual warmth Draco had come to associate with him. "However, I must be forthright—there is likely only a slim chance of returning you to your proper time, especially given the amount of variables involved."

A heavy silence settled over them. Draco felt the weight of it in his chest, constricting, suffocating. He glanced at Hermione and Harry, saw the apprehension in their eyes.

Dumbledore's gaze was intense as he looked at them. "I imagine it is quite challenging," he said. "Especially given your knowledge of what might come. It's a heavy burden for anyone to carry.”

There was a pause of silence before he continued again.

“As you may well know, we are living in dark times currently. The war is not merely brewing—it has already begun. You three are uniquely positioned, perhaps by fate, to influence events in ways others cannot.”

Draco’s brow furrowed slightly. He sees Granger’s face tighten. “Surely, Headmaster, you aren’t suggesting we…intentionally alter history?”

The headmaster is still as they stare at one another. “Are you suggesting that you three have knowledge that could impact the war?”

Dumbledore's question hovered in the air, charged with implications. Hermione's gaze flickered briefly.

Harry leaned back, his chair creaking slightly under the shift. "We have decades of knowledge, Headmaster," he said dryly, "I think it’s safe to assume we know at least a few things that might influence the war.”

It’s as vague as he could answer given what Dumbledore already knew.

Draco felt the weight of each word, knowing the fine line they treaded between safeguarding the future and altering it irrevocably. Dumbledore nodded slowly, his expression unreadable yet undeniably keen.

"It is not my place to tell you how to act upon such information," Dumbledore began, his voice calm and deliberate. "However, I urge you to consider the greater good, as well as the direct consequences of any action you might take."

Hermione interjected, her voice firm yet tinged with uncertainty. "We understand, sir. But our primary goal remains to find a way back home.”

"Of course, Miss Parker," Dumbledore said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "We shall endeavor to find a way. But if there is any information you might deem important enough to share, please do let me know."

Harry's jaw set in a determined line, his green eyes flickering with the fire of someone ready to fight. "We'll think about it, sir.”

Potter’s eyes locked with the Headmaster and Draco could only hope that the ashwinder fang was working as intended.

After a tense moment of silence, Fawkes soared across the room, a flash of crimson and gold against the somber backdrop of ancient books and artifacts. The phoenix landed gracefully on Harry's shoulder with a soft chirp, its plumage vibrant and eyes gleaming. Breaking eye contact, Harry reached up to stroke the creature's feathers, a smile touching his lips.

"Hullo," he murmured, the tension in his frame ebbing away under the bird's warm gaze.

"Remarkable creatures, phoenixes," Dumbledore said, his voice a low rumble as his bright blue eyes fixed on Harry, interest sparking behind his half-moon spectacles. "Loyal to those who are true. Are you two familiar with each other?”

Harry hummed, keeping his touch gentle on Fawkes' bright feathers. "Perhaps," he said, purposely vague

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Indeed? Well, it seems you have found a friend here."

Draco watched the exchange, something in his chest tightening at the sight of Dumbledore’s very apparent interest in Harry. Guilt and suspicion clash in his chest.

"Speaking of," the Headmaster continued, "I have a proposition for you three. It would be beneficial if you were to remain at Hogwarts. As seventh-year transfer students, you would have access to Hogwarts’ vast resources and I could advise on your predicament."

"Stay at Hogwarts?" Harry echoed, Fawkes still perched comfortably on his shoulder.

"Yes, Mr. Parker. It would provide a stable environment while we search for a solution."

Dumbledore's suggestion hung in the air, heavy with implications. Draco's mind raced, calculating risks and outcomes. He glanced at Hermione, her brow furrowed in thought, then back at Harry, whose fingers had stilled on the phoenix's plumage.

"Wouldn't being around other students complicate things?" Hermione asked, practical as ever.

"It could pose certain... challenges," Dumbledore admitted. "Is there a reason you cannot be around Hogwarts' current student body?”

His eyes flickered over Draco as he asked the question.

Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he realized that Dumbledore was even more cunning than he remembered. Potter had been right when he pointed out that Dumbledore wasn’t above using them for his own purposes.

Keeping them close would give him more opportunities to pry information out of them.

“No," Draco stated confidently. "No reason at all. We can handle a few curious students."

"Very well," Dumbledore nodded, seeming satisfied with Draco's response. "Then it is settled. Welcome back to Hogwarts, Miss Parker, Mr. Parker, Mr. Davies."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Hermione said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty that flickered in her eyes.

"Thank you, sir," Harry added, but his voice is cold. He continued to pet Fawkes, who cooed softly in response.

They were staying. At Hogwarts. In the past. Draco's mind whirred with the possibilities—and the dangers—as he gazed at the two people who had become increasingly important to him.

***

Dumbledore led the way, his robes sweeping the stone floors with a soft whisper. Draco's shoes clicked in rhythm behind him, flanked by Harry and Hermione's lighter steps.

"Here we are," Dumbledore announced, stopping before a portrait of a Yew tree that Draco didn’t remember from his Hogwarts years. "Your quarters for the duration of your stay until term. You must simply run your hand along the trunk of the tree.”

"Thank you, Headmaster," Hermione said, her voice echoing slightly in the emptiness of the hallway.

"The Sorting Hat will determine your new affiliations soon enough," Dumbledore remarked, "The term commences on the 1st."

Draco inhaled sharply. Sorting. They would be resorted.

"Resorted, huh?" Harry's tone held a wry twist.

"An experience to look forward to," Hermione added dryly, pushing open the painting’s door to their temporary rooms.

"Indeed, it may well be the first time the Hat has ever had to sort someone twice. What an unexpected delight for us all.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

Delight was one way to put it. Salazar, Draco forgot how eclectic the Headmaster could be.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your day. I assume you know your way around the castle? If you need anything, you must only ask. We shall speak more in the coming days as we get you set for term," Dumbledore said, leaving them to their reflections.

Draco followed Hermione into the room. There was a small common area with a door on either side. He assumed he and Potter would be sharing a room while Granger got her own.

Harry threw himself onto the couch in the middle of the room, tension seeping out of his body. “Christ, I need a cigarette.”

Draco saw him ruffling through his pockets before pulling the packet out.

Hermione paced briefly before sitting across from them in an armchair, her fingers knitted together in her lap. “That didn’t go how I expected.”

“Didn’t it?” Harry asked dryly, palm cupped as he lit his cigarette. “I didn’t yell or punch him or anything. I call that a success.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor. “You weren’t going to punch a 100-year-old wizard.”

Potter shrugged nonchalantly and Draco was forced to reevaluate his perception of the boy hero. 

Eventually, he leaned back, observing Harry as smoke curled from his lips. "I think it went exactly as Dumbledore planned. He's keeping us close, under his watchful eye."

Granger huffed. “I just - I assumed he would be trying to protect the timeline! He told me half a dozen times in third year about the dangers of time travel.”

Potter turned his head to look at her and took a deep drag. “And then he told us to use your time turner and save Sirius and Buckbeak anyway. Face it, Mione. The rules only apply to other people when it comes to Dumbledore.”

Hermione sighed and leaned back, her eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the ceiling. "You're right," she conceded reluctantly. "It's just—this feels so close to playing with fire."

Draco’s voice is low and careful. "We’ll do what we can. Try to avoid anything too eventful."

Harry nodded, his gaze sharpening as he blew out smoke. "And keep an eye on Dumbledore too. He's got his own agenda, whether he admits it or not." His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the arm of the couch.

They sat in a heavy, but comfortable silence. The acidic scent of Potter’s cigarette filled the room.

Potter tilted his head back, taking a long drag and then exhaling smoke that formed into a perfect smoke ring. Draco huffed at him, rolling his eyes as he watched Potter form another smoke creation - this time a phoenix that sailed through the air before dissipating.

Potter grinned smugly, clearly proud of his little trick.

“Show-off,” Draco scoffed, secretly wondering how the bloody hell he managed to do it without a single word.

“Honestly, Harry, Smoking is so unhealthy. You’re ruining your lungs,” Hermione chided, her lips pursed in disapproval. But her eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement at the display.

Harry just shrugged, his smirk lingering. “I run like 10 miles a day. It’s called balance.”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Yeah, well, I’ve literally died, Mione. A couple cigarettes seems trivial in comparison.”

What?

The curly-haired witch huffed sharply. “You can’t keep using that as an excuse.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco started, voice sharp as he stared at the two of them. “What the actual fuck do you mean ‘you’ve literally died’?”

Harry glanced at Draco, his eyes shadowed with a mix of humor and something darker. “What do you mean? Didn’t your mother tell you about what happened in the forest during the Battle of Hogwarts?”

Draco's eyes narrowed, frustration knitting his brows together. “She said you were hit by the killing curse. I - I assumed that was all it was. You got hit, and I don’t know, fell backward from it?”

"Did you really die from it?" he insisted, his tone tinged with the edge of demand.

Harry leaned forward, stubbing the cigarette out in a transfigured ashtray on the low coffee table between them.

His green eyes met Draco's grey ones with a gravity that was rarely displayed. "Yeah, Draco, I did. For a brief moment, I was dead. It's complicated and sounds absolutely mad, but it’s true. The Killing Curse hit me and I... went somewhere else."

Draco's expression shifted through disbelief, confusion, and then settled into a thoughtful frown. "And you just... came back," he murmured, trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

“I had some help,” Potter said simply, shrugging.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Draco felt the edge of hysteria in his voice. Merlin, but nothing was ever simple with this one.

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's a long story, involving no shortage of batshit crazy things — love, sacrifice, magical relics, that sort of thing. And Dumbledore was in the middle of it all." He glanced at Hermione, who nodded silently, her eyes heavy with the weight of memories.

Draco leaned back, the lines of tension in his face smoothing as he processed the information. "So that's what you meant by Dumbledore having an agenda," he said slowly.

"Exactly," Harry confirmed. "He always had plans within plans. And now, we're part of whatever game he's playing in this time."

Hermione sighed, weary eyes locked on Potter. "You're right. We have to plan our steps carefully. We need his help, but being students again — it's going to put us at the center of everything.”

Her eyes flicked back to the ashtray. “But we will be making a plan to wean you off - mark my words, Harry James!”

Harry gave a fond eye roll, standing up with a stretch. "Yeah, yeah, save my life another time, Mione. First things first, let's settle in. We could all use a bit of normalcy tonight."

They took to unpacking their belongings in their respective rooms, the mood lightening somewhat as they each settled into their temporary living spaces.

Draco methodically arranged his new clothes in the dresser, his movements precise, while Potter chucked his possessions out of his bag with a reckless abandon that made Draco’s fingers twitch.

“Circe’s tits, you’re a slob.”

“Ta, babes,” Harry grinned, dimples on display.

Draco shook his head, amusement mixing with exasperation as he turned back to his own meticulous organizing. The familiar banter eased some of the tension that had built.

Outside, the sun began to set over the Hogwarts grounds. Draco glanced out the window, his thoughts wandering back to the absurdity of the day.

He thought seeing Dumbledore alive again would be the weirdest part of his day, but finding out that Potter actually died in that forest? Somehow that was worse.

Harry, meanwhile, had moved from unpacking to sprawling across his bed, looking completely at ease as he fiddled with some sort of rectangular muggle contraption.

Draco watched him for a moment. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Look so bloody relaxed after dropping a bombshell like that?” Draco couldn’t hide his bewilderment, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

Harry looked up, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Years of practice,” he quipped. “Plus, it’s not exactly new information to me. You learn to live with the bizarre stuff.”

Draco shook his head slightly, still struggling to wrap his mind around everything. He walked over and sat down at the end of Harry’s bed. “And Granger knows all about this? She never mentioned—”

“She wouldn’t,” Harry interrupted, setting the muggle device aside and sitting up. “We decided long ago what we would share and what we’d keep to ourselves, for safety and sanity's sake. It’s complicated, being back here, knowing what we know.”

Draco looked into Harry’s entirely too-open face. “You’ve had quite a life, Potter. We’re lucky you’re such a bloody good person. Things could have gone very differently.”

Harry chuckled, the sound dry and a bit forced. "Luck had very little to do with it, mate. More like a series of insane choices and a few good friends."

Their conversation was interrupted by Hermione re-entering the room, her arms laden with books she apparently already had on time travel. “We better start researching,” she announced, setting the heavy tomes down with a thud on Harry’s desk. “We only have a few days before term starts, we might as well use it to our advantage.”

Potter groaned melodramatically. “Can’t we just be idiots for tonight?”

Her answer was a straightforward, “Not when there’s work to be done,” as she began organizing the books into different categories.

Wearily, Draco watched as Granger stacked a small pile of books in front of him.

"Ever think we're in over our heads?" Draco murmured, more to himself than them.

Harry looked up from his own pile of books, grinning wryly. "Every day since I turned eleven."

The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched upward in an almost smile. "Fair point."

Chapter Text

Magic had always been a tangible force for Hermione, something that could be studied, understood, and mastered. But this situation felt so much bigger than anything they had ever dealt with. Which said quite a bit when you considered the hunt for the Horcruxs and Harry’s interactions with the Hallows.

There is likely only a slim chance of returning you to your proper time. It was a thought that haunted her, gnawing at her resolve. Dumbledore had said it, and she feared it too, but trust was a currency in short supply when it came to the esteemed Headmaster.

As she sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, Hermione's gaze fell on a small stack of books by her bedside—research they started compiling last night. It seemed every page she turned, every spell she deciphered, led her back to the same conclusion: their journey was one way. Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps the part that thrived on impossible challenges, that refused to accept it as absolute.

The idea that she might not ever see her parents, Ron, Ginny, Teddy. Her research team from the Institute.

It felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, tightening with every breath. She shook her head, trying to dispel the sinking feeling of dread.

Hermione pushed the covers aside with a determined exhale and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

In the common room, the scent of fresh bread and hot tea greeted her. She blew a breath out, relieved to be able to avoid the Great Hall for just a little longer.

As Hermione approached the table, Malfoy emerged from the room he shared with Harry, dark hair perfectly brushed and looking completely put together. She was annoyed at how polished he managed to look early in the morning.

"Morning," Hermione mumbled, pouring herself some tea.

"Morning," Draco replied. "Sleep okay?"

"Not particularly," she admitted, then hesitated before asking, "Where's Harry?"

"Run," Draco explained. "Woke me up at dawn, said he needed to clear his head."

"Ah, of course," Hermione said, her lips curving into a slight smile despite her concern.

Draco sat gracefully into a chair and reached for a piece of toast. "He should be back soon enough, I assume. It’s been a while.”

Hermione gave a hum. “He’s been itching to be able to go. It’ll help. Help him process the situation.”

Draco laughed dryly, silver eyes staring into hers. “Yeah, the situation — stuck here with no clear way back. A headmaster who seems all too willing to use him like a pawn, soon to be in a castle full of dead loved ones. And yet here he is, running laps around Hogwarts like it’s a regular Tuesday."

Draco's voice was raw, stripped of its usual composure. “It’s a bloody miracle he hasn’t killed himself yet.”

Hermione's heart clenched at Draco's candid words. “He’s resilient. More than we could have ever thought. But I do worry. I finally felt like he was starting to get back on stable ground before this all happened. But being here? Seeing his parents and Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore?”

She exhaled loudly. “Resilience isn't infinite."

They sat in silence then, each lost in their thoughts.

After a moment, Draco broke the silence. “Is it better or worse if we do what Dumbledore suggests and try and change things?”

Hermione frowned, pensively swirling her tea. "It's a gamble," she said slowly, her mind wrestling with the ethics of their situation. "Dumbledore has always played with the bigger picture in mind. If we start altering events... where does it stop? What right do we have?"

The pureblood leaned back, his grey eyes shadowed by doubt. “You two have more rights than anyone else, I’d say. Everything the two of you did, everything you gave up, to stop the Dark Lord. Surely if anyone has the right to change fate, it’s you?”

Hermione bit her lip, the weight of Draco's words settling heavily on her shoulders. "Perhaps," she conceded, "but rights don't make it right, Draco. We could change one thing and cause a cascade of unintended consequences. The stakes aren’t just high—they’re monumental."

Draco nodded, understanding flickering in his gaze. "The ripple effects could be catastrophic. But that assumes we’re not supposed to be here."

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

The pureblood shrugged. “You have to admit, Magic and Fate seem to have a certain fixation on Potter. Boy-who-lived, prophecy child, wizard who died and came back? Getting sent back in time further than anyone thought possible? Is it really a coincidence?”

Hermione considered Draco's words. The idea that their journey might have a deeper purpose or destiny was one she hadn't allowed herself to fully contemplate. It was easier, somehow, to think of their situation as a terrible mistake rather than a preordained path.

Hermione liked tangible things. Things that could be studied and controlled. Fate felt entirely too much like prophecy and divination. She had enough of both for her lifetime.

"But even if it's fate," Hermione said slowly, her voice tinged with frustration and intrigue, "how are we to know what choices are the right ones? We can’t play with time like it's a chessboard."

Hermione sighed, setting down her tea, no longer in the mood to drink it.

“Well, how long do you think you’ll get before Potter snaps?” Malfoy asked, a dark brow quirked. “He’s been remarkably restrained all things considered, but we had other issues to distract him with. Can we really expect him to sit in front of his parents and godfather and just accept their deaths?”

Hermione glanced towards the window. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Harry's strength has always surprised me. But even the strongest have their breaking points."

Draco's hand paused mid-air, holding a knife smeared with butter. "Then we need to decide what we're going to do before he reaches his." His tone was resolute.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, her mind racing through scenarios, strategies, and the daunting probabilities of their actions. “I just — we have to be sure there’s no way back before we do anything. I just need him to give me a little time.”

Draco's expression softened, the lines of tension in his face easing slightly. “If there’s one thing that I know about you two, it’s that he trusts you. If you ask for it, he’ll do his best.”

Hermione felt a momentary pang of gratitude flood through her, mingling with the persistent worry. "Thank you, Malfoy," she whispered, her eyes meeting his.

Just then, the door swung open with a gust that seemed to sweep in new resolve. Harry strode in, his hair damp from exertion and morning dew, his green eyes bright but tired.

She wrinkled her nose at the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his skin. God, she could smell him from here.

He looked down at his shirt and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, didn’t realize how bad it was.”

He lifted a hand and tugged the shirt over his head, pulling it off and using it like a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

She heard Malfoy’s soft inhale next to her and looked over to see the pureblood’s grey eyes fixated on Harry. She couldn’t help her light snort.

Merlin.

Despite the gravity of everything going on, somehow the two still found time to exchange these ridiculously charged looks. It was both aggravating and endearing.

Harry dropped the shirt to his side and addressed them, his voice steady despite the apparent fatigue. "Alright, what are we talking about? What’s on the agenda for today?”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Draco, who nodded slightly, giving her the cue to speak. "We were just discussing options, Harry. About... about the future and what Dumbledore proposed."

Harry's brow furrowed as he crossed the room to pour himself a glass of water. "And? Have we decided anything?"

"Not exactly," Hermione replied, watching him drink. "We're weighing the consequences of altering events. It's not a decision we can make lightly."

He set his glass down on the table and met her gaze, green eyes earnest. "I know, Mione. God, I’m trying to tell myself that over and over, but my parents—"

He choked on the words, his gaze dropping to the floor. "The idea of seeing them alive, knowing what's coming... it feels impossible to just stand by."

"Give us a month or two," she implored, reaching out to place a calming hand on his arm. "Let us research, and hear back from Dumbledore and his contacts. If we come up empty, then we'll discuss...changing things."

Harry's eyes searched hers, a silent storm brewing within them. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

"Okay, yeah, I can do that. A month or two," he agreed reluctantly. "But then we reassess. All options on the table?"

"Agreed," Hermione affirmed, feeling a weight lift, if only momentarily.

Draco nodded from across the table, his features set in a grim line. “You’ll tell us if it gets to be too much, Potter? Merlin knows I’m not one to talk considering how I handled my own problems over the years, but well, we learn from our mistakes and all that, yeah?”

Harry looked between them, a semblance of his usual smirk appearing. "That almost sounded genuine, Malfoy." He teased, but the warmth in his eyes softened the jab.

Draco sneered but there was a playful edge to his voice as he responded. "It’s entirely your fault. Something about being around you that’s making me a better person."

"Tragic, isn't it?" Harry quipped, his smirk widening. The tension in the room lightened just a touch, a brief respite from the weight of their circumstances.

Draco shook his head but chuckled softly. "Absolutely disastrous." His gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer than usual, then he turned back to Hermione. "So, a month or two then. We hold off on any major decisions until then."

Hermione nodded firmly, grateful for the clear timeline and their united front. "Yes, it gives us time to thoroughly evaluate our options without rushing into anything."

Harry leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He was pensive again, the earlier mirth fading as quickly as it had appeared. "I trust you, Hermione. Both of you," he added, glancing at Draco. "Just keep me in the loop, okay? No going off and making plans without me. I’ve had enough of that with Dumbledore to last a lifetime.”

“Of course,” she smiled at him.

Harry pushed off from the counter. "Right. And I'll try to keep an open head about all this." He glanced at Draco and then at Hermione with a rueful smile. "No rash decisions."

"Not sure that’s possible for you, Potter," Draco remarked dryly, but there was an underlying warmth in his voice.

***

They had spent the bulk of the morning and afternoon in the library. Dumbledore had left a stack of suggested books from the Restricted Section out for them. She had been pleasantly surprised by Harry’s focus. Much like everything else he did, he moved between books like a storm—energetic and not a small bit chaotic.

But Malfoy’s presence seemed to help ground him, if only because it gave both of them someone to annoy when their attention started to wane.

“I swear to Merlin, Scarhead, if you don’t sit the fuck down, I will charm you to your chair.”

Draco himself was methodical, jotting down notes and frequently cross-referencing them with the texts sprawled across the table. Occasionally, he'd look up at her with a question or a hypothesis, his grey eyes sharp and analytical. Hermione found herself increasingly impressed.

A small part of hers was excited at the idea of having another redo year with the pureblood, if only so she could properly compete against him.

After an awkward dinner where Dumbledore introduced them as transfer students and Harry stared at McGonagall with a heartbroken look the entire time, they returned to their temporary quarters.

Hermione watched as Harry paced the length of their tiny common room, his thoughts visibly churning.

Being in the Great Hall again had unnerved him. More so to be in it without any other students. She could see the way his eyes had flashed back to the Battle of Hogwarts when he walked into the mostly empty hall.

They had decided to take a break from research for the rest of the night and despite the amount of energy Harry had burned off over the day, she could see the restlessness building again.

"Are you nervous about the Sorting?" he broke the silence abruptly.

She blinked at his sudden question, then slowly nodded her head. "A little, I suppose. It's a new situation, after all. Even if we've been through it before."

Harry stopped pacing and dropped down across from her on the couch, his green eyes flickering with concern. "What if it sorts us differently?”

Smiling faintly, Hermione closed her book and turned to face him fully. "Then we acknowledge that people change, Harry. And that we’re almost a decade older than the first time around.”

"Do you think I’ll still be in Gryffindor?”

“Do you really think you’ll end up anywhere else?” Draco drawled, leaning back on the couch as he watched Harry. "You're the poster child for bravery—or have you forgotten the whole sacrificing-your-life-for-everyone thing?"

Harry cracked a smile but then frowned, the weight of the memory pressing down. "The Hat did consider me for Slytherin before," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

“What?” Malfoy asked, a surprised look on his face.

Harry nodded, “Yeah, said I could be great there, but I told it not to put me there. Mostly because of you, Malfoy.”

He flashed the pureblood an amused smirk. “You were such a pillock before the Sorting that I couldn’t fathom being in the same house as you.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a half-smirk. "Well, I suppose I should be offended, but that's rather fair. I was quite unbearable," he conceded with a dry chuckle.

“Although, Salazar, the fact that I was the one to keep Harry Potter out of Slytherin? I’m actually quite flattered I had such an effect on you.” He shot Harry a flirty, if somewhat smug smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes, the tension easing as he responded, "Only you would take that as a compliment." His voice held a teasing note.

Hermione shook her head, amused by their banter.

She leaned back against the sofa cushions, feeling the fatigue from the past few days seep into her bones. Yet, despite the exhaustion, there was an undercurrent of comfort. A day spent in the library, a night of banter. It was almost as if they weren’t stuck two decades out of time.

The room grew quiet for a moment, each lost in their thoughts. Hermione glanced at Harry, seeing him chew his lip before he grinned. “Reckon you could end up in Gryffindor, Malfoy?”

The Slytherin gave a huff. "I've had enough of identity crises for one lifetime, thanks.”

"Well…" She started and turned to him, the cogs in her mind turning. "Slytherin might not be the best fit this time around."

Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. "I don’t disagree, but curious what makes you say it?”

"Pureblood politics," Hermione said simply. "They'll pick you apart, trying to suss out your secrets. Not to mention the fact that we can’t actually tie you to a pureblood family, not legitimately. Slytherins aren’t exactly kind to half-bloods and muggleborns, are they?"

"Not particularly, no," Draco conceded, his gaze drifting away as he mulled her words over. "So where does that leave me? Ravenclaw?”

Harry chimed in, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I reckon you'd make quite the Hufflepuff.”

"Very funny, Potter." Draco said dryly, face pinched.

Hermione circled a finger on the cover of her book, watching the two of them.

"I agree, Ravenclaw," she said, breaking the silence. "It's where you'll find a semblance of neutrality. And their pursuit of knowledge—it suits you."

Draco's gaze drifted to the windows of the common room. "Ravenclaw," he echoed after a moment. "Yes, I suppose it would give me...leverage."

"Exactly." Hermione nodded. "You can navigate the house politics without being directly involved in the blood purity crusade."

"Strategic," Draco agreed. "I can work with that.”

They fell into silence as they each seemed to take a moment to contemplate the impending Sorting.

Draco stared into the fireplace, a contemplative look on his face. “Ravenclaw is good. It’s smart. Tensions are going to be high in the school. The house divide may be just as bad as in our time, if not worse. And if you lot are in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw is a better choice than Slytherin.”

Harry huffed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to imagine it being worse. We almost killed each other, Malfoy.”

Draco shot him a wry look, "Yes, I remember, Potter. I was there as I bled out on that bathroom floor. And you're right. But the division is bound to be quite open; there isn’t the need for his supporters to hide their actions after being on the losing side. Obviously, I wasn’t here for it, but I heard enough from my father and Bellatrix to know that they considered this the height of their power, politically at least.”

Harry shot him a look of disbelief. “Voldemort literally took over Hogwarts and the Ministry in our time.”

"And yet, from what I've heard, you could argue they had the ultimate power here," Draco countered. "They were respected, influential, revered even. Pureblood supremacy wasn't just a dark undercurrent—it was the main current. People didn’t respect the Dark Lord in our time; they feared him. There's a difference, Potter."

There was silence as his words sunk in.

“He had supporters all over the Wizengamot. The laws and regulations that got passed during this time were some of the most extreme: Magical creature registrations, regulations that required interns in the Ministry to be sponsored by a member of the Wizengamot, werewolves nearly lost the right to carry wands.”

A bitter taste lingered in Hermione's mouth as he spoke, a combination of resentment and frustration at the reality of pureblood supremacy that she had tried to forget.

“And that’s just what was happening in the Ministry.” Malfoy continued, his face serious as he looked back and forth between them.

“The Hogwarts Board of Governors wasn’t any better. Rosier in particular used to brag about the things the Dark Lord’s supporters could get away with while in school. Dumbledore is headmaster, but the Board can override his decision for punishments if they want. And the Board has traditionally been almost entirely purebloods. There was a lot of resentment between them and the past couple of headmasters for the preference they felt was being given to muggleborns, and they weren’t afraid to use that to ensure purebloods were protected from repercussions.”

“Preference?” Hermione spat out in disbelief.

Draco met her gaze, his grey eyes reflecting the flickering of the fire. "To most of them, preference was merely letting you attend in the first place. Every muggleborn accepted into Hogwarts was seen as a slight. But there were some legitimate grievances about how Hogwarts has changed over the last few decades.”

He looked hesitant as he said it, but he didn’t break eye contact. She resisted the urge to defend herself, curious to hear his reasoning.

"Legitimate grievances?" Harry echoed, his voice dangerously low.

“One of the biggest ones was when Christian muggle holidays took over Celtic ones. Halloween has replaced Samhain. Easter has replaced Ostara. Christmas has replaced Yule. Those might seem like harmless changes at first, but those holidays have actual magical heritage behind them.”

Hermione sat back, taken aback by Draco's words. She had never considered the Hogwarts traditions from that perspective before. "That's... perhaps a good point," she admitted reluctantly.

“They changed the electives,” Draco continued, “introducing Muggle Studies and removing Etiquette.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, not seeing the issue with that one, Malfoy.”

"That might not seem significant, but the etiquette course was one of the few places where non-purebloods learned about pureblood culture. And since purebloods have held the bulk of power in our world for centuries, that’s not insignificant. Sure, there were the highbrow manners of proper titles and gestures, but it was also where students could learn about the factions of the Wizengamot and how Family magic worked.” Draco explained, his voice steady.

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek, her gaze falling to her hands. “Sounds more like an introductory class to wizarding culture.”

Draco gave a small shrug. "From what I heard, it mostly was, but that makes Hogwarts seem welcoming to muggleborns, and traditionalists don’t want that. ‘Etiquette’ implies they’re more civilized than you.”

She scoffed at that. “So, what? Students lose out on the chance to actually learn about the wizarding world because of semantics?”

“Not students, Granger,” Malfoy replied, “muggleborns. Muggleborns lose out. Purebloods and noble half-bloods like Potter are still going to be taught about that all at home.”

Harry gave the pureblood an incredulous look. “I — are you under the impression I had any idea about wizarding culture outside of Hogwarts?”

Draco paused, considering Harry's words. "You were the boy-who-lived, one of the most famous wizards alive, and heir to a well-respected noble House. Surely you had some sort of training?” His tone was dubious, as though he couldn't quite comprehend a world in which Harry hadn't been taught the intricacies of their society.

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Mate, Hagrid picked me up in a shack during a storm, told me I was a wizard, and dropped me at Diagon Alley with a list of supplies. That was my 'orientation'. The Dursleys weren’t exactly welcoming to the idea of magic in the first place."

Draco looked appalled. “What about Dumbledore? You were constantly meeting with him. Didn’t he bother to explain any of this?”

"No," Harry replied, with a bitterness that didn’t surprise Hermione. "He didn’t bother to explain much of anything, as I learned later on.”

"And it showed,” Draco muttered under his breath, causing Harry to shoot him a glare. Draco held up his hands in peace, looking somewhat contrite. “Not an insult, Potter. Just an observation.”

“Merlin,” Malfoy exhaled loudly. “That explains so much. You never took up your lordships or your Wizengamot seats, even after the war. Mother thought you might have been hesitant to take up House Black’s positions given your relationship with Andromeda and her grandson. Salazar knows she was grateful — she hated the thought of a non-Black being Head of the family, but you never claimed House Potter either.”

Draco looked at Harry, his grey eyes unreadable. "It was baffling. It’s rare enough for a House to sit unrepresented when there’s someone alive to claim it — unheard of for someone to do it when they hold two seats. Especially when one of those seats is to a house such as House Black.”

“Three.”

“Three what?” Draco’s dark brow furrowed.

“I technically had the right to three seats,” Harry said tightly, jaw clenching as he looked at the ground. She could see his entire body tense.

Malfoy blinked, taken aback. "Three?" He repeated, his surprise evident. "Potter, Black... and who else?"

Harry remained silent for a moment, a tension in his shoulders before he finally spoke. "House Peverell."

"House Peverell," Draco echoed, brow furrowed in thought. “Their line died out ages ago.”

Harry sighed. “A daughter married into the Potter family a couple of centuries back.”

Draco shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. If you were eligible to claim it, your father and grandfather and so forth should have been able to, too. Why wouldn’t they have done it sooner?”

Harry’s face tightens briefly and she’s sure he’s thinking the same thing as her — that it was likely Harry’s mastery over the Hallows that allowed him to claim House Peverell.

But that is one secret too far to share with Draco yet, or ever.

Instead, Harry gave a tight shrug. “No idea. I just know what the Goblins and the solicitors told me when they made me do the ancestry test at Sirius’ will reading.”

"So you're telling me," Draco said slowly, his voice filled with disbelief. "That you could have claimed three seats on the Wizengamot; Potter, Black, and Peverell. And you chose not to? Do you know the power you would have held?”

“Chose not to,” Harry laughed bitterly. “As we’ve clearly covered, I had no fucking idea what I was doing with any of that. I didn’t even know House Potter had the right to a seat on the Wizengamot until the bloody war ended. What was I gonna do? Go sit in the Ministry and embarrass myself more?”

Malfoy was still in a state of disbelief. “I just don’t get how that’s possible.”

Harry shot him a dark look. "Yeah, well, somehow nobody ever told me — whether that was intentional or apparently everyone just assumed I knew, I have no idea. I only found out last year when I went to Gringotts to open my family vault.”

She was there when he came home from the meeting, raging with the bitter realization that there was still so much he didn’t know about his own family.

"But... the Potter family is an old and well-respected wizarding house. It’s common knowledge."

Harry's eyes blazed, his lips curled into a sneer as he scoffed at Malfoy's disbelief. "Again, as we were just talking about, maybe to purebloods, but not to everyday wizards, and certainly not to me. I’m an orphan who grew up in a literal closet, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, taken aback. “You grew up in a…what?”

“A cupboard.” Harry hissed, his eyes flashing with a dangerous mix of anger and pain. “Like a fucking house elf. The fact that I even lived long enough to make it to Hogwarts was a fucking miracle, so I’m sorry I wasn’t exactly up to date on the intricacies of wizard nobility.”

Hermione had gone very still on her side of the room, her face pale as she bit her lower lip. Of course, she knew about Harry's childhood, mostly things Harry let slip over the years. But hearing him say it out loud again reminded her of the harsh reality that had shaped Harry into the man he was now.

Draco stared at Harry, his aristocratic features frozen in shock. "A... cupboard?" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as the weight of Harry's words settled around them.

“Yeah, another wonderful decision on Dumbledore’s part,” Harry spat, his anger was tangible, vibrating through the room like a dark storm cloud.

Hermione held her breath, watching as Draco visibly swallowed, his face paling.

"I...didn't know," Draco mumbled. He blinked rapidly against the shock, his silver eyes pinching at the corners.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly eager for that information to get out,” Harry replied tersely. “Poor Harry Potter — what a shame his parents are dead and his muggle aunt and uncle hate him. The Prophet would have had a field day.”

Malfoy nodded tensely, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. The room was heavy with silence, the tension hanging like a tangible cloud.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said finally, his voice soft and sincere. "I...never imagined." He glanced at Hermione, who gave a slight nod, her own eyes welling with unshed tears for Harry.

Harry huffed out a bitter laugh. "Don't be. I stopped caring a long time ago."

"But still," Draco began, only to be silenced by Harry's sharp look.

"No, not still. It's done. It's in the past," Harry insisted resolutely.

A silent moment passed between them until Draco nodded slowly in understanding. "Alright then," he conceded quietly.

Hermione pushed herself off her seat, wandering over to Harry and laying a comforting hand on his arm before pulling him into an embrace.

She could feel his muscles tense beneath her touch, but he eventually relaxed into the hug. Hermione's heart was heavy with empathy as Harry buried his head in the crook of her neck. She caught Draco's gaze over Harry's shoulder, his gray eyes complex with an array of emotions she couldn't decipher.

"Alright," Hermione murmured into Harry's ear, gently pulling away after a moment. "Let's table this for now." She glanced at Draco who nodded quietly.

Harry swallowed, nodding stiffly. Hermione could see the hint of vulnerability in his green eyes before he masked it and cleared his throat. "Okay," he said in a clipped tone, trying to regain normalcy.

He turned to Draco, his expression hardening even as a crease of worry remained on his forehead. "So...Ravenclaw?”

Draco blinked at the sudden shift in topic, his gaze flickering to Hermione in confusion before settling back on Harry. "What?"

"Ravenclaw," Harry repeated, gesturing vaguely. "We were talking about the Sorting, saying you should aim for Ravenclaw.”

"You do realize that I have no control over the Sorting Hat's decision?"

Harry shrugged tiredly, “Just ask it to put you there. That’s what I did for Gryffindor. It takes that kind of stuff into account, I think.”

Draco nodded slowly, considering Harry's words. “Okay.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. She could feel the tension radiating from Harry. He bounced his knee as he stared at the fire. He gave a soft shake of his head before looking at them. “I’m gonna go for a walk, I think,” he said softly.

Hermione nodded, knowing better than to protest; a walk was a far healthier option than some of his other coping mechanisms.

She watched as he stood, his movements stiff and guarded, then left the room. It was a quiet exit, but in its wake, it left a heavy silence that felt deafening.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his now black hair. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Hermione turned to Draco, her eyes soft with worry. "Give him time, Draco," she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

Malfoy nodded quietly, his gaze focused on the door through which Harry had just left. "I—It's not that, I just…" He faltered and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have bought it up. Brought up any of it.”

"You didn't know," Hermione interjected softly, understanding what he was trying to say. “And you’re not completely wrong on the wizarding traditions and such. I can’t say it’s something I’m in a hurry to dig into, but it is interesting.”

Draco stared at the fire for a moment before turning to look at Hermione again. "Did you...know? About?"

She gave a sad smile. "Of course I did."

Draco leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting back to the fire. He seemed lost in thought as Hermione watched him anxiously. After a moment, Draco spoke again, his tone thoughtful. “You know, we all had our perceptions about Potter… Merlin, we couldn’t have been more wrong.”

She glanced at Draco only to find him staring at the place Harry had been moments before, a troubled look on his face.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “He just needs a little space. He’s sensitive to all the stuff he felt was kept from him. It was hard when he realized how little he knew about his own family.”

Draco’s gaze remained on the spot where Harry had sat, his expression unreadable. “I can see that. It’s a lot to take in,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fell on the embers of the fire as she collected her thoughts. "He'll come around," she finally said, trying to project certainty. "Harry’s very forgiving to the people he cares about. And he does care about you, despite the history.”

Draco glanced her way, the crackling fire reflected in his gray eyes. His lips twitched up into a half-smile. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to hear that."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, a gentle laugh escaping her. "Don’t worry — you two will be back to flirting shamelessly with each other again in no time.”

Draco flushed lightly at her words, a touch of embarrassment crossing his features. “We’re not that bad.”

“Come off it, Malfoy. You two have been nonstop since this whole mess started. You can’t take your eyes off him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not blind, Granger,” he drawled, avoiding eye contact. “And it’s not my fault that he insists on running around shirtless half the time.”

Hermione's laughed harder, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "No, you certainly aren’t blind," she agreed, tilting her head to catch his gaze. "And neither is he."

She flashed a grin. “I am quite a fan of watching you two dance around each other. It’s cute.”

Draco scowled lightly, though the corners of his mouth lifted in a reluctant smile. "Cute isn't exactly the descriptor I aspire to, Granger."

“Fine, it’s hot.”

"Better," Draco responded with a smirk, settling back into the couch, his mood visibly lighter.

Hermione stood up and went to grab her beaded bag. ”Want to work on getting you set up with one of our two-way mirrors while we wait for him?”

He shot her a grateful smile. "Sounds like a plan."

The next few days passed in a daze. Harry was pretty sure he spent more hours in the library in those few days than he did in his entire sixth year. Which probably doesn’t say much, all things considered, but still.

He and Draco exchanged awkward apologies the morning after their tense conversation, while he tried to ignore the hint of pity in the pureblood’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what to feel when Draco offered to research the Potter family for him. He declined it for now but was grateful for the gesture.

They suffered through another meeting with Dumbledore, supposedly to confirm their class choices and get school supplies, but the meddling man didn’t miss the chance to ask them endless questions about their own time at Hogwarts.

They dodged most of the probing questions, but Harry was still annoyed at how Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to drill into him, trying to unravel what they knew.

Harry mentally made a plan to replace all of the man’s socks with increasingly smaller ones to keep from snapping at him. He was pretty sure he could pull it off, too, if he could convince one or two Hogwarts elves to help.

He kept practicing his occlumency with Draco, desperately needing to try and calm his nerves as they closed in on the start of the term.

He was moderately relieved that he only woke Malfoy up once with his nightmares. Less relieved when he thought about the fact that he would need to spell his bed curtains silent once term started to keep from waking up his dorm mates.

Roommates who will almost certainly be the teenage version of his dead father, godfather, and whatever Remus had been to him. And Pettigrew.

He was ten seconds from a meltdown when he realized he was totally out of cigarettes. Hermione did her best to convince him that it was a sign to quit. He let her believe that, opting to use his next morning run to go to Hogsmeade and floo to Diagon to go into muggle London to get more.

It wasn’t a big deal, really. He didn’t need them. He could stop whenever he wanted. Just maybe not right now.

And when all that failed to distract him, his backup options included:

1. Fiddling with the Muggle tape player that he had picked up while shopping to try and get it to work around magic. He desperately wanted to be able to listen to music while running again. And if they could make radios and record players work at Hogwarts, it should be possible, damn it. 

2. Blatantly staring at Draco until the pureblood snapped and asked him, “What the hell are you looking at, Potter?”

All in all, it wasn’t the very worst way to kill time. It went by far too quickly. 

***

Harry woke up in a cold sweat on September 1st, nightmares still lingering in the back of his head.

He pushed himself up against his pillow, panting, running a hand through his hair. Everything felt heavy today.

Today, he would see his teenage parents, Sirius, and Remus alive and well for the first time in this altered timeline.

He fumbled for a cigarette with a shaky hand.

His heart raced, thumping against his ribcage with a cocktail of anxiety and excitement. How would they look? Would they recognize something familiar in his eyes, or had they managed to fully disguise him as Henry Parker?

He sat in silence for several minutes before stubbing his cigarette out.

"Focus," he muttered to himself, standing and stretching, feeling the familiar pull in his muscles — a sign he was pushing himself too far. He shrugged the fact off.

He stepped out of the castle just after dawn. He jogged toward the Great Lake, the grass wet with dew beneath his sneakers. As he ran, the rhythmic thud of his footsteps grounded him amidst the whirlwind of thoughts.

He had promised Hermione not to do anything drastic — to give her time to research a way back to their time, but he considered it all but a formality at this point that they were here for good. As conflicted as he was about Dumbledore, if both the headmaster and Hermione seemed pessimistic about the chances, it was likely correct.

He mourned the idea of never seeing Ron and the Weasleys again — at least, not the versions of them that he knew. Even worse than Ron was the idea of losing Teddy. The toddler had been a balm for him after everything.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

He felt the guilt swirl in his gut at the fact that part of him was excited to be here. His parents, Sirius. Remus. The ability to walk outside without being hounded by people. The chance to pick a job without needing permission from the bloody Minister of Magic.

Perhaps he would feel differently if Hermione weren’t with him. But well, she was.

And yet, there, lurking at the edge of his consciousness, was the ever-present shadow of Voldemort, an obligation that gnawed at his soul.

The crisp morning air bit at his lungs as he pushed himself harder, the burn in his lungs a welcome distraction.

He could feel the magic coursing through the grounds, the power of Hogwarts pulsating like a living thing under his skin. He doesn’t remember being able to feel it like this when he was in school, but his magic had been funky since his death. Easier, more powerful, more intuitive.

One more thing to make Harry Potter stand out.

With a deep breath, Harry turned back towards the castle. He knew that today would be monumental. Today he would walk into Hogwarts not as Harry Potter but as Henry Parker, an average student with no extraordinary burden or fame attached to his name. It was both liberating and utterly terrifying.

***

Harry made his way back to the castle, his breath misting in the crisp air. The muscles in his legs ached from the exertion around the Great Lake, but it was his racing mind that left him truly winded.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded him as he entered their tiny common room. Her voice tethered him to the present, pulling at the threads of anxiety weaving through his thoughts. "You're pushing yourself too hard again."

He offered a half-hearted smile, knowing she could read the worry etched in his features. "Just needed to clear my head," Harry replied, sidestepping her concerns.

Draco leaned against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, an eyebrow arched with practiced precision. "You look like you’re trying to run yourself into the ground.”

Harry shrugged, slumping into a chair. "Better than smoking my weight in cigarettes," he mumbled, knowing full well both Draco and Hermione disapproved of the habit more than the running.

“Alright, fine, go change,” Hermione urged, wrinkling her nose at him. "Breakfast won't eat itself, and we need our strength for the day ahead."

After a quick shower, he allowed himself to be led to the Great Hall, which still felt disconcertingly too big without the usual clatter and chatter of students.

Hermione steered him toward the end of the single staff table and pushed a plate in front of him, piling it high with eggs and toast.

He listened halfheartedly as Draco and Hermione talked about what might be covered in this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts. He bounced his foot as he pushed his food around the plate, appetite nonexistent.

"Circe’s tits, you're practically vibrating with tension," Draco finally snapped, his grey eyes locking onto Harry's with a mix of concern and exasperation. "Why don't we go for a fly? It might help."

"Fly?" Harry echoed, the idea so alien in the midst of his churning thoughts that it took a moment to register.

“Fly, Parker. Fly-i-n-g. On a broom. A thing you do frustratingly well, if I recall correctly,” the Pureblood scoffed.

"Quidditch pitch is empty now," Malfoy insisted, standing with effortless grace. "Come on. We’ve got hours until students arrive."

"Alright," Harry conceded, feeling the pull towards something familiar, something that promised a sliver of escape.

The three of them walked to the pitch, the castle's stone corridors giving way to the crisp outdoor air. Hermione settled herself in one of the stands, a book in hand, while Malfoy dug out two of the least bad school brooms they could find.

Once aloft, the rush of wind and the sharp scent of summer helped soothe his frayed nerves. Harry soared around the pitch, the world blurring into greens and blues. He could hear Hermione's laughter ringing out from somewhere beneath him and feel Draco's presence like a magnetic pull even from afar.

The borrowed broom dipped and swerved, slower than he would have liked, but he adjusted for the delay. Muscles relaxed as he climbed, dove, and spiraled, the thrum of anxiety replaced by the pounding of his heart in exhilaration rather than fear.

"Enjoying yourself?" Draco called out, flying up beside him with a smirk that didn't quite mask the fondness in his eyes.

"More than I thought," Harry admitted, his breath coming out in short bursts from the adrenaline and exertion. "Thanks for this."

"Anytime," Draco replied, before pulling away, signaling their descent with a nod toward the ground as they hovered by Hermione in the stand.

"Go on ahead," Harry shouted to them, not ready to relinquish the freedom just yet. "I'll catch up!"

"Don’t take too long!" Hermione's voice floated up to him, edged with a warning. "The feast starts at six. We’re supposed to meet McGonagall by the Great Hall with the first years.”

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there," Harry grinned, watching as they made their way off the pitch.

Alone in the sky, Harry let himself relish a few extra loops around the towering goalposts, before diving close to the lake's shimmering surface and pulling up sharply each time. For a little while, Harry was nothing but a streak of speed against the sky.

The sun dipped lower, casting shadows across the grounds of Hogwarts, painting everything in hues of gold and amber.

"Alright, Potter, you can do this," he muttered to himself, noticing the position of the sun. With a reluctant twist of his body, he directed his broom downward, speeding towards the earth in a way that would have made Hermione worry.

He swore when he finally got back down and put the broom away; he was running far later than he planned. Hermione was going to kill him.

***

Harry sprinted back to their temporary room, grateful for the daily runs he did. Neither Hermione nor Draco were there, likely already on their way to meet McGonagall.

Beads of sweat dripped down his back as he shrugged off his clothes. He took what had to be the world’s quickest shower before stumbling out — trying to towel himself off while spelling his hair dry at the same time.

Whatever relief he had found in the air seemed to disappear with the rush to make it down to the Feast. Made infinitely worse when he opened the trunk that Dumbledore sent each of them and realized that that he was missing his school uniform. Sure, there was the generic black outer Hogwarts robe, but the actual clothes to go underneath? Nowhere to be seen.

Fuck, he probably should have checked his trunk when Hermione told him.

‘Damn it’, Harry thought, the weight of the evening pressing on him. Perhaps he could transfigure his regular clothes to look more like a uniform? He was absolute pants at that particular type of transfiguration, but it was an option.

Standing in nothing but a towel, he contemplated his options before his gaze fell on his bedside table.

He had cleared it earlier when they packed up their stuff, but now a single bottle of calming draught sat on it, shimmering a soft blue under the Slug & Jiggers apothecary label.

Merlin and God both bless Hermione Granger and her ability to anticipate needs.

Without a second thought, Harry uncorked the bottle and tipped it back, swallowing the potion in one long gulp. As the last drop slid down his throat, a lovely feeling of calm washed over him.

It felt wonderful after the past few days of anticipation and anxiety. Perhaps a little too good, he thought, as a wave of drowsiness washed over him. His limbs felt heavy, his head light.

Alright, focus. Clothes.

With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, Harry reluctantly attempted to transfigure his casual clothes into something resembling a Hogwarts uniform.

The result was less than satisfactory – the shirt was halfway transfigured, buttons haphazardly strewn about. The jeans had turned a shade darker, but were still very much denim, and shorter? — somehow.

He couldn't contain the infectious laughter that bubbled up from deep within his chest. He smiled and shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, grabbing a new pair of jeans and a tee shirt from his messenger bag. He was skipping the uniform. His outer robe would cover most of him anyway.

Harry's hand fumbled through his bag as he stuffed the rest of his stuff back in. As he did, his fingers closed around his mini healer’s kit, the Pepper-Up Potion sitting right at the end. He rolled it around in his hand as he contemplated if it would cancel out some of the drowsiness of the calming draught.

He ran through the possible side effects before deciding to go for it.

A staggeringly dumb idea, he acknowledged to himself, but it sounded appealing at the moment.

The fiery liquid sloshed against the glass as he yanked the stopper free, not bothering to measure the dose.

He knew Hermione would chastise him for this later; potions were not to be trifled with. But the steady thrum of panic was louder than reason, and he tossed the potion back, feeling the sharp burn as it hit his throat.

Heat exploded through his veins, a stark contrast to the numbing calm of just moments before. His heart kicked up its pace, hammering against his ribcage like a frenzied hummingbird. A flush crept up his neck, coloring his cheeks.

"Potter, you're a fucking idiot," Harry scolded himself, even as a reckless grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The combination of potions twisted inside him, sending his senses into overdrive. Merlin, he felt good.

The effects of the conflicting potions were making it difficult to maintain his focus, but there was a wild sense of euphoria simmering inside him, urging him forward. He threw the robe over his shoulders, not bothering to fasten it properly, and grabbed his wand.

He should have been worried, perhaps, but instead, a laugh bubbled up from deep within, laced with a wildness that felt intoxicating. With a final glance at the mirror, he raked a hand through his messy dyed hair and dashed out the door.

Chapter Text

Draco shifted slightly beside Hermione, scanning the sea of excited and anxious faces in the Great Hall. The first-year students huddled together like a flock of jittery sheep, their wide eyes reflecting the grandeur of the floating candles and the starlike sparkles on the enchanted ceiling.

The Sorting had already started.

"Any sign of him?" Granger murmured, her voice low and tight with concern.

Draco shook his head, his black-dyed hair catching a glint of candlelight. He tried to maintain his composed facade as Leo Davies, but his grey eyes flickered towards the Great Hall's large oak doors.

"No," he replied tersely. "We left him two hours ago. Where could he have bloody gone?"

Hermione glanced at him, her brown eyes clouded with worry. She adjusted her robes meticulously. "Maybe he got held up. You know him — he can find trouble anywhere.”

Draco gave a light snort. “That’s an understatement.”

Just then, the doors of the Great Hall creaked open with a melodramatic groan that drew the eyes of every wizard and witch in the vicinity.

A visibly flustered Harry stumbled in. His blonde hair and height stood out starkly against the sea of dark-robed first years.

"He's here," Draco murmured, relief washing over him like a cool breeze.

Hermione sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Finally," she said, catching Harry's eye and giving him a small, reassuring smile.

Potter made his way over to them, a sheepish smile on his face. Draco took a second to scan the Gryffindor over, noticing the fact that Harry was wearing his muggle clothes under his school robes.

Draco's posture stiffened. "Where’s your uniform?”

Harry looked down as if only just noticing the fact that he wasn’t wearing it.

"Not sure," Harry laughed, running a hand through his tousled hair, further disheveling it. "Lost track of time."

Draco's brow furrowed, flittering over Potter as the shorter wizard avoided his gaze.

Harry nodded gratefully towards Hermione, “Thanks for leaving me the calming draught, Mione. Appreciate it.”

Granger’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t leave you a calming draught.”

“I left it,” Draco informed him. He figured Harry would need it given the waves of tension rolling off him earlier.

Harry blinked, giving a sheepish grin, eyes unfocused. “Right, thanks. Appreciate it.”

Draco felt his own brows furrow at Potter’s less-than-normal demeanor. He knew tonight would be hard for the Gryffindor, but Potter seemed even more out of it than expected.

“What’s wrong with you?” Draco asked.

Harry tilted his head a little, grinning at Draco. "What do you mean, Leo?" His tongue tripped over the alias, sparking a moment of concern in Draco's chest.

"You weren't this out of it when we left you earlier," Draco said, crossing his arms. His eyes flicked towards Hermione who was watching the exchange with furrowed brows.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied, grin still plastered on his handsome face. “Just… was there something different about that calming draught?”

Hermione stepped closer, her expression softening as she placed a gentle hand on Harry's arm. "What do you mean?" she asked quietly.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flitting between Draco and Hermione. "It just felt... stronger than usual."

Draco exchanged a concerned look with Hermione. "It was a standard issue one," he insisted, his voice low and steady. "I picked a couple up in Diagon. How much did you take?”

Harry shrugged, giving a non-committal hum. “All of it.”

Draco felt his face tense. “What do you mean all of it? You’re supposed to dilute it.”

Harry blinked. "Dilute...?" then he shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "I thought it was ready to use."

He could see the way Granger’s jaw tensed, her brow creasing as she took in Harry's state. "It comes as a concentrated version. You’re supposed to take it with water. Didn’t you read the label on the bottle?"

“No.”

Merlin forbid Potter take ten seconds to read a fucking label.

"Henry," Hermione hissed, rubbing her temple as if struck by a sudden migraine. "It’s a miracle you’re conscious."

Draco stepped closer, his voice tinged with urgency. “Do you feel odd in any other way? Dizzy? Nauseous?"

Harry shook his head slowly, still visibly trying to process the situation. "Just... good. Really good, actually."

He gave a lopsided smile and Draco couldn’t help but notice the glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and blown-out pupils. He worked hard to squash down the fact that Potter looked decidedly debauched in his current state.

“…Did you take anything else today? Any other potions?” Draco asked, a suspicion lingering in his gut.

Potter still had his stupid lopsided smile on his face, but his gaze drifted away momentarily before meeting Draco's again. "May have taken a Pepper-Up Potion after the calming draught," he confessed, his voice growing sheepish. “Was tired, figured it would help to get a little energy back.”

Hermione gave a sharp inhale as he said it, hand coming out to slap him on the arm. “Ha—enry!”

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re an absolute moron, do you know that?” He once again took in the unusual brightness in Potter’s eyes.

“You’re high as a broomstick, aren’t you?” Draco hissed, taking Harry’s jaw in his hand and forcing the blonde-dyed idiot to look up at him.

Harry blinked, slow and languid, his lopsided grin expanding into a full-blown smile as he leaned into Draco’s touch. "Maybe a little.”

Draco glared at him, the fingers of his hand gripping slightly tighter against Harry’s jaw.

"Brilliant, Scarhead. Just brilliant," Draco snapped, his voice low but filled with frustration. "Mixing potions without knowing their interactions—have you completely lost your mind?"

Harry's eyes focused on Draco for a moment, clarity seeming to pierce through the haze. "I know," he muttered, sounding somewhat defensive but mostly contrite. "I just wanted to feel... normal."

Draco's expression softened marginally at the admission, his hands relaxing as he let go of Harry's face. He sighed deeply. "Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?" he asked firmly.

"No." Harry protested quickly. "Please, no Hospital Wing. I can handle it, I promise."

Hermione’s expression was pinched, concern evident. “Are you sure? I don’t want to draw any extra attention to us than we already have, but this could be serious.”

Harry nodded, determination seeping through his disheveled features. “I’m fine. I swear.”

"Fine," Draco agreed tersely. "But we're keeping a close eye on you tonight. Any sign of trouble, and we're going straight to her."

Harry gave a sloppy salute and grinned at Draco. “Yes, sir.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Magic grant me the strength.”

He blew out a breath. “Just stand here and try to look sober until it’s our turn to be sorted.”

Granger glanced around the Great Hall, face tightening as she saw the faces focused on them.

It was unavoidable given the way they towered over the tiny first years. Every move they made was being watched. “Gods, so much for subtle,” Granger muttered under her breath.

Hermione's eyes darted back to Harry, her tone turning more serious. "We’re going to be talking about this when you’re in your right state! And for Merlin's sake, please try to stay out of any more trouble tonight."

Potter nodded earnestly, his green eyes wide with the promise of good behavior, though both Draco and Hermione knew better than to take his word for granted. The thrum of conversation around them continued unabated, the Great Hall buzzing.

As the first-years continued getting sorted, Harry grinned, a mischievous spark flickering in his eyes as he looked at them, “Do you think the Sorting Hat has ever sorted someone who was under the influence before?”

Draco couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, shoulders shaking as he tried not to give in to the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Seeing as how it’s usually sorting eleven-year-olds, let’s hope not.”

“Do you think it’s gonna affect what house it’ll put me in?” Potter asked, brow furrowed as he stared at the Hat sorting another first year.

Draco rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. “Showing up three sheets to the wind seems right in line with your usual Gryffindor shenanigans.”

Hermione shot them both a glare, tinged with annoyance and concern. "Not helping," she hissed under her breath, pulling at the sleeve of Harry’s robe to straighten it.

Harry's grin didn't falter, but he leaned in towards her, lowering his voice. "Sorry, Jean," he whispered, looking entirely too proud of himself for remembering her alias.

The Sorting continued for several more minutes until the three of them were the only ones left standing in the middle of the Great Hall. A hush fell over the hall as Dumbledore stood, his robes shimmering slightly under the candlelight.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled beneath his half-moon spectacles as he surveyed the sea of eager faces before him.

"Welcome. Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore began, his voice echoing magically around the hall. "This year, we are delighted to welcome not only our new first years but also three very special transfer students. Due to extenuating personal circumstances, the three join us as seventh-year students."

Extenuating personal circumstances? A loud murmur of curiosity rustled through the crowd. Draco thought that it probably didn’t matter what Potter did tonight. Dumbledore was drawing enough attention to them as it was.

Well, Potter may as well have walked in waving a banner, but Dumbledore certainly wasn’t helping.

Dumbledore's eyes found the trio, the twinkle in his gaze unwavering as it lingered on Harry's somewhat less steady figure and his under outfit of jeans and a muggle band teeshirt. “I hope all is well, Mr. Parker?”

Harry gave a light blush as he looked down at this outfit before grinning back up the Headmaster, “Ta, Albus. All good.”

Draco was upset that he once again could barely keep his laughter in, needing to duck his head and bite his thumb to hide it.

Merlin, but Potter was ruining his pureblood composure.

Hermione shot Draco a sharp look, her eyes flashing a warning to maintain their composure. The Great Hall was filled with the soft sounds of whispers and curious glances, the air charged with speculation.

The headmaster, for his part, seemed entirely amused by the interaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

Dumbledore continued, his voice a calming balm over the crowd. "One can never predict how the night may go! In the spirit of unity and learning, let us welcome them with the warmth Hogwarts is known for. Now, if our three new students will step forward, the Sorting Hat awaits."

McGonagall stepped forward and called out Draco’s alias.

“Leo Davies!”

Draco took a deep breath, smoothing down his robe as he walked up to the stool with measured steps, feeling his mask slip back into place — his posture regal and unyielded despite the nerves he felt gnawing at him. He sat down and felt the Hat settle on his head.

The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head the first time around so Draco wasn’t entirely sure what he expected when the voice whispered in his ear.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, not often I get to sort a student twice. Or, rather, sort them before they’re even born. Now, where to put you?”

Draco's heart pounded in his chest as he sat under the weight of the Sorting Hat, its presence a mixture of comfort and curiosity.

"Quite a conundrum you present," the Hat continued, its voice soft yet clear in his mind. "More courage than you think, and a sharp mind - sharp indeed. You’ve grown much since we last met, haven't you? Quite a bit of loyalty, certainly, and yet..."

Draco held his breath, willing his demeanor to remain calm despite the fluttering of his heart. He could feel every eye in the Great Hall on him, the weight of their gazes almost as tangible as the hat on his head.

"But ambition — oh yes, plenty of that," the Sorting Hat murmured. "Where to put you indeed. You straddle the line between so many houses.”

Draco couldn’t help the swell of pride in him at hearing the Hat’s words. He had been raised to be a perfect Slytherin - had been proud to sort into it so easily, but there was something freeing about being unknown in this time. There were no family expectations keeping him set on a path. His decisions here were his own. And he knew what he needed.

Ravenclaw, he thought back to the Hat. I need Ravenclaw.

The Hat paused, as if considering Draco's internal plea.

“Ravenclaw, hmm? Very well," the Sorting Hat finally declared, its voice ringing out clear and resonant. "Better be... RAVENCLAW!"

The Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers, welcoming their newest member with cheers and curiosity. Draco gracefully stood from the stool, a relieved smile tugging at his lips as he made his way to his new housemates.

Granger clapped her hands together, her eyes shining with pride. She shared a quick, supportive glance with Potter, who was trying—and failing—to suppress his grin.

He wasn’t used to having such open support from anyone. A warmth filled his chest as he smiled back before sitting down.

"Henry Parker!" McGonagall called next and Draco held his breath as he watched Harry walk up to the stool.

Harry's steps were less measured than Draco's, a recklessness in the slight swagger as he approached the stool. He flashed a grin at the Ravenclaw table where Draco had just sat, then turned to face the rest of the hall as he plopped down onto the stool.

Draco would have given every galleon in the Malfoy vaults to hear the conversation between potion-addled Potter and the Hat.

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath. Whispers arose around Draco.

"Oh, my, you are interesting," murmured the Hat aloud, making the audience chuckle nervously. It wasn’t often the Hat spoke aloud, outside of the actual house announcement.

Harry seemed to laugh at the Hat, a mischievous smile on his face. Fucking hell - there really was nothing subtle when it came to Potter. 

The whispers crescendoed into a hum of curiosity, pressing against the walls of the hall like an eager storm. Draco could feel the tension, a mix of excitement and apprehension, as he watched Potter under the brim of the Hat.

There was a long pause before the brim finally opened and the Hat boomed. "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table burst into raucous cheers as they welcomed their newest member. Harry's grin widened as he jumped off the stool. He dashed over to Hermione and pulled her into a quick hug before he made his way over to the Gryffindor table.

Next to him, Draco heard two Ravenclaw girls coo over the gesture. “Oh, he’s so cute.”

Harry slid into a seat beside a couple of wide-eyed younger students at the end of the table. Draco saw him wink at them as he said something, then turned to give Draco a thumbs-up across the Great Hall.

Draco rolled his eyes back. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to give a thumbs up back, he didn’t care how cute Potter looked smiling drunkenly at him.

The hall eventually settled down as McGonagall stepped forward to call Granger up. “Jean Parker!”

Hermione stepped forward, straightening her robes with a nervous flick of her wrists before walking confidently towards the stool. Draco couldn't help but admire her poise as she moved gracefully across the room, her head held high despite the hundreds of eyes fixed on her.

The Hat was lowered onto her curly-haired head and the Hall quieted in anticipation. The whispered conversations died down as everyone awaited the Sorting Hat's decision. Hermione, her gaze fixed firmly ahead, seemed an island of stubborn calm.

Given her steadfast nature and sharp intellect, any house would be fortunate to claim her, but he knew she would be a lion once again.

Granger and Potter were two sides of the same coin - where one went, the other followed. He couldn’t imagine a world where she wasn’t in Gryffindor alongside Harry, even if she had to threaten the Hat to get there.

The tension in the air was palpable as the Sorting Hat deliberated, its silence stretching out longer than it had for any other student that evening. Finally, the brim opened wide and the Hat's voice rang out decisively, "In that case, it better be... GRYFFINDOR!"

A cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table as they welcomed another lion to their ranks. Hermione hopped off the stool, her face breaking into a relieved grin as she joined Harry at the Gryffindor table.

Potter was up from his seat in a flash, his earlier grin morphing into a full-fledged beam as Hermione approached. They hugged tightly, Hermione laughing as Harry lifted her off her feet for a moment in his exuberance.

Draco watched from across the hall, a twinge of disappointment hidden well behind his composed exterior. It would have been extraordinary to have her in Ravenclaw, he thought, but deep down he knew Gryffindor was where both Harry and Hermione truly belonged. They were a unit; inseparable. A force of good in this world.

Despite the bustling noise of the Great Hall filled with excited new students and proud upperclassmen, Draco felt an odd sense of isolation. Being sorted into Ravenclaw was his choice—a strategic one at that—but it also meant stepping into a path uniquely his own in this unfamiliar timeline.

It’s also the first time he has been so far separated from both the Gryffindors since this whole mess started.

As if sensing his melancholy thoughts, Draco saw both Hermione and Harry smile across the hall. Potter held up his hands, cupping them together in a heart shape and blowing a kiss at Draco.

Draco snorted, shaking his head at the ridiculous display, yet couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from within him.

Perhaps not quite so separated, then.

Dinner commenced with its usual Hogwarts' grandeur: platters of food appeared magically on the tables, filling the air with mouthwatering aromas. Draco found himself flanked by curious Ravenclaws, eager to get to know the newcomer who had transferred for his final year.

Draco schooled his features as he turned to the inquisitive faces around him.

Among the curious was a petite blonde who was sitting across from Draco. She was staring at him with a soft smile that didn't quite reach her sharp blue eyes.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw, Leo Davies,” she said. “I’m Pandora Rosier. You and your friends have made quite an entrance. Hogwarts rarely gets transfers, especially in the seventh year."

Of course, Pandora Rosier — another one of his many pureblood cousins, and Luna Lovegood’s mother. He could see it now. They shared the same hair and eye coloring, although Pandora looked substantially more put together than her future daughter. It was hard to imagine that the blonde in front of him was related to one of the Dark Lord’s most vicious supporters.

Draco pushed all of that to the side and nodded politely, his guard up as he picked at the food on his plate. “Thank you, Pandora. It’s quite an… adjustment,” he admitted, scanning the table filled with inquisitive faces.

Another Ravenclaw, a lanky boy with short brown hair, leaned across the table, his eyes bright with curiosity. “So, how are you related to the Blacks?”

Draco raised one eyebrow and gave him a cool look. “Excuse me?”

The boy flushed, realizing the boldness of his inquiry. "Sorry. I mean, you, uh, you have the look.”

Draco's mind turned quickly, understanding the implication. A cold chill shot down his spine — bloody Potter and Granger and their stupid fucking assurance that he didn’t look too much like Sirius Black.

He kept a tight hold on his mask of indifference. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said smoothly.

The boy gave him a look of disbelief. “Mhm.”

Fuck, well that would be a problem to deal with later.

A dark-haired girl next to Pandora leaned forward. “Isobel Maxwell. Welcome! Sorry about Gregor — he’s a little rude.”

Isobel's smile was warm, almost too interested, but Draco appreciated the attempt to ease the awkwardness. He nodded at her, a slight tilt of his head that passed for gratitude in Slytherin circles.

“How do you know the Gryffindors?” Isobel said, smiling brightly. “The siblings — are they?”

Draco hesitated, weighing his response carefully, wanting to keep appropriately vague about their origins in this timeline. “Yes, they’re siblings. We shared a few private tutors. We’ve known each other for a while.”

Gregor Whatever-his-name-is gave another vaguely skeptical look. “And all three of you transferred together?”

"Yes," Draco replied, maintaining his calm facade. “We were previously homeschooled, but circumstances changed. Hogwarts seemed like the right place at this time.” His reply was cryptic, yet delivered with a confidence that discouraged further prying.

Gregor nodded slowly, evidently still curious but smart enough to not press further.

“They as fun as they look?” Pandora asked with a smirk as she looked at the Gryffindor table to where Potter and Granger sat.

Draco couldn't help but smile genuinely at the thought. "They have their moments,” he said, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to remain detached.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of introductions and light conversation. Draco gradually relaxed as the focus shifted from him to general discussions about classes and upcoming school events. He listened more than he spoke, filing away bits of information that might prove useful later.

Hermione slid onto the bench next to Harry, her mind a whirlwind of vexation and love. "You might as well have announced our entrance with a Sonorus charm," she hissed under her breath. Harry's grin was infuriatingly unrepentant as he shrugged and reached for a goblet.

"Subtle is boring, Mione," he said, his voice light with the remnants of potion-induced euphoria.

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered to him. Merlin, there was no way he was going to keep her alias straight.

“Sorry, Jean,” he said, giving her a puppy-dog look.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile at his antics. Despite everything, it was hard to stay mad at him for long, not when he looked at her so affectionately.

She glanced around the Great Hall, taking in the familiar sights and smells. It was somewhat comforting until her gaze landed on Draco sitting on his own across the hall. He looked every bit his typical Hogwarts self — posture perfect and face deceptively calm.

Missing the pureblood more than she cared to admit, Hermione gave Draco a soft, warm smile. He looked up, their gazes locking, and a silent message passed between them—a reassurance. Harry, catching the moment, turned to follow her gaze and grinned wildly; holding his hands together into a heart and blowing an exaggerated kiss towards Draco.

"Henry!" Hermione admonished, though laughter danced in her voice. Her admonishment did nothing to wipe the smug smirk off Harry's face as he turned back to her, clearly pleased with himself.

"Come on, my darling sister," Harry teased, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "He looked so sad all on his own. I miss him.”

"It’s been like 20 minutes. God, this is my fault. I never should have let you dye your hair." But there was no heat in her words, only a fond exasperation for the boy who was her brother in all but blood.

"Hmmm, maybe, but you love me anyway," Harry quipped, tilting his head lovingly at her. Hermione shook her head, unable to suppress her smile.

"Merlin help me, I do." And with that, they both settled in to enjoy the feast, side by side.

The golden platters shimmered into existence, spanning the expanse of the Gryffindor table. Hermione observed as Harry engaged the cluster of younger students that sat across from them at the end of the table.

“Are you excited for this year?”

“Herbology is fascinating — what kind of plants do you like?”

“Do you have a favorite professor?”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling as she watched him. He had no idea the effect he had on people.

“I’m absolute pants at Potions! I had the worst Potions tutor — you should have seen him. He wore a black cloak like a bat, and he always had this look on his face.”

The gaggle of young Gryffindors were spellbound watching his animated gestures as he talked.

She shook her head fondly. They were idiots for thinking they could blend in. Harry was captivating, made even better — worse? — by his genuine goodness.

"You’ve really tried gillyweed before?" one asked, eyes bright.

"Yep," Harry replied, popping the 'p' with a grin that oozed charm. "And I'll tell you, it's not something I plan on doing again."

Their laughter rose, mingling with the cacophony of the Great Hall, as Hermione watched the scene unfold. It was remarkable how easily Harry slipped into the role of the amiable hero, even when his mind buzzed from the effects of his poor decisions.

A lull in the conversation drew Harry's gaze away, and Hermione followed his line of sight down the table.

There they were—the Marauders, clustered around Lily Evans and her friends, heads thrown back in laughter at some shared jest. A shadow passed over Harry's face so quickly she might have missed it if she hadn't been looking for it. His jaw clenched, the levity draining from his posture as he stared at the family he'd never truly known.

"Okay?" she prompted, her voice almost a whisper.

He blinked, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, and plastered a smile back onto his face. "Y-yeah, okay.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, recognizing the strain behind his casual tone. She could only imagine the turmoil swirling within him—seeing his parents, alive and vibrant, and so far removed from his life.

Tomorrow she would raise hell to give him about the dangers of mixing potions, but tonight, she would be whatever support he needed.

"Right," she said, nodding slowly. "Baby steps. Take it slowly.”

"That’s what I’m known for," he quipped, a small smile on his face.

Hermione snorted lightly and reached out, her fingers intertwining with Harry's under the table.

"Hey," she murmured, just for him, her brown eyes locking onto his green ones. The noise of the Great Hall faded into a dull roar behind their private exchange. "You're doing great. We're okay."

His smile was small, more genuine this time. "Thanks, Mione," he whispered back, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

“Jean,” she corrected with a fond huff.

"Right, Jean," Harry agreed, the laughter back in his eyes.

As Draco followed Rosier out of the Great Hall, he caught sight of Potter’s ridiculous blonde hair slightly ahead of him. Draco gave a quick excuse to Lovegood’s mother and quickly walked over to Harry in the stream of Gryffindors.

“Parker!” he called, hoping Harry remembered to respond to his fake name.

Harry turned, his face lighting up with a familiar reckless smile. "Davies!" he shot back, dropping his voice to a mock-serious whisper. "You stalking me now?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Hardly.”

Then, before Potter could stop him, Draco shot forward, hands reaching into Potter’s robes, searching.

“Hey! At least buy me dinner first,” Harry laughed, trying to move away.

Draco’s hand closed around the packet of muggle cigarettes he knew Potter hadn’t gotten rid of and he pulled them out as Harry managed to squirm away.

He held them up and shook the case. “I’m taking these. You absolutely cannot have anything else in your system in your current state.”

Hermione shoved Potter’s shoulder as she saw the packet. “You told me you ran out!”

Harry pouted exaggeratedly, but there was a twinkle in his green eyes that suggested he wasn't truly upset. "You're a real buzzkill, you know that, Davies?"

“What’s his current state?” A redhead asked from behind Granger. “Is he sick?”

Draco gave a shake of his head, eyes never leaving Harry. “No, just an idiot.”

Potter chuckled, his laughter carrying. “You always say the nicest things to me.”

Draco knew he shouldn’t linger. He needed to keep up his own appearance of getting directions to his new common room, but he couldn’t help the worry that Potter might somehow find a way to kill himself between now and breakfast.

“Drink lots of water,” he warned, snapping his fingers at Harry to try and keep his attention. “Absolutely no caffeine - no tea, no coffee, no chocolate. No other potions! Understand?”

Harry nodded, still grinning like a fool. "Yes, Mum."

A dark-haired head popped around Potter. Belatedly, Draco recognized him as James Potter. Thank Merlin for muggle surgeries and hair dye — dark-haired, glasses-wearing Harry did look quite like his father. Behind him, he recognized the other three Marauders looking over in interest.

His eyes only briefing lingered on Black. They certainly shared the dark hair and grey eyes that House Black was famous for, although Black’s eyes were a few shades darker. They looked related, but Sirius’ nose was straighter, his cheekbones broader, his skin tone tanner. He would have to hope it was enough to maintain plausible deniability.

Excited hazel eyes zeroed in on Harry. “My, my, my,” James Potter laughed. “What exactly has our newest lion gotten into already?”

Draco stiffened, the significance of the moment not lost on him. Here he was, conversing casually with Harry's father, a man who had no idea of the true identity of the boy before him. The complexities of time travel never ceased to amaze—and terrify—him.

"Just a bit of mix-up with some potions," Draco managed to say with a nonchalant shrug.

James laughed, clapping Harry on the back. "Oh, sounds fun.”

Potter looked like he stopped breathing when James’s hand landed on him.

“He took a little too much calming draught,” Draco explained when Harry didn’t say anything.

Apparently catching up to the conversation, Harry finally nodded and added, “You know, to take the edge off.”

Draco gave a huff at the casual response and cocked an eyebrow at Potter. “Oh, and the Pepper-Up Potion?”

Harry gave an amused grin, “To put the edge back on.”

Behind them, Draco heard a bark of laughter.

Hermione jabbed a finger sharply into Harry’s rib, clearly conveying her frustration at his recklessness.

Draco shook his head fondly at Potter. “Every day you wake up is a miracle, you know that?”

Harry leaned forward and stared up at him, glazed green eyes warm, “Yeah? Wanna follow me back and see what I get into at night?”

Draco ignored the shot of arousal that ran down his spine at Potter’s look. “You get mouthy when you’re three sheets to the wind.”

Potter's grin widened, mischievous and inviting. "Wanna see how mouthy?”

Hermione, clearly exasperated but not looking entirely disapproving of the banter, rolled her eyes and gave Harry a sharp tug on his ear, "Come on, you have enough trouble to last a lifetime without adding more."

Draco gave a quick mental shake, needing to clear the lingering haze from Potter’s unexpectedly explicit flirting.

As he turned away from the pair, he caught a glimpse of what had to be teenage Remus Lupin standing by James. He really was surprisingly hot.

Considering his competence as a professor, Draco figured Lupin was the best shot he had for an adult to watch over Potter in the dorm.

Noticing the prefect badge, Draco nodded in his direction, “Prefect, right?”

Remus Lupin nodded, curiosity evident in his amber eyes as he regarded Draco. “Yes, that’s right. You need any help finding your way around?”

Draco shook his head, “no.”

Giving Harry one last pointed look before turning to Remus, he said, “Don’t let him shower tonight. Too much temperature change might make him light-headed.”

Harry scoffed from where Hermione was dragging him away. “I don’t need your permission to shower, you prat!”

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Just trying to keep you on your feet, Parker."

Lupin chuckled softly, eyes still fixed on Draco with an analytical gaze that somehow seemed both friendly and probing. "I'll make sure he stays out of trouble," he assured with a small smile.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Draco quipped, “but thank you for whatever attempts you can make.”

Draco watched Hermione pull a protesting Harry away. The warmth in his chest was unfamiliar—a sense of camaraderie and affection that he'd only ever fantasized about during his first go-around at Hogwarts.

With a quick nod to Lupin, Draco turned and made his way back to the last lingering Ravenclaws at the end of the hall, his steps brisk and filled with a mixture of frustration and affection.

The more time he spent with Potter and Granger, and the more he learned about the absolute shitshow that was Harry’s life, the more he felt a protective surge that flared within him whenever Potter was involved.

Back with the quiet group, the buzz of conversation felt oddly foreign after his intense interaction with Harry and the Marauders. Several of his new housemates looked up as he approached, their expressions curious.

"Everything alright with your friend?" Pandora Rosier asked, her eyes sharp and calculating. Draco just shrugged noncommittally, not keen on sharing too much.

"He's a handful," he admitted with a wry smile. It wasn’t a lie - Harry certainly could be more than a handful when he wanted to be.

Chapter Text

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter were selfless, caring, good-hearted people — the exact opposite of Orion and Walburga Black.

And that was never more apparent than when Sirius stood on Platform 9 ¾ watching his mother and father standing stiffly next to Regulus as they dropped the younger Black off for the school year.

Sirius watched, a frown marring his handsome face as he saw his mother, her face set in her standard scowl, talking down at Regulus, almost certainly lecturing him on upholding the Black name. His father, a silent, brooding figure, stood by her side, nodding absently along to her words now and then.

Around them, students and parents gave them a wide berth while also looking on in interest. It wasn’t every day that you saw the Black family in such a public place.

The members of House Black tended to keep to the highbrow pureblood areas of life, as was befitting of their station as the most prominent Noble House in England.

Except for Sirius, of course, always the one to break tradition. He stood at a distance, observing his family with an unreadable expression. His leather jacket hugged his shoulders tightly as he ran a hand through his hair, his grey eyes shadowed.

He glanced behind him to see James being fussed over by his mother. A stark contrast to the Blacks' cold demeanor, Fleamont and Euphemia were laughing heartily, mussing up their son's already messy hair even more while Effie pinched his cheek jokingly. There was warmth there, an unspoken love and affection that made Sirius feel a pang of envy.

