Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

October 31^st 1980

The Cave, England, Great Britain.

Why was it always him?

Okay. Here’s the thing. It hadn’t always been like this. Regulus had proudly been a self-preserving, well-respected Slytherin with no intention of ever doing the stupid hero shit. He’d left that to fun-loving, reckless and idiotic Sirius, his irresponsible Gryffindor brother.

Then, naïve, trusting Sirius had finally met someone who took full advantage of his idiocy and even encouraged it. And Albus Dumbledore was manipulative enough to wrap his plans in a neat bow of niceness, ‘goodness’ and light bullshit. Sirius, who was supposed to be the best of his family, ended up eating all of it up, and now Regulus had to clean up his mess, but what was new in his pointless life?

Not to say that Regulus hadn’t had his own… rash moments in the past, but at least his actions were usually influenced by one of two things, his crazy, controlling mother, or his family’s thousand-year-old legacy. Sirius, on the other hand, followed James Potter like he was God’s gift to mankind and Sirius was his devotee. It was an interesting dynamic, especially considering Sirius was more powerful and smarter than Potter, but hey, whatever made him happy, right? Right?!

NO! Because now Regulus was tied up in a mess that was way beyond his patience and self-control. Truly, how this snake-faced psychopath had managed to instil fear in a whole community is beyond Regulus’s comprehension. Like, the man was reckless and plain sadistic. His thoughts, plans, and actions were solely based on his need to destroy as much as he can. There was no planning or basic strategy behind any of it. And with pureblood supremacy as the banner of all things. Had the idiot really thought no-one would find out he was a half-blood? Like he didn’t even hide the information! How hypocritical could he be? Even Regulus, who came from a long line of powerful purebloods with a legacy that would need years to be recounted properly, wasn’t as enamoured by the rhetoric as this lowly half-blood. And his mother, in all her infinite wisdom, had thought subjecting half the family to his whims was a good idea. Where had she gotten that stupid belief, Regulus would never know. And now, Regulus had to listen to this half-man half… something spout his hateful, crazy views and try not to pull his hair out.

But all for Sirius’s continued happiness, right?

Yeah, no.

Because Sirius wasn’t even that happy! Why?! Because his stupid found family was being endangered by the snake-face Regulus was forced to follow and obey. Blegh. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Sirius was attached now, though, and for his continued survival, Regulus must do what he’d sworn he’d never do.

Become a stupid, disgustingly selfless hero.

Or anti-hero was more accurate. Heroes had good thoughts about people, they didn’t want to choke, maim, and/or kill their loved-ones. Regulus did though, so badly. He would much rather fight his brother to the death than be in this stupid cave.

See, this was Regulus’s genius plan:

He’d recently discovered that snake-face himself had found a rather… psychotic way of staying immortal, a way that had basically stripped him of most of his brain functions. The objects he’d created, known as Horcruxes, stored a part of his soul that broke off every time he killed someone with no remorse – which was surprisingly a lot less than you’d think, apparently the so-called dark lord preferred his people kill for him than doing the dirty work himself.

(Wouldn’t Regulus have made a much better Dark Lord? He’s; unfortunately, had this thought one too many times. But he didn’t have the patience or social skills needed for such a position though – not that the current dark lord was any better.)

Regulus knew Voldy had made more than one, but the one he’d found was hidden in this dark, dreary cave in the middle of bloody nowhere. And Regulus, in a misguided attempt at cleansing his soul and owning up to his many sins, had decided to find said Horcrux and destroy it, thus making it easier for the order of fried chicken to take out the big bad ugly. (And Merlin was he ugly. The no-nose look fit literally no one.)

Regulus could admit it that yes, it was a stupid plan bound to be disastrous, but what else could he do? The infuriatingly arrogant psycho had used his Kreacher to hide the stupid locket-horcrux. No one used Kreacher for evil plans except Regulus. So this twisted heroic adventure was his twisted idea of revenge.

How… ironic. Or iconic. It depended on how you viewed his actions. Regulus believed in the latter.

“Stupid Dark Lord. Stupid Sirius. Stupid Dumbledore. The old man could’ve done this himself. Why did it have to be me, huh? It’s like his comfy chair is forbidding him from actually doing something productive instead of sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs.” He muttered to himself as he rowed the stupid boat towards the stupid small island in the middle of the stupid lake in the stupid cave. His nose wrinkled as he smelled the dank musk the air was saturated in.

Dear Merlin, Regulus was usually more eloquent than this. Had his frustrations impeded his thoughts that much? Could he not come up with a better word than stupid? Frustratingly inept, perhaps, or numbingly blank….

Oh, but his musings wouldn’t really do him any good, would they. He could curse everyone that had every wronged him, and he’d still be in this stupid mess all by himself. The loneliness hadn’t hit him until now, but he shook his head to clear out that useless emotion.

“Maybe Master should wait for Kreacher?” His most loyal friend said softly, and Regulus scoffed.

“Don’t be absurd, Kreacher. You’ve already done this one too many times. Let me handle this.”

“But the potion…?”

“I’ll be fine. Just follow orders. Now, repeat them again for me.”

“Kreacher is to force Master to drink the potion. Kreacher is to retrieve the locket and hide it in Grimmauld Place. If necessary…. If necessary, Kreacher must leave Master behind.”

“Very good.” Regulus whispered, nodding in approval. His friend-slash-childhood caretaker had always been good at listening to orders.

“Master must know that Kreacher does not approve.”

“Noted, but I’m still doing this. Drinking the Drought of Despair once is enough for you.”

And what could Kreacher respond to that. Nothing, that’s what.

After a few minutes of silence, the boat hit the island with a soft lurch. Regulus slowly stood up and helped Kreacher off of it before jumping off himself. What greeted him was a desolate land and a central raised dais in the middle with a bowl on top. Magic swirled all around – anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards surrounding the whole cave. The lake also seemed covered in dark, sickening magic that made bile rise in Regulus’s throat. Ah, the curse of his power.

You’d think seeing magic would be… well magical, but the amount of disgustingly unnatural magic Regulus was surrounded by on a regular basis was just horrifying. It had really cemented the fact he’d been forced to join the wrong side. Add to that the literal mouldy green aura that clung to the Dark Lord at all times of the day, indicating the horrifying things he’d done to his very soul, and Regulus was just over the whole Death Eater thing.

His abilities came directly from his Black blood, but their full range and capabilities were still a complete mystery to him. Every time he used them, he discovered something new, so they weren’t predictable by any means, but they were a good backup to have in situations such as this one.

So… taking a deep breath to steel himself, Regulus started drinking the horrid mixture in the bowl. Every scoop of the liquid down his throat sent shivers down his spine and bile rising to his throat that he had to swallow down.

At first it just felt… wrong, like he was drinking something he shouldn’t. Then, the thirst started. He forced himself to continue, even though every drop just made him thirstier, not less so.

Then came the hallucinations. It wasn’t called the Draught of Despair for no reason.

“Why are you doing this Reggie?” The shimmering spirit of his brother asked softly, and Regulus couldn’t help glaring at it.

“Do I have choice? This is how I can help.”

“But no one will remember you. You’ll be just a footnote in history; the man who’d tried to be a hero but fell short. The one who always falls short. You thought you could be different, atone for your sins, but you and I both know you’re too much like mother to be anything but the perfect Black heir. Always obeying, never defying. The weapon she directed with a word.” The illusion said cruelly, and Regulus’s glare sharpened.

“Oh fuck you.” Regulus cursed loudly, making Kreacher jump in surprise.

“Master?”

“I – It’s… nothing.” He forced another palm-full of the potion down his throat, panting with the effort it took him not to immediately run towards the lake and gulp down water like a dying man. And maybe he was… a dead man walking.

The illusion of his brother kept hurling hurtful words at him, but Regulus was just over the whole situation at that point. As soon as the bowl was shallow enough, he grabbed the locket, hissing in pain as the magic in it burned the flesh of his palm – it felt like his very blood, his magic itself was recoiling at the abomination he was holding. He thrust it at Kreacher.

“Don’t touch. Levitate it and go!”

“I – I can’t just – “

“GO!” And Regulus let the locket go, trusting Kreacher will do as he asked. A few seconds that felt like hours later, he heard the distinct pop of house-elf apparition. He immediately ran towards the lake, scooping up water directly into his open mouth, heaving a sigh of relief as cool liquid trickled down his throat soothingly.

He closed his eyes tiredly, taking a deep breath to centre himself, so he didn’t notice when a bony arm came out of the lake until the hand grabbed his forearm in a death grip. The hand holding him was surprisingly dry, but the pain was so great that it felt like it was seconds from breaking his arm in two. As soon as the feeling registered, his eyes snapped open to come face-to-face with one of magic’s most unnatural and disgusting beings. An inferi – an immortal dead body cursed to stay mobile and obey a dark wizard’s every whim. A mindless zombie if you will. Merlin, he’s been writing too much to his American counterpart, Atlas ‘Mars’ Grimm.

And as he was dragged below the surface and water surrounded him from all sides, the only thought that came to mind was simple really.

I hope Sirius is fucking happy.

Chapter Text

July 31^st 1990.

4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain.

The people of Privet Drive had never seen anything like this man. He stood staring at number 4 like the house had personally wronged him. They wondered if he was a spirit that had died there, or if he was a vampire that had been wronged by the occupants’ ancestors. Maybe he was a siren out of its depth coming to curse their homes and lure them to sea. He certainly looked like a mystical creature.

He was pretty in a haunted way, with pale skin that glowed a bit in the afternoon light, eyes that looked like pure silver, and sharp features that gave him an ethereal look. His hair reached just below his jaw with bangs that swept in front of his eyes and was a pitch black that contrasted heavily with his pale features. He was wearing a long black coat over a black shirt and matching slacks, with the coat tied by a belt at his waist. His shoes seemed to be expensive leather with pointed toes and a slight heel. The sun reflected off of the many rings adorning his fingers, and his neck was covered by a black silk choker. His figure was lean, and he stood like he owned the whole street, with equal parts confidence and coldness that sent shivers down the onlookers’ spines. They couldn’t look away, but at the same times they felt they weren’t allowed to look at all.

He moved like a predator, making his way towards number 4 like a hunter approaches its prey. Everyone immediately hid behind their curtains when they noticed him glancing in their direction, hiding from his calculated gaze. They didn’t want to know what would happen next – which was unusual considering the whole neighbourhood was known for their nosy personalities – but they didn’t hold out much hope for the Dursleys’ continued survival. If a man like that was targeting them, then they probably wouldn’t last, right?

Regulus smirked in amusement as every single person in this dreaded street scurried into their homes or hid behind their curtains at his stare. How… mundane of them, to be scared of him.

He tilted his head slightly as he considered the door in front of him. He could ring the doorbell, but what was the fun in that? With a sharp grin, he put his hand on the doorknob and it blew up with a soft explosion; the door swinging back and forth softly from the momentum. He heard hurried footsteps coming towards him as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Y-You! Who the hell are you?!” A loud walrus-like man bellowed, trying to look intimidating but only coming off as… idiotic really. Regulus smirked at him in amusement.

“Who? Me?”

“Y-you’re one of them, aren’t you?” The horse-like woman that was behind the man stuttered out, and Regulus tilted his head a bit in consideration. She was related to Evans? But Evans was a pretty red-head, this woman was… just not that attractive, especially with the permanent pinch to her face that made it look like she was always smelling shit around her. Maybe she was, who know?

“What an astute observation. I’m here for the kid.” He replied bluntly, staring at them with dead eyes and a raised eyebrow.

See, Regulus wasn’t always impulsive, he was a Slytherin for Merlin’s sake! He’d been observing the family’s dynamic for a week now, and what he saw was not… pleasant.

Look, if he’d perceived that the stupid muggle family treated his brother’s Godson with love and respect, he would’ve never thought of interrupting the kid’s life. But alas, they were just plain horrible. The worst muggles he’s ever met. They were bullies, abusive, and plain hypocritical. They forced the kid to do all the chores to ‘earn his keep’, lied about his parents and compared them to deadbeats, and even hit him when he did something ‘wrong’ in their eyes. Their rules were ever-changing, and their words were as sharp as a knife. It was no place for the ‘boy-who-lived’ to be.

Typical Dumbledore, always trying to do the ‘right’ thing and using his actions and words to hide his manipulative ways. He wondered what the wizarding world would think if they knew their ‘hero’ was being abused by his muggle relatives. He almost laughed at the thought.

They’d riot, but ultimately not do anything if Dumbledore placated them with a few pretty words, leaving the boy to rot like they’d left every other abused child before him.

“W – What k-k-kid?” Dursley stuttered out, eyes shifting every which way, but Regulus noticed they always landed on the cupboard under their stairs. Fuck, really?!

He walked away from the ugly couple, past their idiotically gaping son and towards the cupboard door.

“NO! You can’t – “

But she was too late, as Regulus had opened the door and made eye contact with a pair of emerald green eyes. The two stared at each other for a full minute before the kid opened his mouth.

“Wh – who are you?” The kid was rod thin and tiny for a ten year old, with sharp features from obvious malnutrition and sagging eye-bags. He looked like a less cared-for version of James Potter. It was… weird for Regulus. He felt bad for the kid, and he didn’t really feel the resentment he thought he’d feel. He just felt… pity. Fuck, the kid was barely living. Who would’ve thought James Potter’s precious son would end up… like this? In a cupboard, hated by his family, a servant in his own home.

Dumbledore should burn for this.

After the sacrifices his brother had made for this child, this was how he ended up? How tedious.

“This is a cupboard. Why are you in a cupboard?”

“It’s fine. This is my room.” The kid, Harry, muttered, hiding his face in shame.

“It’s not fine.” Regulus said, laughing loudly – a cold, bitter sound that echoes off the walls. The shadows around them start convulsing. Moving unnaturally in reaction to Regulus’s changing emotions.

“Now you listen here –“

But he didn’t get to continue as he chocked lightly, and finally Regulus’s eyes met his. The silver had darkened into a molten grey, face stuck in a cold fury.

“If you ever even think about touching him, there won’t be a corner of this earth you can hide in where I wouldn’t find you. And when I do, you won’t know what fucking hit you.”

As he spoke, the man had been levitating with his neck at a weird angle, like there was a noose around it dragging him up and up. The darkness lunged at Vernon, a thousand hands grasping at his throat. His wife, apparently the smarter one, had started begging quietly as she hid her son behind her.

“Please. We’ll leave him alone. We won’t do anything. Just stop, please.” She sobbed out, her hands clutched together as she fell to her knees. It was pathetic, and Regulus couldn’t help sneering at her ugly sputtering.

“Oh you won’t get the chance to, believe me on that.” With that he waved his hand lazily, and the whale-like man fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut off.

He slowly walked towards the kid, who was staring at him with equal parts awe and fear. Smart kid. He held out his hand towards the young Potter and made his final offer. Let this be the final thing he’ll do for his ungrateful brother.

“You can stay here, forgotten and alone. Or you can come with me and learn to make the whole world fear your name and tremble at the mention of it. Your choice kid.”

“You still haven’t told me who you are.” But as he said this, he took Regulus’s hand, no hesitation whatsoever. Okay, was Regulus starting to like this kid? Of course not. But he was… fascinating to interact with. But, wait! Oh fuck! Oh shit! He said yes? Fucking shit.

“My name is Regulus Black. I – you could say I knew your parents I suppose.”

“Huh. I don’t know how to respond to that, or if I can trust you.” The kid said as they walked towards the door hand in hand still. The kid was hesitant to let him go, which he understood, but still. Regulus had never really had prolonged touch with anyone that wasn’t painful. Maybe when he was a small kid and his brother would hug him before bed. If the boy needed the comfort, though, then he’d give it to him. He was not fond, damn it!

“You don’t. You just learn to trust me.” With that, they disappeared into a swirl of shadows.

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England

Harry… didn’t really know how to react. The man had saved him, yes, but he seemed… like a storm wrapped in silk. Beautiful, but lethal. Not evil per se, just… tragic. Like he’d seen hell and barely came back.

His rings barely touched Harry’s hand, the man was that gentle with him, but they were also shaped like skulls, weapons, and weird crests. His coat was warm and made of expensive material, but his eyes were ice cold, like the warmth just wasn’t registering.

When they landed, the shadows that had surrounded them fell away like a blanket, leaving them standing in front of a tall building with twelve hung on the door in gold numbering. The house seemed ancient, almost eerily so, like a haunted mansion.

As they walked inside, the dark décor became even clearer.

“Sorry for the emo look. My mother liked to torture us, even in death.” Before he could continue, a loud banshee-like screech of pure evil erupted.

“POTTER FILTH! BLOOD TRAITOR—“

“Speaking of Mother….” Regulus muttered, sighing in exhaustion as he walked towards a large frame. Harry stared as the man glared at the woman in the portrait, and the sound stopped.

“Was that… the portrait?!”

“Right, muggle upbringing. Yes, in the Magical world, portraits speak and interact with the living. It can be informative, but most of the time it’s just annoying.” Harry hummed at that, staring around in equal parts awe and disgust. Because the house was horrible. It was mouldy, the wallpaper was peeling, and the furniture was falling apart. “Yeah, the house is haunted by bad taste and my mother’s ghost. Try not to scream.”

“Why? I mean – “

Stupid Harry! Don’t ask questions! Regulus seemed better than the Dursleys, so Harry can’t let him know how much of a freak he was.

“Because I’ve been in a coma for the past few years, and my caretaker didn’t have time to clean up. And it’s fine to ask questions, I don’t care. I actually… enjoy intellectual conversations.”

“Oh…. Got it!” Harry said with a small smile, ducking his head down to hide it. Maybe this new situation could be… nice.

“Welcome home Master!” A voice said beside them, and Harry turned to find a… creature of some sort standing there gaping at them. “Master… has brought… a child home?”

“Yes. He’ll be staying with us from now on. Kreacher, this is Harry Potter. Kid, meet Kreacher, my personal House Elf. I’ll tell you what that is later.”

“Uh, nice to meet you?” Harry asked hesitantly, looking at… Kreacher in confusion.

“Absolutely not! Kreacher will not clean up after a Potter brat!”

“You will if I tell you so.” Regulus said coldly, and Harry couldn’t help shivering at the tone.

“Still….”

“Kreacher, if you finish that sentence, I’ll donate you to the Malfoys.” The older man warned, and the elf shrunk back into himself, nodding in submission.

“Yes Master.”

“You’ll learn to get along.” Regulus said, and Harry thought it was meant to comfort him, but it fell flat. He didn’t comment though. “Now come, time to settle in your room. Dinner will be at seven. You can sit and get comfortable until then. We can also discuss expectations, house rules, and lesson plans then.”

“Lesson plans?”

“Well yes. You didn’t think I’d leave you uneducated and lost, did you?”

“I guess not.” He did say he liked intellectual conversations. Maybe this is what he meant.

They moved up the flight of stairs to another floor. It was a long corridor, with about three doors on either side.

“This is my room.” Regulus said, pointing to the last room on the right. Then he pointed to the one opposite it. “That one will be yours. It used to be my brother’s, but you can have it now.”

“I… can use something else. So your brother doesn’t get mad.”

“Nonsense. Sirius is in prison anyway, what use would he have for his room from there? Ignore the pictures of… inappropriately clad women though, I’ll remove them later.”

“Uh, alright then.” That shocked him, but he tried not to show him. Regulus cackled at his expression, so it seemed he wasn’t successful.

“I’ll tell you my messed up family history later. For now, relax in the room, get comfortable, and the bathroom is the first door on the left, so you can freshen up before dinner. If you need anything, call Kreacher. He might not like you yet, but he’ll obey your words like he does mine.” With that, the man turned and climbed the remaining stairs to the third floor.

Harry took a fortifying breath before opening the door to ‘his room’ – the door literally had ‘Sirius Black’ carved on it in gold though. Instead of weird pictures and horribly mouldy walls like he expected, he was instead greeted with clear burgundy walls, a four-poster bed with navy bedding and mahogany wardrobe and desk. It was like the room had self-cleaned itself for him.

Harry grinned in happiness as he ran and jumped onto the bed, relaxing onto it in relief and happiness. He didn’t notice, but the shadows in the room all curled around him like a preening cat.

Maybe he’d finally find a home here.

In the library a floor above where Harry was decompressing, Regulus was frantically looking through the shelves.

He was not panicking, okay?! He just…. What the fuck was he doing with a child?! He’d intended on simply threatening them into treating the kid well, but then he’d impulsively decided to just do it himself. Why? He had no fucking idea.

He couldn’t raise a ten year old. He barely knew what he was doing when he lived on his own. His childhood wasn’t a stellar example of good parenting either. His father barely acknowledged their existence before age eleven, and his mother was their warden, not their parent. Every decision, every lesson, and even what they ate was decided for them by her dictatorship. It was suffocating, and he never wanted any child to experience that, especially not an abused child, Potter’s kid or not. Honestly, him being Potter’s kid made it better. In the afterlife, he would stand in front of that brother-stealer and gloat in his face that he’d been the one to protect and teach his son about life, not his dead ass.

He would even get to rub it in Sirius’s face. That Sirius had been unable to care for his Godson, but his hated brother had.

Oh, this was going to be fun!

Still, where the fuck were the parenting books in this cursed library! Had none of his ancestors ever needed advice on how to rear their kids?!

“Merlin, do children need vegetables? What if he dies because I forgot a food group? I should’ve just sent Kreacher with a strongly worded letter to the Dursleys.” Regulus muttered to himself, still looking for anything that could bloody help him in this weird situation.

“What is Master looking for?” Kreacher asked after he appeared with a pop. Their constant proximity had made it so that surprise appearances didn’t really shock Regulus anymore.

“Anything to help me parent the kid.”

“Master is that determined to raise the Potter child?”

“Yes. I don’t want to mess him up.” Regulus mumbled, and Kreacher softened at the words. With a snap of his fingers, a book appeared in Regulus’s hands.

“Kreacher will be in the kitchen preparing dinner.” With that, the house-elf left, but Regulus’s lips quirked upwards in amusement at the elf’s rough demeanour.

The book was a simple black leather-bound one with a silver title. “Noble House of Black: Heir Training (Revised Edition).”

“Huh. This could work.” With that, Regulus sat down on the floor and leaned his back on the shelves, immersing himself in the book.

Chapter Text

July 31^st 1990

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England

Okay, here’s the thing, Harry did believe in magic. The Dursleys always punished him when he mentioned it, yes, but still, what else could possibly explain the weird things he did. Like when he was seven and, while running way from bullies, he ended up on top of his school’s roof. Or when he was eight and his aunt gave him that awful haircut, but his hair ended up growing back overnight. Or when – okay, you get the idea. Harry believes in magic. But this, what’s happening around him at that moment, it wasn’t just small accidents, it was an outward display of pure weirdness that could only be explained by magic – none of his relatives’ justifications would work here.

He was currently in one of the house’s bathrooms, and things just… weren’t happening normally. The tap screamed when Harry had touched it, the mirror had spoken to him, telling him – or more likely insulting him – that “his hair looked like a bird had made it home and he’d allowed it like a Hufflepuff”. Under the sink, he’d found the words ‘Fuck Walburga’ written like it’d been carved by fire, or a very thin laser.

Generally speaking, the house was just plain strange. Even the creaks that Harry expected when climbing down the stairs didn’t happen, like the house was telling him that it was fine with him being there. But that was insane, right? Right?!

“Is the faucet supposed to scream at you?”

“Only when you’re unwanted.” The weird elf, Kreacher, replied in a snarky tone, glaring daggers at Harry.

“Does it hate a Walburga person too? Cause I found a carving of ‘Fuck Walburga’ under the sink.”

“How nostalgic.” Regulus sighed out, looking up from his book to smile at Harry. “But no, that was my brother’s rebellious way of infuriating my mother, whose name is Walburga. I wouldn’t mind the décor much, Harry. Remember, Houses like this one, ancient and full of magic as they are, always have an opinion on things, you just learn to ignore them.”

“Got it.” Harry replied as he sat opposite him on the very long table. The table had two candelabras in the centre that kept flickering from orange to black and back again. There were portraits all around, but they were silent as they stood or sat in their frames. They were just watching the room’s occupants, only reacting using their expressions. It was kind of creepy, but Harry tried not to focus on their stares.

As Harry sat down opposite Regulus, he couldn’t help noticing that the man had changed from the formal outfit he’d been wearing, to a casual black t-shirt and matching slacks. When he noticed that Harry was wearing the same too large t-shirt and jeans six sizes too big that were tied by rope, he startled a bit.

“Oh, uh, you’ll need clothes, won’t you…?”

“Yes.” Harry deadpanned, making direct eye-contact with his new… guardian.

“Huh. I’ll come up with something.” He muttered as he tapped twice on the desk. Suddenly, two plates full of food appeared in front of them.

“Hope Master and Master’s… guest enjoy.” Kreacher said before disappearing again.

“Does he not… eat?”

“Yes he does, just not around us. That’s just what house-elves are comfortable with, so don’t take it personally.” Regulus replied as he started cutting his steak in elegant slices. Harry, who’d never really been given such a large meal before in his life, didn’t know what to do.

Regulus, noticing the boy’s confusion, decided to just help him out this time. He took the kid’s plate and gave him his already cut one. Harry stared at him in surprise and appreciation, but Regulus just shook his head awkwardly.

“It’s… nothing. But you’ll have to learn how to use utensils other than a fork and spoon.”

“I know how to cook, I’ve just… never had steak before.”

“I’ll add etiquette lessons to your plan.”

“Speaking of plan, can I… ask now?”

“After eating, it’s impolite to engage in conversation during a meal.” Regulus said in a typical teacher tone, and Harry returned to looking at his food. One bite of the deliciously tender meat seemed to open the floodgates, and he couldn’t help just shovelling the food into his mouth. He hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been before this.

He was thankful that Regulus didn’t comment on his abhorrent table manner; he didn’t think he could handle any words of comfort at the moment, and the man – weirdly enough – seemed to recognize that.

They finished their meal in silence, then Regulus led him to a room with a couch in front of the fireplace with a coffee table in the middle where two mugs were sitting. They settled down with space between them, which Harry was pleased about. He wasn’t used to positive physical touch, and it seemed Regulus was similar in that sense. The older man handed him one mug, taking the other for himself. Taking a sip, Harry couldn’t help humming softly at the taste of chocolate melted into his mouth, so unlike the watery expired packet mix Aunt Petunia had sometimes grudgingly gave him. His eyes were closed, so he didn’t notice the fond smirk Regulus shot him.

“So,” His saviour started, speaking in a calm, yet eerie tone. “What questions did you have?”

“How do you know my parents?” Because this would really decide how much he can initially trust the man.

“Not that well, but my brother was best friends with your father. They… were closer than brothers.” Harry could easily hear the bitterness in his voice, but he didn’t comment on it. “Sirius, my brother, is your godfather. Your mother and I did potions together sometimes. She was… the more intelligent of your parents. I had… great respect for her.”

“Okay. Why are you helping me?”

“You want the vaguely honest answer or the brutally honest one?” This had Harry laughing a bit before he answered.

“Both would be best.”

“Alright.” Regulus nodded. “Honest answer, because I know no one else would’ve. The man who sent you to your relatives… he’s too trusted, too influential to be questioned, so if he said you staying there was for the best, then no one would ask anymore or oppose his decision. The brutally honest answer is a lot simpler, I want to rub it in my brother’s face that I protected his precious Godson while he rotted in Azkaban for being an impulsive idiot and trusting the wrong people.”

“That’s… a lot to process.”

“Take your time.” Regulus said with a shrug, taking a sip of his drink.

Harry did the same, trying to process everything he’d just been told. There was one thing that kept bugging him from that whole tirade.

“This man, he has so much power that he can condemn me to years with the Dursleys without anyone even asking?” That had Regulus snorting loudly, though Harry had no idea why.

“You have no idea. This man, Dumbledore, he… he can tell the Wizarding World the sky is orange and grass is pink and they’d believe him. A lot of people, including my brother and your parents, have made the mistake of trusting his infallibility, and it usually got them hurt, or worse. There were a lot of things about my family’s ideologies that I did not agree with, but their mistrust of Dumbledore was one that I believed wholeheartedly. My brother, on the hand, thought all of my family’s words were lies and hypocrisies, so he put his life in Dumbledore’s hands, but it gave him nothing but heartache and a prolonged stay in hell. Remember kid, Dumbledore left you there on purpose, and your parents’ complete faith in him enabled that without anyone questioning him, even though you’re supposedly the ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’ or something.”

“What?! I never did any saving! I’m just a kid.”

“Ah, I believe this is the time of this conversation where I tell you how exactly your parents died.”

“It wasn’t in a car accident, was it? The Dursleys lied about this too, didn’t they?”

“Car accident? Kid, I don’t think your father’s ever stepped foot in one in his – admittedly short – life. I would take everything the Dursleys said with a grain of salt. No, a stupid snake-faced idiot killed them. Look kid, I don’t sugar-coat things, if I tell you this story, I’m not hiding or decorating anything to protect your innocent little heart.” Regulus said bluntly, tone slightly sarcastic at the end, staring at Harry’s eyes as he said, “You sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes. Everything. The good, the bad and the ugly.” Harry said firmly – he was done with lies. Regulus’s blunt honesty was a fresh change actually.

“Suit yourself.” Regulus took a fortifying breath before starting. “Here goes. Okay, around maybe like fifteen years ago, a civil war broke out in the British Wizarding World between what people called the ‘light and dark’ sides, though I wouldn’t call them that. I’d call them more the idiotic hypocrites and the impulsive hypocrites. I was, unfortunately, forced by my psychotic mother to join the idiotic hypocrites’ side, AKA the Dark side. The leader of this little group, Voldemort, or the Dark Lord as his followers called him, rallied his troops on the banner of what magicals call blood purity, which is basically the belief that people of ‘Pure’ blood, so those born from both magical parents, are the only ones worthy of learning and practicing magic. His followers were mainly people who believed in that, or people with Dark cores – their magic was compatible with dark spells, which are illegal in our country. With me so far?”

“I think so…? So the idiotic hypocrites believed that only a small part of the community have the right to do magic, and the others didn’t, right? He also attracted the people who weren’t… supported by the magical ministry…?”

“Exactly! Damn kid that was a good sum-up.”

“Thanks. Why do you call them hypocrites though?”

“Glad you asked. Hypocrites because the Dark Lord, or as I call him, snake-face, is the son of a woman born from magical parents but without magic, and a man who was a muggle, so he had no magic at all. He’s what we call a half-blood. People like your mother, a witch born of a completely muggle family, were their biggest target. Your father, on the other hand, was like me. A pureblood from an ancient lineage. The Potters are actually a really old magical family.”

“Got it. And the other side, the… impulsive hypocrites?”

“Dumbledore’s side, and your parents’ side. They were called the ‘Light Side’ because they only practiced light magic, so legal, quote-unquote ‘good’ magic. We’ll get into types of magic at a later date, just know that this distinction is a bunch of ministry bullshit created to segregate people and cause conflict. Political hogwash if you will.”

“Hmm, like how muggles discriminate against those of non-white skin for no reason?”

“Yup, exactly. So the fight broke out around nineteen seventy five, when I was a lowly fourth year just trying to get by on sheer will and a ton of coffee. My mother, to no one’s surprise, decided to side with the idiots who thought blood differentiated people. My grandfather, who was the head at the time, decided to stay neutral, while my darling older brother sided with Dumbledore and his sheep. The conflict was mostly kept out of Hogwarts, our magical school, though some students do join sides around age sixteen, including, unfortunately, myself.”

“So you basically took your brother’s place, right?”

“Yes! Finally, someone who sees it for what it was! I was forced to take my brother’s place. While he got to strut around like God’s gift to humanity, I was being trained to be a killer using… interesting means. Our story really starts around nineteen seventy nine, around the time your parents had gotten married, but before your birth.”

“Okay….”

“A prophecy was given to Dumbledore in a fucking bar of all places. Don’t know the whole thing, and I don’t really remember the exact words, but it basically spoke of a child born at the end of July to parents who’d defied voldy thrice that would have the power to destroy the dark lord, or something, who fucking knows. There was more, but the spy who’d overheard it didn’t get the chance to hear the rest before he was caught and thrown out of the bar. Out of some sick sense of loyalty, he went to snake-face and told him. At this point, no one was a clear choice for villain-destroyer, but….”

“I was born.”

“Well, kind of. You and another kid, Longbottom, were born. In nineteen eighty, the two families were sent into hiding by Dumbledore, who they followed like domesticated pets, no offence.”

“None taken.” Harry replied softly, not really caring about much beyond where the story was obviously heading.

“So, for about six or so months, old snake-face tried to break the protections around either family. Then, your lovely family’s secret keeper, the one man who had your life literally in his hand, betrayed your parents and told voldy where you were hidden willingly, which is the only way anyone would’ve been able to get to you. So, on Halloween of nineteen eighty-one, my lovely twentieth birthday by the way, voldy attacked, killed your parents, and tried to kill you. The killing curse backfired, and for now, he’s gone. Though who knows how long that would last.”

“Okay. Let me just gather my thoughts before I ask.”

“By all means.” Regulus said, waving his hand casually as he took a breath and another sip to clear his throat. Look, Regulus was not the talkative type, so this whole storytelling thing was taking it out of him.

“Okay.” Harry took a big breath and let it out slowly before continuing. “Who was their secret keeper?”

“A greatly astute question, and I shockingly don’t mean this sarcastically. The ministry, Dumbledore and most people think it was my lovely idiotic brother, Sirius Black. So he was captured and sent to prison without a trial. Apparently, the evidence was too great that a trial was ‘simply not needed’.” The bitterness and sarcasm that dripped from Regulus’s tongue was so overwhelming that it was like slapping Harry with a sign that said, liars. Subconsciously, Harry found himself curling up in the corner of the couch as he prepared for the heartbreak he knew was coming.

“So what actually happened?” That had Regulus cackling, nodding in approval at Harry’s wording. Harry internally smiled. In a shocking turn of events, he found himself trying his hardest to earn this man’s approval.

“Their other friend, a guy named Peter Pettigrew, did it. I don’t know if Sirius actually killed him or if he miraculously managed to escape my bloodthirsty, Black-trained brother, but after their confrontation, only Sirius was found and thus assumed the guilty party. And my stupid brother didn’t help matters at all, laughing hysterically at the scene like a common criminal.” At this, Regulus’s rings clinked against the ceramic as his grip tightened around his mug.

“That’s why you said his impulsiveness sent him to hell.”

“Oh, yes. If only he’d stayed put and taken care of you, he wouldn’t be where he is now, would he?” Regulus said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Huh…. And my parents chose him as my Godfather?”

“Shocking, isn’t it? However, I believe Azkaban prison, the hell it is, might’ve finally curbed his recklessness. Too little too late though.”

“Can’t you… get him out?”

“Hmm…. I could, but I don’t want to yet. Call it a little brother’s petty revenge for being abandoned to hell for fucking Potter.” Regulus hissed angrily. “No hate to you Kid, I just don’t like your dad.”

“I understand. Can I ask more?”

“Sure. Ask anything you want.” That made Harry grin happily. How… unusual, hearing these words for the first time in his life. He was starting to really like this man. He was blunt but honest, vulgar but kind, and dark but not… pure evil like Harry had initially expected after what he did to the Dursleys.

“Why didn’t Dumbledore… help your brother? Wasn’t he his follower too?”

“Kid. I’m starting to really like you, which is unlike me but I’m rolling with it. Yes. He should’ve, but Merlin knows what goes on in that old goat’s head. Apparently, Sirius was not worth any effort from the Great Albus Dumbledore.”

“Did you… leave the idiotic hypocrites?” Regulus found it funny that the kid had taken to using his terminology instead of the official one, but he didn’t comment.

“Yes. I betrayed the hell out of him, which is how I ended up in a ten year coma. Fun, right?”

“I don’t get details, do I?”

“Not now, no. Maybe later in life, my young student.” Harry laughed quietly at that but nodded in understanding.

“What – what were my parents like?”

“You done with the war questions?”

“For now.” Regulus nodded at that before he thought about how to answer that question without insulting the kid’s father outright, again. Look, he had no love for James fucking Potter, but he respected the man enough to not tarnish his image in front of his son, especially post mortem. Had the man been alive, this would’ve been a different conversation – it actually wouldn’t have happened at all if Potter hadn’t died.

“He was a… arrogant little shit, with too much time on his hands, but… he was really talented at this sport called Quidditch. He and I were always neck and neck, and I respected his… loyalty and devotion to his friends. Guy loved you to death though, literally. Your mother, she had a mean stinging hex. She was also a complete genius; don’t tell anyone, but I actually liked her. She didn’t take shit from anyone, not even your father and his snot-faced friends.”

Harry smiled at the description. He liked how Regulus described everything, it was fun but precise. And he spoke with confidence, so Harry knew he wasn’t just bullshitting his way through things. He also admitted when he didn’t know something, which Harry knew was a special talent adults weren’t very adept at.

“Is magic always… this angry?” Harry asked after a moment of silence, gesturing to the house all around him.

“Only the fun kind.” Regulus said with a mischievous grin, eyes glinting slightly in the candle light.

“Okay…. Rules?”

“Ah yes. Well, you’ll be expected to learn a bunch of things. Your family’s powerful and ancient, with a lot of influence in our world, and heirs like you have a lot of expectations on them. I’ll be teaching you magic, duelling, history, and etiquette, among other things, and I expect complete diligence while learning. Focus and obedience are also required in these lessons.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“Beyond that, I expect you to question me on things. I’m not a parent, much less a caretaker. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I expect to make many mistakes. Question my words, research topics on your own to make sure I’m not lying or embellishing, and even defy me at times. If you don’t like something, say so. But discussions should be that, not arguments or head-butting competitions. I don’t like loud noises, so please, no shouting. Anything to counter so far?”

“No. I like all of this. I also… don’t like yelling.”

“Good. Punishments will not be like your relatives’ methods, I won’t withhold food, hit you or even use magic on you. I’ll ground you, perhaps forbid fun lessons for a time, or even have you clean out my cauldrons or the kitchen instead of Kreacher, but that’s about it. You’re too old for time-outs and shit. I cuss, a lot, but please don’t do it yourself, though I’m not that big of a hypocrite to punish you for it.” That made Harry laugh as he nodded in agreement.

“Now, there are three main rules I expect you to follow.” Harry’s face turned serious and his back subconsciously straightened as he waited for the list.

“One, never trust a twinkly-eyes, white-bearded bastard that thinks he’s the reincarnation of Merlin. Two, always steel the good silver when out and about. Fake shit isn’t allowed in this house. And three, if you must duel someone, always cheat. I expect complete survival, no heroic bullshit that gets people killed. Dark magic, unlike what the idiots around you will tell you, isn’t evil, just honest. It’s fuelled by emotions, not just stupid wand waving like light magic is. When we start lessons, I expect respect for the Dark Arts like you’d respect any other spell. And yes, you will be learning everything, from the bone breaking curse to the killing curse. Any questions?”

