Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

July 31st, 1985

It wasn’t fair. 

Harry may not be the smartest- Dudley tells him how stupid he is quite often- but even Harry knows that it is not fair! 

5 year old Harry didn’t understand why he wasn’t treated like other kids. 

He laid in his cupboard under the stairs, curled up on his side facing away from the door. One of his small arms wrapped around his middle, glasses slightly skewed from how he laid his head on his other arm, watching a spider crawl on the wall. His stomach is slightly sunken and growling, but he learned that if he didn’t focus on it, he didn’t feel it as much, even if it often woke him up really early, like now.

The house was still dark, still quiet, and only the tiniest bit of light came through the small vented grate on his door, thanks to the window on the front door. It was one of the only reasons he liked his small cupboard, because it was the closest thing he had to a window, and it let him see sometimes when he woke up too early. 

Thanks to that, Harry knows it’s morning time, but too early for his aunt and uncle to wake up, and definitely too early for Dudley. So it’s probably about 4 or 5 am. He reaches his arm out from around his stomach, stretching out his small pointer finger towards the spider. 

It was big, and black, but Harry doesn’t know a lot about spiders- or really anything, other than aunt Petunia being terrified of them. But this spider was nice, touching his finger with two of its arms before crawling on his hand. Harry smiles at the feeling, watching the spider walk around his small hand and wrist.

He made a friend.

Somewhere upstairs, there's footsteps, and a door opening and shutting.

Harry frowns and puts the spider back on the wall before he sits up.

He’ll have to make breakfast soon.

Up to this point, the Dursleys hadn’t raised their hands to him, aside from Dudley. They just liked to ignore him and yell at him and make him do chores. He hates doing chores. 

He didn’t understand the danger he was in when he became curious.

Harry had seen the other kids at school celebrate their birthdays in class or talk about how their families are planning to celebrate. He had seen first hand how the Dursleys celebrate Dudley’s birthdays!

So why can’t he celebrate his birthday? Why does Dudley get presents on Harry’s birthday? Why doesn’t Harry get any presents?

It was his birthday, yet he was now in the kitchen standing on a step stool in front of the oven. Aunt Petunia had come down and pounded on his door not long after he heard her moving around upstairs. She had demanded he make breakfast before Dudley or uncle Vernon woke up. 

And despite not understanding why his birthday was never the one celebrated, Harry was mostly a good kid. In his too big grey shirt that reached his knees with holes around the collar and hem, and matching, too big sleep pants, he made eggs and bacon like he was told. While the shirt is large on him, it wasn’t large enough to hide the dots of burns from bacon grease or other kitchen mishaps that weren’t properly taken care of. 

They were his mistakes after all.

Aunt Petunia said he deserved them as punishment for making mistakes.

He cleaned up after cooking. He cleaned up after the Dursleys ate. He went to get the post when he was ordered. 

Each time he went through the living room, he couldn’t help the way his eyes went to the pile of presents. He couldn’t help the jealousy that burned deep in his chest. He couldn’t help the way his eyes shone and burned with unshed tears. 

He didn’t understand the danger when he became upset. 

But he definitely understood when he stopped in the living room after giving Vernon the post, and asked about the presents. 

He had tried asking calmly, nicely, despite the confusion, the sadness, and the hope warring in his chest. He tried using big boy words that he learned at kindergarten.

Those are Dudley’s presents, you stupid, stupid boy. You know this- now stop asking questions and go back to your cupboard!

Harry’s tears fell down his too slim cheeks and his tiny fists gripped his clothes. “It’s not fair! It’s my birthday!” He cried in front of the Dursleys. 

He didn’t mean to cry. He didn’t mean to yell- it just felt like too much and it hurt, the way they talked to him, the way Dudley smirked at him, like he knew he was better than Harry.

The tears didn’t last long, though. Only a few of them managed to hit the carpet before he saw it. The looks on their faces, filled with such disgust and anger, had stopped his tears with a hiccup the instant he saw them. 

Something in him just knew. 

He was in danger.

—

Harry had blacked out after a particularly hard kick to the ribs, and the last thing he remembered was the sound of screams and hissing as everything went dark. 

When he woke up, he was laying in the middle of the living room, covered in blood and bruises from Vernon.

Stupid, Stupid boy! So lucky we took you in, fed you, clothed you at all! How dare you complain about fairness? We never wanted you to begin with!

His small, aching body shuddered at the voice in his head, clear as day, before he opened his eyes. His sight was blurry, his glasses having been lost after the first smack by his aunt, but even without them he could tell something was wrong. 

It was dark, despite the light coming in from the windows. The living room was a mess- half of Dudley’s gifts opened, paper and boxes everywhere and the couch turned over.. Though that one didn't make sense to him. But before he could explore much further, he noticed something was surrounding him. 

Reaching out, he felt cool scales under his hand and gasped. He remembers the documentary Vernon had fallen asleep watching a few weeks ago, one about snakes and their lives. 

But where did this snake come from? How big was it? Is he in danger? He didn’t feel unsafe, not like how the Dursleys made him feel. Without his glasses, all he can really tell is that the snake is really big, and dark. He really likes the feel of the scales. 

“Harry..”

Lifting his head from where he was looking at the scales, he looked around. He had never heard that voice before, and he doesn’t know where it came from. He turns around, only to see the snake’s head level with his own.

He let out a tiny gasp, and responded without thinking.

He ignores the bodies laying still behind the snake’s head that look like lumps and blobs with his bad vision.

“Who are you? Did you call me?”

The snake nods its head.

“My name is Sashaar, and I am yours. Just as you are mine. We are Soulbound.”

This big snake.. Is his? His eyes widened in wonder, saddened that he can’t see it properly without his glasses.

“Soulbound? What does that mean?”

Sashaar shakes his head.

“We do not have enough time. I will explain it all soon. But to protect you, I burned our power to near empty. It was the only way. However, I didn’t expect it to take so much. I am sorry.”

Before Harry could ask what the snake- Sashaar- meant, Harry felt a sudden, heavy wave of exhaustion. Blood dripped from his nose as he began to feel a pounding headache in the back of his head. 

His world went black for the second time.

—

 All the pain was gone.

That was the first thing that Harry noticed when he woke up, opening his eyes. Even the blood from his nose was gone and-

It was all white. 

He looked around with a confused frown on his small face, gripping his soft sleep pants as he started to feel fear gripping his chest. 

It was all white, but, but it looked familiar. Like a.. Train station? 

Oh! This is King’s Cross! He saw it on tv once, in passing. Uncle Vernon never let him watch tv like he let Dudley. But.. King’s Cross Station had color. It was filled with reds and browns- at least it was on the tv. So, where did all the color go? He looked down at himself, seeing that he still had color, but his surroundings didn’t. 

“Harry.”

Immediately, the child perked up and turned around, smiling at the sight of the snake- Sashaar. And this time, he could really see him.

He was huge, much, much bigger than grown ups! And his scales were a beautiful black, so black they looked blue, but also like they were sprinkled with white dust- like stars. Yet- yet when light hit him- he doesn’t know where the light came from- those onyx scales turned a beautiful molten gold, rippling along his body like waves. 

Like his black scales were hiding fire beneath them, only making the snake even more beautiful.

His eyes were a pretty gold color, though not as golden as his scales can be, and he had long horns on his head that grew back and did a partial under loop to point forward. 

“Sashaar? Woah.. you're really cool, and really really pretty!”

The snake seemed to preen under the compliments, lowering his large head and letting the child gently pet his cool, yet oddly warm, scales. 

“Harry Potter. You are far too small to be here so soon, child.”

Harry jumps at the voice, turning to look behind him. There’s a- a shadow there, tall, too tall to be human but much smaller than Sashaar. Wearing a hood with long, loose sleeves that look ripped and old around the ends, and the bottom of his.. Dress? Matched his sleeves. Shadows spilled out around him, and he had no feet, like he was floating, and Harry couldn’t see a face under the hood- like it was pure darkness.

He took a step back, closer to Sashaar out of fear.

“You should not be here. Your thread is not yet spun to its end. But the cruelty of men is sometimes quicker than fate intends… Though your Soulbound may have had an accidental part in it, he was not the main cause.”

Harry looked up at Sashaar, who looked away, before looking back at the.. Figure.

“Who.. are you?” 

“I am Death, young one. And you, little Peverell, were meant to be my master. So, I offer you a choice.”

Oh. He died? Maybe because he doesn’t really know what that means, but he doesn’t feel.. Sad. Just.. empty. 

“What is it?”

“Go back, not to the moment you left, but further. Back before the story began. A second chance to walk the path anew, armed with what you are — the Master of Death. Do you accept it, child?”

He frowns, looking back at Sashaar before looking at the being that calls himself Death. 

“What is the other choice?”

“To die, for good. To enter the cycle of rebirth, without your memories, without your soulbound, and as someone completely new.”

Harry doesn’t want to die. But, isn’t he already dead? He looks up at Sashaar who is behind him, watching him. Sashaar had saved him, from uncle Vernon. He was nice. He felt.. Safe. Like another part of Harry. 

He doesn’t want to be without him. 

“Can.. Can Sashaar come with me?” 

“This one is bound to you. And so am I. You will never be alone, so as long as you are the Master of Death.”

That brought a smile to little Harry’s face, and he nodded, his black, unruly curls bouncing with the movement. 

“Then yes please. I accept.”

“Wise choice, child. May you enjoy your new life, Child of Black.”

And then Harry was falling, but he didn’t hit the ground. He kept falling and falling down a dark hole that definitely wasn’t there before. He could see Sashaar following him down the hole, and the world slowly went dark once again.

Chapter Text

July 31st, 1932

“Hadarion. Hadarion, wake up.” A soft feminine voice called out to him as the owner of the voice shook his shoulders. With a yawn, Harry rubs his eyes as he straightens into a sleepy stretch, a low groan leaving him because that stretch felt so good! He blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the low light and smiling wide at the sight of the girl standing over him.