He turned his gaze back to his family just in time to catch Regulus looking his way, eyes guarded as he stared at Sirius. There was no comfort in that family. No laughter or smiles of affectionate parents. Just the cold, silent expectation of pureblood propriety.

Sirius turned away, feeling his gut twist in irritation as his mood turned even more foul.

He usually felt a sense of comfort returning to Hogwarts, but this year felt different. A strange restlessness gnawed at Sirius's insides the past few months.

James was talking about his family responsibilities — sitting down with Monty to discuss James shadowing his Wizengamot seat and the Potter’s potions business. Remus already started prepping his bloody N.E.W.T.s study schedule, researching Defense Mastery instructors. Peter was looking at internships in the Ministry, asking Monty if he would sponsor him.

It was all far too adult for him. Far too much change. And as summer came to a close, a feeling of unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

Normally, he enjoyed his time with the Potters, but between watching James continue to be the perfect Potter Heir and hearing him talk non-stop about being Head Boy and Girl with Lily Evans, he had been feeling decidedly on edge for weeks.

And he liked Evans — in a general sense. He appreciated her wit, her intelligence, the way she would fight for what she believed in.

But he didn’t get Prongs’ obsession, or his ability to overlook her continuous rejection.

As if she didn’t spend the last six years viscerally turning James down. As if she didn’t tell him she would rather date the Giant Squid than him. As if if hadn’t been Sirius sucking his dick at the end of sixth year when James wanted to ‘explore’ his sexuality after another year of Evans saying no.

Which had been a mistake, he could admit that. You think Sirius would have learned his lesson after everything that happened with Remus in fifth year.

But apparently not.

James broke away from his parents and walked over, clapping a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "You alright, mate?" He asked, his hazel eyes shining with concern hidden behind the round lenses.

"Fine," Sirius muttered, shrugging off James' hand.

"Sirius," James warned, tone serious. It was always like this. Prongs seemed to have some kind of sixth sense when Sirius was in a foul mood. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," Sirius lied with a careless shrug, turning to look at James. The worry in his friend's eyes rankled him. He didn’t want to deal with James’s understanding right now.

"Look, if it's about your family... or me... or anything else, you can talk to me, alright?" James offered earnestly. His best friend—his brother in all but blood—always looking out for his friends, ready to put them before himself. It was one of the things that had drawn Sirius towards him in the first place.

It made the jealousy and regret swirling in his stomach even worse.

Not that he wanted it, but Sirius could admit to himself that he’d been a right bastard since James had gotten his Head Boy badge.

Head Boy. Quidditch Captain. Dedicated Heir. Loving parents. Plans for the future. Now a renewed shot at Evans.

It all seemed to be falling into place so easily for the bespectacled boy.

And then there was Sirius — the disinherited fuckup who couldn’t stop jeopardizing his friendships because he kept thinking with his dick. And who had no idea what he was going to do in a year when he graduated.

Pushing his dark locks out of his face, Sirius forced a smile to Effie and Fleamont as they prepared to see the two young wizards off.

"Now, James, don't forget to write," Mrs. Potter said, her voice tinged with both affection and worry. With a knowing smiling and a wink, she turned back to him, “And that holds true for you, as well, Sirius. We want to hear from both of our boys. Do try to keep out of trouble."

Sirius gave a soft smile back. "No promises, Effie. You know how much James loves trouble."

James laughed next to him, adjusting his glasses. "Don't worry, Mum. I’ll be fine. And I’ll make sure to keep Sirius on a short leash."

With final goodbyes and affectionate embraces, the Potters waved the two boys off onto the Hogwarts Express. The corridor was already crowded with students greeting each other and scrambling to find somewhere to sit. Towards the end of the train, the two Gryffindors found an empty compartment, and both put their trunks away in silence.

James turned to Sirius with a serious look in his eyes. "Alright, I can’t take it anymore. You’ve been in one of your moods all summer, Pads. Are we gonna talk about what’s wrong?"

Sirius shrugged, leaning back onto the plush seats of their compartment. "You know me, Prongs," he said, attempting a smirk. "Always full of secrets."

"Cut the crap, Sirius," James shot back, clearly irritated. His normally light hazel eyes were darker with concern. "I can tell something is bothering you."

"I told you I'm fine," Sirius retorted sharply.

"Is it about your family?" James asked gently.

Sirius didn't reply, looking out of the window instead.

"Or is it about... us?" James's brow furrowed in concern. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes in frustration.

Sirius snorted lightly and rolled his eyes. "No, Prongs, not everything is about your cock.”

James sputtered, blushing furiously as he put his glasses back on. "That's not what I - you absolute prick," he spluttered, though there was a hint of relief in his voice. He shoved Sirius lightly in the shoulder.

Sirius chuckled but it was forced. "It’s nothing you’ve done and nothing you can fix. So just drop it, alright?"

Prongs sighed but nodded, giving him a long look. “Alright, whatever you say. Gonna be okay while I go meet with Lily for Head duties?”

Sirius gave a noncommittal shrug. "Sure, yeah. Go off and play Head Boy."

James lingered for a moment longer, then finally got up and left. Sirius watched him go, a bitter taste flooding his mouth. It wasn't James' fault that he had it all together, was sorting out his future while Sirius felt he was spinning in chaotic confusion.

Sirius shook his head and tried to push those thoughts away as well. He didn't want to think about James and Evans. He didn't want to think about his family. About the future. About the gaping void that seemed to yawn before him, threatening to swallow him whole.

He was Sirius Black. He was better than any doubts that tried to creep into his mind.

As he settled back further into the seat, the door slid open with a swift, smooth motion.

Remus’ amber eyes ran up and down Sirius before settling on his face, “Doing okay, Pads?”

Sirius tried to muster a grin, the corners of his mouth twitching in a weak imitation. "Just peachy, Moony."

“Yeah? That why you look like shit?”

Sirius laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in a while. Trust Remus to cut through the crap. "Maybe I just miss your ugly mug," he retorted, throwing an arm out invitingly for the other boy.

Remus slid into the seat next to him, rolling his eyes but obviously pleased. "Only you could turn an insult into a compliment."

"Mmhm," Sirius nodded appreciatively, gaze roving over his friend's face. Remus had spent the summer in Wales, away from the rest of them, and he looked... good. A little less tired around the eyes than usual, a bit more filled out.

He hid a pang of envy. Moony, with all his own baggage and literal monsters to deal with, seemed more grounded and accepting of his fate than Sirius could ever hope to be.

"So," Remus began, casually leaning back against the cushions of their compartment. "Where’s James?”

“Off doing Head duties and trying to get into Evans’ pants.”

“Ah,” Remus responded.

Sirius looked back at the sandy-haired boy, “What?”

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘ah’?”

“Just that your general shitty mood and look make sense now,” Remus said wryly, pulling a chocolate bar out of his pocket.

“Yeah? Want to expand on that?” Sirius snapped back.

“Don’t be a prick to me just because Prongsy has a life outside of you,” Remus sniped right back.

“Don’t talk about shit you don’t know, Moony,” Sirius warned.

“That hit a nerve?” Remus smirked, calm as always, breaking off a piece of chocolate and popping it into his mouth.

"I’m not... I’m not being a prick,” Sirius scoffed, leaning back against the seat and crossing his arms defensively.

Remus didn’t seem that affected by Sirius’ tone, instead, he was studying him with those all too perceptive amber eyes. "You're jealous," he accused softly.

Sirius snorted and looked away. "I'm not bloody jealous."

"Right.” Remus mused. “So you're just in a bad mood for no reason at all then?"

"Bugger off," Sirius muttered, still refusing to meet Remus' gaze.

“Just because you’re a mess doesn’t mean you can be a shit friend to James,” Remus said firmly.

“I am a perfectly fine friend,” Sirius retorted defensively.

“No, you’re not.” Moony leaned back against the seat and let out a sigh. “You’ve been hot and cold all summer. Prongs owled me three times about it, asking if I knew what was wrong.”

“I -” Sirius started to argue but faltered as Remus shot him a pointed look.

"You know it’s true, Sirius," Remus added quietly. “You’ve always been shit at emotions, but don’t take it out on James. It’s not fair.”

Sirius kept his mouth shut, jaw tense as he stared the werewolf down.

“I don’t care if you’re mad at me for pointing it out, but it needs to be said. James has been a good friend — a great friend. Your self-proclaimed brother in all but blood.”

Remus gave a patronizing smirk as he said it.

“Interesting considering what the two of you were doing at the end of last year, but I’ll let you unpack that however you want, you pureblooded twat. He forgave you for the shit you pulled with Snape. Even argued in your defense to me and Dumbledore. He doesn’t deserve whatever shit you’re pulling just because you’re spiraling.”

Remus leaned back as he finished, eyes still locked in on Sirius’ grey ones.

Sirius looked away, eyes darting about the compartment, anywhere but at Remus. He rubbed a hand over his face and ran it through his hair, tugging at the silky black locks. "I bloody know that, Remus," he muttered.

"Do you?" Remus challenged, not giving him an inch. "Because your behavior tells a different story."

"Look, I didn't ask for your bloody opinion on my life." Sirius spat back, his patience wearing thin.

"No, you never do," Remus said calmly, no hint of anger in his voice. "But someone has to tell you when you're being an arse."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond but closed it again.

Admitting he was jealous - that he felt his whole life slipping through his grasp as James figured his out - it was difficult. It was a wound he didn't want to pick at.

Instead, he just rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat.

Remus sighed again and leaned his head against the window.

The compartment door slid open again, and Peter stuck his head in. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you down the whole train.”

As Peter got settled in, Remus gave Sirius one last look and held out a piece of chocolate. “It’s gonna be okay, Pads,” he whispered.

He grimaced. He hated how understanding his friends were.

***

In the Great Hall, candles floated high above, casting a warm glow over the long tables filled with students. Laughter and chatter created a lively hum as they waited for the first years to be led in.

Sirius sat between James and Remus — a move that Sirius was convinced was carefully orchestrated by the meddling werewolf.

"Bet the first-years are petrified," Peter said. “Although I wish they would hurry. I’m starving — wish they let us eat before the Sorting.”

"Remember our first year?" James grinned, elbowing Sirius playfully. "You nearly set Snape's robe on fire."

"Accidentally on purpose," Sirius corrected, lips twitching upward despite himself. A tiny part of him relaxed at the gesture, relieved that James was still his normal self.

"Ah, good, we’re starting," Remus said, nodding towards the staff table where Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, commanding attention with an effortless twinkle in his eye.

"Welcome, welcome," Dumbledore began, his voice enveloping the hall. "Another year full of potential and promise."

As Dumbledore continued with his opening speech, Sirius let the headmaster's words wash over him. He glanced at James, who seemed momentarily absorbed by the talk of house unity and new beginnings.

The doors of the hall opened as the tiny first-year students streamed in, a sea of black robes.

"Who's that with the first-years?" a fifth year down the table whispered to her friend, pointing discreetly.

Sirius followed their gazes and caught sight of an older boy and girl among the younger students. The boy was tall, his posture perfect in the way that you usually only saw in purebloods. He was looking away so Sirius couldn’t see his face, but between the dark hair and sharp jawline, he reminded Sirius of someone.

Beside him, a girl with curly chestnut hair seemed to be whispering something to her companion.

“Finally some new blood around here,” Marlene McKinnon whispered excitedly to the group of seventh-year girls sat around Remus and Peter.

Sirius couldn't help but roll his eyes at McKinnon's comment, but his curiosity was piqued. He glanced at James, who seemed equally intrigued by the newcomers. "Wonder who they are," Sirius muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.

James shrugged, his eyes scanning the Great Hall as if looking for someone who might have the answer. "Dunno, but they definitely aren’t first years."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, still watching the pair as they settled into place with the rest of the small students.

"Looks like a Black, doesn't he?"

“Whoa, did anyone hear anything about another Black?”

“Hey, Sirius, you got a long-lost brother you don’t know about?”

The boy finally turned, and Sirius felt the air leave his lungs.

What the fuck?

‘Looks like a Black’ was putting it mildly. The boy looked stunningly like Reggie. They had the same nose, same mouth, same cheekbones. Barring the fact that the new bloke was half a foot taller and a bit broader than Regulus, the mystery student could have been his brother’s twin.

James caught Sirius' alarmed expression and followed his gaze. "That's uncanny, mate," he murmured. "He looks just like Reg."

Sirius didn't respond, his mind racing with the implications.

The resemblance wasn't just uncanny; it was unsettling. How had he not heard of this? His family dynamics were complicated, yes, but a whole person that resembled Regulus so closely was not something that could have been kept secret. Not when it concerned the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Merlin, but this was going to cause an uproar in the family.

Sirius felt his eyes slide over to the Slytherin table. He found Reggie sitting at the end, his little group of junior Death Eaters whispering frantically as they looked between the newcomer and his brother.

Reggie’s face was composed, but Sirius could see the tightened look around his eyes.

Regulus caught Sirius's gaze across the hall, the tension palpable even from such a distance. After a brief moment of eye contact, Regulus turned away, his expression unreadable.

Sirius felt a nagging sensation, an undeniable urge to go over to him, to see if he knew anything.

Beside him, James leaned closer, a frown knitting his brows. "Pads, you alright?"

"Yeah," Sirius managed, tearing his eyes away and forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just confused.”

“You don’t have any male cousins, right?” Remus asked, eyes still locked on the duo in the middle of the hall.

Sirius shook his head. "No, the Black male line is not exactly prolific this generation. Just me and Reg.”

Peter piped up. "Maybe they're from another branch of the family? You know, one of those distant connections that nobody talks about?"

Sirius glanced back at the boy who looked so much like Regulus. He watched as the boy whispered something to the girl next to him, his expression serious.

"Maybe," Sirius said slowly, knowing it wasn’t that either. Sirius had spent far too many hours forced to study his family tree. There weren’t any male cousins related close enough to explain that kind of resemblance.

“What about the girl? She look familiar at all?” James asked.

Sirius turned his attention to the girl next to the Regulus look-alike. She had a certain confidence about her, radiating a kind of calm authority. She was pretty with her warm eyes and curly hair, but she didn't resemble anyone in the Black family.

"No," Sirius finally responded after a prolonged scrutiny.

“Hmmm,” Remus mused finally looking back. “Well, I guess we’ll need to see who they are when they’re sorted. Odd for us to be getting transfer students, right? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that happening before.”

James nodded, his brow furrowing in thought. "Yeah, Hogwarts doesn't usually take transfers, especially not this late. They've got to be special cases or something."

Sirius nodded, the words swirling through his mind without really taking hold as he kept stealing glances at the newcomers.

Before they could dig any further into it, the doors of the Great Hall opened.

The moment the doors swung open, a hushed silence fell over the crowd, the usual din of conversation pausing as all eyes turned towards the entrance. A lone figure stepped into the Great Hall and quickly made his way over to the other two mystery students, a reckless kind of swagger in his step.

A riot of bleached blonde hair caught the flickering torchlight before Sirius noticed the eyebrow piercing and the fang earring dangling from his ear. Dark brows and thick eyelashes framed fervent green eyes. His cheeks were flushed against tan skin.

“Fuck me, he’s fit,” Marlene whispered.

She wasn’t wrong.

“Dibs, McKinnon,” Sirius shot back, grinning at her.

“You can have the girl, Black.”

“Dibs on her, too,” Sirius retorted with a smug grin.

Marlene laughed, a sharp sound that carried a hint of challenge. "You can’t have dibs on both of them.”

“Both of you are awful. You can’t claim rights to people.”

James snorted at Lily’s comment, though his attention remained fixed on the newcomer. "Certainly knows how to make an entrance," he observed, his tone a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Sirius found himself agreeing silently, his gaze tracing the confident gestures of the blonde as he stood with the other two.

Remus leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only their little group could hear. "You reckon they know each other? They seem... close."

"Must be," Peter piped up, never one to miss out on speculating. "Look how they're talking. Like they've got their own little world."

Sirius glanced back up just in time to see the taller boy — Regulus’ doppelgänger — grab the blonde’s jaw and force the shorter one to look up as the three of them whispered to each other.

Marlene let out an exaggerated whimper and fanned herself. “That’s hot. Do you think they’re together? I both hope so and hate the idea.”

“I swear to God, Marlene, I will hose you down,” Lily threatened, rolling her eyes at her roommate.

The mystery trio seemed to settle down as the Sorting continued. Much like everyone else in the Hall, Sirius found his gaze drifting back to the trio.

“Is the blonde kid wearing muggle clothes under his robe?” Peter asked.

James squinted, trying to make out the details. "Looks like it... jeans and some sort of band tee?”

"Really living up to that rebellious look, huh?" Sirius commented, his lips curving into a half-smile despite his earlier confusion. Putting aside Regulus’ twin for a moment, he could certainly appreciate the dramatic flair and rebellious look of the newcomer.

Finally, it was just the mystery trio standing in the middle of the hall and Dumbledore stood up again.

"Welcome. Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore began, his voice echoing magically around the hall. "This year, we are delighted to welcome not only our new first years but also three very special transfer students. Due to extenuating personal circumstances, the three join us as seventh-year students."

Extenuating personal circumstances? The was somehow both frustratingly vague and oddly specific.

Sirius exchanged a glance with James, both their expressions mirroring the confusion and curiosity that seemed to ripple through the Hall. Dumbledore continued, his blue eyes looking over the trio, lingering on the blonde.

“I hope all is well, Mr. Parker?” the Headmaster asked the shorter wizard.

The dyed blonde blushed lightly as he looked down at this outfit before grinning widely back up at the Headmaster, “Ta, Albus. All good.”

The hall erupted in a few scattered chuckles. Dumbledore's lips twitched into a smile, his gaze twinkling with amusement as he returned to his introduction.

“Circe’s tits,” Sirius laughed, eyes flickering between the Marauders. A spark of excitement flickered in his chest, a welcome change from the brooding thoughts that had plagued him all day.

Remus looked over, amused. “Not jealous that someone’s stealing all your glory? Even you won’t refer to Dumbledore by his first name.”

Sirius gave a mock scoff, leaning back with an exaggerated air of arrogance. "Please, Moony, my reputation is unassailable. But I must admit, this guy has style."

James chuckled, his eyes lighting up with a gleam of excitement. "Looks like we've got competition this year, lads."

The Great Hall buzzed with whispers and speculation as McGonagall stepped forward and called out a name.

“Leo Davies!”

The Black look-alike walked forward gracefully.

“Davies, Davies, Davies…” Sirius muttered under his breath. Did he know any Davies family? The name felt familiar.

As Leo Davies approached the stool and the Sorting Hat, Sirius racked his brain for any connection to the Davies name within the Black family, but he was coming up empty.

The Great Hall fell into a hushed anticipation as the Sorting Hat settled onto Leo's head. After a long moment, the brim wavered before it shouted, “better be…Ravenclaw!”

Sirius watched Davies walk towards his new housemates, his posture exuding an elegant confidence that seemed almost practiced. Sirius couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment—he had hoped for a chance to investigate the dark-haired boy if he sorted into Gryffindor.

Beside Sirius, James leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the Ravenclaw table. "Well, that’s interesting. Ravenclaw, eh?"

"So he’s not dumb then," Remus added, his gaze thoughtful. His attention, however, quickly shifted back to the front as McGonagall called out the next name.

“Henry Parker!”

Parker? That was definitely a muggle name.

The shorter wizard now moved towards the stool, his confident strides drawing the attention of nearly every student in the hall. There was a palpable buzz of interest as he sat down.

The Sorting Hat dropped onto his head. The silence stretched longer this time.

"Oh, my , you are interesting," murmured the Hat aloud. Sirius felt his eyebrows raise. Had he ever heard the Hat talk besides the House announcement?

There was another pause before the Hat shouted decisively, “Gryffindor!”

Hopping down from the stool, Parker dashed over to the curly-haired witch and pulled her into a quick hug before he made his way over to the end of the Gryffindor table.

“Be still my heart,” McKinnon whispered, dark brown eyes fixated on Parker at the end of the table.

Sirius smirked at Marlene's comment before turning his attention back to the lone witch in the middle of the hall.

“Jean Parker!”

“Oh, they’re siblings,” Peter remarked as the witch walked up to the stool.

“Don’t look much alike, do they?” Moony mused, eyes flickering between the witch and the blonde at the end of the table.

“Siblings don’t always. My sister and I don’t look much alike.” Evans responded to Remus. “The dyed hair and piercing don’t help, though.”

The hall fell silent once more as everyone waited for the Sorting Hat's decision on the final member of the intriguing trio.

“Taking a bit, huh?” James quipped when another moment passed by. Whispered started breaking out as the witch sat up there.

Finally, the Sorting Hat's brim twitched and it bellowed, "In that case, it better be... GRYFFINDOR!”

Girl Parker looked pleased with herself and she made her way gracefully over to the Gryffindor table. Her brother was up in an instant, pulling the witch into his arms in excitement, beaming at her as she laughed.

Sirius felt a pang of jealousy seeing the two of them.

“Wow, must be nice to have a sibling who actually likes you,” Lily said dryly, staring wistfully at the duo as they settled back down.

Agreed, Sirius thought, a shadow crossing his features as he thought of Regulus.

The two new Gryffindors sat talking to each other before they looked over to Davies across the hall at the Ravenclaw table.

Boy Parker grinned at the dark-haired boy before holding up his hands, cupping them together in a heart shape, and blowing a kiss.

“I’m in love, Lils. In love with both of them.”

“Let me know when the wedding is, Mar.”

Davies caught the gesture, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile as he rolled his eyes, but the affection was evident in his gaze. The interaction sparked a fresh wave of murmurs around the table.

James leaned forward, a smirk playing at his lips. "Well, that's definitely got a story behind it." He glanced at Sirius, who was still watching the trio with keen interest.

"Looks like we're in for an interesting year," Remus commented, his amber eyes reflective.

“Ugh, I wish we were sitting closer to the end.” Prongs complained, head bobbing around, trying to keep an eye on the Parker siblings. “I want to talk to them.”

“Patience, Prongs,” Remus chided softly, though his eyes twinkled with his own curiosity. “I’m sure they’ll be hard to miss this year. Besides, Parker will be in the dorm with us.”

As dinner proceeded, the chatter never really died down, everyone at Hogwarts seemed to buzz about the new students. The mystery surrounding them only deepened the intrigue.

After the feast, as students began to disperse toward their respective common rooms, Sirius couldn’t keep himself from plotting. “We should invite them for a round of Exploding Snap or something,” he suggested to the Marauders as they walked back to the Gryffindor tower.

They were only a minute or two out of the Great Hall when Sirius heard a commotion behind them. He and the rest of their group stopped and turned to see Leo Davies striding up to the Parker siblings.

The exchange between Davies and Boy Parker escalated quickly, their banter sharp and playful. With a swift, almost predatory grace, Leo closed the distance between them. His hand darted into Henry's robes with confidence, drawing out something hidden within the folds of fabric.

Davies held up his prize—a packet of muggle cigarettes—and Sirius's smile broadened into a grin. Oh, Boy Parker really was leaning into his rebellious nature.

Jean gave her brother a hard shove as she yelled at him.

Sirius looked over in excitement to the rest of the Marauders before he turned his attention back to the trio.

Behind the Parkers, he heard Evans ask Davies if Boy Parker was sick.

Regulus’ doppelgänger gave a shake of his head at the question. “No, just an idiot,” he said fondly, grey eyes focused on the Gryffindor.

Parker laughed back at him, a lopsided grin on his face. Davies snapped his fingers in front of the blonde’s face.

“Drink lots of water,” he warned, “Absolutely no caffeine - no tea, no coffee, no chocolate. No other potions! Understand?”

Sirius’ eyebrows shot up and he whipped his head back around to look at James. Sirius ran the list of instructions over through his head — was Parker high?

Prongs returned Sirius's look, a gleam of intrigue in his hazel eyes. "This just gets more interesting, doesn't it?" he mumbled under his breath, watching Davies’ stern instructions with keen interest.

James took a few steps forward and leaned closer to the trio to ask what Parker had gotten into. 

Sirius saw the barely discernable way that Davies stiffened before he shifted back into a casual demeanor. "Just a bit of mix-up with some potions," he said with a shrug.

Prongs laughed, clapping Henry on the back. "Oh, sounds fun.”

Henry didn’t say anything back and Davies gave him a look before following up, “He took a little too much calming draught.”

Sirius felt his eyebrows raise even higher. A calming draught? Given his look and his general attitude tonight, Parker seemed like the kind of bloke who could walk into anything without fear. What did he need a calming draught for?

Parker gave a casual, “You know, to take the edge off,” as if that was all the explanation needed.

Not-Regulus cocked an eyebrow in an eerily Regulus way. “Oh, and the Pepper-Up Potion?”

Boy Parker gave an amused grin, “To put the edge back on.”

Sirius couldn’t help himself — he gave a bark of laughter at the response. Merlin, but Boy Parker sounded fun.

He cast a glance to Remus and Peter, both attempting to hide their own amusement. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement and curiosity.

The two new wizards bantered back and forth, seeming almost oblivious to the crowd around them as they flirted blatantly with each other.

Sirius followed their conversation, impressed despite himself. He had expected Davies to bristle, to retreat behind a facade of indifference, like any good pureblood would.

Instead, the boy parried the innuendos with ease, as though this verbal sparring was an everyday occurrence. He may look like Regulus, and move like a pureblood, but he wasn't nearly as reserved.

It made him both more intriguing and confusing.

Davies turned from Parker and his eyes scanned over them before landing on Remus. He gave a look to the Prefect badge pinned to his robes. “Prefect, right?”

Moony nodded, and Sirius could see the curious glint in his eye. “Yes, that’s right. You need any help finding your way around?”

Davies shook his head and gave a pointed nod to the blonde “Don’t let him shower tonight. Too much temperature change might make him light-headed.”

Right, so yes, Boy Parker was high. Well, interesting to know what a calming draught and a Pepper-Up could do. He might need to try that out himself some time.

Remus raised an eyebrow and Sirius could see his interest burning bright as he stared at the Ravenclaw. "I'll make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Davies quipped back at him, “but thank you for whatever attempts you can make.”

With a final look at the Parkers and a nod to Remus, Leo Davies walked away, leaving the group of Gryffindors watching him.

Sirius let exactly one moment pass after the Ravenclaw left before he took off after the Parker siblings.

"Wait up, Parkers!" Sirius called out, doing a little jog to catch up with them.

"My friends and I," Sirius began as he slowed down in front of them, “wanted to introduce ourselves and officially welcome you to Gryffindor.”

"And maybe find out what other Muggle contraband you're smuggling," James added, falling in step beside Sirius, his eyes twinkling mischievously under his glasses.

“And also if you actually showed up to the Sorting high,” Sirius laughed.

Henry looked taken aback for a moment, his eyes scanning the group of Marauders before a hesitant grin spread across his face. "Uh, only mildly," he admitted.

Jean Parker rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. “Don’t encourage him, please,” she scolded the Marauders.

“Jean Parker, by the way,” she said primly, sticking a hand out expectantly.

"We know," James said, shaking her hand. "Hard to miss the Sorting ceremony. I'm James Potter." He gestured to each of them in turn. "This is Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew."

"Nice to meet you all," Jean Parker said politely. She turned to her brother, her expression turning stern. "Henry..."

"Yeah, yeah," Henry cut her off, rolling his eyes. "I got it," He turned to the Marauders with a half-glazed look in his eyes, "Henry Parker. Nice to meet you and all that.”

Sirius snorted at the casual introduction. “We’re big fans, Parker.”

Parker furrowed a dark brow, looking genuinely confused. “Fans of what?”

“You. This. Your entrance,” Sirius explained, gesturing a hand up and down Parker’s body.

Parker stared at Sirius for a moment, his intense green eyes blinking slowly in confusion before he laughed sheepishly. "Well, don't I feel popular," he chuckled, running a hand through his bleached blonde hair and ruffling it into even more of a mess. His earring glinted in the torchlight.

"Considering you're the talk of the school right now, I'd say you are," James replied with a grin as they kept walking.

Boy Parker looked pained for a moment, glancing sidelong at Girl Parker as if contemplating something. "Hear that, Jean? Fame at last."

Jean snorted, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Exactly what I was hoping for," she replied dryly. Then she turned to the Marauders with an arched eyebrow. "So what's your deal then?"

"Our deal?" Sirius asked, feigning confusion even as a smirk twitched at his lips. He exchanged a look with James and Remus.

"We're the Marauders," James said, puffing out his chest a bit. "Pranksters extraordinaire and defenders of Gryffindor."

"Unofficial tour guides, too," Remus added with a small smile. "We'd be happy to show you the ropes."

Peter nodded along. "We know the castle like the back of our hand.”

Jean raised a brow, looking unimpressed. “So, you’re troublemakers?”

“Yes,” Evans replied, turning around from in front of them to face the group. “Don’t leave your stuff unattended around them and don’t eat or drink anything they give you.”

“Lils, you wound me,” James said dramatically, putting a hand on his chest. “We wouldn’t go after the newbies like that.”

Evans gave James a skeptical look.

The Marauders collectively grinned while Jean looked between them curiously. “And… you’re Head Boy?” she asked, brow furrowed as she saw the badge on Prongs’ chest.

"Indeed he is," Remus confirmed, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Can't imagine how that happened."

James gave him a mock glare. "I'll have you know I can be very responsible when I want to be."

Turning to Evans, she asked, “And you? Are you part of this group?”

“Hell no,” Lily laughed, “They wouldn’t survive a day if I was.”

Jean smirked at that. “Well, nice to meet you too...?”

“Lily,” she offered her name with a smile. “Lily Evans. Head Girl as well. If you need anything, come see me, not Potter. Merlin knows what the Headmaster was thinking when he gave Potter that badge.”

McKinnon draped an arm over Evan’s shoulder and cocked her head back at the group. “And I’m Marlene McKinnon,” she said, smirking at the pair.

"Nice to meet you," Jean said, her expression softening as she looked from Lily to Marlene. "Sorry about my brother," she added, casting an apologetic smile towards Henry who had been staring at the two of them in a daze.

He blinked at the comment before giving his sister a soft grin. “Story of your life.” He turned back to the two witches. “It is nice to meet you both, though. Apologies for the dramatic entrance and all that.”

"No need to apologize," Lily responded, matching his grin. "It was entertaining."

"Entertaining is one word for it," Marlene chimed in, her smirk widening. “I really liked the part where Davies manhandled you. Something about a tall man tilting your face up that…whew,” she trailed off dramatically, fanning her face with her hand.

Henry blushed at that, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "I'll be sure to pass on the compliment," he said dryly.

Sirius continued to watch the Parker siblings as they walked to the Gryffindor common room. They kept mostly quiet as the rest of the seventh-year girls introduced themselves and gave them tips on navigating the school.

Jean nodded along appreciatively while her brother walked beside her in a half-stupor, seemingly content to let the girls fawn over him.

Sirius had every intention of questioning them about Leo Davies and his connection to the Blacks, but he decided to give them a day or two to get comfortable before beginning the interrogation.

They were interesting, this trio of new students. Interesting and odd. Which almost certainly meant secrets.

Sirius found himself grateful for the mystery — grateful to have something to focus on, to distract himself.

Perhaps this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Remus had just started to button up his dress shirt when a knock sounded at the dormitory door. Curious, he moved across the room and pulled it open, only to find Jean Parker standing there, a determined look on her face.

He couldn’t help but notice how her warm eyes seemed to catch the light, and her curly hair framed her face in a wild, untamed sort of way. The full moon was only a few days away, and as always, the wolf was closer to the surface. He felt a shot of desire run down his spine as his eyes ran down her body.

“Can I come in? I want to make sure Henry is awake,” she said without preamble, her gaze darting past Remus to where her brother still slept.

Remus leaned against the door frame, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he blocked the entry with his arm. Moony liked how much taller he was than her.

“You know, you’ve been in the boys’ dorms quite a bit for someone who’s only been at Hogwarts for two days,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jean’s cheeks colored slightly, but she met his gaze defiantly, her chin tilting up. “It’s not my fault my brother is an idiot.”

She had said something similar last night when she followed them up to their dorm, ignoring Peter’s sputtering protest. Apparently, Remus’ assurances that they would make sure her brother made it to bed safely meant little to the witch.

“Besides, someone has to make sure he doesn’t miss breakfast,” she added, jutting out a hip and crossing her arms across her chest. He couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered down as she did.

Remus chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Fair enough,” he conceded, not moving.

“Are you going to let me in?” she huffed at him, cheeks flushing deeper in annoyance.

“I feel I should remind you that this is the boys’ dorm,” he said teasingly. “What do I get if I do?”

Jean’s eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of challenge igniting in their depths. "The satisfaction of knowing you helped a new student not miss their first day,” she retorted smartly. “You are a Prefect, aren’t you?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Parker,” Remus replied with a mock sigh, finally stepping aside to grant her entrance. As she brushed past him, her faint scent — a mix of cinnamon and parchment — wafted towards him, and he had to remind himself not to lean into her for a deeper inhale.

It wasn’t unusual for him to feel more excitable in the days leading up to the full moon. Half the time it meant he was just testier, quick to anger, and quicker to snap. The other half, well, the was a reason he had taken Sirius up on his offer in fifth year, much as it had been a terrible idea.

Moony was particularly interested in the curly-haired witch.

Jean made her way towards the bed where Henry was still sprawled under the covers, seemingly oblivious to the world. Remus couldn’t help but follow her with his eyes. She reached out and shook his shoulder gently at first, then with more insistence when he merely groaned and turned over.

“Henry Parker, you get up this instant!” she demanded in a low but firm tone. Henry mumbled something intelligible, head still buried in his pillow.

“I am not going to miss getting our class schedules because you decided to mix potions without knowing what they did!” She hissed, glaring down at him.

Remus watched the interaction with a bemused smile, leaning casually against one of the bedposts. He could feel the wolf stirring again as he took in the sight of Jean standing there amidst the chaos.

“Let me be an idiot in peace,” the blonde mumbled, shoving his head further into his pillow.

Jean rolled her eyes, grabbing the pillow and yanking it away with a quick, practiced movement.

"It’s not my fault that you showed up high as a kite to the Feast," she retorted sharply before bringing his pillow down over his head. “You’re lucky nothing worse happened! Do you even know what could have happened by mixing fire seeds with valerian root?”

Henry's bleary green eyes finally peeked up at her. “Full body tremors, decreased blood circulation, and increased risk of syncope,” he said dryly, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pushed himself up in bed.

Remus raised his eyebrows, surprised that the bedraggled wizard was right.

Evidently, his sister felt the same. She stared incredulously at the blonde. “That’s — you knew? That makes it so much worse!”

Henry, now sitting on the edge of the bed, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he grinned at her. "I’m blessed to be both just dumb enough and reckless."

Jean threw her hands up in exasperation. "You're impossible! I will smother you in your sleep," she declared. “The first free period we have, I’m going to make you sit in the library and read about how dangerous all of that can be — especially for you.”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter from where he was pulling on his shirt. “Merlin, you sure you’re not actually a Ravenclaw, love?”

Jean rolled her eyes at him before looking back to her brother. “Shower. Now. Quickly. I want to leave for breakfast in ten.”

Henry groaned but pushed himself off the bed, his movements languid and slow as he trudged toward the bathroom.

As he closed the door behind him, Jean turned to face the rest of the room, eyes flickering over the Marauders. “I am sorry for barging in — last night and this morning. I want to say that it won’t happen again, but that’s almost certainly a lie.” Jean turned and started rummaging through her brother’s trunk.

Remus, who had been watching the entire exchange with a mix of amusement and admiration, couldn't help but laugh. “Should we expect daily wake-up calls now?"

He didn’t hate the thought.

“I hope not,” Peter mumbled under his breath, pulling his robe on.

Sirius, now fully dressed, leaned against his own bedpost, his gaze fixed on Jean as he smirked. “If so, I would like to request a good morning kiss with mine.”

Jean shot Sirius a pointed look, her eyebrows raised. "Keep dreaming, Black," she quipped, her voice laced with both annoyance and amusement. She then turned her attention back to rummaging through Henry's trunk, seemingly looking for something specific.

Remus watched the exchange, feeling a tiny sense of relief at the fact that she wasn’t instantly enthralled by Padfoot the way so many in the school were.

“So, potion mixing? Normal for your brother?” James asked, sitting on his bed as he pulled socks on.

Jean paused in her search, looking over at James with a wry smile. "Not typically, no, although he’s certainly able to find plenty of trouble elsewhere," she admitted.

Her hands finally closed on what seemed to be a neatly folded set of robes which she tossed towards Henry's bed just as he came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips as he dried his hair.

Remus could admit that Parker was a good-looking guy. Outside of the mess of dyed hair, striking green eyes, and dimples, he was also lean, with defined muscles.

And evidently, he wasn’t the only one taking in the shirtless state of the new kid. Sirius whistled appreciatively as his eyes made their way to the intricate tattoo of lilies and sunflowers that decorated the shorter boy’s collarbone.

“My, my, my, Boy Parker,” Padfoot said, leaning forward from his bedpost. “Hiding quite a bit under those muggle clothes of yours, aren’t you?”

Henry tensed at the comment, a pinched look crossing his face as he avoided Sirius’ eyes and pulled his towel tighter around him.

Sirius shifted back at the cold response, eyes curious.

Remus snorted lightly to himself. Of course Padfoot couldn't fathom a world where his flirting wasn't appreciated.

Jean watched the interaction closely, standing up from his trunk and stepping closer to her brother. “Where the hell are your uniforms? All I can find are your robes.”

He shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. They weren’t in there last night either.”

Jean sighed heavily, her frustration evident as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don’t know how this stuff always happens to you. Alright, we’ll talk to McGonagall about it at breakfast. You can't just keep wearing robes and Muggle attire," she chided, but smiling softly.

Henry merely rolled his eyes as he began digging through the pile of clothes on his bed for something to wear. "Fine, fine. But it's not like I planned to lose my uniforms."

Prongs chuckled from his bed, swinging his legs off the side and standing up. “You can borrow a set of my uniforms if you want. I’m not much taller than you.”

For some reason, that also made the blonde tense. He gave a tight smile as he avoided James’ eyes. “Ah, thanks, but really, I’m fine with my normal clothes until I talk to McGonagall.”

Remus observed them curiously. “Do you already know McGonagall? You seemed … familiar with Dumbledore last night as well.”

“Understatement,” Sirius snorted.

Henry glanced at Sirius with a sharp look, then turned to Remus with a more composed expression. “We spent a few days here before the term started. We, uh, ran into some trouble over the summer and our only family left are muggles, and they’re in Australia. Dumbledore invited us to stay early to get settled. We met a few of the professors already.”

Remus felt his eyebrows raise. Some trouble? Our only family left? Merlin, maybe that’s why they were so close with each other.

Jean nodded in confirmation as she folded the rest of Henry’s clothes neatly and put them back into his trunk. “Headmaster Dumbledore was kind enough to offer us refuge,” she added.

Remus looked around the dorm at James, Peter, and Sirius during the explanation.

“Here, change, we’ll leave after,” Jean said, handing over a bundle of clothing and robes to her brother with a soft smile as she pushed him back to the bathroom.

The curly-haired witch turned back to the group, a flicker of vulnerability passing before she composed herself.

James leaned forward, eyes warm. “I’m sorry about what happened. But you're safe here at least.”

“Yeah, Hogwarts is about as secure as it gets," Peter added, smiling reassuringly.

Remus cleared his throat, feeling bad about bringing it up. “I’m sorry as well. I didn’t mean to dredge up any bad memories.”

Jean gave a small, tight-lipped smile, “it’s okay, really. Thank you, though.”

Sirius watched her closely, head tilted in curiosity. “Leo Davies part of that ‘trouble’ you had?”

“Padfoot!” James hissed at him.

Sirius shot him a look. “What? I’m curious about the mystery Ravenclaw. Clearly, they know each other.”

Jean's expression hardened slightly, a clear sign that Sirius had ventured into forbidden territory with his question. "That’s not any of your business. And we’re not discussing it any further right now," she stated firmly, her tone indicating that the subject was closed for further inquiry.

The room fell into an uneasy silence for a moment, the tension palpable. Sirius nodded slowly, acknowledging the boundary that had been set, though Remus could see his curiosity burned unabated.

Henry emerged from the bathroom then, dressed in jeans and a Queen t-shirt. He noticed the quiet mood and raised an eyebrow as he pulled his outer robe on. “Picking fights already, Mione?”

His sister shot him an exasperated look. “Don’t call me that,” she hissed.

“What’s a Mione?” Peter asked, face scrunched in thought.

A wicked grin spread over Henry’s face at the question. “My nickname for her.”

“What does it mean?” Sirius asked.

“Do nicknames need to mean something?” Parker asked. “She looks like a Mione, doesn’t she?”

He leaned in and bopped a finger on his sister’s nose. “Isn’t that right Jeanie Meanie Mione Mo?”

Jean swatted at her brother’s hand. “I’ll murder you before the day’s done if you keep calling me that,” she hissed, but there was no real heat behind her words.

“What a delightful family dynamic,” Padfoot said, an amused grin on his face.

Jean sighed deeply, her gaze lingering on Henry for a moment before turning back to the Marauders. “He is the only one who gets to call me that, so don’t get any ideas!” Her eyes darted to Sirius as she said it.

“Mi-on-ie,” Sirius drew the name out, rolling it around on his tongue. “Weird name.”

“Not sure you’re one to talk, mate,” Henry quipped as he pulled his shoes on.

Sirius chuckled and shrugged, the tension dissipating slightly. "Fair point."

James stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "Enough about names. We've got classes to attend, and it sounds like you two need to sort some things with McGonagall. Shall we head down to breakfast?"

The group nodded, gathering their things and leaving the room in a more or less orderly fashion. As they walked down the halls, Jean fell into step beside Remus, her pace measured and thoughtful.

“Sorry about Sirius,” Remus said, “he never knows when to shut his mouth.”

Jean shook her head slightly, a light chuckle escaping her. "It's fine, I know how to handle obnoxious teenage boys.”

Remus hummed, shooting her a curious look. Why did that make him feel jealous? “Well, regardless, if you find yourself needing anything, let me know. I’m happy to help.”

An odd look flashed over her face before she gave him a soft smile, eyes staring at him intently. “Thank you, Remus. That’s very kind of you. I’ll come find you if we need anything.”

Moony practically rumbled in satisfaction.

Despite nine hours of sleep (almost twice as much as he usually got), Harry thought he might still be a tiny bit high off his cocktail of potions from last night.

Which might be a good thing considering he was currently sandwiched between his teenage father and godfather in the Great Hall for breakfast. With Peter bloody Pettigrew across from him.

Harry wished he felt more rage and anger at the backstabbing Death Eater, but instead, all he could think about was the face Pettigrew made as he choked on his own hand.

He avoided looking at the blonde teen as much as he could.

Hermione walked over to their group, class timetables clutched in her hand as she tried to read and walk at the same time. She looked up at him as she got closer and gave him an unimpressed look. “McGonagall told me to tell you to see Dumbledore after dinner today for your uniform issue.”

Harry snorted lightly. Great, another cryptic conversation with the meddling old man. How convenient for the Headmaster that only Harry’s uniforms were missing.

Mione sat down across from him and spread out their schedules next to each other. “You’ve got a good amount of free periods. I’ll set up a study plan so you can — why are you signed up for Ancient Runes?”

She looked at him questioningly.

He shrugged. “Why not? Seems interesting.”

“You didn’t sit for an OWL in it,” she responded back, bewildered.

“So?”

“Ancient Runes is complex. You can’t just start it without any background in it! There's a lot of groundwork you'll be missing.”

Harry gave her a relaxed shrug. "I know some basics, and I'm not that dumb. Besides, I’m not taking the NEWT level course. Dumbles put me in the sixth-year level.”

James choked on his juice next to Harry. “Did you just call him Dumbles?”

Hermione wore a tight smile as she looked at him, her eyes conveying a clear warning to ‘behave yourself’. “It’s likely to be more difficult than you think. Runes is tricky, but I can help you get up to speed.”

He gave another relaxed shrug but shot her an appreciative smile. “I’m taking it more out of interest than anything else. If I fail, I fail.”

Coursework and NEWTs weren’t exactly high on his list of priorities in life.

He was mostly taking it because he had enjoyed enchanting his bottomless bag more than he thought, and he wanted to see if it would help in his project to make a tape player work inside magic.

A look of horror came over her face. “If you fail, you fail? If you think I’m going to let you fail a course, Henry Parker, you have another thing coming. And let me tell you,” she added, pointing a finger at him for emphasis, “it will not be pretty.”

His eyes widened, a grin tugging at his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it, Mione."

“Merlin, it’s like having two Moonys around,” Sirius commented, looking back and forth between Hermione and Remus.

Remus chuckled. "I think the term you're looking for is 'responsible adults', Pads."

Before Sirius could respond, Harry saw a head of dark hair at the Ravenclaw table. Draco.

Morgana, he still felt weird admitting it, but he had missed the pureblood last night.

“I’m gonna go get Davies,” he said to Hermione as he went to stand up.

“Oh, actually, Houses typically sit at their own table for all meals,” Remus explained, giving him a soft smile.

Harry paused, his hands braced on the table edge. He knew that, of course, but the idea of actually following it felt completely foreign to him. Not when Draco was two tables away.

“Well, that’s a dumb rule,” he said dryly as he finished standing from the table. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

“You two are breaking rules at a truly impressive rate,” he heard Sirius comment to Hermione as he walked away from the table.

Harry maneuvered his way through the bustling Great Hall, eyes locked on the familiar figure at the Ravenclaw table.

“Davies,” he said as he approached, earning a glance from the surrounding students.

Draco looked up, his silver eyes flickering with surprise then quickly replaced by his usual icy indifference. “Parker.”

Harry grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the familiar snobby tone of the pureblood. “Got your schedule?”

Draco raised a dark eyebrow, his lips twitching in an almost-smile. “That seemed to be the thing to do this morning.”

“Great, get your stuff, let’s go,” Harry responded, grinning wider. “You’re sitting with the Gryffindors today. Besides, I just know Jean’s itching to compare class schedules.”

"And why should I do that?" Malfoy asked coolly, his aristocratic drawl echoing around the suddenly quiet Ravenclaw table.

Harry shrugged, leaning casually against the table. “Because you like me?”

Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. "That's a dangerous assumption, Parker."

"Maybe. What do you say, Leo?" Harry asked. His voice was light and teasing, but his eyes were solemn, pleading almost. Having Draco around would be a nice extra buffer between him and his dead teenage loved ones.

After a moment of staring at Harry, Draco sighed and began gathering his things. “You really are insufferable.”

“Why thank you,” Harry responded cheerfully, enjoying the grumbling pureblood more than he probably should.

Draco pretended to reluctantly gather his things and began to follow Harry back to the Gryffindor table.

“Welcome to the Lions,” Harry said as he slid into a seat next to Remus. He patted the bench beside him invitingly. Draco hesitated for a moment before shrugging casually and taking a seat.

James broke into a grin. "Well, aren't we making friends quickly."

"We literally arrived together," Harry remarked, his eyes sliding over to Hermione as she finally looked up.

“Morning, Leo,” she greeted Draco with a smile before holding her hand out. “Give me your schedule.”

Draco handed over the parchment with a slightly bemused expression. “You’re very demanding, you know that?”

Hermione simply shrugged, her attention already on the two pieces of parchment. "So I’ve been told. Repeatedly. You're being very accommodating. Seems like a good balance to me."

Harry noticed Sirius watching Draco with a sharp eye, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something more calculating. Beside him, James followed Sirius' gaze, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

Hermione’s voice cut through the tension, “Oh good, you’re in Ancient Runes too. I’ll add you to our study group.”

“Our?”

“Henry’s also taking Ancient Runes,” Hermione said, her brow furrowed as she compared Draco's schedule with hers and Harry's.

Draco shot Harry an unimpressed look. “You’re taking Ancient Runes? You can barely read English.”

Harry shot him an affronted look, though his eyes were twinkling with amusement. "I read English just fine, thank you.”

“Last night’s actions suggest otherwise,” Draco drawled.

“Merlin, you get high off potions one time,” Harry grumbled under his breath.

Before anyone could say anything else, James leaned forward and grinned at Draco. “Feels like we should do some proper introductions at some point if you’re going to be sitting with us.”

"Yeah, tell us all about yourself, Davies," Sirius added, sitting back in his seat with an air of casual interest. He was still watching Draco closely, his dark grey eyes sharp and probing.

Draco looked back at him evenly, then flicked a glance at Harry. His silver eyes met green for a moment before he gave a subtle dip of his head. "Sure. Leo Davies, Ravenclaw.”

He smirked coolly at Sirius. “Your turn.”

Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His smirk echoed Draco's as he introduced himself. "Sirius Black, Gryffindor."

An amused chuckle rumbled from James, "I'm James Potter, Head Boy."

"Remus Lupin," Remus added after a brief beat, offering Draco a friendly nod.

“Peter Pettigrew,” James added, pointing to Pettigrew.

The rat, who had been mostly silent up to this point, perked up at the mention of his name. "Nice to meet you, Davies!" he piped up, offering a small wave.

Malfoy nodded in acknowledgment towards each of them in turn.

"So, Davies," James began, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. "You’re friends with the Parkers then?"

"Someone needs to keep this one alive," Draco quipped, glancing at Harry.

"I keep myself alive just fine, thank you," Harry shot back, mock-glaring at Draco.

“That’s entirely fucking debatable,” Malfoy grumbled under his breath.

Ignoring them, James turned to Hermione, raising an eyebrow in question. "What do you say, Jean?"

Hermione looked up from her pile of schedules before replying. "Well, it doesn't hurt to have backup."

“Oi!” Harry rolled his eyes fondly at her before glancing around the table. He could see Sirius’ frustration at their offhand answers, grey eyes still fixed on Draco.

"Vague, aren't we?" Sirius drawled, his annoyance thinly veiled behind a wolfish smirk. “Who are your parents, Davies?”

Christ, but Sirius wasn’t afraid to just come right out and ask.

"Is that relevant?" Draco retorted coolly, meeting Sirius' probing gaze evenly.

"Generally, yes." Sirius shot back, his smirk not wavering. "In wizarding society, bloodline matters. But I take it you already knew that."

Draco's eyes narrowed slightly at Sirius' words. “I was under the impression that you Gryffindors tended not to care about blood purity.”

"We don't," James interjected smoothly, leveling a warning glance at Sirius. "Blood doesn't make the wizard."

Sirius gave a noncommittal shrug, leaning back in his seat. “Although it certainly matters when you are the spitting image of an heir to the most prominent Noble family in Wizard England.”

Draco scoffed. “Dark hair and grey eyes don’t make me your spitting image, Black.”

"I don’t mean me," Sirius retorted sharply, his eyes narrowed. “Haven’t met my brother yet, have you?”

The question hung in the air like a spell. Harry's heart clenched in his chest. Fuck, that didn’t sound good. They had worried about Draco looking too much like Sirius, they hadn’t considered Regulus Black.

Draco stilled, his gaze locking with Sirius’. The tension around the table seemed to spike as Draco's face remained impassive. "No,” he said tightly, “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

"Oh, it's quite the experience," Sirius replied flippantly, though his eyes never left Draco’s face. “He’s a sixth year, Slytherin. Why don’t you take a look over at their table and let me know if you notice anything.”

Harry bit his lip, glancing at Draco. The causal challenge was dangerous, but they couldn't exactly refuse without causing more suspicion. Slowly, with an air of nonchalance that Harry knew was forced, Draco turned his head to look towards the Slytherin table.

Harry followed his gaze, eyes scanning down the table until a particular face caught his attention.

Regulus Black was sitting with a group of classmates, a serious expression on his face. His black hair was shorter than Sirius', falling in elegant waves to his chin. His features were aristocratic, refined - mirrors of Draco's own. But it was the eyes that did it. Both sets a sharp, piercing grey.

Harry felt Draco tense next to him. They were fucked.

Unlike with Sirius, there would be no denying the uncanny resemblance to Regulus. Which meant there was only one thing to do.

“Merlin’s fucking taint and balls,” Harry half wheezed, head bouncing between Regulus and Draco. “Alright, point to Black on that one.”

Draco turned back to face the table, his expression a mask of calm indifference. But Harry could see the flicker of concern in those familiar gray eyes.

Well, time to lean into it.

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s face and tried to line his head up next to Regulus across the hall. “Christ, look at him. It’s like he’s your evil twin, Davies. He’s even pale as shite like you.”

Hermione gave him an exasperated look, but there was nothing left to do except go along with him. “Arguably, if anyone is the evil twin, it’s Leo. He’s the new transfer student.”

"Good point," Harry agreed before moving his hands down to pinch Malfoy’s cheeks.

“Aw, he’s so cute,” Harry cooed, “is it like looking in the mirror of a baby you?”

Draco batted his hand away with a scowl, cheeks a light pink. "Your sense of humor is deplorable. Besides, he’s only one year younger."

Harry clicked his tongue. “Don’t be mad just because he looks like you before your giant’s blood kicked in.”

“I’m 6'2”, Parker. A normal, if slightly above average, height,” Draco said dryly.

“And yet,” Harry teased, eyes glinting mischievously, “completely unsuitable for a Seeker. It’s why you’re even shittier at Quidditch now.”

Draco’s head snapped to look at him, grey eyes blazing in anger. “You little —”

Merlin, he really did love riling the pureblood up.

“It’s a good thing, really,” Harry interrupted, smirking, “that we have baby Leo over there.” Harry nodded his head over at Regulus. “Now we can do a proper comparison.”

“Baby Leo,” James wheezed across from them.

Draco’s glare had gone from icy to glacial. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Harry only grinned wider, resting his chin on his hand. “Thoroughly, yes. Magic is clearly trying to tell you that you’re meant to be a Chaser, Davies.”

“Yes,” Malfoy drawled in the way he did when he thought Harry was being particularly insufferable, “that’s what this entire situation is about — what position I should play for Quidditch.”

“Obviously,” Harry nodded, keeping up the illusion of their trivial banter.

Sirius looked like he had bitten into a particularly sour lemon as they talked, his eyes flicking uncertainly between Draco and Harry. “Are you really trying to say you had no idea about your resemblance before this?”

Draco’s gaze swung back to Sirius, his voice all frost. “I didn’t know I was obligated to know every one of your relatives, Black.”

"Are you a long-lost cousin then?" Sirius pushed, ignoring Draco's jab, curiosity burning in his eyes. "A secret Black bastard?"

“I am whatever you think I am,” Draco replied dryly. He reached for his schedule, tucking it into the pocket of his uniform. “Well, I should get going. It was a pleasure to be interrogated by all of you.”

Seeing a chance for a break from all his dead loved ones (and really, he thought he was handling it exceptionally well), Harry quickly grabbed his things, intending to leave with him.

“C’mon, Jeanie Meanie, let’s go. Davies has an identity crisis to process,” Harry grinned at Hermione as Draco stood up from the table.

“Fuck off, Parker,” Malfoy snapped.

"Such a way with words," Harry mused, grinning as he slung his bag over his shoulder and leaned his head against the taller boy’s shoulder. “Do you think you’ll need to change your name to Black?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the both of them but stood up as well, slinging her school bag over her shoulder.

“See you all later,” she said to the Marauders, waving a little as she walked towards Harry and Draco.

"We’ll have to unravel the family mystery later, Black," Harry added, shooting a pointed look at Sirius, before grabbing Hermione's arm and steering them out of the Great Hall. Behind them, he could feel the weight of Sirius' gaze.

“We’re so fucking stupid,” Malfoy muttered under his breath once they were out of the hall.

***

The corridors were quiet as Harry made his way to Dumbledore’s office later. The rest of their first day had thankfully been less taut than the morning.

In the quiet moments between lessons, he'd stolen glances at the Marauders, particularly Sirius, who seemed to be watching him just as closely.

As the day had worn on, the tension between them had gradually eased. Even Sirius, despite his lingering curiosity — had appeared willing to let it go for now.

The rest of the school was not.

Whispers followed their every move, eyes widening as they caught sight of Draco and then flicked over to Sirius or Regulus, and back again. Hushed conversations about potential family connections echoed in the hallways and classrooms. Even the professors seemed intrigued, their gazes lingering on Draco longer than usual.

Harry was impressed by Draco's nonchalance as he endured the scrutiny. He was a dab hand at avoiding answering in any meaningful way.

Harry had decided to go a different route with his responses to the questions he got.

It would be fun to see Malfoy’s face when he realized Harry had designed a dozen backstories for Leo Davies, each of them more absurd in new ways. 

A fifth-year Ravenclaw had asked him about Draco's family history, and Harry had said that Leo Davies came from a long line of dragon tamers, but that he was allergic to fire and couldn’t follow the family business. In another instance, he told a confused Hufflepuff that Leo was a Russian prince in hiding. And he had far too much fun telling a group of fifth-year Gryffindors at dinner that Malfoy was secretly a rare dark-haired Veela, sent to Hogwarts to protect him from creature hunters trying to collect him.

When Hermione had asked him what on earth he was doing, Harry only shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin.

Harry had experienced enough gossip in his day to know that everyone loved a good mystery. Let the rumor mill grow with as many absurd ideas as possible until they could figure out what else to do.

Harry paused for a moment outside the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, steeling himself for the impending conversation.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Harry knocked on the wooden door of Dumbledore's office, then stepped back, waiting for the familiar voice to bid him enter. Dumbledore looked up from a pile of letters, his blue eyes twinkling as they always did when he was scheming.

"Evening, Headmaster," Harry said coolly, closing the door behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Parker," Dumbledore replied, setting his papers aside. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," Harry answered as he sat down.

“And your first day of classes?”

"Fine," Harry replied. "Though the school's gossip mill is working overtime.”

"Yes, the entire school seems to be quite excited about your arrival,” Dumbledore said, his goddamn blue eyes twinkling even more.

He felt a familiar irritation creep in. "Yeah, Davies is loving it,” Harry said dryly.

Dumbledore's chuckle only added fuel to the growing fire. "Yes, I believe young Mr. Davies' unexpected resemblance to the Black family has stirred up quite a bit of interest."

“Unexpected is one way to put it,” Harry spat out. “A little warning would have been nice.”

"A warning?" Dumbledore repeated, raising an eyebrow. "It was not my intention to cause any unnecessary angst among you, Mr. Parker. I was under the assumption you knew — it really is quite a resemblance. Surely there are familial ties there, yes?”

Harry clenched his hands on his knees, meeting Dumbledore's gaze with a forced grin. “I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore began, his fingers steepling together. “Magic truly has a sense of humor.”

"Yeah," Harry quipped dryly, sinking back into his chair, "a real laugh riot. I don’t suppose it was Magic’s sense of humor that took my uniforms, was it?”

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Ah, yes, a most unfortunate mix-up. However, it did give us the opportunity to talk, didn’t it?”

"Indeed," Harry said tersely. He resisted the urge to reach out and strangle the infuriating man. Because really, it was moments like these when Harry felt a kinship with Voldemort. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

"Mr. Parker," he began slowly, "I want to be clear about something." He paused for a moment, looking intently at Harry. "Your presence here in this time — I do not believe it is without purpose. Hogwarts seems to have a … fondness, shall we say, for you in particular. It’s not something I’ve ever encountered before. I expect there are great deeds behind that fondness.”

Harry groaned internally, partly out of irritation and partly because it was true. There had been quite a few feats in the school. And Hogwarts did seem to like him, as odd as that sounded to say. "And what is it that you believe Hogwarts wants from me, Headmaster?"

“Wants?” Dumbledore began, “Hogwarts does not want anything besides to protect her students. What that means in regards to you remains to be seen, but history has a knack for repeating itself, doesn’t it, Mr. Parker?”

Harry fought back a sigh. Conversations with Dumbledore were always heavy on the riddles and light on the actual information.

"Indeed," Harry parroted, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He stood up from his chair, feeling the familiar twinge of impatience. There wasn’t any reason to draw this out longer than necessary. "Well, if that's all... Can I expect my uniforms in my trunk tonight?"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "They should be waiting for you in your dormitory, yes," he confirmed.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said with a curt nod. He turned to leave but stopped as Dumbledore spoke up again.

"Mr. Parker," Dumbledore called, and Harry turned around to face him. "I do not know what transpired between us in the future to cause this tension — but I want you to know that I am here to help, not hinder. I did not expect your arrival, nor the circumstances surrounding it. However, you are here now, and it is my belief that our ultimate aims are identical.”

Harry frowned, studying Dumbledore curiously. "I'll keep that in mind, sir," he said before turning and leaving the office.

The man really was infuriatingly good at the benevolent grandfather act.

Chapter Text

Regulus Black was an unexpected problem.

Draco had planned for Sirius — had planned how to handle another hotheaded Gryffindor. But somehow they completely forgot about Regulus. Perhaps it was because he died so young, but Draco hadn’t even thought about the younger Black brother.

And he had never considered that he would look so much like the Slytherin. No one had ever mentioned it.

An oversight on their part and they were dealing with the fallout now. The term started only a few days ago and Draco was already over the constant attention.

It gave him a sliver of empathy for Potter.

Which was quickly squashed when he heard yet another stupid bloody backstory that the blonde idiot made up about him.

When Isobel Maxwell asked him if was actually a Veela, he had nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.

Trying to stay on top of Potter was like trying to wrangle a pack of baby Nifflers.

Made all the harder by the fact that the boy hero hardly seemed to be sleeping after the come down from his potions misadventure. Potter played it off easily enough, but the nights they spent sleeping next to each other before term had revealed the depth of his nightmares. His occlumency shields weren’t good enough yet to curb the worst of them. 

Granger was adamant that he avoid Dreamless Sleep unless absolutely necessary. Draco understood the concern given Potter’s reckless personality, but it was a collective punishment for all three of them.

A Potter in search of a distraction was a dangerous thing. 

There was no shortage of chaos that Potter could cause by the time Draco made it down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Which is how he found himself running laps around the Great Lake at dawn, trying valiantly to hide how winded he was chasing after the Seeker.

A stupid bloody idea.

Seeing Harry after one of his runs has been bad enough, but it was so much worse running behind him while he wore nothing but a pair of Muggle shorts that were borderline obscene with how well they hugged his thighs. That and his wand holster strapped to his forearm.

It was an unexpectedly hot combination. Draco had never been so hard in his life.

He had to discreetly adjust himself more than once.

"Potter," Draco huffed out as he jogged just a few steps behind the blonde, "If you don't slow down I swear I'll cast a full body-bind on you."

Harry just barked out a laugh, pushing harder up the hill. He was fluid motion, muscles and sinew, and determination woven together. “You’d have to catch me first, Davies,” he threw back over his shoulder with a grin that was pure mischief.

Draco’s lungs burned, each breath felt like swallowing a hot coal. But Potter's laughter echoed in his ears, drowning out everything else. He pushed himself harder, refusing to let Potter out of his sight.

"I appreciate you coming out," Harry started as they slowed down at the crest of the hill. “I didn’t mind running on my own back in Muggle London when I could listen to music, but it’s kind of nice to have company here.”

It was a moment before Draco could manage anything beyond sucking in air. "I'm not... doing this... for you," he finally gasped out, bending over to brace his hands on his knees. He forced himself to stand upright and glare at the boy beside him.

Harry just smirked, hardly even breathing heavily. Cocky git. "Sure you're not," he said, reaching up to swipe a few sweat-soaked strands of hair off his forehead. His eyes were bright with mirth.

Draco grimaced as he pulled his sweat-soaked shirt away from his chest to wipe at his face. Potter had told him to wear a pair of Muggle joggers and a tee shirt, but he was starting to understand the Gryffindor’s lack of clothing. Everything was so sticky. His cooling charm was useless.

“Fuck me, I can’t believe you do this every day. How do you have so much energy all the time?” Draco grumbled.

Harry just chuckled, "What, exactly, did the Slytherin Quidditch team do for training, Malfoy? Feels like you should be better at this."

Draco rolled his eyes, too winded and annoyed to come up with a retort. He was aware of Harry watching him as they both focused on catching their breaths, the soft early light playing on Harry's flushed skin and damp hair.

“You’re okay, right?” Harry asked, turning around and walking backward to stare at Draco. “Not this, you’re a bit shite at this,” he waved his hand up and down, “but with everything else? The attention and all that?”

Draco looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. "I can handle the attention. Not that you’re helping, you little chaos gremlin.”

Harry laughed, his head thrown back. "Well, eventually those Potter Stinks badges were gonna come back for revenge.”

"Those badges were a piece of art, Potter," Draco grumbled, trying to sound annoyed but unable to hide a small smile.

Harry snorted. “Oh yeah, very creative.”

He paused and tilted his head up, his riot of dyed hair catching the early morning sun. “I know Sirius has been skulking around trying to get us to slip up, but has Regulus approached you yet?”

Draco shook his head.

"No. Not directly," Draco admitted, his face hardening at the mention of the younger Black. “Although Rosier and Trevors were waiting for me after Potions yesterday. Apparently, the purebloods have started parsing family trees. They wanted to know my parent's names and blood status.”

Potter huffed out a laugh. “What did you tell them?”

"Nothing — just the vague bullshit I’ve been telling everyone else,” Draco replied dryly. “That seemed to annoy Rosier in particular. He’s convinced I’m a pureblood and he can’t fathom why I would be hiding my superiority.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s closer than he thinks.”

Draco gave a gentle hum back as they continued to wind down. “What about you, Potter? How are you doing?”

Harry shrugged, his gaze taking in the sun across the lake. "I'm alright, I think. As alright as I can be under the circumstances. Although, I could do without Sirius’ constant flirting.”

Draco snorted at Harry's last comment. Black had been looking at Harry in a particularly ungodfatherly way. Which seemed fitting for Black, because in a lot of ways, Potter was just a different version of him. Harry was friendlier and more open, but there was that wildness about him the same as the pureblood.

Harry looked at him then, a vulnerability in his eyes. “I know it’s all fun and games to him. Merlin knows I heard some of the stories about him when he was in school, but it’s just another reminder that I’m a complete stranger to them.”

"I know," Draco murmured, his grey eyes softening. He cast a sideways glance at Harry, who was staring ahead, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "It must be disorienting."

Potter let out a sigh, hand coming up to rub his jaw. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It's strange, you know? As hard as it all is, I also appreciate being able to see them so young and vibrant. So full of life.”

Draco nodded, offering a small smile. "Something bittersweet about it."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, returning the smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for asking, though,” he said, his voice serious. “And for the company.”

And there it was again, that raw vulnerability that tugged at Draco's chest. Seeing Harry like this, trying so hard to keep himself together. He felt weirdly proud of the Gryffindor.

Which was absurd because Potter was a nightmare chaos gremlin who couldn’t read, who never stopped moving, who wore obscene shorts and made up ridiculous stories about Draco being a secret prince, and who got him to wake up at the crack of dawn to run laps.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the barest shimmer of magic from Potter’s privacy shield that moved with them like a giant bubble. And who did shit like that without blinking.

“It really is annoying how often you break the rules of magic, you know,” Draco said as he lifted a hand to try and feel for the shield.

Harry just shrugged, a simple rise and fall of his shoulders. "Pretty sure magic doesn’t have rules," he replied, an innocent smile playing across his face. “Besides, there’s no rule that says you can’t have a moving privacy charm.”

“The Imperturbable Charm is meant to be grounded to a stationary object — it’s literally built into the spell-casting. It's not supposed to move,” Draco pointed out as he dropped his hand back down.

Harry only shrugged again, his smile growing wider. "If that's what you want to believe, your Highness.”

Draco scowled at him, but he could find no real anger. "I swear, Potter, if I didn't know you better, I would think you were doing this just to annoy me."

“Nah, I’m wearing the shorts to annoy you,” Harry replied, a wicked glint in his eye. “The spell-work is just an added benefit.”

A shot of arousal went down his spine.

Draco glanced down, gaze roaming over the Gryffindor, taking in the sight of sweat dripping down his chest. Like Draco with his Mark, Harry had taken to wearing glamours over the majority of his scars during the day, but he left his tattoo on display. He definitely didn’t think about what it would be like to lick the sweat off Potter’s decorated collarbone.

Draco leaned in closer to the shorter wizard. “Are you saying you wore those specifically for me? I’m flattered.”

Harry's green eyes widened and his smirk turned into a full grin. “What if I did?”

Desperately trying to drag his mind out of the gutter, Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. "Then I would say you're trying too hard, Potter."

“Alright, then I didn’t do it for you,” Potter laughed as he ran a hand through his hair.

It was unfair how good he looked right now, face flushed from the run, hair sticking up in every direction and those green eyes ablaze with mischief. Draco wanted to shove him up against a tree and kiss the stupid crooked smirk right off his face.

Well, he also wanted to push the Gryffindor to his knees and tell him to do something useful with his mouth for once, but he would take a tree snog, too.

"Laps again tomorrow?" Harry asked as they reached the edge of the Great Lake, breaking the silence and Draco's increasingly inappropriate thoughts.

"No," Draco said immediately, then paused. "Maybe," he allowed grudgingly.

Sirius Black was a, well, not an unexpected problem, but a problem nonetheless.

James loved him to the deepest hells and back, but the pureblood wizard had been driving him up the bloody walls since the beginning of summer.

The friends-with-benefits thing had been a mistake, he knew that, but at the time, it sounded fun. Casual sex and blow jobs right in their dorm room? A great idea at the moment.

And then sixth year ended and James figured that was the end of it. Which was stupid, because even before sex was involved, Sirius had always been a bit possessive of James.

The problem was that Sirius was a force of nature, unrestrained and unpredictable. A friend who would kill for you, but who might burn the world down in the process.

Normally that was part of the charisma that made Sirius so eye-catching, but pair it with whatever identity crisis that Sirius seemed to be dealing with, and it was a volatile combination.

It had been bad enough over the summer, but now with the new transfer students in the picture, James never knew what to expect from the canine animagus.

One minute he was trailing after Parker, fawning and flirting with the dyed blonde. The next he was waking James up at 5:00 in the morning to try to figure out where Henry was going.

And the worst part was that he wasn’t wrong. The new students certainly had a few secrets. After all, no one walked around with a goblin-enchanted fang who wasn’t hiding something. And that was outside of the whole Regulus Black doppelgänger thing, but James liked them.

They were fun — chaotic in the best way, and genuinely nice. It was obvious that the Parkers were devoted siblings, even if they were polar opposites of each other. And Davies had an impressive pureblood facade, but the way he followed after Henry was endearing. It was clear he cared, even if James thought it was a bit odd how protective both Jean and Leo were over Henry.

They were mysterious, yes, but there was something that drew you in.

"What do you want, Pads?" James asked from where he was fixing the tail bristles on his Cleansweep Six. He didn't need to look up to know that Sirius was there on his bed, lounging around with his leather jacket thrown carelessly over the edge. Sirius exuded a certain energy that was hard to ignore.

"I wanted to use the Map to see where the hell Parker keeps disappearing to, but since it’s mysteriously missing, I guess I can’t," Sirius said, resting his chin on his hands as he regarded James with an expression that was more intense than the conversation warranted.

James sighed. "For the last bloody time, Sirius, it is actually missing. I swear I’m not lying just to keep you from spying on the new kids.”

Sirius snorted, rolling his eyes and flopping dramatically back onto the bed. "Sure, Prongs," he drawled, voice thick with skepticism.

James just sighed and went back to adjusting his broom tail. His concentration was broken, however, by the slap of Sirius' boots hitting the floor. Peering up, he watched as the taller wizard stalked over, his intense gaze boring holes into James.

"You have to admit that those three are hiding something," Sirius said tersely, crossing his arms over his chest.

James couldn’t help but groan. “For fuck’s sake, Pads, we can’t keep having this conversation. Yeah, they’re definitely hiding something — you’re not wrong about that. But they seem nice enough and Dumbledore clearly knows about them so it can’t be that bad.”

Sirius scoffed as he sat at the edge of James’ bed. “Easy for you to say. There’s not a mystery wizard running around with your brother’s face.”

James sighed again, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. “Okay, fair, but purebloods intermarry constantly — we’re all bloody related. I’m sure you’ll figure out the connection at some point.”

Padfoot rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, even if I don’t, my grandfather will. Arcturus Black is nothing if not protective over the Black name. You know he owled me for the first time in two years. Because of Leo bloody Davies.”

James’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly schooled his features into a neutral expression. He knew how touchy Sirius was about his family. “He suspects something?” he asked carefully.

Sirius snorted derisively, casting him a sideways glance. “He suspects everything.”

James had no doubt about that. The Black patriarch was known to be bloodthirsty when it came to the Black legacy. He gave Sirius a sympathetic look, reaching out to clasp a firm hand on his shoulder. "Just breathe, alright? We'll figure this out."

A mirthless laugh spilled from Sirius’s lips as he shrugged off James's comforting hand. “It's easy for you to say,” he repeated bitterly.

“Yeah, it is,” James replied, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “Because I’m not the one obsessed with figuring out every little secret of our new classmates.”

Sirius bristled at the reprimand, grey eyes flashing dangerously as he shot James an icy glare. "I'm not obsessed," he snapped defensively.

James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, alright, sorry," he said wearily, recognizing the signs of an imminent argument. "Just... try to go easy on them, alright? It’ll be easier to get them to open up to you if you’re not constantly following them around.” 

"And..." James started again, softer this time. "Can you tone back the flirting with Parker? He doesn’t exactly look comfortable with it."

Sirius shrugged nonchalantly but the slight redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. "Maybe I just find him attractive, Prongs."

"Maybe you're trying to make me jealous,” James shot back before he could stop himself. His words hung in the air like a spell, casting an uncomfortable silence between the two of them.

“What?” Sirius turned to him, looking alarmed and incredulous at the same time.

A surge of regret washed over James; he hadn’t meant to blurt that out. But it was too late now.

“I said…” James started, unsure of how to make things right again.

“No, I heard you,” Sirius interrupted, rubbing his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “You think I’m flirting with Parker to make you jealous?”

James shrugged helplessly, struggling to keep his eyes on Sirius’ face as guilt pooled in his gut. “It’s not like we didn’t… you know…”

“Fuck? Blow each other in the showers?” Sirius offered unhelpfully, causing James to wince. “I used to blow Moony, too. Think I’m flirting with Parker to make him jealous?” 

"I don't bloody know!" James yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You’ve been so fucking hot and cold lately. I have no bloody idea what’s going on with you anymore.” 

Sirius gave a humorless laugh, a dark look marring his handsome face. "You and me both, Prongs," he muttered, leaning heavily against the bedpost. 

Pain twisted in James's chest at the sight of his friend so deflated. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he asked softly, glancing down at their legs pressed together on the bed.

"I know," Sirius replied, but his voice held an edge that said the opposite.

"Padfoot..." James started but was cut off by a shake of Sirius's head.

"This isn't about me, it's about them." Sirius gestured vaguely in the direction of Parker’s bed.

James wanted to scream. He was starting to feel like he was trapped in a repeat conversation. He gave a heavy sigh. “Do you want to borrow my cloak?”

Sirius turned to him, excitement lighting up his grey eyes. “Yeah?”

Merlin, James was probably going to regret this, but he couldn’t think of any other way to get Sirius to drop it besides letting him work through it.

“Yeah,” he conceded, rubbing his temples, "but if you get caught, don't drag me into your mess."

Sirius grinned at him cheekily, patting his shoulder with unnecessary force. "No promises, Prongs. But thanks!"

James grimaced as he watched Sirius scamper off before grabbing his wand. He and Lily were on patrol tonight. Maybe she would have a suggestion on how to handle him.

Leo Davies was an increasingly annoying problem.

Regulus had already been dreading sixth year without his mysterious doppelgänger showing up out of bloody nowhere alongside two Gryffindor mudbloods.

As if he needed another complication on top of his mission from the Dark Lord and the new family duties he had from his mother.

The Dark Mark burned beneath his sleeve, an ever-present itch that refused to be ignored. His orders were clear: gather intelligence on mudblood students and report back on them. The pressure from Bellatrix herself and the Death Eaters in the school was suffocating. He couldn't let them see any signs of weakness.

And now, his grandfather had taken an interest in Leo Davies. Letters bombarded Regulus daily from various family members, demanding information on the transfer student. The other Noble children whispered in hushed tones, wondering if Davies' possible relation to House Black would change anything regarding his inheritance. Even Slughorn had kept him after class to ask about Davies, curiosity thinly veiled behind his professorial demeanor.

It hadn’t even been two bloody weeks.

Frustratingly, Regulus had no idea if the Ravenclaw actually was a Black.

He certainly looked like one. It was grating on Regulus to keep seeing Davies’ face in the hallways, so unnervingly like his own.

To make matters more complicated, the interloper seemed to be getting along with the Gryffindors surprisingly well, including Sirius.

Oh, there was tension there. Regulus could see it in the way that Sirius’ eyes constantly followed the Ravenclaw when he was around, but there was also a camaraderie. Davies spent half his meals sitting at the Gryffindor table with the Parkers, a fact which was causing no small amount of anger among the more traditionalist purebloods.

And Sirius did so love mudbloods — where the reckless, obnoxious blonde Parker went, Sirius was sure to follow. And in that regard, Davies was the same.

Which was odd.

Regulus was both fascinated and repelled by the older boy's uncanny likeness to him. Their shared aristocratic features, their similar posture, even the way Davies dealt with others: a mixture of disdain and politeness that was unmistakably Black in origin.

In almost every way, the older wizard had all the makings of a perfect pureblood. Except for the fact that he trailed after the Parker siblings like a puppy. It was disgusting.

Grudgingly, he had to admit Davies was good at deflecting. Half the upper years had been asking the Ravenclaw questions, trying to pry information out of him on his lineage and his background.

He had given very little away so far, although it didn’t stop a barrage of rumors that grew in the absence of facts.

He’d thought about confronting Davies directly, but then decided against it. Confrontation wasn’t his style, and besides, he didn’t think the other boy would be so reckless as to confirm anything outright.

Regulus stared across the Great Hall, his eyes fixated on the group of Gryffindors across the hall. The sound of laughter and chatter grated on him like nails on a chalkboard.

"Still obsessing over the new kid?" A voice asked from next to him.

"Piss off, Rosier," he snapped, not in the mood for Evan’s games. “Like you’re not just as interested as everyone else.”

Rosier snorted, an arrogant curl to his lip. "Oh, I am, but at least I admit it. Is it grating on you to see him sitting there? How quickly he managed to ensnare the great Sirius Black in only a few days."

Regulus clenched his jaw. Great Sirius Black, indeed. Even the purebloods who hated Sirius for being a blood traitor still begrudgingly respected him.

No one would say the same about Regulus.

Being compared to Sirius was a constant in his life, an unending cycle of coming up short. It was almost laughable, the irony of it all. Sirius, the rebellious Black Heir who wanted nothing to do with their family, had all the charisma and charm that drew everyone to him. Regulus, dutiful and loyal as he was, seemed to exist only in his elder brother's shadow.

Second to Sirius in the family's affection, second to perfect James Potter for Sirius’ friendship, and now second even to this fucking mystery student.

Regulus turned his gaze momentarily from the Gryffindors to Rosier. The seventh year Slytherin wore a smug grin, clearly enjoying himself. Regulus glared back, gritting out, "Sirius has no taste."

He turned back to look at the Gryffindors, honing in on Sirius, who was laughing with his band of idiots at the Gryffindor table. The sight of Leo Davies, that infuriating doppelgänger, sitting so casually beside Sirius made Regulus' blood boil.

"Fine, fine." Rosier held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just remember what you're supposed to be focusing on. He is expecting results, and you know better than to disappoint him."