Harry tried very hard not to laugh at the man’s grave expression.

“Can I keep said silver?”

“Only of you don’t get caught. I’m not helping you if you do. People who get caught deserve to be punished; it means they were too thoughtless. Oh, and one more thing. If I ever hear you regurgitating ministry or Dumbledore rhetoric like a bloody sheep, I will have you recite A History of Magic backwards. No child living with me will ever believe the bullshit Dumbledore spouts like gospel.”

“Got it!” Harry stuck out his hand at Regulus, who shook it sharply. “I look forward to our continued arrangements, Mister Black.”

“Likewise, Mister Potter.” The two exchanged satisfied smirk.

Harry had a feeling he would come to enjoy living at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Chapter Text

August 1^st 1990 to August 7^th 1990

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England

The first week living with Regulus Black was bliss compared to life with the Dursleys.

See, the lessons were hard, but the fact that Regulus, and by extension Kreacher, actually seemed to care about his well-being made it all worth the exhaustion and mental workouts he had to do every day.

His days had taken on a certain routine, a schedule much better than the mind-numbing chores his aunt and uncle had forced on him from the age of six (Regulus had cussed like a sailor and stabbed three dummies when he’d found out).

He started the day with making the bed, washing up, then he’d make his way down for breakfast. Sometimes he’d find Regulus waiting for him at the top of the staircase, while other times the older man would already be seated at the dining table, reading a newspaper as he waited for Harry to arrive. Breakfast itself was a rather calm affair, where Regulus would calmly explain some of the day’s news and they’d discuss their plans. After that, Kreacher would clear the table with a snap of his fingers, and while Regulus would either spend the next few hours in the library or – what Harry had come to find out to be – the potions lab in the basement, Harry would start etiquette lessons with the grumpy house-elf.

The lessons were awful but entertaining at times, as Kreacher would sometimes regale him with stories from the past as he learned which utensils were for what, and how he was supposed to network with each class of people. The elf wasn’t kind by any means, and his words could be sharper than the sharpest knife, but once Harry had earned his reluctant approval, he started giving backhanded ‘compliments’ every once in a while.

It was frustrating at first, when Harry would find himself being insulted for stupid reasons, but when he started grasping that Kreacher was beginning to be more positive, Harry felt very proud of himself.

It started with clearly hurtful words like:

“Master Potter holds a knife like a goblin.” Or “Master Potter has clearly never seen a proper soup spoon in his life. Was your upbringing truly that useless?”

But soon turned to:

“Mater Potter… has improved.” Or the much more common “Master Potter shouldn’t have to try so hard, but… progress.”

The words were all given in the same derisive and mocking tone, but after a few days, Harry was able to distinguish between Kreacher’s ‘You’re an idiot’ tone and his ‘You’re still an idiot, but a better idiot’ tone.

One of Harry’s favourite lessons was the one on knife uses.

“This is the knife used to cut ingredients in the kitchen. It is never brought to the dining room, or seen by guests. It is also the preferred knife for when a cook needs to defend himself.” Kreacher explained, brandishing a large, wide knife with a sharp blade and a thick handle.

“This knife,” Kreacher continued, putting down the cutting knife and holding up a thin, smooth one, “is a butter knife. You use it to butter a crumpet, or cut a muffin in half. You may even use it to cut a slice of bread in half, but that is all. This knife is not to be used for anything else.”

The third one was also on the thinner side, but with a serrated blade instead. “This is a steak knife. It is used to cut meats into slices for eating. This knife, alongside the fork used for eating, are the only ones you may use to stab any unruly guests. Because it is for meats, it is also allowed to touch human meat.”

“So,” Harry started slowly, “I can use this knife to… stab enemies at the dinner table?”

“Yes, but only this one. Now, show Kreacher how you’d hold it for eating.” The elf said, holding the handle out to Harry as he had the blade itself between his thumb and pointer finger. Harry hesitated for only a moment before he grabbed it and held it over the plate how he’d seen his aunt do while eating steak. He also grabbed the fork beside his plate in the appropriate position Kreacher had taught him the day before; with his thumb under the handle and his pointer and middle fingers on top.

“Master has… improved slightly from yesterday, though Master Potter still holds knife like a Gnome.” Kreacher sneered out, but Harry had learned that this was his way of complimenting him, so he didn’t take it hard. “Now, when transitioning to an attack hold, Master must be… agile and quick, so enemies don’t see it coming until it’s too late. There are three ways Master can use the knife as a weapon. One, Master throws it beside guest’s head as a warning. Two, Master throws it at guest’s head or throat – one shot, one kill. Three, master stabs guest with it. If it’s a warning, Master stabs hand or thigh, if to kill, Master stabs stomach for a slow death, and heart or throat for a faster death.”

“Isn’t that a bit… excessive?” Harry asked hesitantly, wanting to maintain at least a semblance of morality but finding himself unable to. From the start, it was pretty obvious his new… family were violent by nature.

“Would Master rather die instead? This is enemy, not pest. Blacks show no mercy to enemies.”

“Revenge to the fullest.” Harry muttered under his breath, a mantra Regulus had been beating into his head since his arrival; well… one of many other sayings.

“Exactly, now let’s work on Master’s horrendous aim.”

That day, Harry didn’t just learn how to eat like a pureblood heir, he also learned how to elegantly defend himself like one. He did hate the lesson on proper posture – his back still hurt from the amount of times Kreacher would push his finger into Harry’s neck to straighten his back.

“Master must always sit like the lowly chair is his personal throne.”

After those gruelling two hours, Harry was free to do what he pleased until lunchtime. He usually sat in the Black library, with Regulus sometimes joining him. He would read as much as he could, learning and memorizing and trying his hardest to catch up on things magical-raised kids probably already knew.

He wanted to curse Dumbledore to hell for putting him at such a disadvantage compared to others, but he couldn’t. For now, at least.

Regulus had warned him about cursed books, but he hadn’t really believed him at first. The man talked about books transporting him to other rooms and screaming at him as soon as they were open. It just didn’t seem… realistic. That is, until one day he bit off more than he could chew, quite literally.

He’d been roaming around the library, lost in thought. If he was being honest with himself, which he tried to be most of the time, his thoughts have been jumbled since he’d arrived at Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t that he felt out of place – though that was also partially true and, according to Regulus, completely normal given his ‘Muggle upbringing’ – but it was just everything. He’d been uprooted from everything he’d ever known and put in a situation where he was forced to rewire his whole brain. Everything he’d ever known as a fact had turned out to be complete lies. He was angry, and emotional and just… all over the place…. He felt like all his life had been wasted for the simple greed and narcissism of people who thought his life was a game, and he was the toy they could move around however they pleased.

He hated the Dursleys for making him their personal servant instead of loving him like they should’ve, he hated that Dumbledore man for removing him from his world, putting him with people he should’ve at least suspected of hating magic and never even checking on him, and he hated Voldemort for taking his parents, the only people who’d ever loved him, away from him.

Harry had always been numb to the treatment he received, having long ago learned that getting emotional would only result in more pain for him. This all-consuming rage was a new feeling, and he didn’t know what to do with it. So here he was, roaming the library, looking for anything to distract him from this… sea of fury he was drowning in.

He was so preoccupied with everything that he didn’t notice he’d picked up a book until he felt pain on his finger.

“Ouch!” He yelped, looking down to find that the book he’d touched had literally bit him. “What the hell?!”

“Good. Now you’ll learn to respect dark and cursed objects and handle them with care.” A voice said behind him, making Harry jump before he whirled around to find his new guardian leaning against a bookshelf, smirking in amusement.

“I’m sorry!” Harry exclaimed, carefully putting the book back in its place before cradling his wounded finger.

“It’s alright. Now, what has you so distracted?” Regulus had summoned the first-aid kit from seemingly out of nowhere and had gently led Harry towards one of the couches in the large room. The two sat facing each other, and Harry resignedly gave the man his hand when prompted. The conversation continued on as Regulus carefully – and dare he say lovingly – bandaged Harry’s hand.

“I…. I’m just so angry…. And I don’t know what to do…. It’s like it’s consuming me.”

“Then use it.” Regulus said simply as he wrapped up the bandage. “Use this anger to fuel your determination. Use it to get better. To be better.”

And Harry did. Instead of spacing out, he used his rage and sadness to get better at everything set in front of him.

For as awkward as Regulus could be with him, he really did give good advice.

After lunch is when magic finally gets involved. They started with magical theory lessons, until Harry understood it thoroughly enough to be able to apply the concepts properly to spell-work.

The first few lessons were just basics; the Latin origin of each spell, the difference between each type of spell – which was just confusing – and how to really connect to his magical core; this particular lesson had the added result of Harry discovering that he hated meditation, it was too boring.

They were now discussing the different types of magic itself.

“Light magic is like the watered down version of pure magic. It’s… bland and honestly boring to use. It pretends that emotions don’t power magic, even though it’s been proven time and again that emotions are needed for powerful casting. Look at accidental magic for example. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the magic reacts. That’s why dark magic is so feared, because not everyone can cast it and the fact it’s fuelled by emotion makes it so much more potent than light magic. Because light wizards and witches can’t use it, and they unfortunately do make up a larger portion of the Wizarding World now, dark magic became outlawed. This is why so many people joined Voldemort at the start of his campaign, even those who didn’t really care about blood purity that much. I’m ashamed to say that was originally why I didn’t oppose joining too much; I thought he would help give dark magicals more freedom. I was wrong, of course, but the fact still stands, we are persecuted for simply being born with a different core to most.”

“We?”

“Yes, Potters are generally known for having grey cores, which means you can cast both light and dark spells quite easily. Blacks, on the other hand, mostly have dark cores, so while light magic isn’t that hard for us to cast, it’s not what our magic is naturally attuned to. Light magicals, on the other hand, can’t even begin to comprehend casting dark spells. The fact can be quite amusing, until it starts affecting us negatively like it has now.”

“Hypocrisy is an annoying thing.”

“Agreed. Now, there is a misconception that dark spells equal The Unforgivables, but that’s completely untrue. There are a multitude of dark spells that have light equivalents, but are definitely more powerful. You’ll be learning both, of course, but we’ll start with simple spells.”

“Even… the killing curse?”

“Yes. How will you defend yourself from it when you don’t know how it works? Besides, you’ll be learning worse spells, the killing curse shouldn’t be an issue. Or… do you not want to learn everything? That’s alright, just surprising.”

“No! I want to!” Harry said vehemently, shaking his head. He wanted to know, and, weirdly enough, he wanted to make Regulus proud of him. But Harry had always craved validation and support, and now that he has someone willing to actually give it to him, he would do everything in his power to receive it.

“Alright then. Let’s start with a simple mending spell.”

Harry spent hours trying to first do the spell right, then perfecting it so that it came as naturally as possible. After two days, he was able to literally bend his glasses to their proper form quite easily.

He was so proud of himself, he was giddy for hours afterwards.

“Dark spells do also enhance any emotion you have for an hour or so after casting.” Regulus said with a laugh, amused by the kid’s excitement and hyperactivity.

Then, the event occurred. Something that would change Harry’s perspective of Regulus Black forever.

It had started out as a very normal day. By the end of the first week of Harry’s stay at Grimmauld Place, he’d created a very stable and comfortable routine that had the added benefit of extreme productivity. That day; however, instead of going to the library after his etiquette lessons with Kreacher, he’d decided to roam around the house, hoping to run into Regulus wherever he may be.

After reading a bit on ancient houses, he had a few questions about both his family and the Blacks. He was also hoping they could discuss starting his Heir lessons, since he’d started getting used to the magical world as a whole. Harry could now, successfully, make his bed and clean his room with magic. He didn’t rely on muggle things anymore, and he was actually starting to use magical terms and sayings. It was… exciting and nice to finally feel like he belonged in the world he’d been denied for so long.

He thought his guardian could possibly be in the potion’s lab, but going down to the basement, he heard noises coming from the room opposite the lab, catching his focus from the lingering sulphur smell that usually wafted from the potion’s lab. He hesitantly opened the door before abruptly stopping at the sight that greeted him.

He stared at Regulus, who was shirtless…. Which wasn’t really the most shocking part. His torso was covered in black veins and his arms had weird tattoos all over them. He had on wide, black cotton pants and was holding two long knives with intricately designed handles. He had droplets of what looked like blood splattered on him, and two bodies on the ground around him with two more moving towards him. Luckily, they didn’t seem to be humans, but more like moving mannequins. Harry sucked in a breath as they launched at his guardian, but the man dodged easily, moving like he was made of liquid shadows. His movements were precise and elegant, fast but focused; he knew exactly what he was doing. His knives glinted in the light as he raised them and charged, slicing through one mannequin at the waist before jumping on top of the other and slit its throat in one fluid motion; the shink sound it made causing a shiver to run down Harry’s spine. The mannequins splattered fake blood all over him, but he didn’t seem to care as he heaved a quite breath. Then, he turned towards Harry with his arms at his side, staring at him with pewter grey eyes that narrowed at him.

Harry gaped at the man, conflicting feelings surging through him. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or positively terrified. This man was deadly in a way most could never even imagine. He could’ve very easily killed Harry this past week, but he hadn’t. And wasn’t that the biggest proof that the man didn’t believe in Voldemort anymore? That he actually wanted to protect Harry?

Then his thoughts changed into something… else. What if… he could do that? Wouldn’t this allow him to protect himself? Sure, he’d started being taught how to defend himself in multiple ways, but this…. This was on a whole other level.

“Never sneak up on a Black, Harry, especially if they have a weapon on them. We do bite, or slice in this case.” Regulus said with a smirk, amusement clear in his voice. He rolled his shoulders briefly before he moved gracefully, like a snake surveying its prey. Grabbing a cloth, he wiped himself first before moving onto his blades.

“W-what are these?”

“The veins? They’re from the time I spent with– I mean, under the lake. The ink is runes, they help me… focus. And you already know about this one.” He finished, pointing to his left forearm dismissively. Of course, he’d already told Harry about the mark that symbolised Voldemort’s most loyal or most powerful followers, and he’d vaguely explained to Harry his… coma and what had happened to cause it, but seeing the proof of that was… a bit heart-breaking actually.

“C-Could I do that? Someday?”

“If you want to learn.” Regulus said simply, staring at Harry with a blank look, no indication on what he was thinking on his face.

“I do. Want to learn.” Harry said a bit breathlessly, eyes wide in desire and anticipation. Regulus’s lips quirked in a smirk.

“Then you will.” The man then flipped one of the knives, catching it reflexively like he’d done it a thousand times. “We start tomorrow.”

And that, that was truly the crux of their relationship. Harry would ask to be taught something, and Regulus would concede with either an amused smirk or a proud smile.

It made Harry glow in pure happiness. Who knew all he’d needed to be himself and strive to learn was a supportive mentor.

August 10^th 1990

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England

Truthfully, Harry had thought about it. Permanently becoming a Black instead of the loose, probably illegal guardianship he was currently under. It would probably make his life easier, but at the same time…. Did he actually want to be tied to Regulus in that way?

At first, he was unsure, as he didn’t know the man well enough to not have that escape plan available if he’d turned out to be a psychopath, but now, after getting to know Regulus… yeah, he wanted it!

But then, he knew there was one thing that was keeping the two from taking that step…. Sirius Black.

See, he’d been told about his elusive imprisoned Godfather, and how Regulus, being presumed dead still, couldn’t get the man free quite so easily, but still…. He’d never met the man, should he care about what he’d feel if his younger brother adopted his godson? The logical answer would be no, it was ultimately Harry’s decision anyway, but…. He still hesitated.

So he didn’t bring it up, and if Regulus didn’t either, then it would never happen, simple as that. But then… Regulus did bring it up.

It was breakfast, about ten days into Harry’s stay, and Regulus had been slowly explaining the importance of blood to magicals.

“Blood ties an individual to certain bloodlines, thus some spells from Family Grimoires. There are also many magical abilities that are tied to blood. There are many rituals that can be done using blood, some are good, like magical reinvigoration or blood adoption, while others can be very dangerous, like physical control and most binding rituals.”

“Blood adoption?”

“Yes. There are two types of adoption in the Magical World. Normal, legal-based adoption, and blood adoption. Blood adoption fundamentally changes the adoptee’s DNA make up. It doesn’t erase their biological parents, but does add the adoptive parent or parents to their gene pool.”

“Huh…. And that’s… illegal?”

“Yes. Most Blood magic is.”

“But this is… good magic!” Harry exclaimed in shock. Day after day, he was understanding more and more the amount of illogical hypocrisy that coloured the British Wizarding World’s laws and politics.

“It is. It creates a special bond between adoptive parent and child, so the child never feels like they don’t belong. And yet, the Ministry in all their infinite wisdom believed it was an ‘unneeded’ ritual, and that signing paper and a name change were enough to make someone belong to a family. Honestly, they chose what they liked of our traditions and discarded what was ‘unnecessary’ in their eyes. They could approve of Pureblood lines having political sway, but having an adopted child eligible to inherit instead of the house going extinct was just too much for them.”

“Wait, so Blood Adoption would also allow someone to inherit?”

“Yes, the child would have that family’s blood in their veins, and that’s the main criteria that Family Magics uses to recognize heirs. Each House obviously also has a few extra conditions for accepting an heir or lord, but most are easy enough to achieve if you were raised properly.”

“So…. Does the Black Family Magic not recognize half-bloods? Since its motto is Toujours Pur?”

“No. The blood purity belief came from certain members, the magic has always recognized pure intentions and pure magic above all. Magic has blessed us many times throughout the centuries, and forsaking that is the true breaking of our vows. Unfortunately, as members’ selfishness increased, these vows have been broken time and time again. It’s why I can never take on the mantle of Lord Black, because I subjugated myself to someone else other than the Lord Black, even if it was unwilling. As long as this mark is on my arm, I will never be more than a member of the House. Hell, if Sirius, the true Lord, ever called Judgement on me, I might be disowned.” Regulus said with a casual shrug, but Harry could hear the regret and pain in his voice. It was clearer as the man rubbed his left forearm absentmindedly.

“Judgement?” He understood everything else in the explanation, as it’d been part of the lessons he’d been getting. Family Magics were the ancient magic ties to certain pureblood families, like a boost to their blood and cores. While the Potters, through the Peverell line, walked with Death, the Blacks dance with it, are always surrounded by it. A Family’s Oath is the tie every member of a House has to their family’s beliefs and mottos and their eternal loyalty to their family. Disownment was obvious enough; being thrown out from the family and losing the magic they get from that bloodline. For younger families, it could only mean becoming weaker physically and magically, but for older families like the Blacks, that magic is so embedded in their magical cores that losing it could mean losing all their magic, or worse, death. He’d never heard the word Judgement said in that tone before though. Reverently, like it was a sacred ritual or oath.

“Judgement is a ritual a Head of the Family can inflict on a member of their House. Basically, they call the Family Magics to judge this person’s morals, intentions and previous sins. If they’re found guilty of breaking their family’s oaths, they’re disowned automatically, if not, they survive the ritual and are actually trusted more. Because magic is sentient but unbiased, it views everything about you, but decides based on your actions and thoughts only, without personal opinions colouring the decision. That’s why Lords and Ladies aren’t allowed to disown or disinherit someone without consulting Family Magics, and why my mother’s idiotic ritual of burning someone off the family tapestry never did anything.” Harry had also come across said tapestry, and boy was it disgusting. It was filled with holes and scorch marks from Walburga Black’s… interesting soothing methods, and the drawings were all inaccurate, apparently they reflected how she’d seen people, as opposed to how they actually looked. He’d also watched as Regulus forced the thing to break its tie to his mother and update magically so it was more… accurate and up-to-date. This had also confirmed what the man had already believed – upon his grandfather’s death last year, Sirius Black III had been chosen as the Lord of the House of Black.

“So… if you blood adopted me… I wouldn’t only have the Potter Family Magics, but the Black one as well?”

“Yes, though the Potter one would take precedent.”

“Why?”

“Because the House of Black still has a few members left, but you’re the only living Potter.”

“Oh….” And wasn’t that heart-breaking? Harry had hoped he’d meet a relative now that he was back in the magical world, but Regulus had quickly, but gently, explained that his closest relatives had all; unfortunately, passed away during the war ten years ago. No one had survived, not his grandparents, or his great uncle and his wife, or even any cousins his father might’ve had.

“Why are you contemplating this?” Regulus asked with a curious tilt to his head, his silvery eyes piercing through Harry’s very soul.

“Cause…. Wouldn’t it be better if you were legally my guardian? If I… had a family to call my own?”

“I suppose, but keep in mind, the Black Family Magics is dark and cruel. It… taints you, corrupts you. Some have even gone mad because of it. It doesn’t just live in your blood, it consumes your very soul. And if we do this… there will never be a chance for you to know Sirius as a father-figure.” The shadows shifted ominously around them, but neither noticed, too focused as they were on their conversation.

“Yes, but I’ve never met Sirius. He went to prison for revenge, you came for me, not him. He had twelve years to do something about his situation, you changed my life in ten days.” Harry said darkly, eyes narrowing in anger as he clutched his knife tightly in his hand. He hadn’t gotten over that. When Regulus had explained what’d happened to his knowledge and after Harry had pushed many times – his emotions had been a rollercoaster before settling on anger, and it’d stayed that way since.

That conversation had, ironically enough, happened after Harry had found Sirius’s room – full of motorcycle and woman posters and as red as it was. He’d wondered about the Godfather he’d never met, which started a spiral into why he’d never met him, and by the time Kreacher had told Regulus about his location, Harry had fully devolved into an emotional storm.

“I suppose there are two options here. Do you want to stay as Harry Potter, or become a Black?”

“I want to… join your family. But… will it hurt?” Harry stuttered our, and Regulus smirked.

“Only if we do it right.”

Chapter Text

Okay! Hi, writer K here <3

I'm conflicted on what to do with the golden trio tbh. I don't want to make Ron and Hermione Harry's enemies, but his allies, but I don't know where to put them. This is definitely an au, so they won't be in Gryffindor either.

Here's Option 1: The Slytherin Quartet (Hyperion, Draco, Hermione, Ron)

Thematic Core: Ambition, Power, & Internal Revolution. This is a story about conquering the system from within. It's dark, sharp, and intensely character-driven. 

And Option 2: The United Front (Hyperion/Slytherin, Hermione/Ravenclaw, Ron/Hufflepuff, Neville/Gryffindor)

Thematic Core: Unity, Reconciliation, & Breaking Cycles. This is a story about healing old wounds and building something new. It's a more hopeful, but no less politically complex, narrative.

I hope this is spoiler free, but I really can't make a decision on where to put them to be honest. Note: Hyperion is harry. Oops, some spoilers ahead lol

Again, this will be deleted when I update next in the next few days, so don't worry this is not me saying the story is abandoned or something like that.

Hope you guys enjoy what's coming your way hehe, and thank you to anyone who helps!!

Chapter Text

August 11^th 1990

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

The basement of the Manor Homes of the House of Black had always been large, with varying types of rooms. The one in Grimmauld Place had doors that formed a circular floor. Among these rooms were a potion’s lab, a duelling room, a training room and a ritual chamber, which is where the duo stood at that very moment.

The walls were matt black, with runes drawn all around in blood red ink, though Harry didn’t know their meaning, yet. There were candle holders all around the circular chamber with candles that burned black and green – the flames moving as if someone was controlling them, like a conductor directing their orchestra with a baton. The air was thick with ozone and the smell of wet stone, but was also a bit musky, making it clear that the chamber hadn’t been used for a while now.

There was an obsidian pedestal in the centre of the room, with a small golden goblet on it. It had constellation designs all around it, a clear sign of the Blacks’ connection to the stars and the night sky.

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed the Star Chalice. It’s a Black Family heirloom that’s used for blood rituals. Now, are you sure about this? Once we do this, Harry, there’s no going back. You will never be just Harry Potter again. You will be mine, and I will be yours.” Regulus said firmly, moving to stand beside Harry.

“Yes. I’m sure.” Harry said, nerves shaking his voice a bit but his eyes gleaming with determination. “Will it… change me?”

“Only in the best ways.” Regulus said with a soft smile before his face darkened in seriousness. “Alright then, here’s how this will go. You and I will stand on opposite sides of the chalice, we will each put exactly seven drops of blood into it, and then we’ll hold our still cut hands together as we say the chant. First, I’ll call the Family Magics, then we’ll start the ritual. I know you’ve already studied the English and Latin words. Remember Harry, The House of Black demands sacrifice. Are you ready to bleed for it?”

“I’ve bled for worse. This one seems fair.” Harry said as he nodded, taking a deep breath as they moved to stand exactly as Regulus had said.

“I call upon the Magics of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Magia vocationem meam audi et veritatem meam iudice.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his eyes had changed from their usual silvery grey to an eerily glowing blue that seeped into his pupils. It brought a shiver down Harry’s spine. (Magic hear my call and judge my truth.)

The shadows all around them started converging, moving and swaying like they had a mind of their own while blue magic crackled all around them, seeming to be coming from Regulus himself. Regulus held out his left hand with the dagger in it, and grabbed Harry’s right with his other hand. The dagger’s hilt was carved with the crest Harry had come to associate with the House of Black, and the blade itself wasn’t a normal silver like its colour indicated. It was dimmer, and seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it. Regulus had told him that it was Stygian Iron, a metal said to have been forged only in the Underworld and cooled in the River Styx itself. Harry didn’t know if it was true or not, but the deep purple aura the blade seemed to have made it very clear it wasn’t normal iron.

It was smooth as it sliced through; first on Regulus’s palm, then Harry’s. Their blood slid down their wrists and they allowed only seven drops each before moving their hands away from the chalice. The blood was sticky, and the cut stung a bit, but Harry knew it would be all worth it in the end. He’d finally have a family after this.

He’d noticed the black veins running up Regulus’s wrists before, but he hadn’t thought it would affect his blood, but oh how wrong Harry was. The blood running down his guardian’s hand wasn’t a bright red like his, but a dark maroon that was very close to being pure black. It broke his heart again to see the effects of Regulus’s brave sacrifice, like that lake hadn’t just marked his body, but also his very blood and soul.

As their bloods mixed together, Harry noticed the colour change. Regulus’s finally became that black he’d expected, while his own glowed a shocking gold colour. The shadows around them seemed to sharpen and surround them completely, almost cocooning Harry fully.

They started the chant in sync.

“Magic. licentiam tuam rogamus. Da votum nostrum. Coniunge sanguinem nostrum et familias nostras. Unum fac nobis.” (Magic. We ask your permission. Grant our wish. Join our blood and our families. Make us one.)

Harry didn’t know, but at that moment his eyes shifted from their emerald green to a glowing silvery grey colour. A colour that symbolized maturity, intellect, and control – fitting for who Harry was and who he’d become soon.

The chalice emitted a black and gold mist that blended beautifully, and they felt as magic itself seemed to touch them, testing their intent and resolve. It took a few seconds that felt more like hours, but finally, the Black Family Magics seemed to accept their request as the mist glowed brightly, almost blinding them. The house shuddered all around them, and they heard a faint scream from far away. Harry’s scar burned and his eyes watered slightly as he felt a brief flash of something… it couldn’t be fear though, he wasn’t afraid…. Still he held his ground and clutched Regulus’s hand tightly to settle himself, and the feeling soon faded.

Far away, in the Albanian forests, a scream echoes loudly as one shadow, one soul, knew that change had come.

“Hyperion James Sirius Potter-Black, I name you my son. For now and the rest of time.”

“I accept… Father.” The word felt strange and unfamiliar, but also… right, like Harry, now Hyperion, was meant to say it to this man that had taken him in and called him his own. He hoped his parents weren’t too mad by his choice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much at this point. All his life, he’d hoped they’d come and rescue him from Dursley hell, but they didn’t, Regulus had though. What else could he do but pledge his loyalty and devotion to this man?

They’d sat down and come up with his name together. Of course, Harry would hyphen his last name, as was appropriate, but he also hadn’t wanted to keep going by Harry. He wanted a name that really fit the regal and… unusual naming choices of the Blacks, and Hyperion seemed to fit quite well. His middle name was also an issue. He’d wanted to keep some part of his Potter heritage, and his father’s name seemed the most fitting. Regulus, in a fit of sibling pettiness, thought that adding Sirius’s name to that would be… appropriate.

“A Black name fitting for a Black heir, and anything that could rub in Sirius’s face that I stole what should’ve been his and still chose to honour him is a win in my books. He’ll be so furious, and I’ll get to gloat for eternity.”

As the magic settled, so did Harr- Hyperion’s features. While his hair had been a bird’s nest of very dark brown, it had fully shifted into the curly raven black of his new family’s, and as he smiled, his canines seemed to sharped slightly like Regulus’s, making his smirk as sharp as his new father’s. His eyes were still the emerald green of his mother, but some specks of grey swirled in the irises. His features also sharpened a bit, but his skin stayed the slight tan he’d apparently gotten from the Potters.

As the shadows subsided and the new father-son duo smiled at each other, their bond settled into their magical cores. And for the first time in years, Harry, not Hyperion, felt pure happiness and relief as he hugged Regulus tightly. Hyperion would continue feeling this for a long time to come.

“Thank you Father.”

“Of course kid.”

Azkaban Prison, The North Sea.

Thousands of kilometres away from them, another man also felt the change in his core and a pain that signified the added bond tied to his. A nephew bond wrapped tightly around his Godfather bond. But…. NO! That was impossible. His brother is dead! And his godson, his pup….

A loud cackle interrupted his thoughts suddenly, and he turned to the cell beside his and watched as his cousin experienced a similar change to his. An Heir has been chosen, and all Blacks must know to bow to them.

“Regulus did it, the bastard. He got himself a kid after surviving death!” Bellatrix cackled in glee, her stormy grey eyes clearing slightly of the madness that had fully consumed her by that point. “You should be proud, cousin. Your brother did what you never could. He saved the House of Black.”

His eyes narrowed as pure fury burned him alive. “REGULUS YOU FUCKER! HOW DARE YOU STEAL WHAT’S MINE?!”

As he stood, a shadow started rising behind him, taking on the form of a familiar stag. He heard the whisper deep in his soul, like a reminder of all he’d lost, all his sins.

“You failed us, Padfoot. Now, he’s lost. Forever.” The voice was so familiar. James should’ve killed him back then, it would’ve been easier than this.... This guilt…. This heart-break….

The cell shook with his magic, and his voice was laced with a power he’d denied himself for so long finally broke free as he spoke.

“I’m coming for you soon, little brother.”

August 12^th 1990

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England

It took Hyperion a full day to heal from such a strenuous ritual, and for his magic to stabilize enough after being bombarded with as dark and powerful of a magic as the Blacks’. At breakfast, he’d expected some change to Kreacher’s demeanour, but aside from a pointed comment “Kreacher lives to serve the true House of Black,” nothing changed. He did notice the elf polishing an elegant obsidian ring with a Stygian Iron raven on top, muttering to himself as always, but the words were warmer than usual. “Master Hyperion will make the House proud… unlike others.” He said as he glanced at the portrait of Walburga Black.

Harry didn’t really mention it until the ring was handed to him during his etiquette lessons later that day.

“This ring symbolises your claim to the Black Heirship and your position as Master Regulus’s son. Master Hyperion must take very good care of it.” Hyperion had promised to do just that, and when he’d finally put it on, it felt like coming home.

And if he later found Kreacher sobbing in a corner about a ‘new master to serve and protect’, no one would know but Hyperion that the jaded elf actually had something as benign as feelings, Kreacher’s words not his.

Hyperion did notice the change to his magic, how it was darker, more reactive to his emotions, but it was pretty simple to control again once Regulus had told him the secret.

“You are its master, not the other way around. Force it to bend, not mould.”

Regulus apparently also seemed to gain some fatherly instincts from their new bond, and checked on Ha-Hyperion pretty consistently throughout the day. He was especially interested in his eyes, but Harry didn’t comment on the new instincts, he just enjoyed the attention.

What Hyperion didn’t know was that Regulus was making sure the Black Madness hadn’t consumed him like it had done to so many before him. His mother’s words kept ringing in his ears, words she’d whispered to him in a malicious tone as soon as he’d tugged his son to bed the night before.

“You will ruin him. Regulus, you weren’t made to nurture, only destroy, and he will be no different.” Regulus had walked away, but inside, he was fuming. She’d made him a weapon, and now she was blaming him for trying to finally do something other than… kill. Destroy. Take Regulus – it is your right and duty as a Black to take.

But as he’d watched out for a glint of that madness, that darkness that Regulus struggled every day to keep down, all he found in his new son’s eyes was a strong determination to succeed. Not madness, but ambition. The kind that had built this family from the ground up. He sighed in relief and moved on. He wouldn’t let the Blacks’ all-consuming magic drown Hyperion. He couldn’t.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

In a castle in Scotland, the Headmaster of this very school was sitting in his office, sucking on a lemon drop as he finished some of his paperwork. He didn’t notice as the office around him changed in subtle ways to indicate the shifting of history as he’d planned it. The detection spells he’d put on his young ward failed as some of the bobbles on his desk emitted a soft black smoke as if they’d been burned. His loyal companion, a phoenix called Fawkes, sang a sad tune that he just associated with the creature’s melancholy emotions, not the fact Fawkes knew…. He wouldn’t find out all that had happened until a year later, when, instead of a small, thin boy with his father’s build and his mother’s eyes walking into these very halls, a confident young pureblood heir had taken his place.

Another sentient artefact in the room also noticed the change from its perch on the top shelf. Its lips smirked as it whispered “Slytherin” to no one in particular.

Because Harry Potter was no more. Like the phoenix currently singing, he’d been snuffed out and burned and Hyperion Potter-Black had risen from his ashes. Stronger, smarter, better. And he wouldn’t take being a chess piece in this man’s board lying down. He was a Black, damn it! And what Sirius Black had failed to realise in his youth, Hyperion would prove tenfold.

Blacks bowed to the whims of no one but Magic herself.

Chapter Text

August 11^th 1990

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

Regulus had thought being a new father would be harder than it actually was, or maybe it was just because he’d gotten an easy kid, who knows, but it truly wasn’t bad. In Regulus’s humble opinion, he was doing a pretty good job. Don’t ask Kreacher though, he’d disagree.

“You forgot the child needed clothes, Master.” Kreacher said, interrupting his thoughts as if he’d been reading his mind. Hyperion, the traitorous son he was, cackled from his seat on the armchair beside him. The three were gathered in the library for Hyperion’s – or Rion as Regulus had taken to calling him – politics lessons that usually just blended with his other theoretical lessons.

“I mean… he’s not wrong. I did have to wear your old clothes for like four days, not that I’m complaining, they were much better than Dudley’s.”

“Blacks –” Kreacher started aggressively, and Hyperion interrupted with a drawl he’d heard Regulus use many times to continue the saying he’d been hearing consistently since his adoption.

“Deserve only the best. I know Kreacher.” He said, ending his sentence with a roll of his eyes.

“Alright my young student, let us start our lesson. From the history books and old newspapers you’ve read so far, what can you say about public perception of events here in the UK?”

“It’s as fickle as it gets. If even a moderately influential figure said something dramatic enough, the public would eat it up, seeing it as completely true.”

“Examples?”

“Well, Dumbledore’s claims on Grindelwald for one. No one ever researched his words, they just printed it and the people took it as facts. I know freedom of the press exists here, perhaps even in excess, but the idea of doing research and verifying any type of information is a completely foreign concept.”

“Yes, even research and magical books published aren’t verified for accuracy or authenticity before they’re put on the shelves. It’s absurd, and a lot of countries look down on us due to this alone, but it is how the UK wizarding world has operated for centuries.”

“The magical world here is so backwards, it’s a bit crazy. Like why robes? And the belief that the minister is infallible…. It’s like most people are too lazy to even think or question anything.”

“While true, that is a bit out of the scope of our lesson today. When you officially re-enter wizarding society, a lot of this public perception will be on you. You need to remember, they saw Harry Potter as some greater being; a hero if you will, but you aren’t Harry Potter anymore. The Boy-Who-Lived is dead. You’re Hyperion Black – use their beliefs and hero-worship to your advantage. Their ignorance is your weapon.”

“How though? I might still somewhat look like Harry Potter, though the scar is a lot fainter than it was, but I certainly don’t act like the docile, impulsive boy they’ll expect.”

“I don’t want you to be impulsive, because you are not Harry Potter, but you can use their belief in him to burn everything to the ground. Tell them about how you were abused, and that no one came to check up on you, and how a distant relative of your grandmother’s took you in and adopted you.”

“Ah, because Grandmother was a Black. That makes sense.” Hyperion had been taught both the Potter and Black Family trees days ago, so he was familiar with all his ancestors and their bloodlines. His grandmother, Dorea Potter née Black, had been Lord Arcturus Black’s cousin, so it’s not even lying. Regulus was a distant relative of hers.

“Yes. Now, show me again how you use the signet ring. First, let’s try disillusionment.”

Hyperion closed his eyes and concentrated on the magic emitting from it. For a second, nothing happened, but then he felt a shiver run down his spine indicating the charm had worked.

“Perfect. Now reverse and try using the clothing option.”

“Which event?” Hyperion’s disembodied voice asked, tone slightly exasperated as he knew Regulus would say something outrageous.

“Hmm…. Gala.” Regulus said, smirking in amusement, knowing exactly what Hyperion thought about this lesson.

“Ugh, you’re so bloody pompous.” Hyperion muttered as he refocused on the magic surrounding him. Seconds later, he was visible again and his white shirt and black pants had been switched out for a black silk shirt, matching black fitted slacks and a black velvet blazer over it.

“Perfect.” Regulus said, nodding in approval.

“Yes, Master Hyperion looks… somewhat like a Black heir now.” Kreacher said, his voice still sharp but with a hint of support colouring it. Hyperion focused for a moment and his clothes returned back to their previous more comfortable state – light blue jeans and a black sweater tucked into it.

“Now then, let’s continue our discussion, what do you think has historically affected the people of Great Britain the most?”

And they continued from there, with the lesson mostly being a discussion between the two with Regulus dropping wisdom when needed.

After lunch, the two moved to the training room downstairs, sitting criss-cross across each other on the floor.

“Remember Rion, Dark magic doesn’t corrupt, it reveals truths long hidden. It requires extreme self-acceptance to be able to cast it. The spells aren’t just swishing of a wand and muttering a spell. That’s why a lot of Dark magicals are able to easily cast without wands after enough practice, and why I haven’t given you a wand yet.”

“Alright. What do I do?”

“Close your eyes, take a deep breath and think about what you want the spell to do. Today we are doing the cutting curse. You want this piece of wood to be cut in half. The incantation is concisus.”