It’s his big sister! 

“Lucy,” he whines, sitting up and reaching his arms out for a hug. With a fond look that’s too mature for a 7 year old girl, she leaned down and hugged him tightly. 

The room, once dim, brightens slowly to aid the children’s adjusting eyes.

Ever since Harry had been able to walk and talk, he demands hugs every night before bed and every morning when they get up, from everyone. No one really understood it, and most brushed it off as him being a clingy child. 

They weren’t wrong, especially since the memories of his life as Harry Potter were still very fresh.

“Come on, birthday boy! It’s time for breakfast. I put your outfit together in your wardrobe, so get dressed while I go get Orion.” She says as the room is fully lit now, showing her in a soft black, long sleeved dress that stops around her knees, her hair held up and out of her face in a simple tie. 

Hadarion nods quickly, throwing his very, very soft and warm sheets off and sliding off the bed, his feet going into his slippers. “Okay! I’ll meet you downstairs!” He smiles at her as she leaves his room to go get their youngest brother, Orion. 

But instead of getting dressed right away, he goes over to the window and opens the curtains, smiling at the sight of the manor property stretched out before his eyes, and the sun rising in the sky. 

“Sashaar, are you awake?”

“I am always awake, Snakelet.”

Harry’s smile was blinding as he felt the small, scaly body appear and slither along the back of his neck, and a small head nudge his jaw.

“It’s our birthday, Sashaar! I get to have birthdays too, now. I’m excited!”

Harry had been born, like death said, a child of Black. The most Ancient and Noble house of Black, to be precise. He had celebrated his other four birthdays- he knows because he saw the pictures- but this one is going to be the best one yet!

After all, he had died on his 5th birthday as Harry Potter.

This time, he’s going to live past his 5th birthday as Hadarion Black. 

He turned away from the window to go to the wardrobe, taking in the sight of his room once again. 

His room was a mix of blacks, greens, and golds. If it wasn’t for the toys, one would mistake this room for one belonging to a teenager or an adult. But it was his, and he loved it. 

His large four poster bed in the middle of the room, black wood and deep green sheets and blanket, an arm chair and a small table next to it, and the two night stands on either side of his bed. On the other side of the room, closer to his door, is his wardrobe, a couch and a coffee table with some books laid around it. He had some toys, like his favorite hippogriff toy and a train set of the Hogwarts Express, laying around the floor that he had to skillfully navigate to get to his wardrobe.

Opening his wardrobe, a silly little grin was on his face as he saw the outfit already put together and waiting for him- his big sister always loved dressing him and Orion up, after all. 

He put the outfit on- a soft, long sleeve black button up, matching black slacks and belt, and a green jacket to go over it. All the clothes had warming and cleaning charms on to help them stay nice and clean and warm, and they were always so soft!

Much better than the hand me downs from the Durselys. He frowns, shaking his head to rid himself of the thought. It’s a good day, he’s going to make it a good day, and he doesn’t want to think about anything negative anymore. He smiles as he feels Sashaar nudge against his jaw. 

“Calm, Snakelet. It’s a good day.”

Harry’s smile widened at the reminder, rushing out of his room and down the long stairs through the manor. 

“Hadarion! What have we told you about running inside, little one?” He heard his uncle father chide him softly, his voice fond. 

Arcturus, his mother’s big brother, had adopted him after she had passed on when Harry was only three. She had never told anyone about Harry’s father, other than the fact that he had died before her. 

Harry just grins at his father.

“To not do it inside without good reason. But dad, it's my birthday!” 

Arcturus eyed Harry for a moment before sighing fondly with a smile. “That it is, son. Happy birthday,” He says as he picks Harry up and receives a hug for his efforts. “And good morning.”

“Morning, dad! Can I open my presents now?”

Arcturus laughs, shaking his head as he puts the child down. “Not yet, Hadarion. Let's eat breakfast, and then you have tutoring, remember? You can open your presents after dinner.”

–

This sucks. 

It was his birthday, yet he still had to be tutored! It’s not fair! 

He pouted from where he sat in the study that was dedicated to his, Lucretia, and Orion’s tutoring. And as father kept telling them, it’s also where they can do their summer homework from Hogwarts once they start attending. 

Instead of desks, there was one table long enough to fit three kids and their work, though it only housed him and Lucretia at the moment since Orion was too young to attend for now.

Lucky. 

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a loud sigh. 

“Mr. Black, sit up straight. That slouch is no way for an Heir of Black to sit.” The tutor, Mrs. Lyre, had to remind him once again. He didn’t even realize he was slouching, but he sat up straight and scooted his chair back in, a slight pink to his chubby cheeks as Lucretia giggled at him. 

His pout returned, intensified. 

“Come now, let us review etiquette for today. After all, your manners, or lack thereof, is how people will perceive you. And as children of the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black, you will have many people eyeing you.” 

Mrs. Lyre had been teaching the Black Heirs for about three years now, ever since Lucretia was 4, and then Hadarion had started taking the lessons when he had turned 4, two years later. She was a nice older woman, but really strict, and if the way she acted with Lucretia was a hint, she’ll get stricter as he gets older. 

Harry sighs softly as the woman drones on about the proper way to sit, to show confidence, to show little emotion and not let anyone see what you are thinking or feeling. He knows it’s important, because everyone tells him so, but it’s hard for him to focus on it. 

After all, today is his birthday. He wants to open his presents, he wants to eat his favorite foods, he wants to play outside. The birthday boy didn’t notice but at some point his eyes had drifted towards the window, watching some birds fly by. 

“Snakelet, pay attention.”

Harry looked away from the window and back towards Mrs. Lyre, who had just turned to glance at him. He can feel Sashaar laying along the back of his neck, and the tiny weight was a comforting presence that always lifted Harry’s mood.

He straightens in his seat. 

With a nod, she goes back to tutoring, but Harry isn’t listening. After all, it’s a review of everything he knows already, since she spent the last year teaching them. 

“And that ends our lesson for the day. Don't forget, miss Black, that starting on your birthday, you will have a new teacher and move on to a new curriculum as you get closer to attending Hogwarts.” Mrs. Lyre tells them and Harry frowns, realizing that means he’ll be tutoring alone for a while until Orion joins him. 

Harry follows Lucretia out of the study, going down to the dining room for lunch, a smile slowly stretching across his chubby face.

He loves that he can eat real food with his family, and he doesn’t have to eat scraps and sleep under the stairs. And the food is really good and he really, really loves his family. 

“Hadarion,” Arcturus’ voice comes from the dining room as he enters from the opposite side that Harry and Lucretia enter, “Come to my study after lunch so we can talk, okay?” 

Hadarion frowns a bit, a little nervous because Arcturus only calls them to his office for something really important or if they are in trouble and he doesn’t know which it is. 

“Okay, dad.” 

The meal was as quiet as usual. It was like another extension of their tutoring, having to remember their manners and proper etiquette as they ate. But the food was good, and the little bits of conversation that happened were always nice. They might not be like the meal times he would sometimes see on the Dursley’s TV from time to time, loud and fun, but he liked it. 

Arcturus was the first to finish eating, and Lucy says it's because he’s an adult and can take bigger bites so he finishes before them. 

A few minutes later, lunch was over and it was time to meet his father in his study.

Hadarion was standing outside of Arcturus’ office. Lucretia put a hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him. 

“I don’t think it’s anything bad, Harry. Go on, and come out to play with Orion and I when you are done.” Harry smiles at her and nods, feeling a bit of tension leave his small shoulders as he watches her pick up Orion’s hand and head outside. 

He’s a tiny bit jealous.

Shaking his head, he looks up at the large door and knocks, a determined look on his face. 

“Come in,” Arcturus calls and the door opens, letting Harry inside before shutting behind him. 

Lord Black is sitting on one of the black couches in front of his desk, with a coffee table between the two couches facing each other. Seeing as this is a serious matter, Harry decides to put his etiquette to good use the moment he sees his father looking at him. 

He puts his arm over his waist and bows at a 45 degree angle. 

“Good afternoon, Lord Black. I-I came as requested,” he stutters a bit, nervous, and bites his lip when he realizes that he did, in fact, stutter.

The room is quiet, before a low chuckle comes from Arcturus. 

“You did good, son. Deep breaths if you are nervous. Now, let's drop the formalities- come, sit next to me.”

Relieved he doesn’t seem to be in trouble, Harry stands back up with a smile and a nod, “Yes, dad!” He says as he walks over quickly, barely holding himself back from running to the older male, before lifting himself on to the couch. 

Arcturus smiled down at the young boy, petting his hair gently. “Happy birthday, son. I can’t believe you're already 5 years old.” He murmurs, a slightly far away look in his eyes, remembering his wife and sister. 

With a soft sigh, he cleared his mind of such thoughts before focusing fully on the child in front of him. “You are old enough to be told some things, now. Like about your soulbound.” He says with a small smile, looking down at the small snake around the back of Harry’s neck. 

Harry immediately sat up straighter, excitement clear, making his bright green eyes sparkle. 

And not for the first time, Arcturus wonders if those eyes are from his sister’s mysterious lover. 

“I have so many questions! Why do I have Sashaar? What can he do? Why can no one else hear him talk?” Harry asked quickly, leaning closer to Arcturus and making the man chuckle softly. 

He pets Harry’s head, easing him back to sitting right. “Sit right, son. I’ll answer as best as I can.” He promises, holding his hand out. A book leaves one of the shelves behind the large desk and lands itself in the outstretched hand. 

“You are a Parselmouth. Only other Parselmouths can hear what Sashaar is saying, and what you are saying when you speak Parseltongue. Every Parselmouth is born with a soul serpent- what we call Soulbound. They are your friend, your family, your protector. There isn’t much known about them due to how few of them there are, however.” 