Regulus bristled, his stormy eyes narrowing at the boy sitting beside him. “You forget yourself, Rosier. I am well aware of my responsibilities, both as Heir to House Black and elsewhere. There is a reason I am his youngest Marked supporter and you would do well to remember that.”

Rosier’s amused smirk faded at the chill in Regulus’ voice. The seventh year inclined his head, acknowledging the rebuke, but there was a speculative gleam in his eyes that had Regulus' stomach twisting.

Yes, sixth year was already stressful enough without adding a mystery doppelgänger on top of it.

****

As he stalked through the corridors, making his way to Ancient Runes, he couldn't help but think about the other new additions to Hogwarts this year. Not just the Ravenclaw, but also Henry and Jean Parker. They each had their own share of whispered gossip swirling around them.

Rosier had heard from his cousin in Ravenclaw that Girl Parker was some sort of genius, devouring stacks of books in the library at a rate that put even the most studious Ravenclaws to shame.

Her brother, on the other hand, was an enigma in his own right. Apparently, he had shown up at the Sorting Feast under the influence of a cocktail of potions. It helped explain his flippant attitude from the night, but it did nothing to dispel the attraction that the student body had for the bleached blonde.

That, plus the odd lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, the clearly charmed eyebrow piercing, and the bloody goblin-enchanted dragon fang dangling in his ear only added a whole other layer of curiosity for the pureblood.

No one knew where they came from. No one knew why they had suddenly transferred to Hogwarts, and no one knew what they were hiding. But everyone was eager to find out.

The gossip mill had never been as active as it had been in the past few weeks. Each rumor more absurd than the last.

Entering the classroom, he took his usual seat near the back, hoping to avoid attracting any unwanted attention.

"Welcome back, everyone," Professor Tilden began, her voice cutting through Regulus' thoughts. "Today is going to focus on rune sequences that you can use for detecting the magical properties of an object. Then we’ll introduce the first project for the year.”

As she began the lecture, Regulus tried his best to concentrate on the professor's words, but his mind kept drifting back to the new students.

“Right,” Tilden clapped. “Now that we’ve gone over the background. Let’s get you paired up for your first project of the semester: Reconstructing a Magical Artifact.”

He could already feel a headache creeping up on him, the thought of group work draining any enthusiasm he might've had for the class.

"Alright, let's begin," Tilden continued, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the classroom. "Mr. Black, you will partner with... Mr. Parker.”

Henry Parker.

Of all the people he could have been partnered with, it had to be one of them. He glanced across the room to where Parker was sitting, a look of surprise flickering across his face before being quickly replaced by a lopsided grin.

"Okay," Professor Tilden clapped her hands together once more. "Get familiar with your partner and start planning. Remember, I'm looking for attention to detail and thorough documentation of the runes used.”

Regulus couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on him as Parker slowly made his way across the room. Normally, he'd have an easy time with this kind of assignment. He was one of the best in his year when it came to Ancient Runes – but working with Parker? Less than ideal for his plan to remain out of the spotlight.

“Hey,” Parker said, sliding into the seat next to Regulus.

Regulus stiffened, already in a bad mood and having no desire to draw out this farce of a pairing. “I don’t work with mudbloods, Parker.”

Let Parker run to Tilden and request a new partner. Given his grandfather’s place on the board, Tilden knew the most she could do was give Regulus a slap on the wrist.

A quick look of surprise passed over the Gryffindor’s face before he gave an easy grin. “Alright, well, pretend I’m a pureblood then, Black.”

Regulus blinked at his audacity. “What?”

He was joking, surely.

"That's not how it works," Regulus scowled. "You can't just pretend your blood status away."

Parker shrugged, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Not with that attitude, you can’t.”

It was unexpected, this casual dismissal from Parker. It sparked something inside of Regulus, an irritation that cut through the dread and left him bristling with indignation.

“Why are you even in this class? Aren’t you a seventh-year? What? Too stupid to take the NEWT level?” Regulus scoffed.

That seemed to amuse the Gryffindor even more, much to Regulus’ irritation. “Yeah, probably.”

He grinned even wider. “You’re gonna love this even more than me being a dirty little mudblood — I’ve never officially taken Ancient Runes before. Lettin’ me start at the sixth year level was Dumbledore’s charity case for me.”

Parker rested his chin on his hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “So, you really got the shit end of the deal with me as a partner.”

Regulus had to grit his teeth to keep from snapping back at Parker's taunting. The last thing he needed was to start an argument in the middle of class.

"You've got quite the mouth on you," he said, narrowing his eyes at the blond. Instead of being cowed by his icy glare, Parker looked absolutely delighted, eyes sparkling.

"Merlin, you’re just like him. Well, you know what they say — sticks and stones, Black."

Unbelievable. The nerve of this no name mudblood. Acting like he didn't care about how others saw him, about how they talked about him behind his back. Regulus couldn't fathom it.

"Let's just get this started," Regulus sighed, feeling the weight of their task ahead pressing down on him.

"I like your spirit," Parker replied with a grin that was way too confident for someone who had just admitted to never taking Ancient Runes before.

However, as they began to research artifacts they might use for the project, something strange happened: Parker proved himself to be not entirely useless. Oh, he was insufferably chaotic in his reading, flipping between pages with no discernable rhyme or reason that Regulus could tell. But he had an odd way of connecting various runes and theories, somehow drawing the correct conclusions from contradicting facts.

It was irritating.

As was the way the Gryffindor seemed to subconsciously spin magic around himself without even realizing it.

Flipping through pages with just a wave of his hand.

At one point, Parker knocked a rolled-up piece of parchment off his desk. Without lifting his head from where he was reading, Parker reached out, a subtle gesture of his fingers floating the stray parchment back into his hand. 

Regulus wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was such a casual use of wandless, wordless magic, and it came from a mudblood of all people.

“Are you always this careless?" Regulus asked, taking the opportunity to snap something at him. It wasn't much, but it gave him a small satisfaction.

Parker looked up, green eyes unnervingly vivid, a pleased smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you have no idea."

He rolled his eyes. Why did Parker seem so amused by Regulus?

Parker's laugh was easy and unguarded. He watched the other boy curiously, wondering what it would feel like to carry oneself so lightly.

It reminded Regulus of Sirius. 

Thinking about his brother sitting with the transfer students this morning gave him another idea.

Perhaps having Parker as a partner could be beneficial. After all, Davies and the Parkers were particularly close. And Regulus needed whatever information he could get on his lookalike.

"Alright, let me ask you something," Regulus said, keeping his voice steady and casual as he looked at Parker. "What's your connection with Davies? You seem to be close."

Parker stilled for a moment, eyes flicking to meet his. After a beat, he relaxed again, leaning back in his chair. "We're friends," he answered simply, as though that explained everything.

"Yeah, I gathered that much," Regulus replied dryly. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"

Parker tilted his head slightly, a curious look in his green eyes. "Is it? We're friends who've been through... stuff together. That tends to make you close."

"Stuff," Regulus echoed, his gaze narrowing. It was a vague answer and offered no real insight. ”And you’ve been friends for a while?”

“At least a month,” Parker laughed, smirking at Regulus. “Hoping to get information out of me?”

He didn't deny it, meeting Parker's gaze head on. "Why not? You know something I don't."

“True. What, exactly, are you trying to find out, Black?”

Regulus scoffed at the Gryffindor. “Don’t play dumb. I want to know what everyone else wants to know. How is Davies related to House Black?”

Amusement sparkled in Parker's eyes. “And what have you heard so far?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Just rumors, each one more ridiculous than the next. Davies is a long-lost Black, descended from Atlas Black himself, which somehow makes him royalty, depending on what idiot you ask. That he’s Sirius’ twin, put up for adoption by the family because they thought he was a Squib. That he’s the product of a string of bastards between Phineas Nigellus Black and a dark-haired Veela, invited to Hogwarts because of his great-great grandfather’s portrait.”

Parker could only blink at him for a moment before he burst out laughing with a wheeze of disbelief. “Morgana’s fucking tits.”

Parker dropped his head onto the desk, his shoulders shaking as he laughed even harder.

Around the classroom, heads turned to look at them.

Regulus winced and shot a glower in Parker's direction, but it didn't shut him up. If anything, the Gryffindor laughed even harder as he all but cooed at Regulus. “Aw, just like him.”

"Enough, you're causing a scene," Regulus spat, sending a warning glare to the sniggering students at the nearby table. He had enough problems without drawing unwanted attention.

"Oh my god," Parker wheezed, sitting up and wiping at his eyes. His blonde hair was ruffled, sticking out in wild tufts and his eyes were bright with mirth. "What a gift you’ve given me. Okay, let’s go with the Squib one. That’s my favorite.”

Regulus frowned, a heated retort forming on his lips. But just as he was about to let it fly, Tilden announced the end of class. Parker picked up his things, still shaking with sporadic chuckles.

"You're a piece of work, Parker," Regulus muttered, watching the blonde's retreating back.

"Remember, he’s secretly a Squib, Black!" Parker threw over his shoulder, that damn grin shining bright despite everything.

Regulus was left in the classroom, grappling with a frustrating blend of curiosity and irritation.

---

The following class was no better. Parker slid into the seat next to Regulus with his stupid fucking grin as if they were equals.

“Good morning, Baby Leo,” Parker greeted him, amusement dancing in those uncannily vibrant eyes.

“What,” Regulus hissed, “did you just call me?”

Parker leaned back in his chair, obviously enjoying Regulus's irritation. "Baby Leo. You are the younger of the two of you. Not a fan?”

“You think far too highly of yourself for a mudblood,” Regulus shot back, scowling at him.

"I'll take that as a no, then," Parker chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the slur.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Parker. There are many in the school who wouldn’t be quite so lenient towards you,” Regulus warned, his tone dropping dangerously low.

Parker merely grinned wider, "Oh, I'm shaking in my boots, Black."

Regulus felt a sharp and unexpected twinge of irritation at the dismissal. He was a Black, a pureblood wizard of impeccable lineage, the youngest Marked Death Eater in the Dark Lord’s circle, a member of Slytherin house — he should command respect. But here was this audacious mudblood, dismissing him like an irrelevant nuisance.

Tilden signaled the start of the class and Regulus turned his attention to the board. But as they began to dive into the lecture, he could feel Parker’s gaze on him. A heat that prickled at his skin in a way that he didn't care for.

“I’m not sure you’ve got it in you to hurt people, Black,” Parker’s voice was hushed now, barely audible to Regulus’ ears.

His head snapped towards Parker, eyes narrowing. "And what makes you say that?" he hissed out, his grip on the quill in his hand tightening.

Parker's grin faltered slightly, a serious light flickering in his eyes. "Just a feeling I’ve got about you," he said quietly, turning back to the lecture.

The audacity. It infuriated him, this presumption of understanding from a boy he’d known for just a few weeks.

“You know nothing about me,” he spat back.

Parker turned back to look at him, giving a softer smile than he had ever seen on the Gryffindor. “I think you have a lot of expectations hanging over you, Regulus Black.”

A beat passed as Parker stared at him with a look that almost seemed sympathetic. “So, tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Regulus stiffened, startled by the question. His stormy gaze narrowed in on the boy sitting next to him. "Is that supposed to be a joke?" he asked, not hiding his distaste.

Parker shrugged, not bothering to meet his gaze this time. “Not particularly. It’s a Muggle poem, actually. Some American, I think? Davies would know, he’s the one who was reading it the other night, but it’s a good question, innit?”

Regulus was silent, the question echoing in his head. He could still see the soft smile on Parker's face, a shift beneath the usual smug confidence, and it struck him that he might be missing something.

Who the fuck was Henry Parker.

***

In the following days, Regulus found himself drawn back to Parker. It wasn’t that he liked him - far from it. The Gryffindor was confounding: always talking, always moving, and always so radiantly happy that it irked Regulus to no end.

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Not to mention, Parker’s stupid fucking question was still lingering in the back of his mind.

The project they were working on gave him an excuse to be near Parker without arousing suspicion. Which was good, considering the blonde’s blood status. The rest of the Dark Lord’s supporters in the school were also watching the new transfer students — it would be easy enough to say he was gathering information.

And that’s how he justified following Parker down to the Quidditch pitch late Saturday afternoon. For the first time since his arrival, Parker wasn’t smiling. Exiting the library, Regulus saw the Gryffindor striding down the hallway with a troubled looked on his face.

Without a second thought, he followed.

Parker moved with agitation, his steps gaining speed the further he went. But he wasn't headed towards the Great Hall or Hogsmeade. Instead, his path took him across the school grounds and towards the Quidditch pitch.

Regulus hung back, staying hidden among the trees as he watched Parker head to the broom shed.

Parker returned with a broom and a Snitch. He kicked off and he was airbound in no time, the golden Snitch whizzing away into the sky.

Parker pursued it, his blonde hair catching the sunlight as he weaved through invisible obstacles, creating a dazzling figure against the sunset. 

Regulus had been on the Slytherin team since his second year, a point of pride for the pureblood. One of the few things he did better than Sirius. Which made it more annoying to admit that Parker was good — exceptionally good.

Parker hurled himself into a series of increasingly daring maneuvers. Loop-de-loops, sharp turns, and breakneck dives.

He flew fearlessly, with a look of genuine enjoyment on his face; twisting and diving and scraping every last bit of power out of his broom.

The desire to get his own broom and go up against the obnoxious Gryffindor burned like a fire under his skin.

After what felt like an hour, Parker pulled out of a particularly dizzying spiral, slowing his broom to a stop mid-air. His chest heaved with exertion as he leaned his head back in contentment. He raised his hand, the Snitch fluttering around in his grip.

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

With a final look to the blonde in the air, Regulus started his walk back to the school, feeling equal parts impressed and annoyed.

---

The next day, in what Regulus could only call a fit of Black family madness, he found himself storming up to James Potter and his band of idiots in the library.

“Reggie?” Sirius asked as he walked over.

Slamming his books down on the table, Regulus stared down at Potter. “Why the hell isn’t Parker on your team?”

The Marauder blinked at him in surprise, and then Potter's eyes lit up with interest. “Henry? He didn’t try out. Why? Is he any good?”

“You came here to talk Quidditch?” Sirius asked incredulously, brow furrowing in confusion.

Regulus ignored him. Potter leaned back in his chair, hazel eyes fixed on Regulus. “What position does he play?”

"Seeker," Regulus said. "I saw him last night out on the pitch. He's... good."

Potter's eyebrows rose. “We already have a Seeker.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. Merlin, but Gryffindor honor was so bloody annoying. “Who cares? The season hasn’t started yet. Connolly isn’t half the flyer that Parker is.”

“Why,” Sirius leaned forward to interrupt, grey eyes stormy, “do you even care, Reg?”

Regulus shot him a glare. "I don't. I just thought you might be interested to know.”

Why was Regulus here?

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Right, fit of madness.

"Uh-huh," Sirius drawled, staring intensely at Regulus. "Because you're such a fan of Gryffindor."

Regulus bristled at his brother's insinuations. "Believe what you want. I'm just saying that Parker could shred Connolly in a match."

“Connolly’s a pureblood, surely you’re not advocating for a muggleborn over him? Your Lord won’t be happy with that.” Sirius asked, narrowing his eyes.

Regulus felt a sting of irritation at his brother's words. "I’m not the one who brought blood status into this, Siri.”

"Okay, okay," Potter interjected, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'll keep that in mind, Regulus. Thanks for the tip." There was a surprising lack of mockery in Potter's voice, just genuine intrigue and an appreciative nod.

Before Regulus could pick up his books to leave, footsteps sounded behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw both the Parkers and Davies coming into the library.

“Oi!” Potter shouted, a grin on his face as he waved a hand at the trio. “Parker! What’s this I hear about you flying around the Quidditch pitch last night?”

Parker, for his part, froze like a deer caught in wandlight. His green eyes darted from Potter to Regulus and back again.

“Uh," He looked genuinely flummoxed by the accusation, rubbing at the back of his neck nervously. “Listen, if this is about me borrowing your broom, James, I swear, I —”

“No, no,” Potter interrupted, waving his hand dismissively before a look of confusion crossed his face. “Wait, what? How did you get my broom?”

“Henry!” His sister turned to hiss at him.

"Uh, never mind," Parker unhelpfully offered, quickly shutting up under the suspicious gazes turned his way. Finally, after a moment's silence, he opted to change the subject. "So, what am I in trouble for?"

Potter laughed, his hazel eyes lighting up with amusement. "Oh, you're not in trouble... yet. We just heard that you were on the pitch last night. You any good?"

Parker's face went through a series of contortions at that. “Erm, yeah. I mean, I’m okay.”

The Marauders stared. Sirius broke the silence first. “Okay?"

Davies gave a stifled snort from the side, covering it with a cough when Parker whipped his head around to glare at him. “Shut up, Leo.”

Regulus watched as realization dawned on Potter’s face. The Gryffindor shot to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at Parker. “Merlin’s beard, you're damn good, aren’t you?”

Parker flushed, hand coming up to ruffle his hair nervously. “Uhh..”

Next to him, Davies snorted again before ducking his head as he laughed.

Girl Parker was pinching her nose in exasperation. “I will never understand this obsession.”

“Alright, that’s it!” Potter slammed his hand down onto the table, causing the pile of books to wobble precariously. “We’re going to the pitch right now! I want to see this for myself.”

Parker stared at the Gryffindor Captain in shock before darting an incredulous look towards Regulus. “Did you do this?”

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Regulus shrugged, deciding not to waste his breath on defending himself. "Look forward to playing you, Parker.”

"There's no time like the present," Potter said, grinning broadly as he started packing his books up. “To the field! I’m going to need proof before I believe any of this!”

Parker gave his sister a questioning glance, almost as if he was seeking her approval.

The curly-haired witch sighed and shook her head resigned at him. "Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Go on, then. Have your fun.”

It was all the permission Parker needed, a radiant grin spreading over his face.

Turning to Potter, he straightened and nodded. "Okay, let's do it."

Potter whooped in enthusiasm, the other Marauders joining in, their loud voices causing Madame Pince to shush them from the other side of the library.

As Potter steered Parker to the door, Sirius rose from his chair and clapped Regulus on the shoulder. "Well done, little brother. You've managed to stir up quite the commotion."

Regulus thought it was the nicest thing Sirius had said to him in years as he watched his brother walk out of the library.

Left on his own, Regulus turned to Davies — alone with him for the first time since he showed up at the school.

Davies watched the retreating commotion with a small smile before turning to Regulus. “My, my, Black. People might think you actually like Parker if you keep pulling stunts like that.”

Regulus stiffened at the words, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glared at Davies. “I don’t care about the mudblood. I’m just tired of seeing Connolley’s face around the pitch.”

Davies' smile didn't falter, but a shadow passed over his grey eyes. He studied Regulus, his gaze sharp and calculating.

It was disorienting to stare into his own face. Even worse to feel like he was being judged with it.

“Careful around Parker — he’s got a way of making you want to be a better person. It’s annoying, really, how easily it happens.”

Regulus scoffed and rolled his eyes, though a strange sensation gathered in the pit of his stomach. “I think I can manage.”

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

The next morning he pretended to be just as surprised as the rest of the school to learn that Parker had replaced Connolly as Gryffindor Seeker.

Fit of madness, indeed.

Chapter Text

Hermione thought Harry would be her biggest problem with being twenty years in the past. And after him, she pegged Sirius and Draco as her next biggest problems — people-wise, at least. The Black family were a melodramatic bunch.

Which is why she was surprised that it was Remus Lupin who was giving her so much grief.

At least she knew how to handle Harry’s chaos.

She didn’t know how to handle Remus’ attention.

He was confident here, more comfortable in his skin than she had ever seen him. And as happy as it made her, she had no clue what to do about the fact that he was always looking at her.

It was maddening. She had no idea how to fend off his advances without revealing too much about herself. Not that he was making it easy for her. A fact she was reminded of as she walked out of Ancient Runes and saw him leaning casually against the wall.

Was he waiting for her?

She turned her head, hoping to catch Malfoy’s eye and keep him around as a buffer, but the dirty, no-good traitor just shot her a smirk as he quickly fell into step next to a group of Ravenclaws.

"Jean," Remus greeted, pushing off the wall and walking next to her. "How were the runes?"

"Oh, enlightening," Hermione responded dryly, shooting a glance his way. The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement, eyes watching her in that intense manner that set her heart pounding.

"That's the spirit," he teased, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his robes. Merlin, he was tall.

She raised an eyebrow at him, trying to maintain an air of aloofness. It was harder than she expected, especially when he was looking at her like she was the only person in the hallway.

"And you?" she asked quickly, needing to break his gaze. "You had your free period, right?"

He nodded, the smirk never leaving his face. "Yes, I did."

"Do anything fun?" She tried to sound disinterested, as if it was just a polite inquiry.

His grin widened and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Hermione felt her cheeks burn hotly as she spluttered for a response. A laugh escaped from him and he bumped their shoulders together in a friendly gesture. Or at least, Hermione tried to convince herself it was friendly.

God, what was wrong with her? She wasn’t used to feeling like this.

They turned a corner, and Hermione glanced over at him. He was looking at her, the sunlight from the windows bouncing off him. He was so vibrant compared to the man she knew. There were still a few scattered scars over his face, but they were less noticeable against the healthier flush to his skin, the spark of brightness in his eyes, and the way he held himself.

It made her all the sadder to think about how much life had beaten him down by the time she met him.

Every time she looked at him she thought about the research she had with her from the Institute. Research that could advance the study of lycanthropy by decades if she shared it. Research that could change Remus’ life. Sitting in her bag, untouched.

Preserving their timeline felt like an increasingly smaller concern when she had both Harry and Dumbledore spinning chaos behind her.

Harry, she could forgive — she understood his complexities. The headmaster’s more flippant attitude about all this was still unsettling and confusing.

She took a deep breath as she considered how quickly they were approaching the point of no return, literally.

A point where much larger decisions would have to be made.

"Are you alright?" Remus asked, his voice suddenly serious as he observed her.

She blinked, realizing she had been silent for quite some time. "Yes, just...thinking."

Remus was quiet for a moment, then said, "You do a lot of that." There was no judgment in his tone. If anything, there was an underlying hint of concern.

“Have you started your essay for Transfiguration yet?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer topics.

"Ah, so we're changing the subject," he teased lightly, though his eyes remained watchful. "But no, not yet.”

“We should work on it together. You have plans tonight?” He raised an eyebrow, looking hopeful. It was an innocent enough request, but with the way he was looking at her, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Oh, uh, I was going to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch practice,” she replied, pushing a curl of hair behind her ear. “It’s Henry’s first official one — I told him I would go.”

A lie, but the the more time she spent alone with Remus, the harder it was to keep her defenses up. He was smart — able to keep up with her in a way most people couldn’t. It was more of a turn-on than she anticipated.

He laughed, eyes sparkling. “That’s right. You know, I think James may have cried watching your brother fly the other day. I believe the phrase ‘the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen’ was uttered.”

She couldn’t help the wave of pride and sadness that flooded her at his words. She would never understand the fanaticism for the sport, but she could appreciate that Harry was talented. She was happy he got to experience it with his father, but she knew it was hard for him to see James so proud when Harry was little more than a stranger to him.

“Yes, well, James has never watched him fall 200 feet off his broom,” she huffed with a shake of her head.

“And what about after?”

“After what?” Hermione asked, brow furrowed.

“What are you doing after Quidditch practice?” he asked, the corners of his lips quirked up in a mischievous smile.

"Ah," Hermione exhaled, her mind briefly freezing at his casual insistence. She struggled to find a suitable response but was thankfully saved when Draco decided to be less of a dirty, no-good traitor and showed back up, casually draping an arm over her shoulder.

"Ah, Jean, there you are,” Malfoy drawled while shooting her a curious look.

Her unease must have shown on her face because his gaze softened and he gave her a subtle squeeze. “I need your help. My…potions experiment is going awry," he tapered off awkwardly.

Remus raised an eyebrow but made no comment about Draco's sudden appearance or his truly awful excuse.

"Sounds like quite the predicament,” he said wryly, stepping back slightly to give them some space. Draco's arm was heavy around Hermione’s shoulders, the weight simultaneously comforting and irritating.

"I'm afraid so," she replied as breezily as she could, gently extricating herself from under Draco's arm. "It seems Leo can't handle a simple potion without my assistance."

She could practically hear Remus' snort of laughter as they walked away, her heart pounding erratically in her chest.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she jabbed Draco in the ribs with her elbow. "You’re awful!”

***

Hermione was going to smother Harry in his sleep. She loved him and she would die for him, but right now all she could think about was the fact that he was a no-good, dirty traitor just like Draco.

“I’m just saying!” Harry said, turning around from where he was sitting at a piano in the Room of Requirement. “You’re constantly telling me to find what happiness I can in this mess of a situation, I don’t see why you can’t take your own advice.”

Hermione shot him a dark look. “It’s not the same thing, Harry! Your stuff is bleaching your hair and playing Quidditch. Mine is —”

“ — Shagging Lupin?” Draco supplied unhelpfully from across the table they were sitting at, setting down the copy of War and Peace he had been reading.

“I am not sleeping with Remus!” Hermione hissed.

“Well, not yet,” Malfoy replied dryly, “but he’s clearly hoping to.”

Hermione could feel her face heat up and she narrowed her eyes. "It's complicated."

"Seems simple enough to me," Harry chuckled as he played a couple of notes.

"You're the last person who should be encouraging this!" Hermione shot him a dark look. “He is your parent's age. He was like a godfather to you. He made you godfather to his son. He taught us!”

“Okay, well, I’m not gonna date him so those feel like moot points,” Harry said like the no-good, dirty traitor he was. “And it’s not like you didn’t fancy him in the future. Merlin knows I still remember the way you looked at Professor Lupin.”

“Ugh, Granger, don’t tell me you were part of that little Lupin fan club back in third year,” Malfoy groaned, rolling his eyes. “I mean, he wasn’t bad-looking, I guess. But he certainly wasn’t as hot as he is right now.”

“Oh, my god, we get it, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, “you would also like to fuck Remus.”

“I mean, he’s not as hot as your father,” Draco smirked as he said it.

Harry’s hand slipped on the keys as sputtered, "What?"

"Relax, Potter," Draco said, voice dripping with nonchalance. "It’s really a compliment to you, too. The Potters are a good-looking lot.”

“Yeah, thanks. A very heartfelt compliment, that. It’s always good to hear that someone wants to shag your teenage father.”

“We don’t know that I wouldn’t have wanted to shag your father as an adult. I imagine he would have aged like a fine wine.” Malfoy reassured Harry. “Merlin, imagine him with a little grey in his hair.”

“Well, as long as you’re universally attracted to him.”

"I'm universally attracted to handsome men," Draco reasoned, shrugging. "It's just unfortunate that one of them happens to be your father."

Before Harry could deliver another retort, Hermione cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said sharply. "Could we please not make this discussion any worse than it already is?"

Malfoy snickered while Harry ducked his head to hide a smile.

"Look, Hermione," Harry started, bringing the conversation back to its original point. "All we're saying is that you should go for it. Live a little."

"You want me to 'live a little' by dating our professor?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Not our professor," Harry corrected. "Right now he’s just a regular Hogwarts student —”

“ — regular is doing a lot of work in that sentence, Potter. He’s a bloody werewolf — ”

“ — who’s been sitting with you every other night in the library for the past month, staring at you longingly while you revise essays and other swotty shit. He clearly likes you.”

"Merlin, I don't believe I'm hearing this," Hermione muttered, pressing her temples as though she could physically push out the headache that was forming.

"Oh, come on, Granger," Draco chimed in, giving her an amused smirk. "Lupin was practically drooling over you earlier."

She shot Harry and Draco a scathing look. "There's more to a relationship than mutual attraction."

"I suppose there's also mutual respect and understanding," Malfoy added with a raised eyebrow. “What a shame Lupin is such a terrible person.”

“And what about a relationship built on nothing but a pile of lies?” she seethed. “Or are we just gonna ignore the fact that we’re secretly time travelers from twenty years in the future? That Harry was godfather to his son and Malfoy, technically, you were his cousin by marriage!”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, “Details.”

Harry chuckled at that, but Hermione only scowled. "This isn't a joke," she snapped.

"Believe me, Mione, I haven't forgotten," Harry said gently, his eyes darkening slightly. "But it doesn’t need to be that serious, either. I’m not saying you need to date him or marry him or anything. Just, I don’t know, flirt back and see how it feels?”

Hermione snorted, pushing her chair back with a grating screech as she gathered her books. "Right," she muttered, standing up. "I'll think about it. Right after I decide which of you gets smothered in his sleep tonight."

“ — Potter, for the sake of my sanity, cease those horrifying sounds. My ears are bleeding.”

***

She was grateful to have a break from them the next day as they snuck out of the castle to make their way to Muggle London via Hogsmeade. They both needed a haircut and a touch-up, but she assumed Harry would also be dragging Draco around to wherever his heart desired while they had the opportunity.

She spent the morning blissfully alone before joining Lily and Marlene in the library to work on their Charms homework. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept wandering back to that conversation.

Which is the only explanation she had for the way she slipped up when Lily asked where Harry and Draco were.

“Hmm? Oh, off in Muggle London somewhere,” Hermione's face flushed as she looked up in guilt.

“ — Merlin, I love those two.”

Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “As Head Girl, I really need to stop asking you lot questions. Your brother is giving the Marauders a run for their money.”

Hermione smiled slightly, nodding. “That sounds about right. He certainly keeps things interesting.”

Lily shook her head, her hair falling around her shoulders in a cascade of red. She put her quill down and looked hesitantly at Hermione. “Can I ask you a question about Henry?”

A ball of nerves pooled in her stomach, but she kept a nonchalant look on her face, “Uh, sure.”

“Is he…okay?” Lily asked, biting her lip.

“Okay?”

“I mean, I know he seems quite happy when we see him about, but James — Potter — mentioned that he doesn’t sleep much. He also said that Henry might have spelled his curtains silent, on his bed?”

Hermione blinked, caught off-guard. It was surprisingly insightful of James to notice, even if it was raising more questions than she cared to answer.

"He...may have trouble sleeping sometimes," Hermione admitted. “He tries not to wake anyone else up if he can help it.”

"Is it nightmares, then?" Lily asked, her green eyes filled with concern.

Hermione swallowed, her fingers tapping nervously on the table. The sincerity in Lily's eyes was enough to break her heart.

"Sometimes," she finally admitted. "He...he's had a difficult past."

Lily looked down, her brow furrowed in sympathy. “And you?”

"Me?" Hermione blinked, her heartbeat picking up its pace. "What about me?"

"Do you have nightmares, too?" Lily probed, her soft gaze warm and inviting.

Hermione hesitated before finally answering. "It's not quite as bad," she said, her eyes averted to her piece of parchment. "But yes...I suppose I do."

Lily reached across the table and gently squeezed Hermione's hand in a comforting gesture. “I know you have your brother and Davies, but if you ever need to talk about anything...Marlene and I are always here.”

Before Hermione could thank her for the offer, Marlene propped her head in her hands and looked at her. “Yes, always here to talk. Could be about the horrors of your past. Could be about how Remus wants to date you. Anything, really.”

“Marlene!”

“What? It’s true,” Marlene shrugged, her smile teasing. “Lupin’s had the hots for you since the day you showed up.”

Hermione sighed, burying her face in her hands. "Not you, too. We're just studying together."

"Studying together, huh?" Marlene's wicked grin returned in full force as she leaned forward in her chair with a knowing look. "Sure that’s all it is?"

"Yes! I swear, you two are as bad as Henry and Leo.”

“Who’s as bad as Henry and Leo?” a voice called from behind her.

Hermione’s cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red as she turned in her seat to find the Marauders making their way over, an amused Sirius Black leading the way.

"Nothing, forget it," Hermione said quickly, her heart pounding as she turned back to her books. She could feel Remus’ gaze on her and it didn't help her nerves one bit.

Lily saved her by laughing and waving the Marauders over to an empty table. "You boys can sit there. We’re actually doing homework.”

Sirius let out a dramatic sigh and slumped in his chair while Remus quietly pulled out his own books across from him.

Hermione watched as James took a seat beside Peter, a troubled look across his face.

“Are you okay, James?” she asked.

James glanced up, his usual cocky grin absent. "Hm? Oh, yeah. Just… was just with McGonagall. Found a fifth-year Hufflepuff in the bathrooms earlier. Rosier and his ilk cornered him between classes. They broke his arm.”

Hermione's stomach churned at the mention of Rosier. The name stirred up memories. "Is he okay?" she asked quietly.

James nodded, his face grim. "Brought him to Pomfrey to be patched up. He’s frightened, though."

Lily looked murderous across from her. "Did McGonagall say anything? Will they be punished?"

James shook his head and sighed heavily. “The kid won’t say who did it. That lot keeps getting away with it — the younger years are afraid to name them anymore.”

Draco’s explanation about the Board’s prejudice rang in the back of her mind and she swallowed hard.

“They’re getting braver. In and outside of the school,” Remus muttered with a concerned look.

Hermione felt a pang in her chest at the blatant reminder that the wizarding world was currently on the cusp of war. Despite being only a few years older than them, Hermione suddenly thought that they all seemed so terrifyingly young.

Once again, she couldn’t help but think about the fact that they had information that could drastically change the fate of the war.

An uneasy silence fell over the library table.

Marlene gave a heavy sigh before putting a strained smile on her face. “So, what are your brother and Davies doing in Muggle London, exactly?”

It was the perfect question to shift the mood as Sirius whipped his head around to look at her for confirmation. “No bloody way! How the hell did those two get out of the castle to go?”

She pointedly ignored his question, turning to look at Marlene. “I’m sure they’re getting into some sort of trouble. I figure there’s at least a 50% chance one of them comes back with a tattoo.”

Remus snorted lightly, a smile playing on his lips as he looked at Hermione. “Henry going to add to his current one?”

Marlene slapped a hand down on the table in excitement. “Wait! Stop! Parker’s got a tattoo? Of what?”

“Boy Parker has lovely flowers across his collarbone — lilies and sunflowers. It’s unfairly hot,” Sirius explained, pouting at the brunette.

“Aw,” Marlene cooed, leaning her head towards Lily. “Lils, your name is Lily and your favorite flowers are sunflowers. Maybe Parker is your one, true love.”

Lily looked flabbergasted as heat rose to her cheeks. “What? No, Marlene, that’s —”

“A sign from the universe,” Marlene cut her off, a wicked grin playing on her lips.

“Or it’s just a bloody coincidence," Hermione quickly said, desperate to stomp out this line of conversation. She did not need Marlene or the Marauders making jokes about Harry dating his own mother. He was already having enough of an existential crisis with Sirius’ inane flirting.

“I’m with Jean on this,” James said, a distraught look on his face.

“Of course, you are Prongs. Don’t want any competition for Evans,” Sirius laughed at him, a glint in his eye.

James flushed furiously, shooting a glare at his friend. "Shut it, Padfoot," he muttered.

“Okay!” Hermione chimed in. “New subject, please.”

When the group finally dispersed a few hours later, Harry and Draco were waiting for her at dinner. Neither had any new tattoos, but Harry did sheepishly slide a bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss over to her.

“I know you still prefer brushing over the spells. I’m sorry if we went too far yesterday.”

She ran her thumb over the tube of toothpaste. It was the brand her parents used to buy.

She loved him so much.

Arcturus Black considered himself a fairly reasonable man.

Other members of his family might disagree with that, but by and large, Arcturus considered their opinions worthless. Outside of Cassiopeia and Lucretia, Arcturus was mostly unimpressed by his family. Orion had been a half-promising boy – competent enough, good-looking, polished. Then he went and ruined it all by marrying Walburga. And any spine the man had disappeared alongside bottle after bottle of firewhiskey.

Despite what rumors suggested, Orion and Walburga’s marriage had not been the plan. Even amongst their circle, marriage between such direct cousins was a bit too close. But Pollux had been determined for one of his children to inherit House Black and since Arcturus upended his plans by having a son, the man had altered his approach.

The Black patriarch wouldn’t have minded so much if he liked the woman, but she was worryingly unpleasant. Arcturus spent less and less time with Orion’s family over the years in an attempt to avoid interacting with her.

A move he could now admit was problematic. He had lost sight over his grandsons. He had foolishly assumed that Orion would ensure his children’s proper upbringing, especially considering the decades of education that both he and Walburga had received themselves.

And then he had to find out from Fleamont Potter of all people that Sirius had fled the home after the woman dared to raise her wand at him, being “disinherited” as Heir.

The audacity of the woman — as if she had the power!

Potter had approached him after a Wizengamot session last summer, not mincing words about the unexpected visitor who’d landed on their doorstep. Sirius Black had fled home, wandless and disheveled and with an expression of quiet desperation that both Potters found alarming.

The embarrassment of it all.

Regulus was a good son — sharp and dutiful, and Arcturus was sure he could guide him into a fine head of house, if needed. However, he had no intention of disinheriting Sirius just yet.

Sirius was a stubborn, reckless boy, with a propensity for dramatics that Arcturus found grating, but no one could deny his charisma, his knowledge, his power.

He was magnetic, a force of nature, commanding attention with a single glance. But he was also merciless and unyielding, unafraid to do what was necessary to come out victorious.

He had all the makings of a leader – something House Black desperately needed. Oh, he was insufferably enchanted with mudbloods and Muggles, but even those flaws were not entirely unreformable with a firm enough hand to guide him.

Most importantly, Sirius carried the proud legacy of the Black lineage in his bones.

Arcturus had been increasingly unnerved by the hold this Lord Voldemort had over certain members of his family. As much as Arcturus agreed with the man’s ideals, Blacks did not bow, and they certainly were not branded like cattle.

Sirius understood that. No one would ever see him kissing the robes of another wizard in submission.

He was foolish to assume Orion and Walburga could handle a boy like Sirius.

And apparently, his oversights didn’t end there! Now there was a rogue Black running around Hogwarts. Calling himself Davies, but given the flurry of letters Arcturus received about the boy’s appearance at the school, there was no doubt amongst the Nobles that the similarities were far too great to be coincidental.

The Black patriarch sent letters to both Sirius and Regulus, although neither did anything to alleviate his concern.

Sirius replied first, his letter filled with his traditional defiance, but informative enough.

“Despite the delightful amount of theories floating around, Davies hasn’t confirmed or denied any relation outright. But it's clear there's something more to him. For all his polish, you’ll be disappointed to learn he doesn’t adhere to the pureblood fanaticism the family loves so dearly. He showed up alongside two equally impressive and mysterious muggleborn siblings, and it’s obvious they’re quite friendly.

Whatever family secrets you’re hoping to uncover, the Parkers will somehow be part of it.”

Regulus’ letter echoed most of what his brother had said, although he had included a theory that Arcturus found particularly unsettling.

"The resemblance is uncanny – even Lestrange admitted that he could mistake the transfer student for me if it weren’t for the height difference. No one has been able to get anything more from him other than the fact that he was homeschooled before this. But it’s obvious he received pureblood training — he carries himself like a Black.

Most of the rumors are truly absurd, although the current reigning theory among the Noble children is that he’s Marius Black’s son.”

Arcturus wanted to dismiss the idea. As far as he knew, his Uncle Cygnus had obliviated the boy once they confirmed his Squib status, dropping him off at a Muggle orphanage before his eleventh birthday.

The idea that he was Marius’ was laughable, but the alternatives were infidelity and bastards. Arcturus wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

He leaned back in his plush chair, mulling over the letters. He picked up a glass of firewhiskey from his desk, nursing it as he stared out over the Black estate.

Despite their differences, Sirius and Regulus knew the importance of being a Black — the power it carried. If they both thought there was enough evidence to consider the boy a Black... Well, that made things infinitely more complicated.

And now Arcturus was annoyed. He had enough headaches with his official family members – he had no need to chase after a wizard barely old enough to wave a wand.

His grandfather’s portrait broke his brooding.

“Still sitting around looking at parchment?” Phineas asked, walking into the frame of his portrait in Black Manor. The previous Headmaster had a few portrait frames he traveled between. He occasionally stopped in to give reports on Hogwarts.

“It never seems to end,” Arcturus replied. He steeped his fingers as he gazed at the painting. “What news do you bring?”

“Right to the point – I see the mood you’re in,” Phineas quipped back. “Fine. You have no doubt heard of the Black interloper by now, I assume?”

Arcturus sneered as he sat up straighter at the question. “Of course, it’s all anyone seems to be able to talk about. What do you know about him?”

The portrait’s look was almost amused as he responded, “The more I learn, the more interesting it gets! He showed up just before term with his little mudblood friends. They floo’ed directly into Albus’ office and asked for a private audience. Private private – Albus has been muffling the portraits anytime they show up. Next thing I hear, they’re transfer students come to finish their schooling. Everyone knows it’s hogwash, but none of the portraits have been able to learn anything to contradict it.”

“So you’ve seen him?” Arcturus asked. “This Leo Davies. Does he look as much like my grandsons as everyone says?”

“And then some,” Phineas confirmed. “The boy could be dropped into any family meeting and you would never question it.”

“And the mudbloods? These Parkers?”

“Not relations, if that’s what you’re wondering, although the boy does look like someone, I just can’t seem to place it.” Phineas stroked his chin as he talked. “Wears his hair in some absurd Muggle style – atrocious to me, but the students seem to love it, if the gossip is anything to go by.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Arcturus nudged him along impatiently.

“The Parkers are just as interesting as your faux Black, if not more. The girl should have been a Ravenclaw. By all accounts, she’s a walking library. The professors are already making bets on how many NEWTs she’ll sit.”

"And the boy?"

“Oh,” Phineas started, eyes brightening, “now there’s a story I’m interested in. The boy is teeming with power – so much so that he doesn’t even seem to realize it. As irritatingly charismatic as your disgraceful Heir, and most curious, he seems completely disenchanted with Albus.”

"Disenchanted?" Arcturus leaned forward, interest piqued.

“Borderline disrespectful from the few glimpses I’ve been able to see,” said Phineas with a mock sigh. “It seems Parker is perfectly intent on antagonizing the old man, though Albus has yet to take any action against him.”

Arcturus considered this for a moment, taking another long sip of his firewhiskey.

"The Parker siblings' relationship with Davies?" he mused.

“Inseparable,” replied Phineas with a sneer. “A shame, really. Outside of the name, the boy has all the makings of a proper pureblood, but he’s clearly thrown himself in with the lot of Lions. Your Heir has truly atrocious ideals, but he’s collecting himself quite a merry band of powerful wizards.”

Arcturus’ earlier annoyance faded somewhat in light of the new information. Now he was also intrigued. Perhaps summons were in order. It was time to bring Sirius back into the fold. And he would see this Leo Davies for himself.

Chapter Text

The sun was warm on Harry as he stretched out on the grass, the Marauders' laughter a comforting hum in his ears.

Harry leaned back, fingers threading through the grass as he watched Sirius effortlessly lob a stunner toward James, who returned it with a casual flick of his wand. The laughter and camaraderie around him were infectious, but Harry felt oddly detached—a spectator in a life that was both his and not his.

"Where are your shadows, Parker?" James asked as he dove out of the way of another curse.

“Jean is with Davies, working on their Ancient Runes project," Harry replied smoothly, the lies settling like second nature on his tongue, as he took a drag of his cigarette.

They were meeting with Dumbledore to review some additional research the Headmaster had acquired regarding time travel.

He opted not to attend, preferring to minimize his contact with the scheming wizard, even though it left him a little unmoored to be on his own with the Gryffindors.

He'd been as diligent as he could when it came to the Marauders. Always finding an excuse to have Hermione or Draco present, going to bed after them, getting up before them, anything to avoid being alone with them for too long.

Hermione and Draco might disagree given they were the ones cleaning up after him, but Harry thought he had been handling himself well enough in this fucked-up time travel misadventure.

He had avoided fighting anyone, even when Rosier, with Snape and Lestrange flocking behind him, had shot a tripping hex at Hermione while she was walking down the stairs. He had been perfectly average in Defense. And he had followed Hermione’s request not to try out for the Quidditch team, even if Regulus had pleasantly ruined that plan.

“Should you really be smoking on school grounds, Parker?” Lily asked from her spot next to Marlene and Remus on the grass.

Harry turned his head, catching his Mum’s playful scowl. “I’m more scared of Jean catching me than a professor,” he shot back, smirking slightly. He could feel the warmth of her gaze, a blend of amusement and worry. There was something unspoken in her expression, a glimmer of concern that tugged at his heart.

“Your sister is a bit scary,” Marlene chimed in, tossing a handful of grass at him.

“Yeah she is,” Harry agreed proudly, chuckling as he brushed off the dirt. He shifted his gaze back to the duel. James and Sirius, spell for spell, were lost in their own world.

“It’s nice,” Lily started, giving him a soft look, “how close you two are.”

Harry felt the warmth of her words settle over him and took a deep drag from his cigarette. “Mione is my rock.”

"Oi! Watch the book!" Remus scolded, shielding his precious cargo, as James did another sharp dive toward the ground in an attempt to avoid Sirius’ barrage of spells.

It would be easy to fall into their banter. But then there was Pettigrew, lurking in the background.

Harry observed, the nagging feeling of dissonance growing within him. This wasn't the Pettigrew he knew. This was someone else — a baby-faced teen who trailed after his friends with a nervous smile. Draco would probably chalk it up to Harry’s bleeding heart heroism, but something twisted in his gut at the sight of the boy.

Harry watched, a bemused expression on his face, as Sirius took center stage with the ease of someone born to stand in the spotlight. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, his laughter rich and untroubled as he confidently cast Protego Maxima. The shield shimmered into existence, a dome of protective magic that reflected the late afternoon sun in brilliant hues.

"Come on, Wormtail!" Sirius beckoned with a cocky grin, eyes glittering with the thrill of the challenge.

Pettigrew's wand movements were stiff, hesitant—a stark contrast to Sirius's fluid grace. Harry could see it so clearly, the way Peter's stance was rigid, his feet planted as if he expected the ground to give way beneath him. It was all wrong for casting spells of this caliber.

"Put some spine into it, Pete!" James called, sitting and slinging an arm over Remus's shoulders as they observed.

“You’re not helping, Potter,” Lily admonished him.

Pettigrew’s attempt faltered again, his spell barely grazing the surface of Sirius’s shield before dissipating into nothingness. Sirius didn’t even flinch, his posture relaxed, almost bored with the ease of maintaining his defense.

"Is that all you've got?" Sirius teased, his voice carrying across the grounds, drawing a few glances from other students nearby.

And perhaps it was the cocky lilt to his voice, or the way he was goading Pettigrew on, but all Harry could see and hear at that moment was Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, laughing at Bellatrix as if he couldn’t possibly die.

"C’mon, Wormy! You can do better than that," Sirius called again, and Harry felt the urge swell within him.

Before he could second-guess himself, Harry vanished his cigarette and pushed himself upward, a sudden rush of adrenaline propelling him.

With a swift flick of his wrist, he sent a wordless Bombarda racing towards Sirius. The explosion was thunderous, echoing across the open field like a clap, scattering grass and dirt into the air. Harry's heart raced as he watched the spell collide with Sirius’s shield, causing it to ripple violently before it flickered out of existence.

A beat of silence.

The air hung heavy for a moment, and then the world erupted into chaos. James whooped with excitement, laughing as he leaped to his feet, while Remus's eyes widened in surprise. Lily's hand flew up to her mouth as she stared between the two, and Marlene let out a delighted cackle.

“Merlin, you’re just as scary as your sister.”

Sirius turned slowly, his expression shifting from shock to exuberance as he met Harry’s fierce gaze.

“You’re too cocky by half, Black,” Harry warned, relaxing his shoulders as he lowered his wand back down. “It’ll get you in trouble someday.”

The corners of Sirius's mouth curled up, a wicked gleam sparking in his eyes. “No, just cocky enough, Parker.”

Irritation curled in Harry’s gut at his words. Everything was always a game to Sirius. He could hardly stand it sometimes. 

Come on, you can do better than that!

Without saying anything, Harry twirled his wand with a flick of his wrist and sent off a rapid succession of spells—Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Impedimenta—each spell more forceful than the last.

Sirius dodged the first two but the Impedimenta hit him square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. For a moment, Harry wondered if he'd pushed too far, but then he saw Sirius's grin reappear, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"You've been holding out on us, Parker," Sirius said, catching his breath as he regained his footing. “Not fair. You’re even hotter when you’re all worked up.”

Harry felt his face flush at Sirius's words, the flirtatious tone setting his nerves on edge. “Not everything is a game, Sirius. Stop underestimating your opponents.”

Remus, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward with a slight frown creasing his brow. "Alright, maybe we should cool it down a bit. Don’t want anyone actually getting hurt."

But Sirius was already shaking his head, brushing off Remus’s concerns with a dismissive wave. "No, let him come at me. I want to see what he’s really capable of."

Harry should have said no. He should have walked away. He really should have gone with Hermione and Draco.

But he didn’t.

"Fine," Harry said tersely, his voice barely above a whisper as he positioned himself, ready for Sirius's next move.

The air was thick with tension. Sirius twirled his wand, a smile playing on his lips, clearly enjoying the challenge.

In a swift, almost blur-like motion, Sirius launched a barrage of curses.

Harry's reactions were instantaneous and instinctive. With each spell that hurtled towards him, he erected barriers or deflected them, his movements fluid and precise. The ground around him scorched and sizzled where curses hit, emitting small wisps of smoke as the spells dissipated.

In quick succession, Harry countered with a series of complex binding spells.

"Merlin, really going at it, those two," James muttered from somewhere behind Harry.

Sirius ducked and weaved, his face set in a concentrated scowl. He was no longer smiling. With a deft movement, he sliced through the bindings with a counter-curse, strands of magic dissipating into the air.

The crowd of watching students had grown and Harry just knew that Hermione was going to give him hell for this later.

Sirius wasn’t backing down, though, and neither was Harry.

Harry dodged the next flurry of spells that Sirius sent his way, parrying the Leg-Locker Curse back across the grass.

He feinted left, then quickly cast a Stunning Spell to the right. Sirius barely managed to deflect it, stumbling slightly.

Taking advantage of Sirius’s momentary vulnerability, Harry launched a forceful Blasting Curse, deciding to end it once and for all. As intended, the spell hit the ground near Sirius’ feet, the impact throwing him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the grass.

Harry shot a silent Expelliarmus at the pureblood, deftly catching his wand.

The sudden silence was deafening as Sirius looked up from the ground. He wasn't angry per se; instead, there was a calculating look in his eyes as he accepted Harry's extended hand to help him up.

“Well, well, you’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?” Sirius murmured, dusting off his trousers as he regained his footing.

Harry held Sirius’ wand out to him, giving the pureblood a look. “You could stand to take things more seriously.”

Sirius accepted his wand with a grin, twirling it between his fingers. "Oh, I'm taking you very seriously, Parker.”

Around them, the crowd began to disperse, murmurs and whispers floating in the air. James clapped Harry on the shoulder with a wide grin. “That was amazing! Merlin’s beard, but you could give Professor Wilkes a run for his galleons.”

“Henry Parker!”

Fuck, Hermione was going to kill him.

As a general rule, Draco tried not to respond to cryptic letters telling him to meet in specific places, but Potter had somehow managed to conjure the parchment directly into his pocket.

Stupid powerful prick.

He found Harry and Regulus in the very back of the library, a scattering of books around them.

"Parker, in the future, refrain from sending for me like a House Elf," Draco drawled, his voice lacing the silence as he approached. Regulus looked up, an eyebrow arched in question.

"Thought it'd be fitting for you to join," Harry said, his voice carrying that familiar cheeky lilt as he glanced up from his book. "Considering Regulus got stuck with such a shit project partner."

Harry's eyes glinted with mischief, and Draco couldn't help but give him an exasperated look. He knew what Harry was doing — trying to force the two Slytherin purebloods together in his misguided belief that Draco could be some sort of good influence on the younger boy.

Regulus shot Potter a dark look. “I’m perfectly capable of handling our Ancient Runes project myself, Parker. Davies’ presence isn’t necessary.”

“C’mon, Reg, three minds is better than two and all that.”

“Don’t call me Reg.”

Draco snorted, watching the way Harry gave Regulus puppy-dog eyes. Potter had a truly impressive way of getting under your skin.

Draco rolled his eyes as they continued to bicker, pulling out a chair, and settling in beside them. "Well, as I’m already here, I have my own homework I can work on.”

He pulled out his Transfiguration textbook as Potter flopped his head onto the table next to him, looking up at him with a lopsided grin.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Whatever it is that you’re plotting in that devious little mind of yours.”

Potter gave a bark of laughter.

“Maybe I just like looking at you, Davies,” Harry quipped, pushing himself up to sit properly.

Draco shot the Gryffindor a smirk. “Fair, I’ve been told I’m pretty.”

“Merlin, you do love reminding me that I said that,” Harry laughed happily. “Well, compliments to both of you then, lads, as you’re twins and all.”

Regulus scowled, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "If you two are quite finished flirting, I'd like to actually get some work done."

Harry's grin widened. "Aww, feeling left out Reggie?"

"Don't call me that either," Regulus snapped, but there was less bite to it than before.

Draco couldn't help but chuckle at Regulus's put-upon expression. The younger Slytherin was clearly out of his element dealing with the overly familiar Gryffindor. Draco had to admit, he was enjoying watching Harry wind Regulus up. It was a refreshing change of pace from Harry winding Draco up.

“You two are frustratingly studious. I might as well be hanging out with Jean.”

Draco shot the Gryffindor an unimpressed look. “Where is your sister?”

Harry's fingers tapped against the table restlessly. “She’s with Lily, Marlene, and James, working on something or another.”

Regulus snorted from across the table, his lips twisting into a sneer. "What a lovely collection of mudbloods and blood traitors.”

The word cut through the silence like a blade, and Harry's head snapped up, his expression morphing into something fierce and formidable. The air around them felt charged, Potter’s magic almost palpable.

"Watch your mouth, Regulus," Harry's voice was low, but the warning in it rang clear. "It's not okay to call Hermione—or any muggleborn—that name."

Regulus blinked, clearly taken aback by the intensity radiating from Harry.

"I've let you get away with calling me that because I don't care what people call me," Harry continued, his tone edged with steel, "and because I like you well enough, but my sister is off limits, Black."

The words 'my sister' seemed to echo in the cramped space, underscoring the gravity of the moment. Regulus swallowed, the arrogance draining from his face as he met Harry's unwavering gaze.

Regulus’s cheeks turned a light shade of crimson. His usual sneer wilted under Harry's gaze, and for a moment, the library was thick with tension, the kind that precedes a storm.

"Sorry," he muttered, the word sounding unfamiliar and heavy on his tongue.

Harry held his stare for a beat longer, then gave a short, curt nod.

"Right, thank you," Harry said, breaking the tension as he leaned back in his chair. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I’m gonna go and find the book you mentioned earlier.”

The air relaxed slightly as he stood up and strode between the towering shelves, leaving the two Slytherins staring at the empty space he left behind.

Regulus shifted, eyes flickering to where Harry had been sitting. The earlier bravado seemed to have evaporated, leaving someone far more contemplative behind. Draco recognized that look—the realization of having stepped into dangerous territory.

"I didn’t even think about it," Regulus said after a moment, his voice quieter, thoughtful.

Draco nodded slowly, fixing his gaze on the younger wizard. "Maybe you should start thinking about it. Especially around Parker.”

Regulus slumped back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. The silence hung heavily between them.

"Davies," Regulus began, breaking the silence. "Why do you stick hanging around with the Parkers? Despite whatever family secrets you’re hiding behind, the purebloods in the school seem willing enough to give you the benefit of the doubt about your lineage.”

Draco's response was not immediate; instead, he scrutinized Regulus with an intensity that felt almost palpable.

“Because there’s something really powerful about people who have seen you at your absolute worst and still choose to stand by you,” Draco replied, his voice steady. "Like I told you, Parker has a way of making you want to be a better person. With Henry — with both of them — I stand somewhere worth standing."

"Somewhere worth standing?" Regulus echoed in mild disbelief, mulling over the concept as if tasting the words for the first time, trying to fit them into his worldview. “They’re mud — muggleborns.”

Draco continued to hold Regulus's gaze, silently willing the younger Slytherin to understand the unspoken truth behind the words.

"I spent years thinking I was better than everyone else," Draco began, voice low and even. The words fell between them, stark and unadorned. "I wish I could say it was maturity that made me realize I wasn’t. But, well, it wasn’t."

He paused, taking a deep inhale and holding it for a moment. "It took having my entire life ripped out from underneath me to even consider that perhaps the world was not as black and white as I thought.”

Regulus shifted, discomfort etched into the lines of his face.

"Turns out, I’m not the center of the universe." Draco tapped a finger against the table, a pointed metronome counting down to an inevitable truth. "I’m not special and neither are you."

The younger Black flinched. Draco pressed on, merciless now in his honesty. "The Dark Lord recruited you for your name and the prestige it holds among the Nobles. But you? You’re expendable, Black."

Regulus’ head snapped up at the statement, grey eyes wide as they stared incredulously at Draco. “How do you know — "

Draco cut off his question, continuing over it. "The second you fall out of favor, you’re down among the commoners. Fall far enough down and you might as well be a blood traitor anyway. And unlike Henry and Jean and their unending bleeding hearts, there won’t be anyone there to offer you a hand up.”

The silence that followed was charged, fraught with the tension.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but you don’t know anything about me or my situation, Davies,” Regulus spat.

Draco leaned forward, his expression unyielding. "I know enough. I know you’ve got that hideous Mark on your arm, burning under your robe. I know you’ve got Rosier and Lestrange and all the other Death Eaters in this school watching your every move. I know you’ve got the impossible task of trying to balance school work with orders from your Lord, all while your family name hangs over your head.”

Regulus swallowed hard, his adam's apple moving sharply.

“But mostly, I know you’re a kid. And you’re scared.”

Regulus looked away, his jaw tightening as if the words had physically struck him. He stood abruptly, chair scraping harshly against the stone floor, a sharp noise in the otherwise hushed atmosphere of the library.

“You don’t know anything,” Regulus muttered, his voice barely audible. Without another word, he gathered his books and shoved them into his bag. “And I’m not scared.”

Draco watched him walk away from the table before disappearing from view completely.

“He really is just baby you.”

Draco sighed, not bothering to look up at Harry as he slid back into his vacated seat. "He's not me. If what you said about him is true, he’s better than me. Braver than me.”

Harry shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You're both just kids who got caught up in something too big for you to handle."

Draco's eyes flashed. "That’s giving me entirely too much credit, Harry. My decisions were still my own.”

“The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment.”

Harry's words hung heavy in the air. Draco felt a tightness in his chest, memories of his past mistakes threatening to overwhelm him. He took a steadying breath. “I need to stop reading things to you, Potter. I hadn’t expected you to memorize quotes.”

“I like it when you read to me,” Harry said softly.

Harry watched Hermione hunch over the letter, her fingers tracing Nicholas Flamel's spidery handwriting. They were once more in the Room of Requirement, set up in what Harry had dubbed the “Research Room.”

"Anything useful?" Draco's voice cut through the silence, his gaze not leaving Hermione's face.

Hermione sighed and finally set down the letter, rubbing her temples. "He's brilliant, but even Flamel is stumped." She met Harry's green eyes, her own filled with a mix of determination and exhaustion. "Dumbledore must have hoped for more."

With a huff, Hermione crumbled the parchment in her first. Harry watched as her features contorted with frustration, her eyes scanning the room for answers to their impossible situation.

"Enough," Harry said, pushing back his chair with a scrape that echoed in the silence. He rounded the table and took Hermione's hand, the parchment crinkling under her touch as he gently pried it from her grasp.

"Look at me, Hermione," he urged, his voice low, insistent. She lifted her gaze, her warm brown eyes welling with tears she wouldn’t let fall.

"Harry, I—" She began, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"You're running yourself ragged," he said. "You can't keep doing this to yourself." His thumb traced circles over the back of her hand, a grounding gesture they had both come to rely on in moments of uncertainty.

She bit her lip, contemplating the weight of his words. The silence stretched between them.

"Maybe it's time to accept that there might not be a way back," Harry continued, his voice barely louder than a whisper, finally verbalizing the topic they have been dancing around for the past two months.

Hermione gave Harry a heartbroken look, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Do you realize what it means to accept our place here?" she whispered, her voice trembling. “Voldemort is alive. Everything we did, the sacrifices you made — they all mean nothing.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp, wrapping her arms around herself. “Do you really want to do it all again?”

Harry's jaw clenched. "Of course, I don't want to do it all again. I didn’t want to do it all the first time! I gave up everything, Mione. Everything for that bloody fucking war. And being sent back? Giving up Ron and the Weasleys and Teddy? The unfairness of it all is enough to make me do a Wronski Feint I don’t pull up from.”

He felt tears well in his eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair as he sniffed, grief and frustration thrumming through him. "But we're here, Hermione. We've been here for months. And every day that passes, we change things just by existing. And I have to believe that we’re here for a reason.”

Draco cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "He's right, Granger. We can't keep pretending this is temporary."

Hermione gave a watery laugh, shaking her head. "You don't even know half of the hell we went through to take Voldemort down the first time, Draco."

She stood up, pacing the length of the room. Her fingers twisted in her hair, tugging at the strands. "We spent months on the run, living in a tent, starving and cold. We broke into the Ministry, into Gringotts. Got captured and tortured. I still have the word Mudblood carved into my arm. And that doesn’t even get into the bloody Hocruxes!”

Her voice rose, words tumbling out faster. "You walked to your death, Harry. You stood there and let him cast the killing curse at you. And by the grace of Magic, you survived all of it.”

She turned to Harry, her voice softening. “I can handle a lot, Harry. But the idea that I could lose you again?”

Her voice cracked.

Harry's heart clenched at the raw pain in Hermione's voice. He crossed the room in quick strides, pulling her into a tight embrace. She buried her face in his chest, her body shaking with silent sobs.

"You're not going to lose me," Harry murmured into her hair. “We’ve done it before. We’re smarter this time. We have the advantage.”

Hermione pulled back, wiping her eyes. "We don't even know what Horcruxes exist yet. And if they do, they could be in completely different locations."

"We’ve got more than we had last time. The rest, we figure it out," Harry said firmly. "Together. Like we always have."

Draco stood, moving closer to them. "Briefly glossing over the absurd things you rattled off — and we will be coming back to that list, Granger — Harry’s not wrong. You lot were working against truly awful odds last time. The Ministry still stands. Hogwarts is still under Dumbledore’s hand. Diagon isn’t plastered with wanted posters of Potter. You’re already leagues ahead of the first time around.”

Harry could have kissed the pureblood for his optimism.

Hermione nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "You're right. We do have advantages this time." She squared her shoulders, a familiar look of determination settling on her face.

Harry felt a surge of relief. This was the Hermione he knew - ready to tackle any problem head-on.

“And, we have the Hallows,” Harry said it softly, unsure if it was the right time to mention it.

Hermione's eyes widened. "The Hallows?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But how?"

He shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small pouch.

Harry carefully emptied the contents onto the table. The Resurrection Stone glinted dully in the room's soft light. Beside it, the Elder Wand thrummed with barely contained power. Finally, the silvery folds of the Invisibility Cloak shimmered.

He looked up nervously, “I didn’t bring them. But I had my Cloak out the other night and suddenly the other two were just…there.”

Draco's eyebrows were practically in his hairline, his eyes wide as he stared at the objects on the table. "Merlin's balls, Potter. Are those really...?"

Harry nodded grimly. "The Deathly Hallows. All three of them."

Hermione reached out a trembling hand, her fingers hovering just above the Elder Wand. "How is this possible? We left the stone in the forest. Dumbledore has the wand."

"I’m not entirely sure," Harry admitted. "As far as I can tell, these are the real ones. The ones that existed before we got here are just imitations now. I don’t even really know how I know that — just do.”

It was bloody confusing how Magic worked for Harry now. 

Draco let out a shaky laugh.

"Of course, you're the bloody Master of Death," Draco muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "As if you weren't already powerful enough."

Harry shot him a sharp look. "I didn't ask for this."

“No, you wouldn’t, Potter. You’ve got that bloody heart of gold. Too pure for this world.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed, her analytical mind clearly working overtime. "If you truly are the Master of Death, Harry…”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I don't even know what being the Master of Death means, Mione, if it means anything at all. It's not like it comes with an instruction manual."

"No, but it does come with three powerful magical objects," Draco pointed out, eyeing the Hallows with a mix of awe and trepidation.

“Well, the Cloak was always mine.”

Hermione's brow furrowed as she examined the Hallows. "This could change things," she murmured. "With these... we might actually stand a chance."

"We always stood a chance," Harry said firmly, and he really did believe that. "This just gives us an edge."

Chapter Text

Leo Davies was becoming a mild annoyance. Not that Narcissa had met the boy, but it’s all anyone in the family talked about the past couple of months. Which was annoying, really, because Narcissa was trying to plan a wedding. 

Arcturus’ interest had been properly quiet — a few carefully crafted letters to various family members.

Bellatrix’s was much more insistent. Narcissa loved her sister, but if she had to hear one more rant about the ‘attention-seeking imposter embarrassing the Black name’, she would muffle her own ears.

Even Lucius had fallen prey to the rumor mill that was Leo Davies’ existence. When he mentioned it for a third time on their date at Café Abringer, Narcissa had set her napkin down and walked out.

But no one compared to Aunt Walburga. The woman was borderline unhinged on the best of days. A mystery wizard popping up that looked suspiciously like her own children did nothing to improve her deposition.

Narcissa sighed, smoothing her robes as she settled at the long mahogany table in the opulent dining room of Black Manor. Arcturus must have settled on a plan. She could think of no other reason for him to have finally called them all together.

Narcissa's eyes swept across the gathered family members. Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga, Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma, her own parents, Bellatrix, Aunt Lucretia, Uncle Alphard, and Grand Aunt Cassiopeia.

Lucius was not allowed to attend as they weren’t married yet. Technically, Rodolphus should have been there, but Bellatrix often kept him out of Black matters as a power play more than anything. Regulus was still in school or else he would be here, too.

Still, it was quite an impressive collection of Black family members all in one spot, even with the tension radiating from each perfectly poised figure. It had been a while since they were all together like this, not since Bella's wedding.

Speaking of, Bellatrix leaned close, her grey eyes glinting. "Has Regulus answered your last letter? He’s supposed to be giving me updates on this brazen Black imposter," she hissed.

Narcissa shook her head slightly, careful not to draw attention. "Nothing yet. But he has a lot on his plate right now, I’m sure."

Bellatrix's lips curled into a sneer. "Don’t make excuses for him. Useless boy. I'll have to speak with him myself."

"The Dark Lord has taken an interest in the happenings at Hogwarts," Bellatrix whispered, a fevered gleam in her eyes. "Especially Regulus’ little look-a-like. I have been trying to get Uncle Arcturus’ attention for weeks now. Our Lord wants to know what Lord Black has learned about the transfer students.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. It was rather bold to have Bellatrix represent the Dark Lord to the Head of House. Uncle Arcturus was a wizard who respected propriety. Lord Voldemort would have more success coming to meet Arcturus himself, paying the proper respect. 

Regardless, it seemed rather like a waste of talent for the Dark Lord to be chasing after teenagers, but this Leo Davies was causing quite a stir among the Nobles. She supposed that could justify the intrigue.

A sharp clink of crystal silenced the room. Lord Arcturus Black stood, commanding attention. His steely gaze swept over the assembled family.

"We are here," he intoned, “to discuss matters of importance related to our Noble house.”

“Leo Davies,” Arcturus started as he leaned forward over the table, “is an unacceptable problem.”

Hard grey eyes scanned the room slowly, taking a moment to meet each individual gaze.

"House Black is the longest-standing Noble House in Wizarding Britain," he declared, his deep voice resonating through the room. "We will not be made a fool of by some errant wizard.”

Silence fell over the table.

"You found no connection at all, Father?" Aunt Lucretia asked, her voice measured.

"I have scoured the family tree," Arcturus said, his voice low and dangerous. "I have searched every branch, every twig, every leaf. And yet, I have found no conceivable relation between this Leo Davies and our family."

“And then there is the rumor that he’s Marius’ offspring,” Lord Black drawled, his lip curling back into a sneer.

Bellatrix let out a harsh laugh. "A Squib’s son? Impossible."

Arcturus' eyes flashed dangerously. "Precisely. Which makes this charade all the more insulting."

Her father cleared his throat. "What do you propose we do about this situation, Lord Black?"

Arcturus' gaze swept the room once more. “I have sent the boy a summons. I will go to Hogwarts and see him for myself. In the meantime, I have sent letters to both Sirius and Regulus to keep an eye on the boy.”

Narcissa's breath caught. A summons from Lord Black was not to be taken lightly. She wondered how this Leo Davies would react.

"And if he refuses?" Alphard asked, leaning forward with interest.

Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "Then we will know he has something to hide."

Bellatrix cackled. "Oh, I do hope he refuses. It would be fun to... persuade him."

"You will do nothing without my express permission," Arcturus snapped.

“Now, I will not risk any additional humiliation in front of a boy barely old enough to Apparate. If his presence is the result of …indiscretions, I will have the truth of it.”

The room erupted into chaos. Walburga's shrill voice rose above the din, declaring Orion's innocence. She glanced at her sister, noting the hungry gleam in Bellatrix's eyes. This was precisely the kind of chaos her sister thrived on. Narcissa sat back, her hands folded delicately in her lap, watching the scene unfold with a detached interest.

Walburga's voice rang out loudly, shrill and indignant. "The idea that Orion would cheat on me!"

Narcissa could barely keep from smiling as she shot her mother a knowing look. She wouldn't hold it against Uncle Orion if he did. Merlin knows, she might have done the same in his position. But no, the man was more likely to be found clutching a bottle than another witch.

Arcturus sneered at Walburga. "Hold your tongue! Your foolhardy dramatics have brought nothing but embarrassment to this family." He turned to Orion, his eyes cold. "If this Leo Davies is your bastard, you will admit it here. Your indifference has done enough damage to your two trueborn children as it is.”

Orion's face flushed, his jaw clenching. "I have no bastards," he growled. "And I resent the implication."

Arcturus waved a dismissive hand. "Your resentment means little to me. What matters is the truth."

Bellatrix leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "Perhaps we should consider other possibilities," she purred. "After all, Orion isn't the only male in this family."

All eyes turned to Alphard, who raised his hands in mock surrender. "Don't look at me," he chuckled dryly.

“Yes, we all know Uncle Alphard’s inclinations lean decidedly the other way,” Lucretia quipped as she took a sip of wine.

Arcturus shot his daughter an exasperated look that bordered on fondness. “Hush, Lucretia, this is no laughing matter.”

"Perhaps," Narcissa spoke up, her voice cool and measured, "we should consider that this boy may not be related to us at all. Are we sure his appearance isn’t altered in some way? There are plenty of wizards who try to tout connection to House Black.”

Arcturus' eyes snapped to Narcissa, giving her a barely discernable smile. "A valid point, my dear. One I've considered."

"Glamours?" Bellatrix suggested, her voice eager. "Or perhaps concealment charms?”

"Both easily detected," Orion countered. "Dumbledore would have noticed."

Walburga scoffed. "As if that old fool would tell us anything."

Lord Black gave a half-hearted nod to Aunt Walburga’s point, “Yes, Albus does love his little secrets. I have a plan to check for any alterations or cover-ups when I see the boy in person. But for now, we should assume there are none. Both Sirius and Regulus have attested to the striking similarities. As have multiple professors in the school.”

Narcissa frowned lightly. Arcturus was mentioning Sirius quite a bit for a boy who had been disinherited.

Arcturus turned his piercing gaze to her father. “Now Cygnus, let us round out our final list of suspects. The boy is not yours, is he?”

Aunt Walburga laughed before her father could even respond. “Oh please, like Cygnus would have let bastardly stop him from claiming the boy if he had finally managed to throw a male.”

Cygnus bristled at Walburga's words, his face reddening. "I have no need for a male heir," he snapped. "My daughters are more than capable."

Narcissa felt a rush of pride at her father's words, even as she noted the slight tremor in his voice. She knew he still harbored disappointment at not having a son.

Bellatrix leaned forward, her dark eyes glittering. "House Black would have been lucky to have me as Heir, Aunt. No one can deny my magical prowess. There is a reason the Dark Lord favors me.”

Arcturus' eyes flashed dangerously at Bellatrix's words. “You are a Black, Bellatrix, even if you are married. Do not sit there and boast about currying favors to wizards below your lineage. I don’t care how much I agree with this Voldemort — Blacks are no one’s servants. We are as close as you get to royalty in Wizarding Britain — you will act as befitting your station.”

The room fell silent at Arcturus' rebuke. Bellatrix looked ready to kill, but she held her tongue. Even she knew better than to challenge Lord Black directly.

Narcissa observed the tension. Bella was lucky that Arcturus was ignorant of the fact that her sister had gone so far as allowing herself to be Marked. Bella’s devotion to the Dark Lord was perhaps becoming too blatant. She made a mental note to discuss it with Lucius later.

“Now,” Arcturus turned his attention back to the table at large, “that takes care of one item. There is still the matter of Sirius.”

Arcturus' words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Walburga bristled, her face contorting with rage.

"Sirius is no longer part of this family," she hissed. "He made his choice."

The glint in Arcturus' eyes turned menacing. "I am the Head of this House, Walburga. I decide who is and isn't family."

"He’s a good-for-nothing blood traitor," Bellatrix sneered.

Grey eyes snapped to Bella. "Watch your tongue, girl. Sirius is still my Heir."

The room erupted into chaos once more.

Narcissa's eyes widened slightly at Arcturus' proclamation. She glanced at her sister, noting the shock and rage twisting Bellatrix's features.

"Silence!" Arcturus roared, slamming his fist on the table. The room fell quiet instantly.

"Sirius remains my Heir," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. "Until I say otherwise."

"Impossible!" Walburga shrieked, her face reddening. "We burned him off the tapestry!"

Arcturus' lip curled in disdain. "Your little bonfire means nothing. The magic of House Black recognizes only my authority."

Walburga's face went a frightening shade of puce in anger. "But he —"

"Enough," Arcturus cut her off. "Your inability to control your son does not negate his birthright."

Narcissa watched the exchange with keen interest. She had always suspected her grand Uncle harbored a soft spot for Sirius, despite his rebellious nature.

Narcissa felt a brief pang of sympathy for her young cousin. Poor Regulus — always playing shadow to the brighter Black son.

Arcturus continued, his voice steely as he stared down his son. “You will cease your asinine drinking, Orion, and you will reign in your wife. I will not have another encounter where Fleamont Potter of all people informs me that my foolish daughter-in-law held my underage Heir under Cruciatus to the point that he retches and flees his home without so much as a galleon to his name. We are fortunate that Potter’s desire to protect Sirius’ reputation kept him from spreading that information further, but I will not take that chance again, do you both understand me?” 

His voice was barely more than a whisper by the time he finished speaking, the air around the tall wizard buzzing with angry magic. 

Orion's face paled, his eyes darting nervously to his wife. Walburga opened her mouth to protest, but Arcturus silenced her with a look.

"I said, do you understand?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low.

Orion nodded stiffly. "Yes, Father."

Walburga's lips pressed into a thin line, but she mumbled her assent.

Narcissa leaned back in her chair. She had suspected Sirius' departure from Grimmauld Place had been violent, but she did not think Aunt Walburga would go quite that far. He had only been fifteen, after all.

A glance at Bellatrix showed her sister's face twisted in a mixture of glee and disappointment.

Arcturus straightened, fixing the cuff of his robe. "Sirius may be... misguided. But he has potential. Power. Despite his proclivities with mudbloods, he is still a Black — a Black twice over. That’s not something to be dismissed so quickly. It’s time for a firmer hand to take over the boy. I have sent him a summons as well. All interactions between Sirius and the House go through me from this moment forward. Is that clear?”

The tension in the room was palpable. Narcissa could feel the magic crackling in the air, barely contained by the assembled Blacks. She kept her face carefully neutral, though her mind raced with the implications of Arcturus' words.

"What of Regulus then?" Orion asked, his voice tight. "Is he to be cast aside?"

Arcturus' gaze softened minutely. "Regulus is a credit to this family. He will continue to serve the family as I see fit, and he will remain in line for the Heir position should Sirius prove... unsuitable."

Bellatrix's eyes flashed, a look of almost manic anger flickering quickly over her face. “Regulus is supposed to be Heir. The Dark Lord expects the support of the Black Heir — and that’s not some foolish Gryffindor.”

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as Arcturus leaned forward over the table to stare down Bella. “The Dark Lord is welcome to try and convince my stubborn and prideful Gryffindor grandson to bow before him and kiss his robes. I suspect he’ll be disappointed.”

“Let me be very clear with you, Bellatrix,” Lord Black started, “Regulus is not to be dragged before your Lord or roped into whatever brazen performances you have planned. Too many people in this family seem to forget that I am Lord. Regulus is my grandson. I have decided that his focus is his school work.”

And then, with barely controlled fury, Arcturus continued, “If this upstart Lord Voldemort has an issue with that, he may owl me and set up a time to speak with me about it. I am the Head of a line that goes back to before the Founders themselves. I control the largest voting bloc in the Wizengamot. I am the one openly seated at the Minister’s right hand. I am the chair of the Board of Governors. I do not answer to the whims of anyone, but especially not a wizard who sends my own niece to do his bidding.”

Narcissa suppressed a smile at his words. Oh, she supported the Dark Lord’s ideals, but she was also a Black, a legacy that was not easily forgotten. Arcturus Black was not a man to be trifled with, even by the Dark Lord himself.

Bellatrix sat up straighter in pride even as her face contorted with rage. "The Dark Lord is the most powerful wizard alive. He-"

"Enough!" Arcturus thundered, silencing her.

Narcissa watched her sister carefully, noting the way her fingers twitched toward her wand.

"Now," Arcturus continued, his voice brooking no argument, "we will proceed with my plan. I will meet with this Leo Davies and determine the truth of his origins. Until then, I expect all of you to maintain discretion."

He fixed each family member with a stern glare. "You are Blacks — act like it. No more rumors. No more accusations. And absolutely no interference."

Chapter Text

Remus hated when Sirius was right. The pureblood was cocky to start with. And now that the trio of transfer students were mysteriously disappearing for hours on end, he wouldn’t bloody shut up about it.

For the past week, the three of them were up and gone before breakfast started and out until well after midnight. They showed up moments before class and were out the door as soon as they ended.

"I told you, Moony," Sirius crowed, lounging across Remus's bed. "They're up to something."

Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We don't know that."

"Oh, come off it. Even you can't deny it anymore."

The werewolf glanced at his friend. Sirius's grey eyes gleamed with triumph. Remus hated that look.

"Fine. It's... suspicious," he admitted grudgingly.

Sirius whooped, pumping his fist. "Ha!”

James flopped backwards on his bed. “Maybe they’re in a secret underground dueling club or something. It would explain Parker’s crazy skills, at least.”

Sirius snorted. "A dueling club? Please. It's got to be something bigger than that."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Sirius said, sitting up. "But I intend to find out. Ugh, if only we still had the Map," Sirius groaned, flopping dramatically across Remus’s lap. "We could keep tabs on them properly."

Remus shoved Sirius back onto the bed. "We're not stalking them, Padfoot."

"It's not stalking," Sirius protested. "It's... investigating."

James snorted. "Right. Because that sounds so much better."

"Look," Remus said, trying to be the voice of reason. "Maybe we should just ask them."

Sirius and James stared at him incredulously.

"Ask them?" Sirius repeated. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Where they disappear to is clearly none of our business. Besides, it’s not like we don’t keep our share of secrets.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. "That's different. We're the Marauders. It's our job to have secrets."