Hyperion did as he was told, following every step precisely. He raised his hand so that it was hovering over the board. He reached deep inside him, feeling for that ball of energy Regulus had called his magical core, and allowed the electric feeling to flow from somewhere under his sternum to the tip of his right hand.

“Concisus.” He whispered, feeling the electricity leave him for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the wood was in two pieces at his feet. He couldn’t help grinning in pride at what he’d accomplished.

“Very good.” Regulus said with a quirk of his mouth. His silvery eyes glowed with pride. “Again.”

And they continued for the next hour, until Hyperion’s forehead was covered in sweat, his hands were trembling slightly and he’d absolutely perfected the spell.

“Let’s end here.” Regulus said, summoning a towel and giving it to the boy. “We’ll relax for a bit and then return to the living room for Occlumency.”

Hyperion groaned at that. He hated Occlumency lessons with a passion. The meditation, the concentration and the constant spacing out both bored him and mentally exhausted him so that by the end of each lesson, he had no energy to do anything but curl up next to his new father and just drift off for a couple of hours before bed.

“Yes, yes, we hate it. But, my dear son, protecting your mind could be the difference between you living and dying one day. Merlin knows I would’ve been dead way before my coma had my mind not been obscured.”

“I know…. Still doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting.”

Converging to the living room was probably Hyperion’s favourite time of the day. After that fateful night that felt years ago but was actually around two weeks ago, they’d made it a habit of ending the day with casual conversation and cups of hot chocolate before going to bed. Regulus sometimes even retold stories from his childhood, with Hyperion’s parents and Godfather featuring often in them.

Before they could do that, however, Hyperion must beat the hurdle that is Occlumency lessons.

“Clear your mind, and stabilize your thoughts. Your mind is a fortress; you must build its walls brick by brick and layer by layer. Your mindscape must be something that resonates with you. Something that is so familiar to you, only you would be able to navigate it and find everything.”

After that, Regulus left him to build and structure everything. Occlumency was a very complex mind art that took people years to perfect and master so that your walls and protections were just… always subconsciously there.

Hyperion had already finished the first step, which was meditation and the clearing of the mind. After ten days of consistent breathing exercises and complete silence while he concentrated and relaxed, it had become easy for him to just do it when prompted.

Now he was on step two, building his mindscape. Hyperion had deliberated about the shape and look of it, and had finally decided on Grimmauld Place as a base for it. He’d stored his memories in books and cabinets; skills in training rooms and bedrooms, knowledge in the library and so on. Now, he was trying to come up with protections aside from simple wards. He thought about gargoyles and maybe some other statues; maybe some of the legendary Black protectors he’d read about in history books. Maybe shadows to obscure sight.

As he built and imagined, he got lost in his head, completely ignoring everything physically around him for now. It’d been hard for him at first, as he’d always felt on edge, unable to shake off the thought that if he wasn’t guarded, someone would come and punish him, or drag him away for a painful chore. Regulus had had to consistently reassure him that nothing of the sort would happen while he was in the House of Black’s care. The man had even sat beside him during nightmares and coxed him back to slumber. He truly was the very best.

What felt like hours later, but was actually around forty five minutes or so, he opened his eyes and made direct eye contact with the man he’d come to trust above anyone else, which wasn’t much, considering he’d never had anyone to trust. But still, Regulus had quickly risen to become his favourite person in the world with his endless wit and proud smiles.

With a nod shared, Regulus raised his wand and muttered one word. “Legilimens.”

Hyperion knew it wasn’t fully powered, but he still tried his hardest to deflect it. The spell slithered into his mind, and he felt as it tried to go through his triple layer of defence before rebounding. Regulus smirked in immense pride.

“Very good Rion.” But Regulus could see his son wavering in exhaustion, his hands and body shaking as he tried to stay upright. With a quiet sigh, he led the boy’s head onto his lap and started softly stroking his hair, something he’d come to realise Hyperion enjoyed immensely – and even now, the boy slumped and gave a big happy sigh, making Regulus chuckle under his breath.

“You know, the first time I held a knife, it felt like coming home. Like I was made to defend people. I thought I’d finally be able to protect Siri like he’s protected me, but then…. I realised I was only taught to be used. That Mother would never allow her weapon to stray, or Merlin forbid, help her disappointment of an heir. I hated my knives after that, especially after the Dark Lord started using me as his executioner…. It’s only now that I’m starting to use them without feeling repulsed at myself. I think you’re helping too, teaching you to defend yourself seems like a noble thing, and I know I’ll never use you as a weapon like Mother did.” Regulus said quietly as they sat there, like a secret confession he was afraid to say but had to anyway.

“I’m glad.” Hyperion whispered, snuggling more into the warm embrace of his guardian. He’d never felt more cared for than with his man, and boy was he glad to have agreed to live with him.

“Yeah kid, I am too.”

And as they continued on with their night, sharing light-hearted stories and enjoying their hot cocoa, they couldn’t help but feel happy to be together for this.

August 16^th 1990

Borgin & Burkes, Knockturn Alley, Diagon Alley, London, England.

Hyperion Black hated Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t negotiable. He was spoiled, arrogant and nosy.

Hyperion had been sent by his adopted father to check out a few of the Black Family’s holdings in Knockturn Alley, since it was theirs to control and theirs to rule. He’d already met up with Audrey Mulpepper and discussed buying of a few rare potions and ingredients for Regulus and it’d gone well, so he’d decided to take a chance and see if Borgin & Burkes had gotten the order Regulus had secretly placed a week ago. Simple, right?

Yeah, no. Because it was here that he’d had the absolute displeasure of running into Regulus’s cousin Narcissa Black-Malfoy and her snot-nosed son. Narcissa herself actually seemed like a very cunning woman, but her son was just… too much all around.

“Heir Black. A pleasure to finally meet you.” Lady Malfoy said with a nod in greeting, a gesture Hyperion returned.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy. The pleasure is all mine. Father speaks very highly of you.” Of course, she’ll have to keep speculating who his father is, but that wasn’t Hyperion’s problem. He knew Regulus had kept his living status hidden so that no one would bother him as the most direct Black descendant after Sirius, and Hyperion wouldn’t be the one to ruin that. When – or if ever – Regulus decided to reveal himself, it would be his decision to make.

He also knew that the only reason Narcissa had recognized his status was the signet ring on his finger, where her gaze had lingered for a long moment before her greeting. He didn’t really look like the Harry Potter people expected, but he also didn’t look like your typical Black. His scar had almost completely disappeared since the adoption ritual, he didn’t need his glasses anymore and he didn’t look like a carbon copy of James Potter anymore. He also didn’t have the grey eyes or the pale skin and high cheekbones. His jawline was sharp, yes, and his hair was as black as it got, but those weren’t indicators of a pure Black. His skin was a bit darker and closer to copper, showing his Indian heritage from his Potter side and his eyes were still green, not as dark as his mother’s though.

“I’m Draco Malfoy, Heir to The Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy.” The blond boy said proudly, his nose raised high in the air.

“Hyperion Black, Heir of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” Hyperion responded softly, his voice and expression completely blank, just like Regulus had taught him.

“What are you doing here alone then?” The boy asked bluntly, his mother hissing at him in warning. Hyperion just ignored him and turned back to Mister Borgin, one of the store ‘owners’. They continued discussing business, and the Malfoy kid seemed to be getting frustrated with his lack of answer. Hyperion might’ve smirked slightly in satisfaction.

“You know,” The boy started as he handed a cursed pendant to Mister Burkes, the other ‘owner’, “Father said this killed a muggle in seconds.”

“How pedestrian.” Hyperion replied coolly, still not looking directly at the blond. “My father has a dagger that devours the souls of those it comes in contact with.”

The Malfoy heir’s eyes widen in shock, obviously not expecting this reply. Ha, if he thought Hyperion would be impressed by that, he was sorely mistaken. Grimmauld Place had more dangerous objects in its junk drawer than this brat would see in his life.

Then Malfoy seems to stare at Hyperion’s face, and he knows exactly what the blond must notice.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” He whispered with wide eyes. Hyperion hesitated for a moment, thinking of the best response to give.

“Not anymore.”

“If you truly are the Black heir,” Malfoy started after a moment of silence, seeming to stop the posing for a moment, “will you be reclaiming all its alliances and primacy?”

“In time.” Hyperion said vaguely, finally turning to the blond. “Your loyalty to the family is… admirable. It’s a pity your father wastes the Malfoy influence on the Dark Lord’s arrogant posturing.”

“It…. I’ve thought about that. Wouldn’t the Blacks taking back power help with this issue?”

“When its back fully, yes.”

“I want to help.” The boy said, eyes shining in determination. Hmm…. Seems he was smarter than Hyperion had given him credit for. He obviously didn’t want to follow in his father’s foolish footsteps.

“Help me rule Hogwarts and restore the Black name…. And I’ll reclaim primacy over the Malfoy line and judge those who need it.”

“Deal.” The two shook hands, and thus an alliance was born, with Narcissa Black-Malfoy as the witness.

An hour or so later, after he’d returned home, Regulus had asked him what had happened, as it was obvious something had shaken Hyperion. So, the boy had told him.

“That’s good. Slytherin House works in a court-like structure, having a right hand will help you control it faster.”

“I still think he’s an arrogant brat, but… he’s tolerable.”

Regulus cackled at that. Seemed the next generation of Blacks were going to take Hogwarts by storm, and he couldn’t wait to see it and support them.

It was time to play the game, and Blacks always play to win.

Chapter Text

August 25^th 1990

Knockturn Alley, Diagon Alley, London, England.

Here’s the thing about living in hiding – no one notices when you’re near and guessing your identity is close to impossible.

Barty liked it like that though. The anonymity. The odd, violent jobs that required… a certain set of skills. The air of danger that always surrounded him in public, like simply being seen could cause either his or someone else’s death.

Ever since breaking out of that stupid Imperius his father had him under, Barty has been… doing as he pleases. If that meant taking the occasional assassination job to earn money, then so be it, not like Barty had never killed before. He hadn’t thought of much since, his mind focusing on surviving and nothing else.

After his stint in Azkaban, he’d found himself… reflecting on a few things, actually even before Azkaban he’d started feeling niggling doubts. Firstly was his loyalty to the Dark Lord – Barty could admit to himself that he’d been… blinded by a possible support system that liked him, unlike his stupid, good for nothing father. But now…. Now, he didn’t like who he’d become under the Dark Lord’s tutelage, but that realisation had come even before his cell and the roaming dementors, this had come when he’d found himself staring at the helpless bodies of Frank and Alice Longbottom as his fellow Death Eaters tortured the couple and tried to kill their son, a baby for fuck’s sake.

Barty had been disgusted, more so when people had thought he’d helped! Him, who knew very well the pain of the crutiatus from his father’s… loving care. He would never subject a child to the loss he’d felt when his own doting grandmother had passed, leaving him with a monster and his spineless wife. To be accused of that… it had truly forced Barty to put things into perspective, to finally understand why his closest friend might have defected and died doing it, or so he’d thought until he’d landed in his cell and heard the whispers of the other death eaters.

He was grateful, don’t get him wrong. In the end, his mother had sacrificed her already ending life for him, but to what end. He would’ve rather stayed in Azkaban and atoned than be subjected to the six years in hell he’d experienced by his father’s wand. But those years had also given him an added sense of clarity. The Ministry was just as bad as the Dark Lord, and even Dumbledore wasn’t a bloody saint, even if he tried to make people believe he was. There was truly no one in a position of power that had the common wixen’s well-being in mind. It was disheartening, but also a bit… motivating. Could Barty help in this endeavour when no one else had before? Surely someone else had had the same realisation and decided to act.

As he watched the kid who looked like the love child of Sirius Black and James Potter (no matter that the idea was physically improbable but funny nonetheless), he had a feeling he knew exactly who had decided to take matters into his own hands.

Regulus Black, the bloody genius he was. Kidnapping and blood adopting the boy-who-lived was bloody brilliant!

He watched the inconspicuously powerful boy walk into Borgin and Burks with a straight back and a blank expression that made it very clear that he was a pureblood heir. Add to that the ring glinting on his finger and the air of someone who owned his surroundings, and those that know the truth of Knockturn Alley would know exactly which family he belonged to.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black did own almost half the stores in the alley, and sponsored the rest, so that they collectively had control of everything in the area. It’d been like that since the inception of the dark and dank place over a hundred years ago. They also decided to house some of their more… aggressive and not fully human allies there. The residents’ loyalty transcended time and space, clearly shown by the people and creatures he’d met who were eagerly anticipating the return of the House of Black in all its violent, powerful glory. And against all odds, it seemed they’d be getting their wishes soon.

It was very interesting that the family who had always proclaimed their support of blood purity had such staunch followers in vampires, werewolves, hags and the worst wizards and witches in the United Kingdom.

“Stupid Barty, these are just my mother’s ideals, not the whole family’s views on the topic. Don’t be absurd, if we hated all magical creatures and half-bloods or muggle-borns, we would’ve never lasted this long. Grandfather and even Father have always been perfectly polite and happy to interact with anyone with magic, as long as they are smart enough or… controllable enough to be of use. Why would they turn away a vampire or a werewolf if their help would double the Blacks’ coffers.” His lovely friend had told him with a roll of his eyes and sneer on his face years ago, and Barty hadn’t believed him until he’d seen it for himself.

He’d continued to follow the boy as he’d gotten lost in his memories from fourth year, so he hadn’t been too focussed on what the kid was doing until he’d started a conversation with one of the owners of the store. A few moments later, the boy was handed a thick book in exchange of a small bag of coins. It could be bottomless though, so Barty had no idea how many galleons could be in it. He did know the Blacks were insanely, mind-numbingly rich, though, so the range of his guess was pretty large.

As the boy exited the store, Barty followed in his ratty black robes, which he’d stolen from an unsuspecting shopper a few months ago to be able to disguise himself in the dingy alley.

“Wouldn’t have guessed he’d send you here of all places. But I suppose being dead has limited his roaming.” The boy tensed at the sudden voice, and Barty found a knife sticking out of his robes just above his shoulder blade and attaching him to the wall, forcing him to stop mid-step. “Oh, you’re fun.”

“Who are you to know all of this?”

“An old friend, he used to call me Emi.” It had become a secret name they’d used during the war to distinguish each other among those who’d seek to use their likeness for… unfortunate deeds, a practice the Dark Lord had employed heavily, especially as his paranoia and violent nature seemed to consume his mind completely.

“Yes, so I’ve been told, though he believes you to be quite… dead.”

“So was he until recently. Is it such a shock for the both of us to pull the impossible?”

“I suppose not.” The kid muttered before staring at Barty’s cloaked face with intense Avada Kedavra green eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m here offering you my help.” Barty replied smugly, and the kid’s eyes narrowed in distrust. Good, Reggie has taught him well.

“What could you possibly offer a pureblood heir as a runaway?” The incredulity in his tone was to be expected.

“A runaway who is thought to be very dead, as you put it, and has a… knack for getting into places he shouldn’t be.”

The boy looked contemplative, his eyes darkening in thought, which made the silvery specks in them more prominent. Merlin, he really looked like a carbon copy of a Black brother at that moment.

“I’ll have to discuss it with him. I do have a question though. How did you know about him?”

“Oh, the shadows in Azkaban are always speaking, especially when you ask the right questions.”

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

“So he just… offered, in exchange of what exactly?”

“Our alliance, so that when the war restarts, he’s not without a side.” That shocked Regulus a bit, as he’d thought only Dumbledore, himself and possibly Snape believed that the Dark Lord wasn’t truly dead.

“Hmm, perhaps working with Barty isn’t the worst idea. His knowledge and… skills may come in handy.”

“How do you know him anyway?” Hyperion asked, curious about his father’s life before the coma.

“He and I were… friends at Hogwarts. Though he was a Hufflepuff and I was, obviously, a Slytherin, we made quite the… harmonious pair, and the Dark Lord recognised that as well, as he always paired the both of us during training and missions, sometimes adding Evan Rosier to our group. We were… a good trio, worked very well together.”

“What happened to Rosier?”

“The Prewett Twins blew him to bits, but to be fair, he’d tried attacking one of their nephews. He was definitely more loyal and devoted than Barty and I. I do wonder why Barty defected though, and how he escaped Azkaban….” His musings would get him nowhere, however, so he put the thought out of his mind. For now…. “But, no matter. I will contact him and see if he will take a blood oath. We did have a very elaborate communication channel back in the war. And Hyperion, why do we need the oath?”

“Because Blacks always require blood for trust, otherwise how can we guarantee loyalty?” Hyperion recited dutifully, remembering one of the first political and magical combined lessons he’d gotten a few days ago.

“Very good. I have taught you well my son.”

Three days later, as Bartemius Casper Crouch Jr and Regulus Arcturus Black shook their cut hands allowing their blood to mix as they chanted, the shadows around them shifted, signalling the creation of a new Black pact. Hyperion watched on with a serious expression, analysing every detail for his own inevitable Blood Oaths.

September 3^rd 1990

4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain.

Severus Tobias Snape had been many things, and he’d played many roles in his arguably short life, though if you asked him he’d tell you his life’s been too long.

He’s been a loyal Death Eater, a loyal spy, a hopelessly-in-love man, and now a professor, but he’s never been an errand boy. Until this day that is.

Dumbledore, the all-knowing man he though he was, had decided to send Severus on a wild goose chase three days into the term. He was supposed to be shouting at students and taking points from Gryffindors, yet here he was, in the middle of nowhere, Surrey, tracking down a runaway Potter, as if the Potters hadn’t already ruined his life enough. But alas, he’d sworn an oath to protect the stupid boy, and thus when he went missing, Severus had to be the one to find him.

His research, and Dumbledore’s tip-off, had found him in front of house number 4 in the middle of this very bland neighbour (and how could anyone stand this much beige), getting a rather harried greeting from Arabella Figg, a squib who was supposed to have been keeping an eye on the brat as she lived literally next door. Unfortunately, the old bat had failed her very simple mission. Surprise surprise, as if her ten kneezles weren’t enough of a clue as to the state of her mental faculties.

“Yes, thank you Missus Figg, I’ll take it from here.”

“Of course, Severus. Good luck with them, though, they won’t say anything, just that another relative took the boy in.”

Severus had substituted his flowing robes for a long black coat instead, and as he walked towards the unsuspecting door, he couldn’t help noticing the nosy neighbours peering at him and whispering to themselves. How irritating.

The door only took a moment after ringing the bell for it to open, and coming face to face with his old childhood tormentor wasn’t much pleasure, shockingly enough.

“You!” The long-necked woman sneered, and Severus gave her one back that had her backing off slightly. No one could out-sneer Severus Tobias Snape, especially not this awful housewife.

“Yes, yes. Just tell me where the boy is, and I’ll leave your awfully bland doorstep immediately.” Her face became ghost white and stricken with fear, and that was not a good sign. Not at all. Unfortunately, she chose that very moment to become completely mum. “Come on, woman. Speak!”

“He just… He blew up the door! Didn’t even give us a chance. Almost choked Vernon to death, and scared Dudley something mad. Talked to the boy, and he left with him willingly.”

“His name?”

“I don’t know! He didn’t even give us two full sentences, much less his name!”

“Okay, let me see.” He pushed her aside and walked towards the sitting room, which seemed like the most probable location for the intruder’s conversation. Pulling out his wand, and ignoring Petunia Dursley’s terrified squeak, he waved it all around the room, trying to find any magical signature to indicate who’d taken the brat. But… the results weren’t what he expected to find at all. Instead of a wizard’s magical signature, he only found a void, like any drop of magic that had been in the place had been swallowed or erased, which was unnatural, especially for a home that had once housed a magical child with uncontrollable magic.

“What the hell?” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he left, not sparing Petunia a second glance.

Dumbledore would not be happy about this. Not only had the person who’d been there penetrated the old man’s wards, but they’d also seemed to have completely consumed them and any magical residue they and the kid could have left behind.

It was extremely dark magic, and the only people Severus knew who could think of who had the power to do that were either dead or in Azkaban.

November 1^st 1990

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

It was ironic. Hyperion had been born Harry Potter, yet he’d never been given the chance to connect with his family and their legacy. Now that he was Hyperion Black, he got to learn about both; his new family and his old house, and, just as ironically, he found himself more connected to the Black side of his blood than the Potter part. He knew the Potters were descended of necromancers and inventers, the Peverells, but they were just… too light for him now. His magical core had originally been grey but light leaning, but now… now he leaned more towards the Dark Arts.

The Black family history was also very fascinating. Both of his families came from a Knight of the Round Table, but while the Peverells, and subsequently the Potters, descended from Sir Percival the Honourable, the Blacks’ first ancestor was Sir Gwaine the Black Knight – misunderstood and ruthless, his family members had truly followed in his footsteps. Reading more and more on his new family just continued to attract Hyperion’s interests to their history. The most accurate books, obviously, were those with Black family members as their authors. This specific book he was currently reading was written by Alya Black, a historian from the eighteenth century, who’d researched and documented all the important members of the House of Black starting from the family’s inception.

‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black claims origins as far back as the 5th century, when their ancestor and founder—Sir Gawain the Black Knight—served beside Merlin and King Arthur as one of the Knights of the Round Table. In a secret battle known as the Falling Stars War, the knight stood against arcane entities seeking to drain the world of magic and defeated them ruthlessly. For this, his bloodline was blessed by Lady Magic herself. Each descendant would carry a unique magical gift—an echo of their ancient pact to protect the balance of magic.

Gawain’s gift manifested in his sword, which glowed with ethereal blue flame and could strike down even the most fearsome foes. From then on, the family bore not only strength in blood, but power in spirit as well.

Originally known as House Noir, their name evolved over centuries to "Black"—a title symbolizing their role as custodians of magic's shadowed truths and misunderstood depths. Their motto, Toujours Pur (Always Pure), stood for the untainted preservation of magic itself.’

His ancestors had also achieved great things. Lord Arcturus Black I had helped establish the Wizengamot, Wizarding Great Britain’s parliament, Duke Altair Black had saved the British king at the time, and Duke Castor Black had supported the creation of the British Ministry of Magic. Others like Duchess Lyra Black had advocated for laws still used to this day – the International Statute of Magical Secrecy being the most important of them. The House of Black had truly and permanently left its mark on Wizarding society and its many history books, and Hyperion couldn’t be prouder of the family he’d joined.

Now the power…. That had started to manifest, and it wasn’t… the easiest to control. See, these gifts they were blessed with were unique to each Black, and there weren’t really any references of others gaining similar abilities to his in any book. Regulus tried to help, but his gift was even more obscure than Hyperion’s, which was saying a lot.

Hyperion remembered the day they’d discussed what it was, during his first magical outburst only days after his blood adoption.

It had started with a Dark Magic lesson, which had become a daily occurrence now that his magical core had stabilised and he was quite familiar with the theoretical part of it all.

Hyperion had been trying to master a rather complex spells from the Black Family Grimoire – or one of them at least. The spell, Umbra Sanguis, was historically used by Blacks to manipulate the shadows and turn it into solid weapons that can injure or kill an enemy.

“It is a very complex and power-sapping spell, to the point where the creator almost went mad. Caution and discipline are needed here. Understood?” Regulus had explained gravely, and Hyperion had nodded in understanding.

“Yes.”

“Alright, let’s try it. Slowly, Hyperion.” And Hyperion had said the spell slowly, enunciating every syllable. The shadows had sharpened and solidified, but before he could guide them to the dummy he was meant to attach, he started hearing whispers. Ghastly, creepy whispers that consumed his mind. Alongside the low murmurs came the imprint of ghosts, people once killed in this very chamber. Hyperion stood frozen, a feeling of pure fear and horror coursing through his veins.

“No….” He whispered, closing his eyes and covering his ears to shield himself from the ghosts’ whispers and accusatory gazes. They kept coming closer, explaining in great detail how they’d been killed by one Black or another; names thrown around like knives slicing through. “Get away.”

“HYPERION! Snap out of it!” Regulus shouted, but Hyperion was hearing it like it was coming through a long tunnel – distant and quiet. The shadows seemed to rise in reaction to his fear, surrounding him on all sides. He hadn’t realised, but when he’d opened his eyes, they were a very dark grey instead of their normal emerald green, shining like pewter in the night.

Regulus, seeing the shield, activated his own gift, aptly named The Eyes That Swallow Magic by his brother. He doesn’t just see magic, he perceives its very depths and intricate details, like an ocean of invisible forces. One of the gift’s abilities, The Tide-Breaker, can literally cause any magic to fail around him – spells, enchanted objects, and even, in worst case scenarios, Family Magics itself.

A moment later, and the whispers had stopped, Hyperion’s force field or shield had fallen, and the boy had hidden himself behind the training equipment, huddling in on himself as self-protection. He was shaking and his breathing was erratic.

“Come on Rion, breathe.” Regulus said comfortingly, moving to crouch in front of the boy and putting his arms around him.

“What was that?” He’d asked fearfully, staring at the opposing wall in horror.

“Your Black gift, a rite of passage for every member of our direct, and sometimes even secondary, lines. Because of your Peverell ancestory, I’d imagine yours manifested in a power related to death and shadows, which is good, Mon poussin, but it will be hard to control. We’ll work on it though, as we do everything else. We’ll start lessons tomorrow so an outburst like this never happens again.”

“Is that even possible?” Hyperion whispered softly, unable to comprehend how he could possibly control something like this.

“It has to be. Hyperion, the Black Family gifts – they are powerful and all-consuming. It is the main reason for the Black Madness. You cannot let it control you, you must become its master, or else….”

And he had. With the daily lessons and meditation, he’d mastered his gift, and even unlocked another part of it.

Now, he could also use the shadows as a blade when needed, like a dark knight’s sword. As Hyperion duelled Regulus, he found his many lessons had also come in handy. He was more agile, better on his feet, and even better with a weapon. The two clashed, and Hyperion could almost beat Regulus now. But still almost, as Regulus was probably the best duellist ever. The man was like a whirlwind with any sort of weapon, and Hyperion knew the man was probably going easy on him, but he’d still take it!

As they came to standstill, Hyperion heaved a loud sigh as exhaustion settled into his muscles.

“Very good, mon jeune protégé. You will be ready for Hogwarts in no time.” Regulus said with a small but proud smirk, looking annoyingly put together with barely a strand out of place even after hours of moving around. Hyperion hoped one day he’d be this put together all the time.

“Uhuh.” Hyperion hummed in agreement, still trying to catch his breath. Regulus laughed fondly, handing the boy a towel to wipe away the beads of sweat running down his forehead.

Whatever may come with his entrance into the magical world, Hyperion James Sirius Potter-Black would be ready for it.

Chapter Text

July 31^st 1991

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

Hyperion couldn’t believe that his life had changed so much in the past year alone. This time last year, Harry James Potter been hiding in the cupboard under the stairs from his angry maternal uncle when a weird man had walked in, threatened his abusive relatives, and swept him away to a world he could’ve never imagined.

Now, living with said weird man, who was his adopted father, Hyperion Potter-Black had freedoms and allowances that he could’ve never thought of getting back then. He was a powerful heir who was given many lessons to prepare himself from entering wizarding society. If he hadn’t take Regulus Black’s hand back then, he would’ve probably been finding out about Hogwarts and magic for the first time today, and he highly doubted Petunia would’ve explained anything – she would’ve rather left him in the dark than give him a single ounce of kindness.

But of course, there were a few fundamental things about himself that had changed greatly after he’d joined the House of Black. He was more ruthless, more discerning and very much dark. Violence and magic had become essentials in his life. But if he had to choose, he’d rather be this mature and pragmatic than the naïve and innocently optimistic kid he’d been before. He was vicious, yes, but also calm under pressure and able to make logical decisions without emotions getting in the way like they used to. He honestly thought he was better for it.

“Are you contemplating your life choices on your eleventh birthday?” An airy voice asked, their accent thick but regal, clearly someone who was raised in luxury. That voice had become quite familiar to Hyperion over the last year.

“Just thinking over everything that has changed.” Regulus Black was leaning against Hyperion’s bedroom door, looking at the boy with a clearly nonchalant look. At first glance, he looked relaxed but Hyperion had come to know the man well enough to know it was one of his many masks. The man was actually nervous about this topic of conversation, as clearly demonstrated by the way his hand was tapping lightly on the doorsill in a nervous habit Hyperion had noticed a few weeks into their living arrangement.

“Any regrets?”

“None.” Hyperion replied decisively, and Regulus grinned at him, his fingers pausing in their actions.

“Good.” He said, and Hyperion could tell his answer had calmed down his father. They’d talked about this before, how Regulus was scared he’d corrupted the boy by taking him in and adopting him into the House of Black, and how he feared Hyperion would come to regret it all in the future. Hyperion had tried to reassure the older man many times, but he still needed the reminder every once in a while. Hyperion would never regret becoming a Black and the son of Regulus, the man just needed time to process that. “Now then, you have mail and breakfast waiting for you.”

“The Hogwarts letter is here?!” Hyperion exclaimed, jumping out of bed excitedly. He didn’t show his emotions much anymore, but these were extenuating circumstances. He waved his hand in a lazy wave and his bed made itself, which caused Regulus’s lips to quirk in a small but proud smile.

“Seems likely.” The two walked down together after Hyperion had quickly wrapped his robe around his pyjamas. Seems Regulus was cutting him some slack today, as he normally insisted his son was properly dressed before leaving his room for the day.

“I don’t mind going to Diagon whenever.” Hyperion was saying, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly.

“I know, but I don’t think it would be wise to do so today, as a lot of ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ fans and most likely a spy of Dumbledore’s will be expecting you there. He was probably hoping you were an overexcited teen who was living with an indulgent adult.”

“Hmm, good thing I am nothing like that then.”

“And you never will be. A Black Heir must never show something as unbecoming as excitement in public.” A grave voice said as they entered the dining room, and the two turned to the portrait hung on the wall opposite their chairs. The man was sitting on a high-backed throne-like chair with gold and black embroidery. His stormy grey eyes surveyed the two with perceptiveness and one raised brow. His raven black hair was streaked with white but looked quite elegant with his high-necked robes.

“Of course not Grandfather. Have I ever done that?” Hyperion said, sharing an amused look with his father. Orion Black had been a more recent addition to their life, but Regulus had felt that his father could be a good teacher for diplomacy, a skill Hyperion would need at Hogwarts. Getting his portrait down from his office and into a more accessible place was easy enough, but the man’s commentary was the thing they’d truly needed to get used to, or reused to in Regulus’s case.

“Quite disciplined of you, Hyperion.” Another, older voice said, and the severe man that was Lord Arcturus Black walked into the frame behind his son. This particular portrait had become a popular hang-out spot for all of Hyperion’s ancestors, who loved to bestow their wisdom upon the boy and gossip like old ladies. It was hilarious, and the father-son duo enjoyed the bickering the portraits all got into. Arcturus looked like a carbon copy of his son, except his hair reached his mid-back and was tied in a tight ponytail.

“Ah, thank you Great-Grandfather.”

“Of course he is, he was raised by Regulus!” A loud, shrill voice said, and Lady Walburga Black in all her glory joined the conversation. Honestly, Hyperion didn’t know what to think of the woman. The Black Madness had obviously affected her far more than her husband, as was common among the line of Pollux Black, or generally known as the Black family’s secondary line. Truthfully, Alphard, Narcissa and Andromeda seemed to be the sanest of the line, while the others were… not fully stable. Walburga was a cruel woman to be sure, but she’d obviously loved her sons in her own twisted, evil way. She also taught some really mean curses, and had created spells that had gone down in Black history as the most ruthless and vicious work anyone had ever seen. Hyperion had a good amount of respect and fear for her, but he also recognised how bad of a mother she’d been and how much of a hypocrite she seemed to be.

“Regulus.” Another person entered the frame, and Regulus turned to find his uncle Alphard giving him a very specific signal they’d agreed on beforehand. Regulus concentrated on the house’s wards and found one of the only portraits he never wanted to activate had apparently popped in while they were asleep. Regulus immediately isolated the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, a previous Headmaster of Hogwarts who was often used by Dumbledore to spy on their family. He made it seem like Grimmauld Place was still inactive, so the man would get bored and leave. After breakfast, he’d get Hyperion to deactivate it, then reactivate it so that no one would get suspicious. It’d be a good lesson in manor care.

Breakfast was always a quiet affair, as it was improper to talk while eating, but as soon as their meal was done, Kreacher popped in with the mail. Three letters went to Regulus, who put them to the side for later perusal. He watched his son stare at the envelope he’d just been handed with the Hogwarts crest sealing it. Turning it over, he gasped.

“It’s not addressed to Harry Potter!” He exclaimed, a pleased smile colouring his face. Regulus released a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. It seemed even Hogwarts’s magic had recognised Hyperion’s new identity, which was a relief. The boy had stopped responding to Harry ages ago, as for their new family, Harry Potter had died when Hyperion Potter-Black had risen.

There, in clear golden cursive, was the name the boy had recognised as his for a year now.

‘Hyperion J. S. Black’

“Perfect.” Regulus said softly. “Not even a hint of Potter.”

“But there’s a note with the letter.”

“No, this note came separately. Kreacher had rerouted all mail to Harry Potter from anywhere to here for Master Hyperion. Most is stupidly disrespectful fan-mail, but this one came in this morning. Kreacher must warn Masters, though, Masters will not like this.”

“Why– Oh.” Hyperion breathed out, not even bothering to continue his question as he saw who the letter was from.

“Yes.” Kreacher replied gravely, “Master should also know there was a tracking charm on it, but Kreacher took care of it, and the wards did the rest.”

“What is it, Rion?” Regulus asked softly, getting worried as the shadows around them reacted to the boy’s emotions and seemed to sharpen in rage, a side-effect of the Black gift Hyperion had been learning to control since he’d discovered it.

“See for yourself.” He said as he clenched his fists tightly. Regulus took the letter from his hands and laid his hand on the boy’s in a calming gesture as he read what had caused this serious a reaction. He’d learned that Hyperion calmed down best when he was given tactile comfort, something he was embarrassed to admit but Regulus had been happy to indulge in – after getting over his awkwardness about touch of course.

“Oh, the bastard!”

‘Dear Harry,

I am disappointed in your little stunt. Running away is never the answer, my boy, even if we sometimes need it. But all that aside, please know your aunt and uncle are very worried about you and would like your safe return. I implore you to think about what they must feel.

In any case, I look forward to guiding you this year, my boy, and wish you a happy school year.

A.P.W.B.D’

“Kreacher, return it to sender.” Regulus said with a sneer, but Hyperion’s shadows snatched it up before he could hand it over and tore it to shreds.

“No. Let him wonder what happened to his saviour. I will not satisfy him with even that.” Hyperion snapped, eyes blazing in pure rage.

Despite himself, Regulus couldn’t help glowing in pride at his boy’s viciousness and ferocity. He’d taught him well.

“Very good, Hyperion. We do not subjugate ourselves to the likes of that manipulative old goat.” Orion scoffed, getting agreeing nods from all the people still in his frame. Walburga cackled proudly, Arcturus nodded his approval and even Alphard, arguably the calmest of them, seemed to enjoy Hyperion’s reaction.

“Still, a bit of calmness in your reaction would’ve been better.” Regulus chastised lightly, and Hyperion looked slightly ashamed but still glowering with righteous fury.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“It’s alright.” He put a supportive hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed twice, their way of saying ‘I love you’. Hyperion smiled at the man and his eyes showed that the sentiment was wholly returned.

July 17^th 1991

Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain.

Hagrid had never questioned Albus Dumbledore a day in his life. The man was wise, smart, kind and good, and he’d never given Hagrid a reason to think otherwise. But his most recent request was a weird one, even by Dumbledore standards.

“Hagrid, Harry Potter has been missing for about a year now, but I believe he’ll return to his relatives’ house soon, so I need you to go there and scout the area until you see him. When you do, I need you to give him this and take him to Diagon Alley. It seems there was an error with the Hogwarts Registry and it didn’t generate a letter for him, but I made one especially for him. I believe it would be best if he was given it in person. You are the only person I can trust with this.”

 And of course Hagrid had agreed, not only because Dumbledore had asked him, but because it was about the boy he’d saved as a wee lad, the one whose parents had been brave and kind and good, and who deserved for their only son to be taken care of. So Hagrid had gone and tried to blend into his surroundings, waiting for the boy he was sure would look like a carbon copy of his father, James Potter.

But over eight hours had passed since his arrival, and no one who even remotely resembled the boy had come by. The only boy he’d seen near the house was a chubby boy with blond hair and blue eyes, but nothing else.

Hagrid stayed for four more hours, but as it neared midnight and he didn’t find anyone, he decided to call it quits and just leave, shame coursing through his body. He’d failed Professor Dumbledore, oh how Hagrid hated it. But what else could he have done?!

Harry Potter hadn’t come.

And Hagrid didn’t know this at the time, but he never would.

15 August 1991

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

Regulus was…. Bloody hell, he was nervous. He hadn’t left Grimmauld Place once since he’d woken up from his coma. It’d been unnecessary, and honestly he hadn’t really wanted to. But now, as his precious son was preparing to leave for the death-trap that was Hogwarts, he had to venture outside for the first time in a decade.

“Stupid Sirius, giving me a pack in fifth year.” Regulus grumbled as he took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side and tipping the ash into the tray on the sill. He was in the balcony that was attached to Sirius’s room, the only one in the whole damn house he could hide in. His brother had taken several smokes here, and after he’d left, Regulus had tried to do it with the pack his brother had given him that year. It’d been disgusting at first, but he’d just continued anyway. Afterwards, whenever he was feeling melancholy and remembered Sirius – never miss, Sirius didn’t deserve to be missed after callously abandoning Regulus – he would come out and smoke a cigarette. The habit had evolved after that, to the point where he’d smoked one a day during his seventh year – he’d sneak away behind the castle walls, which is where his brother and his friends would do it too. It was a muggle habit, and if his mother had known, she would’ve skinned him alive, but it calmed him down after high stress situations.

He’d stopped after the coma, but he felt the itch every time he grew truly anxious, and this time he just couldn’t help getting out his stash and smoking one. It was old, and probably stale, but he didn’t care. The smoke going into his lungs and the smell that surrounded him brought him peace in a chaotic time.

“Dad?” Hyperion called out from the hallway, and Regulus quickly stubbed it out and left the room that brought him so much grief and nostalgia now. Every corner he looked, he would remember a memory with his brother that he’d treasured but Sirius had thrown away. The times he’d snuck into his big brother’s bed after a nightmare, when Sirius had tried teaching him a spell using his wand before Regulus had gone to Hogwarts, and even the times when they’d play wrestle on the rug, fights that always turned into cuddle piles.

It doesn’t matter anymore, Regulus thought as he shook his head, clearing his thoughts. I have a son to raise anyway.