Arcturus puts the book on his lap, and Harry looks down at the dark green, almost black, book with a coiled snake on the cover. “You might be the only known Parselmouth, Hadarion. And it’s not looked on favorably, your special ability. Too many people in our world are concerned with Light and Dark magic, as if it matters.” He sighs and Harry frowns, looking down at Sashaar who had slithered down his arm to rest on his wrist and palm. 

“But Sashaar is nice. Why is it bad that I have him?” He asks, looking up at Arcturus, confusion and sadness clear in his green eyes. 

Arcturus quickly cups the boy’s cheeks, “It’s not bad. I promise, Harry. But everyone is scared of what they don’t understand. Remember how you were scared of the dark last year? It’s like that.” He murmurs, before smiling and gently pinching those cheeks before letting go.

“Sashaar is your protector, but he is only as strong as you are- your magic core, to be precise. The bigger your core, the more magic you have, the better he can protect you. So I’m going to add a training session to your schedule. It’s a bit early, but the earlier we get started the better. But today is your day, so we’ll start tomorrow, okay? Here, It might be a lot for you right now, but you can always ask us if there is something you don’t understand.” 

He passed the book over to Harry, who had to use both hands to hold onto the book. 

Harry was grateful, but he still felt like he had more questions than answers.

Maybe the book will help him.

Chapter Text

June 1st, 1933

It was early. 

Too early to really be awake at this time- the sun wasn’t even fully in the sky yet, but after the last year, Harry thought he was starting to get used to it- even if his eyes were still closing on their own and his body was reluctant to move. 

“Come on, Mr. Black. While it is early, you should be used to this by now. Come, come, sit.” Mr. Prince, the tutor his father got for him after his birthday last year, ushered him into the dueling room. 

Mr. Prince’s training consists of at least an hour, sometimes two, of meditation, and then stamina and flexibility training. The first day, he had ranted for a long time about how young wizards are neglecting their bodies, and how would their magic have stamina if they didn’t? How would they dodge spells if they didn’t know their own bodies? 

It still feels weird not to properly greet an adult after how much it had been drilled into him, but Mr. Prince was more concerned with training and using all the time available to them than ‘trivial etiquette nonsense’ as he says. 

So, Harry sits on the soft cushion on the ground, with Mr. Prince- call me Emerson, Hadarion - sitting on the one directly in front of him. Legs crossed, palms on his knees, he closes his eyes as Mr. Prince begins to talk. 

“Calm your mind, Hadarion. Deep, slow breaths. Relax your body, and let the world fade away..” His voice was deep and soothing, staying at a calming and even pace, aiding Harry into a meditation trance. 

Sound faded away, and only he existed. He was floating amongst a sea of stars, and as he sank deeper into his trance, he stood on a large field.

In front of him were the beginnings of a glowing green forest on top of glowing green grass, sprouts along the ground showing the new growth for him to nurture. Trees, bushes, flowers, all just waiting for his attention. He walked forward, reaching out to a tree and watching his hand go through it, the magic shimmering before returning to its shape. 

Mr. Prince had told him that once his magic was full, and there was nothing else left to grow, then he would have to make the forest physical, in a sense, to allow him to touch it and his hand not go through it. That's when his magic core will be fully developed, and it's an advantage to the students who grow up in wealthy, magical families.

Looking away from the tree, he walks further in, just past another few trees, to reach a tree sprout. He kneels in front of it, willing his magic that's in the sprout to move, to grow, to obey his commands. And thankfully, it doesn’t take long. He watches as the sprout grows into a tree, just as tall and thick as the rest, within just a few minutes. 

A smile lights his face as the tree finishes growing, a few leaves floating down from the leaf covered branches, as if riding the nonexistent wind. 

With a deep sigh, he slowly leaves the world of magic, his inner forest, blinking his eyes open to see Mr. Prince staring at him with a smile. 

“Every time I see it, I just can’t believe it. You are going to be a powerful wizard, young Hadarion. Alright then, time to stretch before we move our bodies.”

Hadrian groaned.

–

November 6th, 1933

“The Soulbound is no mere familiar, nor beast of burden. It is the mirror of the Parselmouth’s innermost self, given form and scale. To slay it is to damage the soul itself, driving the Parselmouth to insanity. When the Parselmouth dies, the serpent’s coil dissolves into smoke, for neither may truly walk the earth without the other.”

Harry sighs, closing his eyes and dropping his head back against the wall he’s sitting against in his room, his feet planted on the floor, knees up for the book to rest against as he reads. He finished his lessons for the day and decided to spend some time in his room with Sashaar, who had grown from the size of around 9 inches to about a foot long now. 

He looks over at Sashaar who is slithering up his leg to raise his head above the book, looking at Harry. 

“Yes, that feels about right. We are.. Connected, in many ways. I feel your emotions, and your pain.” Sashaar hisses as he slithers onto the pages and up Harry’s chest to his shoulders, between Harry’s growing hair and his neck. His hair, black and wavy, reaches his shoulders now, and they both enjoyed it. Sashaar liked it for the shade it provided, having told Harry it was similar to a blanket for him when he rested along his neck. 

Harry, though, liked it for different reasons. Arcturus and Lucretia both had long hair, which he loved to play with when they let him, but also because he really liked it when they played with his hair. And the more hair he had, the more they had to play with. 

“You really feel everything? Even when I stub my toe or accidentally bite my tongue?” Harry asked in a bit of surprise, looking down at the pages. It looks like normal English to him, but Lucretia and Arcturus had told him it looks like squiggly lines. Apparently, it’s written in Parseltongue. 

“Yes, though not as intensely as you would feel it. What else does the book say?”

At the question, Harry looks down at the book with a small hum, his toes wiggling in his black socks and pressing together.

“There are a few different passages.. How about the one on Trust and Mastery? Though I don’t think we need it. I trust you the most.”

He felt Sashaar’s tail lightly hit his jaw. “Silly Snakelet. Read everything. Knowledge is Power.”

Harry huffs, because he doesn’t mind reading, but it’s not his favorite thing to do. “Many imagine that the Parselmouth commands their serpent as a master commands a hound. This is folly.” Harry pauses, staring at the word. He knows it, he knows he does. 

“It means Foolish, Snakelet.”

“I-I knew that!” He pouts a bit, slightly embarrassed before he continues to read, “The serpent cannot be mastered, for it is the Parselmouth. To betray the serpent is to betray oneself; to embrace it fully is to achieve wholeness… Some never speak its name aloud, fearing what the world would think—yet the serpent always listens, patient, waiting for the day it is called.”

He could feel Sashaar’s head against his neck, nodding. But Sashaar’s response and the words he read brings up some questions.

“Where do you go when you're not with me, Sashaar?”

“I am you, just like you are me. We are one. I rest inside of your soul when I’m not here.”

“Wait.. does that mean you hear everything I do? Can you see it, too?” 

“Yes, Snakelet. I can hear everything, though I cannot see while I am inside your soul.”

Definitely no secrets, then. 

Harry reaches up, touching some of the words of the passage he just read. “Some never speak its name aloud, fearing what the world would think.” He murmurs softly, frowning at the words as if they offended him. 

“I don’t like it. Why should I have to hide my best friend? Or an ability I was born with?” 

He drops his head back against the wall again, closing his eyes. 

He doesn’t want to hide Sashaar.

–

December 22nd, 1933

On a normal day, the house is dark. Not with lighting, but with decorations. Black, dark greens, the occasional gold accent. It’s cozy, and Harry would take it over the Durselys’ home every day forever! 

But today was the first day of the Winter Solstice, which means that the entire Black manor is covered in Yule decorations! Tinsel along the stair railings, a big tree in the corner of the living room, candles and garlands and wreaths! 

This is his favorite time of the year! 

“Harry!” Orion called as he came down the stairs a little slower than Harry had, and the older boy helped him down the rest of the way as Lucretia followed. “Lets go outside after breakfast! I looked out the window, and it snowed a lot!” Harry grins at Lucretia, who rolls her eyes fondly while Orion cheers at the idea of going outside.

“Alright, we can go outside after. But not for too long! Last time, Orion got sick!” 

“Yes~” Orion and Harry said in unison, making them all laugh on their way to the dining room. 

“Merry Yule, children.” Arcturus says as soon as he sees them, a tired smile on his face. No one comments on it, because Orion is too young but Harry and Lucretia know that this isn’t his favorite time of the year. 

After all, his sister and his wife are no longer around to celebrate with them. 

“And I know you want to go outside after breakfast, but make sure you listen to your sister. It might be rare for us to get snow, but that doesn’t mean you can get sick.” Arcturus warns them, looking at his two boys who give innocent looks back, making him snort. 

All throughout breakfast, Harry couldn’t stop looking around. He always loves the way the house elves decorate for the holidays, and the food is always so good! He doesn’t see them often, though, since Arcturus likes them to stay out of sight, out of mind unless called for. 

But now it was time to go outside and play! While they don’t say it out loud, both Harry and Lucretia know that they won’t be able to play like this for much longer. After all, once they go to Hogwarts, they’ll be in the public eye and have to uphold the reputation of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. 

It was exhausting to think about, so they simply pushed it to the back of their minds to have fun for now. 

“Come on, Ori! We have snow this year, so we can build stuff, like snowmen or snow forts!” Lucretia says as they enter the manor’s backyard after Harry, all of them fully dressed in warm coats and gloves and the like.

“We can do that later! Let’s have a snowball fight!” Harry grins from where he’s squatting in the snow, forming two snowballs to throw at the other two. He stands and turns around, freezing with his eyes wide.

Lucretia and Orion are standing there with snowballs in their hands.

“Uh oh.” 

They laugh as the other two pelt him with the snowballs and he returns fire before running behind a tree for cover, hearing them run, too, while he makes more snowballs. 