James nodded in agreement. "Plus, they're new here. What could they possibly be hiding that's as big as... you know." He gestured vaguely at Remus.

Remus flinched slightly. "Maybe nothing. Maybe something worse. Either way, it's not our place to pry."

"Come on, Moony," Sirius whined. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it in my other robes,” Remus deadpanned.

“You’re just saying that because you’re trying to shag Girl Parker,” Sirius huffed as he fluttered his eyes up at Remus.

Remus flushed lightly and shoved the pureblood again. “Piss off, Pads. Like you haven’t been flirting with Henry for weeks now. Besides, it’s not like I’m making any progress on that front, anyway. Jean is constantly finding a reason to keep people around.”

James rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. “Hmmm, add that into the odd category.”

Sirius snorted. “With about a million other things, Prongs.”

Peter shifted nervously on his bed, his face pinched with worry. "Speaking of odd things..." he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

The other three Marauders turned to look at him, curiosity piqued.

"What is it, Wormtail?" Sirius prodded, sitting up straighter.

"I overheard Pandora Rosier talking to that Ravenclaw prefect," Pete said, eyes wide. "Apparently Davies’ dorm mates are convinced he’s wearing a glamour on his left arm. Said he must be wearing it almost constantly for the magic to have built up enough to be noticeable.”

Then he continued with a nervous look at Remus. “Well, that set Maxwell off. She said she was partnered with Jean for Herbology a few weeks ago and that Jean was particularly careful to keep her left arm shirt sleeve all the way down anytime she was putting her gloves on and off.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Remus felt his heart hammering in his chest, his mind reeling at the implication. Jean? A Death Eater? It seemed impossible, and yet...

“Parker wears glamours,” Remus whispered. “Henry, I mean.”

He noticed it just before the last full moon. Call it a heightened werewolf sense or whatever, but Henry walked out of the bathroom shirtless the day before the full moon and Remus could see the faintest shimmer of magic clinging across parts of his body, including around his arm.

Merlin. Remus hadn’t planned to mention it, understanding more than most the need for secrets. But now.

James sat up abruptly, his hazel eyes wide. "What? How do you know that?"

Remus hesitated, then sighed. "I noticed it a few weeks ago. Werewolf sense or something. But it’s not just his arm. He had them all over his chest, too.”

James frowned, his brow furrowed. "But that doesn't mean—"

"It doesn't mean anything," Remus interrupted firmly. "We don't know what they're hiding. Jean and Henry... they're unapologetically muggleborn. It just doesn't make sense."

“But Davies isn’t!” Sirius exclaimed. “He’s some sort of Black interloper. We’re as pureblood as they come.”

Remus frowned, considering Sirius's words. It was true - Leo Davies had an air of pureblood refinement about him, despite not admitting it. And his resemblance to the Black Heir was uncanny.

"Maybe..." James said slowly, "Maybe Davies recruited them? Or is using them somehow?"

Peter nodded. "That could explain why they're always disappearing together!"

Sirius leapt to his feet, pacing the room. "We should confront them," he declared.

"Padfoot, no," Remus protested. "We don’t know that it means anything. I know things are off about them, but it’s not like they pulled one over on Dumbledore, right?”

James nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. They were here even before term started. Dumbledore wouldn’t have let them run free in the castle if he thought they were hiding something. Or, well, if he thought they were hiding something bad.”

Sirius gave a light scoff. “The man’s not all-knowing. And he can’t do everything. Think of how many Marked Death Eaters are in the school right now.”

Padfoot turned to look at them, eyes bright with determination. “We should hit him with a counter-spell next time he comes back from one of his runs. See what happens.”

The pit in Remus’ stomach got heavier. “That’s a shite idea, Pads. It makes it sound like we’re gonna attack him.”

James frowned, running a hand through his messy hair. "I don't like it either. It feels wrong."

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "It's not an attack, it's just a revealing spell. Harmless, really."

"Harmless?" Remus echoed incredulously. "Stripping someone's privacy away is far from harmless."

"Fine," Sirius huffed. "Then what do you suggest?"

Remus hesitated. He didn't want to pry, but the weight of suspicion was becoming too heavy to ignore. “Let’s just ask them. Like normal people.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, because that'll go over well. 'Hey Parker, we couldn't help but notice you're hiding something under those glamours. Mind showing us your arm? We're just curious if you've got the Dark Mark, no big deal.' They've been so forthcoming about everything else - I'm sure they'll tell the truth." 

James snorted despite himself. "When you put it that way..."

"Look," Remus said, exasperated. "I'm not saying we accuse them of anything. Just... express concern. Ask if everything's alright."

Sirius looked dissatisfied, but James nodded at the suggestion. “Yeah, Moony’s right. Parker’s been a decent bloke so far — no one who flies like him can be that bad. He deserves that much.”

“Bloody hell, Prongs, his Quidditch skills have nothing to do with this.”

“Debatable, Padfoot. Debatable.”

***

The trio of transfer students were nowhere to be seen all day. It did nothing at all to help Padfoot’s obsession.

The Marauders spent the day on edge, eyes darting around the common room and Great Hall for any sign of them. But Henry, Jean, and Leo remained conspicuously absent.

By the time they made it back to their dorm for the night, Sirius was practically vibrating with impatience.

“For fuck’s sake, Pads,” James hissed as they walked up the stairs. “Would you relax?”

Sirius scowled. "I can't help it. Where the bloody hell are they? Where could they have —”

Sirius trailed off as they walked into the room and he noticed Parker. The shorter wizard stood at the end of his bed in nothing but a pair of Muggle joggers, pulling a shirt out of his trunk.

The timing couldn’t have been worse.

Sirius's eyes lit up with a mischievous glint.

"Padfoot, don't!" Remus hissed, lunging forward to grab his arm.

But it was too late. Sirius had already whipped out his wand, a counter-spell on his lips as he aimed directly at Henry's exposed back. 

The blonde had just a second to look up to the Marauders before Sirius’ spell hit him. At the same time, a blast of magic shot out, knocking Padfoot backward across the room with a cry, his wand flying out of his hand towards Parker.

Henry’s eyes were blazing as he looked at the Marauders. Nervously, James took a few steps over to help Sirius up.

Remus took a moment to stare at the blonde. Nothing about his face changed. His hair was still a riot of bleach blond highlights, shorter on the sides and longer on top. His dark brows and long eyelashes still graced his face. And his eyes were still a dazzling shade of green, made even more intense by the steely look in them.

As James helped Padfoot from the floor, Remus’ gaze wandered lower and he felt like he got punched in the gut.

“Oh,” Remus softly exhaled.

Henry’s eyes broke away from James, Sirius, and Peter and flickered over to Remus. He followed Remus’ gaze and looked down at himself.

A look of vulnerability flashed over his face and his hands dropped to his side.

Henry's body was a mismatch of various scars.

A thick, jagged scar ran down the entire length of his left forearm; a large round mark that looked suspiciously like a bite mark, twice the size of a galleon, sat just under his elbow on his right arm. A large patch of scarred skin stretched over his right shoulder and down his back. Various lighter scars crossed over his rib and down his back.

And all of those were separate from the mysterious lightning bolt they knew sat on his forehead.

Remus couldn’t help but think about the fact that magic could heal most injuries without leaving scars. It was rare for magical kids to have scars, more rare still for them to have so many.

Remus was more than familiar with the fact.

No, these weren’t light-hearted scraps and childhood accidents. These were malicious. Injuries and cuts caused by magical creatures, dark spells, or cursed objects. The blonde’s persistent nightmares suddenly made much more sense now.

The room fell into a stunned silence. Henry looked back up, his expression a mixture of anger and resignation.

"Satisfied?" he asked, his voice low and tired.

Remus swallowed thickly, tears building up in his eyes.

Parker took a step back without saying anything. His eyes met Remus’ as he glanced around the room; he looked so small standing in front of them. The werewolf resisted the urge to reach out and pull him into his arms.

Wordlessly, the blonde took Sirius’ wand and tossed it lightly to Padfoot. “Sorry,” he said hollowly, “I don’t do well with ambushes.”

Remus winced at the statement.

A guilty look flashed across Sirius’ face, “I’m sorry, mate. I shouldn’t have. We - we didn’t know.”

Henry ran a hand through his hair, looking weary beyond his years. “Yeah, that was the point.”

As he dropped his hand back down from his hair, Remus caught a flash of something. Tilting his head to see it better, Remus squinted to read the words "I must not tell lies” in jagged angry letters across the top of his hand.

The air left Remus’ lungs and he felt a low noise leave the back of his throat. What the hell kind of torture was this kid going through to have that permanently etched into his skin?

Parker turned his head once again to Remus at the noise. He caught a look at his hand as he did so. Henry pulled the limb close to his chest, cradling it with his other hand, blocking the words from view.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” the blonde said hoarsely.

Remus gave a wet laugh, “Well, it looks pretty fucking bad.”

Henry's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing. "It's none of your business," he snapped.

James took a hesitant step forward. "Look, Parker... Henry. We're sorry. We shouldn't have... We were just worried."

"Worried?" Henry scoffed. "About what? That I'm some sort of Death Eater in disguise?"

The Marauders exchanged guilty looks, confirming Henry's suspicion.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Peter bit his lip as he looked at the blonde. “It’s just…we heard the Ravenclaws talking about how they thought Jean and Davies had glamours on their arms and Remus noticed some on you, and we just…”

Parker blinked slowly, staring at Pete with a mixture of confusion and disbelief before he started laughing. He buried his head in his hands as he wheezed, the sound tinged with a hint of hysteria. His shoulders shook uncontrollably as he struggled to catch his breath.

Henry straightened up, wiping tears from his eyes. “Jesus Christ, we didn’t even —. Okay, point to you all, I suppose.”

Henry took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Look, I appreciate your concern, misguided as it was. But I'm not a Death Eater.”

“This," He gestured to his scarred body. "It's just...unfortunate aspects of my life. And before you go running around ambushing Mione and Davies — just, Davies has his own scars, as it stands. And Mione, Mione has something a bit like this, yeah?”

He waved his engraved hand around.

Remus felt sick. The implications of Henry's words were staggering. What kind of life had these three endured?

"Merlin, Parker," Sirius breathed. "What happened to you?"

Henry's expression shuttered. "That's not something I'm ready to discuss."

James ran a hand through his hair, looking distraught. "We're sorry, mate. Really. We shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

"No, you shouldn't have," Henry agreed, his tone clipped. He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "But I would be a massive hypocrite to be too angry about it. Merlin knows the kind of shite I pulled in some of my darker days when I was convinced of something.”

Henry's words hung in the air, heavy with implication. The Marauders exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond.

Remus cleared his throat. "Henry, I... we never meant to..."

"I know," Henry cut him off, his voice softening slightly. "Look, it's fine. Just... don't do it again, yeah?"

The blonde reached for his shirt, pulling it on quickly before also grabbing a pair of robes off his bed.

“Where are you going?” James asked.

“Need to clear my head a bit,” Parker said quietly and then he was out the door.

A long beat passed.

“Padfoot, you’re a massive arsehole, you know that.”

Sirius stared at the canopy of his four-poster bed, its crimson fabric blurring as his eyes unfocused. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply.

Remus' angry words from the day before echoed in his mind. The werewolf was livid at him. Not quite to the level of post-prank, but he certainly didn’t hold back on his criticism. James was similarly upset, although he wasn’t quite so cutting in his remarks.

Sirius rolled onto his side, scowling at the crumpled letter on his nightstand. Bloody Arcturus. As if he didn't have enough to deal with already.

Even Evans and Marlene had a go at him.

Somewhat bafflingly, everyone besides the actual transfer students seemed to be mad at him. Parker had shot him a small smile when he got up this morning, even if he didn’t say anything.

Girl Parker had given him a somewhat exasperated look in the common room.

"Not your best look, Sirius," Jean said, shaking her head with a soft smile. "But not ours, either. I guess it did look a bit suspicious.”

“Just... please don't ambush him again, yeah?”

Sirius nodded quickly. "I won't. I swear."

Jean gave him a long, searching look before nodding once.

Sirius groaned and buried his face in his pillow. The guilt was eating away at him. He hadn't meant to expose Parker like that. He was just so caught up in the idea of finally figuring out what the bloody hell was going on with those three.

Davies had slid into the seat across from him at lunch, staring him down with that steely Black grey gaze. “You’re an idiot, Black, but so is Parker so perhaps it all balances out.”

Sirius rolled onto his back again, staring at the ceiling. The memory of Henry's scarred body flashed through his mind, making his stomach churn with guilt. He hadn't meant to cause any harm, but his impulsiveness had once again gotten the better of him.

He reached for the letter, smoothing out the parchment. His grandfather's elegant script swam before his eyes.

Two letters in as many months. The first about Leo Davies, now this. About him.

Sirius crumpled the paper again, tossing it aside. He didn't need this. Not now.

Sirius snatched up the letter again, his grey eyes scanning the words with growing dismay. His grandfather's summons stared back at him, unyielding.

The words burned into his mind: "...still Heir and expected to uphold the family name..."

Sirius' jaw clenched. Two years. Two years of believing he was free from the suffocating expectations of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. And now this?

Uphold the family name. As if Sirius wanted to represent House Black.

But a small voice in the back of his mind whispered treacherously. Wasn't this what he'd wanted? To still have a place in the family? To still be a Black.

Sirius shook his head violently as if to dislodge the thought. He'd spent so long defining himself in opposition to his family. Who was he if not the disinherited rebel?

Sleep eluded him, each toss and turn tangling him further in his sheets and doubts. With a frustrated growl, he kicked off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Sod this," he muttered, grabbing his wand from the nightstand.

The common room was bathed in flickering firelight as Sirius descended the stairs. He paused, catching sight of a familiar silhouette by the hearth. Henry Parker lounged across the floor, a thin trail of smoke rising from the cigarette between his fingers.

Sirius approached, his bare feet silent on the plush carpet. "Can't sleep either, Parker?"

Henry's green eyes, startlingly bright in the firelight, flicked up to meet his. "Nah," he replied with a shrug. "Too many thoughts."

Sirius dropped down beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Henry's body. They lay in companionable silence, the crackling fire the only sound between them.

After a moment, Sirius cleared his throat. "Listen, mate... about yesterday. With your scars. I shouldn't have —"

"It's fine," Henry cut him off, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Water under the bridge."

Sirius blinked, surprised at the easy forgiveness. "This feels a bit too simple. Are you sure? It was a shite move.”

Henry chuckled softly, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Trust me, I've dealt with worse." He exhaled, smoke curling lazily in the air. "Besides, I get it. The need to protect your friends, even if it means doing something stupid."

Sirius felt a weight lift from his chest. "Still," he insisted, "I am sorry."

His gaze drifted to the cigarette dangling from Henry's fingers. "Can I bum one of those?"

Henry arched an eyebrow, piercing glinting in the firelight. "You smoke?"

A bark of laughter escaped Sirius. "Come on, Parker. You think you're the only muggleborn with vices in this school that I hang around with?"

Henry chuckled, shaking his head as he offered Sirius the pack. Sirius snagged one and brought it up to his lips, surprised when Parker snapped his fingers, conjuring a small flame that he held up.

Sirius leaned in, lighting his cigarette with the flame from Henry's fingers. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly.

"That was unexpectedly hot," Sirius commented, nodding at Henry's hand.

Henry shot him an exasperated look, extinguishing the flame with another snap. “Yes, I learned it solely to seduce sad purebloods. It’s surprisingly effective.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, "I believe that." He winked at Henry, who rolled his eyes but smiled.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, smoke curling between them. Sirius found his gaze drawn to Henry's hand, where he knew those cruel words were carved. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.

Parker took another drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. Sirius could feel Henry's eyes on him, studying his profile in the dim light.

"So," Henry said finally, his voice low. "What's got you in such a strop tonight?"

Sirius exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate. "That obvious, am I?"

Henry shrugged. "You've got that look. Like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Sirius snorted. "Not the world. Just the fucking Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

He paused, debating how much to reveal. Something about Henry's steady gaze made him want to unburden himself.

"Got a letter from my Grandfather this morning," Sirius continued, his voice tight. "Turns out I'm still the bloody Heir, despite what my dear mother's been telling everyone."

Henry quirked an eyebrow. "Didn't you say you'd been disinherited?"

"So I thought," Sirius replied bitterly. "For two fucking years. And now I'm supposed to just... what? Fall back in line? Be the perfect pureblood Heir they've always wanted?"

His hand shook slightly as he took another drag. "I don't know what to do with this information. I have no idea what my Grandfather’s endgame is here. I was proud to be cast out, you know? To reject their blood supremacist bullshit. And now..."

He trailed off, unable to articulate the turmoil roiling inside him. Henry remained silent, his presence oddly comforting in the face of Sirius' inner chaos.

“You talk to James or Remus or anyone about this?”

Sirius shook his head. "No. James... he wouldn't understand. His family's different. And we’ve been weird this year. And Remus, well..." He trailed off, shrugging.

Henry nodded, taking another drag. "It's complicated."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed softly. "Complicated's one word for it."

They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire filling the void.

“Do you want to be Heir?”

Sirius inhaled sharply at Henry's blunt question. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, brow furrowed.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "Part of me... part of me still wants to belong, you know, even if I hate everything they stand for. To have a place in the family. But the rest of me..."

He trailed off, taking another long drag of his cigarette. Henry waited patiently, his green eyes steady on Sirius' face.

"The rest of me is fucking terrified," Sirius finally continued. "Of becoming like them. Of losing myself in all their pureblood mania and dark magic.”

Parker nodded slowly. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know?”

Sirius snorted. "Right. Because I've got so many people lining up to help me navigate pureblood politics."

Henry shrugged. “You’ve got more people than you think. James and his parents would understand, wouldn’t they? His Dad has a seat in the Wizengamot, right? And what about your brother?”

Sirius' expression darkened at the mention of Regulus. "My brother's a lost cause," he muttered. "He's the perfect little pureblood son, already Marked and everything. He’s going to be livid when he finds out he’s not actually Heir yet."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Sirius glanced at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

Henry shrugged. “Your brother’s not a bad sort, Black. Believe me, I’ve spent the past few months annoying him as much as possible in Ancient Runes. Pissy little mouth on him, to be sure, but he’s just a kid. There’s still hope for him.”

Sirius stared at Henry, brow furrowed. "You don't know Regulus," he said quietly. "He's always been the better son, following every rule, spouting every pureblood ideology our parents drilled into us."

Henry shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he was just raised in a house full of fanatics." He took another drag, exhaling slowly. "You got out. He didn't."

Sirius felt a pang of guilt at Henry's words. “I don’t want to talk about Reggie.”

Henry nodded, respecting Sirius' wish to change the subject. They sat in silence for a few moments, the crackling fire filling the void.

"So what are you going to do?" Henry asked finally.

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I can't just ignore it, as much as I want to. Arcturus isn't someone you say no to lightly."

Parker gave a hum of agreement. “So I’ve heard. You’re not the only one who got a summons today, you know. Davies was in a right snit earlier, as well. Apparently, your grandfather is determined to figure out who’s bastard he is.”

Sirius' eyes widened. "Wait, what? Arcturus sent a letter to Davies too?"

Henry nodded, taking a final drag of his cigarette before vanishing the butt. "Yep. Seems the old man's decided to finally get to the bottom of the mystery."

Sirius let out a low whistle. "Bloody hell. No wonder Davies looked ready to hex someone at dinner."

He paused, brow furrowing. "Hang on, how do you know about this? Did Davies tell you?"

Henry shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Not much he can keep from me. I can be very annoying.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "You're something else, Parker."

Henry grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So I've been told."

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Sirius found himself studying Henry's profile. Maybe it was the way the firelight was hitting him, coloring him shades of gold, but Sirius thought he looked rather a lot like James at that moment.

Sirius felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch Henry's face, to trace the line of his jaw.

“Are you three ever going to explain Davies’ relation?” Sirius’ voice was low.

Henry stiffened slightly at Sirius' question before giving a casual shrug and a wry smile. “Probably one day, yeah, but not today.”

Sirius nodded slowly, accepting Henry's vague answer. His eyes lingered again on the other boy's face, tracing the familiar yet foreign features.

"You know," Sirius said softly, "you remind me a lot of James sometimes."

Henry's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing his face too quickly for Sirius to decipher. "Oh?"

Sirius nodded, gesturing vaguely. "Yeah, it's just... something about the way you move, I think. And your smile.” He paused, studying Henry intently.

Henry swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from Sirius’ gaze.

Sirius frowned slightly, sensing Henry's discomfort. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing, Parker.”

Henry gave a short laugh, eyes flicking up to look at Sirius. "No offense taken. James is a good bloke."

Sirius smiled. “Yeah, he is. He likes to pretend he isn’t, but he’s like a mother hen. Always looking after everyone. Merlin knows I have a tendency to run him ragged given the shite I get up to. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why I can’t just stop and think before I jump in.”

Parker snorted and grinned. “Preaching to the choir, Black. Merlin knows how many times I’ve been called a ‘reckless idiot’ by Mione and others.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s different with you, Parker. You’re like James. There’s something about you that’s all kind and light. My shite keeps hurting the people I care about. You don’t even know what I did back in fifth year. It’s a miracle Remus still talks to me.”

Parker laughed self-deprecatingly. “You’re giving me far too much credit, Siri. You should ask Davies about the time I almost killed him. He’s still got the bloody scar.”

Sirius' eyes widened. "You what?"

Henry winced, clearly regretting his words. "It's... complicated. We were both in a bad place. Things got out of hand."

Sirius studied Henry's face, noting the guilt and regret etched in his features. "Merlin, Parker. Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.”

For some reason, that seemed to comfort Parker. He looked at Sirius fondly. "You say that like it’s a bad thing. I rather like you, Sirius.”

Sirius felt a warmth spread through his chest at Henry's words.

"You might be the only one who feels that way," Sirius said softly. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m tainted — too much Black magic in me.”

Parker's expression softened. "Well, I can’t speak to the family magic — that’s more Davies’ areas, but Merlin, the Blacks certainly are a melodramatic bunch. You’re not tainted, Sirius. You just wear your flaws on your sleeve. Makes it easier to see them. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Just means you’re human.”

He said it casually as he opened his pack of cigarettes to grab another one before offering the pack back to Sirius. As if it wasn’t one of the most understatedly nice things anyone had ever said to Sirius.

Sirius took another cigarette, contemplating Henry's words as he lit it. The smoke curled between them.

His eyes darted to the words carved across Parker’s hand. I must not tell lies.

“Those — your scars, are they from your family?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Henry tensed, his eyes darkening. "No," he said quietly. "Not particularly."

Sirius exhaled shakily. “Good, that’s good.”

Henry's eyes softened at Sirius' reaction. "Is it?”

Sirius shrugged, suddenly feeling exposed. "I know what family can do sometimes," he said quietly. He took a drag and tried to squash down the flood of emotion that was threatening to spill out over him.

“Do you know why I live with the Potters?” Merlin, what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop talking?

Henry's eyes flickered with understanding. "I have my suspicions," he said softly.

Sirius nodded, taking another long drag from his cigarette. The smoke burned his lungs, grounding him.

"It got bad after I was sorted into Gryffindor. My mother was... well, let's just say she wasn't pleased." Sirius said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The summer before fifth year was the worst. Mother was relentless. And Father just stood by, if he was even home at all. I told Reggie not to get involved — didn’t want her to turn her wand on him, but I don’t know, something snapped in her that summer.”

Sirius took a shaky breath. “I’ve never told anyone outside of James and his parents, not even Rem or Pete. The night I left, she held me under the Cruciatus on and off for — Merlin, for an hour, it felt like. I thought I was going to die.”

Henry's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and understanding. He reached out, placing a hand on Sirius' shoulder before pulling him in closer.

“Where was your grandfather during this?”

Sirius leaned into Henry's touch, letting the shorter wizard guide his head to rest on his shoulder. He took a deep breath before responding.

"Arcturus? He wasn't around much. Always busy with Wizengamot business or holed up at the Manor. I don't think he knew how bad it got." Sirius' voice was quiet, tinged with old pain. "Or maybe he did and just didn't care. Seems to be the Black family way — fend for yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Parker said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “There’s something especially heartbreaking when you’re failed by the people who are supposed to protect you.”

Sirius felt a lump form in his throat at Henry's words. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure.

"Yeah," he managed, his voice rough. "It's... it's not great."

They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Sirius found himself leaning more heavily into Henry's side, drawing comfort from the other boy's steady presence.

“You wanna know your biggest issue?” Henry started softly.

Sirius tensed slightly but didn't pull away. "What's that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Henry's hand moved to Sirius' hair, gently combing through the dark strands. The touch was soothing, and Sirius found himself relaxing despite his apprehension.

“You think you can never ask for help. No man is an island, Black.”

Sirius let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "Ask for help? From who? The Potters have already done so much. I can't keep burdening them."

Henry's fingers continued their soothing motion through Sirius' hair. "You're not a burden, Sirius. And there are more people willing to help than you think."

Sirius sighed, closing his eyes. "Maybe. It's just... hard, you know? To let people in. To be vulnerable."

"I know," Henry said softly. "Believe me, I know. But you’ll kill yourself if you keep it all bottled up.”

The lump in his throat got bigger and he felt like he might choke against it. "Yeah," he croaked. "It's just... I don't know how. To let people in, I mean."

Henry hummed softly. “You’re doing pretty good right now. Especially considering you thought I might be a Death Eater just yesterday.”

Sirius let out a watery laugh. "Merlin, I really am an idiot, aren't I?"

“Told you, Black, we’re more alike than you think.”

Chapter Text

Regulus tapped his quill against the parchment, ink splattering across his unfinished Charms essay. Despite all attempts, he couldn’t focus on anything related to schoolwork; his thoughts instead circled endlessly around the bloody transfer students. Leo Davies in particular.

He had a running list of things he knew about the Ravenclaw, but currently he really only cared about the top ones.

1. He was a Black. Regulus had no idea where the relation came from, but every interaction with the taller wizard confirmed it as an undeniable truth.
2. He was perhaps a Death Eater. Or, at least, was perhaps previously a Death Eater.

The wizard's words from their encounter in the library the week before echoed in Regulus' head. It felt like Davies had seen right through him with unerring accuracy.

It left Regulus feeling unsettled and vulnerable like Davies could peer into the depths of his soul.

The idea of the Ravenclaw being some sort of pureblood supremacist was absurd given the company he kept, but Regulus was running out of explanations for the knowledge Davies seemed to possess.

He had that innate pureblood etiquette — the kind you only got from years of training. Then there was the way that he seemed to know about every Marked and unmarked Death Eater in the school, as well as all the pureblood family connections. And he sat there and ripped Regulus’ whole world apart like he had firsthand experience.

"The Dark Lord recruited you for your name and the prestige it holds among the Nobles. But you? You’re expendable, Black."

It was suspiciously specific. He felt like he was losing his mind.

Regulus let out a frustrated sigh, massaging his temples. None of it made any bloody sense.

He looked up and withheld a bigger sigh. He had no desire to see the other Slytherins right now, but apparently, that didn’t matter.

Rosier, Trevors, Rabastan, and Severus were all making their way over to his table. Regulus tensed, schooling his features into a mask of cool indifference.

“All on your own, Black?” Rosier cooed as he slid into the seat next to Regulus. “When we should be celebrating.”

The blonde gave a wicked grin and Regulus swallowed. Right, celebrating.

There had been a string of attacks last night across Bristol. The entire school woke this morning to a flurry of Prophet reports. Coordinated Death Eater attacks on a wide range of groups all in the span of a few hours. They hit Muggles, mudbloods, and the warded home of the blood-traitor Fenwicks.

A planned attack to reinforce the fact that the Dark Lord could get to anyone.

Two Muggles had been killed, as had Brandon Fenwick. Killed by the Dark Lord himself while getting his son out.

Most of the school was in a state of shock and fear. But for the Slytherins…

“Your brother was at the Fenwicks, right, Rab? Merlin, I wish we could have gone,” Trevors said, a fervent look in his eye as he stared at Lestrange.

Regulus felt his stomach churn at Trevors' eager tone. He kept his face impassive.

"Rodolphus was there," Rabastan confirmed, a hint of pride in his voice. “Bellatrix was with the mudbloods — heard she did quite a number on them.”

“Did you see the photo in the paper? Half of Fenwick’s house was blasted off. I heard the Dark Lord did it in one spell. Can you imagine that kind of power?” Rosier’s eyes were gleaming with excitement.

“Speaking of power — I hear the Dark Lord is taking an interest in your little pet mudbloods, Reg,” Rabastan grinned at Regulus. “Bella won’t stop bloody owling about it.”

Regulus felt his blood run cold at Rab's words. He kept his face carefully neutral as he raised an eyebrow. "My what?"

“Don’t play dumb,” Trevors smirked. “Everyone with eyes can see Parker’s power, as undeserved as it is. Then there’s your doppelgänger pet, whatever the hell Davies is.”

Regulus felt his jaw clench. "They're not my 'pets', Trevors," he said coolly. "They’re the unfortunate burdens I’ve been saddled with.”

Rosier snorted. "Right, because you look so burdened every time you're hanging around Parker for your Ancient Runes ‘project.’”

"We're required to work together, unfortunately. I'm simply making the best of an unpleasant situation."

Rosier smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Or, are you making the best of an opportunity?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes at Rosier. "What opportunity?”

“It seems like your blood traitor brother has set his sights on the muddy Lion. And you’ve always hated playing shadow behind Sirius. Perhaps your interest is a bit more vindictive? Going to finally get one up on dear Sirius?”

Regulus' eyes flashed dangerously. "I have no interest in Parker beyond what's necessary for our project," he said, his voice cold. "And I certainly have no desire to compete with my brother for the attention of a mudblood."

Rosier held up his hands in mock surrender as he laughed. "If you say so. Merely asking — you just seem so interested. Not going soft on us, are you? You’ve been quiet this year, Black.”

Regulus felt his anger flare. "Watch your tongue, Rosier," he hissed. "You're treading dangerous ground."

Rosier's smirk only widened. "Touchy subject, eh?"

Before Regulus could retort, Snape cut in, his voice annoyed. “Leave Regulus be, Rosier. Merlin forbid he set Bellatrix or Narcissa on you.”

Rosier's smirk faltered slightly at the mention of Bellatrix. He leaned back, eyeing Regulus with interest. “I hear Bellatrix, Rod, and Lucius are planning on coming for a visit next Hogsmeade weekend. I’m sure they’re curious what you’ve been up to.”

Regulus felt his stomach drop at Rosier's words but maintained his composure.

"I look forward to it," Regulus lied smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to finish."

He gathered his things quickly, ignoring the knowing looks from the others. As he left the common room, Regulus' mind whirled. Everything felt like it was spinning out from under him. He didn’t need Rosier’s scrutiny. He didn’t need a visit from Bellatrix. He didn’t need Davies’ unexplainable knowledge. He didn’t need any of it.

***

Regulus’ week went from bad to infinitely worse. A stack of letters arrived for him that next morning. He had put off opening them in the Great Hall, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him to wait. Nothing good could come from so many letters at once.

He ignored them the entire day, waiting until he was alone in the Slytherin common room to finally open them.

It was quite a collection.

One from his Grandfather, one from his Mother, one from Bellatrix, and one from the Dark Lord himself.

All of them about the same thing: Sirius was still Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Once again, Regulus was second string. The spare.

A lifetime of rebellion and attitude, and Sirius was being rewarded for it.

Regulus' hands shook as he read through the letters.

"Your brother may yet prove himself worthy," his grandfather had written. “Blood has a way of asserting itself, after all.”

Regulus crumpled the letters in his fist, rage and despair warring within him. He'd done everything right. Followed every rule, upheld every tradition. And for what? To be cast aside in favor of his wayward brother?

He stormed out of the common room, needing to escape the suffocating weight of expectations. His feet carried him through the castle, mind reeling.

The corridors were mercifully empty. He made it out to the Great Lake in record time.

Regulus slumped against a tree by the lake's edge, his chest heaving. The cool night air did little to calm the storm raging inside him. He stared out at the dark water, its surface rippling under the moonlight.

“Doing okay, Reg?”

Regulus whirled around, wand drawn before he even registered the voice.

"What are you doing out here, Parker?"

The Gryffindor raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy there. I was just out for a walk. Saw you sneaking out. Figured I would check in.”

Regulus lowered his wand slowly, eyeing Parker warily. "I'm fine," he said curtly. "Just needed some air."

Parker nodded, not looking convinced. "Mind if I join you?"

“Yes.”

“Fantastic,” Parker said as he sat down next to Regulus.

Regulus scowled at Parker's blatant disregard for his wishes. "I said I mind."

"I heard you," Parker replied, leaning back against the tree.

Regulus huffed in annoyance but didn't move away. They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound the gentle lapping of water against the shore.

"Want to talk about it?" Parker asked quietly.

Regulus scoffed. "With you? Hardly."

"Fair enough.”

More silence stretched between them. Regulus found himself growing increasingly agitated by Parker's calm presence.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" he snapped.

"Not really," Parker replied easily. "It’s almost midnight. Not a whole lot on my to-do list.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, irritated by Parker's nonchalance. "Then go bother someone else. I'm sure my brother would love your company."

Parker laughed and shot him a lopsided grin. “Oh, I spent last night cuddling with Sirius. Tonight’s for you, Little Starling.”

Regulus felt his face heat at Parker's words. "Don't call me that.”

"Wanna go back to Baby Leo?" Parker teased, hand coming up to pinch Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus swatted Parker's hand away, scowling. "Touch me again and I'll hex you. What do you mean you spent last night cuddling Sirius?”

The blonde looked at him for a moment. “It’s been quite a week for the Black family, hasn’t it?”

He felt his stomach drop. "What do you know about it?" he asked, voice tight.

Parker shrugged. "Sirius was pretty upset last night. Didn't want to be alone."

Regulus clenched his fists, anger flaring. "Upset? What does he have to be upset about? He's getting everything he wants!"

Parker raised an eyebrow. "Is he?”

Regulus glared at Parker, his anger bubbling over. "Of course he is! He's still the Heir, despite everything. Despite abandoning our family, despite betraying our values. And here I am, doing everything right, and for what?"

Parker's expression softened. "For what it's worth, I’m not sure Sirius wants to be the Heir any more than you want him to be."

He scoffed. "Right, because Sirius has always hated attention and power. How hard it must be for him to have it all come so naturally to him!”

The Gryffindor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about attention or power, Reg. It's about expectations. Sirius doesn't want to be what your family expects him to be."

Regulus laughed bitterly. "And I do? You think I want this?" He gestured vaguely at himself. "To be the backup Heir? To constantly have the other Slytherins watching me? To have my mother and my cousin teaching me the Unforgivables?”

Regulus snapped his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to say that much.

Parker's eyes widened slightly at Regulus' outburst. He was quiet for a moment, studying Regulus intently.

"No," he said softly. "I don't think you want any of that."

Regulus felt exposed under Parker's gaze. He looked away, staring out at the lake.

"It doesn't matter what I want," he muttered.

"Doesn't it?" Parker asked.

Regulus turned back to him, anger flaring again. "Of course it doesn't! I have responsibilities, expectations. I can't just run away like Siri did.”

“He didn’t run away for nothing, though, did he?”

Regulus swallowed against the bile in his throat. “…I didn’t know it was that bad until he was already out of the house. He always told me not to intervene. I — I didn’t think she would go that far.”

Parker's expression softened. "It's not your fault. You were just a kid."

Regulus shook his head, his voice tight. "I should have done something. I should have stopped her."

"Not your responsibility," Parker said gently. "There were other adults in your lives that should have been looking out for both of you."

Regulus felt tears prick at his eyes. He blinked them back furiously. "I used to think about what it would have been like if I went with him," he whispered.

Parker was quiet for a moment. "Why didn't you? Go with him, I mean."

Regulus laughed bitterly. “Wasn’t asked, was I? Sirius left and never looked back.”

Parker sighed and gave him an exasperated look. “Merlin, the two of you. More similar than you think.”

He gave a soft smile and put a hand on Regulus’ shoulder before slowly wrapping his arm around him. “I am aware this is apparently a foreign concept to your family, but at some point, you may consider asking for help. No man is an island, Black.”

Regulus tensed at the contact but didn't pull away. Parker's warmth was oddly comforting in the cool night air.

"Help?" Regulus scoffed. "From who? My family? The other Slytherins?"

Parker shrugged. "Well, I’m here, aren’t I? And don’t let Davies’ posh exterior fool you — he’s got a bleeding heart underneath it. And there’s Sirius.”

Regulus gave a wet, bitter laugh. “I’m Marked, Parker.”

Parker's arm tightened around Regulus. "Oh, I’m aware," he said softly.

“I’m branded with the symbol of a wizard who wants you dead, Parker. You and your sister and most of the Gryffindors you hang out with. I don’t know why you seem to think I’m a good person. I went willingly! I was proud to be the youngest Marked supporter!” Regulus pulled away to stare at the Gryffindor as his voice got louder.

“I —,” Regulus felt his breath hitch. “I don’t regret getting it because I suddenly love mudbl— muggleborns or something. I still agree with a lot of the traditionalist ideals. I regret it because it wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. My regret is entirely selfish! Even if I think I shouldn’t, I still look up to the Dark Lord — to his power, the things he can do. So why are you here?”

Parker studied Regulus for a long moment, his green eyes intense in the moonlight. Then he smiled softly. “We are more than our worst sins, Little Star. And perhaps my perception is skewed because I have, admittedly, had a bit of a shite life, but your sins aren’t quite as bad as you seem to think.”

Regulus scoffed, but Parker pressed on.

"It’s okay to be conflicted. Struggling. It means you're thinking for yourself, questioning what you've been taught. It’s quite a step, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Regulus stared at Parker, bewildered by his words. "You're mad," he said softly. “Barking."

Parker grinned. "Oh, absolutely. But I'm not wrong."

Regulus shook his head, looking away. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Parker's voice was gentle. "How did you feel when you learned about the attacks?”

He felt his stomach twist at Parker's question. He remained silent, unwilling to voice the turmoil he'd felt upon hearing the news.

Parker pressed on. "Did you feel proud? Excited?”

Regulus clenched his jaw and looked away. “I felt sick. Partly for the — the actual acts. Partly because I know I’m supposed to be going on those one day. But another part of me…another part of me was impressed. Impressed at what the Dark Lord can do.”

He waited to hear Parker leave. When nothing happened, he looked up. Parker was staring at him, head tilted slightly while biting his lip.

“What is it about the Dark Lord that’s alluring to you?”

Regulus hesitated, struggling to articulate his thoughts. "He's... powerful. Brilliant, even. The magic he wields, it's unlike anything I've ever felt before." He paused, frowning. "And he promises a world where we can be proud of our heritage, our traditions."

Parker nodded slowly a few times, eyes never leaving Regulus’ face. “We’ll come back to the power thing, but on the heritage and such, would it change your mind at all if you knew he was a halfblood? The son of a Muggle?”

Regulus stared at Parker, annoyed. "No, he’s not. The Dark Lord is—"

“—What’s his name?”

Regulus froze, his mouth hanging open. He blinked rapidly, struggling to process Parker's question. "I... I don't know," he admitted quietly. “Everyone calls him Lord or Lord Voldemort.”

Parker quirked an eyebrow. “No? Odd, isn’t it? He’s preaching pureblood supremacy but I don’t recall a House Voldemort. Perhaps because there isn’t one. His mother was a witch, but his father was a Muggle.”

Regulus felt his world tilting on its axis. He shook his head, trying to deny Parker's words. "No, that can't be right. He has to be a pureblood. He’s a Parselmouth.”

“Big whoop, so am I.”

Parker clicked his mouth shut, eyes widening like he hadn’t meant to say that.

Regulus gaped at Parker, his mind reeling. “No, you’re not.”

“Lovely, let’s forget I said that.”

Regulus stared at Parker, his mind racing. "You can't just say something like that and expect me to forget it," he hissed.

"No, we're talking about this now," Regulus insisted, his eyes narrowing. "How can you be a Parselmouth?”

“Oh, well, I can talk to snakes, so that helps tremendously.”

Regulus glared at Parker. "Don't be cheeky. Parseltongue is an incredibly rare ability, passed down through bloodlines. You're muggleborn. Or so you claim.”

Parker shrugged. "And yet, here we are. Look, I didn't mean to bring it up. Can we get back to your existential crisis?"

"No," Regulus said firmly. "This is part of it now. You claim the Dark Lord is a halfblood, and now you're saying you're a Parselmouth. Bold claims. Prove it.”

Parker sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Well, I need a snake then.”

Regulus flicked his wand, conjuring a mid-sized green grass snake. It slithered onto the grass between them, tongue flicking out to taste the air.

Parker eyed the snake warily. "Alright," he muttered. He took a deep breath and focused on the snake.

A series of soft hisses emerged from Parker's mouth. Regulus felt a chill run down his spine at the alien sounds. The snake's head snapped towards Parker, its body coiling attentively.

More hissing followed. The snake slithered closer to Parker, tongue flicking rapidly. It raised its head, swaying slightly as if mesmerized.

Parker glanced at Regulus, his expression uncertain. He hissed again, gesturing towards Regulus. The snake turned its head, regarding Regulus with gleaming eyes.

Regulus felt his breath catch in his throat. He stared at Parker, a mix of awe and fear coursing through him. "You really are a Parselmouth," he whispered.

Merlin, did that mean the Dark Lord really was a halfblood?

The snake continued to slither closer to Parker, who held his arm out for the snake to wrap itself around.

“You’re a muggleborn, Gryffindor, Parselmouth,” Regulus whispered, brows furrowed as he stared at the dyed blonde. He suddenly thought about the wandless, wordless magic he’d seen the other wizard doing in class. “And you’re powerful.”

Parker nodded slowly, looking up from the snake coiled around his arm. “Alright, sure, let’s keep peeling the layers back. Part of the admiration for the Dark Lord is power, right?”

Regulus nodded slowly, still staring at the snake. "Yes," he admitted quietly. “When I saw him over the summer for my Mark, you could feel it. The whole room was flooded with it, enough to almost feel drunk off of it. It was incredible.”

“You just said I’m powerful, too, though.”

Regulus wrinkled his nose. “Not as powerful as him, Parker.”

Parker looked amused. "You sure about that, Baby Black?"

Regulus felt a sudden shift in the air around them. The temperature seemed to drop as an invisible weight pressed down on him. Magic crackled along his skin, raising the hair on his arms.

He gasped, eyes widening as he stared at Parker. The other wizard's green eyes were glowing faintly in the darkness, power radiating off him in palpable waves.

"What—" Regulus choked out, feeling suddenly lightheaded at the sudden influx of magic.

Just as quickly as it came, the overwhelming magical pressure vanished. Parker's eyes returned to normal, the air around them settling.

Regulus gasped for breath, his heart pounding. He stared at Parker, mind reeling.

Nothing made any sense at all anymore.

He shook his head, trying to piece any of these new facts together in a way that explained any of it.

Parker was an incredibly powerful Parselmouth who supposedly knew details about the Dark Lord’s lineage and who showed up to the school with a Black interloper who was inordinately familiar with pureblood etiquette and a witch who was perhaps the smartest student in the last 50 years.

“Are you —,” Regulus started hesitantly, brows furrowed, “—are you his son?”

Parker stiffened slightly and Regulus felt his blood thundering in his ears. Circe’s tits.

“…Who’s son?”

"The Dark Lord's," Regulus whispered, his mind racing. "I don’t know how else — your power, your Parseltongue ability, Davies' weird knowledge of Death Eater operations..."

Parker stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. The snake around his arm startled at the sudden noise.

"Merlin's saggy left—" Parker wheezed. His shoulders shook as he covered his face with his hands.

He was still laughing as he lowered them, gasping as tears filled his eyes. “You and your bloody brother.”

Then he leaned forward and pulled Regulus against him in a hug. Regulus could feel his whole body shake as he continued to try and get himself under control. Parker nuzzled his head against Regulus as he snorted while giggling.

Regulus tensed at the sudden contact, unsure how to react to Parker's bizarre embrace. The other wizard's laughter was still vibrating through his chest as he held Regulus close.

"I'm sorry," Parker chuckled, finally pulling back slightly, but keeping his hands loosely on Regulus’ shoulders. "That was just... not at all what I was expecting you to say."

Regulus frowned, feeling foolish. "Well, what am I supposed to think?" he demanded. "None of this makes any sense!"

Parker's laughter subsided, but his eyes still sparkled with amusement. "No, I suppose it doesn’t. Merlin, but if I didn’t think you might be killed for it, I might actually encourage you to spread that rumor around. God, it would be funny.”

Regulus scowled, pulling away from Parker's grip. "This isn't funny. You're not making any sense."

Parker's amusement faded, his expression turning serious. "You're right, I'm sorry. Look, Reg, I know this is all confusing. But I promise you, I am not Voldemort's son."

"Then who are you?" Regulus demanded. "Really? And who’s Hermione?”

It had been bugging him for days.

Parker blinked, brows furrowed. “What?”

“Hermione — it’s what you called your sister last week in the library when you yelled at me. I thought her name was Jean.”

Parker looked confused, like he was trying to remember the conversation. “Did I? Probably. Gods, you do trip me up sometimes. It’s the Davies face thing, I think.”

He shook his head before looking back at Regulus. “Anyway, doesn’t matter. Slip of the tongue. Jean Hermione Parker. I call her Mione or Hermione sometimes. I don’t recommend you try it — she’s not so big on it as a nickname.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, not convinced by Parker's explanation. "Fine, whatever. But that doesn't answer who you really are. How do you know so much about the Dark Lord? About Death Eaters?"

The Gryffindor gave an infuriatingly casual shrug. “How does anyone know anything?”

Regulus glared at Parker, frustration mounting. "Stop being evasive. You know things you shouldn't. Things that could get you killed if the wrong people found out!"

Parker's expression softened. "You're right. And those are answers I can’t give you, but I would like to point out that it sounds suspiciously like you care what happens to me.”

Regulus felt his face heat at Parker's words. He scowled, looking away. "Don't be ridiculous. I just don't want to be implicated if you get yourself killed."

Parker chuckled softly. "Right, of course. My mistake, Little Leo."

They sat in silence for a moment, the gentle lapping of the lake the only sound. Regulus' mind was still reeling from everything he'd learned.

"So what now?" he asked quietly, not looking at Parker.

Parker exhaled. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention the Parselmouth thing to anyone.”

He nodded slowly. "I won't.”

Parker nodded back, looking relieved. “Promise me you won’t go digging around about Voldemort’s past. Don’t start asking questions about it or trying to research it. It’s a secret he’s guarded fiercely. Nothing good can come from him hearing you’re asking about it.”

Regulus hesitated, curiosity warring with self-preservation. "Why did you bother telling me at all then?”

Parker sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because I think you needed to hear it. To understand that the ideals you've been taught aren't as black and white as they seem. And because of the Davies face thing.”

He leaned closer, his green eyes intense. "Promise me, Regulus. No digging."

Regulus swallowed hard, caught in Parker's gaze. "I... I promise," he said quietly.

Parker nodded, looking satisfied with Regulus' promise. He leaned back against the tree, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

Regulus watched him warily, still trying to process everything. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to demand more answers, to shake Parker until he explained everything. But another part of him was terrified of learning more, of having his worldview shattered even further.

"So what am I supposed to do now?" Regulus asked quietly, hating how lost he sounded.

Parker's expression softened.

“What do you want to do?”

Regulus stared at Parker, taken aback by the question. What did he want to do? He'd never really considered it before. His entire life had been planned out for him - be the perfect pureblood son, join the Dark Lord's ranks, uphold the family name. But now...

"I don't know," Regulus admitted softly.

Parker nodded, his expression understanding. "That's okay. You don't have to have it all figured out right now."

Regulus felt a lump form in his throat. "But I'm supposed to," he whispered.

“Nah, you’re a dumb kid,” Parker said and he once again pulled Regulus into another side hug, hand coming up to card through Regulus’ hair. “You’re not supposed to have anything figured out.”

Regulus felt odd about the fact that the Gryffindor’s infuriatingly casual affection felt somehow relaxing.

“You should talk to your grandfather.”

Regulus tensed at Parker's words. "Why?"

Parker shrugged. “Have you considered what it means that your grandfather seems willing to publicly call Sirius his Heir?”

Regulus felt a chill run down his spine as he thought back to the letters he received from Bellatrix, his Mother, and the Dark Lord. All three had stressed that this was temporary, that Arcturus would see reason and reinstate Regulus.

There had been a noticeable edge of concern from Bellatrix and Mother, alongside their fury. The Dark Lord’s letter had been superficially sympathetic, but the expectations were the same.

Word has reached me of your grandfather's peculiar decision regarding the Black family's succession. It is most unfortunate that Arcturus seems blind to the stark difference between you and your... disgraceful brother.

It pains me to see a promising young wizard such as yourself overlooked in favor of one who has so thoroughly rejected our values. It would be prudent to remind your grandfather of the importance of proper magical lineage and family loyalty in these trying times.

I trust you understand the gravity of the situation.

“Sirius is rather unapologetically Gryffindor, as well as vocally opposed to the Dark Lord. Interesting time for your grandfather to get back involved, innit?”

It was true — the timing was suspicious. His grandfather had been largely hands-off for years, seemingly content to let Walburga run things. For him to suddenly reassert his authority and publicly back Sirius as Heir...

"Do you think he’s opposed to the Dark Lord?" Regulus asked slowly.

“Oh, I’m not sure I would give him nearly that much credit,” Parker quipped. “But I think it’s worth a conversation.”

Harry and Regulus were making their way back into the entrance hall when he spotted the telltale robes of Dumbledore.

He held back a sigh. He had no desire for a late-night chat with the Headmaster.

“Mr. Parker. Mr. Black,” Dumbledore greeted them. “I hope all is well?”

“Peachy, Headmaster,” Harry said dryly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Regulus shoot him a look. 

Dumbledore regarded both of them with a soft smile. “I was hoping to speak with you, Mr. Parker.”

Harry sighed, glancing at Regulus. "Fine. Sure. I’ll see you later, Reg, okay?"

Regulus hesitated, glancing between Harry and Dumbledore. "I... alright," he said uncertainly. "Goodnight, Parker, Headmaster."

Harry watched as Regulus disappeared down the corridor towards the dungeons. He turned back to Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"Walk with me?" Dumbledore said, gesturing down the hall.

Harry fell into step beside the Headmaster, his mind still on his conversation with Regulus. They walked in silence for a few moments before Dumbledore spoke.

"You've taken quite an interest in the Black brothers, Henry.”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "They're interesting people."

"Indeed they are," Dumbledore agreed. "Interesting things tend to happen when Potters and Blacks combine."

Harry’s step faltered only slightly before he kept going. Well, that wasn’t all that surprising. Dumbledore knew. Of course, he knew. Harry and James had been running around the same castle for months now.

With practiced nonchalance, Harry reached for his cigarettes.

He lit one, inhaling deeply before responding. "Is that so?"

"Indeed. Your father and Sirius have been quite the duo."

Harry stared at Dumbledore carefully. He wasn’t quite sure what the Headmaster was looking for here, but Harry would prefer not to give it to him, if at all possible.

Dumbledore's eyes were curious behind his half-moon spectacles. "You don't seem surprised that I know you're a Potter.”

Harry's green eyes narrowed. He took a long drag from his cigarette, buying time. The smoke curled around him, a hazy shield against Dumbledore's penetrating gaze.

"Hmm, Albus Dumbledore knowing who's in his castle — color me surprised," Harry remarked dryly. A surge of vindictiveness rose in his chest. "Tell me, Headmaster, have you figured out Davies yet?"

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose slightly. "Ah, I'm afraid that particular mystery still eludes me, though I have a few thoughts.”

Harry snorted, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Well then, you and Arcturus can continue the mystery together, can't you?"

He flicked ash from his cigarette, watching it float to the stone floor before vanishing it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, his eyes losing some of their infernal twinkle. "I’m curious... is Regulus Black important in some way?”

Harry's jaw clenched. He fought to keep his temper in check, but the words tumbled out anyway. "For fuck's sake, Dumbledore. Stop trying to pawn responsibilities off to teenagers.”

The headmaster held up a placating hand. "I assure you, my boy, I have no ill intent. I'm merely... hopeful. It's heartening to think there might be hope for the next generation, especially for someone like Regulus.”

Harry scoffed, unconvinced. He took another drag, the smoke burning his lungs. It was a welcome distraction from the frustration bubbling in his chest.

"Does anyone suspect your true identities?"

"Not that I know," Harry replied curtly.

"Not the Black brothers?"

Harry couldn't help but snort at that. "Sirius thought I was a Death Eater. Regulus thought I might be Voldemort's son. Frustratingly similar, those two."

The irony wasn't lost on Harry. Here he was, James Potter's son, mistaken for the child of the very man who would orphan him.

It was, objectively, pretty bloody funny.

Dumbledore shot Harry a curious look, his silvery eyebrows arching high. "And why, pray tell, does young Mr. Black suspect such a thing?"

Harry met the headmaster's gaze, a hint of defiance in his green eyes. He casually flicked ash from his cigarette, letting the tension build for a moment before replying. "The Parselmouth thing seemed to be the dealbreaker for him."

The effect was immediate. Dumbledore's eyes widened. His composed demeanor faltered, revealing genuine surprise. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at catching the old wizard off guard.

A laugh bubbled up in Harry's chest, escaping as a dry chuckle. "Not so fun being on the other side of the mystery, is it, Headmaster?"

Harry watched as Dumbledore collected himself, noting how the older wizard's fingers twitched slightly, as if reaching for his wand. It was a subtle tell, one that spoke volumes about how unsettled Dumbledore truly was.

Good.

"I must admit, Mr. Parker," Dumbledore said slowly, "you continue to surprise me."

“Yes, well, I aim to please.”

The headmaster's piercing blue eyes studied him intently. “The three of you have been quite absent lately. And there have been several trips out of the castle. Is there anything you want to share?”

"Not particularly," he replied coolly, although it would be funny to see how Dumbledore would react if Harry admitted they had been out grave robbing.

Harry took a final drag from his cigarette, then vanished it away with practiced ease. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl in the cool night air.

"Well, Headmaster," Harry said, his voice tinged with weariness, "it's been a long night. I think I'll turn in."

He turned to go, but paused, a sudden thought striking him. Harry glanced back at Dumbledore.

"Leave Regulus alone," he added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly. "Henry, I assure you—"

"I mean it," Harry cut him off. "He's not some pet project for you.”

The words hung between them, charged.

"Goodnight, Headmaster," Harry said firmly, turning away before Dumbledore could respond.

As he walked back towards the common room, Harry's thoughts raced. He'd shown his hand tonight, more than he should have. But watching the surprise on Dumbledore's face had been worth it.

The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows across the empty common room. Lily yawned, her eyes heavy as she turned another page of "Advanced Potion-Making." A sudden creak of the portrait hole made her look up.

Potter stumbled in, his usually messy hair even more disheveled than normal. Circles ringed his hazel eyes behind his glasses. Lily frowned.

"You look awful, Potter," she said, unable to keep the concern from her voice.

James offered a weary smile. "Thanks, Evans. Just the boost I needed."

"Long patrol?"

He nodded, collapsing onto the couch across from her. "Longer than expected. Everyone is on edge after the attacks.”

Lily closed her book, giving James her full attention. "How are the younger students holding up?"

Potter ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Scared. Lots of homesickness, nightmares. How are you holding up?"

Lily sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm alright. It's just... scary, you know? Knowing what's happening out there."

James nodded solemnly. "I know. Is that why you’re up so late?"

“Oh, no. I saw Henry sneak out earlier. I was hoping to wait for him. I know him and Jean and Leo are always out and about, but it just feels more dangerous now, with everything happening.”

“He’s still not back? It’s nearly 2 AM.”

Potter stretched out on the couch, his long legs dangling over the armrest. "Well, I'll wait with you," he said, stifling another yawn. "There's something about Parker, isn't there?"

Lily nodded, her brow furrowing. "Yeah. All three of them clearly have quite a past, but Henry’s seems worse. Outside of the nightmares and scars and such, you can see it with the way the other two are always watching over him.”

"Merlin, but the scars," James added, his hazel eyes darkening. “You didn’t see them, Lils. He looked like he’d been through hell and he just shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Spent the next day comforting Sirius, even! It’s boggling, the way he seems so — I don’t know, good?”

Lily nodded thoughtfully. "He does have this innate goodness about him. It's almost... comforting, in a way I can't quite place."

James hummed in agreement, his eyes drifting closed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I like him..."

They lapsed into silence, the crackling fire the only sound in the common room. Lily found her gaze drawn to Potter, noticing how the firelight softened his features. His eyes had drifted closed, his breathing evening out.

Watching him, Lily felt a strange warmth in her chest. She thought it was cute the way he cared for Henry. The way he worried over his lack of sleep, how he figured out that he was having nightmares, his fury over the scars.

The portrait hole swung open, breaking Lily from her reverie. Henry stepped in, his blonde hair tousled and green eyes widening at the sight before him.

“Er, hi?” he said, eyes darting between them, a lightly confused look on his face.

Lily smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You know, Parker, you really need to stop breaking so many rules. Maybe start getting some sleep instead?"

Henry's cheeks flushed slightly. "I wasn't—"

"Save it," Lily interrupted, patting the space next to her on the couch. "Come sit."

Henry hesitated, then crossed the room. He settled beside her, facing Lily with his feet tucked in the middle of the couch. His eyes flickered to James's sleeping form.

"Is he alright?" Henry asked, concern lacing his voice.

Lily nodded. "Just tired from patrols." She paused, studying Henry's face. "You know, I'm rather mad at you."

Parker's brow furrowed, looking disappointed. "Mad at me? Why?"

Lily bit her lip, fighting a smile. "Because you're making me think about Potter nicely."

Henry's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and amusement dancing across his features before he laughed. "Well, we can't have that, can we? What dastardly deed has James committed to earn your approval?"

Lily rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "He's been looking out for you. Worrying about your lack of sleep, your nightmares. He’s quite upset about your scars."

Henry's amusement faded, replaced by a softer expression as he turned his head away. "Ah. Well, that’s…nice of him. He cares a lot.”

"I'm starting to see that," Lily admitted. "Which is why I'm worried about you, too. These late-night wanderings, the nightmares...”

Henry's expression softened as he looked back at Lily. "I appreciate the concern, really. But I promise I'm alright."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Are you? Because sneaking out in the middle of the night doesn't seem very 'alright' to me."

Parker laughed, grinning at her. “Oh, well. I didn’t mean to be out that long. Got caught up playing Black family therapist.”

Lily's eyebrows shot up. "Do I even want to know?"

Henry chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. "Probably not. Bit of a mess, that family. But I think there might be hope for them yet."

Lily studied Henry's face, noting the glint in those oddly similar green eyes. “How do you do it?”

Henry tilted his head. "Do what?"

"Care so much. About everyone. Jean, Davies, the Blacks, James, all of us. You’ve clearly been through some things. And there’s all this terror going on out there. How are you so optimistic?”

He grinned at Lily. “Oh, that’s easy. I’m an idiot. Carefully cultivated idiocy. Makes life much more bearable."

He shook his head, looking more serious, eyes earnest. "Seriously though, what's the alternative? Give up? Let the darkness win?"

He gave a long exhale. "I’ve come close once or twice. Treading, trying to keep my head above while choking on water. And then just when you think you’re going to go under, the sun comes back up, and Mione’s there, hauling me out and yelling at me.”

He stared off into the fire, a distant look in his eyes. “Besides, the world owes me some happiness so I’m taking it one way or another.”

Lily studied Henry's face, noting the determined set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. She felt a swell of admiration for this strange, kind boy who'd stumbled into their lives.

"Well," she said softly, "I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad you have Jean and Leo, and us, if you need us.”

Henry's expression softened. "I do,” he whispered, “need you, that is.”

His eyes flickered to James' sleeping form on the couch. A fond smile tugged at his lips.

"You know, you should give him a chance," Henry said softly. "James, I mean. He's a good bloke."

Lily followed Henry's gaze, her expression thoughtful. "He has been different this year," she admitted. "More mature."

Henry nodded. "People can surprise you, if you let them.”

Lily bit her lip, feeling like she was losing her mind a bit. “I suppose there is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up.”

Henry's eyes sparkled with mischief.

If it had been anyone else sneaking into his bed, Draco was certain his stunner would have sent them flying across the room. But nothing was ever normal when it came to Harry bloody Potter.

He batted the spell away like it was a gnat, excited eyes staring at Draco. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Draco blinked against the darkness, tilting his head slightly to see moonlight in the sliver of opening in his bed curtains. He could feel Potter’s annoyingly good privacy ward around them.

“I don’t suppose it matters to you that it’s the middle of the night and that this is the Ravenclaw dorms.”

“That’s never stopped me from doing literally anything. Bunch over — I’ve spent the past two nights cuddling the Black boys. I’m adding you to the list.”

Draco sighed but shifted over, making room for Harry to slide in next to him. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Harry grinned as he settled in, pressing close to Draco's side as he draped an arm over his chest. "So I've been told. Repeatedly. By you, actually."

Draco rolled his eyes but didn't push Harry away.

“Okay, what could I have possibly missed since you and Sirius talked last night?”

Harry rolled his head onto Draco’s shoulder as both of them stared at the canopy above the bed.

Harry hummed, his warm breath ghosting across Draco's neck. "Regulus got the news about Sirius. He was quite upset. It’s eery sometimes, how similar the two of you are. I told him to talk to his grandfather, like you suggested. Then I had a nighttime chat with Dumbledore. He finally pieced together that I’m James’ son. You still elude him, but we’ll see how long that lasts. He was annoying me so I told him I was a Parselmouth. Oh! And then my Mum and Dad were waiting for me when I got back to the common room. Well, James was asleep on the couch, but still. It was nice. I think I might be the reason they get together in this timeline.”

Draco blinked against the onslaught of information, not sure which one to address first. Probably the Parselmouth thing. “Merlin, Potter. I let you out of my sight for five hours.”

Potter laughed and then quickly twisted around, pushing himself up on his hands as he hovered over Draco.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as Harry loomed over him, green eyes glinting in the darkness. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through his body. Merlin, but the infuriating chaotic wizard did something to him.

“Oh! And!” Harry exclaimed, a mischievous grin across his face as Draco felt Potter’s magic flooding the air around them in excitement. “Regulus said something tonight that gave me an idea.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Hermione worried that Harry might break Draco. The pureblood had been rolling with the chaos of the last few months impressively well, but she thought that this idea might be the one to finally push him to his limit.

“I’m not going to teach you Voldemort’s fucking mannerisms, Potter!” Draco snapped, deflecting a Stupefy with a flick of his wrist.

"Come on," Harry countered, sending a volley of sparks toward Draco. "He lived in your house for like a year and a half — you’ve got to know them better than most.”

“I —,” Draco sputtered while firing off a Leg-Locker, “it’s not that I couldn’t. It’s that it’s a staggeringly stupid idea!”

“Well, those are the only kinds of ideas I have, so…” Harry laughed, twirling his wand around and sending out a Bombarda.

Draco dove to the side, barely avoiding Harry's spell. His eyes flashed with frustration. “Yes, well, pretending to be the Dark Lord is beyond even your worst ideas and I’m counting the time you stood up on your broom and almost choked on the Snitch.”

A few days into what Harry called Mission: Paperwork, they had made the pleasant discovery of a pensieve in the Room of Hidden Things.

Draco and she had been knee-deep in paper and files when Harry came bounding through the room with a proud grin on his face.

“Your ability to find priceless items is astounding, Potter.”

It was a lifesaver, even if it had brought Malfoy right to the brink of a breakdown.

After realizing they were likely stuck here, Hermione put her foot down and insisted on planning their next moves. That meant taking stock of what they knew.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry smirked, swatting away Draco’s spell. “I can’t hear you over my being the youngest Seeker in a century.”

They spent almost a week writing down everything they knew about Voldemort, known Death Eaters, important events, and anything that felt important. Given Harry and Hermione’s information on the Horcruxes and Voldemort’s upbringing, plus Draco’s experience with him living in his Manor, they likely had more information on the war than anyone else alive possibly could.

Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the slight upturn of his lips. "Your ego knows no bounds.”

"That's rich coming from you, Malfoy," Harry retorted, ducking another spell.

Part of getting Draco caught up to speed on their own knowledge was showing him memories of the bigger events that had happened in Hogwarts. The pureblood had shifted from exacerbation to crushing sadness as he moved through the years.

“Why THE FUCK was there an obstacle course housing the Philosopher’s stone in Hogwarts? And why was it easy enough for a bunch of first-years to complete?”

“Okay, sure, you’ve survived a Basilisk’s bite — we’ll add that to the things that you’ve miraculously survived that shouldn’t bloody be possible.”

“To be honest, fending off an army of Dementors is actually one of your least impressive feats. Gods, Azkaban really did a number on Black.”

“…I don’t know how you sleep in a dorm with Pettigrew and don’t smother him in his sleep.”

He came out of the Department of Mystery’s memory pale and shaking before he pulled Harry into a hug, head buried in his shoulder as he quietly apologized for his father, Bellatrix, and Sirius’ death.

Hermione watched their duel with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“C’mon, Malfoy, say ‘My Father will hear about this.’”

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I will hex you into next week, Potter."

Harry grinned, dodging another spell. "That's more like it! Put a little more emphasis on the P, though.”

By the time they made it through the Cave and finding Slytherin’s fake Locket, Draco looked faint. “He was fucking 18 when he went there.”

Their year on the run had been the worst. All three of them had vehemently agreed that they didn’t want to see Harry’s walk to his death, but they included most of the rest of the important bits.

It took a full weekend for them to make it through and after Draco finished throwing up, she had a legitimate concern that he might go fight Dumbledore himself. “He sent a ragtag team of teenagers on a puzzle quest while hundreds were killed!”

And then he had grabbed Harry and held him like he was afraid Harry might disappear. “He raised you like a sheep for slaughter,” he whispered hoarsely.

A crash made her look up. Harry was sprawled on the floor, Draco's wand at his throat.

"Yield," Draco smirked.

"Not how it works in real life, babes," Harry grinned, grabbing Draco's arm and easily flipping their positions.

Once they had as much written down as they could, they decided to start by making small, far-off changes. Things that wouldn’t affect the immediate future.

Removing ways for Voldemort to return had been their first priority. Digging up Tom Riddle Senior’s grave had been harder than expected. Mostly because Voldemort had set a series of wards around the graveyard and it took them days to be able to find a way through without tripping the alarm.

Hermione watched Harry leaning over Malfoy. Their faces were inches apart, chests heaving from exertion.

Merlin, but eventually one of them was going to have to finally snap and admit their feelings. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could watch them stare adoringly at each other in between insults.

Then Sirius revealed Harry’s scars and Arcturus Black’s letters arrived and Regulus Black asked Harry if he was Voldemort’s son and now she was watching Harry and Draco roll around on the floor as they debated the merits of Harry’s latest crazy idea.

Draco bucked his hips, trying to dislodge Harry. "This is madness, Harry. You can't just waltz into Death Eater meetings pretending to be the Dark Lord!"

Harry's grip tightened. "Well, I didn’t plan on going to the full meetings. But, come on, how much do I need to know for a couple of one-on-one meetings? I can’t imagine Riddle’s particularly chatty.”

Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Boys, perhaps we could discuss this like civilized people?"

Harry rolled to the side, freeing Draco. They both sat up, slightly disheveled.

Malfoy pushed himself off the floor, wiping off a layer of sweat from his temple. “Assuming you can even learn how to act like him, how are you going to look like him? He’s not one to wear masks like his Death Eaters.”

“I mean, he’s actually got hair in this time…”

“Oh, well, let me know when you get close enough to grab some from the Dark Lord without him noticing.”

Harry chewed his lip, looking lost in thought. “Okay, slight problem in the plan. But still, I think we should keep it as an option. There are five Hocruxes out there. We know the Diadem is here and the ring is still in Little Hangleton. Papa Malfoy or Lucy might have the diary. Bellatrix might already have the Cup, but we have no idea where the Locket is right now. It could be in the Cave, but I would prefer not to check unless it’s our last option.”

“And what,” Draco started, “is your plan? Pretend to be Voldemort and go around asking his Death Eaters if they’ve been entrusted with a Founder’s heirloom?”

Harry shrugged casually and Draco pinched his nose in frustration.

“It’s more of a plan than we had for most of the first time!”

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at their banter as she looked down at her notes. Arcturus Black’s moves were disconcerting. Primarily because it was proof that their presence here was changing things.

And now they had to consider how quickly they could and wanted to move to change in response. She stared at the letter she started writing to Damocles Belby. It would be seven more years before he invented the Wolfsbane Potion. But the research had likely taken him at least a decade. She intended to reach out to him under the pretense of an advanced Potions project for her NEWTs.

Hermione's quill hovered over the parchment. She hesitated, weighing the risks of interfering. But the image of Remus, pale and exhausted after each full moon, was hard to shake.

Doling out all her research into the possible cure felt like a step too far at the moment. It would raise questions they couldn’t answer. But this? This was doable.

“Granger, I don’t suppose you want to offer any sanity to this inane idea, do you? What are you working on over there?”

Hermione looked up from her letter, meeting Draco's questioning gaze. She hesitated, then sighed.

"I'm drafting a letter to Damocles Belby. About his research on lycanthropy."

Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "The Wolfsbane Potion?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "I know we agreed to start small, but..."

"But it's Remus," Harry finished softly.

Draco's brow furrowed. "Isn't that potion still years away from being invented?"

Hermione nodded. "Seven years, to be exact. But the research likely took much longer. I thought if I could give him a nudge in the right direction..."

Harry's eyes lit up. "That's brilliant, 'Mione! We could help Remus years earlier."

Draco looked thoughtful. "It's risky, but I can see the appeal. What exactly are you planning to write?"

"I was thinking of posing it as a theoretical question for a NEWT-level project," Hermione explained. "I could mention some theories about aconite and moonstone.”

Draco gave a low hum of agreement. "Well, we’ve clearly already altered things. It would be quite a help to Lupin and others if you nudged it along.”

Harry cooed at him. “Look how far you’ve come, Malfoy. Your father would be turning in his cell.”

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ignoring that. I suppose it's a better plan than impersonating the Dark Lord."

Harry grinned, nudging Draco's shoulder. "Admit it, my plan has some merit."

Hermione cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose either of you want to hear my idea for using Harry’s parseltongue ability?”

Draco was never going to a Gryffindor post-Quidditch party again. He didn’t care if Harry singlehandedly won the Cup all on his own, he had no desire to be around this many Lions ever again. The noise, the sheer exuberance, it all grated on his nerves. He scanned the room, looking for Harry when he spotted Granger.

She made her way around a group of fifth-years. “Have you seen Henry? I’m trying to keep an eye on how much he drinks.”

Draco shook his head, scanning the crowded common room again. "Lost track of him about 20 minutes ago. Last I saw, he was doing shots with Black and McKinnon."

Hermione groaned. "Wonderful. That's exactly what I was afraid of."

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

“He hasn’t done any real drinking in a while, thank God. Har—Henry tends to get a little handsy when he drinks — both fighting and flirting.”

"That’s not exactly different from his normal behavior.” Potter was horrifyingly open with his affection. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, you’ve never seen him the morning after a night out with both a black eye and a string of hickeys down his neck.”

Draco tried to ignore the sudden flare of jealousy in his chest. "Alright, fair. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight. Not that I hadn’t already planned to do that, given his general ability to cause chaos.”

She shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He spotted Lupin over Granger’s shoulder, the werewolf’s eyes following the curly-haired witch. He looked back at Hermione, “You lose something, Parker?”

Hermione's cheeks flushed as she glanced over her shoulder. “Shut up, Davies.”

Draco smirked. “You two looked awfully cozy sitting next to each other earlier.”

Hermione's blush deepened. "We were just discussing the match. Nothing more."

"Right," Draco drawled, his smirk widening. "And I'm sure the way he kept leaning in to whisper in your ear was purely academic."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort when a commotion across the room caught their attention.

Draco and Hermione exchanged a worried glance before pushing through the crowd. The sea of red and gold parted, revealing a circle of cheering students. In the center stood Harry, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“Leo! You’re here! Sirius bet me five Galleons that I can’t do a backflip.”

“Absolutely fucking not, Parker.”

Draco was fairly sure Sober Harry could do it, but that didn’t mean he was in a hurry to let Drunk Potter try it.

"Absolutely yes, Parker!" Harry grinned wider. "C'mon. Have some faith in me."

Sirius appeared behind Harry, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, Davies. Have some faith in our boy here."

Draco bristled at Sirius' possessive tone.

“It’s not even that hard. It’s all about the momentum.”

Potter's eyes glinted with determination. Before Draco could protest further, Harry shrugged off Sirius' arm and took a few steps back. The crowd parted, giving him space.

"Henry, don't you dare—" Hermione started angrily, but it was too late.

Potter crouched slightly, muscles coiling like a spring. In one fluid motion, he launched himself upward, tucking his legs and throwing his head back. Time seemed to slow as he rotated through the air, his body a blur of motion.

Impressively enough, Harry's feet landed firmly on the ground. He wobbled for a moment before regaining his balance. The common room erupted in cheers.

"Told you I could do it!" Harry crowed, flushed with victory and alcohol. “If you want to see something really impressive, you should see me do a couple in a row.”

Before Potter could take even a single step, Granger was there, grabbing his arm. “Don’t you even think about it!”

She steered him towards Draco, pushing the shorter wizard forward. “Here, have fun with Davies instead. You like annoying him.”

Harry stumbled into Draco, grinning up at him. “This feels more like a reward than a punishment, Mione.”

Draco's arms instinctively wrapped around Harry to steady him.

"You're an idiot, Parker," Draco muttered.

Harry's grin widened. “But an impressive idiot.”

"Oi, you lot!" McKinnon's voice cut through the chatter as she bounded over, curls flying. "We’re playing poker!”

Harry's eyes lit up at Marlene's words. “Prepare to be even more impressed. I’m aces at poker.”

Draco groaned. "Merlin help us all."

Harry grabbed Draco's hand, tugging him towards the gathering group. "Come on, Davies. Time to see how the other half lives."

They settled into a circle on the floor, joined by Sirius, James, Remus, Pettigrew, Lily, and Hermione. Marlene dealt the cards with practiced ease.

"Alright, boys and girls," she grinned, "ante up. Lils is morally opposed to losing her own money so we’re playing for Bertie Bott’s Beans.”

“We don’t all carry around pouches of gold, Mar.”

“Sure, love, that’s why, and not because you’re absolute trash at poker.”

The game began in earnest. Black was the first to fold, tossing his cards down with a dramatic sigh. James followed soon after, pouting about bad luck.

Harry's eyes darted between his cards and the other players, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

McKinnon, who was watching it all from the side, seemed to be doing her best to distract everyone with a nonstop series of increasingly inappropriate questions and comments.

Draco watched Harry carefully, trying to read his tells. But it felt impossible when Potter seemed absolutely delighted no matter what.

"Raise," Harry said, tossing in more beans.

"Alright, next question," Marlene announced, eyes glinting mischievously. "Parker, you swing both ways, right?”

Harry's eyes flicked up from his cards, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, sure, I play both teams, McKinnon.”

"Atta boy," Marlene continued, her grin widening. “What’s your girl type then? Or are you exclusively all dark hair and grey eyes?”

Harry huffed a light laugh, brows furrowing in thought, “uh…”

“Redheads,” Draco drawled, laughing when Potter turned to look at him with indignation. 

Harry's cheeks flushed slightly as he glared at Draco. "I do not have a thing for redheads."

Draco smirked. “Just going off previous knowledge.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just because Gin was a redhead doesn’t mean —“ 

He paused mid-sentence, as if remembering something. “Well, I suppose there was also Charlie.” 

Charlie? Draco choked on his drink. Charlie Weasley? “The dragon-tamer?” He asked.

Black whipped his head around, intrigued. "Dragon-tamer? Sounds exciting. Tell us more about this Charlie, Parker."

Harry shook his head, laughing nervously. "Not much to tell. It was a one-off thing.”

Draco felt a curl of jealousy in his stomach at the thought, but couldn’t help poking the bear.  

“I mean, he was also ‘Gin’s’ brother,” Draco quipped.

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "Merlin's balls, Davies, shut up!"

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "Oh ho! The plot thickens. Keeping it in the family, Parker?"

"It's not like that!" Harry protested, his face flushing crimson. "It was years apart and—"

“—Months apart —”

“—Shut up, Mione!”

Potter buried his head in his arms as James and Sirius proceeded to howl in delight. Granger hid a small smile behind her cards.

“Be honest, how fit was he?” McKinnon asked. 

Harry said nothing, refusing to lift his head. Marlene shot Draco a pleading look. 

Draco didn’t respond back, but he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

McKinnon whistled appreciatively. "Damn, Parker. Good for you."

Harry finally lifted his head, glaring at Draco. "I hate you so much right now."

Draco smirked. "You're welcome."

"Alright, alright," Remus interjected, ever the peacemaker. "Let's get back to the game, shall we?"

Harry flipped Draco the bird before grabbing Sirius’ drink out of his hand and throwing it back in one swallow. “You’re going down, Davies!”

Lupin crushed all of them.

***

Draco made the mistake of both getting some water and needing to use the bathroom once the poker game had wrapped. By the time he came back to the common room, Potter Senior and Black had apparently moved into the mind-numbing singing portion of the night. With Sirius’ arm slung around him, Harry was throwing back yet another shot as he laughed.

Draco sighed, making his way through the crowd towards Harry. The Gryffindor's cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright with alcohol and mirth. As Draco approached, Harry's face lit up even more.

"Dr—eo!" Harry called, stumbling slightly as he moved away from Black to greet him. "Where'd you go? I missed you!"

Draco steadied Harry with a hand on his arm. "Just to the loo. How many more shots have you had?"

"Only a couple. Maybe three. Or five. Depends on how you count them. Oh, do you hear them?”

Music bared from a record player in the corner, and Draco winced as James and Sirius launched into a horrifically off-key rendition of some asinine Muggle song.

They were both far more sober than the singing would suggest.

“Yes, Parker, everyone can hear them. They’re awful. Why is this song about fat-bottomed women?”

Harry laughed, swaying slightly. "It's Queen! Muggle band. Sirius loves them."

Draco grimaced. "Charming."

Harry grinned at him. “Alright, come with me.”

Before Draco could protest, he was yanked across the room and pulled into a tiny closet behind the portrait hole.

Even drunk, Potter was stupidly impressive with magic, a privacy charm appearing around them without a word, the music muffled lightly.

"Potter, what are you —"

Harry's fingers fisted in Draco’s shirt, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You were very mean to go blabbing all my secrets earlier.”

Draco's breath caught in his throat. Harry's fingers left a trail of heat even through the fabric of his shirt. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

"I was just answering McKinnon’s question," he managed, his voice rougher than intended. "I didn’t expect to hear you’ve been running around hooking up with all the Weasleys.”

Harry's lips curved into a lazy smirk. "You’re jealous.”

Draco's heart raced. He could smell the firewhiskey on Harry's breath. "I'm not jealous," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Harry leaned in closer, his green eyes dark with intent. "Liar," he murmured. His fingers ghosted along Draco's jaw.

Draco struggled to maintain his composure as Harry pressed closer. The Gryffindor's cheeks were flushed, hair was tousled, his fitted shirt riding up. He looked incredible.

"You're drunk," Draco managed, his voice strained. He could feel Potter’s stupid bloody magic starting to flood around them.

Harry's lips curved into a wicked smile. "Maybe. But I still know what I want."

"Potter, we can't—" Draco's protest was cut short as Harry's lips found his jaw, trailing soft kisses along the sharp line.