“Yes Hyperion?” Regulus asked as he left the room and came face to face with the boy. Hyperion had decided to take full opportunity of the wardrobe Regulus had bought him through owl post and was wearing a navy blue sweater with matching jeans underneath, leaving his hair in its natural stylish messiness and using his magic to hide his distinctive features. He had bangs to cover the barely there scar, and his emerald eyes were now a rather dark grey colour. He looked like every other Black that had ever graced the earth, including Sirius and Regulus himself, but with enough things different to blur the lines just so.

Regulus was going disguised but keeping their features matching so that it was obvious they were father and son without being recognised as Blacks or, Merlin forbid, Harry Potter and the MIA Death Eater. He was also dressed in a muggle black suit with a matching turtleneck underneath, something no Death Eater except perhaps Malfoy would be caught dead in. His hair had also grown longer compared to his younger years, reaching the back of his neck with long curtain bangs partially covering his pale face. All in all, he didn’t look exactly like people remembered Regulus Black looking, so he was hoping it’d be enough of a disguise to throw everyone off.

“I’m ready to go if you are.” The boy said softly, and Regulus continued to be surprised by how in tuned his son was with his emotions. Regulus knew he had an impeccable mask, but spending most of their time together has allowed the two to see beyond those masks, and now Hyperion was an expert on Regulus Black, and vice versa.

“I am, yes. Let’s go.” The two walked down to the foyer in comfortable silence, but Hyperion seemed to stand closer to him in comfort. For all his new ruthlessness, Hyperion was still the sweet little boy Regulus had met a year ago underneath all the Blackness, but now it only showed around the people he cared about most.

“Don’t worry Master, Kreacher will be there for any emergencies.” His loyal friend (and, embarrassingly enough, pseudo parent) said with a serious face, and Regulus tried to laugh it off awkwardly.

“I’m not worried.” But the looks both Kreacher and Hyperion shot him made it very clear the two did not believe him one bit. Ugh, stupidly perceptive people who knew Regulus like the back of their hands. He couldn’t even have privacy for his emotions when he was around them. How annoying!

Diagon Alley, Charing Cross Road, London, England.

Flooing into Diagon Alley was a surreal experience for Regulus and his admittedly quite frayed psyche. His magic and body were coiled tightly, as if waiting for even a hint of threat to strike. They started the day with a trip to Gringotts Bank. Regulus knew both the Black and Potter accounts were probably in complete disarray due to disuse, and he’d been living purely on the vault his grandfather had created for daily household usage that Kreacher had access to, which wouldn’t be enough soon enough, especially with a growing boy living with them.

The tall white and golden building would be intimidating for people who weren’t used to outward displays of wealth, but for Regulus who’d grown up as a member the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, it was just another part of his life. Hyperion was impressed, though, but you would never be able to tell unless you recognised the interested glint in his eyes, which was pretty clear to Regulus even with the glamour on. Regulus had taught him well, and he was proud of the discipline Hyperion carried himself with nowadays.

They walked in regally, straight-backed and confident. It was obvious they were pureblood heirs even if you couldn’t quite place them in one specific family. A few people glanced at them in interest, but Regulus ignored them all as he walked towards a teller.

“I would like a meeting with my account manager.”

“And which account would that be.” The goblin said with their usual sneer, but Regulus didn’t answer verbally, he just waved his left hand over his right and let the signet ring show. It’d been given to him by his father as a symbol of the secondary heir of their family. Any Goblin worth their position would be able to recognise it immediately. He re-applied the glamour as soon as the goblin nodded in understanding. He would not be taking any chances with his son’s safety today.

“This away, sir.” The goblin said after a moment, and jumped from his stool to move the duo out of the reception area and to a side entrance. They were led through winding hallways and complicated turns to a very elegant office with large white double door. One knock from their guide, and they were allowed entrance.

“I should’ve known you’d come soon Scion Black, especially after I was notified of the newest addition to the family through Gringotts’s family tapestry.”

“Yes, Bloodclaw. That is very much the reason for my visit. I’d like you to meet the new Heir Black, Hyperion.”

“Yes, also the last remaining Potter, or so I’ve heard.”

“That is correct, Account Manager Bloodclaw.” Hyperion replied politely, and the two sat when the goblin gestured to the chairs in front of his large marble desk. “I would also like to get an Inheritance test to check on my family’s vaults and properties and see if there are any distant relatives I can contact.”

“Of course, Heir Black. That’s easy enough to accomplish. And Scion Black?”

“I’m just here to check on the accounts and get a key for my personal vault, as mine was destroyed. Oh! And open up a trust vault for Hyperion’s schooling.”

“Let us start with the test and then discuss the rest, shall we?” The father-son duo nodded in agreement, and Bloodclaw opened a drawer and drew out three objects from it. A piece of yellow parchment, a potion vial, and a small dagger.

“I’ll be using my own, thank you.” Hyperion said as he brought out his own Stygian Iron dagger from a sheath he’d hidden in the back of his pants. Regulus looked on proudly as Hyperion cut his palm and let the blood drip seven times into the potion bottle without so much as a flinch. Bloodclaw shook the bottle then poured its contents onto the parchment. A few seconds went by without anything happening, but then words started appearing slowly.

When it stopped, Regulus and Hyperion both sat side-by-side to read together the content.

Inheritance Test Results for: Hyperion Potter-Black

1. Blood Status & Affiliations:

• Name: Hyperion James Sirius Potter-Black
• Birthday: July 31^st 1980
• Age: 11
• Blood Status: Pureblood (Via Blood Adoption, Black Line; Half-Blood via Biological Birth, Potter Line)
• Titles:
• Heir Apparent to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
• Heir by Blood to the Honourable and Most Ancient House of Potter
• Scion of the Inventive and Most Olde House of Peverell (via Ignotus Peverell)
• Magical Core: Grey (Leaning Dark Post-Black Blood Adoption). Notably dense and powerful for age.
• Magical Affinity: Shadow Manipulation (Noctis Potentia), Soul Magic (Dormant, Peverell), Ancient Blood Magics (Black).

1. Lineage & Living Blood Relatives:

• Paternal (Black) Bloodline [Through Adoption]:
• Regulus Arcturus Black II (Blood-Adopted Father)
• Sirius Black III (Blood Uncle, Incarcerated)
• Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) (First Cousin Once Removed)
• Bellatrix Lestrange (née Black) (First Cousin Once Removed, Incarcerated)
• Andromeda Tonks (née Black) (First Cousin Once Removed)
• Draco Malfoy (Second Cousin)
• Nymphadora Tonks (Second Cousin)
• The Houses of Crouch, Weasley, Macmillan, Crabbe, Potter and Longbottom are very distant relations, but not direct blood relatives.
• Maternal (Potter) Bloodline [Through Birth]:
• James Fleamont Potter (Biological Father, Deceased)
• Lily Potter (née Evans) (Biological Mother, Deceased)
• Charles Potter-Vera (Second Cousin, Once Removed, Alive) [Son of Elizabeth Potter-Vera and Nikolas Vera. Resident of the United States; works for the Magical Congress of the United States of America (MACUSA) in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.]
• The Houses of Longbottom and McKinnon are very distant relations, but not direct blood relatives.

III. Financial Holdings & Anomalies:

• A. House of Black Vaults:
• Vault #711: Heir's Trust Vault (Accessible at 11).
• Contents: Moderate sum of gold, heirloom jewellery, beginner-level grimoires.
• Vault #13: Main Family Vault (Accessible upon Lordship or at age 17). Contents: Extreme sum of gold, art, artefacts, family grimoires, historical documents. Status: Pristine. Wards: Strong.
• B. House of Potter Vaults:
• Vault #687: Heir's Trust Vault (Accessible at 11). Contents: Nearly depleted. A small, pile of gold. Status: Heavily and frequently accessed by a third party.
• Vault #18: Main Family Vault (Accessible upon Lordship or at age 17). Contents: Significant wealth, Lord & Lady’s personal effects, James Potter's family heirlooms. Status: Wards weakened by repeated, unauthorized entry.
• Vault #3: Peverell Vault (Accessed via Peverell Bloodline & Heirloom). Contents: Unknown. Wards are primordial and keyed to the Resurrection Stone. Status: Untouched for centuries.
• C. Financial Anomaly - Potter Trust Vault (#687):
• Log of Transactions: Attached parchment lists a long, detailed log of withdrawals. Note: Anomalies and irregularities detected. Financial Impropriety Suspected*.
• Primary Access Key Holder: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.)
• Justification Listed: "Upkeep & Care for the Heir, Harry J. Potter."

1. Guardianship & Wills:

• Legal Guardian (Blood-Adopted): Regulus Arcturus Black II (Recognized by Black Family Magic & Gringotts Bank).
• Godparent (Biological): Sirius Black III (Magically binding, currently nullified due to incarceration).
• Last Will & Testament of James & Lily Potter: SEALED BY ORDER OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT, UNDER DIRECTIVE FROM CHIEF WARLOCK ALBUS DUMBLEDORE AND PREVIOUS HEAD OF THE DMLE BARTEMIUS CROUCH. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Hyperion exclaimed, unable to contain his outrage like he’d been taught to do. His aunt would’ve washed his mouth with soap if she’d heard him cuss like he was at that moment.

“Well shit.” Regulus said under his breath, eyes going wide even as his expression remained blank. Then everything caught up to him, his thoughts stabilised, and his eyes flashed a menacing white. “Lock down the Potter Vaults immediately and recall any issued keys. I also demand the goblin in charge be judged for his actions. He allowed a man completely unrelated to the Potter family beyond friendly acquaintance to access ancestral vaults. And I don’t even want to get started on the illegally sealed will.”

“Right away, Scion Black.” Bloodclaw said gravely, knowing that a Black’s ire is the worst thing to incur. They can be vengeful, creative, and their morals weren’t enough to control their actions. He immediately activated the magic needed, and started writing letters to both the goblin in the wrong and the Head of this Branch of Gringotts, Ragnor – brother to the Goblin King Ragnarok. “Who would you like to take over the Potter accounts in the meantime?”

“You.” Hyperion said distractedly, still staring at the test in a mix of shock and horror. The shadows around them had started moving menacingly, and Regulus knew it was only thin control that was keeping them from destroying the office.

“Calm, Hyperion. This is not the time to let emotions consume you.” Regulus cautioned, standing to move behind his son, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders in comfort.

“You’re right, Father. It is time to act as a Black should.” Hyperion said seriously, eyes focusing and shining black for a second before going to the tint they always got when he was particularly angry – Avada Kedavra green. Unfortunately, Glamours were erased when one enters an account manager’s office, as the wards didn’t allow those hidden to enter without honesty. “Please find my parents’ will, Bloodclaw, and only issue myself and my father keys to the Potter vaults. I would also like to claim my Heir ring, and see about getting in contact with this relative I seem to have.”

“Of course, Heir Black. I will have all of that ready for you as soon as possible. And our branch head Ragnor has already replied to my missive stating that the goblin in question, Bladelink, has been taken into custody and is awaiting trial. He will henceforth not be able to manage any account, even if he were to be found innocent, unlikely that may be.”

“Very good. You will handle the accounts until then.” Bloodclaw nodded at Regulus’s words, but inside he was cackling in pure glee. To handle both the Black and Potter accounts would not only raise his standing among his kind, but will increase his coffers tenfold. “Now, what are the steps needed to get this money from the interloper?”

“And can I sue him for stealing from my inheritance?” Hyperion asked, giving the goblin a bloodthirsty sneer that earned him an impressed stare from the man.

“Let us get started then, gentlemen.” The three men smirked at each other as they settled in for a long meeting.

“Why must we get the robes from here?” Hyperion murmured as he walked towards Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. He was used to luxury by now, and the Blacks exclusively ordered from their personal tailor, Lord Klein of the Elegant House of Viola, who operated his own store alongside his three sons – a store which had three branches in the UK so far and was already looking to expand to France, the man’s home country.

“Because it’s a Hogwarts tradition, and Madam Malkin’s is the only store who has a contract with the school to create the students’ robes.”

“Well that’s just stupid.”

“Yes, Hyperion. When you take over the world, I’m sure you’ll correct this most egregious mistake.” Regulus said sarcastically, and cackled when his son scowled at him.

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly.” A voice said from inside the store, and the two turned to find Draco Malfoy standing on a dais getting measured by Madam Malkin herself.

“Draco.”

“Hyperion.” The two nodded to each other in greeting, and Regulus looked on in amusement as the two moved to stand beside each other and started talking about their plans for school.

“I see Hyperion is here, Draco. It is good to see you dear.” A voice said behind Regulus, and he turned to find his favourite cousin standing there looking at the two boys with a fond smirk.

“You as well, Aunt Narcissa.” Hyperion said with a polite smile, shaking the woman’s hand before he was ushered to be fitted himself.

“And who might you be?” The woman asked as she looked at Regulus, and he smirked, his eyes flashing a bright white that he knew she would recognise instantly. It was the colour his eyes turned when his Black gift was activated. “No! It can’t be….”

“Oh Cissy, you didn’t think I’d actually die, did you?” He said smugly, putting his glamour back on. His expression slowly shifted as Narcissa did the unimaginable, and grabbed him into a hug. Purebloods, especially Blacks, were taught to never show affection in public, so for Narcissa to do that for him, it meant she’d truly missed him, which was something Regulus hadn’t really thought would be the case.

It was nice, knowing some of his family members had been sad when he’d gone into the coma.

The four walked towards Flourish and Blots in animated conversation, for purebloods at least.

Regulus noticed Severus Snape lurking about, watching them with a mix of confusion and suspicion. Regulus knew he’d need to talk to him soon, but for now he was happy to leave the man running around trying to find something he never would. Severus didn’t even notice that Hyperion’s reflection had emerald green eyes and darker skin, making him look almost like Harry Potter.

They dropped the two off at the store, got Hyperion’s books, and then headed for Ollivander’s Wand Shop to get the boy’s wand.

“I don’t know, Father, it’s an intense tradition.”

“And you’ll do great. You’ll find a wand and then we’ll start getting you used to it before school starts.”

The two walked into the dark store, where the owner, a white-haired, white-bearded man was standing at the counter, looking at them with a soft, whimsical smile.

“Ah, Mister Black. How good to see you healthy. I remember your wand, black walnut, dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches, slightly rigid. You always were meant for greater things. And you must be the newest Black, or are you still Harry Potter?”

“How did you know?” Hyperion asked, surprised by the information.

“Intuition perhaps. Or magic, more like.” The man said calmly, and Regulus smirked in amusement.

“Hyperion here needs a wand.”

“Then I believe you’ve come to the right place. Come, let us try until we find the right one for you.”

And they did. Hundreds of wands, each one reacting more explosively than the last.

“This is a holly, phoenix feather core, eleven inches, nice and supple.” But as soon as Hyperion touched the handle, it stung him sharply.

“Ouch.” Hyperion exclaimed as he quickly let it go.

“Huh, I thought that one would’ve been it.” The man muttered under his breath, and the father-son duo didn’t know it yet, but they’d just foiled another of Dumbledore’s complicated plans. No brother wands to fight each other.

The man hummed as he looked through the many boxes until he found what he was looking for.

“Ebony wood, Thestral hair core, twelve inches, it’s sturdy but flexible.”

“Thestral hair?” Regulus asked, surprised. It wasn’t normally used as a wand core, as it was very temperamental and particular, as the creature it comes from is.

“Yes, I thought with his Peverell ancestry, it could be fitting.” Hyperion took a deep breath before grabbing the wand and instantly feeling a warmth spreading through his right arm, and the wand’s tip glowed a bright silver and black. The shadows around them started getting absorbed by the wand as if it was a vacuum.

Ollivander gaped in shock at the violent reaction; no wand had ever done this in the hands of its owner. He’d seen some Blacks have a very strong reaction, yes, but never like this.

Regulus, on the other hand, looked on smugly as the magic calmed down.

“Perfect. We’ve found your wand.”

“Yes we did.” Hyperion said, looking on in satisfaction and happiness.

"Curious… your magic leaves no trace. Like a shadow without a source." Ollivander said vaguely, “but yes, congratulations Mister Potter-Black.”

Hyperion looked to his father, and when he found the man looking at him proudly, he glowed in joy.

Oh, but Hogwarts wouldn’t know what hit it!

Chapter Text

September 1^st 1991

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

“It is a shame you can’t come with us Regulus.”

“I know, Cissy, but it is for the best. My continued dead status is paramount to some… plans I have.”

The two cousins were drinking tea in Grimmauld Place while Draco helped Hyperion pack for Hogwarts. They had been corresponding since their meeting a couple of weeks ago, and also allowing their children to meet up – outside of Malfoy Manor of course – from time to time to bond as cousins should.

“Glamours are an option you know.”

“Yes, but we’ve already done this to go to Diagon Alley and I’d rather use caution when it comes to Hyperion’s safety. Besides, I will hopefully get to send him off soon enough.” Regulus said, eyes resigned.

“I hope so too, Father.” Hyperion said, and the two turned to find the boys standing at the top of the staircase.

Regulus stood up at the boy’s sad expression, and in a few strides, he stood in front of his son. Pulling him into a deep hug, Regulus whispered reassurances into Hyperion’s ears, who clung to him tightly. Their two family members just watched, not judging one bit. Blacks only showed emotions in private or among family, never in public. Besides, this would be the last time they’d see each other until Christmas, so it was understandable they’d feel emotional and need comfort.

“Alright boys, it’s time to go.” Narcissa said as she waved her wand, summoning Hyperion’s trunk to stand beside her son’s.

“Behave, Hyperion. And finally show Hogwarts and the Wizarding World the kind of Black you are.” Regulus said, pulling away but keeping his hands on his son’s shoulders to give the two comfort. He couldn’t believe the boy had grown so much in such a small amount of time. In place of the timid, nervous boy who’d first stepped into Grimmauld, now stood a confident, strong young man who was ready to take on the world. “I am so very proud of you, my son.”

“And I will continue making you proud, Father.” The two shared a soft smile for their eyes only, hugging one last time before Regulus pushed Hyperion towards Narcissa.

“Now off you go! Make Slytherin great again, children.” The two bowed with a flourish and grins on their faces before they grabbed their respective trunks and walked out the door, chatting about everything they would do once they reached the school.

“I’ll keep him safe.” Narcissa vowed, her words laced with the magic that each Black was born with. Her gift had manifested in charm-speak, an ability that allowed her to control individuals with only whispers of her voice. It had become especially effective during the war when she’d needed her sister and husband away from her to keep her secrets.

“I know you will, I wouldn’t have trusted you with this task if I didn’t have full faith in your ability.” The two hugged for a moment before Narcissa followed the boys out the door.

“Now then,” Regulus said to himself as he headed towards his father’s office, “Kreacher! Prepare a cup of coffee for me. I have much to plan for and a few letters that need to be sent.”

“Right away, Master!” Kreacher exclaimed, smirking in pride and excitement.

“Oh! And get Barty here as soon as he can make it. Tell him it’s time to start.”

And as Regulus stretched and sat on the large chair with his mug, he couldn’t help grinning manically.

“Let the games begin.”

Platform Nine and Three Quarters, King's Cross Station, London, England.

Instead of walking into the platform from the muggle entrance like common folk, Narcissa made the boys side-along apparate with her, as magicals should. Unbeknownst to her, she’d just thwarted another of Albus Dumbledore’s many plans for his ‘saviour’. He’d had one of the staunchest Light supporters, Molly Weasley, stationed at the muggle entrance to help steer Harry Potter’s way towards the light with the help of her many accomplished and friendly children.

Hyperion looked around, his eyes and face as blank as he’d been taught to keep it in public. All the emotions had been let out at home, now was the time to be the perfect heir. He was interested, yes, not in the décor though, but in the people who stood all around the platform. People of different ages, physical appearances and both blood and monetary statuses. It was all so fascinating, how chaotic yet organised everyone was going around the station. He wondered… who were the background characters just going about their day and who had plans that would revolutionise their world?

The three were dressed impeccably, as was expected of the Black family. Narcissa was wearing a white blouse and a Slytherin green pencil skirt with a black robe draped over her shoulders. To match his mother, Draco had dressed in a white shirt tucked into dark green dress pants, but his hogwarts robes were in his trunk for later. Hyperion, on the other hand, was wearing a black t-shirt tucked into his blue jeans with a black blazer over it. He’d decided to go for casual elegance more than pureblood chic. He didn’t want to be in your face this early on, approachability is also a valid skill to have, or so his father told him. Hyperion knew he didn’t give off a very friendly aura, but he hoped the more casual outfit would counteract that. 

“Now children, remember who you are, and to whom you owe your allegiance. It is imperative that you bring honour to your Houses. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Yes, Aunt Narcissa.” The two said in unison before walking towards the train. They’d already had their goodbyes in private, and it was unbecoming to display such… affection in public.

Ever since Hyperion had joined the House of Black, he’d found himself agreeing with this tradition as well. He’d always been uncomfortable with touch, both aggressive and affectionate, so to be encouraged to keep this part of himself private was actually quite comforting. He wouldn’t have to push himself to show or share his thoughts and inner emotions, or… Merlin forbid, hug people.

As he walked to the train car, he started assessing his surroundings. He saw a gaggle of redheads run into the train and recognised them as the Weasley Family, distant relatives of the House of the Black’s that he’d never interacted with. They seemed… lively, though the one who appeared to be around his age looked rather shy instead of energetic like his brothers. A few paces away from them stood the new muggle-born students, gathered together in perceived comfort and sharing of the experience. Then there were the general groups of students gathered together; already established friend groups that were reuniting after the summer. He did wonder who would be joining his group or gang as they said, if he even started one in the first place.

The front of the train was definitely calmer than the rest, as the House of Slytherin had claimed those carriages as their own, and Slytherins were well-known for their collected demeanours and calm attitudes. Even when fighting, they did so with measured whispers and calculated words. His kind of people, really.

He and Draco decided to claim the third compartment, to not encroach on any senior’s territory while at the same time be seen as higher in the hierarchy than most. They were excited, sure, but they were also disciplined enough to not show it. They would not bring shame to their families.

Hyperion claimed the window seat while Draco went to greet some of his allies – people he’d known since he was young but wouldn’t outwardly call friends. He watched as the Weasley Matriarch kissed her children on their foreheads, and muggle parents hugged their own progeny goodbye, and he didn’t necessarily feel jealous – though he would’ve liked to see his father before his departure – but a fierce protectiveness and gratitude towards the man. If it weren’t for Regulus, he probably would’ve been boiling with jealousy in that moment, but he only felt peace. He did have a parent who loved him and protected him, and that parent didn’t need to be covering every inch of his face in lipstick for Hyperion to feel that.

He sent a pulse of his family magicks through his heir ring to the one Regulus was currently wearing – a ring he’d specifically enchanted to be able to communicate with his son’s, which was another sign of just how much he cared for Hyperion. The signal was simple, and an indication of one message: “All is well. No need to worry.”

Here’s the thing, before ever boarding the Hogwarts Express or even getting his school letter, Hyperion had been extensively quizzed on the pureblood heirs and heiresses he’d be meeting there and would be expected to treat properly, so when Draco came back with two males who looked like complete opposites, he immediately recognised them both. He also immediately recognised the observing looks on their faces.

Theodore Nott seemed to be on the quiet side. He was as pale as snow, with ash-brown hair that fell over his face in elegant waves, and grey-green eyes that shone with understated curiosity. His outfit was inconspicuous; a simple grey sweater and dark slacks. He looked on as the other two moved to greet Hyperion, only speaking when the conversation included him.

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, was all dramatic gestures and arrogant smirks. He had chocolate brown skin, with intense dark brown eyes that looked around in sharp perception. Compared to his friend’s casual look and Draco’s simple elegance, he was dressed extravagantly in a white shirt, dark green tie, and black sweater over it with matching pants with the sweater tucked into them neatly.

“Hyperion, allow me to introduce you to Heirs Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Theo, Blaise, this is Hyperion Black, the Heir of my maternal family.”

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Hyperion responded with a tight smile, eyes gleaming in interest.

“Nice to meet you as well, Heir Black.” Theodore replied politely but emotionlessly, while Blaise smirked in amusement.

“Never thought I’d meet a Black Heir. Nice to meet you too.” His Italian accent was elegant and barely noticeable, a testament to his expensive education.

“Yes, I’m sure people thought my family would go extinct.” Hyperion said with a small, mocking smile. “Please, join me. It would be nice to get to know prospective classmates.”

The two sat with their backs straight and heads raised, while Hyperion relaxes back into his seat, noticing everything but never allowing them to see his stiff demeanour. Draco mirrored his posture, the two sitting side by side like they were holding court.

Theodore was silent but observing, seeming to gather data about the new player – assessing if Hyperion would be an ally or foe. Blaise, on the other hand, leaned back slightly with a challenging smirk – he was reading Hyperion’s movements and seeing if he was a worthy acquaintance or not. Hyperion respected someone who didn’t want to waste their time with weak-willed people, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to think he was one of these individuals, so he met his gaze evenly, calmly waiting for him to make the next move.

“So, what have you two done to get ready for Hogwarts? Mother has been exhausting me with magic and etiquette lessons since the letters arrived, but a Malfoy must always show preparedness.” Draco started, using the silence to ask questions so he can see where his peers are compared to him. He’d was the more sociable of the two cousins, and he knew very well that Hyperion relied on him to subtly start conversations and get people talking, a skill he was becoming better at.

“Mother has been grilling me on proper conduct as well, especially since I am the first Zabini to attend Hogwarts. She want me to make an exceptional impression.”

“Father as well. He hired a tutor to teach me Magical Theory and Potions.” Theodore said softly, trying to not share too much while participating in the conversation. It was an intriguing tactic that Hyperion respected.

“Father has been grilling me on various topics since my tenth birthday. A Black must never be caught off guard, or so he claims. It was all very interesting, though, and a few lessons were definitely not Hogwarts approved.” Hyperion said with a small but smug smirk, knowing exactly the response his words would get. Just as predicted, Zabini took the bait asked a follow-up question immediately.

“And who, exactly, is your father? A member of an obscure Black branch perhaps? Or a hidden heir?” Hyperion just smirked, amused by the probing. Hidden heir was polite code for illegitimate son, which was especially funny to think about. If anyone called Regulus Black that to his face, he’d skin them alive and then put them on fire.

“No, Hyperion is the rightful Black Heir.” Draco said obscurely but insistently, so that purebloods who knew genealogy would know exactly what he meant. As Sirius Black was the current rightful Lord of the House of Black, Hyperion could not be a distant relative if he was the rightful Heir. He could only be either the man’s son or nephew, a fact many thought was completely impossible, but Hyperion had always defied impossibilities.

Before the two heirs could respond to that seemingly questionable claim, the door to their compartment opened slowly, and a head of dark auburn hair leaned in.

“Umm, could I join you?” The boy, clearly the youngest Weasley son from his hair, freckles and bright blue eyes, asked softly. Hyperion, though, noticed a spark of brilliance and curiosity in his eyes, and wanted to see more of it. It was also a bonus that the Weasleys were technically allied with the House of Black through Cedrella Black-Weasley, who was the current Matriarch of the family, so offering the boy a place would be mostly seen as the House of Black helping out their interrelated houses.

Before his dearest cousin could sneer and insult the boy like he so clearly wanted, Hyperion responded to the question with a calm smile.

“There’s room if you want. Weasley, isn’t it?”

Draco sputters in shock at the turn of events, as he’d expected Hyperion to reject the boy as would’ve been expected of a Malfoy. But he’d soon learn that Hyperion mostly played by his own rules. Theodore and Blaise looked on in interest, obviously expecting conflict between the two cousins.

“Oh, thank you. And yes, I’m Ron Weasley.” The red-head muttered softly, surprised by the offer. He took a seat as far away from Draco, who was staring on in increasing horror and anger.

“Are we now welcoming in peasants?” Draco asked Hyperion under his breath, who shot the boy an amused smirk.

“One might find the best allies in the most unlikely of places.” He whispered vaguely before turning to Ron. “So, Weasley, any expectations on Hogwarts Houses? I’m Hyperion Black, by the way.”

“Oh! Well, most Weasleys go to Gryffindor, but my grandmother was a Slytherin, so I’m not so sure yet.”

“A wise answer.” Theodore said approvingly, turning to the boy with a curious tilt to his head.
“It’s good to enter any situations without any expectations.”

“Agreed, Heir Nott.” Hyperion nodded, respecting the boy’s words of wisdom.

“Theo, please Heir Black.”

“I would think being classmates would negate some of the expected formality, so Blaise for me too.” The boy said with a decisive nod, and Hyperion responded in kind.

“Call me Hyperion, then.”

“And I’m Draco.” The blond said with a small sneer that he tried to hide unsuccessfully. Hyperion shot him an amused look, which earned him a dark glare in kind. Ah, the joys of having a bitchy cousin.

“Ron, then. You’re right, uh Blaise. It would be nice to get to know my classmates before starting.” The three heirs looked at the boy with differing expressions of perception or amusement, and he couldn’t help squirming a bit uncomfortably at all the attention. They were again interrupted by the opening of their door, and this time a girl with exceptionally bushy brunette hair and intelligent hazel eyes stood there, looking every which way at the whole compartment.

“Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville’s lost his.” Her tone was bossy, and her gaze was a bit arrogant as she peered at them one by one. This put the purebloods all on edge, as the look coupled with her clearly muggle skirt and sweater made it very clear that she was… new to their world and its expectations. Even Ron, arguably the least caring of customs and tradition of the group, seemed weirded out by her attitude.

Draco, very clearly the most volatile of them, growled in offence and immediately stood up. Theo and Blaise looked on in assessment, while Ron shrank in on himself a bit. Hyperion watched on, knowing the blond idiot was about to put his foot in his bloody mouth. God, he should’ve listened to his father’s warnings about Malfoys: “Malfoys can be your most loyal allies, yes, but they will always have this flare for over-exaggeration and an exceptionally inflated ego that drives everyone, especially Blacks, insane, more than normal at least. I say this, Hyperion, because you’ve decided to add Draco to your circle of allies, so you better be careful of this while interacting with him.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?! Barging in here and demanding things. Do they not teach you manners in your disgusting muggle world? Should’ve known all muggles are barbarians that don’t belong here.”

The girl flushed bright red in a cruel mix of anger and humiliation. Ron opened his mouth to probably defend the girl, but he clearly didn’t know what he could say without being kicked out by the angry blond.

Hyperion, though, grew pissed off. The lights of the compartment dimmed briefly and his eyes flashed silver before he took back control of his magic. The temperature still dipped extremely for a second, but he knew that was Draco’s own Black gift reacting to his unstable emotions. The boy didn’t even aware of the fact he was doing this, something Hyperion would have to address at a later date. For now, he had to rectify this situation. He didn’t yell at his idiotic relative, no, Regulus had taught him months ago that shouting and dramatic gestures are both unbecoming and ineffective ways to express anger – a quiet anger was always the most effective.

“Malfoy. We do not speak such words. It is unbecoming of our station, and frankly quite embarrassing.” His voice wasn’t loud, but everyone could hear the pure danger clearly colouring it. Draco stares at him for a moment before his mouth snapped closed, and his face flushed slightly in shame. Even if the boy didn’t agree with Hyperion’s words, disagreeing would just undermine his position as Hyperion’s second, and show to two very prominent Dark heirs that the House of Black was still divided, which was the complete opposite of what the two wanted, so he just sat back down, leaving the floor for Hyperion.

“Apologies for that. You can check our compartment for this toad, but I assure you we haven’t seen it.” He said in a cool tone, staring at the still blushing girl a bit dismissively but not in outright cruelty. He had publicized what he wanted people to observe of his character, what she did next was not his problem.

The girl, who hadn’t even given her name, just mumbled a quiet thanks before fleeing the compartment, clearly unfamiliar and probably shaken by the whole ordeal. He’d have to extend an apology to Heir Longbottom, who was most probably the Neville she was speaking of.

Blaise’s previous blank expression morphed into an impressed smile full of interest, and Theo’s eyebrows raised in approval. Ron, who’d clearly been prepared for a fight, stared at Hyperion with a wary sort of respect. Clearly, Hyperion had made an impression worthy of his Black name. How amusing.

“I’ll tell my father, you know.” Draco mumbled under his breath with a small pout, and Hyperion shot him an unimpressed look.

“Your father technically answers to my Uncle, but as he’s currently in prison, his loyalty automatically transfers to my father, as yours belongs to me, something you were already aware of. Are you really making pointless threats?” Draco shook his head, finally fully understanding the true power dynamic between them. It seemed he’d needed the reality check to process that he wasn’t the most powerful in the room anymore.

After a few minutes of thick silence, Blaise finally broke and cackled loudly. “Well, this year will sure be interesting.”

“Indeed.” Theo agreed simply, and the two boys shared a pointed look Hyperion wasn’t particularly interested in deciphering at that moment.

Draco finally seemed to shed the uneasiness and shot the two a proud grin. “Oh I assure you, Hogwarts won’t know what hit it.”

“I can see that now.” Ron mumbled under his breath, clearly not meaning for anyone to hear, but Hyperion did and shot him an amused but sharp smile. It’s probably the first real expression he’d shown since he’d entered platform nine and three quarters.

“Hmm.” He hummed softly, looking around him at those gathered. No, it won’t know what hit it indeed.

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

The boat ride was boring, the giant who led them there a little less so, though he spoke in a thick accent and seemed too Gryffindor for Hyperion’s tastes. He did overhear a cute conversation between the bushy haired girl and Heir Longbottom as they were led to the waiting area, which broke the tediousness of the whole situation, even if momentarily.

“Who is that?” The girl had asked her new friend, and Hyperion had watched on as Neville Longbottom turned to subtly look at him.

“That’s the new Black Heir. I wouldn’t cross him if I were you. The Blacks aren’t known for being nice.”

“He defended me against a bully.”

“Good,” the boy had replied after a moment of shocked silence, “that means you haven’t wronged him.”

Hyperion had nearly cackled at the warning given, which would’ve very obviously confirmed all rumours about the Black Madness, so it was probably for the best that he’d had some self-control, though he was curious how people would’ve reacted if he’d let his laughter out.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was exactly as Regulus had described her in their Hogwarts Teacher Introduction Class – a no nonsense woman who fueled every Scottish rumour about their anger levels and didn’t like chaos at all. Poor Ron and Goyle had been looked upon with a very disappointed look, which could make any child wet their pants easily. Hyperion already liked her.

They were currently standing in the legendary Hogwarts Great Hall, where students and teachers alike were looking at them with varying expressions of either boredom or curiosity. No one seemed to care that this only caused the children more distress and anxiety. After a lovely song by the hat that apparently decided where their fate would lie for the next seven years, McGonagall pulled out a very long scroll and started the sorting ceremony.

"Abbott, Hannah!" She called loudly, and a cute girl with long blond hair and a warm smile walked up to the stool and let the hat fall on top of her head. It was no surprise to Hyperion when seconds later, a very loud “HUFFLEPUFF” was called. Abbotts were notoriously kind and the epitome of Hufflepuff house. The hat seemed to enjoy screaming its decision, and varied its response time depending on the person, or maybe it was random, who knew.

The sorting carried on and Hyperion watched on as he waited for his turn. The list was alphabetically sorted by last names, which was strange but he wouldn’t comment on it, so he expected to be called at the start of the Bs, but that did not happen.

Ugh, they were doing this, huh? How exhausting.

“Bones, Susan!" went to Hufflepuff, while "Boot, Terry!" ended up in the lovely Ravenclaw. "Brown, Lavender!" became the first Gryffindor and "Bulstrode, Millicent!" matched her in Slytherin.

“Corner, Michael!” joined the Ravenclaws followed by “Davis, Tracey!” who became another rare Snake while “Endo, Akari!” became a Puff.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" followed the girl in Hufflepuff. "Finnigan, Seamus!" became a lion, and his wide smirk truly belonged with the rowdy bunch, so it seemed to be a good fit.

"Granger, Hermione!" was the bushy haired girl he’d met on the train, and Hyperion perked up in mild interest. The hat debates for a full minute before shouting, "RAVENCLAW!" The table clapped politely, which tracked with them. Hermione looked relieved and thrilled as her robes’ trim changed to the signature blue and silver of her new house.

"Greengrass, Daphne!" went to Slytherin as expected of someone like her, and the nickname of Ice Queen Draco had given her seemed to have been very apt. “Goldstein, Anthony!” became another in a long line of Badgers while "Gutierrez, Martin!" went after him and joined the house that valued knowledge.

“Hoffmen, Matilda!” joined the Gryffindor table, to many loud cheers, like every other lion had gotten before her. “Jones, Megan!” became another Raven, while “Koroleva, Valeria!” joined Matilda in the lion’s den. “Li, Sue!” joined Megan at the Blue and Silver table.

"Longbottom, Neville!" practically ran to the stool in his anxiety. The hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" almost immediately, shocking a bunch of people who knew the boy personally and had expected a different name. Neville in his eagerness tripped on his way to the lions’ table. A lot of people snickered, but Hyperion only watched on in amusement. That Longbottom heir should be interesting.

“Lopez, Reina!” joined the snake pit, while "Macmillan, Ernest!" joined the lovely badgers. The blond looked slightly put-out but accepted the yellow with a certain grace that was expected of an heir like him.

"Malfoy, Draco!" was called, and his cousin walked to the stool elegantly. The hat barely touches his head before "SLYTHERIN!" was shouted into the hall. He strutted arrogantly to the table like he owned it. Malfoys, honestly.

“Nott, Theodore!” joined him soon after, but with much less fanfare, as Hyperion expected of the collected brunette. “Parkinson, Pansy!” became the third Slytherin in a row, running to cling to Draco as soon as her sorting was called, which Hyperion found particularly humorous.

"Patil, Padma!" became a Ravenclaw while her twin sister "Patil, Parvati!" joined Gryffindor. The sisters shrugged it off, but a few people seemed shocked by the separation of twins, which wasn’t a very common occurrence.

Then, the inevitable happened, and Hyperion stared on with a smirk on his smug face as the name that truly irked him was called louder than the others like it needed special treatment or something.

"Potter, Harry!"

The silence was actually quite deafening, if you thought about it deeply enough. Then the whispers started as no one moved to sit on the tall stool. Everyone leaned forward in anticipation, trying to get a glimpse of the first year students to find the aforementioned boy. The poor sod, Hyperion would’ve pitied himself if he’d been put in this situation. As it were, he just stood tall beside Ron Weasley and watched on with everyone else.

McGonagall frowned, her brows furrowed in confusion as she peered over her spectacles. "Harry Potter?" She asked again, firmer this time as if ordering the missing boy to appear forcefully.

Hyperion stood perfectly still like a statue, face a mask of bored indifference. He didn’t move a muscle, content to watch the chaos unfold with perfectly hidden delight.