A snowball hits the tree he’s behind, right next to his head and he gasps.

The war begins! 

~

They only had a snowball fight for about a half hour before Lucretia told them it was time to go inside. Both boys complained, but she promised to ask Arcturus if they could come out again before bed time, which cheered them up enough to get them inside. 

Inside, bathed and warm, they all ended up in Harry’s room, on his large bed. Orion was asleep moments after his head touched the pillows, and Harry and Lucretia laid on either side of him. Both dozed for a light nap after exhausting themselves with the snowball fight. 

It was cold. Why was it cold? 

He was curled up against the back door of the Durselys’ home. It was one of the rare snow days and he had been ordered to shovel in one of Dudley’s old jackets and hand me down boots that were too big. 

It’s cold. 

He took too long to finish, and they locked him out. Just like they said they would. Because they didn’t want to wait for him. 

His arms hurt. He just wants to go to sleep. 

But it’s so cold. The jacket is covered in holes and doesn’t protect him well enough. The stone is cold under him. He pulls his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them with a sniffle. 

His face hurts. He wants to go home. He wants to go home. He wants to go home! This isn’t home! He wants to go home!

“...rry!...arry!... Hadarion! Wake up!”

With a gasp, Harry’s eyes shot open, staring up at Lucretia with wide eyes as she gripped his shoulders. Her face was full of worry and relief as she pulled him up to sit and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, tightly, desperately, looking for more warmth as he trembled. 

In pure relief and joy. It was just a dream. 

“You had a nightmare, you kept saying you wanted to go home. Are you okay?” She asks and he nods into her shoulder, not ready to let go yet. He still feels so cold. 

He feels her rubbing his back when he doesn't let go after a little while, and it helps him relax until he reluctantly lets go of her. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks softly, and he shakes his head, wiping his face. “‘M sorry,” He murmurs and she scoffs. 

“Don’t you ever apologize for having a nightmare or needing comfort. I’m your big sister, silly. I’ll always be here.” 

Her words brought a smile to his face as she moved to lay back down. Thankfully, Orion hadn’t woken up, otherwise he would have felt really bad. 

He feels Sashaar sliding along the back of his neck.

“You aren’t alone, Snakelet. Never again.”

–

April 15th, 1934

It was just after lunch time when Harry and Sashaar found themselves in the training room again. He was here earlier for his usual training with Mr. Prince, but now isn’t his training time, technically. It’s Sashaar’s. 

“Okay, Sashaar.” Harry says as he sits in the middle of the training room, legs crossed while Sashaar slithers into existence next to him, slithering in front of him so they can maintain eye contact. 

“I’ve started training up my magic core, so I think it’s safe to figure out your abilities and how to use them. The book said that as my magic core progresses, so will you- in growth and in awakening your abilities.” 

Harry runs his hand through his hair, now touching his shoulder blades, with a sigh. “But.. How do we know? Do you feel any different, or do we just keep trying things until something works?” He mutters, frowning. 

To discern a serpent’s true abilities, the Parselmouth must listen not with ear, but with core. In the quiet between hisses lies revelation, for each gift is an echo of the master’s own essence, translated into serpentine form. Some discover their serpent’s secrets by accident, some on purpose, others in dire peril, and a few only at the cusp of death.

“My essence..?” 

His eyes go to Sashaar, looking over his appearance. Since last year, Sashaar has grown to just over a foot long, about 13 or 14 inches now. His onyx scales still glitter like the night sky, and flames seem to be trapped underneath, alive and alluring, whenever the light shines on them right. 

“Snakelet, do you remember the first part of the passage?”

The first part? 

Harry looks into Sashaar’s eyes for a moment as he mentally goes over the passage before he makes a noise of understanding.

It is said the serpent’s gifts mirror the nature of its master’s soul. The fiery-hearted often awaken serpents that breathe flame or light. The cunning may call forth serpents of venom or shadow.

“I wouldn’t say I’m fiery-hearted, but am I cunning?”

“You are, Snakelet. Don’t you remember? You stole a book from Arcturus’ study, and replaced it with another so he wouldn’t notice. And you put it back when you were done, without being caught.”

But that was one time. Does that really count? 

“Theres also the time you snuck into the Black family library without getting caught by the House elves.”

“Then does that mean your abilities are in the venom or shadow?” He asks, his face thoughtful but his chest warm- Sashaar was praising him, and he could feel the snake’s subtle feeling of pride towards Harry. He’s always been a sucker for praise from his loved ones. 

Sashaar didn’t answer, and instead, slithered over to the shadow of the weapons rack, staring down at it. Harry could feel the curiosity before he watched Sashaar enter the shadow-

Wait, what? 

Harry quickly stood up and ran over to the weapons rack, touching the shadows and feeling nothing but the cold stone floor under it. 

“Snakelet.”

Harry whipped his head over to the other side of the room, watching as Sashaar slithered out from behind an old shield that hung on the wall, though there's a few inches between the wall and the shield itself. Sashaar slithered down the wall and back over to Harry, who was still in shock.

“You can move through shadows? What's it like? How often can you do it? Does it hurt, or is it tiring? Wait, I would have felt it if it hurt.” He felt a rush of excitement at discovering one of Sashaar’s abilities and the thought of experimenting with it.

“Yes. It’s like moving through a dark, cold room. It’s not tiring or painful.” Sashaar answered the questions he could, before a thought struck them both.

Without another word, as if they had read each other’s minds, Sashaar slithers up Harry’s leg and wraps around it. In the next instance, they are falling into the shadow of the weapons rack.

It’s dark, cold. Despite being unable to see, he could tell the shadows were moving, like smoke almost, with the way it would touch his cheek and then leave, touching his arm or another body part next. Its touch was cold and elusive, like cold smoke. 

It felt like something was gripping his chest, curling around something inside his chest, squeezing-

Then they were coming out, knocking the shield to the ground as Harry came out behind it, forcing it off the wall as he gasped, like he could finally breathe. He hit the ground, coughing, trying to catch his breath as his body shivers, trying to retain some warmth. 

He never wants to do that again.

Chapter Text

January 30th, 1935

Harry sat on his bed, back against his headboard, with his legs to his chest as the time ticked by. He was patiently waiting, waiting for Sashaar to come back with news. 

Thanks to the ability they discovered and trained last year, Sashaar had become his lookout and his eyes and ears around Grimmauld Place. 

“Snakelet, everyone is asleep.”

He heard Sashaar before he saw him, lifting his head from where he was staring at his sleep pants, picking at them, before looking over to the door with a grin slowly lighting up his face. 

It’s time. 

He gets off his bed and slips on his black slippers, and his housecoat over his shoulders as he goes over to Sashaar by the door. He grabs a hair tie and pulls back his hair that is now touching the bottom of his shoulder blades before he’s ready. 

Thanks to it being the middle of the night, his entire room is bathed in shadows, making it easier for Sashaar to travel around in them. 

Harry squats down, Sashaar wraps around his arm, and they melt into the shadows. After nearly a year of training, Harry grew accustomed to moving through shadows and became more knowledgeable about it as well. He can go in and out of shadows as much as he wants, as long as he has a minimum of 5 seconds between exiting and entering the next shadow, and he can’t be in the shadow world, as he calls it, for more than 30 seconds. 

It causes a weird pain in his chest, and it feels like he’s slipping away when he’s in there for longer, and both he and Sashaar realized that any longer in the shadows might trap him forever, killing him. 

He doesn’t want to take that risk. 

He runs through the dark Shadow World, unable to see, but trusting Sashaar’s instructions, telling him where to go. 

20 seconds. 

That's how long it takes for him to get from his room to the Black family library through the Shadow World. 

He is kneeling in the back of the library, hand over his mouth as he regulates his breathing, calming himself after holding his breath for the entire 20 seconds. 

He lets out a slow breath once he’s calm, “Sashaar,” he whispers, feeling the comforting weight of his best friend around his arm. “Can you see a candle anywhere? I can’t see.” 

“Directly in front of you, 10 feet. There’s a table with a candle on it.”

He nods at the sound of his friend’s voice and stands slowly, taking careful steps as he slowly makes his way to the table, hands out in front of him, until he reaches the smooth wood of the table. 

“Left hand, 5 inches.”

Harry moves his left hand five inches and closes his hand around the metal handle of the chamberstick. The instant he has a light grip on it, the enchanted candle lights itself, and he sighs in relief at being able to see again. 

Lifting the candle into the air to about chest height, he turns back towards the shelves of books behind him, carrying both the legacy of the House of Black and whatever they picked up along the way, too dark for the other library. 

“Now, let's see if they have any Parselmagic in here.”

~

Harry searched the library for nearly an entire hour before he found something, hidden in the back as if no one wanted it to be seen, yet they couldn’t bear to throw it away. 

The book was green, but so dark it might have passed as black, and when Harry touched it, all he felt was scales, like when he touched Sashaar, but without the warmth. He drags his fingers down the ridged spine of the book with a small shiver, reminded once again of Sashaar. 

“Is it.. Bound in snake leather?” He murmurs with a frown, uncomfortable at the thought, but it doesn’t stop him from gently pulling the book out of the shelf; it's on the bottom-most shelf, an inch off the floor. He sets the chamberstick down and gently lays the book on the ground next to it so he can see it better, staring at the cover in confusion. 

There’s… no title? 

He runs his small hand over the snake leather cover of the book before he flinches a bit, his hand drawing away as he sees the words appear in beautiful cursive. Dangerous, elusive, elegant- like a serpent. 

The Hiss beyond Words.

The words disappear after a few seconds, and he swallows thickly. 

“I found it. Sashaar, can you keep an eye out for me?” He asks softly, unable to take his eyes from the book. He doesn’t think they tripped any wards or charms, because of how they entered, but as an 8-year-old who hasn’t been to Hogwarts yet, he can never be too sure. 