“God, I love how tall you are.”

Draco's breath hitched as Harry's lips moved down his throat.

“C’mon, Malfoy,” Harry murmured against his skin. "We’ve been flirting with each other for months. Aren’t you ever going to do anything about it?”

He groaned as Harry lightly bit along his neck. His hands moved to Harry's shoulders, intending to push him away. Instead, his traitorous fingers curled into the fabric of Harry's shirt, pulling him closer.

"Potter," Draco rasped, "you're not thinking clearly."

Gods, but his magic wasn’t making it any bloody easier to think straight.

Harry chuckled, the sound sending shivers down Draco's spine. "I'm thinking perfectly clearly," he murmured. His teeth grazed Draco's earlobe. "I want you.”

Fuck, Draco wanted to give in so bad. He’d been thinking about this moment for months. But Granger’s words about Harry getting handsy when he was drunk kept repeating in the back of his head.

"Harry, stop," Draco managed, gently pushing him back.

Harry pouted, his green eyes hazy with alcohol and desire. “You should let me suck your cock. I’m great at it, I promise.”

Merlin’s fucking taint and balls.

Draco's mind short-circuited at Harry's words. His treacherous cock instantly hard. Draco didn’t consider himself a prude by any means, but he wasn’t prepared for Potter to say that. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

"Merlin, Potter," he croaked. "You can't just say things like that."

Harry grinned wickedly. "Why not? It's true." His fingers hooked into the waistband of Draco’s pants. "I could show you."

Draco caught Harry's wrist, stilling his movements. "You're drunk," he said firmly. “Merlin knows I want it. Gods above, I do. But not like this.”

Harry pouted again, leaning closer. “Boo! I liked you better as a moral-less arsehole, Malfoy.”

And then his magic pulsed around them and Draco’s head swam with the influx. “Stop bloody doing that.”

“Doing what?”

"Harry," Draco groaned, his hands moving to Harry's hips. "You're killing me. Your fucking magic is everywhere."

And Merlin, what a turn-on it was to think about how stupidly powerful Potter was.

“S’rorry,” Harry murmured, “harder to control when I’m drunk.” He snuck his hands under Draco’s shirt, running them over his stomach.

Draco's head fell back against the wall with a thud. He was rapidly losing the battle with his self-control. For a moment, Draco allowed himself to imagine giving in — letting Harry drop to his knees, feeling that fucking mouth wrapped around him.

He shook his head, banishing the tempting thoughts. "Potter, stop," he said firmly, pushing Harry back. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow."

Harry's expression softened. "I won’t regret you."

Draco's heart clenched. He cupped Harry's face, thumb brushing his cheek. "Then tell me that when you're sober. And I promise I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. I’ll even insist on it."

Harry's eyes darkened at Draco's words. He leaned in, his lips brushing Draco's ear. "I'll hold you to that, Malfoy."

A shiver ran down Draco's spine. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Come on, Potter. Let's get you to bed. And for fuck’s sake, try to reign your magic in, please?”

Harry grumbled but didn't resist as Draco guided him out of the closet. The party was still in full swing, music blaring and students yelling over it.

Draco steered Harry to the bottom of the Boy’s staircase, grabbing a glass of water on the way and shoving it into the shorter wizard’s hand.

“Drink lots of water. Don’t shower, you drunk little gremlin. Just change and go to bed. I’ll find a hangover potion for you in the morning, yeah?” Draco stared down at Harry, tilting the blonde’s head to look at him.

“You’re not coming up with me?”

“Are you going to try and convince me to sleep with you?”

“Yes.”

Draco gave an exacerbated huff. “Then no, I’m not coming up. I’m only human.”

Harry nodded, glazed eyes staring up at Draco. "S’good," he murmured.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from Harry's forehead. "Someone has to look after you, you reckless git."

Harry leaned into Draco's touch, his eyes fluttering closed. For a moment, they stood in silence, the chaos of the party fading into the background.

"Go on," Draco said softly, reluctantly dropping his hand.

"You sure you don't want to tuck me in?"

“Go.”

Draco ran a hand over his face as he watched Harry stumble up the stairs. Merlin, but he needed a wank. Or two.

Draco Malfoy was entirely too good of a person, Harry grumbled to himself as he tripped into the dorm room, his head still spinning pleasantly from the firewhisky. He pouted to himself as he replayed Draco's words in his head.

"Tell me that when you're sober," Draco had murmured in his ear, voice husky but firm.

Harry shivered. Draco being responsible was so bloody hot. He wanted nothing more than to drag the previously blonde Slytherin into the nearest broom closet and have his wicked way with him. Gods, if only the pureblood had let him suck his cock.

Stupid Draco and his stupid sexy morals that couldn’t be swayed. Harry sighed dramatically to the empty room and fumbled with the latches on his trunk, fishing out a clean t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

He made his way unsteadily to the bathroom. After relieving himself, Harry splashed some water on his face and changed.

Glancing up, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His green eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed pink, and dyed blond hair a riot on the top of his head.

"Right mess, Potter," he mumbled to himself. The thought of Draco seeing him like this, ushering him to bed with gentle but commanding hands, made heat coil low in his belly.

What he wouldn't give for a good wank right now to take the edge off. But knowing his luck, he'd probably keel over and brain himself on the sink.

He groaned, trying to rein in his flaring magic.

Needing a distraction, Harry rummaged through the assorted toiletries scattered across the counter.

He vaguely recognized the bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that James kept around despite it not doing a lick of good for the cursed Potter hair. Remus had a container of Bruise-Be-Gone that Harry occasionally dipped into, but he had tossed an extra few into the werewolf’s trunk a week ago to make up for it.

The rest of the stuff belonged almost entirely to Sirius, the pretty vain prick.

His hands closed around a sleek bottle. He squinted at the label, the words blurring together in his drunken state. Probably some fancy leave-in conditioner, he mused with a snort. The Blacks were the types to use only the most posh grooming potions.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry pulled the cap and smelled it. It was all sandalwood and leather, just like Sirius.

Harry was sure it probably cost a fortune, but that didn’t stop him from pouring a generous amount into his palm and working it through his already mussed hair. He caught sight of himself in the mirror again and dissolved into laughter at his appearance - he looked utterly wasted, hair sticking up at odd angles and pupils blown wide.

Harry stumbled out of the bathroom, his vision swimming for a moment as the last few shots hit him with full force. He blinked, trying to focus, and his gaze landed on Sirius, who was rummaging through his trunk on the other side of the room.

For a moment, Harry simply stared, marveling at how young and carefree Sirius looked, so different from the haunted man he'd known in the future.

It was completely unfair, Harry thought, how effortlessly put-together Sirius appeared, even after a night of drinking. His hair was still artfully tousled, his clothes barely rumpled, while Harry felt like a disheveled mess. Malfoy was frustratingly similar in that regard.

Sirius glanced up, catching Harry's eye. "What are you doing up here, mate? Party's still going strong downstairs."

Harry leaned against the doorframe, willing the room to stop spinning. "Davies sent me to bed. S’like a good boy. Annoying, really. He could have at least let me snog him a bit if he wasn’t going to let me su —.”

Harry flushed, realizing how much he just admitted.

Sirius's eyes widened, his lips curving into a wicked grin. "My, my, Parker. You're quite forward when you've had a couple of drinks, aren't you?”

“Mm, told I’mma handsy drunk. Well, that or fighting, but I’ve prac—prac— I’ve been an angel lately about throwing punches.”

Harry needed to stop talking right now.

“I’m not sure angel is the word I would use to describe you tonight, Parker,” Sirius chuckled.

Harry laughed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Pot, kettle.”

Sirius's eyes narrowed, his gaze focused on Harry's hair. "Is that... did you use my hair product?"

Harry blinked, momentarily confused. "Oh. Yeah. Played potions with some of your fancy hair stuff. S’mells nice.”

Sirius sauntered over, coming to stand directly in front of Harry. He leaned in close, inhaling deeply. "Merlin's balls, Parker. How much did you use? Do you have any idea how much that costs?"

Harry shrugged, “I’m sure more than s’it’s worth.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "You're something else.”

He reached out, running his fingers through Harry's hair. "Can’t say it did much — you still look properly debauched.”

Harry leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. It was unfair, really, for all of the Black boys to be so good-looking. He couldn’t get Malfoy’s stupid face out of his head. The way the tall pureblood had stared down at him earlier, all sharp angles and dark eyes. “So pretty,” he murmured.

Harry felt his magic surge within him, pulsing through the room in a heady wave.

Sirius inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening in Harry's hair. "Circe’s tits, Parker. What was that?"

Harry's eyes snapped open, realizing what he'd done. "Sorry," he mumbled, trying to focus on pulling his magic back in. "Harder to control when I'm drunk."

Sirius's grey eyes were dark, pupils dilated. He leaned in closer, his nose ghosting across Harry's cheek.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as Sirius invaded his personal space. The taller wizard's scent - a mix of leather, sandalwood, and something distinctly masculine - enveloped him.

"Siri, wait — " Harry started, but his words were cut off as Sirius pressed their lips together.

Harry was far, far too drunk for this.

Sirius' mouth was hot and insistent against his own. The pureblood wizard tasted of firewhisky and cigarettes.

Harry's mind reeled as Sirius kissed him. He was sure this was where he should do something, anything, really, to pull away. But everything was jumbled and languid in his drunkenness.

For a brief moment, he responded instinctively, lips parting against Sirius’ tongue. But then reality crashed over him like a bucket of ice water.

This was Sirius. His godfather. Well, not yet, but still.

Harry jerked back, breaking the kiss. "Sirius, stop," he gasped, pressing a hand to the other wizard's chest to keep him at arm's length. "Can't do this."

Sirius blinked slowly, looking dazed. "Why not?" he murmured, leaning in again.

Harry turned his head, avoiding Sirius' lips. “Because we’re —”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Harry glanced up to see his father in the doorway, his hazel eyes flashing with anger. "Well?”

Harry's head spun, the alcohol and sudden turn of events making him dizzy. "James, it's not —"

"Not you," James snapped, not taking his eyes off Sirius.

Sirius stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Prongs, mate, it's not what it looks like."

James' eyes narrowed. "Really? Because it looks like you were trying to kiss a reluctant and very drunk Parker."

James' words seemed to sober Sirius instantly. He took another step back from Harry, eyes widening as he realized what he'd done.

“S’my fault,” Harry said, gesturing a hand up and down. “The magic thingy.”

James stepped further into the room, his eyes dark with anger. “I have no idea what that means, but considering the half a dozen fucking shots Sirius himself handed you over the course of the night, he should know better.”

James stepped between Harry and Sirius, his posture protective. "Padfoot, what the hell were you thinking?"

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, looking ashamed. "I wasn't thinking. Merlin, I'm sorry, Henry. I shouldn't have—"

"S'okay," Harry mumbled as he rested his head against James’ back. "Not your fault. We’re both drunk, plus my stupid magic. Dr-avies said it was everywhere.”

God, but names were getting hard.

James' jaw clenched as he glanced back at Harry. “You did whatever magic thing you’re talking about to Davies, too?”

Harry nodded, then immediately regretted the motion as the room spun.

“He kiss you because of it?”

“Unfort’ately not. Merlin knows I tried,” Harry mumbled, leaning heavily against his father.

“How interesting,” James said dryly shooting Sirius a glare.

"Gods, I really am sorry. I just —"

"We’ll talk about it later, Pads," James snapped. He wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, steadying him. "Come on, Parker. Let's get you to bed."

Harry stumbled along as James guided him to his bed. "Should’t have drunk that much," he mumbled. “Causing problems.”

James helped Harry sit on the edge of his bed. "You're not causing problems. You're just drunk. It happens."

Harry flopped back onto the mattress, rolling around to bury his head into his pillow as he stared at his father. "Still. Shouldn't've let my magic go all..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Whoosh."

James quirked an eyebrow. "Whoosh?"

"Mmhmm. S'everywhere when I drink. Hard to control."

It was taking every ounce of effort to keep his eyes open. “Don’t be mad at Siri — he broke out of Azkaban for me.”

James shook his head, a mixture of fondness and exasperation on his face. "Right, of course, he did. I'm sure that makes perfect sense to you right now."

He gently maneuvered Harry until he was lying properly on the bed, then pulled the blankets over him. "Get some sleep, Henry. We'll talk in the morning."

“Common room, Padfoot. Now.”

Chapter Text

"Common room, Padfoot. Now." James' voice was low as he glared at Sirius.

Sirius nodded timidly, following James out of the dorm. They made their way down the spiral staircase in tense silence. The common room was still bustling with the party. James sighed,  grabbed the pureblood by the collar, and pulled him out of the dorms.

As soon as they were around the corner from the Fat Lady, he shoved Sirius against the wall. Hazel eyes flashed with anger behind round glasses. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Sirius winced as his back hit the stone wall. "James, I—"

"He's drunk, Padfoot," James hissed. "You've been handing him shots all night."

Sirius averted his gaze, cheeks flushed with shame. "I...I wasn't thinking." His usually confident voice came out small.

James scoffed harshly. "That's obvious." He released his grip but stayed in Sirius' space, crowding him.

A tense, loaded silence stretched between them. Sirius stared at his boots. James clenched and unclenched his fists, jaw tight.

Finally, he snapped. "What the fuck is going on with you, Padfoot? You've been all over the bloody place lately. Half the time you act like everything is fine. The other half you’re being moody and ambushing people getting ready for bed."

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's getting real hard to keep defending your actions to people when I have no sodding clue why you're being such a massive arse.”

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms. "It's nothing. Just drop it, Prongs."

"Bullshit." James stepped even closer, eyes narrowed. "You've been weird for months. Picking fights. And now snogging Parker when the bloke could barely stand?" His voice rose. "Were you trying to get back at me? Is that it?"

Sirius scoffed in disbelief, shoving himself off the wall. "You're so fucking full of yourself, you know that?" He leaned toward James, eyes blazing. "Not everything is about you, James. Not every decision I make revolves around your bloody cock!"

"Then what is it about, Sirius? Enlighten me, because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're just being a reckless prick for no reason!"

They stood nose to nose, the air crackling with tension. Sirius' hands curled into fists at his sides. "Fuck you," he spat. "You don't know a damn thing about what I'm going through."

"Because you won't fucking talk to me!" James roared, shoving Sirius back. "I'm supposed to be your best mate, but you keep shutting me out!"

Sirius stumbled but quickly righted himself, stepping forward again. "Oh, spare me the wounded best friend act. You've been too busy making heart eyes at Evans and being Head Boy to give a shit about anything else."

Something inside James snapped. Before he could stop himself, his fist collided with Sirius' face with a sickening crunch. Sirius reeled back, hand flying to his nose as blood began to pour from it.

James froze, the reality of what he'd just done crashing over him. "Shit, Sirius, I..."

But Sirius wasn't listening. He stared at the blood staining his fingers. “Yeah, I deserve that,” he whispered hoarsely.

James stared at Sirius in shock, his anger evaporating as quickly as it had flared. "Merlin. I didn't mean to—"

"No, you're right," Sirius interrupted, voice thick. He wiped at the blood dripping from his nose. "I've been a right git lately."

Then he sucked in a sharp breath before letting out a choked sob, and suddenly, he was crying, tears mingling with the blood on his face.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Sirius gasped out. "Everything is falling apart. You've got it all figured out, and I'm just... I'm so fucking lost, James."

James stared at his best friend in shock. He had never seen Sirius break down like this before. Even when he had shown up two summers ago after his mother had tortured him, he had been all sarcasm and bravado through the horrifying aftershocks and the tremors of the Cruciatus.

But now, with blood and tears streaking his face, Sirius looked utterly broken.

"Shit, Pads," James murmured, guilt twisting in his gut. He reached out, gently gripping Sirius' shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you."

Sirius shook his head, wiping roughly at his face even as he winced. "No, I needed it, I think.”

He leaned against the wall before slowly sinking to the floor, legs stretched out in front of him as blood still slowly trickled down his nose. "I don't know what my Grandfather wants from me. Complete silence for two years and now he seems content to toss me into the middle of a blood war without a single explanation. I don't know why I still care what any of them think after what my mother..." Sirius closed his eyes as he shuddered, a fresh wave of tears overtaking him.

James knelt beside him. He reached out tentatively, placing a hand on Sirius' shaking shoulder.

"And seeing you with your parents," Sirius continued, the words pouring out of him now, "it's like a fucking knife to the gut every time. I love your parents, Prongs, I do. But knowing mine will never look at me like that. They'd rather I was dead than a blood traitor, it’s — Gods, it’s —.”

A sob ripped through him. “Not a single one, James, not a single fucking person in my family showed up after it all happened. And for what? Because I think muggleborns deserve magic? That’s my big fucking crime? I was fifteen!”

He trailed off as he wiped more blood and tears from his face. "And then there's you. You've got it all figured out. Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, Perfect Heir. Evans finally noticing you. It's just — I feel like I’m losing my grip. Nothing’s going the way I thought and everyone else seems to have it all figured out and I’m just —. I’ve just been trying to ignore it all as much as I could. It’s easier to just pretend it doesn’t matter, but I don’t know. Parker was right, I think. I don’t know how to ask for help.”

James stared at Sirius, his heart clenching painfully. He'd known things were off with his best mate, but he didn’t think about how far down it might go. Sirius had always seemed to just shake off all the struggles with his family.

He had never considered how hard it might be for him to have to rely on the Potters for shelter, how it might feel to live with them while knowing his entire family did nothing to stop his mother, to check on him, to get him back. To not have anyone who would fight for him.

James felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

He wrapped an arm around Sirius' shoulders, pulling him close. "I'm so sorry, Pads. I had no idea you were carrying all this."

Sirius leaned into James, his body shaking with quiet sobs. "And now I'm fucking everything up. I didn’t — I shouldn’t have kissed him. I don’t know what it is about him. And he's just so... He reminds me of you sometimes. But other times, it's like looking in a fucking mirror. That probably doesn’t make me sound any better, but —.”

He gave a wet, bitter laugh. “Gods, I’m so fucked up.”

James tightened his grip on Sirius, pulling him closer. "You're not fucked up, Pads. You're hurting.”

“And you’re not wrong about Parker. There's something... familiar about him." He squeezed Sirius' shoulder. "But Sir, he was really drunk. You can't take advantage like that, no matter what."

Sirius nodded miserably. "I know. Merlin, I know. I just... his magic was everywhere and I wasn't thinking straight. It's no excuse though. Shouldn’t have done it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound Sirius' ragged breathing as he tried to calm himself.

James sighed, carding a hand through Sirius’ hair. "Look, Padfoot. You're my brother in all but blood. I love you, and I'm here for you. Always. But you've got to talk to me, mate. I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

Sirius nodded, wiping his face with his shirt. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... I didn't want to burden you.”

"Yes, well. You are my curse to bear, unfortunately," James said fondly, kissing the top of his head.

Sirius let out a choked laugh, shoving James playfully. "Prat."

James grinned, glad to see a flicker of the old Sirius. "Git."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the tension from earlier dissipating.

“I’ll apologize to Parker in the morning, when we’re both sober.” He paused, then added quietly, "I really am sorry, Prongs. For everything."

"I know, Pads. Just... talk to me next time, alright? Before things get this bad."

He helped Sirius to his feet, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. We can talk more in the morning after some sleep."

Sirius nodded, wincing as he gingerly touched his nose. "Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

As they made their way back to the portrait hole, James paused. "And Pads? We'll figure this out together, yeah? Whatever's going on with your grandfather, with Parker, all of it. You're not alone in this."

Harry's head throbbed. The sunlight stabbing through his eyelids felt like daggers. He groaned, memories of last night flooding back.

The party. The closet. Sirius. His magic. The kiss. James.

Draco.

Guilt churned in Harry's stomach. He shouldn't have drunk so much. Should have kept better control over his magic. Shouldn’t have harassed Draco in the closet.

Merlin, Draco.

Harry pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the light. His mouth tasted like death. He needed water, a hangover potion, and about ten more hours of sleep.

Voices drifted through his bed curtains. James, Sirius, and Remus.

Harry strained to hear their hushed conversation.

"...still asleep?" Sirius whispered.

"Looks like it," James replied. "Merlin, he must be feeling rough after last night."

"Gods, I’m such an arse," Sirius said, voice heavy with regret. “I can’t believe I kissed him.”

“I suppose we’re lucky you didn’t shag him or else poor Pete would have been the last one standing in the dorm,” Remus said dryly.

Harry froze under his covers, heart pounding. He strained to hear more. What the hell did that mean? Had… had Sirius slept with Remus and James?

To be honest, Moony didn’t surprise him too much. He always thought there might have been some history between the two, but his Dad?

An edge of hysteria crept into Harry's thoughts. This was too much. Trying to seduce Draco. The kiss with Sirius. His godfather and his father apparently shagging at some point.

Harry pressed his face into his pillow, willing the world to disappear.

"Moony!" Sirius hissed. "Not funny."

"Sorry," Remus said, not sounding sorry at all. "But honestly, Padfoot, what were you thinking?"

Sirius groaned. "I wasn't. That's the problem."

Harry's stomach churned. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to leave before he threw up in his bed.

His head pounded as he listened to the others talk. He desperately wanted to sink into his mattress and disappear.

"I need to apologize to him," Sirius said quietly. "And to Davies."

"Might want to give them both some space first," James replied. "Let Parker sleep it off."

Harry heard footsteps moving away from his bed as they made their way back out of the dorm. He let out a shaky breath, relieved to be alone again. But the relief was short-lived as nausea rolled through him.

He barely made it to the bathroom as his stomach heaved. He bent over the toilet, retching. Nothing came up. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

Splashing cold water on his face, Harry tried to gather his thoughts. The idea of facing anyone made him want to crawl back into bed.

"Coward," he whispered to himself.

But he couldn't do it. Not yet. He needed time to process... everything.

He needed air. Space to think.

If he were a smarter person, he would have looked for a hangover potion first, but the need to get out of the castle was overwhelming. Instead, he grabbed his Cloak, wand, and cigarettes while roughly pulling on a pair of sneakers.

Harry stumbled through the portrait hole, grateful for the invisibility cloak concealing his disheveled appearance.

He slipped out the front doors, gulping in the crisp autumn air. The grounds were mostly empty, students tucked away in the Great Hall for lunch. Harry wandered towards the lake, desperate for solitude.

Finding a secluded spot beneath a large oak tree, he sank to the ground. His hands shook as he pulled out a cigarette to take a long drag. He inhaled deeply, the nicotine steadying his nerves slightly.

He leaned back against the rough bark, closing his eyes. The events of last night played on repeat in his mind. God, not his best look.

Harry took another long drag, exhaling slowly. The smoke curled lazily in the air. His head still pounded, but the cigarette took the edge off.

He sat there for a few long moments, trying to sort through the jumbled mess of memories and emotions.

Despite his pounding head, Harry felt an urge to run. To push himself until he couldn't think anymore.

He took one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the ground. He stood, swaying slightly as his head spun.

He set off at a jog around the lake, his feet pounding against the damp earth. The cold air stung his lungs, but he welcomed the burn. It was better than the churning in his stomach, the tightness in his chest.

***

The sun hung lower in the sky by the time Harry stumbled back towards the castle. His legs trembled, muscles screaming in protest with each step. Sweat-soaked clothes clung to his body, his dyed blonde hair plastered to his forehead. He felt like death warmed over.

He cast a couple of quick cleaning spells to get rid of the worst of the grime and cotton mouth.

But his mind was clearer now. The physical exhaustion had burned away the worst of his anxiety, leaving behind a dull ache of resignation. He'd have to face the consequences of last night eventually.

As he made his way into the castle, a familiar figure caught his eye. Regulus was making his way down the hallway, looking as worse for wear as Harry felt. The younger Black brother's usually pristine robes were rumpled, dark circles shadowing his stormy grey eyes.

"Hey," Harry called out, his voice hoarse.

Regulus startled, then narrowed his eyes. "Parker," he said coolly. "You look like shit."

Harry let out a dry chuckle. "Feeling's mutual, mate."

They fell into step together, the hallways eerily quiet as most students were at dinner.

Harry glanced sideways at Regulus, thinking about the younger wizard’s struggles.

"How are you?" he began, "I know the other night —"

"Don't," Regulus cut him off sharply. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Sorry. It’s just — We shouldn't be seen together. The news got out about Sirius being Heir again and I already had Rosier and Burke and everyone else watching me as it is. I don’t need any extra scrutiny right now.”

“And being around me is causing problems?”

The Slytherin scoffed as he gave him a sharp look. “Yes, Parker, being around the powerful, unapologetically muggleborn mystery Gryffindor is raising questions, even if Evan seems convinced it’s all a ploy to one-up Sirius.”

Harry nodded softly, concern creasing his brow. "Okay. But, are you okay? I mean, with everything going on..."

Regulus let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, I'm just peachy. My brother's suddenly the Black Heir again, which means I'm back to being the spare. Meanwhile, my housemates are watching my every move, waiting for me to slip up so they can go running back to the Dark Lord and curry some favor." His voice dropped to a bitter whisper. "So yeah, Parker. I'm fucking fantastic."

A fury of anger cut through his hangover and concerns about last night. Merlin, but he was so bloody tired of adults leaving the Black family's sons to fend for themselves.

Harry's jaw clenched. He grabbed Regulus' arm, stopping the younger wizard.

"Listen," Harry said fiercely. "You are not alone in this. I know things are fucked right now and you don’t want to be seen with me, but you got me, if you need me, okay? And Sirius is a stubborn idiot, but he would die for the people he cares about and you’re on that list. I know it, Reg.”

He was going to ask Mione to make the pureblood a tracking Galleon. Something for him to have if needed help.

Regulus stared at Harry, his grey eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, his carefully crafted mask slipped, revealing a flicker of vulnerability. “I — why are you so nice to me?”

Harry's expression softened. “Because you deserve it. You’re a kid put into a shit situation. I know a thing or two about that. And there’s the Davies’ twin thing.”

He stared at Harry for another long moment, conflicting emotions warring across his face. He opened his mouth to say something when a familiar voice echoed from around the corner. Rosier.

Regulus tensed, his eyes widening. He shot Harry a desperate look. "I'm gonna do something. Don't freak out."

Nothing about that made Harry feel any better.

"What—" he began, but Regulus was already moving.

In a flash, Harry found himself pressed against the cold stone wall, Regulus's lips crashing into his. Shock froze Harry in place, his mind reeling, trying to process what was happening.

“…even if Evan seems convinced it’s all a ploy to one up Sirius.”

Oh, my god. If this was Regulus’ stupid fucking plan to cover up them spending time together, Harry was going to scream.

And everyone thought he and Sirius had a vice grip on being reckless idiots.

Christ, but this was going to be a nightmare to explain to Draco. Regulus was bloody lucky Harry liked him.

Really bloody fucking lucky, Harry thought as the Slytherin pressed into him further and deepened the kiss.

For brothers who seemed wholeheartedly convinced they were nothing alike, they were frustratingly similar.

Vowing to give him hell after this, Harry tangled his fingers in Regulus' robes, pulling him closer. Regulus made a small noise of surprise.

"Well, well," Rosier's crude voice rang out. "What do we have here?"

Regulus pulled back, his face flushed. He shot Harry an apologetic glance before schooling his features.

He turned to face Rosier, his expression cool and collected despite the pink tinge to his cheeks. "What does it look like, Evan?" he drawled.

Harry couldn’t decide if he sounded more like Draco or Sirius at that moment.

Rosier ran a look over Harry. He was sure he looked a complete mess given his hangover. "You two are clearly having some fun. Finally decided to pull one over on your brother now that he’s back to being Heir, hm?”

Regulus glared, grey eyes glinting dangerously. “Mind your own business.”

Rosier clicked his tongue at the Slytherin. “Oh, come on, Black. It’s a compliment, really. I didn’t think you had it in you to break in your brother’s little pet before him.”

Rosier's words hung in the air, sharp and poisonous. Harry's blood boiled. He stepped forward, fists clenched.

"You want to say that again, Rosier?" Harry growled.

Rosier's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Oh look, the Mudblood speaks. I suppose there’s also Davies’ little puppy dog act, as well. Tell me, Parker, how does it feel to be passed around the Noble House of Black like a cheap —"

Harry's fist connected with Rosier's jaw before he could finish the sentence. The Slytherin stumbled back, eyes wide with shock.

"You filthy little —" Rosier snarled, starting to draw his wand.

But Harry was faster. His own wand was in his hand in an instant, the tip pressed against Rosier's throat.

Regulus roughly grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him back, shoving him away from Rosier. “That’s enough, Parker. Don’t get cocky.”

Harry stumbled back, caught off guard by Regulus' sudden shove. His wand arm lowered slightly as he shot the younger Black an annoyed look.

Regulus stepped between them, his posture tense but controlled. "Evan, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your nose out of my business. What I do, and why I do it, doesn’t concern you.”

Rosier rubbed his jaw, eyes narrowed. "You're playing a dangerous game, Black.”

"Enough," Regulus said coldly. "Walk away. Now."

Rosier sneered and took a step back before turning to stalk down the hallway, leaving Harry and Regulus alone in the corridor.

As soon as Rosier was out of earshot, Regulus rounded on Harry. "What the hell were you thinking?" he hissed. "Are you trying to get us both killed?"

Harry glared back even as he threw up a quick privacy ward. "Me?! You're the one who decided snogging was a brilliant cover story! Am I just supposed to roll over while getting called the Black family whore?”

Regulus ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I panicked. But you can't just go around punching people, especially not Rosier. His father is in the Dark Lord's inner circle."

Harry scoffed. "Oh, I'm so scared."

"Listen, I get you’re stupid powerful and somehow a bloody fucking Parselmouth with a pile of secrets you shouldn’t know, but this isn’t a game, Parker.”

Harry felt some of his irritation deflate. "You think I don't know that? I'm not the one playing games here, Regulus. I'm trying to help you."

"I didn't ask for your help!" Regulus snapped. "I was handling things just fine before you showed up out of nowhere asking me what I was going to do with my 'one wild and precious life.’”

Merlin, but apparently the pureblood really did think about the question if he still remembered it.

“I’m not sorry for that, Reg,” Harry said. “Maybe I should be, for putting that pressure on you. But you deserve to want things for yourself. More than whatever expectations your awful family has put on you.”

"Look, I'm sorry for punching Rosier, well, kind of. Not really, even if it was stupid and reckless. And I'm also not sorry for caring about what happens to you."

The younger Black's shoulders sagged slightly. “You have got to stop saying things like that to me.”

Harry shot him a grin. “Why? Gonna fall in love with me if I do?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Parker." But there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Harry's grin widened. "Too late. Already did."

His expression sobered. "Look, if it’s easier for me to leave you alone for a little while, I will. But please, if you need help, come find me. I meant what I said before."

Regulus stared at Harry for a long moment, conflict evident in his stormy eyes. Finally, he sighed. "You're infuriatingly persistent, you know that?"

Harry shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's part of my charm."

He clasped the Slytherin on the arm, squeezing his shoulder. “Well, this has been a delightful addition to my incredible hangover, but I am currently two for three when it comes to snogging dark-haired, grey-eyed purebloods so I really must be finding Davies.”

Regulus' eyes widened. "Wait, what? Two for three?"

Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. "Long story. Very long, very stupid story involving too much firewhiskey and your idiot brother."

"Merlin's balls, Parker," Regulus breathed. "You really don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"Yeah, well, irritatingly enough, Rosier wasn’t entirely off the bloody mark,” Harry grumbled. “Look, I've got to go and grovel to Davies. Try not to get yourself killed, yeah?"

He turned to leave, but Regulus caught his arm. "Parker, wait." His voice was low, almost hesitant. "I... thank you. For caring. Even if it's bloody inconvenient sometimes."

“You're not alone in this, Reg, okay?”

***

Harry trudged back to the Great Hall. Dinner was coming to an end, but he hoped that Draco might still be there. Oddly enough, the absurdity of the situation with Regulus was making him feel better.

Mostly because all he could think about was the look of annoyed disbelief the pureblood was going to give him when he explained the stupidity of it.

He thought through the somewhat hazy memories of the broom closet from the night before. He replayed Draco's words in his head. The way he had cupped Harry’s face. "Tell me that when you're sober.”

The need to see Draco intensified.

To tell him everything that had happened. To finally act on the feelings that had been building between them for months. To admit that he wanted the pureblood with every fiber of his being.

Harry burst through the doors of the Great Hall, ignoring the startled looks he got. His eyes scanned the Ravenclaw table before turning to walk to the Gryffindor table when he didn’t see Draco.

His eyes ran down the length of the red and gold table. Annoyingly, Malfoy didn’t seem to be with them either. But before he could turn around to leave, Hermione was up and pulling him over.

“Where have you been?” she asked, grabbing his hand and staring at him apologetically. “God, you look awful. I’m so sorry. I should have kept a better eye on you last night.”

“It’s fine, Mione,” Harry said distractedly, still looking around the hall as they neared the Marauders. “Where’s Dra - Davies?”

Before anyone could say anything, James and Sirius were both speaking over each other.

"Are you okay? We went to —" James started at the same time.

"Henry, I'm so sorry," Sirius blurted out, his grey eyes filled with remorse. "I never should have—"

Harry barely registered their words, his gaze still sweeping the hall. “It’s fine, Sirius. Regulus also just shoved his tongue down my throat so we’ll chalk this up to a Black family thing, yeah? Where the fuck is Davies?”

Harry's words hung in the air, shocking everyone into silence. James and Sirius gaped at him, mouths hanging open. Hermione's eyes widened comically.

James sputtered while Sirius seemed to choke on air.

"I'm sorry, what?" Remus finally broke the silence, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Living the dream, Parker.”

“Marlene!”

Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair, frustration mounting. "Look, long story. Rosier. Stupid plan. Doesn't matter. Has anyone seen Davies? You know, the one grey-eyed prick I actually want to kiss.”

"He left about half an hour ago," Lily said, eyeing Harry with concern.

“He was heading for the Quidditch pitch,” Hermione added. “We were giving you some space. Figured you needed some time to recover and process. But when you didn’t show up for dinner, he decided to go find you. Thought you might have gone for a fly.”

Harry's heart raced. Draco was looking for him.

Perfect, stupid Draco who cared about Harry. Who followed Harry into that forest to save Hermione. Who spent months in the library researching time travel. Who stayed up late to help him practice his Occlumency and then still woke up every morning at dawn to run with Harry even though he hated it. Who secretly bookmarked poems to show to Harry. Who let Harry drag him around Muggle London even though he spread the most absurd rumors about him, and who still made sure he ate and slept and didn’t kill himself with potions.

Harry imploded his entire world. Pulled him back in time and threw him into a second war, with a castle full of Black family drama, and somehow Draco was still there.

Looking for him.

“Well, fuck me, I love him.”

Harry's words hung in the air. He barely registered the stunned silence, his mind racing with the realization that had just hit him like a bludger to the chest.

He loved Draco.

Of course, he did. How had he not seen it before?

Harry was out of the hall before anyone could stop him.

The cool evening air hit his face as he burst out of the castle. Harry's legs burned as he pushed himself faster, eyes locked on the Quidditch pitch in the distance.

Please be there, he thought desperately.

As he neared the pitch, he saw a lone figure walking out from the broom shed. The fading sun glinted against dark hair.

Malfoy looked up as Harry got closer, his brow furrowing in concern. Harry was sure he looked like an absolute madman right now — hungover, sweaty, and out of breath.

Harry skidded to a stop in front of Draco, chest heaving.

Draco's brow furrowed further as he took in Harry's disheveled appearance."You know, I’m very annoyed with you. I've been looking for you all day. Merlin, you look like shit. Are you okay?”

Harry shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's wrong. I'm an idiot."

Draco's lips quirked up slightly. "Well, that's not news. Are you sure you’re okay? You look awful.”

“No, I’m not okay! If one more snobby, grey-eyed pureblood kisses me who’s not you, Malfoy, I’m going to burn this entire school to the bloody ground.”

Harry stepped closer as he flicked his wand out.

Draco's eyes widened, a mixture of confusion and something else flickering across his face even as his hands came out to steady Harry. "What are you talking about, Potter? I heard about Black. Who else — what are you doing?”

“Stand still. I’m putting a glamour on your hair.”

“Why in the world are you putting a glamour on my hair?”

“Because I want you to look like your annoying blonde poncy self when I tell you I love you.”

Draco froze, his eyes widening in shock. "What did you just say?"

Harry's wand wavered as he realized what he'd blurted out. But he was done holding back. "I said I love you, you prat. I'm in love with you."

He flicked his wand, muttering the glamour charm. Draco's dark hair shimmered, lightening to its natural platinum blond.

God, he was beautiful.

Those familiar grey eyes stared at Harry, filled with disbelief and something that looked dangerously like hope.

His now blonde hair blew in the wind, but Draco's eyes never left Harry's face. "You... love me?" he whispered, voice barely audible.

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling exposed. "Yeah. I do. I think I have for a while now."

Draco's expression cycled through shock, confusion, and finally settled on a mixture of joy and exasperation. "You absolute idiot," he breathed.

Before Harry could respond, Draco's hands cupped his face, pulling him into a searing kiss.

Harry melted into it, his hands gripping Draco's robes as he pulled the taller wizard closer. Harry tilted his head, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Draco's fingers threaded through the back of Harry's hair, his tongue sweeping into Harry's mouth. Harry groaned, pressing closer, desperate for more contact.

Draco nipped at Harry's bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. Harry gasped, his fingers tightening in Draco's robes. He felt dizzy with want.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Draco rested his forehead against Harry's. "I suppose I love you too, you complete and utter moron," he murmured.

God, Harry was going to get that tattooed on his body someday.

He laughed, giddy relief coursing through him. "You always say the nicest things to me.”

Malfoy smirked, his fingers still tangled in Harry's hair. "Someone has to keep that ego of yours in check, Potter."

Harry grinned, his heart soaring. "So you love me, huh?"

"Against my better judgment, it seems," Draco drawled, but his eyes were soft. "Though I'm beginning to question my taste, given your current state."

Harry laughed. “Yes, the general consensus seems to be that I look terrible today.”

Draco shot him an exasperated look. “You know, when I sent you to bed last night, I didn’t mean for you to snog my bloody cousin.”

Harry winced, guilt twisting in his stomach. "God, I'm so sorry, Draco. I was drunk and stupid and my magic—"

Draco silenced him with another kiss, this one gentler. "It's alright. I know it didn't mean anything." His eyes narrowed. "Though you mentioned someone else kissing you today?"

Harry groaned, dropping his head to Draco's shoulder. "Regulus. But it was just to throw Rosier off. Long, stupid story. Everyone is so dumb.”

Draco's arms tightened around Harry. "Morgana’s tits, but the hold you have on the Black family wizards.”

Harry chuckled against Draco's shoulder before he grinned cheekily up at the temporary blonde. “If it makes you feel better, you’re definitely the best kisser out of the three.”

Draco huffed. “As it stands, that does not make me feel better, Potter. Gods, the shit I’m gonna give you for this…”

Harry grinned, pressing closer to Draco. "I look forward to it.”

He brought a hand up to tug at the taller wizard’s blonde hair. “I’d almost forgotten what you looked like with your real hair color.”

Draco gazed down at Harry. "Do you prefer it like this?"

Harry smiled, running his fingers through the silky blonde strands. “You pull off the dark and mysterious look quite well, but yeah, I missed this. Feels a bit like coming home.”

Draco's eyes softened at Harry's words. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry's forehead. “Merlin, Harry, but when you decide to go for it, you really do go all in.”

He felt lighter than he had in months. "I’ve lost too many people to hold back in any capacity. Horrifyingly open, I believe you called it?”

Draco's arms tightened around Harry, pulling him closer. “Terrifying, really, but I suppose I can't complain.”

“And you understand that Mione and I are a package deal, right?”

Draco gave a huff of laughter. "Yes, I'm well aware you two have your weird platonic soulmate thing going on. I've grown rather fond of Granger, despite my best efforts." His voice softened. "She's family now too. Although I draw the line at snogging her.”

Harry snorted. “Okay, fair. I’ll try not to snog anymore of your family members, too.”

“I — Potter — did you put a privacy ward over the entire Quidditch pitch? Gods, you’re so bloody annoying.”

Chapter Text

The problem with being in love with Harry Potter was that it was making Draco entirely too good of a person. He had spent the morning after the disastrous Gryffindor Quidditch party wanting to be absolutely livid at his thrice-damned cousin for kissing his completely wasted godson. Not that Sirius knew Harry was his godson, but still.

The dark-haired wizard had found Draco outside the Great Hall before lunch and with a still healing bruise down his face, guiltily admitting that he had drunkenly kissed an even drunker Harry the night before.

He had wanted to hex Sirius into oblivion.

Except that Black looked like death and seemed genuinely ashamed.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” he said, looking Draco in the eye. “I’ll apologize to Parker when he’s awake. I wasn’t at my best…haven’t been for a while now, if we’re being honest. All this family stuff. James is helping to sort me out, but I am sorry, really. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Family stuff.

And well, Draco could appreciate that. For all of his bravado, Sirius was still a teenager whose entire family had left him on his own for being a blood traitor who supported muggleborn rights.

Draco hadn’t been a good enough person to be in Black’s situation. He had been proud to tout his superiority and bigotry, proud to be a pureblood and look down at ‘Mudbloods.’ Right up until it was him under the Dark Lord’s wand. His Mother’s life on the line. A halfblood and a muggleborn saving him and freeing him from a miserable life serving a madman.

And it didn’t hurt that Potter told him he loved him and did that thing where he looked at Draco like he hung the moon. In the blink of an eye, Draco found himself not caring about the fact that somehow Harry had kissed both his bloody cousins in one day.

Annoying, really, how much power Harry Potter had over him.

Which is why he was sure he was about to do so something very stupid.

The summons from Arcturus Black weighed heavily in his pocket as he made his way to the Board of Governance meeting room.

Draco had insisted that he was not bringing Harry with him, despite the boy savior’s persistent asks. Putting the chaotic Gryffindor around the Black patriarch was just asking for trouble. Besides, he was at least 90% sure that Potter would be showing up alongside Regulus in some capacity.

The younger Black brother had been looking worse for wear lately. The sudden announcement of Sirius’ place as Heir was causing issues for the Slytherin. Between that and Sirius’ unusual solemnity, Harry had been increasingly concerned about both Black brothers.

Which is why Draco could feel his own anger flaring as he got closer to the room.

He wanted to go into this meeting composed. He had planned to go into this meeting, say as little as possible, and leave.

But then Harry bloody Potter crawled into his bed, teary-eyed as he buried his head in Draco’s shoulder. "I know you’re technically a Malfoy, but Gods, I'm so tired of adults letting down the Black sons."

And now he was pretty sure he was going to yell at Arcturus Black.

***

Given the fact that Lord Black was meeting with Draco, as well as Sirius and Regulus at various points of the day, the wizard stated it was better to come to Hogwarts for his meetings. He was, after all, the chair of the Board of Governors.

Draco smirked lightly at the thought. He was sure that was part of it. But he was also sure that Arcturus Black knew the optics of how it looked if Leo Davies, Black interloper, was invited to Black Manor. It was a touch too close to acknowledging Draco as a Black.

He paused outside the closed door, steeling himself. The tutelage of Narcissa Black Malfoy and almost two years living under the Dark Lord had prepared him for this. He could handle Lord Black. Draco rapped sharply on the dark wood.

"Enter," a voice commanded from within.

Draco pushed open the door and was immediately drenched as icy water cascaded over him from the doorway. He exhaled, feeling the glamour over his Mark fade under his robes as rivulets ran down his face.

Pushing his now wet, but still dark hair off his forehead, Draco was once again grateful for Granger’s suggestion to use Muggle ways of disguising themselves. It was almost concerning to think how simple it was to evade magical detection with it.

"This seems a bit of an overkill use for Thief's Downfall," Draco remarked dryly, wiping water from his nose. "It must have cost a small fortune."

A couple thousand Galleons, at least, given that he would have needed to get it from the Goblins.

Arcturus Black sat rigidly behind an imposing mahogany desk, his sharp eyes raking over Draco's form, searching for any physical changes. The Black patriarch's mouth pressed into a thin line.

"There is nothing overkill about exposing a fraud upon my family," Arcturus replied coldly. The words hung heavy in the air between them.

Draco squared his shoulders, meeting Arcturus' gaze unflinchingly. "And what fraud have you uncovered, Lord Black?"

Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "That remains to be seen. Your appearance hasn't changed, but that proves little.”

Draco broke his gaze to pull out his wand and spell himself dry. He saw no reason to go through this entire meeting damp.

Arcturus rose slowly from behind the desk, his movements deliberate as he circled Draco like a hawk eyeing its prey. Draco stood still as a statue, his pureblood training taking over as he schooled his features into a mask of cool indifference.

"You do bear a striking resemblance to my grandsons," Arcturus mused, his tone deceptively casual. "Leo Davies, is it? Born September 18th, 1964. A Ravenclaw taking an impressive seven NEWT courses."

The patriarch paused, his eyes boring into Draco's. "Arrived at Hogwarts with two Mudbloods and not a single shred of paperwork at the Ministry to verify your existence."

He bristled at the way the Lord said the word Mudbloods. The memory of Bellatrix carving the word into Granger’s arm popped up unbidden.

Draco arched an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "Was there a question in there, Lord Black?"

Arcturus' eyes flashed dangerously.

He felt the lightest touch of something at the back of his mind and could begrudgingly admit that the older Lord’s attempt to get into his mind was particularly subtle.

But Draco’s Occlumency walls could keep Voldemort himself out. He gave an unimpressed glare as he pushed the older wizard from his mind.

Arcturus' eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it. He took a step back, reassessing the young man before him.

"Impressive mental shields for one so young," Arcturus remarked, his tone a mixture of suspicion and grudging respect. "Where did you learn such skills?"

Draco allowed a small, cold smile to play at the corners of his mouth. “A hobby. Thought it would be interesting.”

Arcturus scoffed. “Don’t mock me, boy.”

Draco shrugged, maintaining his aloof facade. "Perhaps I'm simply talented."

The patriarch's hand twitched toward his wand. Draco tensed, ready to defend himself if necessary. But Arcturus merely clasped his hands behind his back, resuming his slow circle around Draco.

"You claim no relation to the Black family, yet you bear an uncanny resemblance. You follow the family naming traditions, Leo. Your mental shields rival, if not surpass, those of any of my family members. Your posture and attitude are indistinguishable from any properly-raised pureblood. And both of my grandsons seem convinced you’re a Black.”

Draco felt a flicker of unease at Arcturus' words, but he maintained his composure. "I'm flattered by the comparison. But I assure you, I'm not a Black."

Arcturus stopped his pacing, positioning himself directly in front of Draco.

"And it’s a coincidence that you showed up to Hogwarts and immediately befriended my grandson?”

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Befriend is a bit of a strong word. I like Sirius well enough, when he’s not being an idiot, which is frightfully little, but let me assure you, that wasn’t intentional. Most of my decisions are driven by whatever inane idea Parker gets into his head on a given day. It’s not my fault he’s decided to adopt your grandsons.”

Arcturus' eyes flashed at Draco's flippant tone. "You speak of my Heir with such disrespect?"

"I speak of Sirius as I find him. Talented, proud, loyal, charismatic. Stubborn, impulsive, reckless.”

Draco felt his anger flaring further. He was already treading on thin ground, but Harry's words from the night before echoed in his mind.

He shot the Black patriarch a sharp smile. “I imagine I might know him a bit better than you, given how often you bother to check in on him.”

Arcturus' face darkened. "You dare lecture me on my family affairs?"

Draco knew he was pushing too far, but he couldn't stop himself. "Someone should.”

The patriarch's hand twitched toward his wand again. This time, he drew it. "You overstep, boy. Whatever game you're playing, whatever your true identity, you have no right—"

"Whatever game I’m playing?" Draco snapped, his carefully constructed facade slipping. “You announce you’re keeping your muggleborn-loving, Gryffindor grandson as Heir in the midst of a blood supremacy uprising verging on open war. A movement that most of your family supports wholeheartedly. You’re painting a target on his back. On both of their backs. Voldemort will be looking to remove Sirius from the line of succession. And Regulus has a whole line of Death Eaters breathing down his neck to fix a mistake he didn’t make!”

A flash of anger stole over the Lord’s face. “You presume far too much. My business with my grandsons is my own. Regulus will remain on the side, his focus on his studies. As for Sirius, the Dark Lord wouldn’t dar—”

An angry swirl of fury and disbelief went down his spine.

Circe’s bloody tits.

He had assumed that Arcturus put more planning into his decision to publicly name Sirius Heir. Had assumed the patriarch considered the ramifications of his actions. Had assumed he understood that he was putting both Sirius and Regulus into the line of fire. Had assumed he had a plan to protect them.

What a bloody idiot he was. Arcturus Black was just like Lucius Malfoy: arrogantly secure in the idea that he, and his family, were untouchable.

“Gods, I'm so tired of adults letting down the Black sons.”

Draco wanted to rage at the disappointment of it all.

His anger boiled over. "Wouldn't dare? The Dark Lord wouldn't dare? Why? Because he’s a Black?!" He let out a harsh laugh. "You arrogant fucking fool. You’re gambling with their lives.”

“And as for your plan for Regulus, you’ve missed that boat,” Draco hissed. “He’s already Marked!”

Gods, Harry was turning him into a reckless Gryffindor, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He took a step forward, his eyes flashing. "How much do you truly care about your legacy, Lord Black, when you can't even be bothered to check on your own grandsons? One, tortured, cast out and living with another family, and the other, a terrified teenager convinced to take the Mark by his own mother and cousin, becoming the youngest in the Dark Lord's circle. Brought out to be paraded around like a prize cattle as proof of Voldemort’s influence."

Arcturus went still. "What did you say?” he hissed. “How do you know any of this?”

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I told you, Parker’s decided to adopt the Black sons. He’s been running around having midnight chats. Terrifyingly easy to open up to, that one.”

“That’s impossible. Regulus is only sixteen.”

Yes, Draco was all too familiar with the fact.

His bitter laughter seemed to echo in the tense silence of the room. "Sixteen," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "As if that matters to the Dark Lord. He's collecting purebloods like trophies, and the Blacks are his crowning achievement — so long as they’re supporting him.”

Arcturus' face paled, his composure cracking for the first time. "You're lying," he growled, but uncertainty laced his voice.

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously. "Am I? Check his arm then. Go on, summon Regulus right now and see for yourself."

"I would know if my grandson had taken the Mark."

"Would you?" Draco challenged. "When was the last time you’ve even spoken to him? Really spoke to him? To either of them?"

The patriarch's face twisted with a mix of anger and something that looked suspiciously like guilt. "You forget your place, boy. I am Lord Black, and you will not—"

"I am well aware of who you are," Draco interrupted coldly. "The question is, are you? You are the head of this family, but you are also their grandfather, and you've failed them on both fronts. Every adult in their lives has failed them! Your grandsons have been left to fend for themselves, and you sit here, more concerned with preserving appearances than protecting them!"

Arcturus' wand was up in an instant, digging into the hallow of Draco’s throat. "You insolent—"

Draco's hand shot up, gripping Arcturus' wrist. His eyes blazed with a fury that seemed to shock the older wizard.

"Go ahead," Draco hissed. "Curse me. It won't change the fact that your family is falling apart while you do nothing."

For a moment, they stood frozen in a tense standoff. Then, slowly, Arcturus lowered his wand.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice hoarse. "Really?"

Draco released the man's wrist and stepped back, smirking. "Oh, haven’t you heard? I’m Marius Black’s son.”

A tense silence stretched between them. Arcturus bristling in irritation.

Before the Lord could say anything else, a knock sounded at the door.

“Arcturus? Is everything okay in there?”

The Black patriarch’s brow furrowed.

Arcturus' eyes darted between Draco and the door, his jaw clenching. After a moment's hesitation, he strode to the entrance, his robes billowing behind him. He yanked open the heavy oak door, revealing an interesting trio.

Fleamont Potter stood tall and dignified, his dark hair just as messy as his son and grandson, hazel eyes sharp behind round spectacles. Beside him, Euphemia Potter radiated warmth, her elegant silver-streaked updo and kind smile a stark contrast to Arcturus' severe demeanor. And there, sandwiched between them, was Sirius Black, looking utterly baffled.

Draco's heart raced as he watched the scene unfold. Fuck, he hadn’t planned to be here when the Potters showed up. They were far earlier than expected.

"Fleamont, Euphemia," Arcturus said stiffly. "To what do I owe this... unexpected visit?"

Fleamont's gaze flickered briefly to Draco before settling on Arcturus. “We received a letter, asking us to check on Sirius after his summons. Decided to come a bit early. We were hoping for a chance for all of us to speak.”

Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "A letter? From whom?"

Draco felt his stomach drop. Circe’s tits, this is what he got for being a good bloody person.

"A Leo Davies," Euphemia replied smoothly, eyes wondering to Draco questioningly.

Arcturus' head whipped around, his eyes locking onto Draco with newfound intensity. Draco met his gaze steadily, refusing to flinch.

"Did he now?" Arcturus said, his voice dangerously soft. "How... thoughtful."

Sirius looked between Draco and his grandfather, confusion etched across his handsome features. "Davies? You asked them to come?”

Draco gave as casual a shrug as he could. He already went full Potter, might as well keep digging his grave. “Figured the people raising you deserved the chance to check-in. Merlin knows you’ll never admit you’re in over your head.”

Arcturus' face tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I see," he said coldly. "And what exactly did you tell them, Mr. Davies?"

Draco couldn’t very well put that he was trying to avoid a future where Sirius Black spent more than a decade in prison for a crime he didn’t commit followed by years living in caves and locked in the hellscape of his family home before dying tragically coming to his godson’s defense.

Harry would forgive Sirius anything, but certainly, he would prefer the pureblood have a chance at a better life.

“That Black was an idiot, but that he had a tendency to be slightly less stupid when he had people in his corner.”

Sirius' eyes widened, a mix of indignation and amusement flickering across his face. "Oi! I resent that."

“And yet it’s true.”

Fleamont's lips twitched, suppressing a smile. "Now, now, Sirius. Let's hear the young man out."

Arcturus' jaw clenched. "This is a family matter between myself and my grandsons. The Potters have no place here."

"With all due respect, Lord Black," Euphemia interjected, her voice firm but kind, "Sirius is as much our son as he is your grandson.”

And because Draco was a bloody good person now, he did not make a joke about the fact that Sirius and James had apparently been shagging last year.

Arcturus' nostrils flared at Euphemia's words. His eyes darted between the Potters and Sirius, who stood tall between them. The tension in the room was palpable.

"Very well," Arcturus said tightly. "Come in."

The Potters entered, Sirius trailing behind. His grey eyes locked onto Draco's, a thousand questions swimming in their depths. Draco gave a slight nod, hoping to convey some measure of reassurance.

Before the door could fully close, footsteps echoed just outside of it. He knew Regulus had requested to speak to his Grandfather, on Harry’s suggestion. They were supposed to meet between Draco and Sirius’ summons, but well, the timing seemed to be against the Black patriarch today.

Draco shook his head fondly as he heard the second set of footsteps.

Regulus appeared in the doorway, his face a mask of practiced neutrality. But behind him, not at all to Draco's shock, stood Harry.

Although he was thoroughly confused by the fact that Potter looked like he’d gone toe-to-toe against the Whomping Willow and lost.

“Look who I found!” Harry said brightly, arm coming around to sling over Regulus’ shoulder.

“Yes, you found me in the Dungeons, where the Slytherin dorms are. How impressive,” the younger Black remarked dryly.

“Parker, I left you alone for two hours. What did you do?” Draco asked staring at the impressive array of bruises down the Gryffindor’s face and the split lip.

Harry grinned sheepishly, the motion pulling at his cut. "Would you believe I tripped?"

"No," Draco said flatly.

“Smart. Ran into Rosier and friends. He is, apparently, not over me punching him.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperation warring with concern. "Of course you did. And naturally, you decided to take on multiple opponents by yourself."

Harry shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. "Wasn't exactly planned. But I did win and that’s what’s important.”

“They did quite a number on you. Are you sure you’re alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, leaning over to look at Potter.

Draco thanked every deity he could think of, and he wasn’t discrediting the idea that Potter might be on that list, for the fact that Harry was beaten to hell. If anyone would recognize James’ features in Harry, it would likely be Euphemia.

Harry's eyes widened as he noticed the Potters for the first time. "Oh," he said, clearly caught off guard at seeing his grandparents for the first time. “Uh, yeah, no, no, I’m fine. My own fault, really. Decided to make it more even. Didn’t use any magic.”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “Merlin, Parker.”

Arcturus cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. His face was a storm of barely contained fury and frustration. "Mr. Parker, I’ve heard many things about you, but I don't recall inviting you to this family meeting."

Harry's grin didn't falter. "Oh, I'm not here for the meeting. Just escorting Regulus." He gave the younger Black a light squeeze of the shoulder.

Regulus tensed at the contact, his eyes darting nervously between Harry and his grandfather. "I apologize for the intrusion, Grandfather. Parker was rather…insistent."

“It seems fair, Sirius has his own support, apparently…” Harry trailed off a bit confused as he stared at the Potters.

Sirius gave a graceful shrug. “Davies invited them.”

Potter's head snapped towards him, emerald eyes shining with admiration.

The beaming smile that spread across Harry's face made Draco's stomach flip.

Merlin, he was so fucked.

“God, I love you. Alright, quick, give Regulus a hug for good measure.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What passes for a hug in pureblood world?”

Draco shot him an exacerbated look. “A tight smile and a nod?”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Okay, give him a pep talk, at least.”

“This cannot possibly be my responsibility.”

“Not your best work, if we’re being honest.”

Arcturus cleared his throat, his patience clearly wearing thin. "If we're quite finished with this... spectacle, I'd like to speak with my grandsons. Alone."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Of course.”

He turned to Regulus, who looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Harry brought both his hands up and cupped the Slytherin’s face, leaning in to rest his forehead against Regulus’. “You’re gonna be alright, kid, okay?”

Merlin’s ballsack, but Potter had absolutely no boundaries at all. It was horridly endearing.

Regulus stiffened at the intimate gesture, his eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, he looked like he might pull away. Then, almost imperceptibly, he relaxed, giving Harry a small nod.

"Right," Harry said softly, releasing Regulus. He turned to Sirius, clapping him on the shoulder. "You too, Proudfoot or whatever it is that James calls you.”

Draco almost choked on his saliva. Harry was having far too much fun with this.

Arcturus' face darkened further. "Mr. Parker, that will be quite enough."

Harry pulled back, giving Regulus one last reassuring smile.

Harry turned to Fleamont and Euphemia, giving them a passably adequate head tilt before flashing them a smile around his split lip. “Well, it was lovely to meet you, Lord and Lady Potter.”

Then he turned to look at him and Draco could see the question in his emerald eyes.

Their little trio had talked at length about what Arcturus Black’s moves could mean. How the man could change the timeline, the future of the war. Draco had never met him, but he had heard enough.

He really had thought the Black Lord’s moves were indicative of a grander plan. It was a bitter potion to swallow to realize that the tall patriarch seemed oblivious to the reality of what he’d done.

He wasn’t sure how to convey all of that in a look. Granger could probably do it. She and Potter had years of silent conversations. Instead, he settled for a pinched look and a tiny shake of his head. Whatever hopes they had for Arcturus Black’s entrance onto the board, they would need to lower them. At least for now.

Harry gave a barely perceptible nod, but Draco could see the anger under it. Outside of the war, Harry had also hoped that Arcturus’ sudden reappearance in the lives of his grandsons was a sign that perhaps the man intended to right some of the wrongs done to the Black sons.

He turned back to look at Arcturus, eyes narrowing. Draco could see the way his muscles tensed.

“Lord Black,” Potter drawled, head carefully kept in place even as his eyes flickered up and down the wizard.

He took a small step forward, tilting his head up ever so slightly to look the Black patriarch in the eye. Draco could feel the simmer of power in the air around the two.

Harry let a beat pass as the two stared each other down. “I’ve grown rather fond of your idiot grandsons. Although I can’t say I’m pleased by some of the things I’ve been learning about your ‘noble’ family. So let me be clear, if I ever find out that Walburga Black, or any of your family members, raised their wand on either of your grandsons again, I will burn Grimmauld Place to the ground.”

Arcturus Black's eyes flashed dangerously at Harry's threat. “You dare —”

And then Potter let waves of magic roll off him. The flames in the sconces welled brightly along the wall. The smell of ozone suddenly filled the room. And Draco could feel the telltale edge of euphoria that came with the sudden shift.

“For fuck’s sake, reign it in,” Draco snapped as he took a deep breath.

Potter inhaled and just as quickly as it flooded out, his magic was pulled back in, leaving an almost light-headed feeling in the whiplash.

“You’re so bloody dramatic.”

Gods, but Granger should have never left them on their own. Between Draco’s outburst and Potter’s little show, they were just asking to be discovered.

The room fell silent. Sirius and Regulus were both looking at Harry with wide eyes. The Potters exchanged worried and curious glances even as Fleamont gently rested a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

Arcturus stood completely still as he studied the idiot blonde.

And then Potter looked down at his wrist as if he was wearing a bloody watch. “Right, well, this has been lovely. But I’ve got half an hour until Dumbledore is back so if I’m going to break into his office, time is of the essence.”

The air shifted as Harry took a step back, grinning at Draco like he hadn’t just shown up unannounced, covered in bruises, threatened the Black patriarch, effortlessly flooded the entire room with magic, and then admitted to breaking into the Headmaster’s office all in the span of two minutes.

“Enjoy the rest of the chat or meeting or summoning, whatever you call it.”

And then he was gone. Out the door, steps disappeared down the hall as Draco stood there pinching the bridge of his nose.

He exhaled loudly as he looked up to see the stunned room. “So, that’s Parker, supposedly. I’m not entirely convinced he’s not Loki reincarnate.”

Arcturus was the first to speak, his voice low and dangerous. "Interesting company you keep, Mr. Davies."

Draco fought to keep his composure. "Yes, well, I’m an idiot.”

Regulus looked at him. “Aren’t you dating him?”

“Wasn’t your tongue down his throat last week?” Draco was spending far, far too much time around impulsive Gryffindors.

Sirius gave a bark of laughter from his spot near the Potters. Regulus’ cheeks flushed pink as he whipped his glare from Draco to his brother. “Yes, well, I certainly wasn’t the only one, was I, Siri?”

Sirius grimaced, a light blush dusting his own cheeks. “Hey, you were sober when you did it! I was at least drunk. Both on alcohol and Parker’s stupidly powerful magic.”

Merlin, but they were all idiots. Not a single one of them should be allowed to speak. 

Arcturus Black's face darkened with each passing comment, his patience clearly at its limit. "Enough!" he thundered, silencing the room. "This circus has gone on long enough. Sirius, Regulus, you will remain. The rest of you, out. Now."

Fleamont stepped forward, his hand still on Sirius' shoulder. "Now, Arcturus—"

“We can meet another day to discuss Sirius. Today, I will speak to my grandsons alone.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Fleamont's jaw tightened, but Euphemia placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"Very well," she said, her voice calm but her eyes sharp. "We'll talk later, Sirius. Don’t think I didn’t hear Mr. Davies’ comment about needing help." She brought a hand up and ran a thumb over his cheek gently.

Sirius nodded, his eyes flickering between the Potters and Arcturus. "Thank you for coming," he said softly.

Draco's heart clenched at the exchange. He caught Regulus' eye, giving him a tight smile and nod. Euphemia made a point to put a hand on the Slytherin’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze as she passed by. It was disconcertingly similar to her grandson.

"Mr. Davies?"

Draco turned, meeting the piercing gaze of the Black patriarch.

“Parker’s threat?”

"Not an empty one. Parker’s got a bleeding heart of gold, enough magic to level a small country, and he’s set his sites on your grandsons. Call it a threat if you want, but he’ll burn the world down for the people he cares about.”

“Why?”

Draco paused, considering his words carefully. The truth was far too complicated to explain. How could he convey the depths of Harry’s capacity for love and loyalty?

"Because someone should," he said finally, echoing his earlier sentiment. "They've been let down by enough people in their lives. Parker takes offense to that.”

Draco hoped the patriarch listened to him. Someone in this fucking family had to have gotten a lick of common sense.

He turned to leave, but Arcturus' voice stopped him once more. "And you, Mr. Davies? What do you get out of all this? For a family you are so adamantly not related to?”

Absolution, Draco thought. And a chance to be worthy of the heart-breakingly noble duo of Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger.

Draco looked back with a wry smile, his grey eyes meeting Arcturus' intense gaze. “A headache, mostly. But Parker does do that moon-hanging look. I’m rather fond of that.”

Chapter Text

Arcturus Black was not amused.

He was not a man accustomed to being caught off guard. Yet here he stood, reeling from the chaos of the past hour.

His eyes narrowed as he studied his grandsons.

Sirius stood tall, chin raised defiantly despite the uncertainty in his eyes. Regulus' posture was rigid, his face a carefully composed mask that didn't quite hide his anxiety.

He would have preferred to send them away. To take a few days to process everything Leo Davies had said, to verify the facts that the boy who looked like he could be Orion’s bastard threw in his face. To look further into this Henry and Jean Parker and why the reckless and powerful Mudblood seemed so invested in his grandsons. To figure out who in the world Leo Davies really was.

But he needed more information, and by all accounts, both Sirius and Regulus seemed familiar with Leo Davies and Henry Parker. Entirely too familiar in Parker’s case.

He needed to confirm if Davies was speaking truly. Needed to know if Regulus really was Marked. If Sirius and Regulus really thought they were in danger.

He couldn’t shake the look of devastation that had crossed the insolent boy’s face before he called Arcturus an “arrogant fucking fool.”

He sighed before he looked back to his grandsons. "Sit," Arcturus commanded, gesturing to the chairs before his desk.

Sirius and Regulus exchanged a wary glance before slowly taking their seats. Arcturus remained standing, his imposing figure looming over them.

"It seems," Arcturus began, his voice low and controlled, "that I have been... remiss in my duties as your grandfather."

Sirius' eyebrows shot up in surprise. Regulus remained perfectly still, his face a careful mask.

"I find myself in the unusual position of being lectured by a boy barely older than yourselves," Arcturus continued, his lip curling slightly. "About the welfare of my family.”

Sirius snorted. “Do you mean Davies or Parker?”

His eyes narrowed at Sirius' flippant tone. "Both, as it happens. Though Mr. Davies was particularly...specific.”

“What is your relationship to both of them? All of them — Parker’s sister included. Why do they seem to know so very much about our family’s affairs?”

The two exchanged another glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Sirius leaned back in his chair, affecting a casual air.

"We've gotten friendly, that's all," he said with a shrug. "Parker’s in the dorm with us. Jean and Davies are a package deal with him it seems.”

“Are you…dating Mr. Parker? Either of you?” Magic above, that was not a question Arcturus envisioned having to ask, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that both of his grandsons had admitted to kissing the Mudblood, nor the affectionate way the brash boy had leaned his head against Regulus’ so fondly.

Sirius choked, his casual demeanor slipping. Regulus went rigid, his eyes widening slightly.

"I—what?" Sirius sputtered. "No —”

"No," Regulus cut in firmly. “Parker is with Davies. They’re obsessed with each other.”

Yes, the reckless Gryffindor had beamed at the Black interloper and told him he loved him in front of a room of strangers, and yet…

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "…Both of you admitted to kissing him."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "Like I said, I was drunk. Shouldn’t have done it," he muttered, not meeting his eyes.

Regulus remained still, but a faint blush colored his cheeks. "It was...a misunderstanding. I was dumb."

Arcturus studied them both for a long moment. Their discomfort was palpable, but he sensed no outright deception. Still, there was more to this story.

Merlin, but teenagers were exhausting.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know it, but it did add a layer of credibility to Leo Davies’ explanation of how he knew so much about his grandsons.

“I told you, Parker’s decided to adopt the Black sons. He’s been running around having midnight chats. Terrifyingly easy to open up to, that one.”

“Is this why Leo Davies and Henry Parker seem to know so much about our family? Know enough for Mr. Davies to invite the Potters here on your behalf? For Mr. Parker to threaten me over your well-being?"

Sirius shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping restlessly on the armrest. “The Potter thing is a bit confusing, to be honest. I didn’t think Davies liked me that much. Especially after last week. But Parker? I wasn’t expecting it, though I can’t say I’m overly surprised. He’s got a past. I mean, they all seem to have secret, tragic backstories, but Parker’s seems worse. It’s made him protective, I think.”

"And what exactly do you know of their 'secret, tragic backstories'?"

Sirius shrugged, his casual demeanor belied by the tension in his shoulders. “Not much. They keep things close to the vest, despite my less-than-empathic attempts to get answers. But you can tell they've been through some shit. Parker has nightmares. Duels better than the bloody Defense professor.”

Arcturus' eyes narrowed further at Sirius' words. He turned his piercing gaze to Regulus, who had remained silent. "And you, Regulus? How have you come to know these new…friends?”

Sirius he expected. The boy’s love of Mudbloods and blood traitors was well known. Regulus was surprising. He typically knew better than to stoop so low.

“I don’t know. Parker got assigned as my partner in Ancient Runes and that was apparently the end of my input in the matter.”

"And you simply accepted this intrusion?"

Regulus gave an irritated huff. “No, I called him a Mudblood and told him to get a different partner. He seemed oddly delighted by it.”

Arcturus' jaw clenched at the response. "And yet you allowed this...association to continue?"

Regulus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Parker is...persistent.”

"Persistent enough to make threats on your behalf, it seems. To touch you so openly.”

Regulus' eyes flashed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Parker is affectionate with everyone. It doesn't mean anything. I didn't ask him to come.”

"And yet he did," Arcturus pressed. "Why would a Mudblood take such an interest in the well-being of two pureblood heirs?"

Sirius bristled at the slur. "Maybe because he's a decent person who actually gives a damn about us?"

His eyes narrowed at Sirius' outburst. "Watch your tone, boy. I am still Lord of this House."

Sirius leaned forward, grey eyes intense. "Then act like it! I hadn’t talked to you in two years before Leo bloody Davies showed up, embarrassing your precious family reputation. I get Crucio’d, tossed out, blasted off the tapestry, told I’m disinherited and where were you?”

"You dare —”

"Yeah, I do," Sirius snapped, rising to his feet. "Because Davies and Parker were right. Mother tortured me and cast me out. I've been living with the Potters for two years. Where the hell were you? Not a fucking word! Not a letter, a fire call, nothing! And now you want me to be your Heir? Why should I?”

Arcturus took a deep breath, visibly reining in his temper. "I was unaware of the... extent of your mother's actions. Had I known—"

“Unaware! Maybe when it happened, but you bloody hell knew about it after, didn’t you? I know Fleamont mentioned it. Didn’t think it was worth checking in? Make sure she didn’t leave your now precious Heir brain dead.”

Before Arcturus could say a single word, Sirius kept going, eyes blazing as he pointed to his brother. “Then you’ve got Reg, the proclaimed Heir for the past two years. And Mother and Bella are off dragging him to meet the Dark Lord and kiss his fucking robes like a House-Elf.”

Arcturus felt his anger flare at Sirius' outburst, but beneath it was an uncomfortable twinge of guilt.

“Your grandsons have been left to fend for themselves, and you sit here, more concerned with preserving appearances than protecting them!”

He took another deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. "You are out of line, Sirius."

"Am I?" Sirius challenged, grey eyes flashing. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like the only people who've given a damn about us lately are a bunch of teenagers.”

"I see you and Mr. Davies share the same penchant for dramatics.”

Sirius scoffed, sitting back in his chair. "Oh no, this is all me. Davies just gave me the opening."

Arcturus turned his gaze to Regulus, who had remained silent throughout Sirius' outburst. The younger Black sat rigidly in his chair, eyes downcast.

"And you, Regulus? Do you share your brother's... sentiments?"

Regulus hesitated, his eyes darting briefly to Sirius before returning to the floor. "I don't know what you want me to say, Grandfather."

Arcturus' eyes narrowed further. "The truth would suffice."

Regulus swallowed hard, his hands clenching in his lap. “I’m confused. Why now? You seemed alright with Mother’s plans up until this point.”

He felt a flash of irritation at Regulus' words. "I was not 'alright' with anything. I was unaware of the full extent of your mother's... activities."

His youngest grandson finally looked up, meeting his grandfather's gaze. "But you knew some of it. You knew about Sirius being disowned, about me being named Heir. You knew Mother was pushing towards the Dark Lord's cause."

Arcturus' jaw clenched. "I knew what I was told. Your father assured me it was all being handled appropriately."

Sirius laughed bitterly. "Father doesn't handle anything. He just sits there and lets Mother do whatever she wants."

Arcturus shot him a sharp look. "Watch your tone. Your father—"

"Is a drunk," Regulus interrupted quietly. Both Sirius and Arcturus turned to stare at him in shock. Regulus rarely spoke against the family. “And you know it.”

Arcturus stared at Regulus, momentarily stunned by his grandson's blunt words. He opened his mouth to reprimand him, but found he couldn't deny the truth of the statement. Orion's drinking had become increasingly problematic over the years.

"I see," Arcturus said finally, his voice tight. "And you believe this justifies your association with Mudbloods and blood traitors?"

“...I don’t know. They’re nice.”

Arcturus' eyebrows shot up at Regulus' simple statement. "Nice? You're risking our family's reputation because they're nice?"

Regulus shrugged, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “I haven’t seen anyone else checking in on me lately! Mother and Bella only owl for information on Davies and family issues. You only owl for information on Davies and to tell me I’ve been disinherited. Father is nowhere to be seen. The only thing the purebloods care about is whether I’m useful or not. So, I don’t know. Yeah, it’s nice that Davies and Parker are willing to threaten you for me. It’s more than anyone else has been willing to do.”

“…and the other, a terrified teenager…”

He thought back to the way the brazen Mudblood had touched his grandson earlier. The way he leaned his forehead against Regulus and very sincerely said, “You’re gonna be alright, kid.”

"When was the last time you’ve even spoken to him? Really spoke to him? To either of them?"

Arcturus felt the weight of Regulus' words settle heavily in his chest. He studied his grandsons, truly seeing them for perhaps the first time in years. The defiance in Sirius' eyes, the quiet desperation in Regulus'.

“Are you Marked?”

Regulus flinched at the question.

Arcturus felt his stomach drop. So Davies had been telling the truth. His youngest grandson bore the Dark Lord's mark.

The rest of Davies’ words hung heavy in his chest.

“Brought out to be paraded around like a prize cattle as proof of Voldemort’s influence.”

“He's collecting purebloods like trophies, and the Blacks are his crowning achievement.”

Regulus' silence was answer enough. Arcturus felt a wave of cold fury wash over him.

How had he allowed this to happen?

"Show me," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Regulus hesitated, his eyes darting to Sirius. The older Black brother nodded slightly, his jaw clenched. Regulus slowly rolled up his left sleeve. There, stark against his pale skin, was the Dark Mark.

Arcturus inhaled sharply. It was one thing to hear it from Davies, another entirely to see the proof.

Branded. Collected. Paraded. “Kiss his fucking robes like a House-Elf,” as Sirius had so eloquently put it.

Arcturus stared at the Dark Mark on Regulus' arm, his face a mask of barely contained fury. The silence in the room was deafening.

"When?" he finally asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Regulus swallowed hard. "This summer. After my birthday.”

Arcturus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to control his rage. "Sixteen. Not even of age."

Regulus nodded, unable to meet his grandfather's gaze. "Mother said it was an honor. I’m his youngest Marked.”

He felt his stomach clench at the way his grandson referred to the Dark Lord: “I’m his…”

Arcturus' eyes snapped open, fixing Regulus with an intense stare. "And is it? An honor?"

Regulus hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the Dark Mark. "I... I don't know anymore."

Sirius leaned forward, his face etched with concern. "Reg, you don't have to—"

"No, Sirius," Arcturus interrupted, his voice firm. "Let him speak."

The boy shifted under Arcturus' scrutiny. He glanced briefly at Sirius before meeting his grandfather's gaze. "I —" he began hesitantly. "I'm not sure what to think anymore."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Regulus took a deep breath. "When I took the Mark, I thought I was doing the right thing. For our family, for our world. To show the world the power of proper blood. But lately..."

He trailed off, his eyes darting nervously to the door.

“…and the other, a terrified teenager…”

"Go on," Arcturus pressed.

Regulus swallowed hard, looking between Arcturus and Sirius. "Lately, I've been... questioning things. The Dark Lord's methods, his goals, and who he is. It's not what I expected."

Arcturus leaned forward, gaze fixed on his youngest grandson. "And what exactly did you expect, Regulus?"

"I thought it would be about preserving our traditions, our way of life. But it's more about fear and control. Everyone’s always watching each other, looking for a way to one-up each other in front of him. And I — I didn’t think they were actually going to kill people for it.”

Sirius let out a harsh laugh. "What did you think, Reg? That they were just going to politely ask Muggles and muggleborns to leave?"

"Sirius," Arcturus warned, his voice sharp.

Regulus flinched at Sirius' words, his shoulders hunching. "I didn't... I didn't think it through," he admitted quietly. "Mother and Bella made it sound so noble. Like we'd be saving our world."

Arcturus felt a further twinge of guilt at Regulus' words. He should have been there, should have guided the boy. Walburga and Bellatrix had much to answer for.

"And now?" Arcturus pressed. "What do you think now?"

Regulus hesitated, his eyes darting between Sirius and Arcturus. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "I don't want to disappoint the family. But I don't want to hurt anyone either.”

“Given the choice, would you do it again?”

The silence stretched for several long moments before he finally whispered, "No."

Well, there was his answer.

To think, this morning the biggest problem he thought he had was the mystery of Leo Davies. Arcturus sighed heavily, feeling the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him.

“You are the head of this family, but you are also their grandfather, and you've failed them on both fronts.”

Arcturus closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. The room fell into a tense silence as he considered his next move.

“And what is it that the Dark Lord wants with you now that you’re Marked?”

Regulus shifted in his seat. "He wants me to recruit more students. Spread his message at Hogwarts. Collect information on mud—muggleborns.”

Arcturus' jaw clenched. “These are orders from him?”

“I’m his…”

Regulus nodded stiffly. "Yes."

Anger didn’t begin to describe the fury that hit him. Arcturus had initially supported this no-name Dark Lord from the sidelines. Quiet approval, a few swing votes in the Wizengmont, some donations when asked by Walburga and Orion (or perhaps just Walburga now that he thought about it). Small things, nothing too overt. They had a standing to maintain after all.  Except then the upstart Lord seemed content to skip Arcturus entirely.

Instead, he found out that ‘Voldemort’ was meeting with his son, Walburga, his nieces. Cygnus and Druella. The man seemed to strategically target the younger generations. It was an insult to his authority as Lord Black.

Then his daughter-in-law and niece started speaking as if Lord Voldemort was more important than Arcturus Black.

And now?

“I’m his…”

Arcturus felt his magic crackle dangerously, his rage boiling over. He had dared to Mark his grandson, to use a Black as a common recruiter and spy. Giving orders to his grandson as if he had any right. The audacity of it all was infuriating.

"And what of you, Sirius?" Arcturus asked, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Has the Dark Lord made any overtures towards you?"

Sirius let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, Bellatrix certainly tried. Cornered me a few weeks before I left, spouting off about the 'glorious cause' and how I needed to 'take my rightful place.' As if I'd ever join that megalomaniac's little cult."

"Why not?" Arcturus asked, his piercing gaze fixed on Sirius.

"Why not? Are you serious?" He let out a harsh laugh. "Because I'm not a bloody bigot, for starters. I don't believe in pureblood supremacy or torturing Muggles for fun."