The silence stretched on for three very long minutes, eventually becoming awkward and heavy with tension like a string pulled taut. Hyperion glanced at the head table and then watched with a small smirk as Albus Dumbledore's smile froze on his face. The other teachers also looked confused, and even Snape’s usual sneer was coloured with both anger and shock. Merlin, did his dead alter ego really have this much effect on people?

The Gryffindor Head scanned her list again, obviously flustered by the situation. “My apologies. I may have…. Yes. Black, Hyperion? Wait, Black?!” She continued, this time shouting in shock instead of authority. She’d lost her composure completely, seemingly startled by the missing Potter and the new Black. Hyperion strode forward elegantly, his hands casually tucked in his pockets as he walked. The whispers doubled instantly. Ah, how inane these students were.

Black? A new Black heir? But how?!

He swiftly sat down on the stool, and after a few tense moments where McGonagall stared at him in growing horror and he looked at her with an amused quirk of his lips, she silently placed the hat on his head. His Avada Kedavra Green eyes gleamed as he heard a voice speak in his head.

Hmm... now this is interesting. Very interesting. Not a Potter at all, are you? No, the blood of Black and Peverell runs strongly in you my child. A mind like a fortress... ambitions not for yourself, but for an entire world... a fascinating grey area, aren’t you? And so much power just under your fingertips...'

Hyperion’s response wasn’t verbal, but in his mind. 'My place is not with the lions like my birth parents. My priority is not one of reckless bravery. My family helped build this school's foundation and reputation, and I will not sully their legacy now. I ask that you put me where I truly belong.'

He heard the hat’s chuckle deep in his head, even beyond his mental shields, which was a bit worrying and might need a consultation from his father. Hyperion tried to keep his irritation to himself, though. ‘Oh, there's no question at all. You have the cunning to thrive and the will to lead. Your father has raised you well, child. And I dare say your deceased parents would’ve been proud of what you’ve become, if not a little scared by your resolve. Better be...'

“SLYTHERIN!”

Like a gunshot, the words immediately silenced the entire hall, but then the Slytherin table started clapping more loudly than ever before, proud as they were by both the dramatic entrance and the powerful heir who’d just joined them. As it stood, they had a feeling he would bring a legacy just as impactful as his ancestors had before him, legendary as they all were. Boy-who-lived or not, a Black was now among them.

The reactions of the teachers weren’t as unanimous. As Hyperion stood and dusted off his new emerald green tipped robes, he looked up at the staff table and almost laughed in pure glee. He barely contained his wide, slightly crazed grin. Oh, this was pure gold!

Severus Snape, a proud Slytherin and an old friend of Regulus’s, stared on, pale and completely stunned. His dark brown eyes were as wide as saucers as he tried to process this complete turn of events.

Minerva McGonagall, the strong lioness and the only woman who’d scared his Godfather shitless, chocked on her own spit and then started coughing into her hand as she looked at the boy in front of her in pure shock.

The great Albus Dumbledore had the best reaction by far, though. The stupid twinkle in his eyes was completely gone, as was his usually fake welcoming smile. The lemon drop he’d been holding clanged onto his plate loudly as it slipped from his motionless fingers. Then, as if waiting for poetic timing, the water glass in front of him cracked in half. He didn’t even seem to notice and didn’t react at the clear sign of his frayed control, as he continued to stare at Hyperion with intense light blue eyes full of pure worry and dawning horror.

People gasped, and some even fell off their chairs. Muttering about Potter and Black and Slytherin rang around, but Hyperion truly could not give two shits about it all. He rose smoothly, placed the hat in McGonagall’s frozen fingers, then moved towards the snake’s table like a hunter approaching its pray. He took a seat beside Draco, who was practically vibrating in pure delight, and the Ice Queen herself, who gave him an impressed nod.

The sorting ceremony continued in a slight daze, and Hyperion stared on as a few more students joined their own tables after they were slowly sorted, and Hyperion mentally catalogued each person’s name and house. Connections were important after all, and showing the slightest attention to detail could give him an in with everyone.

Then Ron was called, and Hyperion watched as he muttered “Not Slytherin,” continuously under his breath. He laughed slightly at the boy, but then his eyes widened marginally as the hat called out “HUFFLEPUFF.”

“I could’ve sworn he’d be a lion like his whole family.” Theo muttered under his breath, and Hyperion raised his water glass in the boy’s direction in silent agreement. What an interesting turn of events.

He turned towards Ron’s three Gryffindor brothers to observe their reactions, and he couldn’t help snickering at their gaped mouths. The twins looked flabbergasted, while the older one was clutching his chest in dramatic horror. Ron blushed in embarrassment and bewilderment as he walked to the table in his new yellow trimmed robes.  The Hufflepuff table, after a beat, erupts into the warmest, most welcoming applause of the night. His new housemates all greeted him brightly, and he seemed to relax under their kind gazes as he was immediately pulled into a conversation with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. Another boy named Yoon joined him shortly after, sitting next to him companionably.

With Blaise’s inevitable Slytherin sorting, the Sorting Ceremony was called to a close. Hyperion watched on as Dumbledore tried to fumble a meaningless speech through his clear befuddlement, and then the feast appeared on the table through the wonderful magic of House Elves. Hyperion ignored all the continued staring as he served himself, already contemplating his future plans as Daphne Greengrass pulled him into a conversation on Pureblood customs. Unknowingly, he was thinking of the exact words his father had uttered that very morning after his departur.

Let the games begin.

Chapter Text

September 2^nd 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

The rays of sun were tinted grey-green by the fact the Slytherin Dungeons were located underneath the legendary Black Lake of Hogwarts. Hyperion found himself waking up at exactly six in the morning, which was the time his body was used to waking up after spending over a year living with the ever strict Kreacher, who adhered to schedules like they were a holly text.

Hyperion hadn’t truly needed to wear glasses since his adoption, a fact he’d gleefully taken advantage of. Sometimes he needed them for reading, but that was also a rare occurrence that usually happened after an extremely exhausting day, so the habit of reaching for them had basically disappeared by this point. He did, however, notice that there was something on his nightstand, which brought him to the realisation that his room was different – the bed was smaller, the ebony wood was a bit lighter and more worn out and his sheets weren’t the imported Egyptian cotton he’d gotten used to, and then the realisation struck him like lightening…. Oh, he was at Hogwarts!

He’d completely forgotten that he’d arrived at the school the day before. The panic that had started to consume him slowly ebbed away, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Ever since his adoption, he’d always had this deep seated fear that one day he’d wake up and it would have all been a dream he’d concocted, and he’d be back in his cursed cupboard curled around the baby blanket he’d managed to hide from his cruel aunt. These thoughts have given him many nightmares, and had resulted in multiple reassuring conversations with Regulus and a few pointed threats made by Kreacher. Merlin, it was nice finally having a protective family.

The Slytherin common area was opulent in its design, with low-backed dark green sofas and armchairs arranged in intimate clusters to encourage conversations around an elaborately carved stone fireplace that burned with a cool, green flame. Everything spoke of old money, whispered power, and their demeanour was serene, with a calculated confidence that they displayed to those around them. Even those Slytherins who came from low-income households or muggle upbringings strutted around the school like they’d already won in life. Trophies and tapestries depicting the House's illustrious history adorned the walls, not to boast, but as a quiet reminder of the legacy its inhabitants were expected to uphold at all times. It was less a dungeon and more the elegant, powerful centre of an ancient empire that Hyperion now belonged to and hoped to rule soon.

Even the dorms were extravagant, with two four-poster beds adorned in hues of green and black; the Slytherin house colours. The dorms were two to a room, and each student had a wardrobe and nightstand made of ebony wood to go with the gothic aura the whole common area embodied. Each year had its own corridor, and you stayed in the same room for the seven years of your education. The doors were even carved with the names of their residents, and Hyperion had felt a certain sense of pride when he’d seen Hyperion Black carved in silver, even if the name beside it was that of his infernal cousin.

As he sat up on his new bed and turned his head to the side, he noticed that there was a Strix huhula owl with polished raven feathers and dark eyes watching him intently, when the owl noticed his stare, it tilted its head and stuck out its left leg.

“Hello Loki.” Hyperion mumbled, scratching the bird behind the ear as he took the letter tied it. Loki, the other owl in their family aside from Hyperion’s own pet Hedwig – who he’d gotten as a congratulatory gift during their trip to Diagon – had been Regulus’s loyal messenger for over three years now and had immediately taken a shining to Hyperion when they’d met. “Thank you.”

The letter had been wax sealed by the crest of the House of Black using the enchanted wax his grandfather would import for his own needs, the parchment inside seemed to be of a thick, costly material, and even the letter was written in luxurious black ink that was shiny even while dried. Hyperion had been excited for this response ever since he’d sent the simple letter explaining his sorting and the Harry Potter mishap at the Start of Term Feast the previous night.

‘My dearest son,

Well played. Slytherin was to be expected, but the reactions must have been priceless. I look forward to seeing the pensive memories when you soon return home. I am proud of how you’ve handled the whole ordeal, and the ‘Malfoy situation’ in particular, and yes the news did reach me this morning. I’m afraid you’ll learn soon that word of these kinds of actions travels fast in pureblood circles, especially when a new heir has entered the playing field making such an impression. Please keep that in mind whenever you interact with the Slytherins, or any student really. A king is only as strong as his chosen court after all, and I have full faith in your capabilities and choices. Secure your allies, remind your knights of their loyalty, and always keep your knowledge close to your chest. It is imperative that every action you take or word you say is measured, but I know you do that already, so I’m not very worried. I am anxious about your general time at the school, but I believe that is a natural reaction to one’s son going to boarding school.

Oh, here are some updates on the alliances front. I’m reaching out to an old acquaintance soon, who has a habit of being bitter about most things, a talent he excels at even more than his potions skills. He might be intrigued by you, but do not engage him until he does so first. If he does like you, you may stand to gain a powerful ally. Patience is required in this endeavour, I’m afraid. The spider must wait for the fly to stumble into its web after all. But again, I’m not very worried about this, for I know you are wise beyond your years and have always been calm under stressful situations.

Rise, my son, and take control as you so wish. Remember, the shadows will always be by your side.

Love, R.A.B’

Hyperion’s face had morphed into a small but happy smile as his eyes glistened slightly. He reread the letter a few times to memorize the words, recognising the codes the man had used and who he was referencing but mostly focusing on the words of confidence and pride his father expressed. He did wonder how Snape would treat him now after his changed identity, especially considering the man had mixed opinions of both his families, but that was a problem for a later time. He let himself feel the happiness his father’s words elicited for a few more minutes before he got out his wand from its new black leather holster on his wrist and burned the parchment, vanishing the ashes so that no evidence of its existence remained and then got up to start his day as he normally would. He looked out the window, taking in the beautiful view just as the giant squid grabbed a fish with its large tentacle. He smirked at the violent act, amused by the creature he was sure he’d become familiar with before turning around to head for the shower.

It was time to get to work after all.

Breakfast had been a quiet but lavish affair. Every Slytherin seemed to need either coffee or tea to wake up enough to start the politically charged interactions they were known for. Hyperion himself had enjoyed a lovely plate of eggs and toast with beans and a cup of coffee with a dash of milk and two sugars. The coffee wasn’t as good as the expensive beans Regulus got shipped from Thailand, but it would do for his time at the school, same with the food, which couldn’t really stand a chance against the organic, homemade ingredients Kreacher used to maintain his masters’ health. And yes, Hyperion was eleven and already drinking coffee, it was good, sue him.

They had another hour before classes would start at ten thirty according to the schedules they’d been handed by their head of house a few minutes ago, so Hyperion decided to start the first part of his multi-tiered plan – gathering allies.

See, Hyperion was planning on completely revolutionising both Slytherin House and Hogwarts as a whole, but he could admit that he can’t do it all alone, and thus began the plan to rally around him a group of people he could moderately trust to help him in his endeavour. A wise man is one who realises when he needs help, or so Kreacher said time after time to both his masters, who were stubborn and disliked working with others.

He’d used the opening feast and this morning’s meal to observe those in his house. He’d already semi-acquired Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott, as was obvious by the fact they’d sat beside him that morning and engaged him in casual conversation, and Draco was a non-negotiable, but he knew he needed more than three first years to start his plans on a high note.

He was currently sitting in one of the armchairs in the common room, his legs crossed and head tilted as he observed everyone around him. The seventh and fifth years were huddled in a corner, already stressing about their upcoming NEWTs and OWLs, even though the year had only just begun. Some of the fourth and sixth years were just starting to head to breakfast, apparently still unused to the school timings after three months of summer vacation, and the second years were sat in small groups all around the room, apparently gossiping.

And opposite where Hyperion sat, Draco had apparently decided to hold court with the other first years he knew whose parents had apparently insisted on them closely associating with his cousin, namely Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson. He was standing in front of them, gesturing widely as he showed off something or the other. Malfoys have always been good at posturing, and apparently Draco was no exception. Theo and Blaise were there as well, but weren’t as… enticed by the boasting as the others. Nott was looking on with a quiet but obviously fake look of attentiveness, while Zabini wasn’t even trying to hide his boredom at the lack of Slytherin subtlety. The most level-headed of their year seemed to be Heiress Daphne Greengrass, who was well-known among pureblood circles as the Ice Queen, and not just because of her pin-straight platinum blonde hair, light blue eyes and fair skin. She was calculating and emotionless, with a glint of extreme ambition always present in her eyes. She was a person Hyperion knew would be very useful to have in his court. She was currently sitting off to the side, reading a book and completely ignoring the show happening in front of her.

“I wonder what the hell’s going on over there.” A voice said from beside him, and Hyperion turned to find a girl with black hair put up in a ponytail, tan skin and dark eyes that were gleaming and matched the confident smirk on her face. Her accent wasn’t even close to being British, she sounded closer to American but still with a hint of something Hyperion couldn’t really put his finger on. She was looking at the gathering and her head was tilted in curiosity.

 “I believe Draco Malfoy is trying to attract allies by showing off his family’s wealth and prestige.”

“So he’s flaunting like the old wives would with their husband’s wealth?” The girl deadpanned and Hyperion couldn’t help chuckling at the pretty accurate description.

“Pretty much, yes. Hyperion Black.” He introduced, holding out his hand. Instead of the girl letting him kiss the top of her hand like most pureblood girls would, she shook his firmly.

“Reyna Lopez. Oh! You’re the one they were making a big fuss about last night, right?”

“Unfortunately. Some people just can’t accept change and freedom of choice.” Hyperion said, his eyes darkening in anger for a moment. He would not let his emotions consume him; however, he had better control than that.

“Hmm, they wouldn’t like New York, then.” She snickered to herself, and Hyperion’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Is that where you’re from? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Nah, I don’t care. But yeah, I’m originally from Valencia, but my parents immigrated to the US when I was five, then my mom got a job opportunity in the UK last year, so we’ve been living in London since.”

“That explains your accent, it’s quite… unique.”

“Live in a bilingual household for long enough, see how it changes your speaking skills.” She said, grinning at his soft chuckle.

“I have. My father speaks both French and English, and when he’s particularly angry, he switches between them so rapidly, I barely know what he’s saying.”

“God, my mother does the same thing.” The two shared an amused look before Reyna straightened up.

“Well, I’m going to go pack my bag for class. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” And with that, the girl departed up the stairs to her room and Hyperion stood up to do as he’d planned, now more determined than before. If he could talk to Miss Lopez, then it would not be weird if he talked to Greengrass.

“Heiress Greengrass, may I have this seat?” His robes were billowing behind him, his uniform perfectly fitted and looking sharp. He wouldn’t start outright defying the tradition until he’d become more stable in his new arena.

“Of course Heir Black.” The girl said blandly, gesturing carelessly to the chair opposite hers. She did give him her attention, though, which was good and polite. He was glad she wasn’t rude; he really didn’t want to put someone in their place this early in the year. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I was just hoping to establish a working relationship between us, as we’ll be house and year mates for the next seven years. I also wanted to apologise for any… distractions caused by last night’s display. It seems the staff at Hogwarts aren’t as… accepting of change as I’d hoped.”

“It is nothing you have to apologise for, Heir Black. That is their issue, not yours. I found it admirable how you handled the whole situation.”

“Thank you.” The two dissolved into an amicable silence before Hyperion noticed the book in her lap. “May I ask what you’re reading?”

“Our potions textbook. I’ve heard from my older cousin that Professor Snape likes challenging his students even during the first lesson of their first year.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard that as well. I practiced the potions during the summer just in case. Which did you find most fascinating?”

“Of the first year curriculum, I’d have to say the Forgetfulness Potion.” And so they delved into a talk about potions, with Millicent Bulstrode joining them with her own surprisingly insightful opinions.

And as they walked to class thirty minutes later, Hyperion couldn’t help smirking to himself.

Step one had just began, and it seemed to be going quite well.

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

Orion Black’s office had been designed by the man himself, with his specific wants and needs in mind. The furniture was all done in African Blackwood, an expensive dark wood that he’d had imported specifically for his space, just to emphasize the dark, borderline gothic aesthetic the man had preferred. The black leather chair was soft and regal, long-backed like a throne with silver trim. The walls were made of the same wood, with bookshelves covering them from floor to ceiling. The areas that weren’t covered by the dark mahogany shelves were painted a matt black, and there were two black leather armchairs with a matching couch opposite the desk. Even though Orion had died over a decades ago, his office was still as opulent as it’d been when he’d been alive, as Kreacher had always taken extremely good care of it.

There, lounging on his chair, with a tumbler of expensive whiskey in one hand and a white feathered quill being twilled in the other, was the man’s second son, Regulus Black, looking for all intents and purposes like he owned the place. His legs were stretched out with his ankle length heeled boots clad feet resting on the wooden desk, and he was looking blankly at the man sitting opposite him. Dressed in a black shirt tucked into matching slacks with his sleeves rolled up to show his pale arms with their grotesque black veins, he was the picture of a bored wealthy man.

“Why exactly are you drinking at eleven in the morning?” Barty Crouch Jr, who was lounging on the couch and staring at his oldest friend with an amused smirk on his face, said with a raised eyebrow. He’d decided to forego the black on black ensembles he’d been wearing recently to blend in and was wearing what he’d always been more attracted to, extravagant but rebellious clothes – a brown leather blazer, a sheer black blouse underneath and dark green jeans to tie the over-the-top look together. If only his father could see him now, he’d probably have a stroke and die of shame. If only, but one could dream.

“Oh, it’s happy hour somewhere.” Regulus replied with a shrug, taking a sip of his drink and relishing the burn it sent down his throat. This was his father’s expensive whiskey after all. “Since when do you paint your nails anyways?”

“Since I’m free from my bastard of a father and his insane standards.” The two cackled at that, sharing a dark look tinged with violent humour. He hadn’t just painted his nails either, he’d also dyed the tips of his hair a neon green. Truly, Barty had gone all out; he’d even put in the brow and lip piercings he’d gotten from a rebellious classmate in their sixth year.

After a moment, Regulus straightened up, put his feet firmly on the ground, and pulled a parchment towards him to start writing.

“Why are we reaching out to Severus again?” Barty asked, his brows furrowed in mild confusion.

“Because we need allies, and he’s literally the only person I trust in the fiery dump that is Hogwarts. Besides, I need him to understand Rion before he insults him and my son decides killing him and secretly burying his body in the forest would be more conducive for society.”

“Merlin, but you raised a little hellion, ya know that?”

“Hyperion is not a hellion, he’s just… extremely surgical when it comes to removing annoyances.”

“So…. A psychopath.” The two cackled at that, happy that the kid they’d raised was as ruthless as they were.

“Shush, Bartemius, I need to write this.”

“Whatever you say, Regulus Arcturus.” That had Regulus rolling his eyes in annoyance before he concentrated on the parchment in front of him. He started writing what he thought of, squeezing his mind so it can be as vague but meaningful as possible, using wording that only Severus Snape would understand the underlying meaning of.

“Alright.” He said after an hour, finally done and satisfied. Barty had decided to take a book off the bookshelves and had started reading it to pass the time.

“Hmm?” He raised his head, and his eyes seemed to take a moment to focus on his friend’s face. “Oh, you’re done? By the way, I feel I need to say this, but your father had a weird taste in books. Like who likes ‘100 methods of medieval torture’. ”

“Yes I’m done. And I’m aware my father was… eccentric.”

“Hit me then. What’d you write to our dearest friend?” Barty asked, raising himself a bit to focus.

“My Dearest Bat, I write to ask that you return my bloomslang skin, you fucking hog. I’d hate to have to send my curses and mutt after you. You know where to find me, you hypocrite, because I am as stuck by expectations as you are. Hope to see you soon, and bring that mulled wine you make with you. Love, RAB.”

“Did you seriously mention Polyjuice with an ingredient?” Barty asked, completely exasperated by his friend and his Slytherin tendencies. He would’ve never lasted in the snake pit, even if most of his friends had been members – he’d been perfectly happy being a badger, thank you very much. The subtle machinations alone would’ve killed him, much less the political arena that was constantly ongoing.

“Yes, I did. He’d obviously catch on, as it was our code word back during the war.”

“Wait. You used Polyjuice during the war? Why?” Barty asked, as it was the first time he’d heard of this.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Regulus said with a smug smirk, amusement colouring his features when his friend sputtered at the annoying answer.

“Merlin, you’re a menace.” Barty muttered under his breath before darting his eyes to the letter. “How’re you gonna send it anyway? Can’t use an owl, or someone might track it back to here.”

“Hmm. I could hide Loki from being seen like I do with Hyperion’s letters, but I did have another idea in mind for this one.” He waved his wand, and a thick black-covered book hurtled towards him, smacking the desk loudly. “Oops, too powerful.”

“Show off.” Barty scoffed as he moved to stand beside Regulus while he flipped through the pages.

“Ah! Here it is.” He exclaimed, pointing to one passage in what was obviously a spell book or a grimoire.

“Transportation Fire? You’re going to burn the letter?”

“To send it to its destination, obviously. It’s the way magicals used to communicate before they’d discovered the lovely owl system.” Regulus explained as he read the instructions a few times before shutting the book firmly. Barty, who’d been absorbed in reading the opposite page, jumped in surprise then sneered at his infuriating friend.

Regulus waved his wand over the letter and mumbled the incantation. “Exuro.” The paper suddenly caught fire but it was black and quicker than normal fire. Within a few moments, the parchment had disappeared, leaving bits of ash in its wake.

“And that’s that.” Regulus said as he stood up to leave the office, considering this a job well done.

“Let’s see what happens then.” Barty said as he followed the other man, the two heading to get some duelling practice in.

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

Neville Francis Longbottom had been called many things in life, short as it had been. When he’d failed to develop any sort of accidental magic after his parents’ tragic fall, he’d been called useless; a squib that would amount to nothing. He’d accepted the titles, unable to defend himself as he’d been too young and they’d come from family. The words had never been uttered around his grandmother, for obvious reasons, until she’d caught the perpetrator, his great uncle Algie, throwing him off of the manor’s longest tower. That had been a day! He had managed to save himself, yes, proving that Algernon’s methods, while barbaric, had worked, but his grandmother had heard none of it. An hour later, Algernon Nott had been removed from the premise and its wards and refused any access to the Longbottom ancestral home.

No one hurt Dowager-Lady Augusta Longbottom’s grandson and got away with it, not even her brother. She was as Machiavellian as her birth house’s name suggested.

Now here he stood, preparing to step into the first class of the year at Hogwarts as a Gryffindor of all things. He’d truly thought Hufflepuff would become his home – he was shy, wimpy and a bit of a coward, he had no idea what the hat saw in him beyond his family name that made it clear he’d belong in the lion’s den.

“Why are you mumbling under your breath?” He heard a familiar voice ask from behind him, and he turned to find his dearest, most annoying cousin looking at him with his usual blank stare. Merlin, it was like staring into the depths of an empty grass plane whenever he looked into the other boy’s eyes, it was a bit rattling.

“Just trying to remember everything. I heard Snape hated Gryffindors. I don’t want to give him any more ammunition than that.”

Theodore Nott smirked briefly at him, amused by his rambling as always, before inclining his head in agreement.

“Good idea.” The two delved into a comfortable silence after that, as had been the case since they were toddlers. Neville was the often frazzled, nervous rambler, while Theo was the calm, silent listener. It was weird how they were related, but their differences seemed to make their relationship easier and stronger as a result.

“Hey Theo?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re still friends, right? Even though I’m a lion and you’re a snake.”

“Yes, you dumbass, we’re related, which I believe you’ve said before makes us automatically friends. Or do you take back those words?”

“No!” Neville exclaimed loudly, attracting the attention of everyone gathered there with them, who gave the unlikely duo strange looks. He’d been adamant on denying his cousin’s words, but the wide smirk on the boy’s face made it clear he’d been messed with. Typical. “Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

That had Theo cackling loudly, making all the first year Slytherins stare at them in shock once more. Before Theodore could respond, though, the door opened with a bang, finally allowing the students inside.

“I’m not sitting with you.” The brunette said as he walked inside, “You’re hopeless at potions, and I’m not getting blown up because of you.”

“Fine.” Neville said as he took a seat at what seemed to be the Gryffindor side of the room. It was sad to watch as the two groups seemed to subconsciously divide among themselves, not wanting the stigma that seemed to come with interacting with the other house.

The dungeons were dark and dank, with an oppressive atmosphere that would stiffen even the most seasoned of wizards. There were shelves at the back with jars of pickled, floating and differently coloured specimens that were a bit disgusting.

There were only three Gryffindor boys, so Neville found himself sitting alone for a moment before someone grabbed the seat next to him and settled in.

“Mind if I join you?” A low voice asked, and Neville turned to find the most unexpected person to sit beside him doing exactly that.

“Umm, sure…. But, wouldn’t you rather sit with another Slytherin?” Neville asked, staring at Hyperion Black in shock.

“Not really. Besides, the seats are uneven. Someone would’ve been forced to sit with a Gryffindor, and I was willing anyway.” The other boy explained simply, giving Neville a small smile. And after a moment of thought, Neville realised that he was right. There were eleven Slytherins and seven Gryffindors, it was bound to be uneven.

“Well alright then.” Neville said quietly, nodding as he sank into his chair, trying to relax before the lesson began.

Severus Snape entered in all his black-wearing glory, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode into the class to stand in front of the students. His pale face was stuck in an intimidating sneer, his slicked back black hair reached just above his shoulders, and his wand was in his hand like he was ready to curse anyone who dared irritate him.

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few… who possess the predisposition… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.” His words were said in a slow, chilling tone, his eyes cold as they swept through the class. Even though the speech itself could be considered theatrical in a sense, the way he enunciates every word made it clear that he was not here to play, but to teach you in as torturous a way as possible.

“Now, Mister Black, our newest… celebrity…. Can you tell me what would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” He asked, directing his dark eyes to Hyperion, who looked at the man impassively.

“The Draught of Living Death. A potion so powerful, any magical who ingests it appears to be dead when they’re only in a death-like state, like a coma.”

“Correct. Ten points to Slytherin.” He said with a nod before moving onto Neville, who gulped nervously.

“Longbottom! Where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?”

“Umm…. I…. Goat’s stomach?” Neville stuttered out, making his answer sound more like a question, which seemed to anger the professor, whose eyes flashed dangerously, making Neville shrink back into his seat.

“Is that a question or an answer?”

“An answer…?” Neville squeaked out fearfully. Hyperion, seeming to notice Neville’s deteriorating mental state, grabbed his hand under the desk and squeezing it in comfort. Neville took a fortifying breath before repeating his words a bit more confidently. “An answer sir.”

“Correct. Now, who can tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” He moved away from their table, and Neville breathed a sigh of relief.

“Wow, you’re really scared of him, huh?” Hyperion whispered to him, mouth quirked in a small, amused smirk.

“He’s scary.”

“Not if you know how to act around him.”

“Easy for you to say,” Neville scoffed softly, “You’re like the epitome of perfect pureblood heir.”

“Hmm, I suppose I am more composed than the average eleven year old.”

“More composed? You’re like a miniature Lord. I never thought the Potter Heir would be like that.”

“Well, I’m not just the Potter Heir. I’m the Black Heir as well.” Hyperion said simply, like that was explanation enough, and maybe it was. The House of Black had its own reputation of being disciplined and refined at all times.

Before they could continue their conversation, Snape started the lesson, and they had to concentrate because potions was a very precise science. With Neville’s love of herbology and knowledge on ingredient interaction and Hyperion’s shocking skills and precision with a knife, they managed to finish their potion in record time, and it turned out to be quite good.

Neville found himself actually liking working with the other boy, and wondered how their relationship might evolve from there.

Ronald Weasley thought life would be difficult being the first Weasley to go to Hufflepuff in over a century, but it was actually quite nice. His classmates were welcoming, his head of house was sweet and caring, the prefects were all available and happy to help, and even those who seemed a bit arrogant were actually pretty kind once you got to know them a bit. It was weird not being in the same House as his brothers, but Fred and George seemed to find it funny, and Percy was supportive. His brothers were actually being nicer to him now than they’d ever been.

“Remember Ron, you’ll always be a Weasley. Gryffindor or not.” Percy had told him that morning, and even though Ron normally found his older brother a bit uptight and boring, he couldn’t help feeling warm and safe when he’d heard these words. “Honestly, I slightly regret forcing Gryffindor onto myself. I would’ve been much better in Ravenclaw, but I feared being an outcast. You’re braver than I am.”

“That was the best,”

“Act of rebellion a Weasley,”

“Has ever pulled off!” Fred and George had told him with wide grins, alternating between their words as if he could still be confused after living with them for his whole life.

His new classmates had also been very caring. Both Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones had been comforting after the shock of his sorting, as they both knew how stifling family expectations can be, but he’d honestly become closest to Steven Yoon, who’d talked to him for hours and played with him multiple games, including his favourite, Wizard’s Chess, where they were currently tied.

He’d sent the letters to his family telling them about his sorting that morning, and thankfully his brothers seemed to have held off from sharing until now. It had taken Steven literally dragging him to the owlery to get him to do it, yes, but he’d done it.

“It’s just going to be worse if you prolong the inevitable.” His friend said in his distinct accent that Ron had discovered was the result of mostly growing up in South Korea. It had an undertone of British in it, but was still diverse enough to make a friend ask. They’d just spent lunch together, where Ron had been mopping and groaning about his mother’s reaction to his sorting. “Besides, I don’t know much about Hogwarts culture, but Hufflepuff doesn’t seem so bad.”

“It isn’t!” Ron said as they walked to their next class, which was Herbology with the Slytherins. “And it’s not about Hogwarts, it’s about my family. For over a hundred years, Weasleys have always been in Gryffindor. I’m literally the first one in like five generation to be anywhere else.”

“So it’s legacy?” At Ron’s nod, he continued, “I can understand that. Family names mean something to some Koreans. My grandmother always said that Yoons were destined for great things. To her last breath, she said I’d be a lawyer like my father, and his father, and his father before him. But I really don’t want to. I don’t even like standing in front of crowds, I’d die on a stand.”

“I mean, now that you’re at Hogwarts, I don’t think you’ll be forced into anything.” Ron said softly, and Steven smiled in joy at that.

The two were a weird duo. Where Steven was all dark eyes and dark flopping hair with an air about him that was confident even though he’d literally never heard of magic until a month or so ago, Ron was lanky and self-conscious, with wild auburn hair and shifty blue eyes that were always looking around suspiciously.

But honestly, Ron liked him a lot, and hoped they’d stay friends for a long time.

“Hey Ron.” A voice said from behind him, and the two turned to find the subject of Hogwarts’ rumour mill heading in their direction.

“Hi Hyperion.” Ron replied softly, peering at the boy critically to see if the rumours were getting to him at all. Some were saying he’s Harry Potter who’d been possessed, others were saying he’d been kidnapped and brainwashed, and some were even saying that the killing curse had corrupted him. It was all very horrible stuff, really, but they didn’t seem to be doing anything to the boy himself, as he directed a small smirk at them.

“Hyperion Black, pleasure to meet you.” The boy said to Steven, who gave him a small smile.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Steven Yoon.” The two shook hands, and exchanged nods before Hyperion was pulled into another conversation, giving them an apologetic smile as he turned around to reply to his blond cousin.

“He seems nice.” Steven said simply, tilting his head as he took in the enigma that was near them.

“He is. He defended a muggle-born on the train from his own cousin. But he’s also really powerful and charismatic. It was kind of scary to see in action.”

“Hmm…. A leader….” The two continued on their way, but not without exchanging contemplative looks when Hyperion took a seat beside Susan Bones and started engaging her in conversation before class, attracting the attention of Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan as well.

He didn’t just seem like a leader, but like a man on a mission. He would definitely be causing havoc to the status quo at Hogwarts.

Azkaban Prison, The North Sea.

“That seems excessive.”

“Do you have a better idea?!” The two Black cousins stuck in neighbouring prison cells were bickering, something that they had been doing almost every night since Bellatrix had seemed to regain some of her mental faculties. How that had happened, you may wonder. Well, when Sirius Black is particularly angry, his Black gift activates even when he is weak and depressed, and this particular gift – known among Blacks as the ‘Crown of Shadows’ – allows him to command loyalty and obedience from anyone, even the dementors when necessary, and if he exerts his will enough, he could even get someone to submit completely.

One day, when he’d been in a particularly foul mood, he’d literally screamed at Bella to ‘finally get her head out of her arse and get back to being the cousin he’d looked up to as a kid’ and she just… did.

It’d been disorienting, and weird as fuck, but Sirius had gone with it. Escaping was obviously the topic they spoke of the most, but they also reminisced sometimes, and other times they’d bicker to hell like this moment.

“I’m just saying, blowing the place up might kill us too.” Bella said with a raised eyebrow, amused by her cousin’s violent ideas.

“Who cares?! Better than staying in this hellhole and letting Regulus indoctrinate my sweet godson into his Slytherin ways.”

“Bloody hell, you’re dramatic. And I thought I was the most dramatic Black.”

Before Sirius could respond, probably with a snarky but aggressive comment, they heard footsteps coming their way.

“What the hell? What’s a patrol doing here at this hour?” Sirius whispered urgently, as he knew these weren’t the normal guards’ footsteps, or the dementors who didn’t make a sound at all. Actually, the steps were a bit familiar.

As the two stared ahead, two women came walking in with calm steps and stopped in front of Sirius’s cell. The two were incredibly familiar to him, and he couldn’t help smirking slightly at the two.

“So you didn’t escape.” The redhead of the two said in a no nonsense tone, one Sirius had heard directed at him one too many times over the period he worked in the corps.

 “Amy! And Binnie! Whatcha doing here?”

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t call me that ya bastard.” The blond said in her Irish brogue, glaring at him with icy blue eyes. Merlin, she was as fiery as ever.

Amelia Bones and Sabrina Moody had been his friends from back when he’d been one of the youngest but most accomplished Hit Wizards in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. While Amelia had been their boss, Sabrina and he had become partners when James had left the corps at eighteen to take over the House of Potter after his parents had passed away. They’d been good together, really good in fact, and Sirius had been incredibly attracted to the fierce and powerful Irish girl who could even go against her scary legend of an uncle Alastor Moody. They’d gone out during their sixth year at Hogwarts, but it hadn’t lasted wrong after Sirius had realised he was actually in love with someone else.

“Why would you ask me if I escaped?” He asked, tilting his head like his canine-self was inclined to do.

“Because Hyperion Black just arrived at Hogwarts instead of Harry Potter. Some thought you’d escaped, kidnapped the boy and blood adopted him.” Amelia explained simply, and Sirius’s jaw clenched.

“Fucking bastard! He named him Hyperion?!” Sirius exclaimed, cussing loudly. “No, it’s obviously not me! Though I want to kill the son of a bitch who did.”

“That’s comforting at least.” Sabrina said, smirking at his misery.

“Thank you for your help Black, we’ll take it from here.” Amelia said softly, walking away before she could say something she’d regret.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?” Sirius said softly, and Sabrina sighed as her shoulders slumped.

“I don’t know Siri. Killing James, I don’t believe, but killing Peter Pettigrew…. I can’t be sure. If you were angry enough, you would.” With another shared look, Sabrina left with a shake of her head and Sirius slumped against the wall.

“Better than nothing?” Bella asked with a raised brow, and Sirius laughed bitterly.

“Hyperion? What kind of name is that?”

“A good one. It has an elegant meaning, it follows his new Black ancestry’s traditions and it’s a king’s name, so his Potter family is also honoured.”

“Shut up.” Sirius mumbled bitterly, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to admit that she was right. Cackling to herself, Bellatrix settled down beside him on the other side of the bars and waited for him to seethe and rage until he’d calmed down.

And Sirius did, trying his hardest not to want to strangle his brother to death and then bring him back to do it again.

He would escape and he’d prove to his godson that he was better and more deserving of loyalty than his stupid brother!

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

Night had fallen at Hogwarts School, but Albus Dumbledore couldn’t sleep. He was pacing his office, thinking over everything that had just changed. The shifts in his plans had been drastic, and unnerving.

Harry Potter, whom he’d ensured would be raised by a muggle family who would keep him grounded and humble, hadn’t arrived at all. In his place, a Black so cunning and ambitious had walked into the halls of Hogwarts and stumped everyone.

He’d made sure to check, and Sirius Black was still in his cell in Azkaban, so who could have possibly found the boy, adopted him and raised him for long enough to completely change his personality?

He was confident, strong willed and always had a calculating look on his face, as if he was trying to decide if the interaction he was engaged in would benefit him enough to continue or not. He didn’t seem to believe in blood supremacy, as he regularly conversed with and smiled at Muggle-born students, which was a bit comforting but not enough to calm Albus. The boy would never bow to anyone’s will or be a hero, which was not good. Not good at all.

Harry Potter was supposed to be the saviour everyone looked to for safety, but Hyperion Black seemed to only do the saving when he thought it would benefit him, a true Slytherin.

He would have to try to nip this in the bud, or else the Wizarding World would perish.

But how…?

Chapter Text

September 9^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

This is a journal that will be used to store my thoughts on certain matters, as requested by Father, who thought it’d be good for me to write this down to process things. He thinks I’ve started keeping things in and letting it pile on top of each other, and he might not be wrong, per se, but still. I don’t need a journal! I’m just doing this to appease him. So, let me recap the past week.

Lessons at Hogwarts haven’t been as… intuitive or rounded as I’d hoped. Father had warned me, yes, but I truly thought the school might have gotten better since his time. It hasn’t. It might have actually been the opposite. Okay. I’ll write this in chronological order.