He sees Sashaar slip into the shadows out of the corner of his eyes while he opens the book to the first page.

It’s the normal paper he can find in all the books he’s ever read, yet it carries the faint scent of herbs and musk.

Parselmagic is not a branch of spellcraft, nor is it taught in schools, for it cannot be learned by rote nor passed from wand to wand. It springs from the serpent’s tongue itself — the weaving of sound, intent, and breath into living command. A Parselmouth, often referred to as a Parselmage, does not merely speak; he alters the fabric of will, and magic bends to echo the hiss.

When Parselmagic and Spellcraft meet, a spell spoken in Parseltongue, even the simplest charm changes in nature. A conjured flame becomes colder, bluer, yet hungrier. A shield, when hissed into being, carries an almost alive resistance, coiling and shifting like scales. Scholars have long debated whether the serpentine tongue channels an older, more primal current of magic — some whisper it is kin to the magic Death itself wields.

Where wizards duel with wands, Parselmouths duel with words. The spoken hiss of command may chain a creature of lesser will, bend a snake to obedience, or still the hand of one struck with fear. Where wizards channel magic through syntax, Parselmages channel magic through semantics. 

Harry felt… he didn’t know how he felt. He felt excited, relieved, yet also frustrated. He wanted more, he wanted to try the spells, to learn them, to devour all the knowledge this book, and maybe others, had. 

But he can’t even try out how the spells would change when spoken in Parseltongue because he hasn’t learned them yet. He kept being told by others to wait, that he’ll learn everything he wants at Hogwarts, or at least during his time there. But he was impatient! He wanted to learn, now! 

He could, technically, try out Parselmagic without having to rely on experimenting with already existing spells, but he doesn’t feel confident. What if he changes something with no idea how to change it back, or break something with no idea how to fix it? 

He’ll have to read more.

“Snakelet, father is coming.”

His body moved on instinct. He quietly put the book back, ran to the table, and put the candle down, and it immediately went out as Sashaar wraps around him, and they are in the shadows as Arcturus opens the door.

“I swear I heard someone, Tokry did!”

The last thing he hears is the words of the house elf before he’s back in his bedroom, bringing air into his lungs as he quickly takes the tie out of his hair, hangs his housecoat up, and goes to his bed, taking off his slippers and curling up under his sheets. 

His back is to the door, breathing calmly as Arcturus quietly opens it, peaking at Harry for a few moments, looking around the room, before the door closes.

Harry’s Avada Kedavra green eyes open the moment he’s left alone in the dark of his room once again.

He’s got some planning to do. 

–

January 31st, 1935

It was just after breakfast, and before Harry’s tutoring session, when he found himself in front of Arcturus’ closed office door. He was a little nervous, he’ll admit, because no matter how much he loves Arcturus and how kind the man has always been to him, he’s also an authority figure. 

And Harry isn’t exactly good with authority figures. He can still remember when he wandered away from Arcturus and Lucretia when they had visited the Ministry of Magic last year. Orion had been left at home with the elves, as it was meant to be a quick visit. 

He had eyed the surroundings- the statues, the people, and looking up to see the people looking down through windows. It was interesting. But he had taken a bit too long, almost not even noticing someone coming up behind him.

It was an Auror.

The older, slightly heavier set man tried to help him, tone irritated and condescending. He even tried to grab Harry, like he had any right to touch him with those filthy hands. He had scoffed and moved out of the way, announcing himself as Hadarion Black, proud of his blood, before he had turned away from the man and gone to where he could just see Arcturus and Lucretia waiting for him. 

Arcturus had just raised a brow, and Lucretia rolled her eyes with a slight smirk before they continued on their journey. 

Shaking his head, he breathed out and knocked on the door.

Without a word, the door opened, and he entered. The office looked the same- same couch, coffee table, bookshelves, desk. Arcturus sat in the chair with perfect posture as he read over documents while Harry made his way to stand in front of his desk.

“Father.”

Arcturus lowered the document and eyed Harry for a moment, noticing the tension, the nerves his young son had. He needed to work on concealing that, but he’s still young.

“Yes, Hadarion?” 

This is it. Now or never. 

“I want to start learning spells. I want my wand. I want a head start before Hogwarts. Please.” 

Raising a brow, Arcturus put the document on the table, freeing his hands to fold together, resting on the top of the desk. Harry clearly got his attention. 

“So you say. Why? Why should I let you have a head start? You are only 8, and still have 3 years before you even receive your Hogwarts letter.” 

Harry unconsciously straightens, squeezing his hands into fists at his side before he relaxes, breathing out slowly. He raises his eyes from where they were resting on Arcturus’ necktie, now looking Arcturus in the eyes. 

“Because I am an Heir of Black. Is that not enough of a reason, father?” His voice was confident, borderline arrogant, and he held eye contact without wavering. 

The office was silent as uncle and nephew, father and son stared at each other, like a small battle of wills. But then, there was a change.

A slow smile spread across Arcturus’ face. 

“It is. I wondered if you would be like your big sister, who asked the same thing last month. She’s also just started leaning ahead of schedule for her trip to Hogwarts- and now, you will, too. We’ll go to Diagon tomorrow to get your wand. 8 am sharp.” 

Oh. That... that was surprisingly easy. Easier than he expected. 

“Is that all?” 

Arcturus’ voice startled him a bit, and he nodded, “Yes, Father, that was all.” He says as his father waves his hand, dismissing him as he goes back to his documents. 

Harry leaves the office, feeling like he’s floating on a cloud, still in disbelief that he had agreed so easily. But before it could sink in, he realized what his father had said.

“Lucy!” He yells as he runs through the halls to find his sister. Why didn’t she tell him she was practicing her spells already!?

–

February 1st, 1935

8:10 am saw Lord Arcturus Black and his oldest son, Hadarion Black, entering Ollivanders. Due to this being a public outing, both are dressed immaculately, and, on Harry’s slightly childish desires, in matching outfits. 

Black slacks, shoes, socks, and a belt, with a deep, forest green turtleneck under black robes. Their long hair held back, with Arcturus keeping his tie down low at the base of his skull while Harry had his hair a bit higher up to keep it off his neck. 

The bell chimed as Arcturus opened the door for Harry to enter first, and he looked around in only slight disappointment. He doesn’t know what he expected, but somewhere deep down, he had expected more than what looks like a second-hand shop. 

“Welcome- ah, Lord Black. You're quite a bit early, again. Is it time for another of your children to find their wand?” Ollivander comes from the back with a kind smile, greeting Arcturus before looking at Harry.

“Yes, this is my oldest boy, Hadarion Black. We are here to find his wand.” He says, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze as he, too, looks down at his son. 

Harry looks up at Arcturus before taking a small step forward and looking at Ollivander. “My name is Hadarion Black. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

Back straight, hands visible, holding eye contact- all proper etiquette for a member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

“Well, Heir Hadarion. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Come, let’s find your wand. I remember every wand I have ever made, and ever sold.” He says as he turns to look at his walls of wands with a thoughtful expression. 

The old man mutters to himself, something about dragons and inches and other things Harry doesn’t quite understand. 

“Let’s try this one.” He says as he quickly and carefully takes the long yet small box out from the other boxes it’s piled under, coming back to the counter. He opens the box and takes out a wand- light brown in color and quite long- before handing it to Harry. 

Something about it... doesn’t feel quite right. With a small frown, he looks at the smooth wood wand in his hand and gives it a light wave.

He prides himself on only slightly flinching when the vase blows up. 

“No, no no no, not that one.” Ollivander gently takes the wand from Harry, who doesn’t hesitate to give it over, putting it back in the box and going to find another. 

Ollivander looks at Harry for a moment before going around the corner, out of sight but not out of hearing range, as both Harry and Arcturus can hear the man mumbling. It doesn’t take more than another minute for him to come back with another box.

Once again, a wand is pulled out, but something is different. 

The wand is long, 11 inches, and dark brown, almost black, in color. The wood was blackthorn, with a phoenix feather core, with inflexible flexibility. 

The moment Harry had it in his hand, everything felt right in a way he didn't know how to explain. The only other time he felt this was when he woke up as Hadarion Black and first called out Sashaar, that feeling of connection, warmth, where everything was just right. 

This is his wand. 

“This is it.” He murmured, not noticing the slight breeze in the shop or how the two adults glanced around as the breeze dissipated. 

“So it is. Congratulations, young Black.” 

Before they left, Arcturus bought him a black holster for his wand that would sit on the left side of his waist, opposite to his wand hand, so he could pull it out easily. 

From the moment he had his wand in his holster under his robes, Harry hadn’t been able to keep the smile off his face, even when he thought about the strange twinkle he had seen in Olivander’s eye the moment his wand chose him. 

“Do you want to go home, or do you want to look around, Hadarion?” Arcturus asked as they walked away from Ollivanders, looking down at the child, who looked up at him when he heard the question. 

Harry doubts he would find any dark magic books here in Diagon, so he was about to suggest returning home, until a certain alley caught his eye and he stopped walking, prompting Arcturus to stop as well: Knockturn Alley. Surely, they would have something that he is looking for? But would his father even take him? He remembers the man talking about the types that fill the alley and the reputation it has. 

Before he can ask, Arcturus follows his gaze, and while his expression doesn’t change, it’s clear he’s debating similar thoughts. The pair is quiet for a little while. Arcturus returned his gaze to his son, waiting for him to decide if he wants to ask or if he’s going to give up. The crowd is moving around them, giving them a wide enough berth despite the father and son pair standing in the middle of the street. 

Harry looks away from the alley and looks up at Arcturus, “May we make a few more stops, Father? Just to… browse?” He asks as he glances towards the alley again, before looking back to Arcturus, who nods. 