“And?”

Sirius leaned forward, his grey eyes blazing with intensity. "And because I'm not a fucking pawn!”

Arcturus nodded. “No, you are not. You are many other infuriating things, Sirius, but pawn certainly isn’t one of them.”

Arcturus stood still for a moment, his eyes moving between his two grandsons.

“You announce you’re keeping your muggleborn-loving, Gryffindor grandson as Heir in the midst of a blood supremacy uprising verging on open war. A movement that most of your family supports wholeheartedly. You’re painting a target on his back!”

He, perhaps, owed the boys the truth, though he was loathe to admit his own shortcomings.

Finally, he spoke. "I decided to reassert Sirius as my Heir both because you are the eldest, the House is your birthright, and because I have grown increasingly annoyed at how my family, and the Dark Lord, seem to think they can dictate the future of my House.”

Sirius blinked, clearly caught off guard by Arcturus' candor. "So... what? This is all just to spite Voldemort and Mother with some sort of power play? I — Merlin’s fucking balls. Are you serious?”

Arcturus' eyes narrowed at Sirius' language, but he let it slide. "Not entirely out of spite, no. But I will not deny it was a factor."

Arcturus paused. He would not normally be so candid with anyone in his family, but Davies’ words were proving to be frightfully accurate.

“You are the head of this family, but you are also their grandfather, and you've failed them on both fronts.”

“It was a decision made in pride, both in myself and in you, Sirius, as is my right as Head of this House. I had no intention of putting either of you in danger, though I admit that may have been an…oversight on my part.”

Sirius stared at his grandfather, incredulous. "An oversight? That's what you're calling it? And pride? In me? That's rich. You've made it pretty clear what you think of me over the years!"

Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "You are reckless, impulsive, and far too fond of Muggles and their ilk. But you are also powerful, charismatic, and vicious when needed. You have the makings of a formidable Lord Black, if you would only apply yourself properly.”

Sirius stared, stunned into momentary silence. His brow furrowed as he processed Arcturus' words. "So what exactly are you saying?" he asked cautiously. "That you want me as Heir, but only if I change everything about myself?"

Arcturus' jaw tightened. "I'm saying that you have potential, boy. Potential that is being wasted on childish rebellion and misguided ideals."

The boy bristled. "Misguided? You think not wanting to torture Muggles is misguided?"

Arcturus' eyes flashed dangerously. "Do not put words in my mouth. I said nothing about torture."

"Then what exactly are my 'misguided ideals'?" Sirius challenged.

Arcturus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "Your insistence on throwing away centuries of tradition and decorum. Your refusal to acknowledge the importance of blood purity and magical heritage."

Sirius laughed bitterly. “Well, I wouldn’t hold your breath on either of those fronts, Arcturus. Name Regulus Heir again and be done with it. You can all keep preaching blood supremacy while you inbreed yourselves into insanity.”

He scoffed at the stubborn boy. "You speak of things you do not understand. Blood purity is not about 'inbreeding' or 'insanity.' It's about preserving our magical heritage, our traditions, our very way of life."

Sirius leaned forward, his grey eyes blazing. "And what way of life is that exactly? Sneering at anyone who doesn't meet your arbitrary standards? Trying to keep muggleborns from coming to Hogwarts? Torturing Muggles for sport?"

"You oversimplify matters," Arcturus growled. "Our bloodlines carry ancient magics, powers that have been refined over generations. Diluting that power —”

"Is that what you're worried about?" Sirius interrupted. “Family magics and power? Andromeda’s daughter is the first Metamorphmagus in the family in generations and she’s a half-blood. And as for power? Did you miss Parker’s little performance earlier? Not to mention his sister or Lily Evans. They're some of the most powerful witches and wizards in our year, and they're all muggleborn.”

"Individual exceptions do not negate centuries of magical theory and practice."

"No, but they do prove that your precious 'blood purity' isn't the be-all and end-all you think it is," Sirius retorted.

“Regardless,” Arcturus started coldly, “your rebellion and dalliances have gone on long enough. You will —”

“— I’ll what?” Sirius interrupted as he stood up. “You named me Heir without a single bloody conversation to spite the Dark Lord or whatever reason, assuming I would, what? Fall in line?”

He shot Arcturus a vicious look as he leaned forward. “Well, we’re doing power plays. So, here’s mine: Your options for an Heir are limited. You have me — your muggleborn-loving Gryffindor grandson — or Regulus, your Death Eater grandson who's already Marked and under Voldemort's thumb. And I suppose there’s also Cygnus’ brood, assuming you’re okay with letting the family name die out. So you can pick, Arcturus. But any way you look at it, you’re not coming out nearly as powerful as you hoped, are you?”

Sirius stood his ground, a cocky smirk on his face. “Seems like you need me more than I need you.”

He felt his anger flaring at Sirius' insolent tone. The boy had always been defiant, but this level of insolence was unprecedented. And yet, beneath the fury, there was a pleased curl of respect.

Sirius was proving to be every bit as prideful and ruthless as he hoped for in a Black Heir, even if he was horridly annoyed that it was pointed at him.

Arcturus was silent for a long moment, his eyes moving between his two grandsons. The weight of his family's legacy pressed down on him, but so too did an unfamiliar feeling of guilt. How had he allowed things to come to this? His eldest grandson, estranged and rebellious. His youngest, branded and indentured to a no-name Lord.

He took a deep breath, reining in his temper. "You make valid points, Sirius. Infuriating as they may be."

Sirius blinked, clearly caught off guard by his grandfather's admission. "I — what?"

Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "Do not make me repeat myself, boy. This day has been irritating enough as it is. You heard me."

He stared at Arcturus, momentarily stunned into silence. He glanced at Regulus, who looked equally shocked.

"So... what now?" Sirius asked cautiously.

Arcturus sighed heavily. "Now, we address the more pressing matters at hand. Namely, your safety and Regulus' unfortunate... entanglement."

Regulus flinched at the mention of his Mark. Sirius instinctively moved closer to his brother.

Arcturus studied his grandsons closely. Sirius' protective stance beside his brother spoke volumes. It was... reassuring.

"Regulus," Arcturus said, his voice stern but not unkind. "We will need to discuss your situation in more detail. But for now, I need to know — are you in immediate danger?"

Regulus hesitated. "I don’t think so," he admitted quietly. "I’m not expected to do anything outside of the school, given my… age —”

His age, Arcturus thought bitterly, was entirely too bloody young for this.

“—although, I did get a letter from him a few weeks ago. About you naming Sirius Heir. He — he wanted to remind me about the importance of convincing you to see reason.”

"He dared to send you a letter about my decisions?"

Regulus gave a bitter laugh. “Yes, well, him and Mother and Bella. It was quite a day of letters.”

Arcturus felt his rage boiling over again. The audacity. To send orders to his grandson about family matters. To think he had any say in House Black affairs.

"And what exactly did these letters say?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Regulus shifted uncomfortably. "Mother and Bella were... upset. They said this was temporary, that Sirius was a blood traitor who would ruin our family's legacy and you would change your mind. That I would be rewarded for my loyalty.”

Loyalty. But not to House Black.

"I see," he said, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "And the Dark Lord's letter?"

“The Dark Lord's letter was more... subtle. He said it would be prudent to remind you of proper magical lineage and family loyalty. And that he hoped I understood the gravity of the situation.”

Arcturus' eyes flashed dangerously. "The gravity of the situation," he repeated, his voice low and cold. "As if he has any right to dictate the affairs of House Black."

Sirius snorted. "That's rich, coming from you. Weren't you just lecturing me about proper pureblood ideals?"

Arcturus fixed Sirius with a sharp glare. "There is a vast difference between upholding our traditions and allowing an upstart Dark Lord to manipulate our family for his own gain."

“Little late for that now, isn’t it?”

"Careful, boy."

Sirius held his grandfather's gaze defiantly. "Am I wrong? He's got Regulus Marked, Bellatrix is Marked. Cissy’s marrying Malfoy, who is Marked. Mother practically worships him, and now he's trying to dictate who your Heir should be. Seems like he's getting quite a foothold into the family tree. What are you going to do? Go against him?”

“What did you say?”

“What are you —”

“No, about Bellatrix. Your cousin is Marked?”

Sirius' eyes widened slightly, realizing he may have revealed more than intended. He glanced at Regulus, who gave a small nod.

"Yeah," Sirius said, turning back to Arcturus. "Bella's Marked. Has been for a while now, I think."

Arcturus' jaw clenched, his eyes flashing dangerously. "And you're certain of this?"

Regulus spoke up. "Yes, Grandfather. She’s the only witch in his inner circle. The only Marked witch in general.”

Davies’ words came rushing back at him.

“He's collecting purebloods like trophies, and the Blacks are his crowning achievement.”

Not one, but two of his family members. Marked. On his watch.

He was furious, even more so as Sirius gave him a keen look, grey eyes narrowed in on him as the Gryffindor stared him down. The boy gave him a slow grin. “Perhaps we should be calling him Lord Black now.”

The boy was infuriatingly perceptive when he wanted to be. Arcturus wasn’t sure if he preferred him like this or his typical obnoxious self.

Arcturus felt his magic crackle at Sirius' words. “You are playing a dangerous game, Sirius.”

Sirius's grin widened, a reckless glint in his eyes. "Am I? You’re the one who thought you could support this madman from the sidelines without consequence. Hasn’t quite gone to plan, has it?”

The boy was aggravating, but not entirely wrong. This "Dark Lord" had managed to sink his claws deep into the Black family, all while Arcturus had been content to observe from afar.

No more.

"The Dark Lord," he began slowly, "has overstepped. He presumes to give orders to one of my heirs, to mark my grandson without my permission. He acts as if the Ancient and Noble House of Black answers to him."

Arcturus' lip curled in disdain. "I do not bow to upstart lords who cannot even publicly claim their own bloodline. He seems to have forgotten his place."

Sirius leaned forward. "And what exactly is his place, Grandfather?"

Arcturus met Sirius' gaze evenly. "Beneath us.”

Sirius let out a low whistle as he gave a wicked grin. “Well, alright, Arcturus.”

He studied Sirius for a long moment, taking in the boy's defiant posture and vicious smirk. There was potential there, buried beneath layers of rebellion and misguided ideals.

"Do not mistake my words for approval of your... lifestyle choices," Arcturus said. "But in this matter, we find ourselves with aligned interests."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what interests are those?"

"The protection of our family and the preservation of our rightful place.”

“You announce you’re keeping your muggleborn-loving, Gryffindor grandson as Heir in the midst of a blood supremacy uprising verging on open war. A movement that most of your family supports wholeheartedly. You’re painting a target on his back!”

Arcturus closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. The room fell into a tense silence as he considered his next move.

"I allowed my pride and my assumptions to blind me to the realities of our situation. Regulus, you unfortunately know this Lord’s moves better than I do. What will he do now that I have come forward with Sirius as Heir?”

Regulus gave him a hard look. “Well, he’s not pleased, obviously. As far as everyone in the cause knew, you were supposed to be an ally, even if not openly. He won’t kill him…not yet. House Black is still the crowning jewel. I assume he’ll try to get you to change your mind or to persuade Sirius before he does anything more drastic.”

Arcturus nodded slowly, processing Regulus' words. "And if I refuse to change my mind? If Sirius remains... unpersuaded?"

Regulus hesitated, his eyes darting to Sirius. "Then I think he'll try to remove Sirius. One way or another."

Sirius snorted. "Charming bloke, your Dark Lord."

Arcturus's eyes narrowed. "He will find that task more difficult than he anticipates."

The Gryffindor raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Because, as infuriating as you may be, you are still a Black. Still my grandson. That means something.”

Sirius blinked, clearly caught off guard by Arcturus's declaration. "I... what?"

“Don’t look so stunned. I am prideful, Sirius, not heartless. I am saying that I will not stand idly by while my family is threatened. You are under my protection, both of you."

He stared at Arcturus, eyes wide with disbelief. "Protection? From you? That's rich. Where was this protection when Mother was torturing me? When I was kicked out? When Reg was off getting his lovely brand?”

Arcturus felt the weight of Sirius' accusations settle heavily in his chest. The boy's words stung, not because they were untrue, but because they hit far too close to the mark.

“You are the head of this family, but you are also their grandfather, and you've failed them on both fronts.”

He turned to Regulus, his gaze softening slightly. "You should never have been put in this situation. I should have been more present, more aware of what was happening. For that, I apologize."

Regulus stared at his grandfather, eyes wide with shock. "I... thank you, Grandfather," he said quietly.

Arcturus then turned to Sirius, his expression level.  "And you, Sirius. Your... unconventional views aside, I should not have allowed Walburga to cast you out without intervening, or following up. That was... an oversight on my part. I apologize for that as well.”

Sirius stared at Arcturus, stunned into silence. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words.

Finally, he managed to speak. "I... don't know what to say to that."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

Sirius snorted. "Right. Thank you for finally noticing years of abuse and neglect. How kind of you."

"Sirius," Regulus hissed, shooting his brother a warning look.

Arcturus regarded Sirius with a mix of irritation and grudging respect. The boy's defiance was grating, but his spirit was undeniably Black.

"Your sarcasm is noted, Sirius," Arcturus said dryly. "However, the fact remains that we find ourselves in a precarious position. The Dark Lord has made his intentions clear, and we must act accordingly."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, eyeing Arcturus warily. "And what exactly do you propose we do?"

He leaned against the desk. “I have fewer answers than I care to admit. Today has revealed far more than I anticipated. It will take some time to adjust and plan. We must protect ourselves while also undermining his influence. Regulus, we will need to discuss your... situation in more detail. For now, I want you to avoid any further contact with the Dark Lord or his followers as much as possible. If asked, you are to say you are focusing on your studies at my command. You send them my way if they continue to push.”

Regulus nodded, relief evident on his face. "Yes, Grandfather. Thank you."

The boy furrowed his brow and took a deep breath, keeping his gaze on Arcturus. “But you should talk to Parker.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at Regulus' unexpected suggestion. "The brash Mudblood who threatened to burn down your ancestral home?"

Regulus nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "He's... unconventional, but he knows things. About the Dark Lord, things that might be helpful. And he's powerful, as you saw."

Sirius gave him an interested look. “What sort of things does he know, Reg?”

Regulus hesitated, glancing between them. “He made me promise not to go digging, but I don’t know, you keep mentioning him being a no-name Lord and Parker said the same thing — asked what his family name was. And if you’re trying to undermine his support, this feels like it’s relevant. But Parker said the Dark Lord is a halfblood — that he’s the son of a Muggle.”

“Merlin, that would be a fucking laugh.”

Arcturus' eyes narrowed at Regulus' words. "The son of a Muggle? That's a serious accusation, Regulus."

Although Arcturus might believe it. The man claimed to be Slytherin’s descendent and he apparently had the Parseltongue skills and heirlooms to back it up, but he had thought it odd that the Lord never publicly named his lineage.

It would be useful, if true.

Regulus nodded, his expression grave. "I know, Grandfather. But Parker seemed certain. And he's been right about other things, too."

Arcturus stilled but gave a light huff. "And you believe this Parker boy? How, exactly, would a Mudblood know about this?”

Sirius barked out a laugh. "That's the million galleon question, isn't it? Parker and his friends are a bloody mystery. They show up out of nowhere, powerful as hell, with all these secrets. Davies looks like he could be Reggie’s twin. Jean's smarter than anyone I've ever met. And Parker..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Parker what?" Arcturus pressed.

Regulus answered before Sirius could. “Parker’s important. His magic rivals the Dark Lord’s, if not more. And Dumbledore and Parker have their own weird dynamic. We came in from a talk the other week and the Headmaster was there waiting for him, wanting to talk. It was one in the morning. Parker didn’t seem at all surprised, although he did act like Dumbledore was an inconvenience more than anything. I don’t know how, but Parker is somehow a player on the board.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at this new information. "The Headmaster sought out a student in the middle of the night? For what purpose?"

Regulus shrugged. "No idea. Why is he breaking into Dumbledore’s office? Nothing makes sense when it comes to Parker.”

Arcturus' eyes narrowed at this new information. A Mudblood with power to rival the Dark Lord's, who treated Dumbledore as an annoyance? It was almost too fantastical to believe. And yet, he had felt the boy's magic himself. Had seen the way he carried himself, unafraid to threaten one of the most powerful wizards in Britain.

"And you trust this boy?" Arcturus asked, his gaze moving between his grandsons.

Sirius nodded without hesitation. "Yes." 

Arcturus' brow raised at Sirius' immediate response. "Such loyalty, after knowing him for only a few months? With so many secrets surrounding them all?”

Sirius hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I know it sounds mad. But there's just something about Parker, about all of them. I don't know how to explain it. Parker cares, genuinely cares, in a way I've never seen before. And he's been through some serious shit, you can tell. But he still fights, still tries to protect people. And, I mean, he did threaten to burn our house down for Reg and me.”

"Yes, let's not forget that charming detail."

He turned his piercing gaze to Regulus. "And you? Do you share your brother's... enthusiasm for this Parker boy?"

“Reggie did snog him.”

Regulus flushed crimson, shooting a glare at his brother. “Morgana’s tits, Siri, shut up! I already admitted it was a dumb idea. And I apologized for it.”

Magic above. Teenagers.

“Enough, Sirius. I have no desire to hear any more about the teenage drama of my grandsons.”

He turned back to Regulus, his gaze intent. "The question remains, Regulus. Do you trust this boy? Trust Davies?”

Regulus fidgeted nervously, looking more vulnerable than Arcturus had ever seen him. "He's infuriating and pushy and has no sense of propriety at all. But I don’t know, Davies and Parker look at me like a person — someone worth their time. It’s…nice.”

Sirius’s face softened as he looked at his brother. “Reg…”

Arcturus studied Regulus' face, noting the vulnerability in his expression. It was a stark contrast to the composed mask Regulus usually wore. He felt a pang of regret at Regulus' words.

Had he truly failed them so completely that they found more acceptance from strangers than their own family?

Not for the first time today, Arcturus felt the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him.

“You are the head of this family, but you are also their grandfather, and you've failed them on both fronts.”

They were both so terribly young.

Arcturus felt something shift within him as he gazed at his youngest grandson. Regulus sat there, looking so vulnerable, his composed mask cracked to reveal the uncertain boy beneath. A boy who had been thrust into a war he was far too young for, who bore a mark that should never have touched his skin.

"Regulus, look at me," Arcturus began, his voice likely softer than either grandson had ever heard it. "You are worthy. You have always been worthy."

Regulus stared at Arcturus, eyes wide with disbelief.

"I..." he began, then faltered. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. "Thank you, Grandfather."

Sirius stared at him, brow furrowed. "What the bloody hell is going on?”

Arcturus nodded stiffly, uncomfortable with the raw emotion in the room. He cleared his throat, his gaze moving between his two grandsons. The weight of their words, their experiences, settled heavily upon him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control situations, to maintain the dignity and power of the House of Black. But now, faced with the reality of how his neglect had affected his grandsons, he felt a strange mix of regret and determination.

"It seems," he began slowly, "that I have much to consider.”

The very idea that three mystery teenagers might be players in a war between the likes of Dumbledore and the Dark Lord was absurd. And yet, all evidence pointed to the same conclusion. Regulus was right. They were on the board.

“Parker’s got a bleeding heart of gold, enough magic to level a small country, and he’s set his sights on your grandsons. Call it a threat if you want, but he’ll burn the world down for the people he cares about.”

And they seemed entirely devoted to saving his grandsons.

It was too convenient to be coincidence.

Arcturus' jaw clenched. The idea of relying on Mudbloods for assistance grated against every fiber of his being.

Arcturus pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Very well. It seems we have much to discuss and even more to investigate. For now, you will both return to your dormitories. Regulus, any communication from the Dark Lord or our... overzealous family members should be brought to me. Plan to return to Black Manor for the Yule break; you will stay with me while we figure this out in more detail. Sirius, I will be in touch regarding arrangements for the holidays once I speak with Fleamont and Euphemia.”

Sirius blinked in surprise. "You're going to talk to the Potters?"

Arcturus nodded stiffly. "They have been your guardians these past years. It would be... improper not to include them in discussions about your safety and future arrangements."

"I... right. Okay."

Arcturus turned his gaze to Regulus. "And you, Regulus. Are you comfortable with these arrangements?"

Regulus nodded, a hint of relief in his eyes.

"As for these new... friends of yours," Arcturus continued, “it appears I have additional Summons to send out.”

“You’re actually going to talk to them?”

"I am Lord Black. I do not appreciate being threatened or manipulated, especially by youths. However, it seems these three have inserted themselves quite thoroughly into our family affairs. I intend to find out what they know."

Sirius gave him a hard look. "Go easy on them, alright? They're not bad people."

"I will treat them as the situation warrants," Arcturus replied coolly. "Now, unless there is anything else of immediate importance, you are both dismissed. We will speak more over the holidays. I expect regular updates from both of you."

Sirius and Regulus both stood to leave.

As they reached the door, Arcturus called out, "One more thing."

They turned back, expressions wary.

Arcturus' gaze was piercing as he looked at each of them in turn. "Whatever happens from here, whatever choices you make, remember this: You are Blacks. You are my grandsons. And I will not allow anyone — not your mother, not the Dark Lord, not the Ministry — to harm what is mine. Is that understood?"

Sirius and Regulus exchanged a glance, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty on their faces.

"Yes, Grandfather," Regulus said quietly.

Sirius hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Understood."

Arcturus watched as his grandsons left the room, the door closing softly behind them. He sank into his chair, feeling the weight of the day's revelations pressing down on him.

Arcturus sat in silence for several long moments, his mind racing. The day's revelations had shaken him to his core. His family was in disarray, his grandsons in danger, and mysterious teenagers seemed to know far more than they should.

There was so much to do.

He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write. There were letters to send, plans to make. The House of Black would not fall so easily.

Chapter Text

It had been endlessly entertaining to watch Harry and Draco flirt around each other for months on end, but Hermione thought it was even more satisfying to see the two of them now that they both confessed their feelings to each other.

She hadn’t expected them to jump straight into declarations of love, but it was fitting given the way everything else had been going for the two idiots.

Hermione smiled to herself, recalling the scene from that morning just before Draco got ready to leave for his Summons with Arcturus. Harry had been fussing over Draco's robes, smoothing imaginary wrinkles as he flittered around. His green eyes were bright with energy and mischief, darting between Draco's face and the clock.

He was clearly planning something.

"And you’re sure I can’t come and yell at him even just a little bit?" Harry asked for the third time.

Draco rolled his eyes, but his fond smile betrayed his amusement. "No, Harry. For the last time, you cannot come and threaten the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"But I think I would be really good at it," Harry pouted, his hands still fidgeting with Draco's collar.

Hermione snorted. There wasn’t anything in the world that was going to stop Harry from showing up at that meeting in some capacity. Not even his love for Draco.

On the flip side of that, she suspected Draco Malfoy might be the one to yell at Arcturus Black. As much training as the pureblood had, it was increasingly obvious that the Slytherin prince saw more and more of himself in Sirius and Regulus. Pair that with Harry’s reckless and noble influence and well…

The argument to preserve the timeline had been getting fuzzier and fuzzier as things continued to change.

And she was only one witch. She had to pick and choose her battles when it came to preventing dumb ideas. She had already talked Harry down from impersonating Voldemort. But trying to prevent Harry’s steadfast determination to save all of the Black family sons at any cost? That was leagues outside of reality, no matter the impact on the timeline.

No, Harry loved Draco Malfoy. Sirius Black was the godfather who broke out of Azkaban to save him from Pettigrew and then died coming to his rescue. Regulus Black was the tragically young boy who went alone to the Cave to destroy a Horcrux in the hopes of turning Voldemort mortal.

Whatever plans Arcturus Black had for his House’s future, the man was going to need to factor in the chaotic and determined terror that was Harry James Potter.

“Okay, but remember, if he tries to curse you, you swotty purebloods never expect a physical response. There’s always a good punch to the face.”

Draco chuckled, catching Harry's hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t plan on punching a wizard old enough to be my grandfather—”

“—pity”

“—but thank you for the suggestion.”

Draco's eyes softened as he gazed at Harry. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

Harry sighed, relenting. "I do trust you. It's him I don't trust."

Hermione cleared her throat. "As touching as this is, Draco, you're going to be late."

Draco nodded, straightening his robes one last time. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Harry's cheek. "I'll see you soon."

“Okay. I love you.”

She snorted again. Harry seemed determined to tell Malfoy he loved him as much as possible now that they admitted their feelings. He also seemed completely oblivious to the way it threw the pureblood every single time.

Harry watched him go, a mixture of worry and determination etched on his face.

The moment Draco was out of sight, Harry spun around, green eyes gleaming. "Right. Time for Plan R."

Hermione sighed. "You’re going to show up with Regulus so you can threaten Arcturus?”

“God, I love how well you know me.”

“Have you considered that Regulus might not want you next to him when he meets his Grandfather for a very important conversation?”

“I mean, I’m sure his scowly little mouth will say it, but his eyes tell a different story.”

Most likely true. The Slytherin tried his best to hide it, but it was surprisingly easy to read the tells on his face when he looked so much like Draco.

She raised an eyebrow. "And you're certain Regulus will agree to this?"

Harry grinned, already heading for the door. "Oh, he'll come around. I can be very persuasive. Alright, I love you, too!”

"Harry—" Hermione started, but he was already gone.

She sighed, shaking her head fondly. Sometimes it was best to let Harry's schemes play out. At least this one didn't involve breaking into Gringotts.

***

She allowed herself a few moments to sit in silence before she glanced at the clock, calculating how long it would take for the chaos to unfold. With a sigh, she decided the library was the safest bet to wait for the inevitable fallout.

She hadn’t heard back from Damocles Belby yet, and in light of her inability to do anything with her broader research from the Institute without a significant stack of galleons and some exceptionally rare ingredients, she had been spending time testing theories for the Wolfsbane potion. Draco had helped her construct the ingredient nexus and questioned in passing if there was any way to add Dittany leaves to the potion without ruining the effectiveness as it would likely help to relieve some of the worst physical impact from the transformation.

Adding Dittany to something with Murtlap tentacles was almost impossible as it would dampen the healing properties of both of them, but it did give her an idea.

She gathered her books, slipping them into her bag as she left the Room of Requirement.

As she rounded the corner, she nearly collided with a familiar figure.

"Oh! Remus, I'm sorry," she said, steadying herself.

Remus smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No harm done, Jean. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"The library," she replied, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I figured I'd get some studying done while we wait out the storm that is the Black family drama.”

Remus chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Mind if I join you? I could use a break from the Gryffindor common room. McGonagall came to get Sirius for something and I think James is about to wear a hole in the floor from nerves. Might be a good thing Sirius got called away early. I half thought James might try to show up with him.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile to herself. For all the craziness of the situation, it was nice to see the traits Harry inherited from his parents.

“Yes, well. Henry might have him beat on that front. I suspect Regulus will have a tagalong for his meeting.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and concern crossing his features. "Henry's going with Regulus? That's... bold."

"That's one word for it," she muttered, falling into step beside Remus as they headed toward the library.

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before Remus spoke again, his voice low. "Do you think it'll help? Having Henry there?"

Hermione considered the question carefully. "I think... it might. Henry has a way of cutting through pretense. And he cares about Regulus, even if Regulus pretends not to notice."

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “The three of you are exceptionally kind, you know that? Given everything Sirius has pulled since you got here and some of Regulus’ more…traditional beliefs, it’s a bit surprising that all of you are so open with trying to help them.”

Hermione felt a warmth bloom in her chest at Remus' words. She paused, considering how to respond without revealing too much. The library corridor stretched before them, sunlight streaming through the high windows and casting long shadows across the stone floor.

"I suppose..." she began carefully, "we've seen enough of the world to know it needs more kindness, not less."

She thought of Draco, how he had once been so similar to Regulus — proud, prejudiced, and trapped by family expectations. Yet he had changed, grown into someone she was proud to call a friend. Someone Harry loved.

She thought of Regulus, his conflicted grey eyes so similar to Draco's. How easy it was to see his bigotry as evil until you witnessed true malevolence. The memory of Voldemort's cruel, high-pitched laughter echoed in her mind.

"Sometimes," she continued, her voice soft, "people just need a chance to change. To see beyond what they've been taught. And Henry and Leo see a lot of themselves in those two. I suppose part of it is trying to right some of the wrongs they lived through as well.”

Remus looked contemplative, his amber eyes distant as they walked.

"That's... remarkably wise," he said finally, his voice soft. "And kind. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given how you've all handled everything else."

They reached the library and Remus held the door open for Hermione. As they settled at a quiet table in the back, Remus hesitated, fingers tracing the worn edge of a book.

"Jean," he began, hesitating. "I know there's a lot you three aren't telling us. About why you're here, what you’ve gone through... And I understand the need for secrets, truly."

Hermione tensed slightly at Remus' words but kept her expression neutral.

Remus was quiet for a long moment, conflict playing across his handsome features. Hermione wondered if he was contemplating all the secrets he had to tell to protect himself.

She met his eyes, waiting patiently for him to continue. She knew how difficult it was for him to open up, even now.

"I just want you to know," Remus said softly, "that whatever you're dealing with, whatever brought you here... you're not alone. It seems like you three are running around taking care of everyone else — and you’ve got both Henry and Leo to watch over on top of it. We may not know everything, but we're here. If you need us.”

Hermione felt her throat tighten with emotion. She blinked rapidly, willing away the sudden tears that threatened to spill. Remus' kindness, his unwavering support even in the face of their secrets, touched her deeply.

"Thank you, Remus," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "That... means more than you know."

Remus reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently squeezing her hand. His touch was warm, comforting. Hermione felt a flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with nostalgia or grief.

"You're welcome," he said softly before giving a little grin. “Although, truthfully, I would probably come to Lily or myself first if you need anything. James as a backup. Sirius, Marlene, and Pete only in an absolute emergency.”

Hermione laughed softly, grateful for the lightening of the mood. "Noted. Though I think Henry might have different rankings for that list."

Remus rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, well, Henry seems to have a soft spot for chaos incarnate."

They settled into a comfortable silence, each pulling out books and parchment. Hermione found herself stealing glances at Remus as he worked. Her eyes traced the strong line of his jaw, the sly quirk of his lips.

It was a bit unfair of him to be both handsome and kind.

Hermione tried to focus on her research, but her mind kept wandering. She found herself studying Remus instead of her notes, noticing the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the gentle way he turned each page. His presence was calming, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos that often surrounded Harry and Draco.

She thought about Harry's newfound happiness with Draco, the way they seemed to balance each other. Perhaps it was time she allowed herself a chance at something similar. The soft afternoon light caught in Remus' hair, highlighting strands of gold among the light brown. His eyes flickered up, catching her gaze, and Hermione felt a warmth spread through her chest.

“Am I looking particularly cute or something?”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush at being caught staring. She fumbled for a response, her usual quick wit failing her.

"I... well, yes, actually," she admitted, deciding honesty was the best policy. "You are rather cute when you're concentrating."

Remus blinked, clearly surprised by her candid answer. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Is that so?" he murmured, leaning in slightly. "And here I thought I was just being a good study partner."

Hermione's heart raced at his proximity.

"Well, you are an excellent study partner," she said softly. “Most other people wouldn’t even attempt to keep up with me.”

Remus chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m not sure anyone can keep up with you, but it’s been fun trying. Plus, you’re far prettier to study with than James, Pads, or Pete.”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush even deeper at the compliment. She leaned in slightly, drawn by Remus' warm gaze.

"That's not a very high bar to clear," she teased softly.

Remus laughed, the sound low and rich. "True. Though I must say, you've set quite a high standard yourself."

His eyes flickered to her lips for a brief moment before meeting her gaze again. “Did it change something for you? My acknowledging the need for secrets? Or the offer for help?”

Hermione hesitated, her heart racing. "I... yes, I suppose it did," she admitted softly. "It means a lot, knowing you trust us even without all the answers."

“Merlin, should have said it earlier,” he laughed softly.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She found herself leaning in closer, drawn by Remus' warm amber eyes and gentle smile.

"Remus, I—" she began.

“—There you two are! I’m in desperate need of some intelligent company.”

Hermione and Remus jumped apart as Lily's voice rang out. The redhead strode towards their table, her green eyes bright with exasperation.

"James and Peter were driving me mad," Lily huffed, dropping into a chair. "They wouldn’t stop speculating about what's happening with Sirius and his family."

Remus cleared his throat, a faint blush still coloring his cheeks. "Ah, yes. It's been quite the topic of discussion lately."

Hermione tried to calm her racing heart, acutely aware of how close she and Remus had been just moments ago. She forced a smile. "I'm sure it'll all work out in the end. Though perhaps with more drama than strictly necessary."

Lily raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "Did I interrupt something?"

She couldn’t help the blush that spread over her cheeks. "No, not at all," Hermione said quickly, avoiding Remus' gaze. "We were just studying."

Lily looked unconvinced, her green eyes narrowing slightly. "Uh-huh. Studying. Right."

Remus cleared his throat. "Did you need help with something specific, Lils? Or just escaping the common room?"

Lily sighed, running a hand through her red hair. "Mostly escaping. But I wouldn't mind going over the Transfiguration essay if you're up for it."

"Of course," Remus said, shifting some books to make room.

Hermione pulled out Feathers of Flame: The Magical Properties of Phoenixes. There were precious few books devoted to the study of phoenixes given how rare they were. She had already read this particular book, but she was rereading it again with an eye on potential uses in the Wolfsbane potion.

“Oh, watcha reading, Jean?”

"Some research on phoenixes," Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice casual. "I'm exploring some theories related to healing properties."

Lily's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh, anything in particular?”

Hermione nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Potions research. I’m trying to map out the ingredient nexus of phoenix tears, dittany, and Murtlap tentacle.”

Lily's eyes widened with intrigue. "That's an ambitious combination. Are you looking to enhance healing properties or mitigate side effects?"

"A bit of both, actually," Hermione replied, warming to the topic. "I'm hoping to find a way to incorporate the regenerative qualities of phoenix tears without negating the effects of the other ingredients."

Remus leaned in. "Ambitious indeed. Phoenix tears aren’t particularly well studied given how hard they are to source.”

"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "That's why I'm starting with theoretical research. If I can map out the potential interactions, it might help narrow down which experiments are worth pursuing."

Lily's eyes sparkled with excitement. "That's brilliant, Jean. Have you considered phoenix ash as an alternative? It’s slightly easier to source. There are more studied interactions.”

“Yes, but the question is whether it retains enough of the regenerative properties to be worth the effort and cost, given the decreased potency.”

“True, but it would likely be more stable in complex potions. It depends on what else is in it, I guess. Merlin, it’s an interesting combination.”

Lily looked ready to jump further into the theories, but they were interrupted.

James burst into the library, his hair even more disheveled than usual. His hazel eyes were wide with excitement behind his round glasses.

"Moony! There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "James, we're in a library. You can't just—"

But James was already barreling on, practically vibrating with energy. "You'll never guess who's here! My parents. They came to see Sirius for his Summons with Arcturus!"

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Harry's grandparents. Here. Now.

Behind him trailed an older couple, their resemblance to James unmistakable. The man had James' unruly black hair, though streaked lightly with silver, and kind hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles.

The woman beside him had streaks of grey in her dark hair, which was pulled back in an elegant bun. Her warm brown eyes crinkled with amusement as she took in the scene before her.

"James, dear," she chided gently, "students are trying to study."

James had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry, Mum. I was just excited."

Remus stood, smoothing down his robes. "Mr. and Mrs. Potter, it's wonderful to see you again."

"Remus, my boy," Mr. Potter said warmly, clapping him on the shoulder. "How many times must I tell you to call us Fleamont and Euphemia?"

Hermione watched the exchange, her heart aching. These were Harry's grandparents. The family he never got to know.

She felt her throat tighten with emotion as she watched Harry's grandparents interact with Remus and James. Their warmth and kindness was evident, and she could see echoes of Harry in their mannerisms.

"And who are these lovely young ladies?" Euphemia asked, turning her warm gaze to Hermione and Lily.

"Oh! This is Lily Evans," James said, beaming as he gestured to the redhead.

"Ah, the famous Lily!" Euphemia exclaimed, her eyes bright. "We've heard so much about you."

James flushed crimson. "Mum, please..."

Lily's cheeks turned pink, but she smiled warmly. "It's lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Potter."

"And this is Jean Parker," Remus added, gesturing to Hermione. "She's new this year, along with her brother Henry and their friend Leo."

Hermione stood, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Fleamont shook her hand firmly. "The pleasure is ours, Miss Parker. We just met your brother, and Leo Davies, actually. Quite a pair. I’m not sure Lord Black knew what to do with either of them.”

“Oh, yes. If we had a Pensieve, I would happily rewatch the memory of Mr. Parker telling Arcturus he would burn Grimmauld Place to the ground if anyone dared raise a wand to the Black boys again.”

Hermione's eyes widened, a mix of exasperation and fondness washing over her. Of course, Harry would threaten to burn down an ancestral home. It was so perfectly, utterly Harry that she could picture the scene vividly in her mind.

“He also very lovingly cupped Regulus Black’s face and told him that he would be okay, completely flooded the room with raw magic, and mentioned breaking into Dumbledore’s office. Oh, and he was quite beaten and bruised. Said he got into a fight with a Rosier and friends,” Euphemia added on with a gleam in her eyes. “He really packed a lot into those few minutes.”

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, suppressing a groan. "That sounds... exactly like Henry," she managed, forcing a smile. "He has a tendency to get carried away when he's passionate about something."

"Or someone," Remus muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from Hermione.

Fleamont chuckled. "Well, he certainly made an impression. Arcturus looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, but I daresay Sirius and Regulus seemed rather pleased, if confused."

"And what of Leo?" Hermione asked, trying to steer the conversation away from Harry's antics. "I hope he didn't cause too much trouble."

Fleamont's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Ah, young Mr. Davies. Now there's an interesting lad. He was actually the one who informed us about the Summons meeting in the first place."

Euphemia nodded, a fond smile playing on her lips. "Oh yes, he sent us an owl a few days ago. He explained the situation and asked if we might come to support Sirius. Quite an eloquent letter, I must say. We might frame it.”

God, that didn’t sound good.

Fleamont chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "His exact words were that Sirius 'was an idiot, but that he had a tendency to be slightly less stupid when he had people in his corner.' We appreciated the sentiment.”

Harry’s influence was far stronger than she anticipated.

James looked bewildered. "Leo Davies? He asked you to come for Sirius? Merlin, nice of him considering he snogged Parker last weekend.”

Euphemia laughed lightly. “Yes, we heard that as well. Apparently, Sirius’ brother was also involved in something. Although Mr. Parker did tell Mr. Davies he loved him quite openly. Quite the teenage drama unfolding here at Hogwarts. I feel Minerva’s been holding out on me.”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "So, it’s going about as well as I expected then. Well, I hadn’t anticipated Henry being bruised and beaten. He’s usually a better dueler than that.”

“-He said he didn’t use magic, to make it more fair.”

“-Right, well, there you go,” she added dryly. Christ, maybe she should have gone with him.

James was still gaping at his parents. "Wait, so Leo asked you to come? And Henry threatened to burn down Grimmauld Place? What in Merlin's name is going on?"

Fleamont clapped his son on the shoulder. "It seems your new friends are quite protective of the Black boys. Can't say I disapprove, given whatever madness Arcturus is up to with his sudden decision to rename Sirius Heir. That family has never exactly prioritized their children, but this is quite the gamble considering the current political climate. I rather think Lord Black needed a reality check.”

Hermione's mind raced, trying to process all the new information. She couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and exasperation at Harry and Draco's actions.

"That's... that's good to hear," she said carefully. "Henry and Leo can be a bit... intense, but their hearts are in the right place."

Euphemia smiled warmly. "Oh, we could tell. It's refreshing to see such loyalty and passion in young people these days. Your parents must be proud.”

Hermione made a low, strangled noise in the back of her throat as the absurdity of the situation hit her like a Bludger to the chest. Here she was, standing in the Hogwarts library with both Harry's parents and his grandparents, being told that his parents must be proud. The irony was so thick she could almost taste it, bitter and sharp on her tongue.

She felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside her chest, threatening to spill out. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene. James, with his messy black hair and glasses, so like Harry during school it made her heart ache. Lily, her vibrant green eyes full of warmth and curiosity. Fleamont and Euphemia, their faces lined with laughter and kindness, looking at her with such genuine interest.

James shot his mother a worried look, quickly interjecting, "Ah — oh, um, Mum, it's just Jean and Henry. They don’t — their parents are —”

Both dead and alive. Both alive and 20 years too young. Both alive and completely clueless about their children. Both in the room with them and not at all.

Hermione swallowed hard. "It's alright, James," she said softly. "Our parents... they're not with us anymore. But I like to think they would be proud."

Euphemia's face softened with sympathy. "Oh, my dear. I'm so sorry. That must be terribly difficult."

Fleamont nodded solemnly. "You and your brother are remarkably strong. If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to ask. Mr. Davies as well.”

The genuine kindness in their voices made Hermione's chest tighten. She blinked rapidly, willing away the tears that threatened to form.

"Thank you," she managed. "That means a lot."

Remus placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Hermione leaned into the touch gratefully.

James cleared his throat, “Er, so what happened after that? Is Sirius still with his Grandfather?”

Mr. Potter's expression turned serious. "Ah, yes. Well, after young Mr. Parker's... colorful declarations, Arcturus seemed rather flustered. He dismissed everyone except Sirius and Regulus. We told Sirius we would talk with him another day. Minerva offered to let us floo or firecall back whenever we need.”

He checked his pocket watch. "Speaking of which, we should be heading out soon. We promised we wouldn't overstay our welcome."

Euphemia nodded, her warm brown eyes sweeping over the group. "It was lovely to meet you all. I do hope we'll have a chance to chat more in the future."

James bounced on his heels, clearly torn between staying with his friends and spending more time with his parents. "I'll walk you out," he offered, running a hand through his messy hair.

Hermione watched the Potters leave, her heart aching with a mixture of joy and sorrow.

Maybe Harry had the right idea after all. Life was too short, too precious to hold back. Too precious to waste on hesitation and fear.

“Remus, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Draco's mind raced as he left the Board of Governance meeting room. The encounter with Arcturus Black had been intense, to say the least. Although he couldn’t find it in himself to be too upset. Not when Harry had looked at him with so much love when he saw his grandparents there for Sirius. Or when he saw the way Regulus had looked at Potter’s entirely too affectionate declaration of support.

He wondered aimlessly for a few minutes before his feet carried him almost unconsciously to the seventh floor. Before he knew it, he was pacing in front of the blank wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. 

Draco stepped inside, finding himself in a cozy study that bore a striking resemblance to his private rooms in Malfoy Manor.

Draco sank into a plush armchair, his mind whirling. He'd pushed Arcturus hard, perhaps too hard. But seeing the man's obliviousness to the danger he was putting Sirius and Regulus in ignited something fierce in Draco's chest.

They were probably safe enough in the immediate aftermath. After all, even with the suddenness of Arcturus’ announcement, the Blacks were a known dark family; Voldemort would prefer to have them on his side. But now having met the man, Draco could see the arrogance and pride of Lord Black. The idea of either the Dark Lord or Arcturus Black acquiescing to the other seemed slim.

Draco leaned back, closing his eyes.

Unlike in their time, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was still a formidable force here. They had wealth, political connections, and magical prowess. If they stood against the Dark Lord, it could shift the balance of power dramatically.

At best, Arcturus could try to walk a neutral line, although Draco thought that still might be too defiant for the Dark Lord. Other families could, and had, gotten away with it: the Greengrasses, the Zabinis, but House Black already had most of their members pledged to the cause, officially and unofficially. The idea of allowing them to simply backtrack in neutrality…

No, Draco couldn’t imagine the Dark Lord allowing that at all.

His fingers drummed against the armrest, his mind drifting to the peculiarities of the situation. How had two of the most powerful wizards in Britain made such monumental missteps?

Arcturus Black, for all his cunning and influence, had somehow allowed his family to slip through his fingers. Draco could scarcely fathom how the man had remained so detached from the lives of his heirs. Had he truly been so consumed by all of his various positions and political responsibilities that he'd failed to notice Walburga's growing instability? Or Orion's increasing absence?

He tried to think through any other family history he knew about the patriarch during this time. Anything that might explain where Arcturus’ focus might have been the past few years, but he knew less about the man than he would have hoped.

The idea of it being as simple as busyness and ignorance was uncomfortably human, frankly.

Draco's brow furrowed as he considered the other side of the equation. How could Voldemort, with his ability to manipulate and charm, have overlooked Arcturus Black? The Dark Lord was usually adept at winning people over, especially those in positions of power. Had he assumed that having the rest of the Black family meant Arcturus was a guarantee?

The Dark Lord's arrogance had always been his downfall, but this oversight seemed particularly egregious. Arcturus Black was not a man to be swayed by the actions of others, even those within his own family.

Could it really be that simple? Two extraordinarily arrogant wizards, each so convinced of their superiority that they failed to see the other's potential threat?

It would be almost reassuring to think that two such powerful wizards were capable of mistakes of that magnitude; if only Sirius and Regulus weren’t smack in the middle of it.

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the dark strands. He wanted to lay the blame for all of this at Harry’s feet. To say that his investment in the Black brothers was wholly for that reckless, beautiful idiot, but that was a lie.

Oh, for sure, part of it was for Harry, but Draco couldn’t deny how much of himself he saw in both his cousins. How desperately he wished someone had been there for him, tried to protect him.

Draco's thoughts were interrupted by the door creaking open. He looked up to see Harry slipping inside, still battered and bruised from his earlier fight.

"Figured I'd find you here," Harry said with a lopsided grin. He crossed the room and perched on the arm of Draco's chair.

Draco hummed. “Already done?”

Potter laughed as he tossed a pair of plush multicolored socks in the air. “Yep.”

He shook his head fondly. “Surely Dumbledore must know you’re stealing his socks by now?”

Harry shrugged, his grin widening. "Oh, I’m sure he does, but I think part of him is liking this weird game we’re playing. It’s good for Albus to be reminded that he’s not God.”

Draco snorted, but couldn't help the fond smile tugging at his lips. He reached out, gently grasping Harry's wrist to examine the bruises blooming along his hand.

"So, how'd it go with old Arcturus?"

Draco sighed, leaning back in the chair. "About as well as could be expected given how stupid we both are. He's suspicious, of course. Although, the Thief's Downfall was a nice touch."

Harry's eyes widened. "Thief's Downfall? Bloody hell, that's not messing around."

"No, it's not," Draco agreed. "Though I can't say I blame him. We haven't exactly been subtle."

Harry snorted. "Subtle isn't really my strong suit."

"You don't say," Draco drawled, eyeing Harry's bruised face pointedly. “Though, I can’t say I’m too upset. He's stubborn, prideful, and utterly convinced he knows best."

“That bad?”

He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration evident in the gesture. "He genuinely believed the Dark Lord wouldn't dare touch Sirius because he's a Black. As if that matters to Him. And, I don't think he had any idea about Regulus’ Mark. Completely fucking absent, that man.”

Harry's face darkened at Draco's words. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "I had hoped...well, I guess it was naive to think Arcturus actually cared."

Draco reached out, taking Harry's hand in his own. "You're not naive. You just see the best in people. It's infuriatingly endearing. He might come around. We certainly gave him a lot to think about. We’ll have to see what Sirius and Regulus say after the meeting. They deserve better."

"They do," Harry agreed softly. His green eyes flickered with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "We all did."

Draco's breath caught at the raw honesty in Harry's voice. He tugged gently on their joined hands, pulling Harry off the arm of the chair and into his lap. Harry went willingly, settling against Draco's chest.

"You invited the Potters, huh?"

Draco groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. "Don't start. I was trying to do the right thing. Merlin knows why."

Harry chuckled softly, his breath warm against Draco's neck. "Because you're a good person, Draco Malfoy. No matter how much you try to pretend otherwise."

He scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. "Hardly. I'm selfish and calculating. This just happened to align with my interests."

"Mhm," Harry hummed, clearly unconvinced. “We should get Sorted again. I want to see if you’re not a Gryffindor the third time around.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Bite your tongue, Potter. I'd sooner kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt."

Harry laughed, the sound vibrating through Draco's chest.

They fell into a comfortable silence, Harry's weight a reassuring presence against Draco. The quiet was broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth.

“It was nice of you to show up for Regulus. It meant a lot, even if you have absolutely no boundaries at all.”

Potter hummed into his neck. "He deserves to know someone's in his corner. Especially with Sirius showing up there with the Potters. Imagine how it would have felt for him to show up and be all on his own.”

Draco sighed, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Harry's back. "They were quite early, much more than I planned. I suppose it’s good you decided to play Dad with Regulus.”

Draco felt Harry tense slightly at his words. He pulled back, meeting Draco's gaze with a hint of uncertainty.

"Was it too much?" Harry asked, biting his lower lip. "I didn't mean to overstep, I just—"

“—You absolutely did mean to overstep, you little gremlin.”

Draco's words held no bite, his eyes softening as he looked at Harry. "But no, it wasn't too much. Regulus needed that. Though I'm sure Arcturus is having kittens over it. Well, that and you threatening to burn down Grimmauld Place. He loved that.”

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, probably not my finest moment. But I meant it. I won't let them hurt Sirius or Regulus."

Draco's heart swelled at Harry's fierce protectiveness. He cupped Harry's face gently, thumb brushing over a purple bruise.

"I know you meant it. That's what worries me sometimes. You'd burn the world down to protect people you care about."

Harry leaned into Draco's touch. "Only if I had to. And you'd be right there with me, planning the whole thing so I don’t get caught.”

Draco chuckled ruefully. "Fair enough. Still, we need to be careful."

"We will be," Harry promised. His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Well, as careful as we can be while completely upending the timeline."

Draco snorted, shaking his head fondly. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He ran his fingers through Harry's hair, marveling at how the blonde strands caught the firelight. It was still jarring sometimes, seeing Harry like this. But there was no mistaking those green eyes, alight with determination and a hint of recklessness.

Harry leaned into the touch, head falling back and exposing the long line of his throat.

Draco's breath caught at the sight. His fingers tightened reflexively in Harry's hair.

"Careful, Malfoy," Harry murmured, eyes half-lidded. "Someone might think you're interested."

Draco snorted at him, even as he leaned in to kiss the Gryffindor’s neck lightly. "Me? You’ve told me you loved me a dozen times a day for the past week.”

Harry had been saying it constantly, casually dropping "I love you" into conversations as easily as breathing.

Each declaration so earnest, so freely given. It was overwhelming in its simplicity.

He could count on one hand the number of times his father had said "I love you." And he would probably still have a finger or two left over.

Harry's eyes softened. "Because I do love you, you prat." He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Draco's. "Is that okay?"

Draco's heart raced. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I... it's more than okay. I just... I'm not used to hearing it so freely."

Harry pulled back slightly, his brow furrowed. "Well, get used to it. Because I plan on saying it a lot."

He huffed out a laugh, pulling Harry’s hand up to kiss his bruised knuckles. His lips lingered, savoring the warmth of his skin.

"I love you too, you insufferable Gryffindor," Draco murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Harry's face lit up, a brilliant smile spreading across his features. He surged forward, capturing Draco's lips in a passionate kiss. Draco responded eagerly, one hand cupping Harry's face while the other gripped his waist.

They broke apart, breathless and flushed. Harry settled fully onto his lap. Those eyes, bright with mischief and desire, locked onto his. He could feel the warmth of Harry's body pressed against him, the weight of him a delicious pressure.

Draco's breath hitched as Harry shifted in his lap, sending sparks of heat through his body. He tightened his grip on Harry's waist, struggling to maintain his composure.

"We should probably head back soon," Draco murmured, his voice low. “Granger will come looking for us soon and we’ll need to confess our stupidity from earlier.”

Harry leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over Draco's jaw. “Nonsense, Hermione knows we’re idiots. We have plenty of time.”

His lips trailed along Draco's jaw, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Draco's breath hitched as Harry ground down and rocked his hips.

"Potter," Draco warned, his voice strained. "We really should-"

His words were cut off as Harry captured his lips in another searing kiss. Draco groaned, his resolve crumbling. His hands slid under Harry's shirt, fingers tracing the lean muscles of his back.

Harry pulled back, eyes dark with desire. "So, what is this room?”

"A recreation of my private study at the Manor. Thought I could use somewhere familiar to think."

Harry's eyes roamed the room with newfound interest. "It's nice. Very posh. Very you." His eyes landed on the large desk across the room. A wicked grin spread across his face. "That desk looks sturdy."

Draco's breath caught as he followed Harry's gaze. "It is," he said, his voice low and husky.

“Yeah? Wanna fuck me on it?”

“Merlin, the things you say to me, Potter.”

Sirius stormed out of the room, long strides eating up the stone corridor. "You've got to be bloody kidding me," he growled, not bothering to look back at Regulus who trailed behind him. "I've spent years— YEARS —trying to get a single person in that family to see reason and now bloody Parker and Davies made more progress than I ever have in one damn afternoon!"

"Well, you never threatened to burn down Grimmauld Place," Regulus remarked dryly.

A harsh bark of laughter tore from Sirius' throat, tasting of disbelief and bitterness. He shook his head, waves of hair falling into his face. He didn't bother to push it back.

“If I thought it would have worked, I absolutely would have threatened it. No, apparently all it takes is having the Dark Lord step on Grandfather’s toes.”

Sirius felt a curl of pleasure as he remembered the look on Arcturus' face. The way his grandfather's eyes had flashed with fury, his jaw clenching as Sirius drove the knife deeper about Voldemort's hold over the Black family. It was a heady feeling, seeing the composed mask of the great Lord Black crack under the weight of Sirius' words.

It has been too good of an opportunity to pass up. The words had hit their mark, he could tell.

They continued down the Hogwarts corridor in tense silence, the tap of their shoes against stone the only sound.

Sirius' mind whirled, replaying the absolutely mental events of the day—Fleamont and Euphemia showing up out of the blue, Davies having invited them, Parker threatening Arcturus Black himself, finding out Reggie regretted taking the Mark...

And then Grandfather apologizing. Actually bloody apologizing. And implying he may defy the Dark Lord.

It was too much. Far too much radical change and rekindled hope for one day, especially for a Black. Hope was dangerous. Hope fucking hurt when it got ripped away again. And it always did.

Sirius glanced over at Regulus walking beside him. His brother's shoulders were slumped, his grey eyes stormy and lost. But there was a new lightness to his step too, like some invisible weight had been lifted.

A pang went through Sirius — gratitude and guilt. Grateful that Parker had brought Regulus today, had stood up for him, supported him. The kind of support Sirius should have been giving him all along.

But he hadn't even thought to do it. Too wrapped up in his own drama, his own pain. Too busy being fortunate enough to have the Potters in his corner.

Merlin, the Potters. He hadn't even told them about the Summons from Grandfather. Hadn't thought they needed to know, that it mattered. But they'd found out anyway. Because of Leo Davies. The mysterious Black interloper whose boyfriend Sirius had drunkenly kissed last weekend.

He hadn’t been expecting it.

His mind flashed back to earlier, Professor McGonagall pulling him aside. "Mr. Black, if you would please follow me to my office." Her lips had been pressed together, eyes worried behind her spectacles.

Sirius had followed, confusion and dread swirling in his stomach. Had Grandfather cancelled the meeting? Decided to disown him on the spot?

But then he'd stepped into the office and frozen. Because there they were — Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. Here at Hogwarts. For him.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out.

Fleamont shot him an exasperated look. "We received a letter telling us to check on you after a Summons from Arcturus. A Summons you didn't see fit to mention, I might add. Care to explain why?"

Heat prickled up the back of Sirius' neck. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

"And really, Arcturus should have written to us directly, given you are our ward currently," Euphemia huffed. "But I suppose the man is far too stupidly proud to acknowledge that."

"Effie," Fleamont chided fondly, though the quirk of his lips showed he clearly agreed with his wife's assessment.

Euphemia stepped closer to Sirius, her eyes fierce and loving. She grasped his shoulders. "We're here now. We'll go talk to Arcturus with you - find out what in Merlin's name he wants after all this time. Make sure he knows your safety is the priority."

Fleamont nodded, moving to Sirius' other side. "Remember, you're Sirius Black. You don’t need him, not if you don't want it. You’re our son. You'll always have a home with us, no matter what.”

Sirius blinked hard against the sudden prickling in his eyes. He didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded. Let their warmth and strength seep into him.

Back in the corridor, Sirius swallowed thickly, glancing again at Regulus. His brother had never had that kind of support. And Sirius... Sirius had failed to give it to him. Some Gryffindor he was. Some brother.

It had been easier to chalk Regulus up as a lost cause and try to move on. To think that Regulus was just like the rest of them, utterly devoted to the pureblood supremacy cause. But now…

He couldn’t help but think back to the look on Regulus’ face when Grandfather brought up the new students.

“Davies and Parker look at me like a person — someone worth their time. It’s…nice.”

And then, Henry’s words from a few weeks ago came back unbidden.

“Your brother’s not a bad sort, Black. Believe me, I’ve spent the past few months annoying him as much as possible in Ancient Runes. Pissy little mouth on him, to be sure, but he’s just a kid. There’s still hope for him.”

And then, to hear Regulus say he wouldn’t take the Mark again if given the choice…

He had a lot to make up for. A lot of lost time. But he'd do whatever it took to fix this. To be there for Reggie now.

Even if it meant riding out this utter fucking insanity with Grandfather.

He slung an arm around Regulus' shoulders, ignoring his surprised flinch. "C'mon Reg," he said, hoping his voice sounded a lot more confident than he felt. "Let's go process this madness. Together."

Regulus eyed him warily for a moment before huffing. The corner of his mouth ticked up. "Fine. Someone has to keep you from losing the plot entirely."

Sirius steered Regulus into an empty classroom, shutting the door behind them with a soft click.

“Merlin's balls, Reg. What the fuck just happened?"

Regulus let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I have no bloody idea, Siri. This day has been...mental."

Sirius nodded emphatically. "Understatement of the century, little brother. I mean, Grandfather actually apologized. To us. And implied he might defy the Dark Lord. Who apparently is a halfblood? And all because Davies and Parker decided to waltz in and threaten to burn down Grimmauld Place."

Regulus shook his head in disbelief. "I know. It's...a lot to process." He paused, biting his lip. "Do you think he meant it? About protecting us?"

Sirius ran a hand over his face, his expression conflicted. "I don't know. I want to believe it, but..."

He trailed off, memories flooding back. Arcturus had always been a larger-than-life figure in their childhood. Tall, imposing, with those piercing grey eyes that seemed to see right through you. He'd been distant, yes, but not cruel.

Sirius remembered feeling both awed and terrified by his grandfather as a child.

"But it's Grandfather," Regulus finished. "And we're Blacks. Hope isn't exactly our strong suit."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Got that right."

A moment of silence passed.

"He really does want you as Heir," Regulus said quietly.

Sirius' expression darkened. “Oh, yeah, it feels wonderful. Heir on a bloody whim, just to spite Voldemort.”

"At least he wants you as Heir," Regulus said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I spent years trying to be the perfect son, the perfect Black, and for what? To be passed over because I was too obedient? Merlin, how bloody pleased he looked when you stood up to him.”

Sirius flinched at Regulus' words, guilt twisting in his gut. "Reg, I —"

"No, it's fine," Reggie cut him off, shaking his head lightly. "I get it. I'm the one who took the Mark. I'm the one who went along with everything. I’m damaged goods now. Turns out, you were right all along."

Sirius felt a surge of anger at Regulus' words. He grabbed his shoulders, forcing Regulus to look at him.

"Don't you dare say that," Sirius growled. "You are not damaged goods. You're my brother."

Regulus blinked, clearly taken aback by Sirius' vehemence.

"But I—"

"No," Sirius cut him off. "Listen to me, Reg. You made a mistake. A big one, yeah, but you were just a kid. Hell, you're still a kid. And you said it — I can’t believe you said it! That you wouldn’t do it again if you could. Gods, I was so quick to write you off. To assume all the very worst of you. I —”

Sirius' voice cracked as he continued, "I should have been there for you. I should have tried harder to protect you from all this. I'm so sorry, Reggie."

Regulus stared at Sirius, grey eyes wide with disbelief. "You... you're sorry? But I'm the one who —"

"Who was left alone to deal with Mother and Father after I ran away," Sirius interrupted. "Who had to bear the weight of being the 'good son' all on your own. Merlin, I left you. I left you alone with them because it was easier.”

Sirius felt the weight of it all pressing down on him.

“Davies and Parker look at me like a person — someone worth their time. It’s…nice.”

"It was easier to pretend you didn't exist. To live in my little bubble with the Potters and act like I didn't have any responsibilities to you anymore. Like I could just erase our entire shitty childhood if I ignored it enough. I’m just as bad as him. I left and didn’t even look back. Not even a letter.”

“It’s not the same, you still see me at school.”

Guilt gnawed at his insides. He should have been there for Regulus. Should have tried harder to protect him, to guide him away from the dark path their family had laid out. Instead, he'd been so focused on his own rebellion, on escaping the toxic grip of the Black legacy, that he'd left Reg to fend for himself.

He shook his head vehemently. "It's not enough. I should have done more. I should have tried harder to get you out too."

Regulus' eyes flashed. "And how exactly were you going to do that, Sirius? You were fifteen yourself when you left. It's not like you could have just taken me with you."

"I could have tried!" Sirius insisted. "I could have talked to you more at school, tried to convince you to leave too. Instead I just... gave up on you. And then Parker and Davies show up and do what I should have been doing all along.”

Regulus stared at Sirius for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "You're an idiot, Sirius."

Sirius blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"You're an idiot," Regulus repeated. "A noble, self-sacrificing idiot, but an idiot nonetheless."

He opened his mouth to protest.

"No, let me finish. You think you could have convinced me to leave? To abandon everything we had been raised to believe? To walk away from the chance to be Heir? Not a chance.”

Sirius fell silent, staring at Regulus with a mixture of guilt and frustration. Regulus sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, Siri. I'm not saying you're blameless. But you were a kid too. And you were dealing with your own shit. Mother's... treatment of you wasn't exactly a secret."

Sirius flinched at the mention of their mother, memories of pain and fear flashing through his mind.

He deflated, shoulders slumping. "I still should have tried."

Reg shook his head. "Maybe. But I wouldn't have listened. Not then. I was too caught up in trying to be the perfect son, in proving I was better than you."

A bitter laugh escaped Sirius. "And look where that got us."

Regulus' lips quirked in a sad smile. "Yeah, well. We're Blacks. Self-destruction is practically our family motto."

Sirius snorted. "Toujours Pur my arse."

He felt a flare of hope at the banter, a warmth blooming in his chest that he hadn't felt in years. He studied his brother's face, noting the ghost of a smile playing at Regulus' lips, the way his grey eyes had softened ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it was more than Sirius had seen in a long time.

He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to hug him. He stepped forward, arms outstretched.

Regulus' eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his face. He took a half-step back, eyeing Sirius warily. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to hug you, you prat," Sirius declared, continuing his advance.

He held up his hands defensively, a hint of amusement creeping into his expression. "Blacks don’t hug.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, Blacks also don't defy Dark Lords or apologize, but here we are. Come here, you git."

Before Reg could protest further, Sirius pulled him into a tight embrace.

Regulus stiffened for a moment, clearly unused to such open affection. But slowly, hesitantly, his arms came up to return the hug.

"This is weird," Regulus muttered against his shoulder.

"Shut up and let me have this moment," Sirius retorted, tightening his hold.

He held onto Reggie, his mind flashing back to earlier that day, to the moment when Parker had cupped Regulus' face in his hands.

"You're gonna be alright, kid," he had said, his voice low and firm.

Sirius had felt a pang of jealousy then, mixed with gratitude. Jealous that this newcomer could offer his brother the comfort he never did.

He held onto Regulus, his mind racing. He owed Parker and Davies so much. More than he could ever repay. They had waltzed into Hogwarts and accomplished in months what Sirius had failed to do for years.

He thought back to the fierce protectiveness in Henry’s eyes as he looked at Reggie. The way Davies had stood tall and unflinching before Arcturus Black, demanding better for both Sirius and Regulus. They had seen worth in his little brother when Sirius had given up hope.

He could feel Regulus' heartbeat, quick and unsteady against his chest. His brother's breaths came in short, shaky bursts, as if he was fighting back tears. Sirius tightened his hold, one hand moving to cradle the back of Reggie’s head. “You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he whispered against his ear.

Regulus let out a shaky breath, his fingers clutching at the back of Sirius' robes. "You can't know that," he whispered.

Sirius pulled back slightly, looking Regulus in the eye. "Maybe not. But I promise, Reg. I'm not leaving you alone again."

Regulus searched Sirius' face, his grey eyes wide and vulnerable. "Even if Grandfather changes his mind? Even though I'm still... Marked?"

Sirius felt a surge of protectiveness at the uncertainty in Regulus' voice. He gripped his brother's shoulders tightly, looking him straight in the eye.

"Listen to me, Regulus Arcturus Black," Sirius said fiercely. "I don't give a damn what Grandfather does or doesn't do. I don't care about that bloody Mark anymore. You're my little brother. That means something."

Chapter Text

Harry pressed his palm flat against the castle wall, letting his magic seep into the stones as he searched for his wayward ashwinder. The snake's magical signature was distinctive — a warm pulse that flickered like embers — but the bloody thing was proving frustratingly elusive.

"Where are you?" he hissed softly in Parseltongue, more to himself than any listening serpents.

He hadn't expected snake-wrangling to be part of their plan to spy on Voldemort, but he had to admit Hermione's suggestion was brilliant in its simplicity. Why try to impersonate the Dark Lord when they could use his own arrogance against him?

The wizard had no reason to think there were other parselmouths in Wizard Britain, and by all accounts, the man was obsessed with asserting his place as Slytherin’s descendent. A few extra snakes around would play right into his pride.

And because he seemed to fixate on the number seven, they got seven snakes. Of course, they hadn’t planned to get all ashwinders, but sometimes things just happened.

Now, if he could just get the damn things to stay put long enough to bond properly.

As he continued his search, his thoughts drifted to the conversation from a few days ago, remembering Sirius bursting into the boys' dormitory...

The door had barely closed behind Sirius before he was crossing the room in three long strides, wrapping Harry in a fierce hug.

Harry stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by Sirius' sudden embrace. Then he relaxed, bringing his arms up to return the hug. Sirius' grip was almost painfully tight, his breath coming in shaky gasps against Harry's neck.

"Thank you," Sirius murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Merlin, I can't believe you did that. You stood up to Arcturus bloody Black for us."

Harry leaned his head on Sirius’ shoulder, savoring the feeling. “Welcome, mate. Wasn’t much, really. Some words and a little raw magic.”

Sirius pulled back, his grey eyes shining with unshed tears. "Not much? You have no idea what you've done. You got Grandfather to actually listen. To consider going against the Dark Lord. And Reggie..." His voice cracked. "You got me my little brother back."

Harry felt a lump form in his throat at the raw emotion in Sirius' voice. He wished he could tell this teenage version of his godfather all that he had done for Harry in the future. Instead, he squeezed Sirius' shoulder. "He was never really gone. Just lost for a bit."

Sirius laughed, a watery sound that was half sob. "Lost. Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it." He squeezed Harry's shoulders once more before stepping back, wiping at his eyes.

His gaze landed on Draco, who shouldn’t have been there, but Harry figured he was basically a Gryffindor by this point. He was watching the exchange with an unreadable expression. A mischievous glint appeared in Sirius' red-rimmed eyes.

"Don't even think about it, Black," Draco warned, taking a preemptive step back.

Sirius grinned, his eyes still suspiciously bright. "Oh come on, Davies. Don't tell me you're too posh for a hug. After all, you're the one who invited the Potters.”

“Yes, so clearly I’ve done my good deed for the day. You’re welcome. Don’t ever kiss my boyfriend again.”

Despite Draco’s disgruntled expression, he hadn’t actually fought the hug that hard before James hit his limit of patience and demanded to know how the meeting went.

Harry had caught the quick look Sirius gave him as he mentioned Arcturus’ decision to look into Voldemort’s past as part of his plans for moving forward. Given the fact that Harry had rather impulsively told Regulus about Riddle’s real lineage, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots behind the look. He was thankful that Sirius was smart enough not to mention it in front of the Marauders.

Later that night, Harry sat perched on the window sill of Gryffindor tower, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers with the window cracked a tiny amount. The cool night air nipped at his skin, but he barely noticed, lost in thought as he gazed out over the moonlit grounds. The smoke curled lazily upwards, dissipating into the sky.

He heard the soft pad of footsteps behind him but didn't turn. He knew who it was without looking.

Sirius settled onto the opposite side of the window sill, his long legs folded up beside Harry's.

He offered the cigarette to Sirius without looking. The other boy took it, inhaling deeply before passing it back.

"Can't sleep?" Harry asked quietly.

Sirius shook his head. "Too much going on," he said around a cloud of smoke. "You?"

Harry shrugged. "Same, I suppose."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth. Finally, Sirius spoke.

"You told Regulus the Dark Lord was a half-blood."

It wasn't a question.

Harry tensed slightly but nodded, taking another drag from the cigarette. "I did."

His godfather studied him intently, grey eyes piercing in the moonlight. "How do you know that?"

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "It's... complicated."

"Isn't everything with you three?" Sirius said with a wry smile. His expression turned serious again. "Is this why you're here? Why you have all the secrets? Your… scars? Because you know things about him?”

Harry took a long drag, buying himself a moment to think. He exhaled slowly, blowing out a smoke ring before stubbing the cigarette against the stone wall.

"It's part of it," he admitted quietly.

Sirius nodded, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "And the rest?"

Harry gave a small shake of his head. "I can't tell you everything, Sirius. I wish I could, but I can't. It's not just my secret to tell. And it’s safer for you not to know. I know why Reg mentioned it to Arcturus, but it needs to be kept quiet for now. To protect both of you.”

He watched Sirius carefully, waiting for his reaction. The other boy was silent for several long moments, his brow furrowed in thought as he gazed out at the moonlit grounds.

Finally, Sirius turned back to Harry, his grey eyes intense. "Alright. I won't push. But just — are you in danger? Is that why you're here?"

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully. Harry felt like he was perpetually in danger, but there were levels to it. "Not... immediate danger, I don’t think. But yes, there are people who would hurt us if they knew everything."

Sirius nodded slowly.

Harry watched Sirius process this information. After a long moment, Sirius spoke again.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked quietly. "You've done so much for me and Reg already. If there's any way I can return the favor..."

Harry felt a rush of affection for his godfather.

“I’m not doing this for favors, Siri. Look out for Regulus. Try not to do anything too stupid. Be happy.”

A flicker of warmth against his magic pulled Harry from the memory. He turned down a different corridor, following the trace of the ashwinder's signature.

The whole situation with Arcturus was complicated. On one hand, having the Black patriarch openly defy Voldemort could change everything. On the other hand, they were changing things far more than they had planned.

And now Arcturus wanted to meet with them. Draco and Hermione were both mildly concerned — the man was dangerously perceptive. But they needed allies, especially ones with political power. If they could convince him about Voldemort's true heritage...

A soft sound made Harry pause. He held his breath, listening carefully.

Footsteps. Coming closer.

Harry reached out with his magic, calling the Invisibility Cloak to him. It materialized around his shoulders just as James and Lily rounded the corner, their Head badges catching the torchlight.

His heart clenched at the sight of them.

They were walking close together, heads bent in quiet conversation. Lily was saying something about patrol schedules, but her tone was warm, fond in a way it hadn't been even a month ago. James was actually listening, offering serious suggestions instead of showing off.

"That's what love looks like," a soft voice hissed near Harry's feet. He looked down to see his missing ashwinder curled in an alcove, watching the patrol with interest.

"Yes," Harry agreed quietly in parseltongue. "Those are my parents, though they don't know it."

The snake's head tilted. "Don’t be dumb. Of course, they know it. They just don’t know it.”

Harry stifled a laugh at the snake's matter-of-fact tone. "I suppose you're right," he hissed softly. "They do know it, in a way. Even if they don't understand yet."

Harry watched as James said something that made Lily laugh, the sound echoing softly in the empty corridor. His mother's hand came up to stifle the noise, but her green eyes — his eyes — sparkled with mirth.

It was so different from his other memories of them. No screaming, no desperate sacrifices, no shades conjured by magic. Just two teenagers falling in love, full of life and possibility.

"Time is strange magic," Harry told the snake. "Sometimes it gives you gifts you never expected."

The ashwinder slithered up his offered arm, settling around his shoulders under the Cloak. “You are both sad and happy, speaker.”

Harry smiled sadly as he watched his parents disappear around the corner. "Yeah," he whispered. "I suppose I am."

He stood there for a moment longer, savoring the lingering warmth of seeing his Mum and Dad together. Then he shook himself, refocusing on the task at hand.

"Come on," he hissed to the ashwinder. "Let's get you back to the others. We've got work to do."

As Harry made his way back to the Room of Requirement, his mind wandered to the upcoming meeting with Arcturus Black.

He slipped in quietly, finding Hermione and Draco waiting. The ashwinder slithered down his arm as he removed the Invisibility Cloak.

"Found the little troublemaker," Harry said, gesturing to the snake. "She was exploring the halls."

“Your nest is very large, speaker. You should be proud.”

"Hogwarts isn't exactly my nest, but I appreciate the sentiment. And my name is Harry.”

“Of course, it is your nest. Magic says so. It is a shame you are dumb, but at least you are powerful.”

Harry huffed a laugh at the ashwinder's blunt assessment. "Thanks, I think," he hissed back.

Hermione looked up from the parchment she was scribbling on. "What did they say?"

"She thinks Hogwarts is my nest and that I'm powerful but dumb," Harry replied with a wry grin.

Draco snorted. "How perceptive. She read you quickly. Does she have a name?”

Harry glanced down at the ashwinder curled around his arm. "You know, I never thought to ask. Do you have a name?"

The snake's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "Names are human things. I am fire and ash and magic."

"What about Ember? Since you're an ashwinder and all."

The snake lifted her head from his shoulder to give him what he could only describe as an unimpressed look. "That is a very obvious name, speaker."

"Well, what would you prefer?"

"My kind do not typically use names. We know each other by scent and magic."

"Yes, but if we're going to work together, I need something to call you," Harry pointed out reasonably. "How about Ash?"

The snake made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. "That is the same naming concept with fewer letters."

Harry bit back a laugh. "You're rather particular for someone who doesn't use names."

He glanced between the snake and Draco, an amused smile playing at his lips. "You know, I think you two might get along. You're both picky about names and unimpressed with my ideas."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

The ashwinder's head swiveled towards Draco, her ember-like eyes seeming to glow as she studied him. Her forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

"Who is the pretty one?" she hissed.

“He is quite pretty, isn’t he?” Harry replied. “That’s Draco. My, er, mate, I suppose?”

The ashwinder's head tilted as she regarded Draco with interest. "Draco," she repeated, seeming to test out the name.

“It means dragon.”

"Dragon. A good, strong name for a mate. He smells of magic and stars."

Harry chuckled. "He'd probably be quite pleased to hear that."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What are you two hissing about?"

"She approves of your name," Harry replied with a grin. "Says it's strong. Oh, and apparently you smell like magic and stars."

“I will be Draco as well.”

Harry blinked in surprise. "You want to be called Draco too?"

The ashwinder nodded her head. "Yes. It is a good name. Strong. Magical. I like it."

Harry glanced at Draco, who was watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Er, I'm not sure that will work. It might get confusing having two Dracos."

The snake made a noise. "Humans are easily confused. I will be Draco."

Harry stifled a laugh at the ashwinder's stubborn insistence. "Alright, how about this - we'll call you Draconis. It's the constellation Draco is named after, so you're still honoring his name, but it's different enough not to be confusing."

The snake considered this for a moment, her eyes gleaming. "Draconis," she repeated, testing out the name. "Yes, this is acceptable. I am Draconis, fire and ash and magic of the stars."

A second ashwinder, this one smaller and with a red tint to it, slithered around his feet.

“I will be Draco then.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "No, you can't all be Draco. We need different names for each of you."

The red ashwinder reared up, looking affronted. "Why not? It is a good name. Strong. Magical."

"Yes, but —"

"I will be Draco as well," hissed a third ashwinder, emerging from beneath a nearby chair.

Harry shot an exasperated look at the human Draco, who was watching the scene in utter confusion. “Want to let us in on the snake talk, Potter?”

"They all want to be called Draco now. Apparently, it's a 'strong, magical name' and they're quite insistent about it."

Draco's eyebrows shot up, a smirk playing at his lips. "Well, I can't fault their taste. Though I'm not sure how I feel about sharing my name."

Hermione looked up from her parchment, an amused glint in her eyes. "Oh, this should be interesting. How many Dracos are we up to now?”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Three so far.”

As if on cue, the remaining four ashwinders slithered out from various hiding spots around the room.

Harry groaned as the remaining ashwinders clamored to be called Draco. "This is getting out of hand. We can't have seven snakes all named Draco!"

"But it is a good name!" one insisted.

"Strong and magical," another agreed.

"Worthy of fire and ash," a third chimed in.

Harry shot an exasperated look at the human Draco. "This is your fault somehow."

Malfoy smirked. "I don't know, Potter. I rather like the idea of an army of Dracos at your command."

"You're not helping."

Hermione set down her quill, brow furrowed in thought. "What about other constellation names? It follows the Black family traditions.”

“I — Granger, are you really going to name them after all my bloody family members?”

“Shut up, Malfoy, you’re the reason we’re in this mess.”

“How is this my fault? All I did was have a name.”

"Alright," Harry said, holding up his hands to quiet the chorus of hissing. "Let's figure this out properly. You," he pointed to the first ashwinder who had started this mess, "can be Draconis since we already agreed on that."

"A strong name," Draconis agreed, preening slightly.

Harry turned to the red-tinted ashwinder who had been the second to demand Draco's name. "You're quite aggressive, aren't you? How about Mars? It’s after the Roman god of War, as well as a planet.”

The red ashwinder considered for a moment, then nodded. "Mars. War. Yes, this is acceptable. I am Mars, fire and blood."

Harry nodded, relieved to have two names settled. He looked at the third snake, whose scales seemed to shift colors in the light.

Harry studied the iridescent scales, watching as they shimmered between blues and greens. "You remind me of the Northern Lights. They’re kind of like a curtain of color in the sky. How about Aurora?"

The snake tilted its head, considering. "Aurora... yes, I like this. I am Aurora, fire of the sky."

The largest of the ashwinders slithered forward next. "I suppose I cannot be Draco either?"

"No, but Hydra might suit you," Harry suggested. “It is the largest constellation in the sky.”

The large ashwinder considered Harry's suggestion. "Hydra... many-headed serpent of legend. Yes, this is acceptable. I am Hydra, fire of many forms."

The smallest ashwinder darted between the others, demanding attention. "I want the biggest name if I cannot be Draco!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at its ambitious nature. "How about Jupiter? Biggest planet in our solar system."

The smallest ashwinder puffed up its chest, looking pleased. "Jupiter. Yes, I am Jupiter, mightiest of fires!"

"Sweet Circe, Potter, what are you telling them? They're all posturing now," Draco commented, watching the snakes preen and pose.

"Just wait," Harry replied with a grin, turning to the uninterested-looking snake that had been quietly observing.

Its scales were a deep grey, mixed with swirls of midnight blue that seemed to shimmer.

"You're quite the observer, aren't you?" Harry mused, studying the snake's calm demeanor.

The snake's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "I see no need for unnecessary dramatics," it replied coolly.