First was potions, and Father had been right about Severus Snape. He is strict, aggressive at times, and extremely talented at potions, though not very much at teaching. He hates all students, but seems to hold an especially strong grudge against the Gryffindors. He did mumble some insults about my father, but thought better than to say them to my face, which is good. I didn’t want to have to get revenge on him so early in the year. The one critique I have is that he doesn’t really explain the steps or how the ingredients react to each other or any other potions’ techniques used in the brewing process. He expects all students to have already read the books that explain it all, and while those who have magical parents with high expectations like myself might’ve already read everything, those who aren’t very studious or come from muggle backgrounds hadn’t, so they were confused the whole lesson; some had their potions completely fail while others just blew up their cauldrons, which out all of us in danger. He does intimidate everyone, so no one dares to go against his rules during the lesson, something that does dissuade everyone from any mischief making, so that’s good at least. All in all, good curriculum, strict rules, poor execution.

Second was transfiguration with Minerva McGonagall, and she was the opposite of Snape. Her teaching was phenomenal, in the sense that she was supportive but strict and able to encourage students to perform well. Her curriculum isn’t very challenging, but maybe that’s just because I’ve definitely cast much harder spells than most first years. Her beliefs, however, have annoyed me slightly. She does not treat Slytherins as warmly as her lions, and that’s understandable I suppose, but she does sometimes look at me like I’m the devil incarnate. She also called me Harry at random points during the lesson, and it took all of my willpower to not curse her every time she did so. I don’t really care for now, or I try not to, but it might get tiresome after a while. I wonder if it’s because of the whole boy-who-lived bullshit. If this continues, I might have to say something or ask father to send a letter, but for now I’ll allow it with mild irritation.

Professor Filius Flitwick is quite charming, pun fully intended. I found myself facing the same problem as transfiguration where the spells taught are a bit too easy, but as opposed to how McGonagall just gave me points when I achieved the spell first and told me to read on in the book, Flitwick told me to practice another spell as an extra lesson, which I appreciated a lot. He is fair, kind and very supportive of his students, and doesn’t treat the Ravenclaws differently from what I’ve seen, even though he is their head of house. He is my favourite so far, and I enjoy his lessons.

The biggest issue has to be Quirinus Quirrell, who teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts. Ironically, since he gives off a very dark aura that unnerves me greatly. Normally, I would enjoy someone who embraces their darkness, but he hides behind stutters and fear and a stupidly disgusting turban that smells like garlic. Other than that, I believe he is related to something… suspicious. He’s too shifty and his actions aren’t even very subtle. I would think the Dark Lord would be better…. How disappointing. I will send Father a letter detailing this, of course, but only when I get more evidence to prove this hunch of mine. His teaching style is very shitty, though. No offense to anyone with a stutter, but even after processing and piecing together everything he was saying, it was a very useless lesson overall. The content isn’t even related to any real world applications, which I thought was the whole point of DADA.

Herbology was one of the more interesting subjects, as I wasn’t very well versed in the science. Professor Sprout is the epitome of a Hufflepuff, which I appreciate for this more… high stakes subject. You do get to work with the plant itself, not just theoretical work, so her calm nature helps the students stay composed during the more stressful parts of the lesson. The practical application is also a lot more fun than reading or sitting at a desk and waving your wand. I like the subject, more than I thought I would.

Father was completely right about Binns and History of Magic. It’s repetitive, boring and truthfully, almost completely inaccurate. Binns is the most boring man and ghost I’ve ever met, and his lectures are considered by most students the closest thing to nap time Hogwarts offers, and I agree. It is more productive to get a book and read under the desk than focus on the lesson itself.

The students are all very different and I’ve found some of them particularly fascinating, so I look forward to getting to know them more and perhaps allying my family with some of theirs politically as well.

On a more dramatic note, I am finding the Black gift hard to control, especially since I’m around so much sentient magic all the time. The week has been hard on me for that alone, but I think I have it controlled enough now. Some spirits were nice and helpful, but others were just torturous…. Screaming and shouting and… it’s just painful. The shadows almost stabbed Draco after a particularly rough argument, but I managed to reel them in before that could occur, which is good, as I would’ve found the complaining very aggravating.

To recap, first week wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t the worst either, and that’s on par with Hogwarts I suppose.

September 15^th 1991

Knockturn Alley, Diagon Alley, London, England.

“Was the disgusting location truly necessary?” A dark voice said with a clear sneer, and Regulus rolled his eyes behind his glass of scotch.

“It’s called anonymity, though I know it’s a concept you’re not very familiar with.”

“Funny.”

Severus Snape had walked into the dingy bar expecting this all to be a big prank – that he’d curse someone for tricking him and be done with the whole thing, returning to his comfortable room at Hogwarts in under ten minutes and enjoying his weekend with a nice book and a bottle of whiskey, the good kind, not that revolting fiery hell wizards called whiskey.

But no, he’d walked towards the table he and one Regulus Black had always met at during the war and found a man in a thick black cloak lounging there like he owned the place, a tumbler of scotch in his hand while the other tapped lightly on the dusty table. The man whom everyone had thought died a horrible death at the Dark Lord’s hand after defecting was actually right there, even if Severus was the only one who seemed to recognize his very distinctive face under the hood.

“Oh, did you really think I’d die such a useless death, my friend? That’s a bit insulting.” The younger man said blandly, gesturing to the chair opposite him with his free hand.

Severus settled down with a blank face. He didn’t know what to do or say or even how to feel. This meeting had obviously opened up Severus’s thoughts to a few things. The first was a connection, one that was both simple and complicated in equal measures – Harry Potter had been blood adopted by Regulus himself, not a distant relative like most had hypothesized. The second was even more complicated – Regulus had distanced himself and his new son from both the Death Eaters and Dumbledore himself, something that would infuriate the old man if he found out. The third thought, observation really, was the fact Barty Crouch Jr, whom everyone had thought had died in Azkaban, had actually escaped and sided with Regulus, as Severus could clearly see from the fact he was literally in a seat a few tables over, watching but not intervening. Backup for Regulus, as they’d always been to each other during the war.

This was either going to completely change the hierarchy of the war, or it would cause chaos so extreme, it could burn their world as they knew it. It was unclear, but what was clear was the fact a new side had emerged, and Severus was obviously being offered a place at its top. Was he really ready to betray both his masters and become a triple spy?

“I see you’ve realised what is happening here.” Regulus said in a cool tone that revealed nothing, his smirk barely visible over the roof of his glass and the hood he was wearing, shooting the look at the man sitting in front of him with a deceptively blank look on face.

“I have…. I don’t know if triple crossing is worth the mess, though.”

“I can assure you, you’d just be doing what you’ve always wished to do. You’d finally get away from both the old man and the psycho.”

“Yes, but at what cost? This is huge, and I don’t know if changing the status quo so much will be… possible without very extreme consequences.”

“I don’t think it can be stopped at this point, and I don’t intend on stopping my son from actively fuelling it either. You must realise that change is inevitable with the new generation, loath the old man is to admit it.” Regulus said with a shrug, and Severus nodded in understanding.

“I do, I just don’t know if I’ll survive this.”

“You would if you joined my side, Sev. We’re Slytherins, darling, survival literally runs through our veins.”

And the man was right, wasn’t he? And Severus had always prided himself on surviving even in the toughest and most dangerous of situations, so what made this one any different.

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

“He is nothing like we expected him to be.” Minerva was saying with a frown on her face. Dumbledore had called her and Severus into his office that night, which was coincidentally right after Severus’s meeting with Regulus, as if he’d felt the disturbance in the air from his very high tower. Severus knew the newly revealed Mister Black was the topic of this discussion, but he hadn’t expected the two to be as… negative as they were. Their words were definitely harsher than was necessary when talking about an eleven year old, a Black or not. “It’s disturbing Albus. Like he’s been moulded into the perfect pureblood heir.”

“It is also very dangerous, Minerva. I’d like you and Severus to try to discourage any… pureblood political agendas he might’ve picked up from his new guardian. I will try to return him to his muggle relatives through the ministry, or convince him to return himself. I’m sure this guardian he’s been living with isn’t very… accommodating; he is a Black after all. Harry Potter must stay a hero in everyone’s eyes. His sorting into Slytherin has hindered that a bit, of course, but I’m sure we can find a work around for this issue.”

“What if he doesn’t want to?” Severus asked simple, eyes twitching slightly in irritation. Why do they always seem to forget that he was a Slytherin amongst them?

“Of course he will! He’s Harry Potter, Severus.” Minerva said as if she were speaking to an idiot, like the name Harry Potter meant the boy was automatically conditioned to have these thoughts. Bloody hell but these Gryffindors were infuriating.

“No, he’s Hyperion Black now. He doesn’t even respond to Harry at all and barely does to Potter.”

“He’ll remember. I’m sure having his parents’ deeds spelled out to him will make him understand that they’d be quite disappointed with what he’d become, which would bring his mind back to the mind of the Harry Potter that we need to save the world.”

Severus pursed his lips to stop himself from snorting. God help him, they were bull-headed, these boorish Gryffindors. They didn’t realise that the boy they were talking about had been sorted into Slytherin house for a reason, and not just because of his new last name. He would see a manipulation like that coming miles away, and would despise them more for trying it. They were literally plotting how to win over the boy using ways that would do the complete opposite. Severus; however, decided not to comment, just watched on as they continued planning.

“Albus, maybe you should speak to him –” Minerva said, but Dumbledore cut her off with a shake of his head before she could continue.

“Not now, no. It might intimidate him, I’m afraid. I believe mellowing him down first before calling him to my office would be more productive. Please speak with him, Minerva, tell him a few stories about his parents, see how he reacts and let me know afterwards.”

“Of course.” Minerva nodded, agreeing to his plan, which Severus thought was just plain stupid, but who was he to judge.

“Could you give myself and Severus a moment alone?” The woman left with a suspicious look, closing the doors softly behind her.

“Harry Potter cannot be a pureblood Slytherin, Severus. You need to make him hate the house of snakes.”

“How could I possibly turn a Black away from Slytherin? It’s quite literally their destiny to excel in the house. Loath I am to admit it, even Sirius Black would’ve excelled in the House, stupid as he was.” Severus asked bluntly, face set into a hard sneer. “You have to accept that’s who he is now, Albus.”

“No, I’m afraid not. Hyperion Black would never sacrifice himself the way Harry Potter would’ve, the way he needs to. The saviour must be trusted and liked by everyone, and I’m afraid that will never happen if he is a Black.” Dumbledore said with a sad shake of his head, and Severus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes in frustration. Again. This conversation was just getting tiresome and redundant at that point. “I believe treating him harshly might start that transition. If he hates you as we’d previously planned, it might work to at least turn him away from those in Slytherin who would steer him to the wrong side.”

“Understood.” He said, but in his mind, he found himself finally making a decision, and it certainly wasn’t in the Light’s favour.

September 16^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

A long day as Monday usually is, the end is usually on the quieter side. All of Slytherin hang out together in groups or alone, mostly in their own dorms but some do it in the common area, where they can socialise with others while reading or studying.

The common room was a minefield of networking and Hyperion had been taking his time observing and assessing the others, especially the older students. Some were on the more stubborn, purist side, while others were calmer and more level-headed. Hyperion didn’t know who to approach first, as the choices were many.

On the one hand, Marcus Flint was the Captain of the Quidditch team, with his own connections, but he was known to be aggressive and his family had been hard-core Death Eaters before his mother defeated Voldy. So…. Was he a viable option for older allies? Perhaps, but Hyperion didn’t want to associate with someone like that so early into his time at the school. Maybe after establishing his reputation.

There was also Adrien Pucey and Cassius Warrington, the current duo who technically handled Slytherin’s internal affairs alongside Gemma Farley. It was risky, especially if he appeared suspicious. Trustworthy was the aura he was trying to give off, which was difficult for a paranoid Black like himself, but he’s trying… or so he told his father in their weekly correspondence.

Before he could finally make a decision, a hand tapped his shoulders. Whirling around and taking on a semi-defensive posture, he found Cassius Warrington giving him an impressed look, raised brow, blank mask and all. It was annoying, but Hyperion resisted the urge to slit the boy’s throat out of respect of his position of authority in Slytherin, fleeting as Hyperion hoped it’d be.

“Are you going to keep standing here like an unnerving statue for long?”

“I was just considering who would have the most helpful advice for my issue.” Hyperion said simply, even though the words were a bit of a bluff, facing the boy fully and making direct eye contact, which got the expected reaction – goose pimples and narrowed eyes. Fear and suspicion. Perfect. “Apologies if I was interrupting something, Heir Warrington.”

“You weren’t, but I was wondering why you were lurking I suppose.” Warrington said with a tilt to his head as he backtracked a bit. “What’s your inquiry?”

“Is there a place in the dungeons I can practice actually stimulating magic?”

“Stimulating?” The older boy asked, sounding confused by the weird request but also interested. Hook, line and sinker, or so the muggles would say….

“Yes, the first-year curriculum is... lacking in practical application. I believe initiative in self-improvement reflects well on our House's reputation, so I’d like to start practicing more advanced spells soon.”

“That’s… very mature of you. There’s an empty room beside the potion’s classroom that some use for duelling and charms practice.”

“Thank you.”

And as Hyperion walked away to his dorms, he felt everyone’s eyes on him and couldn’t help smirking to himself.

“Smug, aren’t you?” Draco said as he caught up to him, and Hyperion just raised an amused eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked as he led his cousin to their room, “I’ll have them curious and wondering by the end of term.”

September 20^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

The classroom was a smart idea, and getting to beat Draco’s ass every few days was a bloody delight. One day, as he was returning to the common room, he found himself bumping into a set of pretty familiar twins.

Fred and George Weasley were legends among Hogwarts’ student body. Pranksters they may be, but they didn’t discriminate, messing with everyone they could, unlike the group of pranksters before them – or so Regulus says.

“Ah, the little Black.” One of the twins said with a small grin while the other waved sarcastically.

“How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine…?” Hyperion replied in a questioning tone, finding the interaction quite confusing. “Umm, why are you here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The two said at the same time, sharing identical mischievous smirks. Actually… they weren’t completely identical. One smirked with his right side while the other did so with the left. How peculiar….

Hyperion just stared at them for a moment before turning his back and walking away, but then he heard their footsteps as they followed behind him.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Actually yes, you can.” The first one to talk, apparently the more courageous of the two, began.

“We heard you’re quite adept at charms and transfiguration.” The second twin said with a wide smile, looking contemplatively at Hyperion.

“I suppose….” He said, prolonging the word, still very much confused by the whole interaction and showing it in his tone.

“Well, we have this idea….”

“But we’re a little lost on the exact execution.”

“Sure, I can take a look.” But before he could continue with scheduling a time to do exactly that, they grabbed an arm each and dragged him away in the opposite direction of his dorms. “Whoa, where are we going?!”

“To our lab!”

And with that, Hyperion found himself stimulated in another, more creative avenue, in another abandoned classroom that the twins had turned into a perfectly working invention lab, with cauldrons full of potions and whizzing objects moving around the tables. It was fascinating, and Hyperion found himself enjoying himself, surprisingly enough. The duo were funny and bloody brilliant, with heads filled with lovely ideas that really pushed the limits of Hyperion’s mind. He would make sure that this wasn’t a one-time thing.

He would definitely be writing his father about them and the challenges they approached him with. Regulus would enjoy the strange questions alone.

September 21^st 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

“I believe this is a good idea. Getting to know one’s classmates can be quite beneficial.” Tracey Davis said with her distinct Welsh accent, smiling softly at the room at large. After knowing her for the past couple of weeks, Hyperion had realised she was actually more on the friendly side than some of his other classmates. Approachable and open, she’d already befriended Megan Bones from Hufflepuff, Padma Patil from Ravenclaw and Parvati Patil from Gryffindor, cementing her position as the most social of the first year Slytherins.

“Agreed. It would be great if we could all be at least friendly, if not friends and allies. Slytherin does thrive on unity above everything.” The others nodded in agreement to Blaise Zabini’s words, while Hyperion looked on from his seat with a blank stare.

They were gathered in one of the many meeting rooms the dungeons had – as Salazar Slytherin had ensured that his students prioritised planning meetings and social gatherings, and encouraged it by having these rooms available at all times for whoever needed them. Some were used for studying, others for friendly get-togethers, and some were even used for political meetings between the pureblood heirs and young lords and ladies who resided at Hogwarts during their youth.

Hyperion had taken one of the armchairs, with Draco standing to his right and leaning slightly against the arm, as if they were a king and his most loyal knight, which they weren’t really far off from being.

“Yes, they do,” Hyperion started, and once he had gotten everyone’s full attention, he continued his speech, “We've all been here for about two weeks now, and I’m sure you've seen how the other Houses look at us. You've heard the teachers and what they think of us. We are the house of ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness, and yet we are treated as a nuisance at best and the next generation of dark lords at worst. This ends now. The petty infighting you’ve noticed the older students engage in, the posturing without purpose they do just to get their way — it's beneath us. It makes us look weak. It allows those around us to dismiss us. If we are to be Slytherins, then let us be Slytherins. United we stand, but apart…. I’m afraid we wouldn’t last a day. Our disagreements should be handled in private. Our strength will be displayed as if we were one body. We will not be picked off one by one because we were too busy fighting amongst ourselves to notice our enemies closing in on us.

I am not asking you to like each other, I am simply asking you to be as smart as Slytherins are expected to be. Your success reflects on our House. Your failure echoes on us all as well. We must excel in classes. We must secure alliances across houses where useful. We will not give them a reason to look down on us or see us as the next group of evil murderers. This is not a request or an option, I’m afraid. This is the new reality. Those who understand will thrive. Those who do not.... Well, they’ll find themselves behind."

They looked at him with differing looks. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle looked like they didn’t understand much but were willing to go along with him, Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass shared a look of contemplation as they mulled over his words, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini nodded in agreement, apparently already trusting him after the train ride and the past few weeks of getting to know each other, Reyna Lopez smirked smugly while Millicent Bulstrode smiled a bit, and Pansy Parkinson gave him an appreciative look that he didn’t exactly like but took as her agreeing to his words.

“It’s a very succinct way of describing the current atmosphere here, but unfortunately, Heir Black isn’t wrong.” Daphne said in her usual no nonsense tone, looking at him with her icy blue eyes that gave nothing away.

“Yeah. I’m a muggle-born, and people still look at me like there’s something wrong with me for wearing green. Like I’m betraying my very blood for being a Slytherin.” Reyna said, her eyes flashing in anger at the treatment she’d been given since coming to the school.

“Same here for me, and my father is the literal Lord of an ancient House. But just because I’m a half-blood, it’s like I don’t belong in this house.” Millicent said bluntly, shaking her head in displeasure.

“So we’re all in agreement with Heir Black then?” Blaise asked with a questioning tilt to his head, and everyone nodded in agreement.

“If we implement this,” Draco said with a satisfied smirk, “then I think we should use our first names among each other. Titles are so formal for friendships, don’t you think.”

“Agreed.” Tracey said with a smile, and everyone seemed to also approve of the change in their dynamics, as all those raised by purebloods were especially aware of. Dropping titles and last names when speaking does signal a certain familiarity between them, which was exactly the point.

Hyperion was proud of the progress he’d made with this meeting, and as he watched on while everyone started mingling among each other, he couldn’t help feeling satisfied that step one of their plan was working.

The last thought he had before getting pulled into a conversation with Millicent and Reyna was that his father would like what he’d achieved at Hogwarts so far.

Chapter Text

September 21^st 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! HOW COULD YOU?! HUFFLEPUFF?! WHEN ALL WEASLEYS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN GRYFFINDOR! WHAT A DISGRACE YOU’VE MADE OF US! I AM VERY DISAPPOINTED! YOU BETTER NOT BECOME LAZY LIKE THOSE TWINS JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE IN HUFFLEPUFF!” The bright red howler spat out with the voice of a shrill but loud woman before self-destructing before the eyes of everyone in the Great Hall.

Ron had thought his mother’s silence for the past three weeks was a sign of her reluctant acceptance, but it seemed as though this wasn’t the case. Not even a little bit. Ron’s face burned with embarrassment. Steven sat beside him, patting his back in comfort as he kept smacking his forehead onto the wooden table.

He was spiralling and he knew it. He’d known his mother wouldn’t react very well to his sorting, but this was even worse that he could’ve anticipated. He thought she’d ignore him, maybe send him an aggressively pointed letter, but a howler? He hadn’t thought she’d resort to public shame for something like this, something that was completely out of his control. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall on him, judging him, some even pitying him. It was horrifying.

“Your family can shout all they want. At the end of the day, it’s your wand, your choices, not theirs.” A voice said from behind him, and he raised his head and turned to see Hyperion Black standing there with an unimpressed look on his face. “If they want to scream, let them — you can always scream louder. I have a grandmother who sounds just like your mother. So trust me, it works.”

Behind him, his older twin brothers Fred and George snorted in amusement, and even his stuck-up older brother Percy smiled slightly at the words. Hyperion patted Ron on the shoulder in support before going back to the Slytherin table, giving the brothers space to talk.

“He’s right. Don’t listen to Mum, Ronald. You’ll be just fine in Hufflepuff.” Percy said awkwardly, patting his head before walking off with Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, going after him, giving Ron small smile as they left the hall.

"Listen, Ron... Mum's... Mum's just Mum. She’ll never really change. But we talked to Dad. He thinks it's brilliant. Says Hufflepuff got the best of the lot.” Fred said with a small smile, going to sit on Ron’s right.

“Gryffindor’s full of troublemakers anyway — you’re better off with the badgers." George continued, patting Ron on the arm from his left.

Ron was glad he had such nice brothers, even if they didn’t really know how to comfort people. He smiled at the twins still and leaned his head on George’s shoulder, who, after their oldest brother Bill, was the softest of his brothers.

“Thanks Freddy, Georgie.” He whispered, not noticing the fond looks they shot his way. George rubbed Ron’s back, and he finally felt himself relax for the first time since the start of the day. If his brothers and father supported him, then he would be fine. Eventually.

The letters he got from Bill, Charlie and even Ginny, his youngest and only sister, at the end of the day definitely helped the process of healing along. To know that the problem wasn’t him but his mother, now that was the biggest comfort.

‘Ronnie,

I’m so proud of you! Hufflepuff is lucky to have our best brother, and I hope you enjoy being a puff! They’re the nicest, coolest people I know, and I’m sure you’ll be the best of them by far. Ignore what mum said, she’ll get over it like she did my choice in career, and Charlie’s too. Or you could just join the disappointments club, Merlin knows there are a lot of us in there. I love you, little brother.

Bill.’

‘My dearest youngest brother,

Oh my merlin, you’re a Hufflepuff! I’m so proud of you. The badgers are lucky to have the smartest of the Weasleys. Kick all their asses in chess, alright? Write to me if you ever need help with anything at all. I’ll always be there for you! Mum will be okay soon, so don’t think about it, okay?

Love ya,

Charlie.’

‘Ron,

The first of the Weasleys to go to Hufflepuff. That’s so cool. You’ll obviously destroy them all at chess, and maybe even join the Quidditch team. Honestly, thanks for sorting differently, cause it completely took the pressure off of me, so I can go wherever now without feeling weird. You’re probably the bravest of my brothers, which is a bit iconic.

Mom’s throwing a fit, but she’ll get over it. It’s not worse than Bill getting that piercing or Charlie working with dragons. Maybe she’ll find out about his tattoo and that’ll help her forget about you.

Love,

Ginny.’

Those letters were the best things he’d read that week, and every time he saw them, he’d smile like an idiot to the point that Susan had to hit him on the back of the head to snap him out of his trance multiple times, which just got painful after a while. It also helped that the next day, he received a rather dramatic letter from his grandmother, the current Lady Weasley. He’d expected something like this, especially given the fact that she’d been a Black and a Slytherin before getting married and loved those who rebelled. She has also never really liked his mother, and had always wanted his father to stand up for his children, but his father had always been blinded by his love for Molly Weasley, which made it look like he was in an impassive haze when it came to his kids. It seemed that this situation had finally snapped him, and everyone else who’d let his mother dictate things, out of it. She also wrote a bit like Charlie, something he was sure his brother had noticed and was probably proud of. Those two had always had a pretty close relationship.

‘My dearest youngest grandson,

I am extremely proud of you for breaking free from the Weasley traditions your ancestors have dictated for so very long, like every other pureblood house. Welcome to the differently sorted Weasleys club! I am obviously very disappointed in your father, he’s been very lacklustre in his defence of you all, but this seems to have been the thing to finally break this haze he’s been in.

Molly will definitely not be allowed to contact you until she apologizes. Your grandfather, father and I will make sure of that. We will not let her judgement taint your experience. I honestly don’t understand why she would say such things. Her own brothers were Ravenclaws, and I myself was a proud Slytherin. I am obviously very glad that at least some of the Black blood in your veins is shining through. Now go my young badger, and show those puffs what a Weasley is meant to achieve. I have full faith in your capabilities.

With great love and pride,

Grandmother Cedrella.’

His grandmother’s letter was definitely the most amusing, and showed her Black nature very prominently.

He wondered if Hyperion Black would get along with the whirlwind that was Cedrella Weasley. Probably. Blacks did have this weird aura that let other Blacks know how to approach them.

October 31^st 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

Hermione Jean Granger had thought going to Hogwarts would mean she would finally find people who liked her and wanted to be friends. Her people. The people she might finally be able to get along with and be with for a long time. She’d been constantly bullied in primary school for loving books and wanting her teachers’ approval, but that was the literal slogan of one of the Houses in this school. Being sorted to Ravenclaw seemed like destiny, though she believed in choice more than fate, but then she found that even the house of eagles had its own internal social ladder.

You had the social climbers, who prioritized their social standing over the knowledge they gathered. They were also big bullies who regularly tried using the first years for their personal gain, something which had infuriated Hermione when she’d realised it happened and got her social justice brain fired up. Then you had the class toppers, who always had the best marks in their respective year but only had one or two friends that were similar to them and rarely interacted with people outside their House. And you also had the tutors, who were definitely the nicest of the tiers, who were always willing to help any students in need. The Ravenclaw fifth year prefect Penelope Clearwater was a part of this group, and she was always up to answering any questions asked of her.

The other first years were nice, and she could definitely see herself befriending them, especially the girls. Because they shared a dorm, they’d started some traditions to help their relationship grow. Weekend book clubs and evening study sessions were bonding moments for them, but she still couldn’t find someone who wanted to get really close to her. A best friend if you will.

She just wanted friends, people who would be interested in her, would like to spend time with her and just generally tolerate her presence beyond studying. Someone she could be her truest self with.

These thoughts kept spiralling through her mind during charms class, so that when Lavender Brown, who was sitting next to her, was struggling with the lesson, she might’ve sounded a bit snarkier while helping her.

“You’re saying it wrong. It’s LeviOsa, not LeviosAR!” She said before demonstrating the spell correctly, earning herself ten points from a proud Professor Flitwick. As she’d turned to smile at her teacher, she didn’t notice the bitter look Brown shot her way.

An hour later, while she was leaving the classroom, she overheard Lavender and Parvati Patil talking.

“Oh, she thinks she knows everything. No wonder she has no friends. She’s such a know-it-all!” Brown said scathingly, and Hermione felt her breath catch as her eyes watered at the words. Because wasn’t the other girl right? Hermione didn’t have friends, not true friends at least. She was lonely and sad, even her books couldn’t bring her the companionship she craved so much.

She didn’t hear anything else as she ran to the girl’s bathroom, not noticing the concerned look Neville Longbottom shot her way. He didn’t have time to follow, though, as she was too fast and he couldn’t just barge into the girl’s bathroom with no reason.

He hoped she would come back soon.

Hyperion was bored. And a little pissed off at the moment. The school and its residents were celebrating the very day he’d become an orphan, and it angered him quite a bit. On an intellectual level, he could understand that Halloween had been a holiday for centuries before his birth, and yet he couldn’t help the bitterness that consumed him.

This was the day Voldemort was defeated by his mother exactly a decade to the date, and he found it infuriating and insulting how casual everyone was treating the event. He knew he was a bit depressed too, taking the time to feel the grief and sadness he didn’t dwell on the rest of the year, imagining what his life would have been like had his parents been alive to raise him, or if his godfather hadn't been stupid enough to be imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. Would he have been happy? Satisfied? He obviously wouldn't be as jaded as he currently was, a possibility that intrigued him a bit. If hadn't grown up with hateful muggles, if Regulus Black hadn't adopted him at age ten, how would he view magic and the wizarding world? Would he be optimistic, a Light lamb who followed Dumbledore like his word was gospel? The very thought made him shudder in horror. He hoped his parents would've been intelligent enough to see through the façade the old puppet master showed the world and would’ve broken away from the manipulative headmaster.

Halloween was a holiday created to honour the dead, but the world had made it into a joke, as if dressing up or having a feast was the same as celebrating those who'd lost their lives one way or another. He hated it like he hated everything Dumbledore spouted.

So here he was, slowly eating with a permanent scowl on his face. His classmates had given up on getting him to talk, leaving him be when he'd explained with as little words as possible that he was simply mourning his deceased relatives on the day of their death. Those who'd already figured out his previous identity knew exactly who he was talking about, and those that hadn’t were understanding of his grief and let him be. Draco was definitely being extra nice as well, a bit less bratty and he spoke with a softer tone than normal, which Hyperion appreciated and would try to thank him for later.

The double doors opening attracted his attention, but everyone else didn’t look up from their food until Professor Quirell burst in looking like he’d been into a fight with a tornado, his face deathly pale and his stupid turban askew, and then he started screaming his head off.

“TROLL – IN THE DUNGEONS – thought you ought to know.” He said the last part in a whisper before fainting like a damsel in distress.

The hall suddenly grew extremely loud as everyone panicked and the teachers tried to calm the students. Hyperion just sat there, staring on in slight amusement. The man was very suspicious, and his actions were obviously over-dramatized, but this was certainly an interesting way to disrupt the stupid feast.

It took several loud bangs from various wands for everyone to quiet down enough for Dumbledore’s voice to be heard.

“Prefects!” He rumbled, “Please lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

“Professor!” Gemma Farley called out over the noise, “The Slytherin dorms are in the dungeons!”

Dumbledore pretended not to hear, which was typical of him to not truly care for the snakes in his school, but Snape definitely heard and headed their way accordingly, his black cloak billowing behind him authoritatively.

“Miss Farley and Mister Warrington, please lead your classmates to my office and activate the security rune. This is code opal.”

“Understood.” The two prefects said with a decisive nod before herding everyone in that exact direction. Hyperion followed with his hands in his pockets, probably the calmest of his classmates.

“How are you so relaxed?” Draco asked, tapping his fingers against his thigh in a nervous tick his mother couldn’t train out of him.

“Because I am confident that even if the troll comes my way, I’d be able to survive.” Hyperion said simply, smirking at his cousin’s eye roll.

Before they could continue on their way, a loud voice calling out stopped Hyperion in his tracks.

“Heir Black! Heir Black!” Neville Longbottom shouted as he ran towards him, and Hyperion tilted his head in confusion.

“Heir Longbottom? What can I help you with?”

“H-Hermione!” The boy stuttered out as he took in gasping breaths. “I- I don’t know where she is! She left after-after a few c-comments from Lavender and hasn’t returned till now. W-what if…?”

“Ah, so you want me to help find her?” Hyperion asked, still unsure by this whole interaction.

“Yes!” This was a weird situation to be in. Sure he’d talked to Hermione Granger a few times, but they weren’t friends. Him and Longbottom were doubly so, as the boy avoided him like the plague most of the time. Why would he ask him for help in this? He asked as much, and the answer he got was both shocking and intriguing.

“Because you’re the only one I’m confident will have the ability to find and save her if needed.” His family’s reputation truly preceded them. Why else would someone like the Heir of The Chivalrous and Most Ancient House of Longbottom expect so much from him?

“What do I get in return?” He was Regulus Black’s son through and through – why would he save a girl when there was nothing for him to gain?

“You save a girl?” At the unimpressed look Hyperion shot him, he shifted gears. Smart lad. “House Unity would look good, wouldn’t it?”

And that was an interesting prospect, because that was exactly what Hyperion was striving for. By that point, his cousin had come to stand beside him and he was also looking contemplative.

“We would look useless if we don’t do something.” Draco muttered under his breath, and Hyperion hummed in agreement.

“It’s the right thing to do.” Ron, who’d come to stand beside the group after noticing their suspicious behaviour, said passionately, eyes blazing. “Even if she is a bit of a know-it-all.”

“And we would be proving that Slytherin house protects its allies and can work with others. And she will be an ally after this.” A Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff and two Slytherins going to save a Ravenclaw was the perfect action to prove to everyone, Dumbledore especially, that House Unity was possible.

“Alright then, let’s see.” He muttered under his breath as he prepared himself. He closed his eyes, letting his family’s ancient magic slowly consume him. When he reopened them, he knew from the gasps that they weren’t their avada green anymore, but a steel grey. The girl’s magical echo resonated through the shadows he controlled, and he knew instantly where she was. “The girls’ bathroom on this floor. If we hurry, we’ll hopefully catch her before the troll leaves the dungeons.”

They all nodded and hurried off. The others had wanted to comment on the display of such powerful magic, but they decided that it was a conversation for when there wasn’t someone in danger.

Sneaking around wasn’t as difficult as it could’ve been, as everyone seemed to be either already in their dorms or heading towards them. They did almost walk into Professor Snape and Percy Weasley, Ron’s Prefect brother, but their swift reflexes hid them from their perceptive eyes.

“Why does Snape have a gash on his foot?” Draco whispered, confused by the man’s peculiar injury. The others shrugged unknowingly before continuing on their way, finally making it to their destination.

The door was closed, but they could hear the grunts of a large creature and the panicked breathing of someone trapped inside.

“Oh no….” Neville said with wide eyes full of fear and anxiety. The four shared a look full of trepidation before taking deep breaths and diving into the chaos.

As soon as they opened the door, the troll in all its disgusting glory turned its blank eyes on them, while Hermione’s own chocolate brown eyes widened in shock at their presence.

“DUCK!” She screamed and they all moved out of the way just before the troll’s enormous club came down at the place where they’d been a second ago.

“I’ll distract him!” Neville shouted over the chaos, grabbing a nearby pipe. He started banging it against any surface and the troll’s attention quickly diverted to him. He took a deep breath to fortify himself before he started running around the cramped and destroyed bathroom as he kept making noise with the pipe, jumping over debris and broken ceramic but staying away from where Hermione was crouched low under a broken sink top.

“Neville, go left!” Hermione called out to help, observing everything from her hiding place. “Ron, move right!”

Draco, trying to show off in front of everyone, decided to try casting a very complex spell, but his hands kept shaking too much for it to work. In a last ditch effort, he screamed “LUMOS!” as he pointed his wand at the troll’s eyes, and the spell was powerful enough to momentarily blind the troll.

Ron, taking advantage of the many distractions that had enraged and confused the troll, pointed his wand at the club and used “Wingardiom Leviosa!” to grab and try to levitate it, but the troll’s grip was too strong.

“Hyperion, go right with Ron!” Hermione’s voice rang out and Hyperion’s eyes narrowed as he did exactly that, moving to stand beside the redhead.

Hyperion repeated the spell and, helped by his families’ magics, he powered the spell even more, so the two together managed to grab the club and bang it on its head many times with each rise and fall of their wands, and after the fourth time, the troll froze in its movements and grunting and then fell to the floor, shaking the room as its body collided with the ground.

Hyperion had decided before entering the room not to use any of the advanced spells in his rota, as that would be extremely suspicious and would put a spotlight on him, more than there already was, and he didn’t want that just yet.

As soon as the troll had fallen, everyone took a moment to breathe a sigh before Neville and Ron collapsed to the ground, Hermione stood up on shaky legs, Draco clutched at one of the still intact sinks and Hyperion slumped his shoulders forward a bit in pure relief.

What no one except Hyperion noticed was the small icicles that were gathering on the sink right under Draco’s fingers. Draco did notice, though, and his eyes widened before he quickly let go and moved to stand in front of the sink to hide any evidence of what he’d done.

Hyperion made a mental note to talk to him about this, but not at that moment. This wasn’t a time for emotional, secret family conversations.

“Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so much!” Hermione exclaimed liberally, grabbing Neville into a tight hug that he hesitantly returned before she moved onto Ron, who hugged her back in relief. When she got to the two Slytherins, they gave her one look that had her backing off but still beaming at them in gratitude. Before anyone could say anything else, though, the door banged open and three stomping footsteps could be heard heading their way.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN IS THIS?” McGonagall shouted in alarm, staring at the troll’s body in a mixture of disgust and shock. The first years had never seen her look so angry, her lips and whole face were pure white. Beside her, Quirrell stood with twitching lips and eyes while Snape looked on with a blank stare. “You are all completely reckless, irresponsible and downright idiotic! What did you think would happen going after such a creature?! You’re lucky you weren’t killed! Why aren’t you in your dormitories?!”

Snape gave Hyperion and Draco a swift, piercing look. Hyperion, in return, raised a single unamused eyebrow at the man, and he backed off with a nod. Before any of the boys could say anything to defend themselves, Hermione’s soft voice came from where she was standing beside Neville.

“Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger!” The woman exclaimed. Even though the girl wasn’t a Gryffindor, she’d still paid attention to the quiet and studious girl and was shocked by her words.

“I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I’ve read all about them.”

The boys all looked at her in surprised gratitude. She’d definitely just saved them from weeks of detention.

“If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. Neville distracted it, Draco blinded it and then Hyperion and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

“Well – in that case …” Professor McGonagall stammered for a moment, staring at the five of them. “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hung her head in pretend shame. Hyperion was impressed by the girl’s trickery and quick thinking, but also by her loyalty to them. She would definitely be a valuable addition to his growing alliance.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Ravenclaw for this, and I will be telling Professor Flitwick about this incident so he can make his own judgement on your actions today.” Professor McGonagall said angrily. “I’m personally very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Ravenclaw Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their dormitories.”

Hermione left then, but not before shooting them a look full of worry and gratitude.

“Well, I still say you were lucky, not many first-years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win your respective house five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

“Draco. Hyperion. I expect a full recount of events. Meet me in my office tomorrow after classes.” Snape said sharply, staring at the two of them sharply.

“Yes professor.” The two said simply before walking away, leaving McGonagall to escort the other two to their respective dorms, or more likely forgetting that Ron was a Hufflepuff and leading him to Gryffindor tower with Neville.

“They’d make good allies. They’re definitely useful in a fight at least.” Draco commented casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets in an effort to appear calm, but Hyperion knew better.

“We need to talk. Not today, but soon. There are some things I suspect your mother has neglected to tell you about our family.” That had Draco turning abruptly towards him as he stopped, staring at his cousin for a moment before slowly nodding his head.

“Okay. Not today, but soon.”

As they walked back to the dungeons, Hyperion couldn’t help reflecting on the day’s events. What a peculiar way to spend the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. But these alliances were perfect. A blend of each house, something that could show everyone that House Unity was possible and could be useful.

In your face, Dumbledore.