“It’s a good time to introduce you to the other side of our world. I’ve been telling you enough about it as is, so some experience will do you good. Now–” Arcturus says as he pulls out his wand with one hand, the other going between Harry’s shoulder blades as they walk towards the alley. 

“–stay close to me, and don’t disclose your identity unless you have no other choice.” He says, waving his wand at Harry and causing a black cloak to appear over the child with the hood up, then doing the same to himself. Once he deemed them ready, he put his hand back between Harry’s shoulders and led him into Knockturn Alley, keeping Harry close as the poor, dirty witches and wizards watched them closely. 

Harry had never felt so disgusted. The smell was horrendous, their long fingers that reached for him were dirty and coming from who knows where. He grips his father’s cloak tightly, sticking as close as he can without tripping either of them, feeling his father’s hand tighten on him, as if he were having the same feelings. 

Everything about Knockturn Alley disgusted him. The air was heavy, the people were dirty, and it felt like there were hundreds of eyes on them, and not just from the witches and wizards who were watching them so obviously. But from the shadows, from the corners, like the very alley itself was alive. 

It was uncomfortable.

“Here we are, The Ink & Bone Press.” Arcturus murmurs, opening the door to the run-down-looking building. There was a sign hanging like it was going to fall off, and an old and dirty rocking chair in front of the shop’s window. When the door opened, it creaked ominously no matter how fast his father opened it. 

Harry frowns, his nose scrunching up in the darkness of the hood as he goes in on his father’s urging, a hand over his mouth from the heavy, dusty air of the shop. Once the door shut behind his father, it was like the world went quiet, and as he turned to face the door, Harry vaguely wondered if it was a spell or enchantment at work. Was it on the door, or the entire shop itself? 

Turning from the door, he noticed that the shop was narrow but tall. The shelves reached heights greater than any human would be able to reach without magic or stairs, though he didn’t see the latter at all. The entire wall across from the door and going behind the counter to their right was nothing but books, tomes, and scrolls. There was no seating, as if whoever came in was supposed to be in and out quickly, no time to sit for tea. 

And behind the counter was a tall man, thin like a skeleton with long fingers, and large, round glasses so thick they enlarged his dark brown eyes like a magnifying glass. The moment the door shut behind them, the man’s thin lips stretched into a wide, toothy grin, showing off what few yellowed teeth he had left, and none were without holes. 

Disgusting. 

“Ah, my dear Lord Customer. Welcome back. It has been far too long,” He says, those too-big-looking eyes going from Arcturus to Harry, who felt his skin crawl at the look and resisted the urge to childishly hide behind his father. 

He did, however, grip his father’s cloak tighter. 

“Business before nostalgia, Mr. Vale,” He heard his father’s cool voice reply, “We are looking for something specific.” The hand between his shoulder blades puts pressure on them, and he catches the hint, walking with his father closer to the counter but still with a few feet of room between them and the man, Mr. Vale. 

The man hums, his eyes going down to Harry again. And they don’t move away.

“And if you have brought your… little friend here, then I’m guessing it’s for him. What shall it be, Lord Customer?” He is clearly talking to Arcturus, yet his eyes are still on Harry. It’s unnerving, and annoying, and he wants to lash out, but he bites his tongue. He can’t disgrace House Black, regardless of whether the man knows who they are or not.

It makes him wonder if he does know, based on the way he talked to Arcturus and even welcomed him back to the shop, despite their faces and outfits being fully covered by cloak and shadow. He’ll definitely have to ask his father. 

“Go look around, but don’t leave the shop,” Arcturus murmurs down at Harry, who is reluctant to leave his father’s side, but nods. Even then, it took him an extra few moments to let go of his father’s cloak to start looking around. He could feel two sets of eyes on him as he turned and walked towards the shelves farthest from the counter while his father spoke to Mr. Vale. 

He peeked over his shoulder at the two adults, but the moment those magnified eyes went to him, he turned around with a scowl. He doesn’t like this place at all. Crossing his arms, he huffed and looked at the spines of the books in front of him, hoping for one to draw his attention, because he refused to leave here without something, so he hadn’t wasted his time. 

And something did draw his attention. A black book with silver lettering, on the shelf above his head, the last shelf he’d be able to reach before requiring help.

“Vitae et Umbrae: On the Division of Soul and Shadow.”

He reached up, lightly dragging his finger down the name of the book before he pulled it off the shelf gently and dragged his hand down the front cover, which repeated the name on the spine, with a silver flame underneath it. 

“Ah, you’ve chosen well, young master.”

Harry jumps, spinning around with the book to his chest, seeing Mr. Vale standing behind him, eyeing the book in his hands. Harry’s eyes immediately went to his father, who was next to Mr. Vale, which significantly calmed him, and he dragged his attention back to the creepy skeleton man. 

“Vitae et Umbrae is a foundational and highly restricted text on Soul Alchemy. The book was banned, believing that those who studied it a little too deeply went mad or disappeared.” He says, his tone amused, as if he wasn’t talking about a highly restricted and banned book in the hands of a 7-year-old child. Harry’s eyes went to his father, and he held the book out to the man, who Harry could feel staring at him, as if deciding if he would allow him to get the book, before nodding and grabbing it. 

“Come, it’s time to leave.” Harry follows his father quickly, all too ready to be out of this shop and away from this creepy man. He’s never wanted to go home so badly from an outing, and if it wasn’t for the stack of books he sees on the counter or the book he knows his father is buying him, he would have regretted coming to Knockturn. 

Once again gripping Arcturus’ cloak, he watches the man give a handful of galleons before the books are shrunk and put into his father’s bag of holding. His father’s hand is between his shoulders, and he needs no prompting to move towards the door. But his father only touches the handle when Mr. Vale speaks again.

“I’ll see you again soon, young Lordling.” 

Harry has never walked out of a building so fast.

–

May 12th, 1935

Lucretia hates galas. She’d rather be at home, reading her books or practicing her casting for Hogwarts, but no, she had to be in a ballroom full of fake people. 

If she looks to the left, she can see the Minister of Magic, Hector Fawley, laughing it up with Lord Avery and her father. 

If she looks to the right, she can see Lady Carrow, Nott, and Parkinson doing their usual rounds of gossiping. 

And if she focuses on the people around her, it’s the children that were dragged along here, some her age and some her brothers’ ages. They would complain or brag about their families, speculate about what it would be like at Hogwarts. 

“I got my wand last week, and my father promised to start showing me some basic spells to get me ahead of other students.” James Avery, a year younger than her and the son of the current Lord Avery, bragged to the group. 

Lucretia ignored him; her eyes were on another student. Quiet, clearly forced to be here by his family, but polite enough not to let it show. 

Ignatius Prewett, another pureblood. She likes his type a lot more than ones like Avery, who think they have everything without knowing anything. He’s honestly annoying. 

She lets her gaze wander to her younger brother next to her, Hadarion. He was focused on watching Avery, his face lacking any discernible emotion, and she felt a bit of pride at that, knowing how much he struggled not to show his emotions. 

But she knows him better than everyone here, and she can see the annoyance and disappointment in his bright green eyes. And she doesn’t blame him, because Avery was also a member of a family of the Sacred 28, and he should have been taught to behave better. 

She looks away and decides to watch the people who have shown up, letting Avery and the others’ words go in one ear and out the other; her eyes occasionally go over to her father, waiting for the signal for them to finally be able to go home. 

~

Harry was checked out of the conversation. He would much rather be listening to the adults talk than hear this annoying kid- how is he older than Harry?- babble about his wand another second. 

Slowly, he begins to back away. Always stopping whenever eyes pass by or land on him, never making too big of movements to draw their attention, until his back touches the wall. 

“Sashaar, slip into the shadows. Listen for anything interesting and tell me about it.”

“Yes, Snakelet.”

He feels Sashaar slither out of his sleeve that he definitely wasn’t in before, staying behind him and sliding into his shadow. Harry’s eyes swept over the room, seeing that no one noticed his and Sashaar’s little actions, and breathed a small sigh of relief. He didn’t feel like getting caught today. He steps away from the wall and moves back next to Lucretia, still ignoring Avery’s bragging words to the rest of the group as he notices a pair of pointy hats in the crowd. After staring at the face under one of the hats for a moment, he realizes he recognizes him.

Headmaster Dippet. Headmaster of Hogwarts. 

Harry remembers reading about him in the Daily Prophet a few weeks ago, a whole article dedicated to him, talking about Grindelwald and the Muggles’ war, and reassuring everyone that Hogwarts will run as normal and is still one of, if not the, safest place. 

The other person in a pointed hat next to Headmaster Dippet was also in the picture that the Daily Prophet took.

Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration professor. 

From what Harry remembers reading, the man is quite famous, even more so than the Headmaster he serves. He’s in the middle of looking away, not wanting to draw attention to himself by staring, when he notices someone in the crowd. The man didn’t make it too obvious, but every time his gaze fell on the Transfiguration professor, it would turn into a glare. And each glare lasted long enough to make one think he was keeping watch on the professor before he would turn away, expression changing as if the professor wasn’t even there. 

Curious. 

“Sashaar, listen in on the professor and Headmaster’s conversation. And see if you can find out who that man is that keeps glaring at the professor, and what their relationship is.”

“I’ll try, Snakelet.”

With that done, Harry looks towards Arcturus, who still looks nowhere near ready to leave. He barely stops himself from groaning as he turns back to the group of children, only to notice someone new had joined when he wasn’t paying attention. 

He looks over at Lucretia, who sees his look and leans down to whisper in his ear.

“Abraxas Malfoy, older than you but younger than me. He’ll be a second-year student when you get to Hogwarts.” She murmurs before standing straight again and engaging their cousin, Walburga Black, in conversation. 

He looks back at Abraxas Malfoy curiously. Platinum blonde hair slicked back, and grey eyes. His gaze goes towards Lord Malfoy, and he almost snorts. If it wasn’t for the age difference, they could have been twins. 