Harry chuckled. "Fair enough. You remind me of the North Star - constant, reliable, guiding without fanfare. How about we call you Polaris?"

The snake considered for a moment, its starry scales rippling in the light. "Polaris," it repeated, testing the name. "Yes, this is acceptable. I am Polaris, steady fire of guidance."

Finally, Harry turned to the last ashwinder, which had been weaving playfully between the others. "And for you, how about Lyra? It's a small constellation representing a harp — music."

The playful snake bobbed its head excitedly. "Lyra! Yes, I am Lyra, fire of song and dance!"

With all seven snakes named, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry turned to Draco and Hermione with a triumphant grin. "There, all sorted. We've got Draconis, Mars, Aurora, Hydra, Jupiter, Polaris, and Lyra."

Draco raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "Your snakes have excellent taste."

"They're not my snakes, they're their own snakes who are helping us," Harry corrected before he looked down to the crowd of serpents. “Thank you, by the way, for being willing to help.”

The ashwinders hissed their acknowledgments, several of them preening at Harry's gratitude. Draconis lifted her head regally.

"We are honored to assist such a powerful speaker," she declared. "Though you are quite dumb, you are our speaker, who smells of power and lightning and death and rebirth."

"And who has good taste in mates," Jupiter added, fixing Draco with another look.

“Merlin, but they like you, Malfoy.”

“Naturally.”

Harry snorted. "Right, well, now that we've sorted the names, perhaps we should focus on the plan?"

"Yes," Mars agreed. "Tell us more about this other speaker we are to watch. The one who thinks himself clever."

"The one who does not understand the old magics as you do," Hydra added.

"What old magics?"

"The magic that flows through you, speaker. The magic of sacrifice and love — of life and death. Ancient and powerful,” Hyrda explained. "The magic that marks you.”

Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he traced the tethers that connected him to the Hallows. To Hogwarts. To magic itself. Power thrumming beneath his skin.

He instinctively touched his lightning bolt scar, faded but still there.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

The ashwinders' perception was unsettling. He hadn't realized how much they could sense about him.

"Right," he said, shaking off the eerie feeling. "The other speaker. His name is Tom Riddle, though he goes by Lord Voldemort now. He's dangerous and powerful, but arrogant. He won't expect other parselmouths to exist, which is why we need you to spy on him."

Harry gathered the ashwinders close, explaining their mission in hushed Parseltongue, about their hunt for the Horcruxes. The snakes listened intently, their eyes glowing with interest.

"Once the bonds are fully settled, we’ll get you set in the Manors where he’s known to visit," Harry explained, "But Voldemort is dangerous. Do not engage with him directly. Simply observe and report back what you see."

Draco came over and sat next to Harry in the pile of serpents. “So, what’s the verdict? Is your army of snakes in?”

“I like this one,” Jupiter slithered around the pureblood’s hand, making her way up.

Harry chuckled as Jupiter wound her way further up Draco's arm. "They're in. Though I think 'army' might be overstating things a bit."

"Nonsense," Draco replied with a grin. "We have Mars for battle, Hydra for strategy, Jupiter for ambition... it's a proper snake army. Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Golden Boy, and his army of star snakes.”

Harry rolled his eyes fondly at Draco's dramatics. "You're ridiculous. I love you.”

“He is very pretty. And long. That is good in a mate.”

“Yes, yes, pretty and tall. I’m very lucky.”

Thank Merlin Draco couldn’t understand them. There would be no shortage of ego boosts from this lot when it came to the pureblood.

He turned to Hermione, hoping to change the subject. "So, how do we finish the bonding process with the ashwinders? Is there a final ritual or spell we need to perform?"

Hermione looked up from her notes, a thoughtful expression on her face. "You already started it. The bonding process for magical serpents is actually quite fascinating. It's not so much a specific ritual as it is a gradual strengthening of the magical connection between snake and wizard."

Harry nodded, absently stroking Lyra's scales as the small snake curled around his wrist.

Mione stood up and came over to where Harry and Draco sat surrounded by the snakes. "From what I've read, you'll need to fully share your magic with each of them. They will tether to your core and use your magic as part of their own. Then they should be able to find you no matter where you are, and you'll be able to sense them in return. The tricky part will be maintaining that bond over long distances."

Harry nodded, taking in Hermione's explanation. He closed his eyes, focusing on his magical core. He visualized tendrils of his magic reaching out to each of the seven ashwinders.

Taking a deep breath, Harry channeled his magic outward. Power surged through him, crackling along his skin like lightning. A faint taste of ozone and smoke flooded his mouth. The air around him grew thick and heavy, charged with raw energy.

He pushed more magic out, a hum growing in his ears.

“Circe’s tits, it’s stupid how powerful you are.”

Harry opened his eyes at Draco's exclamation, blinking as the room came back into focus. The ashwinders were glowing softly, their scales shimmering with residual magic.

"Did it work?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione.

She nodded, a mix of awe and concern on her face. "I'd say so. That was... intense, Harry. Are you alright?"

Harry took stock of himself, surprised to find he felt energized rather than drained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. That felt... good."

He flexed his fingers, marveling at the thrumming energy still coursing through him. The bond with the ashwinders felt like glowing threads connecting him to each snake, a comforting warmth in the back of his mind.

"It worked," he confirmed, grinning at Hermione and Draco. "I can feel them now, like little flames flickering at the edges of my magic."

“See? Powerful. Most speakers could not bond with seven serpents at once. Magic likes you.”

"Well, that was certainly something," Draco drawled, though his wide eyes betrayed his awe.

He shot the pureblood a crooked grin. “Yeah? How does the Slytherin in you like your snake-army boyfriend?”

Draco smirked, his grey eyes glinting with amusement and a hint of pride. "Oh, I'd say the Slytherin in me is quite pleased. Though I'm not sure how I feel about sharing you with seven other snakes."

“Gross. If either of you start to make innuendos about handling snakes, I’m going to permanently silence you.”

Harry laughed at Mione before shaking his head fondly at Draco. "Don't worry, you're still my favorite snake."

"I should hope so," Draco replied, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Harry's lips. "I am, after all, the original Draco."

Five days had passed since the meeting with Grandfather, and Regulus was exhausted.

It wasn't the physical kind of exhaustion - though Merlin knew he'd barely slept - but the bone-deep weariness that came from constant vigilance. From weighing every word, measuring every gesture, and watching every shadow. From pretending nothing had changed while everything had.

The common room had become a minefield. Conversations that once felt natural now felt forced — harder.

He felt exposed, raw. As if everyone could see the doubt and changes etched into his very bones.

Which was why finding the dormitory empty felt like a gift from Magic herself.

Regulus sagged against the door as it closed behind him, letting out a long breath. Everyone else was at dinner - he'd made his excuses about a headache, careful to eat just enough first to make it believable. Just a few moments of peace, that's all he needed. Just a few moments where he didn't have to be the perfect pureblood heir, the youngest Death Eater, the dutiful son.

"Four grapes isn't a proper breakfast, you know."

Regulus's wand was in his hand before he registered moving, a curse on his lips as he spun toward the voice.

He froze, his wand pointed at the intruder lounging on his bed. Leo Davies reclined against the emerald pillows as if he owned them, one long leg stretched out while the other bent casually at the knee. His black hair was artfully tousled, falling into stormy grey eyes that watched Regulus with a mixture of amusement and concern.

He looked utterly at ease, as if being in the Slytherin dormitory was a perfectly normal occurrence.

"What the fuck, Davies?" he hissed, his heart hammering in his chest. "How did you — this is the Slytherin dormitory!"

Davies raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unimpressed.

The Ravenclaw held up his hand, showing off the small ashwinder curled around his wrist. Its scales shimmered like smoke.

"There are some perks to having a parselmouth for a boyfriend," Davies drawled, a hint of pride in his voice. The ashwinder flicked its tongue out, tasting the air as it regarded Regulus with curiosity. “This is Jupiter. She’s fond of me. Parker asked her to help me bypass the password. I’m not sure Salazar Slytherin ever planned for a reckless Gryffindor who could speak Parseltongue.”

Regulus didn’t know what to do with any of that information. "You can't be here," he said finally, glancing nervously at the door. "If anyone sees you —"

Davies waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, Black. I put up privacy wards. Good ones. No one will notice anything unusual about this room."

Of course, he had. Because apparently breaking into the Slytherin dormitory wasn't enough - he had to do it competently.

"That's not the point," Regulus snapped, though he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders at the confirmation. "You can't just — this isn't —" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "What are you even doing here?"

Davies's expression softened slightly, "You've been avoiding everyone since the meeting with your grandfather. Parker's worried sick — though he expresses it by collecting an alarming number of snakes; don't ask. It’s your fault. And your brother is driving everyone mental analyzing your eating habits like they're tea leaves. Again, four grapes isn't a proper breakfast.”

Regulus felt a flicker of guilt at Davies's words. He hadn't meant to worry Sirius or Henry. He just needed space to process everything.

"I'm fine," he said automatically, then winced at how unconvincing it sounded.

"You look like death warmed over," Davies said bluntly. “It’s a bad look for us.”

Regulus glared at him. "Thanks ever so much."

"You’re welcome. Now, sit down, Black. Before you fall down. We both know you're not going back to dinner, and I refuse to have this conversation while you hover by the door like a nervous House-Elf."

Regulus wanted to bristle at the command, but exhaustion won out. He crossed the room and sank onto the edge of his bed, maintaining a careful distance from Davies.

Davies rolled his eyes before reaching out and tugging Regulus’ robe to lay beside him on the bed. "Clearly I'm spending far too much time around Parker. His complete disregard for personal space is rubbing off on me. Come here.”

Despite himself, Regulus felt more of the tension leave his body as he settled onto the emerald bedding, even if Davies felt far too close now. Jupiter the ashwinder slithered across Davies's chest to inspect him curiously.

"Oh?" Regulus asked dryly as he petted the small snake. "Does this mean you'll start using his ridiculous nicknames as well? Baby Leo? Little Star? Smaller Pretty One? That one’s new."

"Circe's tits, Parker has absolutely no boundaries at all. No wonder Rosier thought there was something going on between you two."

Regulus felt heat rise to his cheeks at the reminder of that impulsive moment. He ran a hand over his face in embarrassment, feeling mortified. “Gods, I know I already said it to Parker, but I am sorry. I panicked," he muttered. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Davies made a thoughtful noise, his voice carefully casual. "Actually, as much as it pains me to admit it, kissing Parker wasn't your worst idea. Although I would deeply prefer you never put your tongue in my boyfriend's mouth again."

Regulus sputtered. "I didn't — it wasn't —,” he buried his face in his hands with a groan. "I hate you."

"The feeling's mutual," Davies said dryly, though there was no real heat in it. "Listen, it was a dumb, stupid idea — but it wasn't the worst cover. Don’t ever do it again, but it is safer for you if the Dark Lord and his followers think you’re an idiot teenager rather than a questioning blood traitor.”

Regulus felt a wave of relief wash over him. He'd been thinking about it on and off since that day - not the kiss itself, but whether it had been the world’s worst idea or not. "You think so?"

"Yes. Though I reserve the right to hex you if you ever do it again."

"That's fair," Regulus conceded. "I've been worried about how close Parker and I seemed to be getting. People were starting to notice. At least now they think..."

“You’re making dumb decisions because you’re jealous over Sirius being reinstated?”

"Yes, exactly. It's not ideal, but..."

"But it's better than them suspecting the truth," Davies finished. He gave a hum. “Honestly, you should consider leaning into it. Play up the dumb teenage angle — your jealousy.”

Regulus bit his lip, feeling himself tense against the Ravenclaw.

“Going to deny it?”

“Deny what?”

“That you’re jealous.”

Regulus went very still beside Davies. "I'm not—" he started automatically, then stopped. He let out a long breath. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who understands what it's like to feel like you did everything right and still somehow come up short," Davies said quietly.

Regulus turned to stare at the canopy of his bed, unable to look at Davies. "He got to break every rule, abandon everything we were taught to believe in, and still win," he whispered. "And the worst part is, I'm not even angry at him anymore. Not really. I just..."

He took a shuddering breath.

"I stayed. I tried so hard to be what they wanted. To make them proud. And for what? To find out that everything I believed in was built on lies?"

"I was so stupid," he whispered. "I thought... I thought it would make them proud. That it would prove I was worthy of being the Black Heir. Instead, it did the opposite.”

He swallowed thickly. "Apparently taking the Dark Lord's brand makes you less worthy of being Heir than being a blood traitor," Regulus added with a bitter laugh. "Who would have thought?"

“Sirius got to break all the rules and still win," he repeated it again quietly. "He got the Potters, and James, and his group of misfits who seem obsessed with each other. And now Grandfather is not only accepting him back, but rewarding him for it. He gets everything."

Regulus had never verbalized the jealousy before. It felt…freeing, somehow.

"Comparison is the thief of joy," Davies said softly. Jupiter shifted between them as if sensing the weight of the conversation. "Trust me, I know. Better than most."

Regulus turned his head to look at Davies. "Do you?"

It was so weird to stare into a face that looked so much like him.

"Gods, yes." Davies let out a quiet laugh. "I spent years watching people like the Parkers get everything I wanted. Everything I thought I deserved. They had this... this unconditional love between them, this freedom to be themselves. Something about them that pulled everyone in so effortlessly. This ability to just exist without the weight of family expectations crushing them."

He paused, his voice growing softer. "I hated them for it. For making it look so easy. For having what I couldn't."

"What changed?"

"Life got really bloody awful," Davies said dryly. "Everything I thought I knew came crashing down. And somehow, through a series of terrible, chaotic events that I'm still not entirely sure I understand, I was given a chance to be part of their world." His lips quirked up. "I took it with both hands and refused to let go. Best decision I ever made, which says something, given, well, everything that went with it.”

He turned to face Regulus fully. "You have that chance now. To be part of Sirius' freedom, the Potters' warmth, this ridiculous group of misfits that somehow makes everything better. I know it's not easy. I know it feels like betraying everything you were raised to believe. But Regulus..."

Davies hesitated, then continued softly, "Maybe it's time to stop keeping score. Stop tracking who left and who stayed, who won and who lost. Maybe it's time to just... take what's being offered."

"It's not that simple," Regulus whispered turning to stare up at the canopy of the bed.

"No?" Davies asked. "Sirius told Parker he’s willing to go along with whatever madness your grandfather is planning if it means protecting you. He’s counting your grapes. The Potters asked about you in their letter to James. Parker may or may not have a star snake trailing you between classes. I broke into your dorm to check on you. Jean made you a tracking galleon. We’ll come back to that later, but my point still stands. The opportunity is there, if you can bring yourself to take it.”

Regulus turned his head sharply to look at Davies. "Sirius said that? About going along with Grandfather's plans?"

"Mm. Though I believe his exact words were 'I don't give a fuck what the old man wants as long as Reggie's safe.'" Davies's lips twitched. "He's quite dramatic about it, actually. Reminds me of someone else I know."

"Girl Parker made me a what?" Regulus asked, latching onto the other revelation.

"A tracking galleon." Davies reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden coin. "Like this one. Jean's rather brilliant with them, reworked it for you. Can be used in two ways. Either to send a message letting us know you need to talk or for emergencies, you can send your nearest Apparition coordinates to us and I’m sure Parker will come flying in in some chaotic and speculator fashion.”

Regulus stared at the coin. "You all carry these?"

"The Parkers and I do, yes," Davies's expression turned serious. "Like I said, life got bloody awful for a while there. They adapted. Having a way to call for help... it's not the worst idea."

"And you want me to have one? Even after..." Regulus touched his left arm meaningfully.

"Especially after," Davies said firmly. "The Dark Lord's not known for his forgiveness when people start questioning him. Having backup isn't weakness, Regulus. It's survival."

Regulus was quiet for a long moment, processing everything. "This is real, isn't it?" he finally asked softly. "All of it. You're really offering to help me. They're really willing to... to what? Save me?"

"Whether you want it or not, apparently," Davies said with a slight smirk. "Parker's rather determined about it. But yes, it's real. The question is: are you willing to let us?"

He stared at the golden galleon in Davies' hand, his mind racing. The weight of the offer settled over him - not just a tracking device, but a lifeline. A connection to people who, against all odds, seemed to care about his wellbeing.

"I..." Regulus swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. "I don't know if I deserve it."

Davies rolled his eyes as he slid an arm under Regulus’ head, pulling him in closer. “Merlin, but it should be easy enough to play up the dumb teenager idea.”

Regulus shifted slightly, turning to look at Davies even as he remained tucked against the Ravenclaw's side. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For coming here. For what you said to Grandfather. For caring, even if it's bloody annoying that you won't tell me who you actually are."

Davies laughed softly. "Oh? And who do you think I am today? Parker was the Dark Lord’s secret son. What does that make me? His cousin?"

"No," Regulus huffed. "Though you're certainly something. No one just shows up looking exactly like me and knowing all the inner workings of the Dark Lord's followers."

"Ah, but haven't you heard?" Davies drawled. "I'm Marius Black's son."

Regulus snorted. "Right. The squib's son. Who just happens to be a perfect pureblood and knows more about the Dark Lord than most of his inner circle." He paused, then added more seriously, "Grandfather wants to meet with you again, by the way. And the Parkers."

"Yes, so we heard from Sirius,” he said, amusement evident in his voice. “I look forward to seeing Arcturus Black try to corral the terror that is Henry Parker, especially with his sister with him. Your grandfather has no idea what he's in for."

Regulus felt a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He hesitated before asking, "Do you think... do you think Grandfather will really go against the Dark Lord?"

Davies was quiet for a moment, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Regulus' arm. "I think," he said slowly, "that Arcturus Black is a deeply prideful man. And pride can be a powerful motivator when properly leveraged."

“Arcturus Black bows to no one."

Davies nodded. “Arcturus Black bows to no one,” he repeated. “Things would have been easier if your grandfather had been involved all along. His absence from your lives lately was unfortunate for many reasons. Now Lord Black is playing defense.”

"What do you think will happen?" Regulus asked quietly. "If Grandfather does oppose Him?"

Davies was silent for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "Chaos," he said finally. "The Dark Lord won't take kindly to losing the crown jewel of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

Regulus felt a chill run down his spine at Davies' words. He knew the other boy was right — the Dark Lord's wrath would be terrible if the Blacks turned against him. And yet...

Leo had a small, pleased smile on his face, holding his hand up over their heads as Jupiter slithered around his wrist, her scales shimmering in the dim light of the dormitory. The sight of the small ashwinder curled around the Ravenclaw's arm was oddly comforting.

“I suppose it’s good we have chaos incarnate on our side.”

Arcturus Black sat at his mahogany desk, a stack of unfinished letters before him. Writing to Fleamont and Euphemia Potter about their guardianship of his grandson felt like swallowing glass.

To Lord and Lady Potter,

I write to you regarding the need to discuss Sirius’ future and safety as Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black...

He crumpled the parchment, tossing it aside with the others. How did one properly thank the people who had taken in your grandson after your own family had tortured him? After you had done nothing to stop it?

The door to his study creaked open. Arcturus didn't need to look up to know it was Lucretia. His daughter had always had impeccable timing when it came to his moments of weakness.

“Still in England? Weren’t you due to leave on Monday?” he asked without looking up.

“I had Iggy cancel the Portkey. You clearly need some help.”

She settled into one of the leather chairs across from his desk. “Ready to tell me how the Summons went? You’ve been in fine form since it.”

"I don't recall asking for your help," Arcturus said stiffly, finally looking at his daughter. She had their coloring — the same steel grey eyes and dark hair of House Black. The same proud tilt to her chin that he saw in Sirius.

Lucretia's lips curved into a familiar smirk. "No, you never do. That's rather the problem, isn't it?"

"I have everything well in hand."

"Do you?" She leaned forward, studying him intently.

He felt his anger flare. “Why the sudden interest, Lucretia? Go to France or Italy or wherever it is that Ignatius is teaching next and leave me to my work.”

“His work has nothing to do with this,” Lucretia shot back. "Although perhaps if we had stayed, things wouldn't have gotten quite so out of hand with Walburga."

Arcturus slammed his hand on the desk. “I had quite enough of being reminded of my failures. I do not need you to add to it. Especially when we’ve seen remarkably little of you. You’ve spent barely more than a month in England over the past five years. You wouldn’t be here if I had not sent out the family Summons. Don’t pretend to suddenly care about your nephews now — care about the family now.”

Lucretia's eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't you dare accuse me of not caring about those boys," she hissed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to pretend you were unaware of Sirius’ living with the Potters? Of Walburga claiming Regulus as Heir these past few years? At yet, you were nowhere to be seen.”

He gave a bitter laugh as looked at her. “More your father’s daughter than you care to admit.”

Lucretia went still at his words, her face draining of color before flushing with fury. "You want to talk about being a father? Fine. Let's talk about how you've handled your son."

"Leave Orion out of this."

"Why should I? You've left him to his own devices for years! Let him drown himself in firewhisky while his wife tortured their eldest son. And now? Now you have one grandson living with another family and the other is being circled by the Dark Lord, one step away from joining him entirely, if Bellatrix’s words from the family dinner are to be believed.”

Arcturus felt each word like a physical blow, but his voice remained cold. "He’s an adult. I trusted him to handle his own family affairs."

"And how spectacularly that worked out," Lucretia sneered. "Tell me, Father, what was it about the Summons that finally opened your eyes? What did those children say to shake the great Lord Black so thoroughly?"

"I would thank you to remember your place."

"My place?" Lucretia stood, hands gripping the edge of his desk. "I am your daughter, and those boys are my blood. Perhaps if you had remembered your place as their grandfather instead of focusing solely on being Lord Black, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"You dare lecture me about family duty?" Arcturus' voice was dangerously soft. "When you've spent years avoiding England entirely? At least I was here."

"Here?" Lucretia laughed bitterly. "You call sitting in this study while Walburga terrorized Sirius being 'here'? While she and Bella are grooming Regulus for their precious Dark Lord?"

"I did not know—"

"Because you didn't want to know!" Lucretia's voice cracked with emotion. "It was easier to pretend everything was fine. To tell yourself Orion could handle it. That it wasn't your place to interfere. Well, how did that work out, Father?”

Arcturus slammed both hands on the desk as he stood. "And where were you? Running around Europe with Ignatius because you couldn't bear to face your own problems?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he had gone too far. Lucretia recoiled as if struck, her face a mask of pain before hardening into fury.

"My problems?" Her voice was deadly quiet. "You mean my inability to have children? Yes, let's talk about that, Father. Let's discuss how I couldn't bear to stay and watch Walburga parade her sons around while I—" She cut herself off, hands clenching into fists.

Arcturus felt the weight of his years settle heavily upon him. The anger drained away, leaving only a bone-deep weariness in its wake.

"Lucretia," he said softly, all the fight gone from his voice. "I'm sorry. That was —”

"Don't," she said, her voice tight. "Just... don't."

She took a deep breath, visibly composing herself. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, though still laced with tension.

"What's done is done. We can't change the past." She took a deep breath. “Now it’s time for you to admit you can’t do it all on your own. Not with Mother gone. Not with Uncle Regulus gone. Not with Orion lost to the bottle. You need help.”

"Tell me what happened at the Summons," she said softly. "What did those children say to shake you so thoroughly?"

Davies' words continued to ring out in his head, even days later.

“You are the head of this family, but you are also their grandfather, and you've failed them on both fronts.”

“Regulus is already Marked.”

Lucretia went very still, the color draining from her face. "What?"

Arcturus paused, weighing how much to reveal. The humiliation of it all burned in his chest — how thoroughly he had been dressed down by youths, how much they seemed to know about his family's failures. How a Mudblood had shown more care for his grandson than he had.

"Sixteen years old," he said finally, his voice hollow. "My grandson. Branded like common cattle at sixteen. He’s terrified."

But that wasn't the whole truth, was it? There was more — so much more. The way Regulus had walked into his office that day alongside Henry Parker, looking both defiant and terrified. How the Mudblood had touched his grandson with such casual affection, promising to protect him. The way Regulus had leaned into it, starved for comfort.

And Davies... Merlin, but the boy was the spitting image of Regulus. He had walked into that office and systematically torn apart every plan Arcturus had built, every excuse he had made for his negligence.

"There's more," Lucretia said, studying his face. "What aren't you telling me?"

Arcturus closed his eyes. How did he explain that these children seemed to know more about his family than he did? That Davies spoke of the Dark Lord's methods like he had lived them, that Parker apparently knew secrets about the man's very bloodline?

"The situation is... complicated," he said carefully.

"Complicated how?"

He could tell her about Davies' uncanny resemblance to Regulus, about Parker's raw display of power. About how they had thrown his failures in his face with devastating accuracy. About how they seemed devoted to protecting his grandsons, even from their own family.

But the words stuck in his throat. The great Lord Black, brought low by teenagers. Made to face his own negligence through their intervention.

"Father." Lucretia's voice was sharp. "Stop trying to preserve your dignity and tell me what's happening to my nephews."

He exhaled.

"Davies looks exactly like him," Arcturus said, the words tumbling out. "Like Regulus. Moves like a pureblood, speaks like one. Called me an arrogant fool for not being there. For not seeing the potential danger.”

He laughed bitterly. "Then that Parker boy showed up with Regulus. A Mudblood with more raw power than I've ever encountered, promising to burn down Grimmauld Place if any harm came to either of my grandsons. And Regulus... Regulus seemed to trust him. Found comfort in his presence."

"What?"

"Both of them, Davies and Parker, they've been watching over Sirius and Regulus while I sat in my study pretending everything was fine. It was quite apparent both of them trust the new students fully. Enough to spill family secrets."

"And Sirius?" Lucretia pressed.

Arcturus felt a ghost of a smile cross his face. “Infuriatingly perceptive. Not at all afraid to drive the knife in further about the Dark Lord’s hold over this family.”

Lucretia absorbed this information silently, her brow furrowed in thought. “You still have no idea who Leo Davies is? He really looks that much like Regulus? He didn’t give any additional information?”

“Oh, he enjoyed telling me he was Marius’ son,” Arcturus scoffed. “Irritating boy.”

His jaw clenched. "Someone in this family is lying. The resemblance is too strong for coincidence. He has our eyes, our bone structure. Moves like a pureblood. Even that damned Black pride."

"You think he's Orion's?"

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I would believe it, given the uncanny resemblance. It would help explain his dedication to Sirius and Regulus. But if he is, I doubt Orion knows it. There’s no way he could hide something like that for so long.”

Lucretia's eyes narrowed. "And you're certain he's not actually Marius' son?"

Arcturus barked out a laugh. "A squib's son with that much magical power and pureblood training? No, he’s someone’s bastard.”

"And yet you can't figure out whose," Lucretia mused. "Would make sense for him to claim Marius as his father then. No one would think to look further if they believed he came from a squib."

Arcturus paused, considering this. "Perhaps. However that doesn't explain his knowledge of Death Eater operations. He truly seems to think he knows how the Dark Lord would react to my naming Sirius as Heir."

"What do you mean?"

"He called me an arrogant fool. Said I've painted a target on both their backs." His fingers drummed on the desk.

"Could he be one of them? A Death Eater?"

"A Death Eater who spends his time protecting my grandsons from the Dark Lord's influence? Who follows around a Mudblood boy with enough power to rival Dumbledore himself?" Arcturus scoffed. "No, there's something else at play here."

He shook his head. "Besides, you should see him with Parker. Completely smitten. It's like watching a pureblood heir throw away everything for a Mudblood, except..." He trailed off, frowning.

"Except what?"

"Except Parker is no ordinary Mudblood. The raw power that boy possesses... And he knows things too. About the Dark Lord. Things that could get him killed if the wrong people found out."

"What kind of things?"

Arcturus hesitated. "The kind that makes me question everything I thought I knew about this movement our family’s been supporting. The kind that makes me wonder if we've all been played for fools."

Lucretia leaned forward. "Tell me."

"Not yet." He shook his head. "Let me confirm a few things first. But suffice it to say, if Parker is right about the Dark Lord's true heritage..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Well, the irony would be something to behold."

"Father—"

"No." His voice was firm. "Some things need to be verified before they're spoken aloud. Especially with Regulus already Marked. The less you know for now, the better."

Lucretia's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm not some fragile flower that needs protecting."

"No, you're my daughter who's finally come home. And I'll not risk losing you again by sharing information that could get you killed." He picked up his quill. "Now, are you going to help me with these letters or not?"

Chapter Text

James couldn't stop grinning as they made their way down the path to Hogsmeade, occasionally stealing glances at Lily beside him. She looked beautiful bundled up against the winter chill that had suddenly swept in this week, her red hair a vibrant contrast against her cream-colored scarf. His heart still skipped when he remembered how she had been the one to ask him out.

After years of grand gestures and public declarations, all it had taken was Henry Parker stumbling into their lives, high on too much calming draught, for Lily Evans to finally see him differently.

"Would you stop staring at Evans like she hung the moon?" Sirius called out from where he walked with Peter and Marlene. "It's embarrassing, mate."

"Oh, leave him alone, Black," Marlene laughed. “I’m sure someday you’ll find someone to look at you with something more than thinly veiled annoyance.”

James felt his cheeks warm, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from Lily. "Can't help it," he said, loud enough for Sirius to hear. "Have you seen her? She's gorgeous."

Lily rolled her eyes, but James caught the hint of a smile on her lips. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter," she said, but her tone was light.

Sirius made a gagging noise. “Gods, between you two and the swots over there, it’s going to be a day.”

"Piss off, Pads," Remus shot back, though James noticed his friend wasn't doing much better with his own moon-eyed looks at Jean. The curly-haired witch was deep in conversation with Davies, who seemed to be complaining about her brother's absence.

“Yeah, where is Henry?” James asked, looking at them. “Normally he and Davies are the ones doing the heart eyes.”

Davies let out a long-suffering sigh. "Well, I let him out of my sight for five minutes earlier today, so at this point, I can’t even guarantee he’s in Hogwarts. Could be off in London for all I know."

Marlene cooed at him in sympathy. "Aww, poor Leo. All stood up by his little whirlwind gremlin. What number date is this one then for Parker to leave you on your own?”

Davies blinked, caught off guard by the question. His dark brow furrowed as he seemed to consider it for the first time. "I... well, I suppose it could be considered..." He trailed off. “I don’t think we’ve officially gone on a date, actually.”

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. “Just jumped straight to the declarations of love and never thought to ask the bloke on a date?”

The Ravenclaw turned to Jean. "Should I have asked him? Is that something I should have done?"

"Bit late for that, isn't it?" Sirius laughed. "You two have had plenty of dates if you count you following him around like a lost puppy while he systematically destroys everyone's carefully constructed worlds."

"That's not—" Davies started to protest, then paused. "Well, I suppose that's not entirely inaccurate."

Jean patted his arm sympathetically. "If it helps, I don't think Henry's noticed either."

"That doesn't help at all, actually."

"Look at him spiral," Marlene laughed. "All this time snogging in broom closets and declaring undying love, and he's worried about proper dating protocol."

“Gods, I wish it was just snogging,” Jean grumbled under her breath.

"Speaking of," Peter interjected. "Isn't that your boyfriend running this way?"

They all turned to see Henry sprinting down the path, his hair wild and his grin wide. Without breaking stride, he launched himself onto Davies' back, wrapping his legs around his waist, forcing the taller wizard to give him a piggyback ride.

“Where have you been?” Jean asked.

"Hey, was I supposed to ask you on a date at some point?" Davies asked at the same time, his hands automatically moving to secure Henry's legs.

His boyfriend shrugged against his back. "No idea. I already love you. Are dates still a requirement?"

Davies chuckled, shifting under the weight, hiking the blonde higher. "I suppose not. Though maybe we should try one, just to say we did."

"Boring," Henry declared, resting his chin on Davies' shoulder. “Let’s break into Gringotts instead.”

Jean shot her brother an exasperated look. "For Merlin's sake, Henry."

"What? It was just a suggestion!"

"Not sure it was," Davies muttered, though his lips twitched with poorly suppressed amusement.

“Is that a no, then?”

"I worry about you two, I really do," Lily laughed, shaking her head. "Most couples start with dinner. You lot jump straight to criminal activities."

"In their defense," Remus added with a grin, "dinner does sound a bit tame when you consider their general day-to-day activities.”

Henry laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "See? Moony gets it.”

Remus' eyes widened, a pleased smile spreading across his face at Henry's casual use of his nickname. James caught the way Jean's expression softened watching the two of them.

He thought about how much had changed in just a few months. It was remarkable how quickly the three transfer students had become an essential part of their group.

Davies adjusted his grip on Henry's legs. "How about we compromise? Hogsmeade first, then a nice, legal activity that doesn't involve breaking into anywhere?”

Henry leaned forward over Davies' shoulders, nearly toppling them both. “Oh, can the activity be terrorizing my bloody sister? Because someone hid all my cigarettes.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jean replied primly, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Liar! I've looked everywhere! Even the House-Elves haven't seen them, and they love me."

"Is there anyone in this bloody school who doesn’t love you?" Davies muttered.

“No,” Parker shot at his boyfriend. “I’m a delight. And they were kind enough to make me several cups of coffee, unlike some people I know.”

Davies groaned dramatically. "Circe’s tits, I told them never to do that. You're already a terror. The last thing you need is extra caffeine in your system."

"Yeah, I’m great.” Henry's eyes narrowed at Jean. “Anyway, I know you took them. You've been threatening to for weeks."

"And you should have listened," Jean retorted, her tone sharp but her eyes glinting with amusement. "It's a filthy habit, and you know it. You’re ruining your lungs.”

"It's my filthy habit. And they’re my lungs," Henry whined. "You can't just decide I'm quitting cold turkey. That's cruel and unusual punishment."

“I didn’t leave you cold turkey! I’m happy to give you a cigarette as needed while we wean you down. You just need to ask when you need one.”

Henry's eyes widened in outrage. "You're rationing me? I don’t even smoke that much. Let me just keep them.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. "You smoke enough. And perhaps you should have thought about that before you decided to spread the habit around.”

Parker gave a frustrated huff. “C’mon! It’s better than the binge drinking I did for a bit there. Don’t I get credit for that?”

James' steps faltered for a second at Parker's casual response. The easy way Henry joked about it hit James like a punch to the gut. He was reminded, suddenly and sharply, of the haunted look he sometimes caught in Parker's eyes, the nightmares, the scars.

Parker was far too young for whatever had led him to this point. They all were. James glanced at Davies, noting the way his hands gripped Henry's legs just a little harder. Jean's lips had pressed into a thin line, her usual warmth dimming for just a moment.

He grabbed Lily’s hand.

She squeezed his back, sensing his sudden shift in mood. She glanced at him, concern in her green eyes.

"Alright?" she asked softly.

James nodded and took a deep breath.

"That's a remarkably low bar you're setting there, and I didn’t let you keep doing that either," Jean continued on. "And it doesn't mean I'm going to sit back and watch you destroy your lungs. Or get other students hooked.”

Parker’s brow furrowed in confusion.

"Wait, do you mean Sirius?" Henry exclaimed. “He bloody well smoked before I got here!”

Jean huffed. “Yes, well, I’m not his sister. But I can at least try to keep you from sharing cigarettes back and forth with him. And there was Connors in Hufflepuff!”

Parker huffed. “I’ve given him like 3 cigarettes ever. That can’t possibly count!”

“And Phelps,” Lily added, shooting the blonde a look.

He gave her an affronted look. “Oi! Were you in on this?”

Lils rolled her eyes. “I’m Head Girl, Parker. And you’ve been smoking in front of me and the Head Boy for months.”

“The Head Boy,” Parker started, “charmed all the Slytherins’ hair red and gold last week!”

James grinned despite himself. "That was a brilliant bit of magic, if I do say so myself."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “So modest, our Head Boy.”

“Alright, I hope everyone is bloody prepared to experience me in nicotine withdrawals. You all can thank Mione for that,” Parker threatened from his perch. “And Lily, apparently.”

Lily's eyes flashed with a mix of exasperation and fondness. "I'm not sorry for wanting you to have a long life, Henry. You deserve that much.”

For a moment, Parker’s grin faltered. A shadow passed over his face, his eyes darkening with an emotion James couldn't quite place. Grief? Fear? It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual cheeky smile.

"Yes, well, I'm going to be absolutely awful," Henry declared. "Might even skip straight past the breaking into Gringotts idea and go right to breaking into the Ministry."

"Don't even joke about that," Jean warned.

"Who's joking? I'm going to be bored and irritable. Might as well overthrow the government."

Davies tilted his head back to look at him. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet you love me anyway."

"Merlin knows why."

"Because I'm delightful," Henry declared, pressing a kiss to Davies' cheek. Then he turned back to his sister. "Last chance to give them back before I become everyone's problem."

Jean held up a bag full of lollipops. "Nice try. But no. Here, to help give you something to transition."

Henry eyed the bag of lollipops with disdain. "You're joking, right? What am I, five?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Jean muttered, but she tossed him the bag anyway.

Henry caught it one-handed, still balancing on Davies' back. He rummaged through the bag, pulling out a bright red lolly. "Fine. But I'm not going to be happy about it."

"Noted," Jean said dryly.

Davies adjusted his grip on Henry's legs with a sigh. "I suppose it's too much to hope for a quiet Hogsmeade trip?"

"Yes, and it’s too late, you already love me," Henry reminded him. "No take-backs now."

James watched as Davies' mock exasperation melted into pure fondness. "Wouldn't dream of it," the taller boy murmured, just loud enough for them to hear.

“And we’ve come full circle on the moon-hanging looks.”

Henry unwrapped the lollipop and popped it in his mouth, his face scrunching up. He leaned forward, resting his chin on Davies' shoulder again.

“So, are we all on some weird couples date then?”

Padfoot groaned. “I hope so. It’ll be better than whatever the bloody hell my Grandfather wants with me today.”

“I would prefer to have my own date with Jean, thank you very much.”

Parker shoved his lollipop towards Remus. “Well, it’s nice to want things, Lupin. But as I told Davies when he declared his undying love for me, Mione and I are a package deal so you won’t be doing anything alone ever again, actually.”

Draco was going to murder Hermione Jean Granger.

He watched in thinly veiled agony as Harry swirled another bloody lollipop around with his tongue, those impossibly green eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled Draco from shop to shop. The insufferable git knew exactly what he was doing — deliberately swirling the candy, letting it hollow his cheeks, making obscene little humming noises of contentment.

It didn't help that Potter looked absolutely devastating today.

The bastard had foregone his school robes entirely in favor of those tight Muggle jeans that hugged his thighs in ways that should be illegal, ripped at the knees in a way that should have looked stupid, but somehow didn’t. His dragonhide boots — and wasn't that just perfect, that even his Muggle fashion included a bit of magical flair — gave him an extra inch of height. Some Muggle band's logo (AC/DC his mind supplied in Potter’s voice) was splashed across his fitted black t-shirt, half-hidden under what Potter had called a 'military jacket' when Draco asked.

It was all entirely impractical for winter weather; bloody warming charms.

The whole ensemble was completed by that damn fang earring, glinting against his dyed blonde hair that was chronically tousled in a way that suggested he'd just been thoroughly snogged.

It was a far cry from the baggy hand-me-downs of their early Hogwarts years. This Harry Potter knew exactly how good he looked.

Sometimes Draco still couldn't believe this was his life now.

After everything he'd done, every wrong choice he'd made, he didn't deserve this kind of happiness. He was sure he could spend the rest of his life trying to atone for his sins and still not be worthy of the way Harry's eyes softened when they met his across a room.

Gods, but he'd wanted this for so long — wanted Harry's friendship since that first day of school, though he'd gone about it all wrong. He'd spent years watching Potter from across the Great Hall, analyzing his every move. First out of rivalry and spite, then out of desperate necessity during the war, terrified of what one wrong step would mean for his family.

And now? Now he was still watching Harry's every move, but instead of fear and anger churning in his gut, it was fondness and exasperation as the git deliberately tormented him with a bloody lollipop of all things.

"Something wrong, Davies?" Harry asked innocently, pulling the lollipop from his mouth with an obscene pop.

Draco's jaw clenched. "I hate you."

"Funny way of showing it," Harry grinned, pressing closer as he guided them into Gladrags. "Especially after this week."

And there it was — the reminder of how absolutely wrecked Draco had been since his visit to check on Regulus. Apparently, using one of Potter’s star snakes to break into the Slytherin dorms to check on his “baby cousin” had done something to Potter's brain, because the menace hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself since.

Not that Draco was complaining. Much. Or at all.

How could he, when checking on Regulus gave him a chance to hopefully help his older-younger cousin avoid the fate that had haunted Draco's own steps?

He looked at Regulus and saw himself, literally and figuratively — saw all that desperate need to please, all that pride and fear tangled up together. But where Draco had been alone, drowning under the weight of expectations and terror, Regulus had them now. Had Harry and his savior complex the size of Hogwarts, had Hermione's brilliant mind working to keep them all safe, had Draco himself to guide him away from the mistakes that had nearly destroyed him.

It was mad, really. Here he was, twenty years in the past with no way back, plotting the downfall of a Dark Lord he once served, and somehow he'd never felt more free. More unburdened.

Even with another war looming and the Black family watching him, everything felt different with Harry and Hermione by his side. No more scrambling alone in the dark, no more watching his every step in terror. No more listless days after the war, watching the glares and the disdain of people on the street.

If someone had told his sixteen-year-old self that one day Harry Potter would look at him like that — like he hung the moon and stars, like he was something precious and wanted — while deliberately trying to drive him mad with a bloody lollipop of all things, past-Draco would have hexed them on principle. But now...

Now he watched as Harry's tongue darted out to lick the corner of his mouth, watched the way the movement made his earring catch the light, and Draco felt his brain short-circuit. Potter was going to be the death of him.

"You can't even be going through withdrawals yet," Draco pointed out as Harry deliberately swirled his tongue around the candy. "You're just doing this to torture me."

Harry's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Maybe. Is it working?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is distinctly unfair."

"What's unfair?" Harry asked with faux innocence, hollowing his cheeks around the lollipop again. "I'm just enjoying the gift my thoughtful sister provided as a healthy alternative to my 'filthy habit.'"

"You're enjoying something alright," Draco muttered. "And none of it has to do with quitting smoking."

His eyes narrowed as Harry continued his teasing, the Gryffindor deliberately licking a stripe up the side of the lollipop.

"You know," Draco said, his voice low and rough, "I'm starting to think we've seen quite enough of Hogsmeade for one day. Let’s go back to the castle.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh no you don't. We're on our first official date, remember?”

He grabbed Draco's hand, tugging him further into Gladrags. "Come on, I want to see you try on those fancy dress robes you've been eyeing."

Draco’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t been looking at anything. “I don’t need any bloody dress—”

Before he could protest, Harry was weaving them through racks of shimmering fabrics, dodging other shoppers with practiced ease.

"What are you—"

"Trust me," Harry said, his voice low.

Potter finally came to a stop in the back corner of the shop. In one fluid motion, he pulled them both into the narrow changing room.

The door clicked shut behind them, and suddenly Draco found himself pressed against the wall, Harry's body flush against his. He could already feel Potter’s magic building.

"What happened to shopping?" Draco managed, his voice embarrassingly breathy.

Harry's lips curved into a wicked grin. "Got bored. Found something more interesting."

His fingers trailed along Draco's jaw, leaving fire in their wake. Draco's heart hammered in his chest. He should push Harry away, remind him they were in public. Anyone could walk in.

“Put one of your bloody fucking privacy wards up, at least.”

Harry's grin widened and Draco felt the bubble of magic flare out without a single word or gesture. It was frustratingly hot. He was so annoying.

The last of his resolve crumbled. He surged forward, capturing Harry's lips in a searing kiss. Harry responded eagerly, pressing Draco harder against the wall before pulling back. He raised his hand, twirling the candy around lightly.

“Open.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sharing your bloody lollipop, Potter.”

Harry laughed as he leaned in, nose trailing along Draco’s jaw. “So fucking posh, Malfoy. Given where my mouth is going to be a minute, swapping saliva seems pretty tame.”

Draco's breath hitched. "Merlin, Harry," he groaned, head falling back against the wall with a dull thud.

It was mad, really. That all it took was getting thrown back in time, following Harry Potter around like a lost Crup, and letting himself be dragged into increasingly chaotic schemes to finally feel like he was exactly where he was meant to be. Even if where he was meant to be was apparently being tormented in a changing room at Gladrags.

Potter was entirely too bloody good at this.

Harry's lips curved into a wicked grin against Draco's neck. "Is that a yes?"

In response, Draco parted his lips. Harry slipped the lollipop into Draco's mouth, eyes darkening as Draco's tongue swirled around it.

"Good boy," Harry murmured before he sank to his knees.

Potter was going to be the death of him.

***

Draco’s legs still felt a touch unsteady under him as Potter dragged him back onto the main street. “I’m not sure we’re doing a good job at dating.”

Harry grinned at him, picking another bloody lollipop out of the bag Granger gave him. “What do you mean? Fantastic date so far. Ten out of ten. Let’s go bug Mione.”

Draco watched as Harry unwrapped the new sweet, unable to stop the fond smile that tugged at his lips even as he shook his head in exasperation.

Still, he thought as he let Harry pull him along the street, maybe they could do both.

For all that Potter didn't do anything normally — for all that their relationship had started with time travel and war planning and saving his teenage cousins — maybe a real date would be nice. Something traditional.

Something to show Harry that for all the chaos that seemed to follow him everywhere, Draco wanted this to be real.

Severus settled into the corner booth of the Three Broomsticks, letting the shadows partially obscure his face as he watched the rest of the party arrive. Lucius swept in first, every inch the pureblood lord in his immaculate robes, Narcissa Black on his arm like a prize. Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers followed, commanding attention with their mere presence.

The effect was immediate. Heads turned, conversations hushed, and within moments the first of many purebloods approached their table.

"Lord Malfoy, what an unexpected pleasure..."

"Lady Lestrange, you look radiant as always..."

"Miss Black, I heard congratulations are in order regarding your upcoming nuptials..."

He watched it all with hungry eyes, drinking in the way these powerful wizards and witches fawned over his companions. This — this was why he had joined the Dark Lord's cause. Not just for power, though that was certainly part of it, but for respect. To be more than Tobias Snape's worthless son, more than that poor halfblood from Spinner's End with the secondhand robes and the broken mother.

"Your latest modifications to the bone-breaking curse have pleased our Lord greatly, Severus," Bellatrix purred as they settled around the table, her eyes glittering with a familiar fervor. "Such delicious improvements to the spell's power."

Pride swelled in his chest, though he kept his face carefully neutral. "Happy to serve," he murmured, inclining his head slightly.

Lucius nodded approvingly. "Indeed. Your talents continue to impress, Severus.”

Severus nodded his thanks, basking in the praise. He watched as Lucius signaled the server, ordering a round of drinks with casual authority. The young witch hurried to comply.

Narcissa cast a silent privacy charm as she traced the rim of her wine glass, her fingers adorned with glittering rings. Her golden hair cascaded over one shoulder in an elegant wave. “How are you finding your seventh year, Severus? And you, Rabastan?”

"Tedious," Rabastan drawled, leaning back in his chair. “If I have to continue to listen to Rosier talk about either one of your bloody cousins, I’ll obliviate myself.”

Severus couldn’t help the light snort that escaped him. Evan had been paying particular attention to Regulus this year. It was…annoying, even if Regulus deserved it.

The younger Black brother had been making odd decisions lately.

Regardless, he liked Regulus well enough. He was one of the few purebloods who had never made Severus feel like he needed to grovel for acceptance. “Yes, Rosier’s little obsession with Regulus has become increasingly annoying. Black should remind him of his place.”

Lucius gave a hum as he took a sip of his drink. “Like father, like son, then. Liam Rosier is a horridly obnoxious man. I don’t care how much he supports the cause.”

Bellatrix’s fingers stilled on the table. “Evan has made a point to mention some of Regulus’ questionable choices lately.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Severus. “Did he really kiss the Mudblood transfer student?”

Regulus owed Severus.

"Yes," he confirmed, his lip curling slightly. "Regulus has been playing some sort of game with the transfer student. Your irritating blood-traitor cousin has been fawning over the idiot blonde since he got to the school. I can’t say I approve of his approach, but Regulus seems to be trying to get under Sirius’ skin, especially given…recent announcements.”

Rabastan laughed, smile sharp. “Merlin knows what both of them are up to, but they’ve been alternating looking like complete shite. It’s a good look for Sirius.”

“Not so great for younger Black,” Severus quipped as he took a sip of his firewhiskey.

“No?” Narcissa said quietly. “Reggie is not doing so well?”

"No," Severus confirmed, watching her carefully. "Can’t blame him, can we? Between his weird doppelganger showing up at the beginning of term and then the news about his demotion as it is, it’s not been an easy year.”

"Ah yes," Bellatrix's eyes glittered dangerously. "Dear Uncle Arcturus and his surprising decisions lately. I’m still trying to figure out what prompted this sudden change of heart regarding our blood-traitor cousin.”

"Do you think it has anything to do with this Davies boy?" Lucius asked, his blue eyes sharp with interest. "Speaking of which, Severus — just how striking is this supposed resemblance? Rab says it’s uncanny.”

"It is!" 

Severus chose his words carefully, aware of the tension thrumming beneath the casual conversation. "Almost identical, save for the height. He carries himself like a pureblood. No one in your family knows anything about him?”

Bellatrix's eyes flashed with barely contained fury. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Arcturus calls a family Summons, tells us he plans to meet with the boy, and then refuses to discuss it. Says it's 'a private family matter' that requires further investigation." She took a long drink. "Even Mother can't get anything out of Grandfather about it."

“And we’re sure he’s not Orion’s bastard?” Rodolphus asked looking at Narcissa. “Or Alphard’s?”

Narcissa shook her head. “Alphard's preferences were never exactly a secret in the family. It seems unlikely he'd have a son. As for Uncle Orion, well…”

Narcissa trailed off delicately, her eyes flicking to Bellatrix. The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air — Orion Black's descent into alcoholism and apathy was an open secret among pureblood circles.

"Most recently, the rumors say he’s Marius Black’s son," Severus offered carefully, watching how Bellatrix's face twisted at the mention of the family squib. “Although take that lightly considering some of the other absurd ideas the idiots in the school have conjured up about him.”

"Regardless of his origins," Lucius said smoothly, "this Davies boy seems to have captured Lord Black's attention. Along with the other transfer students. What’s your take, Severus? What do you think of them? Rod says the Mudblood boy is powerful, as have Rosier and others. And the girl is smart, curiously smart.”

Severus took a slow sip of his firewhiskey, buying time as he sorted out what to say.

His mind drifted back to that evening a few weeks ago, just after dinner.

He had been walking back from the greenhouses, having stayed late to collect some nightshade for his latest experiment, when he'd spotted them. Parker and Davies, making their way back in the fading light. Even from a distance, something had seemed... different about them.

Davies had his arm slung around Parker's shoulders, and the shorter wizard was practically bouncing as he walked, gesturing animatedly about something. But it was the magic that had made Severus stop dead in his tracks.

The entire Quidditch pitch behind them suddenly shimmered into existence. A hazy dome of magic that dissipated into the dying sunlight before the familiar stands and hoops were back in their proper place.

It had to be the largest privacy ward Severus had ever seen.

He'd frozen in place, mind struggling to process what he'd just witnessed. A privacy ward of that size — one capable of completely obscuring an entire Quidditch pitch — should have been impossible for any student to maintain. The magical drain alone would have exhausted fully qualified wizards.

And yet the two of them were walking the grounds as if it were completely normal. Worse, they were walking the grounds like two love-struck teenagers.

Davies’ fingers were absently playing with the ridiculous dragon fang that dangled from the blonde's ear. Parker was beaming up at the Ravenclaw, looking like complete shite, and unabashedly happy.

The sheer normalcy of it made Severus' head spin.

Here was a wizard who could apparently maintain privacy wards large enough to hide entire Quidditch pitches, and he was... what? Coming back from some romantic evening stroll? Acting like a besotted schoolboy instead of someone who had just casually demonstrated magic that should have depleted his entire magical core.

And Davies — Davies who looked so much like Regulus it was uncanny, who carried himself with all the pureblood grace of a Black — seemed entirely unfazed. As if having a boyfriend, or whatever the hell Parker was to him, capable of that kind of raw magical power was perfectly ordinary.

But it wasn't just the magic that unsettled him about Parker. It was... everything else.

The boy was absolutely chaotic — that was undeniable. Between the fights with Rosier, the reckless displays of magic, and whatever game he was playing with both Black brothers, Parker seemed to exist in a constant state of barely contained mayhem. But there was also an undeniable... lightness to him.

He hated Parker for it. For making it look so easy. For wielding the kind of power Severus had always craved, the kind of power he was willing to sacrifice everything to obtain, and using it for... what?

To run around the school helping muggleborns from bullies? To entertain homesick first years with little light shows? To look at people with so much open love that it made Severus' teeth ache?

The Dark Lord spoke of power as something to be seized, to be wielded over others. Something that demanded respect and fear in equal measure. But Parker... Parker treated his considerable abilities like they were nothing.

It made Severus want to hex him. Parker had no idea what people would give for that kind of power.

To be honest, Severus didn’t know what had stayed his hand when it came to telling the Dark Lord or this group about what he saw. It should have been an easy decision to curry more favor with the Dark Lord, to share what he'd witnessed that evening. And yet.

It was painful, watching how quickly Lily had taken to Parker. Severus saw it in all the little moments — the way she'd check his work in Potions, not because she doubted his ability, but because she genuinely cared if he'd eaten enough or slept well. How her whole face would light up when Parker slid into the seat next to her at meals, already launching into some ridiculous story that would have her laughing.

After that fight with Rosier — where Parker happily broke Evan's nose with his fist like some common Muggle — Lily had fussed over his split lip and bruised knuckles. But there had been something else in her expression too. Pride, maybe. Gratitude. Because Rosier wasn’t one to shy away from slinging the word Mudblood around.

That was the thing about Parker - he wore his muggleborn status like a badge of honor rather than a mark of shame. Strutted through the halls in his Muggle band shirts under his robes, those ridiculous trainers, the dyed hair, the cigarettes he smoked, completely unbothered by the sneers and slurs thrown his way. As if being muggleborn was something to be proud of rather than something to overcome.

Severus took another sip of firewhiskey, carefully considering his response. "Parker is... interesting," he said finally. "Powerful, yes, but wasteful with it. He seems to delight in chaos for its own sake. Hard to tell what he’s up to on any given day. He apparently dueled Black in the middle of the courtyard with an impressive string of wordless spells. Next thing you know he’s fighting Rosier, Burke, and Trevors Muggle-style, didn’t even draw his wand.”

Rabastan snorted into his own cup next to him. “Bad look for those three, losing to a Mudblood who didn’t even use magic, even if they did land a few good spells on him.”

Bellatrix's lip curled in disgust. "A Mudblood who thinks he can get away with putting his hands on his betters.”

"And the girl?" Narcissa prompted, steering the conversation back on track.

"She's... sharp. Frighteningly intelligent. Always seems to be three steps ahead in every class. Slughorn is desperate to get her in his club, though she keeps turning him down." He absently traced the rim of his glass. “Utterly devoted to her brother, and Davies, by all accounts.”

Lucius leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What an odd little trio they make. A Mudblood with raw power to rival some of our best, a girl with intellect that apparently puts most purebloods to shame, and a boy who looks like he stepped out of the Black family tapestry." He took a slow sip of his drink.

Bellatrix drained the last of her drink before giving a sharp smile. “Well, we’re in Hogsmeade. We might as well make the most of this visit. See if we can’t find our little mysterious cousin who’s dragging the Black name through the mud.”

Severus glanced at the clock on the wall, a mild frown creasing his brow. He had hoped to finish his shopping and be back to the school early enough to work on his latest potion experiment, not traipsing around Hogsmeade in search of wayward students.

"I can accompany you for a while," he said, rising from his seat. "Though I do have other matters to attend to later."

Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed with a predatory light as she stood, smoothing out her robes. "Yes, fine, Severus. Come now, let's go hunting. I want to see this Davies boy for myself. Perhaps we'll even run into dear Reggie while we're at it."

Narcissa's lips thinned into a tight line. "Bella, please. I came here to finalize wedding flowers, not chase after teenagers through Hogsmeade like we're still schoolchildren ourselves."

Her sister waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't be such a bore, Cissy. Your wedding can wait. This is far more interesting."

"More interesting than my wedding?" Narcissa's voice was sharp. "The wedding I've been planning for months? The one that will join two of the most powerful pureblood families in Britain?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Oh come now. You know that's not what I meant. Of course, your wedding is important. But aren't you the least bit curious about this boy who looks so much like our dear cousin? Don't you want to find out who’s been meddling around in the family?”

Narcissa's lips thinned further, but Severus could see the flicker of interest in her grey eyes.

"Fine," she said after a long moment. "But we're not making a scene. Recent questionable decisions or not, Uncle Arcturus will come down on all of us if we end up in the Prophet for any reason. And unlike you, he can still revoke his approval for my marriage.”

Lucius looked moderately worried at the reminder.

“Like Father would let him do that, Cis. We all know you’re his favorite.”

Remus couldn't stop staring at Jean Parker.

“What do you think your brother and Davies are doing for their date?” Remus asked Jean, trying to maintain some sort of conversation.

Jean shook her head, a mix of exasperation and fondness in her eyes. "Knowing those two, it's probably best we don't ask."

Remus chuckled, stealing another glance at her as they wandered the store.

She had done something different with her hair, taming most of the wild curls into soft waves that framed her face. The winter sunlight caught the honey-brown highlights as she browsed the shelves of Tomes and Scrolls, making her practically glow.

Her fingers trailed lovingly over the spines of ancient books, and Merlin help him, but watching her caress leather-bound tomes was doing things to him.

The approaching full moon always left him feeling on edge, his senses heightened and his control a bit frayed. Today that translated into being hyper-aware of every little thing about Jean - the soft vanilla scent of her hair, the way her blue jumper hugged her curves, how her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she read titles.

"So, find anything interesting?" he managed to ask, proud that his voice came out mostly steady.

Jean looked up at him with bright eyes and a brilliant smile that made his heart stutter. "Three actually, but I'm trying to be reasonable and only get one."

"Get all three," he said softly. "Books are always a good investment."

She laughed, and it was absurd how proud he was of himself. "You're a terrible influence, Remus Lupin."

"Says the witch who asked me on a date to a bookshop."

“I asked you on a date to Hogsmeade. You planned to go to the bookshop!”

"Touché," Remus conceded with a grin. "Though I seem to recall you being quite enthusiastic about the idea."

“Oh, yes, what a surprise, I liked the idea of looking at books. Revolutionary,” she quipped, stepping in closer to look up at him.

Remus felt his breath catch as Jean moved closer, her warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief. The scent of vanilla and old books enveloped him, making his head spin.

"Well," he said, his voice low, "I do try to be innovative in my dating strategies."

Jean's lips curved into a soft smile. "Well, then, I’ll look forward to seeing your next idea.”

Her words sent a thrill through Remus. He leaned in slightly, drawn by her warmth and scent. "I'll have to think of something good to live up to your expectations."

Her eyes flickered to his lips before meeting his gaze again. "You’re a smart man. I'm sure you'll manage."

The air between them felt charged. Remus was acutely aware of how close they were standing, of the soft rise and fall of Jean's chest as she breathed. His heightened senses picked up on the quickening of her pulse, the slight dilation of her pupils.

He wanted to kiss her. Merlin, how he wanted to kiss her.

But this was only their first real date. And they were in public. And she deserved better than being snogged senseless in the middle of a bookshop by a werewolf who could barely control himself this close to the full moon.

Deserved better than a werewolf in general, but he was allowing himself this selfishness for right now. At some point, he would need to face reality. He was fortunate enough to have the Marauders accept him for what he was, he wasn’t foolish enough to think he would get more than that.

But he was going to enjoy it for as long as he could.

"Miss Parker! Just the witch I was hoping to see!"

Professor Slughorn's walrus mustache quivered with excitement as he approached them, practically bouncing on his feet.

"Professor," Jean greeted politely, stepping back from Remus slightly. “How are you?”

"My dear girl, you'll never believe who sent me an owl this morning," Slughorn continued, either missing or ignoring her question. "Damocles Belby himself! Wanted to know all about the brilliant young witch who'd written to him about his experimental work. Most intriguing letter, he said. Though he wouldn't tell me much about the potion he’s working on — very hush-hush, you understand. But imagine! A seventh year catching Damocles Belby's attention!"

Remus watched curiously as Jean's smile became slightly fixed. "How... lovely of him to inquire," she said carefully.

“Indeed, indeed! I told him all about your exceptional talent in potions, of course. And your remarkable insights in Charms and Transfiguration. And really, Miss Parker, you should consider coming to my next party. There are so many people I want to introduce you to. Bring your brother, and Mr. Davies, as well.”

Jean's smile remained polite but strained as she replied, "That's very kind of you, Professor. I'll certainly consider it."

Remus could sense her discomfort and stepped slightly closer, offering silent support. Jean shot him a grateful look.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Slughorn beamed, either oblivious to or ignoring Jean's lack of enthusiasm. "Now, I must be off — promised Minerva I would check in with her. Do let me know if you hear back from Damocles!"

With a final jovial wave, he bustled out of the shop.

Jean let out a long breath once he was gone. "Sorry about that," she murmured to Remus.

"No need to apologize," he assured her. "Though I am curious — what exactly did you write to Damocles Belby about? Isn’t he a Potions Master?”

Jean seemed to tense slightly at his question before her shoulders relaxed. "Just some theories about a potion he's developing. Nothing concrete yet." She fiddled with the spine of one of her books. "Actually, would you mind if we didn't discuss it? It's... complicated."

Something in her tone made Remus pause. There was an edge of anxiety there that his heightened senses picked up on. He reached out and gently took her hand.

“Another one of those secrets you can’t tell me yet?”

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know it must be frustrating. I wish I could explain everything."

Remus felt a pang in his chest at the genuine regret in her voice. Part of him wanted to push, to demand answers about all the secrets she and her brother seemed to be keeping. But he understood the weight of keeping things hidden.

He squeezed her hand gently. "It's alright," he said. "Though I hope you know you can trust me with complicated things."

The smile she gave him was so warm it made his chest ache. "I do trust you, Remus. More than you know. They’re just... not all my secrets to tell."

He nodded, understanding completely. After all, he had his own complicated secrets. Enjoy it while it lasts, he told himself.

"Well then," he said, squeezing her hand, "shall we get these books paid for? I believe someone promised me chocolate for my patience."

Jean laughed, the tension dissolving. "Patience? You've been actively encouraging my book-buying habit."

"We’ve been here for more than an hour. And I prefer to think of it as supporting your academic pursuits."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it?" She grinned up at him as they made their way to the counter. "And I suppose suggesting I get all three books was purely in the interest of my education?"

"Absolutely," he said with mock seriousness. "I take my prefect duties very seriously, you know. Supporting fellow students' learning and all that."

"Mmhmm." She raised an eyebrow at him. "And it has nothing to do with the fact that you want to borrow them after I'm done?"

"I am wounded by your suspicion," he declared, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. "Though now that you mention it..."

Jean's laughter echoed through the shop. Remus felt his heart soar at the sound. Gods, but she was beautiful when she laughed, her eyes sparkling with mirth, her whole face lighting up.

After paying for her books (all three of them, naturally), they stepped back out into the crisp winter air. Jean immediately pressed closer to his side, and Remus wrapped an arm around her shoulders without thinking.

***

Honeydukes was a terrible, horrible, absolutely wonderful idea.

Seeing Jean in Tomes and Scrolls had been captivating — all bright eyes and passionate discussions about books. But watching her sample chocolates was pure torture of the most exquisite kind.

He had rushed her out as quickly as possible without being rude, but he couldn’t shake the small sound she had made when she sampled a chocolate truffle.

She still had a bar out, breaking off pieces that she kept trying to get him to eat.

“C’mon, Remus. Aren’t you supposed to be the one who likes chocolate!”

The full moon was far too close for this.

"I do like chocolate," he managed, voice slightly strained. "I just... Merlin, Jean, do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

She paused with another piece halfway to her mouth, her brown eyes widening slightly as she took in his expression. "Oh," she breathed softly, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Then, holding his gaze, she deliberately licked a spot of melted chocolate off her finger.

Remus growled — actually growled — and caught her hand, pulling her towards the small alley between shops. Jean went willingly, letting out a small gasp as he pressed her against the wall.

"That," he said, voice low and rough, "was not very nice."

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He leaned in close, breathing in the intoxicating mix of chocolate and vanilla and her. "I think you do."

"Maybe," she whispered, tilting her face up towards his. "What are you going to do about it?"

Remus answered by kissing her.

Jean's lips were soft and warm against his, tasting of chocolate. Remus cupped her face gently, deepening the kiss as Jean wound her arms around his neck. He pressed closer, pinning her against the wall as he poured weeks of pent-up longing into the kiss.

Jean responded with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched into him. A soft moan escaped her, the sound sending a jolt of heat through Remus. He growled low in his throat, nipping lightly at her bottom lip.

Jean gasped at the gentle nip, her lips parting. Remus took the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, his tongue sliding against hers.

One hand slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against him as the other tangled in her soft curls.

THWACK!

They jerked apart as something cold and wet hit Jean's shoulder. Snow dripped down her jumper as they turned to find Henry standing at the entrance to the alley, another snowball already formed in his hand and an utterly unrepentant grin on his face around the lollipop in his mouth.

Behind him, Leo stood watching with fond exasperation, hands tucked in his robe pockets.

"Really?" Jean demanded, brushing snow off her shoulder. "You're an absolute menace, you know that?"

"Yep!" Henry agreed cheerfully. “I did warn you that I was about to be everyone’s problem.”

His grin widened as he tossed the second snowball up and down in his hand. "Besides, I'm doing you a favor. This is a terrible place for a snog. Anyone could walk by. You should consider the changing rooms in Gladrags. Much more privacy."

Davies flushed at the comment as he shot his boyfriend a look.

“Planning to stop him?" Remus asked Davies, though he already knew the answer.

The Ravenclaw shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Bold of you to assume I have any control over him whatsoever."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "Henry, mate, your timing is..."

"Impeccable?" Henry suggested innocently. “I did say that we’re a package deal. You should assume I can pop up at any point.”

Jean's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Leave."

Henry's grin widened. “Make me.”

She turned and shoved the rest of the chocolate bar into his hand while giving him a quick kiss. “I’m going to go kill my brother. I’ll meet you at the Three Broomsticks after?”

Remus laughed, still slightly dazed from the whiplash of it all. "Yeah, go ahead. Try not to permanently maim him."

“Keep him pretty, Parker. It’s half the reason I’m dating him.”

“Not dating if you haven’t asked me on a bloody date yet!”

Henry's eyes widened as Jean lunged for him. He let out an undignified yelp and took off running, Jean in hot pursuit.

"That’s it! I’m cutting you off cold turkey for real now," she shouted as they raced down the street.

"Go ahead and try. I can get worse," Henry called back, dodging around a group of startled third-years.

Remus watched them go, shaking his head in amusement. He turned to Leo, who watched them go with a fond shake of his head.

“It’s annoying how hard it is to be annoyed at Parker,” Remus remarked.

Jean's curls were flying wild as she pursued Henry, both of their laughter carrying back to where he stood with Davies. For all their secrets and shadows, in this moment they looked pleasantly carefree.

Davies snorted. “Yes, believe me, I know.”

"So," Remus said, clearing his throat. "Gladrags, huh?"

Regulus tugged his scarf tighter against the wind as he made his way down High Street. He had no real desire to be in Hogsmeade, but Yule was approaching and he needed gifts. More pressingly, Grandfather had sent a letter requesting he meet at Gladrags Wizardwear, though he couldn't possibly fathom why.

The past two weeks had been a whirlwind of confusion and change. Sirius' words from their talk in the empty classroom still echoed in his head: "You're my little brother. That means something."

The tracking galleon that Davies had given him felt heavy in his pocket — a constant reminder that somehow, against all logic, he had people willing to come if he called. People who weren't his family, and yet...

His hand brushed against the coin. Jean Parker had made this for him. A witch he'd barely spoken to, who looked at him with knowing eyes whenever their paths crossed in the library. She'd taken the time to create this safeguard, this lifeline, for him.

He was sure he didn’t deserve it.

His steps faltered as he caught sight of two figures standing outside the shop. For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no — there stood his Aunt Lucretia, elegant in deep blue robes, her husband Ignatius Prewett at her side.

Regulus couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his aunt.

Two years ago, perhaps? A brief appearance at some family function before she disappeared back to wherever in Europe Uncle Ignatius was teaching that year. The sight of her now, standing casually outside Gladrags as if this was perfectly normal, made him want to turn around and head straight back to the castle.

"Regulus Black," Lucretia called out before he could retreat, her voice carrying the same aristocratic tone all Blacks seemed to possess. "Don't even think about running off."

Regulus straightened his shoulders, schooling his features into careful neutrality as he approached. Years of practice made it easy to slip behind the mask of the perfect pureblood heir. Though lately, that mask felt more like a prison than protection.

"Aunt Lucretia. Uncle Ignatius. This is... unexpected."

"Is it?" Lucretia's grey eyes — so similar to Sirius’ — studied him carefully. "Father asked me to check in on you and your brother this weekend."

Something in Regulus' chest tightened at her words. So Grandfather was following through on his promises, even if indirectly. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Did he now?" Regulus asked carefully. "I wasn't aware you were even in England."

"Cancelled our Portkey," Ignatius offered with an easy smile that seemed out of place among Blacks. "Your aunt thought it was time to stick around for a bit."

Regulus nodded stiffly, unsure how to respond. A week ago, he might have been coldly furious at this attempted reconciliation. But now... now he had Davies' words rattling in his head about taking what was being offered. Had Sirius' fierce declaration that he wouldn't leave again. Had a tracking galleon in his pocket from people who had no obligation to care about him at all.

"You've grown," Lucretia said softly, something that might have been regret flickering across her face. "Last time I saw you properly, you were barely tall enough to reach my shoulder."

"Yes, well, five years will do that," a familiar voice drawled from behind them.

Regulus turned to see Sirius approaching, looking completely Muggle in his leather jacket and jeans. His brother's expression was carefully guarded as he came to stand beside Regulus. The protective way Sirius positioned himself — slightly in front, angled to shield Regulus if needed — made his throat tight.

A few weeks ago, this gesture would have sparked resentment. Would have felt like another example of Sirius showing him up, being the better brother, the protector. Now... now it felt like proof that his brother had meant what he said about not leaving again. About being there for Regulus, no matter what.

"I don't give a fuck what the old man wants as long as Reggie's safe," Davies had quoted Sirius saying. The memory made something warm unfurl in his chest, pushing back against years of hurt.

"Sirius," Lucretia breathed, taking in the sight of him. "You look..."

"Like Father?" Sirius suggested with a sharp smile. "Yes, I've been told. Funny how family resemblance works. Though apparently, that's quite the topic these days, isn't it?"

Regulus shot his brother a warning look. Now was not the time to bring up Leo Davies.

"I was going to say you look well," Lucretia finished, her voice tight. "The Potters seem to be taking good care of you."

"They are," Sirius agreed, his tone challenging. "Have been for two years now. Funny how you never stopped by to check on me there."

Lucretia flinched. "Sirius..."

"No, really, I'm curious," Sirius pressed. "What changed? Why the sudden interest in our well-being? Because Grandfather asked? Or because you finally developed a conscience?" His grey eyes flashed dangerously. "Or is it because some mystery Black showed up at Hogwarts and embarrassed the family by pointing out how thoroughly you've all failed us? Fascinating how quickly everyone seems to care now that there's public scandal."

"That's enough," Ignatius said firmly, stepping forward. "Your aunt has her reasons."

"I'm sure she does," Sirius replied coldly. "Everyone in this family has their reasons, don't they? Their excuses for not being there when it mattered. Tell me, did Grandfather mention Davies in his letter to you? Is that why you're really here — to investigate the family's latest shame rather than deal with the existing ones?"

Regulus watched the exchange silently, feeling the familiar twist of anxiety in his stomach. Part of him wanted to grab Sirius and run, to escape this awkward attempt at reconciliation. But another part — the part that still desperately wanted his family to be whole — kept him rooted in place.

"You're right," Lucretia said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm. "I wasn't there when I should have been. Neither was your grandfather. Neither was anyone else who should have protected you both." She took a deep breath. "We can't change that. But we're trying to do better now."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Better? Now that it's convenient? Now that Grandfather's decided to actually act like the Head of this family?"

"Now that we've realized what we stand to lose by continuing to look the other way," Lucretia corrected sharply. Her eyes flickered to Regulus' left arm for just a moment, but it was enough to make his breath catch.

She knew. Of course, she knew — Grandfather must have told her. The shame of the Mark burned beneath his sleeve.

"Right," Sirius said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Because now you care what happens to us."

"I have always cared," Lucretia snapped, her composure cracking. "Do not presume to know my reasons for staying away, Sirius Orion Black."

"Then enlighten us," Sirius challenged. "Why did you?"

Regulus watched his aunt's face tighten with some emotion he couldn't quite name. Beside her, Uncle Ignatius placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Perhaps this conversation would be better suited for another time," Ignatius suggested quietly. "Over a Butterbeer, when we're not standing in the middle of the street?"

"Why are we even meeting here?" Sirius demanded, gesturing at Gladrags. "What's so important about a clothing shop?"

Lucretia's lips twitched slightly. "Your grandfather seems to think that you need a proper wardrobe beyond school robes and..." she paused, eyeing his leather jacket with a mix of disapproval and amusement, "whatever this Muggle fashion statement is."

"You're joking," Sirius said flatly.

Regulus couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "Grandfather wants to take you clothes shopping. That's... almost paternal."

Sirius shot him an exasperated look. "You're not helping, Reg."

"I'm not trying to help," Regulus replied with a smirk.

"Brat," Sirius muttered, but there was a hint of fondness in his tone.

“You should get grey ones, bring out your eyes.”

"I'm not taking fashion advice from someone who color-coordinates his socks with his ties," Sirius shot back.

"At least I don't look like I got in a fight with a Muggle motorbike and lost."

Lucretia watched the exchange with something that might have been wistfulness. "Your grandfather was quite specific about the kinds of robes he expects," she said, interrupting their bickering. "However, I see no reason we can’t push the boundaries while putting a dent in dear Father’s accounts. How do you feel about red and gold robes? Something properly Gryffindor.”

"Aunt Lucretia," Sirius said slowly, a grin spreading across his face before it faltered as he caught sight of something over Regulus' shoulder.

"Well, well. What a charming little family reunion."

Regulus turned slowly, his heart sinking as he took in the approaching group. Bellatrix led the way, her wild dark curls framing her face like a storm cloud. Behind her came Lucius and Narcissa, the picture of pureblood elegance in their tailored robes. The Lestrange brothers flanked them.

Regulus felt a wave of utter stupidity wash over him as he took in the approaching group. Rosier had mentioned they were coming, hadn't he?

But with everything else going on — Grandfather's Summons, Sirius' reinstatement, the constant tension of keeping his own secrets — Regulus had completely forgotten.

Of course, they would be here. Of course, they would stumble upon this awkward family reunion. Because that was just how his luck had been running lately.

He watched as if in slow motion as Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene before her. The way her gaze lingered on Sirius' Muggle attire, the tightening of her jaw as she looked at Aunt Lucretia.

Next to him, he felt Sirius shift, standing straighter as his whole body tensed.

"Bellatrix," Lucretia greeted, eyes looking around the group. "What an unexpected surprise. Quite a group you’ve got today. Almost like you’re all back at school yourselves. And Narcissa. Hello, dear. How are wedding plans coming? Your mother is ecstatic, last I heard.”

Narcissa stepped forward, a polite smile on her face. "Hello, Aunt Lucretia. The plans are coming along wonderfully, thank you for asking. Mother is indeed very excited."

Bellatrix watched there before her eyes narrowed. "What brings you to Hogsmeade, dear aunt? I wasn't aware you were still in England."

Lucretia raised a dark brow. “Decided on a change of plans after the family Summons. I plan to be around for a while.”

Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with interest at Lucretia's words. "Oh? And what prompted this sudden change of heart? Could it have anything to do with dear Uncle Arcturus' recent... decisions?"

"Well, when the Head of House Black makes a decision, one tends to pay attention," Sirius drawled, his voice carrying that dangerous edge of aristocratic disdain that he typically reserved for his worst moments. "Well, they do if they know what’s good for them. Though I suppose that concept might be a bit difficult for you to grasp these days, Bella.”

Regulus fought to keep his expression neutral even as his heart raced. This was Sirius at his most lethal — all cutting grace and casual cruelty wrapped in perfect pureblood delivery. The leather jacket and Muggle clothes did nothing to diminish his presence. If anything, they enhanced it, a deliberate reminder that he could thumb his nose at tradition and still command attention.

Bellatrix's face contorted with rage, but for just a moment — so brief Regulus almost missed it — there was a flash of something else in her eyes. Respect, maybe. Recognition of the power Sirius wielded so effortlessly, even if he wanted nothing to do with it.

"You dare—" she started, but Sirius cut her off with a laugh that held no warmth.

"I dare quite a lot these days, cousin. Grandfather's orders, you understand." His grey eyes glittered dangerously.

"You dirty little blood trair—" Rodolphus growled, stepping forward.

Sirius cut him off with a vicious grin. "Et, et, et, Rod. I believe the words you're looking for are 'Heir Black.'"

The way he said it — sharp and precise, each syllable dripping with generations of pureblood authority — made Regulus' breath catch. This was what everyone had always seen in Sirius, what had made their parents so desperate to control him. Raw power and charisma wrapped in Black family magic, even if he rejected everything else about their heritage.

A week ago, that casual display of everything that came so naturally to Sirius would have burned like acid in Regulus' chest. Would have felt like another reminder of what his brother got without even trying.

But now, watching Sirius wield that power like a weapon — Regulus felt something closer to pride. His stupidly noble brother, who'd promised not to leave again, who'd told Davies he didn't care what their grandfather wanted as long as Regulus was safe.

"Or did you forget who outranks who now?" Sirius continued, his smile all teeth. "I'd hate to have to explain to Grandfather why his grand niece's husband was threatening his Heir in the middle of Hogsmeade. Especially given how... invested he's become in family matters lately."

Lucretia stepped forward, her blue robes swirling around her as she placed herself between the two groups.

"Now, now," she said, her voice carrying just the right mix of authority and lightness. "Let's not cause a scene, shall we? We're all family here, after all. However, I'm curious what brings such an illustrious group to Hogsmeade on a school weekend. Surely you all have more pressing matters to attend to than chaperoning students?"

Bellatrix bristled, anger palpable under the polite veneer. "Oh, we're here for all sorts of reasons, Aunt Lucretia. Rodolphus wanted to check in on his brother, of course. And I wanted to see how our dear Regulus is faring, especially given recent developments."

Regulus felt his muscles tense at Bellatrix's words, at the way her dark eyes locked onto him with predatory focus.

His hand brushed against the tracking galleon in his pocket. The metal was warm against his fingers, a reminder that he wasn't as alone as he felt. Strange, how quickly that had become a comfort. How quickly he'd gone from perfect pureblood heir to someone who found solace in a device made by a muggleborn witch he barely knew.

"I'm perfectly fine, Bella," he said, carefully modulating his voice to include a degree of warmth. "Though I appreciate the concern. Hello, Rodolphus, nice to see you as well.”

He turned to Narcissa, inclining his head respectfully. "Cissy, Lucius. It's good to see you both. I trust the wedding preparations are going well?"

Narcissa's smile softened slightly as she looked at him. "Hello, Reggie. Yes, everything is coming along beautifully. Though I'm sure you'll hear all about it over the holidays."