­­­

November 1^st 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

The conversation with Snape took longer than he’d expected, as the man had kept probing them on their motives and way and even environmental details of the fight, it was exhausting. Afterwards, Draco had needed a moment to himself, so Hyperion decided to use the opportunity to go to the library and grab a book he’d been looking for.

As he entered the quiet area, he found himself face to face with the first girl he’d actually wanted to save, at least marginally. Normally, he was pretty indifferent about most people, but weirdly enough, he’d been… not worried but slightly disappointed when imagining the girl in danger – his thoughts last night had been along the lines of: she could accomplish more in life than in death.

“Hello Hermione.” He said blankly, and the girl’s attention switched from the book in her hand to his face.

“Hyperion! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She said sheepishly and he smirked a bit at her priorities. He could respect someone who put more weight on the importance of books than people, but only if they didn’t use books as a gospel to justify every belief. “Umm, actually, I wanted to thank you again for last night. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come for me.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m sure you’d have done the same in a similar situation.” He said semi-sarcastically, and Hermione’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment, but she still prowled on. Brave girl.

 “Why did you come for me?” She asked curiously, probably already aware of the Slytherin tendency of not doing charity work. Everything must have a reason for them, and she wasn’t wrong anyway, he did have a motivation for his actions.

“Because it was logical. I will not gain anything if you’d died, but I might if you stayed alive. And because House Unity is more useful than nonchalance. Also, now you’re in my debt, and I’m sure that will come in handy someday.” His words are a bit of a test, as he wanted to see how she’d react to his blunt pragmatism.

“So it had nothing to do with it being right? Because that’s not the same as useful.” Huh, she didn’t recoil, but she was definitely curious about his reasoning. She was accurate anyway, he didn’t do things before they were right very often if at all.

“It’s not, and I never claimed it to be. You’ll find that most humans don’t do things because they’re right. They do them for personal gain, and if they’re also moral, then that’s just a bonus.”

“You see the world in a very… dark way.”

“Not dark, realistic. The world isn’t as good as you might think.” That seemed to leave her thoughtful for a moment before she shook her head. Interesting.

“I don’t necessarily agree with you, but I can see why you’d think that.”

“I respect that.” And he did, he wasn’t a dictator who expected everyone to agree with him, he wanted people to challenge him. That’s how you grow after all.

“This has been a thought-provoking discussion. I do like solving complex problems, and you seem to always have them.”

“As do I. Maybe we’ll keep each other stimulated.” That caused her to smile happily, nodding in agreement.

“I look forward to it.”

They left in different directions after that, but Hyperion thought that this was a good step to cementing her alliance. She would be very helpful to his plans. Hermione Granger was smart, moral but not naïve, and even quick on her feet. She was exactly what he needed for the circle he was building.

Noticing Draco lurking in the shadows, the boy seemed to agree with his thoughts, even if he still wasn’t very accepting of people from muggle backgrounds. Hyperion was sure he’d come around. The boy knew what would happen if he didn’t anyway.

November 2^nd 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

‘My dearest son,

I have been informed by your ever sarcastic bastard of a head of house of your little… adventure. I don’t know whether to be mad or proud, so I’ve chosen to be both, and will express as such in this letter.

Let us first get the reprimands out of the way. A mountain troll. Dear Merlin, what were you thinking Hyperion? I have never been more scared in my life as I was when Severus was regaling me with the tale of your heroic rescue. And why exactly did you save the girl? You did say she could be a valuable ally, but I can’t quite believe that she could be worth all of this. And why exactly did it take four armed heirs to take the creature out? I can understand not using dark magic at Hogwarts, which I applaud you on, but a simple hex could’ve taken the creature out. Staying underestimated is good, but not at the cost of your life. I don’t care what you have to do, but when you are faced with a dangerous magical creature, you use all the power you have to escape the encounter. Never just rush in like a dumb Gryffindor. That’s not how I raised you, and I will be quite incensed if you do so again. You will give me grey hairs before I am thirty five if you keep this up.

But I am very proud of how you handled it all. You have achieved something Dumbledore has been trying to hinder for many years, House Unity. He will take notice, and so will others. You must be prepared for all that, my son. Use that attention wisely. Saving that girl was also a noble deed, and while we Blacks aren’t well known for selflessness, you may just be the one to break that stereotype.

Some professors may try to test your boundaries. You must face it with a cool head, or all our hard work will be for naught. You may need to use your reputation soon, and I’d rather it be based on respect than fear. You are a reflection of the House of Black, make sure to be the best version of it. You can trust Draco, but verifying everything you hear is not a bad thing. Caution is always required when dealing with dramatic students and even more childish professors.

I am extremely proud of you, not just for the troll incident, but for everything you’ve accomplished so far at Hogwarts. You will revolutionise this school, I just know it. But, and this is very important, my pride does not mean I condone any more reckless adventures and rescue missions. I would like to die of old age, not a heart attack.

Your mother would’ve adored your stubbornness though, and you’re father would’ve loved the adventure. I tolerate both, and I can acclimate to it with time, if this is truly what you want to do. They would’ve been as proud as I am at this moment.

With love,

Your stressed father.’

Every one of Regulus Black’s letters to his son have always managed to make him both laugh and shed a few tears, and this one was no different. As he folded the thick parchment, he couldn’t make himself burn it like the others, even though he knew it could be dangerous if found, so he opened the hidden compartment in his trunk and carefully put it there. Even if this action might come to bite him in the ass in the future, he wouldn’t regret it. Having his father’s pride in writing was a precious gift, and he would always be glad that the man had come and saved him so long ago. His adoption day would forever be one of the best of his life.

Hyperion couldn’t help smirking slightly to himself though. “You’ll have to endure a bit more stress, Father,” he whispered to himself, “because I’m just getting started.”

Chapter Text

November 5^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

“Mister Potter, if you could stay back for moment?” McGonagall called out at the end of their transfiguration lesson, her voice cutting through the sounds of chairs scrapping the floor and tools being cleared from tables as the students prepared to leave. Hyperion closed his eyes for a moment in pure frustration before turning around and giving the woman a blank stare.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Please, have a seat.” She said calmly, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Hyperion sat down calmly, looking at the woman with a small tilt to his head as he wondered what she’d be discussing with him. He had a few guesses, but it could still go one way or the other.

They waited for the students to leave, and Hyperion had to wave off his cousin as he stood for a moment and looked at him with a concerned stare, knowing he’d tell the boy what happened later.

“I have been meaning to speak to you for a bit, and the troll incident that occurred on Halloween seemed like a good segue. I would like to start this by asking why you decided to go after Miss Granger that day.”

“When Neville told me she was in danger and he needed help to save her, I agreed and went with him. Draco and Ron were there and tagged along. It’s very simple professor, someone was in danger and I could help, so I did.”

“And what made you so certain you could handle a mountain troll, Mr. Potter?” She asked suspiciously, and Hyperion raised his brow slightly at the weird question.

“My father has taught me the theory of a few spells before coming to Hogwarts and I taught myself the spell work when I came here. We didn’t even use any complex spells, just Lumos and Wingardium Leviosa.”

“I’m aware, Mister Potter, but I was quite surprised to find a Slytherin doing something so brave.”

He blinked once, then another time before slowly responding, “Slytherins can’t be brave then?”

He knew exactly what she was trying to do, but he wouldn’t fall for her tricks. It’s amusing she thinks she can be so obvious, though.

“Of course they can! Your parents were quite brave themselves. Gryffindors, the both of them.”

“I’m aware.” He said simply with a decisive nod, and she continued the conversation just like he expected she would, with guilt-trips and obvious manipulation.

“Your father was especially daring, but he truly didn’t like Slytherins very much. Don’t you wonder what he would think with your sorting?”

“Not really. You can’t bring back the dead, Professor, only honour them by living. I’d like to think he’d be happy I’m happy.” Her eyes widened in shock, obviously realising her faux-pas by bringing his dead dad into this. She took a turn then.

“Oh, of course. I didn’t mean anything by this, I was simply making an observation. Now, I feel I must tell you that Headmaster Dumbledore has taken great interest in your actions. I would tread carefully if I were you, Mr. Black.”

The change from Potter to Black was blatant but wise, a move Hyperion respected greatly. She obviously realised he wouldn’t be swayed to her ways but that he wasn’t evil like people thought when they found out who his adopted family were. For the first time since the start of their conversation, she didn’t look like she was speaking to a ghost from the past but a student from the present, someone separate from those she’d held dear once.

“Thank you for the warning, Professor. I’ll be taking my leave then.”

“Of course, and I apologise for any offense I might’ve caused. Bringing up your parents might not have been the best choice of words.” She said honestly, surprising him with her bluntness.

“Not at all, this conversation was actually quite enlightening.”

November 6^th 1991

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

Regulus had meticulously planned everything about this meeting, from the location to the topics, he was fully prepared. What he couldn’t fully account for was human nature. Choosing Grimmauld was a simple matter, as it was a place they all had fond memories of, and some not so fond ones as well, and the wards were intimately intertwined with his magic, so he could protect himself if necessary. His guests had a turbulent past between them, so he wanted to ensure as much peace as possible.

He’d shut down the wards to only allow family, he’d had Kreacher clean the place top to bottom, even if it still felt gloomy and depressing most days, and he even warded off the portraits so that they could watch but not comment, so that no external influences could affect this very delicate discussion.

His first guest, the lovely Narcissa, had on a tight black V-neck dress with lace sleeves. Her makeup was perfect as always and her heels made her much taller than her actual petite height. She kissed his cheek in greeting before sitting in one of the living room armchairs and accepting the cup of tea he offered. The two spoke on casual topics like their kids or old memories, but Regulus could tell Cissa was nervous about the inevitable and was keeping her feelings in check as they were all taught to do from a young age.

A few minutes after they’d settled down, Regulus’s second guest arrived. Her extremely high heels clicked on the marble flooring as she walked in. The suit she wore was perfectly tailored for her body, hugging all the right places and was in a cream colour that perfectly complimented her pale skin and brunette hair, the only one of their generation of Blacks to inherit the colour. The waistcoat hugged her figure and the blazer over it gave the whole outfit a very professional look, like she’d just walked out of court, which was probably the case. Andromeda Black-Tonks was one of the most intimidating witches Regulus had ever known, and rightfully so. While Bellatrix had been all mad cackles and unhinged spells, and Narcissa was elegance and soft touches, Andromeda was the backbone of the family, the one who endured disownment, law school and pregnancy with determined eyes and a straight back.

“Reggie?” She asked as soon as she saw him, eyes wide in shock. He smiled at his cousin softly, standing to greet her with wide arms. He hadn’t wanted to be obvious, so the letter he’d sent was anonymous, but with enough hints to knowing her personally that she couldn’t have helped but agree to the meeting.

“Surprise, I’m not dead.”

“Oh, you bloody bastard!” She shouted angrily as she roughly pulled him into her arms, tightening them as if to ensure he was actually there and not a figment of her imagination. The last time they’d seen each other, Regulus had been pale and gaunt, with his black funeral robes billowing around him as he watched his grandfather lower his father’s casket to the ground beside his grandmother’s grave. By that time, he’d already taken the mark and was regretting ever following his mother or listening to her words, so he can only imagine how the sight of him now, bright and alive and feeling like himself again, would be quite the shock to Andy without even considering the fact he’d been presumed dead for years.

“Sorry for worrying you Andy.” He whispered in her ear, and she shook her head before pulling away and kissing his forehead, her clear sign of forgiveness. Then she noticed the woman standing behind Regulus and stiffened.

“Narcissa.” She said blankly, staring at her estranged sister impassively.

“I’m so sorry Andy. I... I never meant for it to go this far.” The blond whispered, her eyes filled with regret. Seeing her distress, Andromeda softened slightly as she moved to stand in front of her baby sister.

“I know….” She sighed out, and their identical stormy grey eyes met for a moment before they hugged tightly, whispering to each other words Regulus couldn’t hear but could guess were of reprimand and apology. He was glad the conflict hadn’t lasted long, as it would’ve made what was next that much more awkward.

“Well, ladies, I suggest we sit down. This is going to be long.” The two looked at him with curious but cautious looks before settling down for the inevitable conversation. Kreacher popped in to get them more tea before disappearing with barely a sound, ever the elegant house elf of the House of Black.

He briefly recapped his miraculous survival and subsequent adoption of their world’s saviour, shocking Andromeda into silence, a feat very few could claim to have done. He then started explaining what he’d learned from Severus about the state of Hogwarts. The hidden treasure in the third floor corridor that Dumbledore has hidden and the Troll attack his son had stopped alongside his allies.

“The treasure seems to be something Dumbledore holds dear, as he’s been very evasive about the reason behind closure of the corridor during Board meetings. Lucius was worried to send Draco there during such turbulent times, but I insisted. My son should follow in the footsteps of his ancestors and study at the school they’d all attended.” Narcissa explained with an irritated look on her sharp face.

“If Hogwarts is housing a secret under the students’ feet, then it has become our problem too. Your children are both attending, and apparently being subjected to danger already. We have to have someone on the inside.” Andromeda explained, thinking over everything and thus making her enunciate her words slowly.

“Severus is reporting everything he knows, but maybe having someone with a bit more authority could be of better help.” Regulus said, looking at Narcissa appraisingly. Sensing his eyes on her, she turned her head and immediately shook it, already guessing where his thoughts had led him.

“Absolutely not. Lucius is already incensed that our son is following ‘the whims of the Black heir’, if I ask to take a responsibility from him, he’ll be enraged. I understand that as the House of Black regains its reputation and power, my influence in our relationship will rise, but I don’t want to emasculate him, at least not yet.”

“The fact you have to tread lightly around his ego is in itself infuriating, Cissy. He should’ve realised this would be the case when he married you.” The shifting topics were very Black of them, from politics to family issues and then to emotionally charged words. It would’ve been infuriating had this not always been how they handle conflict in their family. An outsider would’ve definitely been frustrated by this.

“Let us not forget that it wasn’t I he was vying for, shall we? Besides, after Sirius’s imprisonment and Lord Arcturus’s seclusion before his death, Lucius got used to a certain level of authority that I am reluctant to remove without better backup. With no lord and a very young heir, our family isn’t in the best place, is it? Not all of us can have the guts to take matters into our own hands with no regard for the consequences.” Narcissa said, tone not hiding the anger and bitterness that had coloured their relationship for years now. Before Andromeda could open her mouth to turn this into a proper argument, Regulus interrupted with his own thoughts. He supposed old wounds still cut deep, and while before they might’ve been the ones protecting him, now he had to take charge and mediate to appease everyone.

“Ladies, please. Rehashing the past will get us nowhere. I agree we should tread carefully around Lucius’s ego, as we don’t want him reacting harshly to the power being pulled from under his feet before we have a steady foot in the political door. We’ll take it slowly. For now we leave things as is, but maybe start approaching him about more roles in your marriage Cissy? Tell him you want to be more informed of Draco’s schooling since it was your choice to send him to Hogwarts in the first place.” Narcissa nodded in agreement, and Andromeda settled back down reluctantly. Regulus breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Andy, could you start sending out feelers? See how our influence has held with no one using it. When Hyperion starts taking on more responsibilities in politics, I want to be sure he’ll be heard and obeyed by our allies.”

“I’ll talk to my contacts in Knockturn and the Ministry, see what everyone thinks.” That got her a nod of gratitude from Regulus before he stood up.

“Now then, how about some lunch while we continue this discussion? I’m sure Kreacher has cooked up a feast.” The two agreed and got to their feet to follow him, calming down a bit for a more civil conversation, hopefully with less guilt-tripping and pointed remarks. He knew this wasn’t the end of their cold words and harsh rehashing of the past, but he hoped keeping the focus on family politics could help them ignore some of the issues still left untouched between them.

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

While their parents were busy healing old wounds and planning the rise of their family, both Hyperion and Draco were in the middle of their own argument as they walked to the dorms after a long day of classes.

“I just don’t think that’s logical in any way.”

“That Goblins would’ve won the war had the Wizards not suggested the treaty? Because I believe that is exactly the case. If the goblins had decided that their dwindling numbers weren’t that big of an issue and continued the war, they would’ve easily came out victorious.”

“You’re insane. The wizards would’ve obviously won. We have more flexible magic.” Draco argued, shaking his head in exasperation at his cousin.

“And they have powerful weapons and sharp discipline. They are literally creatures of war.” Before Draco could argue more, though, they both heard footsteps coming their way. They hadn’t realised before that moment, but they were near the forbidden corridor on the third floor that Dumbledore had warned students away from. Sharing a startled look, they decided to hide behind a pillar to see what was happening.

Professor Quirrell was emerging from that area, muttering to himself in broad daylight. It was creepy, the words he was saying even more so.

 “Master will not wait… He suspects nothing… I have to hurry or else….” He then pauses as if he was listening for something before nodding hurriedly, then he turned and noticed their presence.

“B-boys! Out of b-beds this late? D-detention—unless you f-forget what you s-saw!” The stuttering, which had mysteriously disappeared before this moment was suddenly back, and Hyperion looked at the man with a tilt of his head while Draco’s brows furrowed in confusion. Draco’s eyes shone in both anxiety and anticipation, feeling an electric charge go through his veins at the danger they were currently in.

“Professor, it’s still four in the afternoon.” Draco said bluntly, Hyperion standing beside him and folding his arms as he stared unnervingly at the teacher. He could see the fear in the older man’s eyes, the fake way he was twitching. The time of day was suspicious, as if he had intentionally chosen a period when most students would still be in classes and only the first years, who would never have the guts to walk near this particular corridor, would be the only ones walking around.

“Ah! I-is th-that s-so?” He stuttered out before hurrying off, not even giving them a second glance, like he was afraid they’d ask him about his behaviour or actions. Like he was doing something he shouldn’t be and didn’t want anyone finding out what.

“He was talking to someone, but there was no one there.” Draco whispered, shuddering a bit like he’d just been subjected to something completely creepy, which wasn’t false.

“I wonder what is in that corridor. It seems to be drawing a lot of attention.” Hyperion said eerily, grabbing his cousin’s wrist to continue in the direction of their dorms.

“What do you mean?”

“Snape was heading towards it on Halloween too, I saw him while we were on our way to save Granger, and he was injured afterwards when he came with McGonagall.”

“Huh….” The two shared a conspiring look, knowing exactly what the other was thinking without voicing it, as had recently become a staple of their relationship. This easy communication hadn’t come without a lot of arguing and butting of heads, of course, but it was now as easy as a seconds-long look.

They had to go see what was in that corridor. Some people could also be helpful in this mission, those who were strategic, logical and brave.

November 8^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

Here’s the thing about Neville Francis Longbottom, though his family was very well off and influential in the country’s political scene, he didn’t have it easy growing up.

His family was full of turmoil after his parents’ incapacitation, with his Great Uncle insisting he wasn’t ‘pureblood’ enough to be the heir of the Longbottoms, while his Grandmother secretly seethed from her brother’s behaviour but kept her cool to keep the peace. His maternal aunt Amelia Bones couldn’t take him in because she already had custody of his cousin Susan after her own parents’ passing alongside a very demanding job, but she still insisted on having influence and a place in his life, much to his grandmother’s annoyance. His cousin Theo tried to be there for him, but he was raised differently from Neville, maybe even in a worse environment with such a demanding father.

Yeah, Neville didn’t have it easy, most of the time his family members all argued about something or the other pertaining to him, and he didn’t know what to do to please everyone, and this all became quite exhausting overtime. But he still tried, oh did he try. Even when he was forced to use a wand that wasn’t his and it felt like the instrument was actively fighting against him, even when his magic didn’t come out as powerful as others’, he tried.

The only thing that had brought him true peace was his greenhouse back in Longbottom Manor, as it had felt like the plants and the earth were literally feeding his magical core, bringing him calm and strength, but even that had been taken from him with his arrival at Hogwarts School, so now all he could do was use the greenhouses there to relax and get a moment to himself without all of Gryffindor breathing down his neck.

As he had his arm elbow deep in soil, he felt a small smile gracing his face as he reminisced on his time in this new environment.

His first impressions of the Gryffindor first years wasn’t the best or the worst. Dean Thomas was a muggle-born from a struggling family, he spoke a lot about the muggle sport soccer and his five siblings and their mother who took care of everything alongside his stepfather. He was the oldest and the only one whose father wasn’t present in his life, as his five siblings were all from his stepfather. They both related to their love of art and missing fathers, something Seamus also related to, but his had abandoned him and his Historian Mother after finding out about their magic, something that caused the Irish boy a lot of heartache and trust issues. They’d become confidants in a sense, but the other two were obviously closer to each other than to Neville, who wasn’t very sociable by nature.

The girls were a different story entirely. He’d already been familiar with the Patil Twins before coming to Hogwarts, as their grandmother was close to his Gran, and they’d been invited to his home multiple times throughout his childhood, though they hadn’t spoken much during those visits. Parvati and Lavender Brown were definitely more on the gossipy side, so he didn’t speak to them often if at all. He was pretty close to Athena Scamander by now, as the two had a lot of things in common. Both came from demanding primarily Light families with ancient and complicated histories, and they enjoyed the more nitty-gritty sides of magic and caring for living creatures more than talking to humans. Matilda Hoffmann was one of the most intimidating girls he’d ever met, reminding him strongly of his cousin Susan. At only eleven, the German girl already seemed to know who she was, what she wanted to do and what she would do to achieve all her goals, unlike Neville who felt lost more often than not. Their conversations were definitely mentally stimulating, and regularly forced Neville to carefully think over all the politics and culture lessons he’d gotten as a child. It wasn’t something he actively looked for but he enjoyed when it happened, even if it exhausted him a bit afterwards.

The biggest surprise was definitely Hyperion Black. He’d definitely imagined what his relationship with the elusive Harry Potter would be like, as they were God-brothers after all, but the reality had exceeded all his expectations. Hyperion Black, previously known as Harry Potter, was snarky, mysterious and vague in most things with the darkest magical core he’d ever encountered in his short life. With his many masks, he was the perfect pureblood heir. And yet, he was nothing like people had described the legendary Blacks or even the weirdly anonymous Potters to be. He was definitely dark, with a mean streak and sharp sarcasm that he wielded like a knife, but he was also caring, in his own way, and paid attention to details no one would normally notice. He remembered the small things and his words to those he cared about were blunt but comforting. The boy seemed to respect him, asking for his opinion at times and speaking to him like a peer and an ally.

He hoped he grew closer to the boy overtime, as he would definitely be a good friend and ally to have. It would also be nice to honour the commitment his mother had made to the boy at his birth.

There were others, of course, like the arrogant but soft Draco Malfoy, or the sharp Padma Patil, or even his cousins Theodore Nott and Susan Bones. Then there was the girl he’d almost died for. Hermione Granger. Intelligent, sensitive but strong Hermione, who could’ve been the bravest of Gryffindors or the most cunning of Slytherins but had ended up in the House of the witty, who didn’t even value her enough in his opinion.

“Neville?” The voice of that exact girl came from the doorway, and he turned with his muddy arms raised to find her standing there with a small smile on her face. “What are you doing?”

“Gardening.” He explained simply, grinning at her when she snorted at his response.

“I can see that.” She said with a laugh. “Why though?”

“It’s relaxing, ya know? Feeling the earth beneath your hands, being the one in control, no one there to pressure you into conversations or tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, just you and the plants.”

“Huh. That sounds nice.” She said wistfully, eyes far away as if remembering something distant. She shook her head to snap out of her melancholy and smiled at him. Neville hoped she was doing okay. “You ready to go back though? I heard some rumours about Hyperion and Draco heading for the forbidden corridor today.”

“Of course they are.” He said with a roll of his eyes, voice taking on an exasperated tone as he straightened up, cleaning his hands with a cloth before brushing his clothes off and fixed them a bit.

Hermione laughed again at his response as she straightened his collar and removed a piece of dirt from his shirt before leading the way back as they chatted quietly. It was nice, and he definitely hoped they’d continue these habits long after Hogwarts let out for the year. She was definitely one of the only people here he truly enjoyed the company of.

He wondered what the chaotic duo of Slytherin could possibly be up to now, but he felt a spark of excitement at the prospect of another adventure in the large castle.

Chapter Text

November 8^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Ronnikins.” He hears two distinct voices coming from behind him and turns to find his older brothers staring at him intently.

Ron had been in the Great Hall, enjoying his lunch and chatting with Steven and Susan when the twins had come bounding through the narrow walks between the tables to stand right behind him. It wasn’t unusual for them to check up on him, especially after his sorting and subsequent fight with their mother, but it had never happened in the Great Hall with so many people around and probably watching, the Hogwarts gossip mill did run rampant.

“Eating?” He responded in a questioning tone, raising his sandwich as if to show them the proof to back his statement.

“Well come on then.” They say abruptly, grabbing him by the arms and leading him out of the great hall and to their secret classroom hideout. People watched on as they walked away – some staring while others snicker in amusement – and Ron couldn’t help blushing in embarrassment at the attention, something he wasn’t used to and didn’t necessarily like. He wanted people to realise how great he was, sure, but he didn’t want anyone to stare at him for one thing or another.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the twins turned to Ron and started teasing him.

“So, Ronny, how are the badgers treating you?”

“They’re not annoying you, are they?”

“You’re eating alone more often, why?”

“I’m fine.” He responded with an eye-roll to the pointed questions, trying to appease them without giving much away, but he was an awful liar, always had been, and his brothers knew his ticks. His lips twitched as he tried not to say what he actually meant.

“No, you’re not.” Fred said bluntly, and George nodded in agreement.

“You’ve looked down lately. The Granger girl, she’s okay now, right?”

“Uh, yeah. She’s okay. That’s not why—”

“AHA!” They exclaimed in unison, eyes wide in realisation. “So there is something!”

“A bit….” He sighed out, shaking his head in resignation. “Fine, I’m just… feeling a bit useless I guess. Harry, I mean Hyperion, is so powerful and smart, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but so is Malfoy. Granger’s a bloody genius and Longbottom is well… a Longbottom! Everyone knows how legendary people in that family are. Where do I fit in all this?”

“You’re a chess genius!”

“You can out-eat everyone at Hogwarts!”

“You’re a good Hufflepuff!”

“You’re kinda sociable…?”

Their back and forth comments cracked Ron up, and as they continued, he couldn’t help bursting out into bright laughter. Apparently, this is what he’d needed, his brothers’ annoyingly good sense of humour. He hadn’t realised how gloomy he’d been until that moment, and he regretted letting his jealousy and fear of rejection consume him so much. He did have something to offer, he just hadn’t realised until they’d started listing them out along with his other, more ridiculous gifts.

After a few more they stopped, grinned at him, and then pushed him out the door after ruffling his hair to make it messier than it already was.

As he walked out into the hallway, he couldn’t help smiling softly to himself.

Maybe things weren’t as bad as he’d thought they were.

As he headed towards the Hufflepuff common room, he started humming to himself, determined to be more positive from now. Excited to go talk to some of his new housemates, he started picking up his pace and turned a corner a bit too fast, bumping directly into a solid body. As the two stumbled and fell, Ron couldn’t help apologizing profusely, until the person he’d knocked down snapped at him.

“Watch where you’re bloody going!” The person, who upon further inspection turned out to be Draco Bloody Malfoy of all people, said angrily, and Ron’s soft demeanour quickly switched to pissed.

“You watch where you’re going!”

“You two, shut up.” Hyperion Black said sharply, sending the both of them a dark glare that quickly stopped any argument they were about to engage in. They huffed but conceded, rising and dusting themselves off in a huff but no words. Hyperion was too scary to defy, even as an eleven-year-old.

Looking at the two further, he couldn’t help but notice how tense they were, backs as straight as rods and jaws clenched tightly. Hyperion’s eyes kept darting around, scanning their surroundings for something, though Ron didn’t know what that was exactly. Both their wands were also already in their hands, as if they were preparing for an ambush.

“Did you see Quirrell come through here?”

“Uh… no. Why?” He responded hesitantly, taken off guard by the out-of-pocket question. No one liked Quirrell, especially the Slytherins, so why would the two best students in the class ask about their useless professor? Maybe… maybe they were finally investigating whatever was happening at the school. “But, whatever you’re planning, I’m coming too.”

“Absolutely not!” Draco exclaimed, already shaking his head in refusal. Hyperion, on the other hand, tilted his head in contemplation.

“Your chess and strategy skills could come in handy, and Hermione will hopefully be there, so…. I suppose you could join us, yes.”

“Alright then,” Ron said with determination, “where to?”

The two started leading him towards the forbidden corridor Dumbledore had warned them away from, but the were obviously not going to listen.

Before they could get further into the school, however, a voice called out behind them.

“RON!” Hermione Granger in all her frenzied glory was stalking towards them, with Neville following her at a more sedate pace, looking both worried and amused, which was a weird mix of emotions to have.

“You three are doing something! Where are you going, and why does Draco have his wand out?!” She asked them, interrogation style, noticing every detail immediately. Ron and Draco shushed her hurriedly, hoping beyond hope her loud exclamations hadn’t attracted any attention. Hyperion just looked impressed at her observations.

“Damn it.” Draco whispered under his breath, obviously apprehensive about having so many people join in on their escapade; Ron just shot him a smug and spiteful smirk.

“We’re going to the corridor.” Hyperion finally responded after a moment of tense silence, and Neville froze, apparently not expecting the blunt response. Hermione’s eyes widen in interest and Ron curses under his breath. “I saw Snape bleeding outside its entrance on Halloween, and Draco and I heard Quirrell coming from it a few days ago muttering to an invisible companion. I plan on finding out what is happening before something happens that I cannot control or predict.”

Hermione shuddered, fearing repercussions but straightening up. “There has to be something inside.”

“Then we should check it. Hyperion is right, we can’t leave it to chance. Especially if it could cause someone to get hurt.” Neville said in a hard tone, shocking everyone by his resolve to do the right thing. Hyperion’s eyes gleam in respect for the boy, and Ron couldn’t help internally agreeing with the sentiment. Longbottom was a truly interesting guy, and Ron was looking forward to knowing him more.

“Alright then.” Hyperion said with a hard edge to his voice. “Let’s go.”

They were very careful as they walked towards the one place in Hogwarts that they truly weren’t supposed to be in. Draco kept looking around in anxiety, muttering under his breath, Hermione’s breath was coming out in fast but focused bursts, and Neville’s hands were fidgeting in his pocket, where he obviously had a comfort object to help him calm down. Ron was following Hyperion around like a young duckling, biting on his lower lip as he walked. They soon reached the locked room, luckily not running into any trouble.

Hyperion’s thoughts were racing as he applied the spells on the door before entering. Silencing, notice-me-not and a warning line charms to ensure they’d know if someone were to come near.

Draco used a simple ward scanning spell his mother had taught him and his eyes widened in shock.

“There are literally no wards on here.” He exclaimed, turning towards Hyperion with a pointed look.

“What?” Hyperion said, confused. Hermione, seeming to realise something, moved forward and tried a simple, first-year spell.

“Alohomora!” And the door opens with a soft click, just like that…. What the fuck was Dumbledore playing at? How could he make the corridor so easy to enter?

“The hinges are warm, like someone has been here recently.” Hermione said softly, and they all shared worried looks.

“There’s something inside.” Neville whispered, clearly hearing something they can’t. Hyperion peered in cautiously, and he couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“It’s… it’s a Cerberus….” He said, shock colouring his voice and making it breathy.

“What?” Ron exclaimed, coming to stand beside Hyperion. As soon as his eyes landed on the creature, he moved his head back quickly. “Why would Dumbledore hide a bloody monster in a school?!”

“Because he’s hiding something worse under it.” Hermione said, pointing at a latch under the three-headed dog’s feet. The dog was asleep, sure, but the hatch was visible and very stark in contrast to the room it was in.

The dog sneezed and they all backed away quickly, Hermione gasping in horror.

“Don’t close the door.” Draco said, pointing his wand at the door and using the same spell he’d used on the door. This time, he felt wards resonating towards him, especially under the door. “Yeah, there’s something being hidden down there.”

They step back more and let the door finally close behind them. Hyperion could hear his bloody heartbeat in his ears as he tried to stabilize himself. The air feels especially dense with the secrets they’d just uncovered.

“It all makes sense…. Snape, Quirrell, the locked corridor, the Cerberus and the trap door. Someone is after whatever is down there, and they’re very close….” Hyperion said as he turned to his allies, voice grave and heavy.

“And whoever it is, they’re dangerous.” Draco continued for his cousin, who nodded in agreement.

“And probably powerful, to try and get past Dumbledore in his own school….” Hermione said with a tilt to her head, mind going a million miles a minute.

“So what do we do now?” Ron asked, trying to process and regain his bearings.

“We can’t just ignore it. Not after the troll that was let loose on the school.” Neville said with a determined glint in his blue eyes. “This person is obviously willing to do whatever it takes to get whatever is hidden.”

“Before they make another move, we get ahead and do what needs to be done.” Hyperion responded to the obvious question on their minds, and they all shared a look of silent agreement filled with fear and determination.

“Tomorrow night. We’ll come back.”  

“Why wait?” Ron asked, not understanding the reason behind Hyperion’s decision.

“Because we can’t go in unprepared.” Draco explained, responding on behalf of his cousin as he’d already understood the reason behind the hesitation.

“Yes, we need to be ready, both mentally and magically to take this on. Going in without a plan and after an exhausting day of classes is unwise.” Hyperion elaborated, and everyone nodded in agreement.

Chapter Text

November 10^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

The thing about Hogwarts Castle is that it becomes eerily quiet after curfew, as if every student is too scared to make a peep lest they get caught by the teachers who are just as silent. Footsteps don’t echo, but any small sound could propagate through the long halls. Because of this, Hyperion had ensured his group were as quiet as mice as they walked to their destination. Every foot sound caused them to rush behind pillars or suits of armour, ensuring they weren’t caught. Their mission was too important to ruin by something as trivial as a boarding school curfew.

“Remember Hyperion,” his father had written when Hyperion had written to him to ask for advice on this endeavour, “Hogwarts is as much of a creepy quiet mansion as Grimmauld Place, caution is of the essence when sneaking around in it.”

Like all of Regulus’s words, written or spoken, Hyperion took it to heart. He’d even secretly used a silencing charm around him and his allies so nothing could be heard.

With these precautions, they reached the forbidden corridor rather quickly and without being discovered, sneaking into the room easily, where they found a sight they’d never seen before; a harp floating in the air as a soft melody emitted from it, the three headed Cerberus sleeping peacefully under it. As soon as they’d closed the door behind them, though, the harp stopped and the dog started sniffling, apparently already starting to wake up.

“He’s already here.” Ron said with wide eyes, staring at the harp like it will suddenly come to bite him.

“What do we do?” Neville asked, bouncing his leg from nervousness. Hyperion just smirked as he stepped forward, waiting for the dog to open its eyes and make eye contact with him.

“Gradum ad dextram.” Hyperion commanded, and the Cerberus’s head snapped up as he stood up slowly. They looked at each other for a moment and Hyperion let his power flow through him in waves, his eyes shining dark grey instead of their usual emerald. The dog gave a small nod before doing as asked, stepping to the right to let them open the hatch under the where the Cerberus had been laying a moment ago.

Draco moved to open it, looking inside to find nothing but pure darkness.

“Why didn’t we go to a professor again?” Hermione asked as she did the same, trying to see anything but unable to.

“Because they would never believe us.” Draco snapped, turning to the girl with narrowed eyes.

“Alright alright. So, who’s going in first?” They all looked at each other, and then Hyperion shook his head in exasperation before walking towards them.

“Move, I’ll jump in, tell you if it is safe or not.” And with those words, he let himself fall into the hole, not even making a sound as he did so.

Hyperion found himself landing on a very squishy ground, his arse bouncing a bit before settling. His reached his hands out, touching what he was sitting on to get a feel for what it was.

“It’s unnaturally soft, but I don’t sense anything dangerous about it, though I’m not sure.” He called out, and the other four shared a look before diving in one at a time. Neville went first, deciding on finally embracing the courage deep inside him. Then Hermione, whose intellectual curiosity pushed her most days. Ron followed them down, loyal to a fault and ready to help, leaving Draco to take a deep, steadying breath. He wasn’t brave by any means, or even that loyal, but he trusted his cousin, so he leapt, putting his faith in the future Head of my family.

“It’s very squishy.” Hermione remarked, wiggling around a bit, but as soon as she’d moved, she felt something tighten around her. “And it’s moving!”

“WHAT?” Ron screamed, and he started moving frantically, feeling tentacles wrap around him as well. “Merlin’s beard! It’s trapping me!”

“Lumos.” Hyperion said calmly, letting his shining wand illuminate the room they were in. It was dark with no windows, and the ground was pitch black and curved, like it was formed of layers.

“It’s… like a plant.” Draco said, trying to stay as still as possibly but shaking from fear.

“It’s devil’s snare.” Neville exclaimed, eyes wide in realisation. “And it’s only defeated with… oh Merlin, I can’t remember!”

“Think Neville!” Ron shouted, the vines tightening around him more the more he tried to free himself.

Neville raised his hand, running the fingers through his hair in frustration as he thought over every herbology book he’d ever read. Suddenly, like a lightning strike, it came to him.

“Light! Bright light makes the plant recoil! But don’t burn it, or Professor Sprout will be furious.”

“Lumos Maxima!” Hyperion shouted, and the low light coming from his wand suddenly brightened, shining so much it blinded them and made the plant recoil with a shriek. They fell down rapidly, finally touching on solid ground. While Hyperion and Draco landed steadily on their feet, their Black training giving them exceptional balance, Hermione, Ron and Neville stumbled; Hermione managed to steady herself but both boys fell to the ground, rising slowly to join the others.

“Let’s begin.”

All they could hear apart from their footsteps as they walked was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downwards and Hyperion couldn’t help comparing the area with Grimmauld Place, where eerie silence and creepy noises were just part of the decor.

“Can you hear something?” Ron whispered, pointing forward.

Hyperion listened intently. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

“Do you think it’s a ghost?” Neville asked, eyes wide in apprehension.

“I don’t know… sounds like wings to me.” Hermione said with a tilt of her head, trying to focus on the sound.

“There’s light ahead… and I can see something moving.” Draco said softly.

They reached the end of the long passageway and saw before them a brightly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above their heads. It was full of small, bird-like objects that were fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy, wooden door.

They stopped for a moment to stare at the room, examining everything intently.

“Those aren’t birds, are they?” Hermione said, seemingly speaking to herself.

“They look metallic to me.” Neville said, eyes narrowed in assessment.

“Draco.” Hyperion called, and his blond cousin turned to him with wide eyes. One pointed look seemed to get the message across, as Draco immediately shook his head vehemently.

“No. Definitely not!”

“What other choice do we have?”

“A spell, I don’t know, something, anything but this!”

“Wait, what are you two talking about?” Hermione asked, eyes darting between the two like she was trying to decipher a riddle, “Also, we don’t know any spells powerful enough to stop all of these.”