“Come on, Hadarion. Let's go back to father- it seems the Minister is going to finally begin his speech.” Lucretia says, her tone bored and exasperated as she bids goodbye to the kids they were hanging out with. 

“Until our next meeting,” Is echoed from the others as he and Lucretia walk over to their father, and the other kids disperse to find their own parents or guardians, as Arcturus glances over them once they reach his side.

Minister Fawley stands in the center of the room with a cup of wine and his wand at his throat, to amplify his voice as everyone turns to face him.

“Distinguished ladies and gentlemen of our most honored families, esteemed colleagues of the Ministry, and loyal friends of our wizarding society—welcome.

Tonight we gather not merely to celebrate our enduring traditions, but to affirm the strength and unity of our world. While the Muggle nations beyond our borders wrestle with their tempers, their politics, and their ever-increasing machinery of war, we must remind ourselves that we are not they. We have endured centuries of their quarrels and their noise, and still, the wizarding world has stood apart—prosperous, hidden, and unshaken.

Much has been whispered, of course, about disturbances across the continent. You will have heard the name of Grindelwald passed about, spoken in fearful tones. I say to you tonight: such figures rise and fall with predictable regularity, but they are little more than sparks in the wind. Britain is strong. Our Ministry is strong. Our Aurors are vigilant, our protections unassailable, and our future secure.

Let no wizard or witch in this hall believe for a moment that the turbulence of the Muggles or the posturing of foreign firebrands has any power to shake the foundations of British magic. We are the stewards of an ancient society, rooted in families whose names endure when empires crumble.

So raise your glasses, my friends—to stability, to tradition, and to the quiet confidence that no storm, whether Muggle or magical, can breach the walls of our world. Long may the wizarding realm of Britain endure.”

When the Minister finally stopped his speech, there was applause from the adults and various voices calling out, “Well met” and “hear, hear” before Arcturus turned to look at the two children.

He must be able to see how tired they were of this gala, because a knowing smirk rose on his lips, followed by a soft chuckle.

“Let's go home, then, after I speak to the Minister.”

The two nod and watch him go, and Harry sighs. “I hate these galas.” He mumbles, a small smile on his lips when he hears Lucretia’s agreeing huff.

“Come, Sashaar. We will be leaving soon.”

~

Finally back home and in bed after a bath, Harry lies on his bed in his dark green and gold pajamas, on his stomach facing his pillows as he watches Sashaar lie amongst them.

“The man you asked about is named Torquil Travers, and he is Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Harry frowns at the information, resting his head on his palm as he watches Sashaar bask lazily amongst his pillows. “But he was glaring at Professor Dumbledore. I don’t think just not liking someone could bring out a look like that, or even a reason to look like that. Do you think the professor did something to Mr. Travers?” He murmurs the last part to himself, rolling onto his back to look up at the ceiling.

Maybe he’ll start to sit in Arcturus’ office more often, he’s sure that Arcturus wouldn’t turn down one of his children being oh so ready to begin learning about the political landscape, right?

But it sounds so boring.

He huffs and rolls to his side to look at Sashaar again.

“Anyway, what was the professor and headmaster talking about and with whom?”

The onyx snake, now just under 2 feet long, shook his head. 

“They kept exchanging pleasantries and never gave much information on anything. Maybe they have the same views as that Minister.” 

Not taking Grindelwald seriously- or at least, not wanting to speak on it in public. 

He’ll have to keep an eye out, as much as he can, for any information on the two professors. On that note, he also wants to look into Grindelwald’s ‘revolution’ a bit more, as well. 

He yawns, stretching out his limbs and slipping under his covers. 

That's something for future Harry to worry about.

Chapter Text

July 30th, 1936

“Do we have to?” Harry complained from where he sat on the couch in Arcturus’ office across from Lucretia, Orion next to her. Every time Orion starts to slouch, she pokes him wherever it is that needs to be fixed, and Harry had to look away each time Orion gave him the sad puppy dog eyes.

He definitely doesn’t miss those days. His perfect posture comes almost naturally to him now. Sashaar was on the couch behind him, a little over two feet long with his horns beginning to form on his head, though they were nothing more than small bumps at the moment. 

“Yes, Hadarion. While a nice little family bonding time might be a more fun idea for your birthday, we are Blacks. That means your birthday, like all of ours- and Orion’s, once he’s your age- are the perfect events to build connections. Especially since you will be joining your sister at Hogwarts in two years. The earlier, the better, for connections.” Arcturus tells him as he reads a list of the people that are going to be invited. There will be very few adults there that don’t have children, as this is a child’s birthday, but like Arcturus said, it’s a time for connections. 

Harry sighs, giving Tokry a small nod when she apparates into the room with some freshly brewed tea. “So, who is all coming to my esteemed birthday, father?” He asks, hiding his smile behind his cup of tea as Lucretia rolls her eyes. 

“The Prewetts, the Averys, Lestranges, Rosiers, among a few. Some of my acquaintances from the Ministry.” He murmurs, as those are the ones who have replied to the invitations sent out. 

He had been putting his tea down when Arcturus was reading out the list, so he noticed how Lucretia had sat up just a bit more at hearing the Prewetts will be there. 

A grin slowly forms on his face. Oh, ho ho. 

Lucretia notices his grin and glares at him, but it only makes his grin wider. 

“Come on, Orion. You have tutoring to get to,” Lucretia was clearly just looking for a way to escape, her ears red with embarrassment as she dragged their youngest brother out of the room with a goodbye to their father thrown over her shoulder. 

Harry drops his grin.

“Father, I have a question.” He says, sitting up straight and turning to face his father, who puts down the document to look at him, silently allowing him to continue. 

“Who are your acquaintances from the ministry that are coming?” Arcturus raises a brow at the question but he answers anyway, after a few moments of silence. “The minister, his secretary, and a few Aurors. Why?”  

Aurors. Members of the Magical Law Enforcement. 

That means Travers might be there. He swallows, choosing his next words carefully, as to not spill all his secrets to his father.

“Are you friends with them, or are they coming to make ‘connections’?” He asks curiously, still holding eye contact with Arcturus, who starts to smirk.

“You're curious about Torquil Travers, are you?” 

Harry was stunned, and he knew he failed to hide his reaction- jaw dropping, eyes wide- when Arcturus laughed. He quickly schooled his expression and coughed a bit to clear his throat, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “How did you know?” 

Arcturus stands up, going over to one of his bookshelves and taking a book from it before coming over to sit in front of Harry on the opposite couch. He puts the book on the coffee table in front of Harry and pushes it over to him so he could see the title.

“Occ..lumency, father?” He murmurs, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks up at the older male who nods. “It’s time for you to start learning it. Occlumency is the practice of shielding one’s mind from invasion- from being read by a legilimens.” He says, though to Harry, it sounds like a mixture of English and gibberish. 

And Arcturus probably notices by the look on his face. 

“Legilimency is the act of reading one’s mind. I’ll teach you that, too, once your occlumency is sufficient. It requires eye contact,” He says a bit slower and Harry’s eyes brighten with realization.

“You read my mind.”

The patriarch nods, a small smile on his face. “Why do you think it’s only proper to maintain eye contact with someone in a higher station than yourself?” He chuckles, leaning back on the couch and crossing one leg over the other. 

“Take the book with you when you leave, and when you're done reading it front to back, we’ll begin working on training. For now, I think you’re curious about Travers, aren’t you?” At the name, Harry sits up a little straighter with a nod.

Tokry appears in the room when Arcturus snaps his fingers, and cleans up their tea before leaving again, ever the obedient house elf. 

“How much do you know about Grindelwald’s war, son?” 

Harry blinks at the unexpected question before frowning a bit in thought. “I know he’s been launching attacks since late 1926, and even muggles aren’t spared. Also that he’s been gathering followers- like an army of sorts. He has a Greater Good ideology- believing wizards should rule over muggles. Minister Fawley doesn’t believe him to be a real threat and keeps downplaying him, though there are rumors that his army might be recruiting even here, in Great Britain.” 

It’s all basically public knowledge- he had gotten it from the Prophet after all, though he doesn’t know how much is actual truth, due to the Prophet’s love for dramatics. Anything to bring in more money. 

Arcturus nods, a bit of pride warm in his chest for his son. “As an Heir Black, it’s always important to keep your eyes and ears open to the world around you to be able to respond appropriately.” Praise, yet not outwardly saying it. “There are- speculations. That Dumbledore is a coward or purposely obstructing the ministry when it comes to matters of Grindelwald. Some even speculate.. That he might have a connection to him, due to not confronting or fighting the man.” 

Harry remembers the way Travers was looking at Dumbledore at the gala last year, with those suspicious glares- it’s easy to draw his own conclusion now.

“So Travers, believing in at least one of those theories, doesn’t like Dumbledore and is probably even suspicious of the professor.” He murmurs, interested in this new piece of information. There isn’t anything he could do with the information, not right now, and he would want to get more first. After all, knowledge is power, and paired with the spells he’s going to learn, and the parselmagic he’s in the middle of learning… 

It won’t be hard to get the information he’d want. 

Lost in thought, he doesn’t realize how Arcturus is looking at him- a small smile on his face, eyes soft, and posture relaxed. He’s truly proud of the child, though the smile slowly fades. Proud or not, he wished that Harry would remain a child a little longer, though he knows that's not possible. 

He wonders if this is how his father felt, all those years ago. 

Shaking his head, he clears his throat to get Harry out of his head. The soft expression on his face was already gone. “Travers won’t be at your birthday, as he’s away on ministry business. So don’t worry about any of that right now, and go read your Occlumency book. I expect a decent headway before we begin, in August.”

Harry blinks his bright green eyes and smiles, “Alright, father. Thank you for your time.” He says as he stands up, Sashaar is already making his way around Harry’s shoulders as the child grabs the book on Occlumency from the coffee table and leaves the study. 