Regulus nodded, careful to keep his expression pleasant even as his stomach churned at the thought of the upcoming holiday gatherings.

"Perhaps," Lucretia said casually, as if commenting on the weather, "Although Regulus will be staying at Black Manor for Yule. Father's orders. He's quite insistent.”

Regulus felt a wave of relief wash over him at his aunt's words. He was grateful that she was the one to deliver that particular bombshell with perfect pureblood nonchalance. It was so much easier having someone else tell Bellatrix, especially someone who could make it clear this came directly from Arcturus.

Bellatrix's face did something complicated, like she couldn't quite decide whether to be furious or confused. "Black Manor?" she repeated, her voice carefully controlled. "Not Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh no," Lucretia replied, examining her nails with studied indifference. "Father was quite clear about that. He feels it's time to take a more... active role in his grandsons' lives.”

Lucretia stepped closer to Regulus, her movements deliberate and graceful. With a tenderness that surprised him, she gently ran her fingers through his dark hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, a warm weight that felt both foreign and comforting.

"Father is quite concerned, you see," Lucretia continued, her voice soft but carrying. "Regulus' grades have slipped this year. Not dramatically, of course, but enough to catch attention. Arcturus wants to be certain that Regulus' priorities remain properly focused."

Regulus felt his breath catch as his aunt's words sank in. Merlin's beard, but Grandfather and Aunt Lucretia were apparently a proper team. How quickly they were laying the groundwork.

Regulus tried to look appropriately chastised as he nodded. "Grandfather was... not pleased with my recent behavior," he admitted, trying to put some shame into his voice.

Sirius let out a light laugh even as he shot Regulus a look. “Oh, yes, how the tides have been changing in the family. Our little perfect pureblood prince disappointing Grandfather.”

Regulus felt his cheeks heat at Sirius' words, a mix of genuine embarrassment and calculated performance.

He thought of Davies' advice: “Honestly, you should consider leaning into it. Play up the dumb teenage angle — your jealousy.”

Did Davies tell Sirius about their conversation? He must have. It was exactly the type of mischief that Sirius thrived on.

Regulus forced himself to glare at Sirius, channeling some of his genuine frustration into his voice. "Shut up, Sirius. Not all of us are as comfortable being disappointments as you."

Sirius barked out a laugh, grey eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something that might have been pride. "Aw, feeling a bit jealous there, baby brother?"

"Boys," Lucretia chided gently, though Regulus caught the calculating glint in her eye. "There's no need for that. Sirius, do try to be kinder to your brother. Regulus, we’ll get you sorted out, not to worry, dear.”

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed as she watched the exchange. “You should have mentioned something, Reggie. Of course, Narcissa and I would have ensured you maintained proper grades.”

He forced himself to blush deeper. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

"Oh, Reg," Narcissa's voice softened with genuine concern. "You should have said something. Lucius, perhaps you could speak with Professor Slughorn? See if there's anything that can be done to help?"

Lucius nodded, ever eager to demonstrate his influence. "Of course. I'm sure Slughorn would be happy to arrange some additional tutoring. He's always had a soft spot for promising Slytherins."

"That's very kind," Lucretia said smoothly, "but Father is quite insistent about handling Regulus' academic situation himself. He feels it's time the family took a more direct interest in such matters. No more delegating important decisions about the boys' futures."

"I see," Bellatrix said slowly. "How generous of Uncle Arcturus to take such a personal interest after all this time. It’s —”

A sudden commotion down the street interrupted whatever Bellatrix was about to say next.

"YOU BLOODY CHEATED!" Henry Parker's voice rang out, followed by the sound of running feet and laughter.

"Did not!" Girl Parker called back. “You're just mad because I'm better at snowball fights than you!"

"You used a bloody sticking charm on my shoes!"

"Prove it!"

The Parker siblings burst into view, weaving between startled shoppers. Parker, with a lollipop of all things in his mouth, ducked and rolled to avoid a well-aimed snowball from his sister. He came up grinning, only to have Jean tackle him into a nearby snowbank.

"Ha!" she crowed triumphantly, pinning him down before shoving a handful of snow down his shirt.

"Merlin's saggy— COLD!" Henry yelped, squirming under his sister. "That goddamn hat should have put you in Slytherin, you absolute menace!”

"It tried, you annoying little gremlin! And I went to Gryffindor for you!" Jean laughed down at him.

Did the Hat really try to put Girl Parker in Slytherin?

Sirius watched the Parker siblings with barely concealed amusement, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the tension thrumming through the air. He turned back to the group, grey eyes glittering with mischief.

"Well," Sirius drawled, making both Parkers freeze, “as you can see, it has been an interesting school year.”

The siblings looked up, finally seeming to notice their audience. There was a long moment as everyone stared at each other. Jean was still straddling Henry's chest, one hand full of snow, while Henry had his lollipop stick hanging crookedly from his mouth.

It wasn’t much — most people probably wouldn't have noticed — but Regulus had spent enough time around the Gryffindor lately to see the way he tensed ever so slightly, the way his magic seemed to thrum just beneath his skin. Like a predator noting potential threats, even as he maintained his carefree facade.

"Oh," Henry eventually said. "Hello everyone. Lovely weather we're having."

“Boy Parker,” Sirius greeted with a grin. “Girl Parker. Having a good day?”

Henry grinned up at Sirius from his position pinned in the snow. "Not bad.”

Jean rolled her eyes fondly as she climbed off her brother, brushing snow from her clothes. "Sorry about that," she said, addressing the group at large. "We got a bit carried away."

Bellatrix's lip curled in disgust. "Clearly," she sneered. "Though I suppose we can't expect much better from Mudbloods."

Regulus noticed how Jean Parker’s eyes tightened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something dark passing through them before her expression smoothed back into polite neutrality. Her hand drifted to her left forearm.

Parker’s eyes also flashed with something, gone in a blink before he laughed as he stood and brushed snow from his clothes. "Oh no, she called us Mudbloods! We’ve never heard that one before. However shall we cope with such a devastating insult?"

He pinched his sister’s cheek, catching her hand on the way down, hooking his pinky in hers for a moment before letting go.

Henry grinned at the group, shaking his head to dislodge snow from his hair. He grabbed the hem of the thin Muggle band t-shirt under his jacket, pulling it up to brush snow from his chest. The motion revealed a glimpse of golden, toned abs and defined hip bones, water droplets from melted snow glistening on his skin.

"Oh, goodness," Lucretia murmured as she leaned in close to Regulus, a teasing lilt to her voice. "Well, I can certainly see why you might be... distracted lately, dear nephew."

Sirius hummed next to her. “You should see the tattoo, Aunt. It’s lovely.”

Regulus felt his face flame, mortification coursing through him. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out.

“Should I be worried, Lucy?” Uncle Ignatius asked playfully from his other side.

Parker grinned, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having as he shook more snow from his hair. "Anyway, don't let us interrupt your, er, lovely family gathering.”

Henry shot a quick look to Sirius and Regulus and he could see the silent question in his eyes. Regulus wasn’t sure how to convey that they were okay without adding to the suspicions already surrounding their relationship.

Thankfully, Lucretia stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with interest as she studied the Parker siblings. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "Lucretia Black Prewett, and this is my husband, Ignatius."

Parker studied her for a quick moment and Regulus was half worried he might berate her in public over her absence. If he threatened to burn Grimmauld Place down in front of Bella, there would be a firefight in Hogsmeade.

Instead, he gave a grin around the bloody lollipop. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Prewett. Henry Parker. Merlin, but you all are a good-looking lot, aren’t you.”

"Lady Prewett," Bellatrix interrupted sharply, her eyes flashing. "And Lord Prewett. Do show proper respect, Mudblood."

Parker's grin didn't falter, though Regulus noticed the way his magic seemed to pulse slightly. "Oh, my apologies. Of course — Lord and Lady Prewett. Quite remiss of me." His green eyes sparkled with interest as he looked at Ignatius. "The Healer and Professor, yes? Your work on accelerated bone regrowth is fascinating."

Jean shot her brother a surprised look, one that Regulus silently echoed. Since when did Henry Parker know anything about Healing research?

"I do read sometimes," Parker said defensively, catching their expressions. Then he grinned. "Well, I listen to Jean talk about what she reads sometimes. Same thing, really."

Bellatrix's lips curved into an arrogant smile. "Well, if you're so... informed about proper wizarding society, you must know who I am as well."

"Of course, Lady Bellatrix Lestrange," Parker replied cheerfully, still working on his lollipop. His eyes lit up as he gestured toward Rabastan. "You're Rab's sister-in-law. We sit next to each other in charms. He raves about you.”

Rabastan's face contorted in confusion, clearly having no memory of ever speaking to Parker about anything, let alone his brother's wife. Bellatrix's expression darkened dangerously, fury radiating off her at being reduced to merely someone's 'sister-in-law.'

Sirius made a choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter.

Regulus felt panic start to build in his chest. The Parkers needed to leave — now — before Henry managed to put an even bigger target on their backs. The boy was either completely oblivious to the danger or deliberately antagonizing some of the Dark Lord's most devoted followers. Given what Regulus knew about Parker, he strongly suspected the latter.

Merlin's balls, Parker, Regulus thought desperately. Stop.

Not that Parker had ever shown any inclination to back down from a fight. The memory of finding the Gryffindor in the dungeons covered in bruises from taking on multiple opponents flashed through Regulus' mind.

This was the wizard who had threatened to burn down Grimmauld Place to Arcturus Black's face. Of course, he wasn't intimidated by Bellatrix.

But there was a difference between being brave and being suicidal, and poking at Bellatrix's ego in the middle of Hogsmeade was definitely veering toward the latter.

Before Bellatrix could unleash her fury, Parker was already peering around her at Narcissa, his eyes lighting up with interest. "And that must make you Lady Narcissa Black."

"Miss," Sirius corrected, amusement dancing in his eyes. "She's not married yet."

"Oh!" Parker laughed good-naturedly, running a hand through his snow-damp hair. "See, I'm never going to get all this pureblood etiquette down. Miss Narcissa Black, then. I wasn't aware the Black family could come in blonde. You're like the golden star of the family, aren't you? Same face though. It’s almost annoying how pretty you all are.”

Regulus watched in fascination as his cousin's carefully neutral expression flickered with surprise at the sudden attention. Parker had a way of doing that — throwing people off balance with his particular brand of earnest charisma.

Parker continued warmly. "Congratulations on your upcoming wedding, by the way. I hear it’s going to be quite an affair.”

"Your fiancé must be a lucky man," Parker added, rolling the lollipop around his mouth.

"Ah yes," Sirius drawled, gesturing to the blonde wizard. "May I present Lord Lucius Malfoy."

Parker's eyes raked over Lucius in a slow, deliberate appraisal that made Regulus want to hex him on principle.

"Oh my," the Gryffindor said with an appreciative grin. "Perhaps Miss Black is the lucky one. You're quite pretty as well, aren't you?"

Lucius looked utterly thrown, his usually composed expression faltering as he stared at Parker in bewildered offense. Merlin’s beard, but Narcissa almost looked amused for a moment there.

Regulus was about to move forward, to try and drag the idiotic Gryffindor away before he got himself killed, when a familiar voice cut sharply through the tension.

"Absolutely fucking not, Parker.”

Leo Davies appeared at the edge of their group, looking both exasperated and resigned as he took in the scene before him.

Parker looked terribly delighted as he grinned at his boyfriend. “Aw, come on. Look at the hair. So pretty."

Chapter Text

Draco was going to murder Harry Potter, and he might actually mean it this time.

He didn't care how much he loved the insufferable git or that he had given Draco a truly exceptional blow job earlier, or how adorably pleased Potter looked with himself as he flirted with Lucius bloody Malfoy. There were lines, and this was definitely crossing several of them.

He had spotted them from down the street — the unmistakable wild curls of his Aunt Bellatrix, his mother's elegant posture, his father's distinctive platinum hair. His feet had frozen mid-step as he took in the scene, his heart hammering against his ribs.

They were so young, all of them. His mother's face unlined by years of worry, his father's shoulders unbowed by the weight of the Dark Lord's displeasure. Bellatrix, alive and terrible and exactly as he remembered from those nightmare days in the Manor.

The sight of them hit him like a physical blow. These people who were his family and yet weren't — who had no idea that the wizard standing before them would one day be their son, their Heir, their nephew. Who had no idea of the horrors that awaited them, of the choices they would make that would shape his entire life.

And in the middle of it all was Harry bloody Potter, shooting his father a flirtatious look with a lollipop hanging from his mouth.

"Absolutely fucking not, Parker."

The words came out sharper than he intended as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, Harry's face had lit up with unholy glee, his green eyes sparkling with mischief as he deliberately ran his tongue along that damned candy Granger had given him.

"Aw, come on," Harry practically purred, looking far too pleased with himself. "Look at the hair. So pretty."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. This was payback, he was sure. Revenge for all those comments he'd made about how good-looking James Potter was over the past few months.

In his defense, he'd been joking. Mostly. Well, James was good-looking. But Draco was at least polite enough not to flirt with him in front of Harry. 

Still, Draco caught the subtle shift in Harry's posture — the way his magic hummed just beneath his skin, ready but contained. For all his playful banter, Harry had positioned himself carefully between Bellatrix and the others. Always the protector, even when he was being an absolute menace.

“Oh, my,” Lucretia breathed as she looked at him.

Draco felt the weight of his family's stares — saw the way their eyes widened as they took in his features, cataloging the similarities. His mother's careful mask of indifference couldn't quite hide her surprise. His father looked utterly thrown, gaze darting between Draco and Regulus. The scrutiny made his skin crawl, memories of standing before them in judgment threatening to overwhelm him.

He wanted, suddenly and fiercely, to grab Harry and run. To get as far away from these ghosts of his past as possible.

"We're leaving. Now," he said instead, stepping closer to Harry. He kept his voice steady even as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

Harry pouted, though his eyes had lost some of their manic gleam. He could read Draco too well these days, could probably feel the tension thrumming through him. "I was just making friends."

"You were being a menace," Draco corrected, catching Harry's arm. The contact grounded him, reminded him that he wasn't alone in this anymore. "Jean, a little help?"

Before Hermione could respond, Bellatrix stepped forward, her dark eyes glittering dangerously. "Well, well. Sirius, why don’t you introduce us? Since you’re so excited to be Heir Black again.”

Draco felt his muscles tense at Bellatrix's words, at the deliberate barb aimed at Sirius. He watched as his mother's eyes flickered over him again, cataloging every feature with that careful attention she'd always possessed.

It was unnerving being under her scrutiny without the protection of being her son.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, though there was steel beneath it. "Oh, I don't know, Bella. Seems like you lot have been doing plenty of investigating on your own. Though I must say, stalking schoolchildren is a new low, even for you."

"Hardly stalking," Lucius drawled, his eyes fixed on Draco with uncomfortable intensity. "We're simply... curious about this remarkable resemblance to young Regulus here. Family resemblance is such a fascinating thing, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Davies?"

The way his father emphasized his fake surname made Draco's jaw clench. He could feel Harry's magic humming stronger now, responding to his distress even as the git maintained his casual posture.

“I suppose,” Draco replied.

He forced himself to maintain a neutral expression as he met Lucius' gaze. "Though I'm sure you'll understand if I'm not particularly interested in discussing my family history with strangers."

"Strangers?" Bellatrix's voice dripped with false sweetness. "But we're all family here, aren't we? After all, you must be related to the Blacks somehow."

"Must I?" Draco raised an eyebrow, channeling every ounce of aristocratic disdain he'd learned from the people standing before him. "Though I suppose there are interesting rumors floating around."

“I rather liked the one about you being Sirius’ long lost twin brother, abandoned for being a Squib, only to end up actually having magic, coming to Hogwarts to try and claim Heirship to the family.”

Draco fought to keep his expression neutral as Harry rattled off the ridiculous rumor. "Yes, well, people do love their dramatic theories," he said dryly.

“Didn’t you start that one, Parker?” Regulus commented.

“Probably,” Harry shrugged. “I started like a dozen of them.”

His casual admission seemed to snap Bellatrix out of her predatory assessment of Draco. Her eyes narrowed as she turned her attention back to the green-eyed idiot.

"You think this is funny?" she hissed, taking a step towards Harry. "Spreading lies about noble pureblood families for your own amusement?"

“I mean, we don’t know all of them are lies. Maybe Davies really is Sirius’ secret brother.”

Draco shot Harry an exasperated look, silently pleading with him to shut up before he made things even worse.

Hermione stepped forward quickly, grabbing Harry's other arm. "I am so sorry about him," she said, her voice strained. "He's had far too much sugar today. We should really be going."

“I also had several cups of coffee. And almost no sleep.”

Bellatrix turned her attention back to Draco.

He felt a chill run down his spine as Bellatrix's eyes locked onto him once more. He could practically see her mind spinning as she studied his features, cataloging the similarities to Regulus and Sirius. To herself. To his mother.

He forced himself to meet her gaze steadily, keeping his expression neutral as she scrutinized him.

"There are rumors you’re Marius Black's son," Bellatrix finally said, her voice dangerously soft.

“Well, people do love their rumors,” Draco drawled.

Bellatrix scoffed at his response. “And your mother?”

“She’s passed, I’m afraid,” he said tightly.

He did not think about how uncomfortable it was to say that in front of Narcissa. His mother in this time wasn't truly his mother yet. And the woman he knew as his mother was lost to him now.

It hurt, more than he expected. He had a momentary pang of sympathy for Harry. He had been sleeping in the same dorm as his parents for months now, even if he had never known them the same way Draco knew his own.

“But she was a pureblood?”

“I’m afraid I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Draco replied dryly.

Bellatrix sneered at Draco's evasion. "It's entirely relevant," she hissed. "If you truly are of Black blood, then your lineage matters a great deal."

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately. "Bella, perhaps this isn't the best place for such a... discussion," she said, her voice low but firm as she glanced around at the shoppers bustling down the other side of the street.

Bellatrix ignored the reprimand.

"You," she hissed, jabbing a finger at Draco's chest. He saw Lucretia take a step forward as she did.

"I don't know who you really are or where you came from, but I see what you're doing. Associating with Mudbloods and blood traitors, sullying the Black name with your disgraceful behavior."

Bellatrix leaned in closer as she continued her tirade. "We get enough of that from Sirius already. Do you think it's clever, parading around looking like one of us while debasing yourself with filth like this?" She jerked her head towards Harry and Hermione.

“Bellatrix, that is enough,” Lucretia snapped, stepping further forward.

Draco felt bile rise in his throat as he stared into the face of the woman who had brought him before the Dark Lord to be branded, who had tortured him under the guise of "training," who had carved that slur into Hermione's arm while he watched and did absolutely nothing. His fingers curled around his wand, years of fear and hatred threatening to overwhelm his carefully maintained control.

But before he could do anything, Harry's magic flooded the air around them — not the playful chaos from earlier, but something deadly and focused. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as Harry stepped between them, all traces of mischief gone from his face.

"That's enough," Harry said, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that Draco had learned meant real trouble. Gone was the flirtatious menace from moments ago.

This was Harry Potter without the mask — the wizard who had faced down Voldemort and lived, who united the Deathly Hallows, who carried death and rebirth in his bones, who wielded magic like it was an extension of himself. "You don't get to talk to him like that. Actually, you don't get to talk to him at all."

The air crackled with tension as Harry stared down Bellatrix, his magic pulsing in warning waves that made Draco's skin tingle. He saw Lucius take an unconscious step back, saw his mother's eyes widen slightly as she sensed the raw power radiating off the supposed muggleborn. For a moment, it seemed like the whole world was holding its breath.

Bellatrix's lip curled into a sneer as she took in Harry's defiant stance. "You dare speak to me, you filthy little—"

"Mr. Parker!"

Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife, causing everyone to freeze. She strode towards them, her emerald robes billowing behind her, with Professor Slughorn huffing to keep up.

"Mr. Parker," McGonagall repeated, "I don’t suppose you have any knowledge about the clouds of snow currently following the Headmaster around?”

Harry blinked slowly, the deadly intensity draining from him as if it had never been there. He turned to face McGonagall with an expression of pure innocence that Draco didn't believe for a second. "Haven’t the foggiest, Professor. How peculiar."

Draco fought back a groan. “Circe’s tits, is this why you were late walking down?”

"Yes, Mr. Parker. Clouds. Of snow. That have been following him since breakfast." McGonagall's Scottish brogue grew more pronounced with each word. "Initially contained to his person, then his desk, and now apparently a whole cloud wherever he goes."

"Well that's quite impressive," Harry remarked, looking genuinely pleased with himself in that way that made Draco want to simultaneously kiss him and hex him. "The expansion of the area of effect wasn't intentional, but I'll have to remember how I did that."

Slughorn chuckled as he finally caught up to McGonagall, dabbing at his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. "Most creative piece of magic, I must say. The way it responds to his movements is particularly clever — speeds up when he walks faster, absolutely pours when he tries to vanish it..."

"Horace!" McGonagall cut him off sharply, though Draco caught the way her lips twitched slightly.

Granger jabbed her elbow sharply into Harry's ribs. "Henry Parker! The Headmaster is the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot! You can't just make it snow on him during important meetings!"

“I mean, arguably, I can. Also, how many bloody titles does one wizard need? He can’t possibly be doing a good job at all of them.”

Draco watched in fascinated horror as his family members reacted to Harry's casual dismissal of Dumbledore. His mother's perfectly composed mask slipped for just a moment, her eyes widening in surprise before she schooled her features back into polite neutrality. But he caught the way her gaze lingered on Harry with new interest, reassessing the seemingly reckless Gryffindor.

Lucius also looked genuinely intrigued. Draco could practically see the wheels turning in Lucius' head as he processed Harry's words, likely filing away this unexpected criticism of Dumbledore for future use.

Bellatrix's reaction was the most dramatic. Her face contorted through a series of expressions in rapid succession - shock, outrage, and then a calculating sort of interest that made Draco's blood run cold.

"Mr. Parker," Professor McGonagall said sternly, "While your magical skill is undeniable, using it to torment the Headmaster is not an appropriate use of your talents."

“Entirely debatable.”

"The Headmaster," McGonagall continued, speaking over Harry with practiced ease, "found it rather entertaining for the first hour or so. He even remarked on the clever spellwork involved." Her expression hardened slightly. "However, now that he is trying to conduct important business at the Ministry..."

"It made it through the Floo network?" Slughorn interrupted, practically bouncing with excitement. "Extraordinary! Simply extraordinary! The magical theory required to maintain a sustained charm through magical transportation — why, it's practically unheard of outside of permanent enchantments!"

Draco couldn't help but silently agree. The magical prowess required to pull that off was impressive. He was confident that Harry had only half an idea how he even did it himself. Potter’s relationship with Magic was bloody maddening.

Harry looked absolutely delighted by the news.

His face lit up with genuine excitement at Slughorn's words. "Really? It made it through the Floo? Brilliant! I wasn't sure that would work."

A flash of curiosity cut through Granger’s exacerbation as she looked at Potter. “It would need a source of magic to ground it that strongly. Did you find a way to tether it to his magical signature?”

“Tethered it to Jupiter.”

Draco couldn’t help his snort of laughter. Of course — Jupiter, the smallest and most vocal of Harry's newly named star snakes. The ridiculous ashwinder who was so fond of Draco and now Regulus after last week.

He heard Regulus make a choked sound next to him as his cousin came to the same conclusion. Because naturally, Potter hadn't just made it snow on Dumbledore — he'd somehow convinced one of his parselmouth-bonded magical snakes to follow the Headmaster around, maintaining the enchantment through bloody Floo travel.

"The planet?" Sirius asked in confusion.

"Sure," Harry agreed cheerfully, not bothering to add a lick of explanation.

Gods, it shouldn't have been so endearing — the way Harry could cause utter chaos while maintaining that air of innocent delight.

Draco was so completely, utterly fucked when it came to this impossible boy.

"Mr. Parker!" McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip. "This is not something to be proud of. The Headmaster is currently trying to conduct important business with the Minister for Magic while being followed by a personal snow cloud. Needless to say, Minister Bagnold is not amused."

“Did Dumbledore try doing his goddamn twinkle eye thing to apologize? He’s a big fan of that move.”

Regulus was staring at Harry with a mix of horror and awe.

Sirius looked ecstatic.

“For fuck’s sake, Parker,” Draco hissed at him. He was more than done with this entire absurd scenario.

"Mr. Parker," McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, "you will accompany me to the Ministry immediately to remove this enchantment. And while I would typically assign you several weeks of detention for such behavior, I suspect you would only use that time to devise even more creative ways to torment me."

"I'm wounded, Professor. I would never. I like you. It’s Albus I’m trying to torment."

“Albus!” Sirius whispered as he laughed.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mr. Parker, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully."

Harry grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Right. Sorry, Professor. Shall we go remove the snow cloud from the esteemed Headmaster then?"

McGonagall's lips thinned. “You will come with to the Three Broomsticks to use the Floo. We will discuss your punishment on the way. I think perhaps an extremely detailed essay on the precise spellwork you used to create and maintain this particular piece of magic is a good starting point. If you're going to insist on causing chaos, we can at least channel it into academic pursuits."

Harry’s face was a mix of excitement and regret at McGonagall's words. “Alright. Fair warning, you may need to help explain my own magic to me, Professor.”

Gods, Draco hated him.

McGonagall sighed deeply, looking both exasperated and resigned. "Why am I not surprised? Very well, Mr. Parker. Let's go sort out this mess before the Minister decides to hold Hogwarts responsible for interrupting important government business."

She turned to address the group at large. "My apologies for the interruption. Enjoy your Hogsmeade visit." Her gaze lingered on the adult members of the Black family for a moment.

"Horace, I trust you can handle things here?" she added, eyeing the gathered group meaningfully.

"Oh yes, quite alright," Slughorn beamed, already turning towards Lucius with barely contained excitement. "Actually, my boy, I've been meaning to ask about your father's latest investment. Fascinating idea..."

Harry bounced forward to follow McGonagall but paused next to Draco. "I'll be back in an hour or so, okay?” he said softly, staring up at him with that stupid moon-hanging look he insisted on giving Draco. "Keep an eye on Mione?" 

Draco felt a surge of warmth at Harry's soft words and that familiar look of adoration, even as exasperation coursed through him. He wanted to shake Harry for his recklessness, for drawing so much attention to himself in front of Bellatrix and the others. But he also wanted to pull him close and never let go.

Instead, he settled for a resigned sigh. "Try not to cause any more international incidents on your way there, will you?"

Harry grinned cheekily at Draco. "Only because you’re so pretty. Still gonna get me a Christmas present?"

Draco rolled his eyes fondly. “Absolutely not.”

“Liar.”

He turned to the group, grin widening, green eyes sparkling with mischief. “I suppose it was nice to meet some of you. I’ll leave it up to you to decide who I mean.”

Then, because he was determined to be the death of Draco, Potter bloody winked at his father as he put a hand to his chest. “Lucius, we’ll always have Hogsmeade.”

Granger gave a gasping laugh from next to him, shoulders shaking. Draco wasn’t going to ask. It was safer that way.

Over his shoulder, Harry called out cheerfully, "See you in Charms, Rab!"

Rabastan's brow furrowed in confusion. "We don't even have Charms together.”

Draco watched as Harry trotted after McGonagall, the Gryffindor's laughter floating back to them on the crisp winter air. The whiplash between his deadly fury from moments before and this casual exit was jarring.

Draco felt the weight of their stares, could practically hear the wheels turning in their heads as they reassessed everything they thought they knew about the supposed muggleborn who had just casually admitted to tormenting Albus Dumbledore.

Sirius looked positively gleeful, grey eyes dancing with mirth as he watched Harry's retreating form.

Bellatrix looked utterly furious, eyes flashing dangerously as she glared after Harry's retreating form. Her fingers twitched towards her wand, and Draco tensed, ready to intervene if necessary. But Rodolphus placed a warning hand on her arm, murmuring something too low for Draco to catch.

Lucius, in contrast, seemed caught between outrage and fascination. His mother's face was composed, but that meant little. 

"Mr. Davies," Bellatrix's voice cut through the awkward silence, that dangerous edge back in her tone. "Perhaps we could continue our... discussion."

"Actually," Narcissa interrupted smoothly, and Draco felt a surge of love for his not-yet mother, "Bella, you promised to help me with the florist. The arrangements simply must be perfect, and you know how particular Mother is about these things."

Bellatrix's face darkened with annoyance. "Cissy—!"

"It cannot wait," Narcissa insisted firmly, her tone brooking no argument. She turned to Draco with a polite smile that didn't quite mask her calculating gaze. "I'm sure we'll have other opportunities to become better acquainted with...Mr. Davies."

Draco watched in fascination as his mother expertly maneuvered his aunt away from the situation, even as Slughorn eagerly engaged Lucius and the Lestrange brothers in conversation about some investment scheme. The political dance was so familiar it made his chest ache.

"Gods, I love him," Sirius breathed, staring after Harry with undisguised admiration. Of course, he would be delighted by Harry's antics — so much of Potter was drawn from his bloody godfather, both brilliant and reckless in equal measure.

"Piss off, Black," Draco muttered, though there was no real heat in it. He understood the sentiment all too well.

Hermione cleared her throat, her voice strained as she addressed the group. "I am so sorry about my brother. He's... well, he's something. We should probably be going as well."

"Yes," Draco agreed quickly, inclined his head respectfully toward both the Prewetts and the remaining group. "It was lovely to meet you. I apologize for any... disruption to your afternoon."

"I'd say you lot vastly improved our afternoon. I might even get a normal set of robes, as a treat for Grandfather.”

Draco allowed Hermione to tug him away, fighting the urge to look back at his family as they retreated. He could feel their eyes burning into his back, knew they were dissecting every detail of his appearance and behavior.

Once they were out of earshot, he let out a shaky wheeze of laughter. “Gods, that shouldn't be so bloody endearing.”

Hermione buried her head in her hands as her shoulders shook in laughter. “He called her Rab's sister-in-law!” she gasped out between fits of giggles. "Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the Dark Lord's most devoted followers, and he reduced her to 'Rab's sister-in-law'!"

"‘Rab raves about you.’ And he flirted with my — with Lucius," Draco choked out, gripping Hermione's arm as they walked down the street.

Draco's laughter bubbled up, a mix of hysteria and genuine amusement as the absurdity of the situation hit him. Without thinking, he pulled Hermione into a tight hug, burying his face in her curls as his shoulders shook.

"'We'll always have Hogsmeade,'" Hermione quoted in a terrible impression of Harry's voice with her head buried in his chest, which only made them laugh harder. "Oh god, I can't believe he quoted Casablanca at Lucius Malfoy!"

"I don't even want to know what that means," Draco gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "And the bloody snow cloud! And Jupiter! Gods, at some point Dumbledore is going to just kick us all out."

Eventually, their laughter subsided into occasional giggles.

Hermione pulled back slightly to look at him, her eyes still bright with mirth but now tinged with concern. "Are you okay? Really okay? That couldn't have been easy."

Draco's smile faded slightly as he thought about his mother's calculating gaze, his father's poorly concealed interest, his aunt's barely contained fury. "I... don't know," he admitted quietly. "They're so young. Not even married yet. And Bella..." He trailed off, unable to put into words how jarring it had been to see her. How completely unfamiliar and familiar they all were somehow.

He looked down at Hermione, remembering that scar on her arm that was the foil to the one that had been branded into his own flesh. "Are you okay? After seeing her?"

He clasped a hand gently over her left forearm, thumb lightly trailing over raised skin.

"I don't know either," she said softly as she rested her head on his chest. "But we have each other. And we have him, even if he is absolutely mental."

"Completely mental," Draco agreed with a fond shake of his head as he wrapped his arms back around her. "Though I suppose we must be too, given that we love him.”

“Yes, well, the good news is that we won’t be doing anything alone ever again, apparently.”

“Yeah, that part is nice. I’m still going to kill him.”

Chapter Text

Severus needed to restock his personal stores.

He had quickly made his excuses to Lucius and the others, claiming he needed to pick up some ingredients before heading back to the castle. In truth, he simply needed a moment away from Bellatrix's increasingly unhinged ranting about blood traitors and mysterious transfer students.

Her points were valid, but he had hit his limit for talking about Black, Regulus’ doppelgänger, and the Parkers for the day.

As he approached, the bell above Stitches and Draughts chimed as the door opened. Severus froze mid-step on the street as Lily walked out, smiling softly, snowflakes falling in her dark red hair.

For a moment, they both stood there, an awkward tableau of what once was. His chest ached at the sight of her. Even now, after everything, she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Severus," Her voice was careful, controlled.

"Lily." His own voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "How... how are you?"

"I'm good." She offered a small, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just stopping in quick to get some extra ingredients for Advanced Potions. You?"

"The same." He shifted uncomfortably, hyper-aware of how close they were standing. The scent of her shampoo - citrus and something floral - brought back a flood of memories he tried desperately to suppress.

She looked... happy. There was a glow about her that made his heart clench painfully. She was dressed nicely too — not in school robes but in a pretty cream jumper that made her hair seem even more vibrant.

"You look... nice," he managed, the words feeling clumsy on his tongue.

A light blush colored her cheeks. "Oh. Thank you." She glanced down at herself, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her outfit. "I'm actually... I'm on a date."

The world tilted slightly. A date.

Lily Evans was on a date.

For some reason, his mind immediately went to Henry Parker. Even despite seeing him and Davies prance around like lovesick teenagers, even knowing the idiot blonde had kissed Regulus, even knowing that Black was sniffing around him like a Crup, Parker was still his first thought.

It would make a horrible sort of sense — the transfer student had wormed his way into every other aspect of life at Hogwarts. He'd seen how quickly Lily had taken to him, how she laughed at his jokes in Potions, how she fussed over him to eat and sleep and stop smoking.

The thought made bile rise in his throat. Of course, she would fall for someone like Parker — powerful, charismatic, pretentiously noble. Everything Severus wasn't.

"Parker?" he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Lily's eyes widened before she let out a startled laugh. "What? No! Henry? God no! He's with Davies."

She hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Actually, I'm... I'm here with James."

The world didn't just tilt this time — it shattered.

"Potter?" The name came out like a curse.

Severus felt as if the ground had dropped out from beneath him. James Potter. Of all people, it had to be James bloody Potter.

Images flashed through his mind unbidden — Potter's arrogant smirk as he hexed Severus in the corridors, his casual cruelty as he dangled Severus upside down by the lake, the way he ruffled his stupidly messy hair to look like he'd just gotten off a broomstick.

Potter, who had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Who never had to work for anything a day in his life. Who never had to struggle.

Severus felt his throat tighten, anger and hurt warring within him. "Potter," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "You're on a date with James Potter."

"The same James Potter who's spent years hexing people for fun? Who struts around the castle like he owns it? Who nearly got me kil—”

He cut himself off.

"He's different now," Lily said firmly. "He's grown up a lot this year. He's kinder, more thoughtful—"

"He's a monster!" Severus spat. "An arrogant, cruel bully who cares about nothing but himself and his little gang. He's tormented people for years — humiliated them, hurt them — and you're just going to forget all that?"

"I haven't forgotten anything," Lily shot back. "But people can change. Henry helped me see that. The way he looks at people — really looks at them — and sees the good they could be..." She shook her head. "James is trying. He's been different since they arrived. Softer. More aware of how his actions affect others."

Acid burned in Severus' stomach as her words sank in. Parker. Somehow, it still all came back to bloody Parker.

Perfect Henry Parker with his impossible magic and his devoted followers. The transfer student who had everything — power that made professors stare, a genius sister who outshone everyone in class, a Black doppelgänger who looked at him like he hung the moon. And now this — somehow convincing Lily Evans to give James Potter of all people a chance.

The unfairness of it all made Severus' vision blur with rage. What made Parker so special? What gave him the right to waltz into their lives and change everything? To have all that power and waste it on protecting Mudbloods and befriending blood traitors?

"He doesn't deserve you," Severus said, his voice low and dangerous. "Potter is nothing but a spoiled, entitled—"

"That's enough, Severus," Lily cut him off sharply. Her green eyes flashed with anger. "You don't get to decide who deserves me or who I choose to spend time with.”

Severus flinched at her words, feeling as if she'd slapped him. "Lily, I—"

"No," she interrupted again. "You lost the right to have any say in my life when you chose your Death Eaters over our friendship."

Severus recoiled as if struck. Lily's words cut through him like a knife, reopening old wounds he'd desperately tried to ignore.

"That's not fair," he said, his voice hoarse. "You know it wasn't that simple."

"Wasn't it?" Lily challenged. "You chose your path, Severus. You chose to align yourself with people who think I'm less than human because of my blood status."

"I never thought that about you," Severus protested weakly.

"But you think it about others like me.”

Lily's words hung heavy in the air between them. Severus felt his throat tighten as he struggled to find a response, to explain the complicated tangle of beliefs and fears and ambitions that had led him down this path. But he knew there was nothing he could say to make her understand.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to hurt you."

Lily gave him a sad smile. “Intention or not, you did. You still are. I hope — I hope it’s worth it.”

Her words hung heavy in the air between them. The ache in Severus' chest felt like a physical wound. He opened his mouth, desperate to say something, anything, to make her understand. But before he could speak, a voice called out from down the street.

"Lils! There you are!"

James Potter jogged up to them, his cheeks flushed from the cold, that insufferable grin on his face. He faltered slightly as he took in the scene before him, his hazel eyes darting between Lily and Severus.

"Everything alright here?"

Potter's smile dimmed slightly as he took in the tension between Lily and Severus, but he didn't lose that insufferable cheerfulness entirely. "Snape," he greeted with a nod, his tone frustratingly polite.

Severus felt his jaw clench at Potter's casual friendliness. How dare he act as if they were anything other than bitter enemies? As if years of torment could be erased with a few months of supposed growth?

"Potter," he bit out, unable to keep the venom from his voice.

Potter’s brow furrowed slightly at Severus' tone, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he turned to Lily with a soft smile that made Severus' stomach churn.

"I was thinking we could grab a butterbeer," Potter said, his voice gentler than Severus had ever heard it. "Maybe see if we can find Henry and the others? I heard there was quite a snowball fight earlier between him and his sister. Remus is pouting about his date being hijacked. I told him we would keep him company while he waited since Leo already ditched him.”

Lily laughed, the sound like shards of glass in Severus' ears. “Merlin, that boy. We should never let Parker out of our sight.”

Her laughter trailed off as she turned back to Severus, her expression softening slightly. "I should go," she said gently.

Severus watched, frozen, as Lily reached out and squeezed James' hand. The casual intimacy of the gesture made his chest constrict painfully.

"Goodbye, Severus," Lily said softly, her green eyes meeting his for a long moment before she turned away.

The rage built in his chest, hot and consuming. Parker and Potter — golden boys who had everything handed to them.

Two sides of the same insufferable coin.

At least Sirius Black had the decency to be openly terrible, to wear his cruelty and arrogance like a badge of honor, never pretending to be anything other than the spoiled, entitled pureblood prince he was.

But those two... they hid their true natures behind a veneer of charm and false nobility.

They got to play at being heroes while people like Severus had to fight and claw for every scrap of respect.

Severus watched Lily walk away with Potter, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

He turned sharply on his heel, no longer in the mood to restock his potions supplies. His feet carried him swiftly down the street, away from Lily and Potter and the sickening sight of their budding romance.

"The roses should complement the napkins, of course," Narcissa was saying, her voice floating through Bellatrix's consciousness like an irritating buzz. "And the centerpieces need to have enough height without obscuring — Bella, are you even listening?"

Bellatrix barely registered her sister's words, her mind still churning with fury from the scene outside Gladrags. That filthy Mudblood had dared to introduce her as "Rab's sister-in-law" — as if her marriage to Rodolphus was her only claim to status. As if she wasn't a daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! As she weren’t royalty among the Noble families. As if she wasn't the Dark Lord's most loyal, most devoted —

"Bella."

"What?" she snapped, turning to glare at Narcissa. Her younger sister merely raised an elegant eyebrow, unfazed by her outburst.

"The roses," Narcissa repeated patiently. "White or blush pink?"

"I don't care about your bloody roses, Cissy," Bellatrix hissed.

Her fingers twitched towards her wand, itching to curse something. Someone. That arrogant Mudblood with his casual disrespect, perhaps. Or her blood traitor cousin who dared show his face in those disgraceful Muggle clothes, acting as if being named Heir again gave him the right to mock their family's values.

And Regulus — oh, that had been the worst disappointment. Sweet, dutiful Regulus, who she had personally vouched for to the Dark Lord. Who she had promised would be a worthy addition to their ranks. And now here he was, kissing Mudbloods and letting his grades slip enough for Arcturus to intervene.

Thank Salazar there was a raid planned for tonight. The thought of it sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine.

She could almost taste the acrid smoke in the air, hear the satisfying crunch of splintering wood as doors were blasted open. The terrified screams of filthy Muggles and blood traitors.

She imagined casting Crucio on some worthless Mudblood, watching them convulse and scream.

Bellatrix's thoughts drifted back to Parker, and she felt a flicker of grudging fascination beneath her disgust. The raw power that had radiated off him when he stepped between her and Davies had been... impressive. For a brief moment, the air itself had seemed to crackle with barely contained magic, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She couldn't deny the thrill that had run through her at feeling such potent magical energy. It was intoxicating, reminiscent of the heady rush she felt in the Dark Lord's presence.

And his casual dismissal of Dumbledore. The way he'd spoken of the great wizard as if he were nothing more than an annoyance, a plaything to be toyed with. It was... intriguing.

Bellatrix's mind raced, torn between fury and fascination. The boy's power was undeniable — a blend of raw magical energy and casual insolence. For a moment, she imagined harnessing that power, molding it to serve the Dark Lord's cause. What glorious destruction they could wreak together.

But no. The very thought was blasphemy. Power like that didn't belong in the hands of filthy Mudbloods. It was an affront to everything their Lord stood for, everything the Noble Houses had fought to preserve for centuries.

And she couldn’t shake the way he grinned at her as he called her "Rab's sister-in-law.”

She pictured that insolent Mudblood writhing on the ground, his cocky grin replaced by a grimace of agony as she held him under the Cruciatus. She could almost hear his screams, see the light fading from those striking green eyes as she broke him piece by piece.

Her thoughts shifted to the other infuriating presence from earlier — Leo Davies. The arrogant boy who looked so like Regulus it was unnerving. His aristocratic features, the familiar grey eyes, that posture that screamed old pureblood money.

And yet he associated with Mudbloods and blood traitors, sullying whatever noble lineage he might possess.

His face, so similar to her cousin's, and yet utterly foreign.

Bellatrix's lip curled in disgust as she remembered the way Davies had looked at Parker. The fondness, the gentle way he'd touched the Mudblood's arm. It made her skin crawl. How dare he parade around with that face — a face that belonged to her family — while consorting with such filth.

Davies' carefully neutral expression, the way he'd held himself with that unmistakable pureblood poise.

Every word out of his mouth had been a lie, she was certain of it.

Bellatrix's fingers clenched around her wand, her knuckles white with tension. How could Narcissa prattle on about flowers and napkins, when there was a mystery to be unraveled? When there was a threat to be eliminated?

"How can you possibly sit there fussing over roses when that... that imposter is out there sullying our family name? We should have stayed, should have made him tell us the truth."

Narcissa sighed, setting down the sample floral arrangement. “What were you going to do — curse him in the middle of Hogsmeade, Bella? We are Blacks. We do not lose our composure over mere curiosities, no matter how... intriguing they may be.”

Bellatrix's eyes flashed dangerously. "There are other ways to make someone talk, Cissy. Ways that don't require an audience."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Veritaserum, perhaps. Or maybe a little Legilimency to pry open that pretty little mind of his. Or perhaps something a bit more physical."

Narcissa's eyes widened slightly before she smoothed her expression back to careful neutrality. "Bella," she said softly, her tone gentle but firm. "He's just a boy. Still a student. Barely older than Regulus."

She reached out, placing a delicate hand on Bellatrix's arm. "Whatever his true lineage, whatever game he might be playing, he's clearly of pureblood stock. You saw how he carried himself, heard how he spoke. That's not something that can be easily faked.”

“Exactly!” Bellatrix hissed back. “It can’t. That’s why I want to know why he’s hiding behind the rumors of being a Squib’s son when he’s clearly so much more.”

Bellatrix's mind latched onto Parker's flippant words from earlier: "We don't know all of them are lies. Maybe Davies really is Sirius' secret brother."

She had dismissed it at the time as more of the Mudblood's insolent prattle. But now, as she replayed the encounter in her mind, she wondered if perhaps he had been more upfront than any of them could fathom.

After all, they had been throwing around the idea of Davies being Orion's bastard for months now. She wasn't sure why no one seemed to think the weak-willed fool capable of straying from his marriage bed.

The more she thought about it, the more it made a twisted sort of sense. Arcturus' whole line had been a disappointment, when she really thought about it. From the patriarch himself down to her wayward cousins.

Why not one more disappointment hidden in the family tree?

“He’s got to be a bastard. He must be. Orion's, given the resemblance to Regulus."

Narcissa's brow furrowed slightly as she considered Bellatrix's words. "It's... possible," she admitted reluctantly. “Although, I always thought Regulus favored Walburga’s side more than Orions's."

Irritated, Bellatrix waved away the comment with a huff. "Orion and Walburga are cousins, Cissy. Does it really matter? The point is, he's clearly got Black blood."

She leaned closer to Narcissa. "Think about it. Orion and Walburga's marriage was a failure from the start, according to Father.”

Narcissa frowned. "Perhaps," she said slowly. "Though Davies is a few months older than Sirius, isn't he? That’s what Regulus said. Even Orion wouldn't have wandered before producing a trueborn heir."

Bellatrix felt a curl of satisfaction as she thought about it. “It would explain the lies — the secrecy. A Black bastard running around that’s older than Sirius. One born to a pureblood witch. Gods, the scandal.”

“I suppose it's... an interesting theory," Narcissa said finally, her voice measured and calm.

"We could find out.”

Narcissa's eyes widened slightly at Bellatrix's words. She glanced around the shop. "Bella, you can't seriously be suggesting we... what? Kidnap a Hogwarts student and drag him to Gringotts to give his blood for an inheritance test?"

Bellatrix scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't be so dramatic. Besides, I already thought about that. The Goblins check for compulsions before they perform any blood tests. But a single hair from the bastard would be enough for a lineage test.”

“From him, yes, but you’d need samples from multiple family members for a test. And even then, you would need to be sure no one tampers with the hairs. And even then, the test can be finicky. There’s a reason the Nobles favor using Gringotts — much cleaner results.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “We don’t need his whole history — just enough to see his paternal line. And obviously I'm not going to tell the whole bloody family. I could easily get hair from Orion, Father, Grandfather, and likely Uncle Alphard without anyone knowing.”

"What about Mother's hair?" Narcissa asked, looking up at Bellatrix. "Or Aunt Walburga's?”

She stared at her sister, momentarily dumbfounded by the question. Sometimes Narcissa could be so infuriatingly obtuse that Bella wondered how they could possibly be related. It was fortunate her little sister was so pretty, or she might have been truly useless.

"What about them?" Bellatrix snapped, her patience wearing thin. "We're trying to trace the bastard to Orion, Cissy. What do the women matter? Mother, especially, she’s not even a Black by blood. Gods, what is wrong with you today?”

Her sister gave a barely noticeable pout. “I was just asking. Seems like it would be easier to get hair from both, but fine, Orion and the rest, then. Merlin, but you’re in a mood. You have your plan. Can we go back to finalizing flowers now?”

Bellatrix huffed in frustration but nodded curtly. "Fine. The blush pink roses. They'll complement the napkins better."

Narcissa's face lit up. "Oh, wonderful! I thought so too, but I wanted your opinion. Now, for the centerpieces, I was thinking of incorporating some crystal elements to catch the light..."

As her sister prattled on about floral arrangements and table settings, Bellatrix's mind wandered. Let Cissy play with her flowers. She had more important matters to plan.

Rage and hurt churned in Severus’ chest, threatening to consume him entirely. He pushed through the throngs of students enjoying their Hogsmeade weekend. The cheerful chatter and laughter grated on his nerves.

His mind replayed the scene with Lily over and over, each repetition twisting the knife deeper into his heart. The gentle way she had looked at Potter, the casual intimacy of their hands brushing together – it was all too much to bear.

"Severus, my boy!" Slughorn's booming voice cut through his dark thoughts.

Severus barely suppressed a groan as he turned to face his Head of House.

"Professor," Severus managed through gritted teeth.

"What a day, what a day! I hope you’re enjoying the village?" Slughorn chortled, either missing or choosing to ignore Severus' obvious mood.

Severus forced himself to remain still as Slughorn approached, fighting the urge to hex his overly cheerful Head of House. The last thing he needed right now was to listen to Slughorn prattle on about his latest social connections or brewing achievements.

"Of course, Professor," Severus replied stiffly, desperately hoping Slughorn would take the hint and leave him be.

No such luck. Slughorn beamed at him, clapping a meaty hand on Severus' shoulder. “Excellent! It’s good for you to get out of the castle — keep up with people. Your talents are immense, my boy, but real power comes from connections, as you know. And my goodness, quite a group out and about today.”

"Now, I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, you and Jean Parker could be a brilliant combination in Potions," Slughorn continued, oblivious to Severus' darkening mood. “Have you considered collaborating? The two of you together... why, the potential is extraordinary!"

Severus felt his jaw clench at the mention of Jean Parker. Of course Slughorn would bring her up now, as if he needed another reminder of how thoroughly the Parkers had inserted themselves into every aspect of life at Hogwarts.

"I prefer to work alone," Severus bit out.

Slughorn chuckled, patting Severus' shoulder in a way that made his skin crawl. "Think on it, Severus. I had the most fascinating correspondence with Damocles Belby about our Miss Parker's latest theories on the uses of moonstone. To think she’s caught his attention. Brilliant girl, absolutely brilliant!"

He felt his anger rising as Slughorn prattled on about her brilliance. Of course the girl was brilliant — she and her insufferable brother seemed to excel effortlessly at everything they touched.

Of course she would be praised for theoretical work that others had spent years developing.

"And then young Henry!" Slughorn continued, practically vibrating with glee. "Did you hear about what he did to poor Albus? A snow cloud! Following him through the Floo network no less! The magical theory required for such sustained enchantment..." He trailed off with hungry look his his eyes. "Extraordinary talent, those two. Simply extraordinary."

"Yes," Severus bit out, wanting desperately to curse someone. Perhaps he should have stayed with Bellatrix. "How... fortunate we are to have them grace us with their presence."

"Indeed. I do hope Miss Parker agrees to come to the next dinner party. Well, both of them, of course, and young Mr. Davies — such a fascinating trio they make. Perhaps you'd be interested in joining? Always good to forge connections early..."

Severus tuned out Slughorn's rambling about his precious Slug Club, his mind churning with bitter thoughts.

How wonderful it must be to be fawned over by professors, courted by renowned wizards, have the entire crown jewel Black family chasing after them, celebrated for their supposed brilliance.

"...quite remarkable how quickly they've integrated themselves," Slughorn was saying. "Miss Evans seems particularly taken with them. Such a delightful friendship blooming there..."

The mention of Lily sent a fresh wave of rage through Severus.

Something dark and ugly twist in his chest at Slughorn's words. The image of Lily laughing with Potter and Parker flashed through his mind, her green eyes sparkling with warmth as she looked at them. The same warmth she used to reserve for him.

His fingers twitched towards his wand as he imagined hexing that beaming smile off Parker’s face. Of watching Potter writhe under the Cruciatus curse, screaming in agony as Severus finally wiped away that arrogant grin.

He couldn’t do it. Not to Parker, at least. Severus could very begrudgingly admit that Parker would have an upper hand in anything related to magical prowess.

But perhaps there was another way to strike at both Potter and Parker at the same time.

Severus' mind raced as he half-listened to Slughorn's endless prattling. An idea was forming.

Jean Parker. The brilliant Gryffindor who had so quickly become the darling of the professors. Who outshone everyone in class without mercy. Who spent hours in the library with Lily. And who was now apparently getting attention from esteemed Potions Masters.

And her brother — powerful, arrogant Parker who looked at Jean like she hung the moon and stars. Who hexed anyone who dared upset her. Who would burn the world to ash to keep her safe.

What would Henry Parker do if he found out his precious sister was dating a werewolf?

He imagined the look of betrayal in those piercing green eyes when he realized Potter and Black had been lying to him for months. That the boy Jean fawned over in the library was a monster.

The fury that would consume him, knowing they had put his beloved sister in danger.

Let Potter’s merry band of idiots see how understanding and forgiving the Parkers were then.

Narcissa stepped out of the shop, grateful for the crisp winter air after spending so long surrounded by cloying floral scents.

Bella had excused herself a few minutes ago, claiming she needed air, though Narcissa hadn't missed the way her sister's fingers had been tapping restlessly against her wand the entire time they finished discussing flower arrangements.

And, well, it had been an interesting day — so interesting.

Aunt Lucretia's sudden return from the continent was clearly no coincidence. It was another calculated move in Arcturus' grand strategy to reassert control over the family.

And he was asserting himself.

The memory of Arcturus holding court in Black Manor's dining room was still vivid in her mind. He had been every inch the family patriarch – commanding attention with just his presence as he'd laid out his expectations. The weight of centuries of Black family power had seemed to hover in the air around him.

How long had it been since she'd seen him like that? In recent years, he had seemed content to let others guide the family's direction, particularly where the Dark Lord was concerned. She had always wondered if it was strategic withdrawal or simple indifference.

But that day... that day he had been Lord Black in truth as well as title.

"I am the Head of House Black," he had declared, magic crackling beneath his words. "I decide who is and isn't family."

The implications of his words still made her breath catch.

To so blatantly reassert control over the family now, when they were so deeply entangled with the Dark Lord.

Like most of her family, Narcissa supported the ideals of the Dark Lord's cause. The importance of keeping magic pure, of maintaining their rightful place in society — these weren't just abstract concepts but fundamental truths she had been raised on. She was certain Lord Black felt the same, despite his apparent displeasure with the Dark Lord’s influence over the family.

And truthfully, she couldn't entirely fault his concerns. The way Bella spoke of the Dark Lord sometimes, with that fevered gleam in her eyes... it was concerning. Not the devotion itself — Lord Voldemort deserved devotion, after all — but the way it seemed to override every other loyalty. The way it made her forget that she was a Black first, always.

Her sister's earlier suggestions about Davies had left an uncomfortable knot in Narcissa's stomach. The casual way Bella had discussed using force against someone who was so clearly of Black blood, who carried their features and their magic... it felt wrong. Dangerous, even.

She thought about the way Lucretia and Sirius had positioned themselves around Regulus earlier, a front of protection that felt both reassuring and concerning. The careful way they had constructed their narrative about his grades slipping, giving him a graceful excuse to stay at Black Manor over Yule.

As if they were protecting Regulus from them. From Bellatrix. From Rodolphus. From her?

Surely Lucretia, and Arcturus, didn't think that any of them would harm Regulus, did they?

Regulus was family.

Narcissa wasn't naive enough to deny what the Dark Lord and his supporters did to Muggles, to Mudbloods. She had seen the Prophet in the aftermath of raids, heard the whispered stories of torture and terror. The dark satisfaction in her sister's eyes when she spoke of "teaching lessons" to blood traitors.

She understood the necessity of it, on some level. It was ugly, but sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. For the preservation of their world, their culture, the purity of their magic.

But the idea of that being turned on Regulus, or even Sirius... it made her blood run cold.

If Bella could so easily contemplate violence against a possible Black bastard, what might she consider doing to Sirius? For all his foolish choices and blood traitor tendencies, he was family — the product of the purest bloodline in Magical Britain. Surely if he insisted on his unfortunate proclivities, disinheritance would be punishment enough?

The question brought with it an unbidden memory of Andromeda. Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of her lost sister. The betrayal still stung — to choose a Mudblood over family, over everything they had been raised to value... it was unconscionable.

And yet... and yet she felt a profound gratitude that no one, not even Bella at her most zealous, had suggested anything more severe than blasting Andy off the tapestry.

Even if her sister had chosen to sully their bloodline, she was still a daughter of the House of Black. Still family, even if they could never acknowledge her as such again.

Perhaps that was what truly worried her about Bella's reaction to Davies. Her sister had always been intense, passionate in her beliefs. But there had been lines, once. Boundaries that even she wouldn't cross. The way those lines seemed to be blurring lately was... disturbing.

Because, Magic above, but seeing Leo Davies in person had been jarring. Everyone had mentioned the resemblance, of course – she had heard enough about it over the past few months to last a lifetime. But nothing could have prepared her for how utterly Black he looked.

The sharp line of his jaw, the aristocratic nose, those unmistakable grey eyes – it was like looking at Regulus through a slightly warped, taller mirror.

She had felt drawn to him almost immediately. How could she not? Blood recognizes blood, after all. It was one of the first lessons taught to pureblood children – the way family magic called to its own.

She had thought perhaps the Marius Black rumor might have some merit, if only for the slight point to his ears, the same distinctive shape as her father's.

Narcissa sighed, her breath forming a small cloud in the chilly air. Although, the more she thought about it, the more likely Bella's theory seemed. As much as she hated to admit it, her sister might be right about Davies being Orion's son. 

It would all make a certain amount of sense.

She was interested to see if Bella could prove it.

His association with the Parkers was unfortunate. Even as a bastard, they could have found a place for him in the family somewhere if he were willing to fall in line.

But she had seen the way Davies had looked at the chaotic wizard. The fondness in those familiar grey eyes had been unmistakable, soft and warm in a way that made her chest ache with an emotion she couldn't quite name.

She recalled how Davies had held the girl's arm as they left, his touch gentle. The way his shoulders had relaxed, tension draining from his frame as soon as he was out of their presence. As if the Mudblood and her wild-haired brother were a refuge, a safe harbor.

And that display of power from Parker... Narcissa suppressed a shiver at the memory. No wonder the Dark Lord had taken an interest in the new students, if the rumors were to be believed. Raw magical power like that was rare, especially in a supposed muggleborn.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice the figure in front of her until they collided.

"I apologize, I wasn't—" The words died in her throat as she looked up.

Leo Davies stood before her, looking as startled as she felt. For just a fraction of a second, she saw a flash of something across his features before his face settled into careful neutrality – another painfully familiar Black family trait.

"Miss Black," he said after a pause, inclining his head. "My apologies. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going."

Narcissa couldn't help but study his features again now that she had him up close. She searched the curve of his mouth, the slope of his nose. All she could see were echoes of her own family – her cousins, Orion, her father. She wondered who his mother could possibly be; he seemed to have inherited nothing but Black features.

"No harm done," Narcissa replied automatically, years of etiquette training kicking in. “I had not expected to run into you again so soon, Mr. Davies.”

He shifted his weight, clearly looking for an excuse to leave, but Narcissa recognized the careful mask of politeness on his face. It was the same one she had perfected over years of tedious social obligations.

Perhaps this was the perfect excuse to get some information.

"Walk with me?" she asked, her voice gentle but leaving little room for refusal. "I find myself in need of company, and it would be lovely to get to know you better."

She watched the conflict play across his features — so much like Regulus when he wanted to decline something but couldn't find a polite way to do so. For just a moment, something that looked almost like longing crossed his face as he looked at her, before it was carefully tucked away.

"Of course.”

"I trust your... friend has finished tormenting the Headmaster?"

Something flickered in Davies' eyes – fondness, perhaps? – before he schooled his features. "One can only hope. Though with Parker, it's generally safest not to make assumptions."

The way he said the name, with that mix of exasperation and affection, caught her attention. It was the same way she sometimes caught herself speaking about Lucius.

The same way her mother used to talk about her father, before everything had grown cold between them.

“You are close with him? And his sister?”

Davies hesitated for a moment before answering. "They're... important to me," he said carefully. "We've been through a lot together."

Narcissa studied him, noting the way his posture had tensed slightly at the question. "I see," she said softly. "And your family? What do they think of your... associations?"

Leo gave her a wry look, his grey eyes glinting with something that might have been amusement. "My family situation is... complicated," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "I'm afraid I don't have much to say on the matter. Though your attempt is noted.”

Narcissa's lips quirked up slightly at Davies' response. "Noted and appreciated, I hope," she said.

She glanced down at the bag in his hands. "Did you find anything interesting in the shops today?"

"Ah," Davies faltered slightly, glancing down at the bag. "Trying to find Yule gifts. It's proving to be quite the challenge."

Narcissa's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh? Shopping for your friends, I assume?"

Davies nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, though I'm finding it rather difficult. Parker is... not easy to shop for."

"I can imagine," Narcissa said, thinking back to the chaos the boy had caused earlier. "Someone with that much... energy must be quite the challenge."

The boy chuckled softly. "You have no idea. Though I suppose that's part of his charm."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. "What did you settle on?"

A faint blush colored his cheeks.

Davies looked deeply contemplative, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered her question. For a moment, Narcissa thought he might deflect, refuse to answer, his eyes clouding with uncertainty.

He seemed to be weighing something in his mind, glancing between her and the bag in his hand. Finally, with a small sigh that seemed to carry more weight than such a simple gesture should, he reached into the bag.

Davies pulled out a simply bound leather notebook, its dark cover unmarked save for a subtle pattern tooled into the corners. His fingers traced the edge almost nervously as he held it.

"I've been reading more, lately," he said hesitantly, as if sharing a secret. "And somehow, I've gotten into this habit of... well, saving passages. Quotes that make me think of him."

He opened the notebook carefully, showing her the clean, crisp pages within. "I thought I might write them down."

A soft smile touched his lips. "He’ll make fun of me for it all day long, but he seems to remember every bloody one I’ve ever read him. Spits them back out while casually ripping your world out from under you.”

Narcissa felt a sudden wave of emotion wash over her as she looked at the simple notebook in Davies' hands. She tried to remember if anyone had ever given her something so deeply personal, so carefully thought out.

"May I?" she asked softly, holding out her hand.

Davies hesitated for just a moment before passing her the notebook. She opened it carefully, noting how the pages seemed to hold a slight shimmer - preservation charms, no doubt. Her eyes fell on a single line of text already there, written in an elegant hand:

"A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved."

The words struck her unexpectedly, making her breath catch. She looked up at Davies, finding him watching her with those familiar grey eyes, holding that same strange mixture of longing and guardedness she'd noticed before.

"It's..." she started, then paused, unsure how to express what she was feeling. "It's quite beautiful," she finished finally.

"You love him," she said softly.

Davies stiffened slightly beside her. He didn’t deny or confirm it, but she could see it clearly in his gaze.

Narcissa felt a pang in her chest. The raw honesty in his eyes was achingly familiar — she had seen that same look in Andromeda's eyes when she spoke of her Mudblood husband.

For a moment, she was tempted to reach out, to offer some word of comfort or understanding. But she held herself back, remembering who she was, who he was.

Instead, she said carefully, "Is that not difficult? Given your circumstances."

Davies gave her a soft, sad look. "Not as difficult as I expected, actually," he said quietly. “Even with the headaches and the chaos, he is... terribly easy to love."

Narcissa studied Davies' face, struck by the open vulnerability in his expression. It was so at odds with the careful masks and calculated words she was used to seeing from her family. She wondered where he had learned such openness — perhaps from Parker and his sister. The Mudblood had been horrifyingly forward earlier, after all.

Narcissa felt her chest tighten. He was such a curious mix of contradictions — Regulus' careful grace with Sirius' passionate heart, but there was something else there too. Something uniquely his own.

She forced herself to remember why she had started this conversation. She had wanted to gather information, figure out his secrets, confirm Bella's suspicions.

His mannerisms were unmistakably those of a pureblood heir, his features undeniably Black. The way he moved, spoke, even the careful way he held that notebook — it all screamed of proper breeding.

But she hadn't expected... this. What was she meant to do with the knowledge that he was capable of profound love? In the grand scheme of things, what did that matter to Bella or the Dark Lord?

She desperately wanted to know who he really was. Was he truly Orion's son? Did he know his true heritage? Did he feel that same pull of family magic that she did?

The questions burned in her throat, unasked.

Focus, she told herself sternly. She had the perfect opportunity to help Bella — to force some answers.

Making her decision, Narcissa let the sample flowers slip from her fingers with a soft "Oh!" of dismay. As expected, Davies immediately moved to help her, a proper wizard.

As he bent down, she wordlessly summoned a small drift of snow from the shop's awning above them. It dusted his dark hair, providing the perfect excuse for what she did next.

"Here, let me," she said softly, reaching up to brush the snow from his hair. Her fingers moved deftly, as she made a show of fixing his hair. "We can't have you walking around looking disheveled, can we?"

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she tucked the stray hair away in her robe pocket, though she told herself it was merely excitement about finally having proof of his heritage. It had nothing to do with the way he had looked at her with those eyes, or the careful way he had shown her that notebook, or how his voice had softened when he spoke.

"I should let you get back to your shopping," she said smoothly, desperate suddenly to be away from him and the confusing emotions he stirred in her. "Thank you for the escort, Mr. Davies."

He nodded, relief evident in his eyes. "Have a good day.”

She watched him walk away, that single dark hair burning like a brand against her fingers. Bella would have her proof soon enough. Then perhaps they could start making sense of this particular family mystery and she could put all these feelings to rest.

As she strode down the street, Bellatrix caught sight of a familiar group ahead — Regulus walking with Lucius, Rabastan, and her husband. Good, very good. They managed to get Regulus on his own.

Now it was time to get some answers.

She slowed her pace, staying just far enough behind to observe. Now they would discuss what truly mattered: Regulus' deteriorating focus, Arcturus’ concerning power plays, the Dark Lord's growing interest in these newcomers, and Leo Davies.

"The team's shaping up well for the season," Lucius was saying, his voice carrying back to her. "I heard the match against Hufflepuff was a blowout.”

Bellatrix felt her jaw clench. Quidditch? They were discussing Quidditch?

"Not that we expected anything else. The Puffs can barely find their broom handles, let alone the Snitch," Rabastan replied. "But keeping the cup will come down to Regulus anyway. It’s a shame the Lions managed to get the Mudblood as their new Seeker, but Reggie is better.”

The casual pride in Rabastan's voice as he discussed something so trivial made Bellatrix's blood boil. She quickened her pace, inserting herself into their group with sharp, decisive movements.

"Perhaps," she cut in, her voice dripping with disdain, "Regulus should consider stepping down as Seeker."

All four wizards turned to stare at her, but she focused on her young cousin's face, watching shock bloom across his features.

"Step down?" Regulus sputtered, genuinely aghast. "Bella, what are you —"

"Your grades are slipping," she snapped. "Enough that Lord Black feels the need to intervene. Clearly you need to focus on more important matters than chasing a silly golden ball around."

"Now, Bella," Lucius started, his voice maddeningly reasonable, "Slytherin has won the cup two years running with Regulus as Seeker. We're positioned for a third consecutive victory — something that hasn't happened in three decades."

"Who cares about Quidditch cups?" Bellatrix hissed, her voice rising. "There are more significant things at stake!”

Regulus flinched at Bellatrix's harsh tone, but quickly schooled his features back into careful neutrality. "I’m working on my grades. There's no need for such drastic measures."

Bellatrix scoffed. "Then why is Lord Black suddenly so interested in your education? Why is he insisting you stay at the manor over Yule?"

Rodolphus placed a hand on her arm, his touch meant to be calming. "We were just catching up. There will be time for more conversation later.”

"Catching up?" Bellatrix's voice rose in pitch, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Why in Merlin's name are we wasting time discussing Quidditch when there are far more pressing matters at hand?"

Rodolphus’ voice was low and placating. "Well, it is an interesting season, love. No one expected a new Gryffindor Seeker. And Regulus is quite good. His skills on the pitch are a point of pride for Slytherin House.”

“Probably good enough to go professional if he wanted,” Rabastan added on, clapping a hand on Regulus’ shoulder.

"Professional?" Bellatrix whirled on her brother-in-law, unable to process what she was hearing. "You think he should waste his talents playing games?"

She gestured at Regulus. "This is the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! He is destined for greatness, to lead our family and serve our Lord. And you think he should waste his time chasing after Snitches like some common athlete?"

Lucius stepped forward, his voice smooth and placating.

"Bella, you're getting ahead of yourself. Orion is still young. Regulus has years before he needs to step into the role of Lord Black. And Quidditch is important. It's part of our culture, our traditions. And Regulus really is exceptional at it.”

Bellatrix stared at him, feeling as though she'd stepped into some bizarre alternate reality where everyone had lost their minds.

She stared at Lucius, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Have you all gone mad?" she hissed. "Our Lord is rising. We are on the cusp of greatness. And you want Regulus to play games?"

Rodolphus tried again, "No one is suggesting Quidditch is more important than our cause. But —"

"But nothing!" she cut him off. "First Sirius parades around in Muggle filth, then Regulus starts kissing Mudbloods, and now you're all encouraging him to waste time with games instead of focusing on what truly matters! The whole world has gone utterly mad!"

She turned her fury on Regulus, who had gone very still. "The Dark Lord had such hopes for you," she hissed. "I vouched for you personally. And this is how you repay that honor? By letting yourself be distracted by childish pursuits?"

"Bellatrix," Lucius' voice had taken on a warning tone. "Perhaps this isn't the best place for such a discussion."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to retort, but Lucius' gaze suddenly shifted over her shoulder. His tense expression relaxed into one of relief.

"Ah, Narcissa," he called out. "There you are. Did you finish with the florist?"

"Hello, darling," she said, reaching up to place a quick, chaste kiss on Lucius' cheek. Her eyes swept over the group, taking in the tense atmosphere with a single raised brow.

She turned to Regulus, her smile warming. "It's lovely to see you again, Reg. Are you enjoying your Hogsmeade weekend?"

"We were just discussing the Quidditch season," Lucius offered smoothly. "Regulus has been performing admirably as Seeker."

Regulus shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Bellatrix's piercing gaze. "It's been a good season so far," he said quietly.

Narcissa's eyes darted between Regulus and Bellatrix. "I'm sure you'll lead Slytherin to victory again this year," she said warmly to Regulus. "Though I hope you're finding time for your studies as well."

Bellatrix scoffed. "Apparently not, since Arcturus feels the need to intervene. It’s time for him to step back from Quidditch.”

Narcissa's eyes widened slightly at Bellatrix's words. "Step back from Quidditch? Surely that's not necessary. Regulus is young, let him enjoy his last few years at Hogwarts.”

Bellatrix felt her hand twitch, her fingers itching to draw her wand. Every person in this family seemed to have their priorities completely backwards. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage building inside her.

Before she could snap back, Cissy turned toward their cousin.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. I saw Aunt Lucretia just down the street, by the path leading back to the castle. She seemed quite intent on finding you – something about finalizing holiday arrangements."

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "We weren't finished —"

"Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait," Narcissa interrupted smoothly, giving her a meaningful look. "Run along, Reggie. We'll catch up properly over Yule."

Regulus hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between Bellatrix and Narcissa. "Of course. Thank you, Cissy. I'll go find Aunt Lucretia now."

He turned to the others, inclining his head politely. "Lucius, Rabastan, Rodolphus... Bella. Enjoy the rest of your day."

They watched him hurry off toward the castle.

Lucius cleared his throat. "Perhaps we’ll start heading out as well. We’ll meet you in the Three Broomsticks. Rodolphus?"

The men exchanged looks before starting to walk ahead, leaving the sisters alone.

Bellatrix vibrated with barely contained fury.

"Cissy," she hissed, "what do you think you're—"

Narcissa gripped her sister's arm firmly. "Peace, Bella. I have something that might interest you more than scolding Regulus about Quidditch."

"If this is about those ridiculous flower arrangements—"

"No," Narcissa said, reaching into her robes to withdraw a small glass vial. Inside, a single dark hair gleamed. "I ran into Leo Davies on my way over."

Bellatrix's eyes widened as she stared at the vial in Narcissa's hand. "You got his hair?" she breathed, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Oh, Cissy, you clever girl."

Narcissa nodded, a tight smile on her lips. "It wasn't difficult. He's quite... polite. Far more like Regulus in that regard than Sirius.”

Bellatrix felt a wave of relief wash over her as she stared at the tiny vial in Narcissa's hand. Finally, some progress. Even as irritation simmered beneath the surface at losing her chance to interrogate Regulus further, she couldn't deny the thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins.

"At least someone in this family still has their priorities straight," Bellatrix said, tucking the precious hair away. "The others... Merlin, Cissy, they're all useless.”

Remus couldn't stop smiling.

Despite Henry's unique brand of chaos — or perhaps because of it — the day had been wonderful. Jean's hand was warm in his as they walked back through the castle, her thumb absently stroking across his knuckles.

The memory of their time together in Hogsmeade played through his mind. The way Jean's eyes had lit up when they'd entered Tomes and Scrolls, her fingers reverently tracing the spines of the books. How she'd laughed, bright and carefree, when she sprinted after her brother.

The charged moment they'd shared in the alleyway where she pushed up against him so exquisitely. He was both relieved and not that Henry interrupted them.

Even her temporary disappearance after the snowball fight hadn't dampened his spirits, not when she'd returned with Davies, both of them collapsing into fits of hysterics as they recounted the absolutely mental confrontation between the Blacks and Henry's subsequent removal by McGonagall.

His heart had nearly stopped when he heard about the gathering of Blacks outside Gladrags. The idea of Jean Parker — brilliant, kind, muggleborn Jean — standing before some of the most dangerous Death Eaters in Britain.

But Henry had been there, with his impossible magic, and Davies had joined them. And Sirius would sooner die than let anything happen to either Parker sibling. And somehow, inexplicably, all three seemed convinced that even Regulus, youngest Marked supporter, would step in if needed.

"He's not a bad sort," Henry had insisted more than once over the last few months. "Just a kid in over his head."

It was odd how Henry’s assurance seemed to mean so much to all of them.

Still, hearing about the confrontation had sent a chill down Remus' spine. He'd heard about the cruelty Bellatrix was capable of, had witnessed Lucius Malfoy's cold disdain for anyone he deemed beneath him. The thought of Jean facing them made his protective instincts flare.

But Jean had given him a soft smile, assuring him that she was okay as she sat next to him at the Three Broomstick, even as he noticed the slightest hint of tension around her eyes. But she grabbed his hand, fingers tracing his knuckles softly.

Davies had been kind enough to excuse himself, but not before making Remus promise not to leave her on her own for any reason.

"I still need to find a gift for that impossible git I call a boyfriend," Leo had said, rolling his eyes fondly. "Even if he doesn’t deserve it.”

He turned to Remus, his grey eyes suddenly serious. "Stick together, yeah? One too many Black family members prowling around today.”

Back in the corridor, Remus squeezed Jean's hand gently as they walked through the castle. "It was an okay day?" he asked softly. "Given everything that happened?"

Jean smiled warmly at Remus, squeezing his hand in return. "More than okay," she assured him. "It was wonderful, Remus. Truly."

Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. "Though I do think we should find a way to keep Henry occupied during our next date. Perhaps we could convince Sirius to take him on an adventure far, far away from us."

Remus chuckled. "Merlin, can you imagine the chaos those two would cause together? We'd come back to find Hogsmeade in ruins.”

“Bite your bloody tongues, you two,” Davies grumbled from behind them. “The last thing we need is those two idiots encouraging each other."

"Speaking of, where is our resident chaos demon?" Marlene asked, looking around. "And Sirius? Are you sure Black’s not off trying to woo your boyfriend, Davies?”

“Bite your bloody tongue, McKinnon.”

“Oh, sorry, Parker’s apparently trying to woo Lucius Malfoy.”

“Bite your bloody tongue, McKinnon.”

"Sirius is with Regulus," James replied, laughing over Davies’ grumbling. He had his arm slung casually around Lily's shoulders, looking more content than Remus had ever seen him. "He wanted to be sure he was okay after running into Bellatrix. No idea about Henry though."

“Think McGonagall had him arrested?”

Davies snorted. “No, he had something to take care of after he came back. I saw him — he’s alive and well, and up to something, I’m sure.”

"I still can't believe he made it snow on Dumbledore through the Floo network," Peter said, shaking his head in amazement.

"I still can't believe he flirted with Lucius Malfoy," Marlene giggled. "I’m so sad I missed it. Think I can convince him to do it again in front of me?”

“Bite your bloody tongue, McKinnon.”

"Honestly, I'm more impressed that Davies didn't hex him on the spot," James laughed. "Though I suppose you’re used to Henry's particular brand of chaos by now."

Leo shot James a long-suffering look. "You have no idea."

“Severus."

Lily's voice cut through their laughter like a knife. Remus looked up to see Snape blocking their path, his eyes dark with malicious intent. The same eyes that had watched him with calculating hatred since that night at the Shrieking Shack.

All the warmth and contentment of the day seemed to evaporate in an instant.

He felt a pit form in his stomach.

The Slytherin stood in the middle of the corridor, his dark eyes taking in their group with barely concealed hatred. His lip curled as his gaze landed on James's arm around Lily.

"Well, well," Snape drawled, his voice dripping with venom. "What a charming little group. Blood traitors and Mudbloods, all playing so nicely together."

He hears Lily’s sharp inhale at his casual use of the slur.

James tensed, his hand dropping to his wand before he visibly forced himself to relax. "Do you need something, Snape?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Lily's face lit up with pride at James's restraint. The sight seemed to make something in Snape snap.

"How touching," he spat. "The great James Potter, pretending at civility. Tell me, does it hurt to suppress your natural cruelty? Or has Parker's influence really made you soft?"

"Don't," Lily warned, but Snape was beyond hearing.

"It must be nice," he continued, "to have everyone so convinced of your redemption. Potter the Head Boy, the reformed bully. The Parkers with their perfect little found family." His gaze fixed on Jean. "Tell me, Parker, do you enjoy being lied to? Or are you just willfully blind?”

Remus felt Jean stiffen beside him. "Don’t —”

Snape's smile was cruel as he spoke over her. "Have they told you? About what your precious Gryffindor really is? What kind of monster you've been cozying up to in the library?"

Ice flooded Remus's veins. No. Please no.

"That's enough!" James snapped, stepping forward, but Snape pressed on, clearly savoring the moment. “You promised —”

"Haven't they told you? About Lupin's monthly disappearances? About why the Whomping Willow was really planted? About what Potter and his friends really get up to during the full moon?"

Remus felt lightheaded. He wanted to move, wanted to try and stop him, but everything was heavy.

He felt Jean's hand in his, wanted desperately to memorize the feeling before she inevitably pulled away. But it wasn't just Jean now — Davies was here, and Lily, and Marlene. His carefully contained secret was about to destroy everything.

His mind raced with horrible clarity. He'd have to leave Hogwarts. There was no way he could stay once everyone knew. Parents would write letters, demand his removal. The Board of Governors would revoke Dumbledore's decision to let him attend. His friends would...

Leo moved with startling speed just as Snape opened his mouth again, silencing charm snapping into place around them just before the word "werewolf" could echo through the corridor.

Remus's world narrowed to the thundering of his heart. This was it. The end of everything he'd built here. No more late-night talks with Jean in the library. No more planning sessions with Davies over Charms. No more easy laughter with Lily in Potions or sharing jokes with Marlene at breakfast.

"You absolute bastard," Jean's voice was deadly quiet.

Before anyone could react, she had released Remus's hand and crossed the space between them. Her fist connected with Snape's nose with surprising force, sending him staggering backward.

"Oh, she's gotten better at that," Davies murmured, sounding almost proud.

Snape's sneer faltered as he held his bleeding nose, looking at her in confusion. "He's a dangerous creature—"

"Well, he's not a Death Eater," Jean cut him off coldly, "but I suppose I can forgive him for that."