Arcturus watches him go, letting out a small sigh once the door is shut. 

“They are growing up so fast..”

–

July 31st, 1936

The party had been going for around an hour now, and thanks to Sashaar, Harry has quite a bit of blackmail to use when he goes to Hogwarts in a few years. Or maybe beforehand, as Lucretia will be at the school in just a few short months. 

It’s going to be a little quieter without her. 

He was taking a break from the constant talking, introducing himself to his father’s friends and their children that would be attending Hogwarts around the same time. 

Sashaar, Harry realized, is like a gossipy old lady, and eavesdropping is easily the snake’s favorite pastime. 

“Snakelet, the Minister is a drunkard. Being Minister is probably too much pressure for someone so weak.”

Harry snickers quietly into his glass of juice, listening to Sashaar’s findings while looking for things with his eyes. Who is talking to who, observing body language, and trying to avoid the children- at least for a little bit.

He looks through the crowd for his father, frowning when he doesn’t see him by the ministry officials, where he had been just moments ago. He looks around again, and that’s when he notices his father leaving the hall quietly- and Harry suspects, since no one else has noticed, that he only noticed because he was purposely looking for him.

Arcturus leaving the hall isn’t that big of a deal, though it’s something to think about. However, when he sees a few more people leaving the hall, and going the same way as his father?

That's when Harry gets suspicious.

“Sashaar, follow them. Tell me where they went.”

Harry feels Sashaar getting further away, following his instructions. When Sashaar comes back to him moments later, he gives his next set of instructions.

“Take me to the room next to theirs.”

He glances around, seeing no one paying him any attention, he mentally calls Sashaar over through the shadows. He slowly squats down, in the shadows of the banquet table he had been standing next to, his drink abandoned on the table, when he feels Sashaar wrapping around his leg. 

Then he’s falling through the shadows, following Sashaar’s instructions quickly while holding his breath. 

The shadows are cold even through his velvet robes.

He surges up, carefully, his hands coming out of the shadows and pressing on the floor, then lifting himself out and breathing deeply as he fully exits the shadows, looking around the room and seeing no one. He immediately turns to Sashaar. 

“Go to the room where my father is and relay the conversation to me.”

Sashaar nods and goes back into the shadows as Harry stands and goes to sit in the nearest chair, eyes closed as he calms his breathing. 

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to enter his ears, as he and Sashaar have nearly mastered sharing their senses. 

“The Minister basks in mirrors and applause, but Britain stands blind on the edge of war. We cannot afford to follow him into folly. Grindelwald is no passing storm.”

 

That sounds like his father, Arcturus’ voice. 

 

“You speak as though he threatens us directly. His fire is for the Muggles, not for our kind. Why spend galleons and blood to shield them?”

 

Harry doesn’t recognize that voice.

 

“Because, Lestrange, the moment his armies cross borders, the Statute of Secrecy tears apart. Muggles at war with Muggles is one thing. Muggles seeing what wizards can do? That is another.”

 

He heard that voice earlier, it’s one of the ministry officials. They are talking about Grindelwald- is war closer than he had thought? He ignores the feeling of his heart beginning to race in his chest. 

 

“We should not rush to choose sides. Half of our gold is tied up in German banks. If Grindelwald triumphs, those who resisted will be beggars. Those who stood silent will be kings.”

 

Another unrecognizable voice. But then he hears his father’s voice again, and he doesn’t sound happy.

 

“And if he fails? Silence will not save you when the Ministry hunts collaborators. I will not see my House, my children, chained to a foreign tyrant. Britain must remain sovereign- in power, and in secrecy.”

 

“Then we must act. Grindelwald’s shadows are already here- his envoys have knocked on our doors. And still the Minister laughs them off as children’s stories. Hector Fawley will cost us everything.”

 

“Perhaps.. That is the point. A weak Minister makes strong families indispensable.” 

 

Harry wished he knew who was all in the room with his father. 

 

“Or it makes us corpses on foreign soil. Do not mistake weakness for opportunity. We are not scavengers - we are bloodlines meant to endure.” Harry feels pride in his father’s words- because they are Purebloods, not half bloods or mudbloods, and they should act like it. 

 

“Then, it must be whispered carefully. If Fawley cannot be removed by ballot, he must be… replaced by circumstances.”

 

“Lets speak of this another time. If we take too long talking, our absences will be noticed.”

“Come back, Sashaar. We have to go back to the party before them!”

Harry gets back to the party, right where he left it, and ignores his drink as he walks through the room, calming his breathing as he smiles at a few people who nod at him. He isn’t quite ready to talk to others yet, but he also knows he can’t digest what he heard until after the party. 

But his eyes go to the people entering the room after his return. His father, Avery, Lestrange, Rosier, and two ministry members. He commits their faces to memory before he looks away, not wanting to get caught staring, and ends up looking right at the younger Avery, who comes over with Malfoy. 

They had introduced themselves earlier, while Harry was greeting everyone, but what were their names? Damn- his mind is blank. 

“Avery, Malfoy.” He greets with a nod, thankful that it’s common to call people by their last names, so it wouldn’t look like he just doesn’t remember their names. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Black heir himself. Quite the spectacle, Hadarion. Not everyone gets half of the Wizengamot gathered to sing him happy birthday.” Avery says, hands in his pockets with a smirk on his face. 

Malfoy looks Harry over, head slightly tilted. “Most impressive, yes. My father says Arcturus Black knows how to remind the world of his power. It seems you’ve inherited more than a name, cousin.”

“Or perhaps you’re both just unused to standing in a room where you’re not the brightest star.” He replies back, the polite smile still on his face, voice calm and eyes calculating. Wondering if they can be used, if they have any potential.

Avery stiffened, caught between offense and reluctant admiration while Malfoy gave a thin smile, eyes narrowing with a calculated interest. 

“You speak well for a boy of nine.” Now he remembers- these two are Lucretia’s age, bound for their first year of Hogwarts in just a month or so. “Do you practice such lines in a mirror, or does Arcturus whisper them in your ear?” 

Hadarion raises an eyebrow, “Does it matter, if you’re still the one left speechless?” 

Malfoy gave a short laugh. “Clever tongue. You’ll need it. This world will sharpen its teeth on you before long, and when it does, you’ll want allies. The blacks are powerful, yes, but even the brightest constellation has other stars in its sky.” 

Harry resisted the urge to snort. While the words Malfoy speaks are true, it completely depends on the constellation.

“Stars burn alone, Malfoy. Those who cluster too close.. Risk being swallowed.” 

The trio stood in a quiet standoff. They might be young, but they are all heirs who carry the future of the Wizarding world on their shoulders. 

Avery forced a crooked grin and leaned closer, speaking in a low voice. “Careful, Hadarion. Even snakes can be crushed underfoot if they slither too boldly. Remember that.” 

Malfoy and Avery were called back by their parents before Harry could retort, watching as Malfoy inclined his head once, a show of outward respect. But those gray eyes lingered on Hadarion like a promise.. Or a threat. 

Harry felt Sashaar stir faintly in the shadows above the chandelier, unseen to everyone but Harry, his presence coiling protectively around his bonded. 

–

September 1st, 1936

It was currently 10:45 am, and Harry stood with Arcturus and Orion, who was squeezing his hand. Just a few feet in front of them was Lucretia, with her bags and the carrier for the kitten she had gotten last week in Diagon while searching for school supplies. The kitten was quite cute, even to Harry- Black fur, sleek, with a pair of beautiful orange eyes, like pumpkins. Despite not being a magical breed, and quite young, the kitten was highly intelligent, and quite bonded with Lucretia.

She named the kitten Vesper. 

“It’s.. weird. That I won’t see any of you until the Holidays, and then again only in the summer.” Lucretia sighs, a little dramatically, and Harry finds his lips twitching. 

His chest aches, at the thought of not seeing her for months at a time. But with a glance to the side, he can see Orion struggling not to cry- after all, he was close with his siblings. Especially Lucretia. 

All around them are the sounds of families saying goodbye, ushering their children onto the train, making sure they didn’t forget anything. Words of love, promise, and well wishes. 

But there are also eyes. Eyes on them, watching their every move, memorizing their faces, plotting. Calculating. 

Gently, he squeezes Orion’s smaller hand and gives Lucretia a playful eye roll and grin.

He won’t let anyone see his little brother’s weakness.

“Well, at least the house will be quieter now. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to nag while you're away.” Harry says in a light tone, trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit. 

Lucretia, noticing this, plays a long. She lets out a scandalized gasp, “You brat. You know you’re going to miss me.” Before she turns to Arcturus, giving him a hug. And then giving one to Harry, before she lowers herself to Orion. 

“I’ll see you soon, Ori. Be good for me, okay?” She smiles, and Harry watches as Orion tries his best to keep his tears in and be a big boy- he is 7 now, after all. He stays quiet, but everyone knows if he opens his mouth, he’ll start crying. 

With a fond, and slightly sad, smile, Lucretia gives Orion a big hug, and a kiss to his forehead before she goes back to her luggage. 

“Study hard, and make friends, Lucretia.” Arcturus says, watching her board the train. Harry bites his lip, and opts to stay quiet.

Harry and Orion wave bye to her and watch her disappear onto the train. 

The trio step away, and watch the train as it starts up and begins to leave. The loudness of the train picking up speed as it leaves covers the sound of the families talking amongst themselves and leaving, returning home now that their family members are on the Hogwarts Express.

With their eyes on the train as it leaves, all Harry can think about is the future. His future. 

Arcturus promised him he would start teaching him more, about the family, about society and the expectations placed on him from the family and from outsiders. And then.

Then he’ll be the next one getting on the train, going to Hogwarts. His heart is pounding in his chest at the thought, excitement flowing through his veins like a spell gone wild, humming with energy. 

Soon.