“The ones I know,” Hyperion started, smirk dancing across his lips, “aren’t allowed at school.”

He let that sink in for a moment, watching in amusement as Hermione, Neville and Ron shivered at the implications while Draco groaned in annoyance, then he continued, “Now, Draconis, do as I ask.”

“I– I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Hyperion said, tone confident as ever. The trust he had in Draco was a heady thing that had his eyes widening for a moment in surprise. “Deep breaths, focus, and let go.”

He put his hands on the blonde’s shoulders, moved him towards the floating things, and squeezed. Draco closed his eyes, focusing on the core he’d been taught to access since he was a child on his mother’s knee. She’d never taught him how to use this part of his magic, though, something he’d always felt resentment towards.

You see, the members of the House of Black or any magical directly related them were born with a special ability, a gift unique to them. Because Draco was a direct Black on his maternal side, he’d been given such a gift, though he’d never been trained to use it, and had only even known what it was when it had manifested during a particularly rough day when he was nine, when he’d gotten so mad he’d frozen over his whole room. He realised then, he hadn’t been exempt from the stories his mother had told him about the Blacks who’d used their gifts to help the world, and that his father would never allow him to learn to control and use it, the proof that he was more Black than Malfoy blatantly waved in his face. So he hid, and tried his hardest to never be angry, but then Hogwarts happened.

The first time he’d lost control was during the troll incident, when his cousin had noticed it – it happened a few more times, and every time Hyperion would give him this look, like he knew what was happening and knew Draco didn’t want to talk about it. It was like a silent agreement between them, and now his cousin has broken it.

Now, he had no choice but to obey Hyperion, so he breathed and let go of the binds he’d so stubbornly kept around this specific part of his magic. Ice started creeping up his body and move through his veins, and he knew, even though he couldn’t see himself, that his eyes had gone from their pale grey colour to an icy, glowing blue. White mist released with his every breath and hovered over his fingers.

“Now Draco.” Hyperion commanded, and Draco let go, releasing a concentrated beam of ice that froze the keys. Then he felt himself start to lose control, unable to stop the ice from freezing everything else.

“Enough Draco!” He could hear his cousin’s voice like it was coming from underwater, but he couldn’t stop! He didn’t know how. “Draco!” And then he felt his power lock up like someone had dampened it.

He snapped out of it, and opened his eyes to see the other three still in the room staring at him in a mix of shock, horror and curiosity (mostly Hermione with the last one though). He tried to shake it off and smirk, but he knew it must look shaky.

“So how do we go through the door?” Neville asked softly after a long moment of silence.

“With one of these.” Hyperion said as he pointed to the frozen objects on the floor, which ended up being keys. They found the one matching the lock pretty easily, and Hyperion easily thawed it.

“Wait, how did you do that?” Ron asked, shocked at the sight of the regular key in the boy’s hand.

“You didn’t think Draco was the only one with exceptional powers, did you?” Hyperion replied with a smirk.

“So the legends are true, huh?” Neville muttered under his breath, and Hermione turned to him sharply. She hated when there was information she wasn’t privy to.

“What legends?”

“That the Blacks were blessed with extraordinary gifts, each one different from the other.”

“That’s real?”

“Yes,” Hyperion said smugly, twisting the key and opening the door to the next trial they had to get past.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn’t see anything, but as they walked further into the room, light suddenly appeared to reveal what was awaiting them. Inside the new chamber, they found themselves standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like pure black stone. Facing them, on the other side of the chamber, were identical the white pieces. Neville and Ron couldn’t help shivered slightly – the towering white chessmen, like the black ones, had no faces.

“Now what do we do?” Neville whispered, eyes wide as he moved his head this way and that to process everything he was seeing.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ron said, gesturing to the chessboard in front of them. “We’ve got to play our way across the room.”

And he was right, because behind the white pieces on the other side, they could see another door that most likely led to the next chamber they had to go through.

“How?” Hermione asked, swallowing nervously. “Some pieces are missing.”

“I believe,’ Draco said with narrowed eyes, “we’re going to have to be chessmen.”

The blond walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground, tilting its head towards Draco as if waiting for him to climb up. Ron did the same, finding the opposite knight also without a rider.

“Do we – er – have to join you to get across?”

The black horse nodded. Ron turned to the others.

“Well, we have no other choice” He said. “I suppose we’ve got to take the place of five of the black pieces…”

Ron and Draco shared a long look, and Hyperion tilted his head in thought at the duo before he smiled slightly.

“I think Draco and Ron should lead us through this, they are the two best chess players amongst us.”

“No,” Draco replied softly, “loath I am to admit it, Weasley is… better than me, he should lead.”

“Alright,” Hyperion agrees simply, “What should we do Ron?”

Ron stared for a moment at everyone, unable to completely believe that they – with their intelligence and strong personalities and leadership qualities – were so ready to follow his lead, but he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and then started directing like he was used to doing in chess games.

“Well, Hyperion, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle. Neville take the other bishop, and Draco will take the horse here.”

“What about you?” Hermione asked softly.

“I’m going to also be a knight.” Ron replied simply, and they all nodded in understanding.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening as well, because at the red-head’s words two a bishop and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board leaving three empty squares which Neville, Hyperion and Hermione took while Draco and Ron climbed on top of the horses they’d been standing beside.

“White always plays first in chess,” Ron explained, peering across the board. “Yes… look….”

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Draco observed and silently gave recommendations when Ron seemed stuck, helping the game along. Hyperion had faith in them, but he worried what would happen if they lost. Games like chess were subjective, weren’t they? He wasn’t the most knowledgeable on the matter, but his father always told him that outcomes relied on the opponent, not just you.

“Hyperion – move diagonally four squares to the right please.”

Their first real surprise came when their rook was taken.

The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, face down.

“Had to let that happen,” Ron said as he took a deep breath, looking shaken. “Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.”

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that one of them were in danger, saving them by making a risky move just in time. He himself darted around the board, aggressively taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

“We’re nearly there,” he muttered suddenly. “Let me think – let me think….”

“Weasley, NO!” Draco exclaimed suddenly, but it was too late. The white queen turned her blank face towards him.

“Yes…” Ron spoke softly, eying the queen with conviction, “it’s the only way…. I’ve got to be taken.”

“NO!” Neville and Hermione shouted, faces growing pale in horror.

“Ron….” Hyperion sighed, resignation and respect colouring his voice.

“That’s chess!” Ron snapped, agitated by their sympathy. “You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I’ll make my move and she’ll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Hyperion!”

“But….” Hermione sighed, knowing he was right but not wanting to accept it.

“Do you want to stop this or not?”

“Ron.” Hyperion said, tone going sharp.

“Look, if you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have escaped with whatever is here, and the world may be doomed!”

“He’s right.” Draco said, shaking his head as his face went a bit green.

There was nothing else to it and they knew it, they had to accept the consequences of this.

“Ready?” Ron called, his face pale but determined. “Here I go – now, don’t hang around once you’ve won, alright?”

He stepped forward and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard around the head with her stone arm and he crashed to the floor – Hermione screamed but stayed on her square – the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he’d been knocked out.

Shaking himself to snap out of his shock, Hyperion moved three spaces to the left. Checkmate. Ron had done it, but at what cost.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Hyperion’s feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear.

“I’ll stay with him, you guys hurry!” Draco called out, already moving to check the redhead and make sure he was okay. The others nodded, breathing deeply as they ran towards the door and charged into the next passageway.

“He’ll be all right,” Neville said, trying to convince the others as much as himself himself. “What do you reckon is next?”

“We’ve had Sprout’s, which was the Devil’s Snare – Flitwick must’ve put charms on the keys – McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive – that leaves Quirrell’s spell, and Snape’s….” Hermione recited in a whisper.

They had reached another door.

“Are you all right?” Hyperion whispered, checking before they moved onto the next trial.

“Go on.” Hermione encouraged, and he slowly opened the door, bracing himself for what was coming.

Chapter Text

November 10^th 1991

Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

Marisol Gutierrez has been an Auror for many years, joining as soon as she’d graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She wasn’t the typical Auror normally hired by the Ministry, but she’d risen through the ranks due to sheer grit and determination. She was a Venezuelan woman without an ounce of British blood in her veins, having a muggle mother and a muggle-born father. The only reason she’d even been able to attend Hogwarts was due to her father moving their family to the UK for work. If Marisol wasn’t as good as she’d been, or as smart, she would’ve never made it in the DMLE, especially with everything stacked against her – racism, sexism, blood purity and even age. Now, she was the youngest investigating Auror in the DMLE at thirty years old.

The path to this wasn’t easy, in fact it was probably the hardest thing she’d ever had to get through, but now she’d found stability in all aspects of her life, something she was incredibly grateful for. Then the letter had arrived, and she knew, down in the deepest recesses of her mind where the instincts she’d always relied on were buried, that life was about to get extremely hectic and things were about to change, but if it was for better or worse was still up in the air.

“¡Dios mío!” She whispered to herself in horror as she read the parchment, skimming at first before slowing down as the severity of the words registered in her mind. It’d arrived with a mysterious owl that hadn’t waited for a reply or even a treat, simply dropping the envelope on her cramped desk and making its swift exit. The handwriting was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t recall at all, especially with fear surging through her veins at the words, handwriting be damned.

‘Auror Gutierrez,

While we’ve never met in person, I’ve heard enough about you to know you are a kind, fair if trusting woman, and I have found myself in need of an Auror such as this to help me in an endeavour most prevalent.

This afternoon at Hogwarts, five students found themselves faced with dangerous tasks they should’ve never encountered in the safe walls of the school. They were then faced with an enemy I hope to never meet again. I am worried that the school’s administration has allowed this situation to occur wilfully instead of simply being unaware of the dangers hidden inside, and I’d like you to investigate the matter.

There is no one I’d trust with this task, as you and I are both aware of how… narrow-minded some of your colleagues can be. Please follow up on the issues promptly.

With gratitude,

A concerned parent.’

The letter was concerning enough, add to that the fact that her youngest brother had just started at the school, and Marisol couldn’t help the urgency that controlled her next actions.

She brought the concerns to her superior, Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head Auror, who’d reluctantly approved the investigation.

“It’s going to be useless, Dumbledore never reveals anything about the school to anyone, but I can’t officially stop you because minors are involved and the DMLE has a policy of always investigating cases related to minors.”

“Thank you, sir.” Marisol had responded in her distinct accent, nodding to herself as she left the office and headed to the nearest apparition point, grabbing her leather jacket on the way. It wasn’t traditional for Aurors to wear muggle clothes, but Marisol couldn’t stand the weird red robes her colleagues wore every day, so she’d taken a few… liberties that were frowned upon but not outright forbidden, but what else was new, Marisol’s entire existence in the DMLE was frowned upon but not forbidden.

She apparated to the nearest point, which was near Hogwarts station but outside the school gates, then she began the trek to her destination.

As soon as she’d reached the doors, she decided to forgo tradition and headed to the Hospital Wing instead of informing the Headmaster of her arrival. If there had been students in danger, then they would obviously be confined there by the ever demanding mediwitch.

Entering the school was a hit of nostalgia she wasn’t truly prepared for, but she pushed through the thoughts and focused on the task at hand. She’d been to the hospital wing many times as a student. From Quidditch injuries to bouts of illness, Marisol, as cautious as she’d always been, had not been exempt from staying there.

It was the same as it’d been around her time, nothing had truly changed, not even the matron currently puttering around checking on various beds and preparing medical equipment. She turned towards her when she opened the door, and her eyes widened in shock at Marisol’s presence, which was understandable considering she’d graduated about twelve years ago and it was rare for ex-students to return.

“Miss Gutierrez? What are you doing here?” She asked as she moved towards her. Marisol smiled warmly at the older woman, her blank expression softening in fondness. She’d always been fond of the woman, and she was sure she would’ve pursued a career as a healer if she hadn’t become an Auror simply from looking up to this amazing woman as a child.

“Official business, Madam Pomfrey. I got a letter this morning about five students being in danger, and the DMLE is obligated to investigate. Have you heard anything about that?”

“Well, I can’t say anything, but….” She trailed off at the end, gesturing to the beds behind her. Marisol inspected each one occupied, and what she saw left her standing there in a horrified stupor.

There, lying on a bed each, were indeed five students, all in different states of injury. The blond one looked fine, except for the exhaustion surrounding him like a blanket and what appeared to be mild frostbite on his fingertips, the brunette was covered in dirt and soot, trying his hardest to scrub it away with a wet cloth and failing miserably, the only girl among them was breathing heavily as if trying to calm herself down from a panic attack, the redhead was dead to the world, with a very serious bump on his head, and then there was the raven-head. He was sitting up on the hospital bed, criss-cross with his right elbow on his knee and his head in his open palm, observing everything around him like a mildly amused prince looking at his subjects, covered head to toe in black, not even a wrist visible.

Her breath hitched, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. God, his posture, his casual smirk, and his eyes, eyes that weren’t the same colour but had that same infuriating glint that’d gotten her into trouble one too many times, it was all so fucking familiar; it was crippling, but she tried to breathe through the shock and memories bombarding her mind like bombs going off in a minefield.

But the worst part of it all was that these… these children didn’t look older than twelve, were probably in first year like her brother. Dios mío, this was going to be a nightmare.

“Uhum,” She cleared her throat, gaining the attention of those awake. Four extremely intelligent, different coloured eyes turned towards her in sync. Marisol took a deep breath before continuing, “My name is Marisol Gutierrez, and I am an Auror with the DMLE.” Here she raised her jacket a bit to show the badge hanging from her belt, “I was sent a letter about an hour ago about five teenagers in danger here at the school. It’s my magically sworn duty to investigate, so if any of you would like to tell me what happened, please do so. I’m only here to help however I can.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” the raven-head whose features she still couldn’t look at directly – and Marisol had to force herself to keep that off her mind for her own sanity – said calmly, “You see Auror, it was completely out of our control….”

---------

Hyperion’s mind was blank. The final chamber had been easy enough to bypass. Hermione, as always eager to prove her intelligence, had jumped at the clues, devouring and solving the riddle in record time. Realising the solution – a potion that would get its drinker through a doorway made of fire – was only for one person, even though he knew it’d refill once emptied, as had been the case before, Hyperion used the opportunity to send Neville and Hermione away with the other potion Hermione had found, the one to take them back to where they’d begun this journey.

He watched on as the two left, Neville shivering from fear as he walked through the fire while Hermione had looked worried but determined.

Hyperion took a moment to centre himself, breathing in and out slowly and examining the bottles in front of him as a distraction.

“How basic,” He commented as he sniffed one of the poisons and looked at the others, raising an unimpressed brow at the variety, “I honestly expected more from Snape.”

Looking at the bottle in his hand once more, he tilted his head to the side, rolled his eyes at the dramatics and downed it in one go. A shiver ran down his spine, but he shook it off and turned dark eyes towards the fiery doorway.

“Time to see this through.”

--------

Before Hyperion could continue what is now clearly shaping up to be a deadly story, the Hospital Wing’s doors swing open once more, and the Headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore, walked in with a certain dramatic yet authoritative flare he was known for. Marisol had never really liked the man, who favoured people like James Potter but scorned Sirius Black, even though the two had been best friends and from the same Hogwarts house, and had made it a habit to ignore every other House but his own. The man had never even noticed Marisol’s existence until she’d defied all expectations and beat everyone out in DADA in her fifth year, becoming the only Hufflepuff in that generation to do so. Still, the man had never been very welcoming to those he didn’t want in his so-called circle (most of who were either dead, isolated, or permanently stuck in the Hospital, so do with that what you will).

The man stopped at the door abruptly at the sight of Marisol sitting at the raven-head’s bedside, listening to him intently. Marisol made eye contact with the extremely intelligent boy for a moment before they turned towards the Headmaster in unison. Madam Pomfrey ignored it all, focusing on casting spells over the redhead and then moving onto the blond to inspect his hands.

“I’m sorry, but are you a family member of Mister Black’s? I’m afraid no one is allowed to visit the students quite yet, so I must ask you to leave.”

“I am not. My name is Marisol Gutierrez, I am an Auror of the DMLE. I received news of an attack that had occurred at the school on minors and have been tasked with completing the investigation, so if you’ll allow me to do my job, Headmaster, that would be much appreciated, or else I’ll have to bring my supervisors here for a formal meeting and I don’t think either of us want that, yes?”

The man’s smile was clearly forced and the twinkle in his eyes did not hide the irritation he was trying to cover up with his bright expression. Beside her, she could see the raven-haired boy looking at the man with an unimpressed eyebrow raised.

“Auror Gutiérrez, this was all just a simple school mishap. The DMLE have no reason to investigate a crime that doesn’t exist, and I’m sure you have more dire cases to look into instead of a group of children causing trouble.”

The brunette girl turned towards the old man with a stunned look. Before she could say anything, Marisol spoke up. While the man had been talking, Marisol had taken the time to scan the room magically, a skill she’d developed training as an Auror with some extra… help. It was called Forensic Magic, an obscure branch that only the most gifted and trusted of Law Enforcement officers could learn, being chosen from among hundreds of recruits to learn under one master. What she found was extremely concerning and contradictory to the man’s insistent placations.

“Headmaster, with all due respect, that isn’t true at all. That boy has blunt force trauma. That one opposite him has cryo-burns. And the other three are magically and physically exhausted. This isn't a mishap, Professor. This is a war zone. And, I’m afraid its department policy to investigate all incidents pertaining to minors, especially those brought to the department by a concerned parent. So no, I will not be leaving!”

“Oh, so who was it that brought this to your attention?” He said, clearly trying to both deflect and fish for any information he could use. Unfortunately for him, Marisol was a stickler for the rules and had never fallen for his charms.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say that information at this time. Upon the conclusion of my investigation, my supervisors can decide if this is information we can publicize or not. For now, could you please leave so I can talk to these students without their headmaster intimidating them?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Minors cannot be interrogated by officers without a guardian present after all, and during the school year, that would be me.”

“And I would’ve called you immediately if this were an interrogation, especially since I want this case to be as clear and concise as possible, but as I am not interrogating them or forcing them to respond, there is no reason for you to be here, unless they want you to. Mister….” She trailed off, turning to the boy beside her to indicate she was waiting for him to answer her prompt.

“Black, Auror Gutierrez, Hyperion Black.” And it took every ounce of power and discipline she’d cultivated through the years for her not to react to that particular name. As it were, her breath still hitched slightly.

“Mister Black, do you want the Headmaster here while we talk?”

“I’d rather not. It’s not very comfortable to speak of something that might be considered rule-breaking around your headmaster, isn’t it?” The boy said simply, tilting his head and giving the fakest innocent look she’d ever seen and – considering she’d practically raised her four siblings – that was saying something.

“I would only be here to ensure your safety, Mister Potter, and I assure you neither you nor your friends will get in trouble over this.” The name confused her to no end, and it obviously angered the boy as she watched his emerald green eyes flash silver, something she’d seen before but only in passing.

“I’d still rather not.” He reiterated, and Marisol made eye contact with Madam Pomfrey and tilted her head a bit, the matron obviously understanding what she was getting at.

“Leave the poor students alone, Albus, I’m sure you can see them after Miss Gutierrez leaves.”

“Of course, of course,” the man said in a placating tone, expression shifting to happy compliance but not before his eyes flashed in anger for a moment. Hmm… “I’ll leave this in your capable hands, then, Auror Gutierrez, but I would appreciate an update once you are done with everything.”

“Of course Headmaster.” Marisol said, lying through her teeth. She watched the man leave with narrowed eyes. She would definitely be talking to her boss’s boss, the Head of the DMLE Amelia Bones, before saying anything to Dumbledore. She’d need backing and clear instructions on how to proceed once she understood the story enough. “Now, Mister Black, where were we?”

“Please, it’s Hyperion,” the boy said with his most charming smile, and Marisol raised an unamused brow even as her lips quirked at the way he was trying to lure her in. Cute, she thought as she tried her hardest to supress the memories this all brought up. “Well, after I drank the potion, I went through the doorway….”

-------

The sight in front of him wasn’t nearly as surprising as it probably should’ve been. Hyperion was intimately in tune with his magic, he’d recognized the darkness that surrounded this particular man from the very start, a darkness that eclipsed everyone else’s, both professor and student, even a self-proclaimed dark wizard like Severus Snape.

“Professor Quirrell, what are you doing here?” Hyperion said casually, tilting his head and putting his hands in his pockets. Blacks never showed weakness, especially not to an enemy, and Hyperion was certainly not starting now.

“Mister Black, I’ve been expecting you. Well, not me per se, but my master certainly has.” His face, even as he spoke, wasn’t twitching at all, completely different from how he was in the classroom. The mask was off, then. Good, Hyperion hated pretences.

“Oh? Is your master here, or will I be speaking with the messenger only today?”

“It’s just me for now, so wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.”

Hyperion hummed, turning his own eyes towards the mirror. It was an ancient, ornate mirror. It had clawed feet and a gold frame inscribed with the phrase ‘Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’ at the top. A very clever way to hide such an artefact. The words were backwords, but they described exactly what the artefact did: I show not your face but your hearts desire.

“This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,” Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this….”

Stone? What could…. Oh. Oh. Hyperion hadn’t thought Dumbledore was that fucking stupid. The hints had all been there, though, Hyperion just hadn’t been aware they were part of a bigger picture.

“You see my son, even the most powerful men hadn’t been able to crack the world’s biggest mystery, immortality…. That is until Nicholas Flamel, the founding father of Alchemy, had created the Philosopher’s Stone. It is a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold, and it produces the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal. It has been sought after by many, including the Dark Lord at one point, but Flamel has it in a very secure location where only him and his wife can access and use it.” His father had told him during one of their many history lessons, and Hyperion hadn’t been very interested, as both alchemy and immortality weren’t fields he was that curious about, but now…. Merlin this was messy. Unless…. Was it a fake? Or was Dumbledore that stupid? Hyperion couldn’t tell anymore, and he couldn’t risk it either way. The man couldn’t leave this room with the stone.

“I suppose the troll on Halloween was you, then? And sneaking around the corridor was surveillance, yes?”

“Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there?” Hyperion had seen it, yes, and it was disgusting. “Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off – and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn’t even manage to bite Snape’s leg off properly.”

“Ah, that makes sense I suppose.”

Quirrell came back out from behind the Mirror and stared hungrily into it.

“I see the Stone… I’m presenting it to my master… but where is it?”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be simple.” Hyperion said with an unimpressed brow raised. Was this man stupid? He was obviously just a minion but didn’t Voldy pick them for their prowess or intelligence. Certainly his father would’ve wiped the floor with this man in a second if they’d been Death Eaters at the same time.

“SHUT IT!” He shouted, clutching at his head tightly. Hyperion’s eyes zeroed in on the sign of weakness. Hmm….

“Are you in pain? You’re practically sobbing.” Hyperion said in a soft voice, faking empathy to lure the man into a false sense of safety. If he’d just show him….

“Sometimes,” the man whispered hauntingly, falling into Hyperion’s honey trap easily, “I find it hard to follow my master’s instructions. He is a great wizard and I am weak….”

“So I will be meeting him then? That’s good to know. I wonder where he might be… behind the door perhaps?” Hyperion said in a sickly-sweet voice, mouth twisting in a scowl as he stood behind the man so he couldn’t see.

“He is with me wherever I go,” Quirrell said quietly. “I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it…. Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very… hard on me.” Quirrell shivered suddenly, as if physically recalling the torture the Dark Lord had put him through. Poor minion, Hyperion thought in equal parts pity and derision. “He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me… decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me….”

Hyperion’s mind raced as he processed all that he was hearing, connecting the dots in his mind. The break-in at Gringotts, then the forbidden corridor at the school, the troll and now this…. This had been a plan set in motion from the summer before, and Hyperion could either leave it to fail on its own (which would probably happen; either the stone was a fake or the idiot would never be able to get it on his own) or stop the man himself. Well… Blacks weren’t known for their humility, were they? Their self-preservation, yes, but not their ability to walk away from glory. And this was a prime opportunity for some glory.

He watched as Quirrell cursed under his breath then glared at the mirror in equal parts derision and desperation.

“I don’t understand! Is the Stone inside the Mirror? Should I break it and see?”

Hmm…. The mirror was obviously enchanted to bestow the stone on someone worthy, and if it showed someone’s truest heart’s desire, then simply wishing to have the stone but not use it would give it to him right? It was something Dumbledore, the paragon of light he was, would think of. He could simply move to stand in front of the mirror and check for himself, but that would make what he was doing obvious to the foolish man in front of him. It was best to stay inconspicuous for now. The man, interestingly enough, hadn’t even tied Hyperion down. Was he underestimating him or hoping to lure him to the Dark side, especially with his Slytherin sorting in mind? This was a tricky situation, but not unsolvable.

He didn’t shuffle, that was unbecoming, but he did take small steps towards the mirror. The professor, stupidly enough, completely ignored him, focusing on his task and muttering to himself. Hyperion tilted his head in consideration as he took a few more small steps.

“What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!” He shouted desperately.

And to Hyperion’s surprise and displeasure, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come directly from Quirrell. Oh, ew….

“Use the boy…. Use the boy….” At the suggestion, Quirrell turned to stare at Hyperion, who simply looked back at him with a blank expression.

“Yes! Potter, come here.” He grabbed Hyperion’s shoulders and dragged him to stand in front of the mirror.

“It’s Black, not Potter. And don’t touch me.” Hyperion said succinctly and furiously, shrugging the man’s disgusting hands off him.

“Shut it! Now, look in the Mirror and tell me what you see.” He was starting to sound truly deranged, and Hyperion’s brows furrowed for a moment before he went blank again. He obviously had to lie, revealing the truth would jeopardise Hyperion’s plans.

He was watching his reflection, as blank faced and unimpressed as he currently was, but then the reflection rippled and changed, and the apathetic expression morphed into a smirk. The image put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone, playing with it a bit before putting it back in its pocket, and as it did, Hyperion felt an approximately equal weight drop into his own. Huh, so that’s how it worked.

“Well?” Quirrell asked impatiently. “What do you see?”

“Hmm, I see myself surrounded by my family, sitting on the throne of the Head of my House.” It was close enough to Hyperion’s actual dream, and something many heirs dreamed of, that it didn’t seem unrealistic.

Quirrell cursed again, body shaking in obvious fear and frustration.

“Get out of the way,” He ordered, and Hyperion growled under his breath but moved aside calmly. He could feel the Philosopher’s Stone against his leg as he walked. He wondered what came next, the man obviously wouldn’t let him go so easily. Before he could think his options over; however, a high voice spoke again, though Quirrell never moved his lips whenever this voice spoke, which meant it wasn’t outright possession but something far more sinister. The Dark Lord truly worked in… weird ways. How his father had followed such a man was still a complete mystery to Hyperion.

“He lies…. He lies….”

“Potter, Black, you! Come back here!” Quirrell shouted, mentioning both his surnames before giving up. “Tell me the truth! What did you just see?’

The high voice spoke again.

“Let me speak to him… face to face….” Hyperion raised his brow questioningly.

“Master, you are not strong enough!”

“I have strength enough… for this….” So the great Voldy was actually completely depleted, relying on this weak man to help him. How pathetic….

Curious and bit disgusted, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. Quirrell’s head looked strangely small without it on. Then he turned slowly on the spot, and where there should have been a back to Quirrell’s head, there was a face, the most terrible face Hyperion had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. How the mighty have fallen indeed…. But that was debatable, because had Voldemort ever truly been that great?

“Harry Potter….” The face whispered. Hyperion scowled, he hated that name passionately.

“Not my name, it’s Hyperion Black.” But the man ignored him to continue his obviously long awaited monologue. Was he truly emulating the villains of the books he’d read as a child? Not very original, was it.

“See what I have become?” It said, complaining in a woe is me way that Hyperion hated. Like he should pity the man. “Mere shadow and vapour.… I have form only when I can share another’s body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…. Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…. Now… why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket?”

“Why would I ever do that?” Hyperion asked rhetorically, tone unimpressed. The man growled at him in anger before seeming to rethink his next words, finally realising intimidation wasn’t going to work on him like it would’ve any other first year. He wasn’t just another student, though, he was a Black, and Blacks never showed intimidation or fear, only confidence or nothing at all.

“Don’t be a fool,” the face leered at him. “Better save your own life and join me…. I can give you all your heart’s true desires. Power, influence, maybe even your parents standing beside you…. All you have to do is give me that stone, that’s all.”

"Hmm, I don’t think so. You offer me power? I am a Black. I was born with more power than you could beg for." Hyperion was done playing the man’s – men’s? – games. It was time to act. Reaching into the well of his family’s power, knowing he couldn’t simply duel the man with the difference in their age and experience, he took a deep breath, feeling the shadows converge all around him. He knew his dark green eyes had probably turned silver, and he simply pointed a finger at Quirrell. The shadows hardened like a rope as they wrapped around the man, trapping him. Some wrapped around his wrist, forcing him to drop the wand clutched tightly in his hand. Hyperion could already feel the darkness start to consume him from the inside, the downside to using this much power this young, but he pushed it aside for later.

“What is the meaning of this?!” The wraith of the Dark Lord screamed from the back of the professor’s skull, demanding even in this moment of weakness.

“This is me bringing you to justice and getting glory for stopping the Dark Lord before he could kill anyone. My family will rise once more, burying the shame of joining you once and for all.” Hyperion forced the shadows to pull the man to his height, watching as the dark lord screamed at Quirrell, who couldn’t do anything but shiver in fear and stammer placations.

He grabbed the man’s chin to force him to make eye contact, and watched with wide, shocked eyes as Quirrell’s face blistered as if burned by extreme heat. That same heat seemed to emanate from his ring finger, specifically the Heir ring his father had carefully put on him before he’d left home all those months ago, as if the ring recognised the foulness and unnaturalness its owner was touching. He should’ve known Regulus Black wouldn’t leave his son defenceless….

“AAAARGH!” His brows furrowed, and he tried to stop the man from thrashing by grabbing at his arms. This was apparently the wrong – or right, depending on your perspective – move to make. Quirrell screamed and threw Hyperion off, but it was too late. He felt a blinding headache stab at him but tried to ignore it too as he listened to Quirrell’s terrible shrieks and Voldemort’s yells of “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” and the other voices, likely those of the dead he heard when using his powers. This was too much, he hadn’t meant for it to get so out of control. Hyperion felt like he was burning from the inside out, everything was screaming, and the sounds pierced through his ears like knives. He couldn’t…. he couldn’t think! He needed to…. God, he needed it to STOP!

The man’s body slowly disintegrated into dust, and Hyperion watched the Dark Lord’s wraith float away screaming as he crumbled to the ground, clutching his head in pain and trying to catch his breath but failing miserably. He looked at his hands and found his veins had turned pure black, but his eyes kept going in and out of focus and he couldn’t really process anything. So this was the price he had to pay…. The last thing he remembered doing was sending his father a warning signal through his heir ring before passing out, welcoming the darkness with open arms after his last task was over. Finally, relief….

----------

“I imagine someone came to rescue me after that, but I am not aware of who did.” He finished, and Marisol’s mouth had gone slack long go, unable to process the impossible story she’d just been told.

“Yes, Professor Snape was the one who brought you in Mister Black.” Madam Pomfrey explained as she checked on the still unconscious redhead, whom Marisol now knew to be Ron Weasley, Arthur Weasley’s youngest son. The blond recovering from frostbite was Draco Malfoy, and Marisol truly hoped this didn’t get back to the boy’s insufferable father, even as she felt bad for the boy who wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, simply staring blankly at the blanket draped over him. The girl was muggle-born Hermione Granger and the brunet boy was Neville Longbottom, son of her old superior officer Frank Longbottom, and wasn’t that a heart-breaking thought. The man would be proud of his brave son if he were lucid enough to understand the young boy’s heroics.

“So the traps were originally meant for the thief, who you say is the now deceased Quirinus Quirrell possessed by the spirit of You-Know-Who, am I following so far?”

“Yes,” Miss Granger replied, voice shaking, which was the first time Marisol had heard her speak, as the girl had been listening as intently as herself to Hyperion’s… rather unusual story. She looked at the girl, and found a look of horrified realisation on her face. So she hadn’t know what had happened beyond the chambers….

“And you decided to stop this thief from getting his hand on Nicholas Flamel’s Philosopher’s stone?”

“Yes, here.” Hyperion said, pulling a bright red stone from his pocket, “Though I believe it’s a fake.”

Everyone gaped at him, even Malfoy, who’s head snapped up to stare at the rock as it gleamed red in the morning light. Marisol’s breath hitched. Did the boy not realise that a priceless treasure was currently in his hands? But if it is a fake….

“The Department of Mysteries and Flamel himself are the only beings who’d be able to verify that.” Marisol finally said after a few moments of shocked silence, “I’m afraid I might need to take it from you at some point, as it is evidence in all of this and certainly doesn’t belong in a school.”

“I’d rather send it to Mister Flamel directly, as it is his property.” Hyperion said diplomatically, and Marisol couldn’t help feeling surprised by the boy’s maturity, though she shouldn’t have been. The young Black has been thoughtful in how he handled everything, and her own suspicions on who the boy’s father might be strengthened with every topic they broached, impossible as the thought was, because the man she was thinking of was very dead. Or was he? The treacherous, hopeful part of her brain whispered, but she shut that down fast, as she’d been doing for a decade.

“I’ll write all of this in the report, though someone else might also come and speak with each of you separately, just to straighten out every detail and also get Mister Weasley’s perspective. Would that be alright with you all?”

“Of course, Auror Gutierrez. We’ll do whatever the DMLE needs to get this over.” Surprisingly, Longbottom was the one to respond, voice filled with the proper amount of respect for an authority figure even as he seemed to be trembling, probably the residual effect of their ordeal and hearing what Hyperion had needed to do to survive his own harrowing ordeal. It was truly heart-breaking what this children had been through…. And all because of adults’ negligence.  

“I would be happy to.” Hyperion also said, and when Marisol made eye-contact with him, she found him assessing her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. It was equal parts intriguing and alarming. She didn’t like how it made her feel, like her soul was being scrutinized and was found wanting.

Now she had to bring all of this to her bosses and Dumbledore and see how it would all be handled. Dios, qué puta pesadilla.

She stood, ready to say her goodbyes before leaving, when the infirmary’s door opened and an unexpected figure walked in hesitantly. Looking around till his eyes landed on Miss Granger, making them light up in recognition.

“Martin?” The boy’s head snapped to her, and his eyes widened in shock.

“Hermana?” He asked, walking towards her to give her a tight hug. Dios, she’d missed him, she hadn’t been able to see him since she’d dropped him off at platform nine and three quarters at the end of September. She didn’t notice Hyperion giving the two an inscrutable look, but Martin did, though he ignored it for now.

“¿Qué haces aquí?” She asked, wondering why he could possibly be here. He wasn’t sick, was he?!

“Oh, I just wanted to check on Hermione and give her today’s classwork.” The aforementioned girl’s eyes widened, and Marisol smiled proudly at her brother’s thoughtfulness. Now that he’d mentioned it, she noticed the papers in his hand, which she’d ignored because of her concern. Worry had always made her blind to the obvious, especially when it came to her siblings. What a perceptive Auror I am, she thought self-deprecatingly.

“Oh, thank you so much, Martin.” Hermione said brightly, trying to pronounce his name like Marisol had but missing by a bit, it was still cute she’d tried in the first place. Most just ignored their Latin heritage and used the British pronunciation of their names.

She let the two talk for a bit, taking the moment of distraction to iron out a few details with Hyperion. The siblings then left the Hospital Wing together, Marisol taking the time to check up on her baby brother as she led him to his dorms.

“¿Estás bien?” She asked, a simple are you okay in their native tongue, something clear and comforting.

“Sí, hermana. Muy bien. Hogwarts es muy divertido.” Martin replied, smiling brightly. She’s glad he’s finding Hogwarts fun, which is certainly better than her own experience.

“Good. I’m glad.”

The two continued talking in familiar Spanish the rest of the way to Ravenclaw Tower, and then Marisol had to say goodbye. It was a long hug, mainly because Marisol found it hard to let go again, but she did in the end. She watched him enter through the entrance after solving a riddle made by a portrait of a sphynx, and she realised that she had to face her reality once more.

What the bloody hell was she going to tell Amelia Bones? What the fuck was she telling Dumbledore?! This was so messy, and could be a complete and utter disaster if she didn’t tread very lightly.

“Malditos sean Blacks!” She cursed as she started marching to the gates of Hogwarts. She didn’t know whether to be impressed or pissed. Would this family ever leave her alone?! Wasn’t it enough that… that he’d left her! Broke her heart into tiny pieces that it took her a fucking decade to get over it, if she even had…. Sometimes she doubted she ever would….

She shook her head, clearing the melancholy from her mind. It didn’t matter anymore, and she couldn’t cry over spilled milk. God knew she’d already done enough of that over the years. Besides, there’s a patronus she had to send and a meeting she had to arrange.

Chapter Text

December 3^rd 1991

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

When Regulus had been a child, before he’d ever stepped foot in Hogwarts, he’d waited for his brother in this very hall. He’d sat cross legged on the floor in front of the floo, waiting for his father and brother to return from Platform nine-and-three-quarters. He’d been so excited, his skin was practically vibrating. He’d missed his brother so much it was becoming hard to even breathe, and he’d been thrilled to hear about the older boy’s adventures at the magical school. And when his brother had greeted him with a wide grin his mother would later call unbecoming, Regulus would feel warm inside.

He was not warm now. He could actually feel cold fear crawling up his spine. Because he’d heard about what had happened at Hogwarts two weeks ago, and he was scared of the state his son would come back in.

Regulus could feel his hands shaking, the urge to light a cigarette and smoke in his balcony was almost all consuming, but he refrained, barely. He couldn’t think, could barely even breathe, and he felt the air rattling in his chest with every step he took as he paced in front of that same fireplace. He was panicking, he knew he was panicking, but the only way for it to abate is if the source of these emotions arrived safe and sound. He needed to be patient and wait. Unfortunately, patience was not a Black virtue.

The boy may not have been in his life for very long, but he’d wormed his way into Regulus’s cold, dead heart, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was thinking about it, about what could’ve happened, what might have actually happened…. If a single hair on his son’s head had been hurt, Regulus will burn the world to the ground with Dumbledore at the centre of the fire.

The floo suddenly flared an emerald green, and a few seconds later, Hyperion stepped out slowly, and Regulus could instantly tell that something was wrong.

His hair wasn’t combed properly, her normally shining eyes were a dull green, and his face was gaunt with deep, dark sacks under his eyes. The uniform Regulus had gotten especially tailored for him was hanging off of his frame, and his hands were shaking slightly. If you didn’t know the boy, you wouldn’t even notice any of this, but Regulus had been caring for him for two years, this was his son, and he was not okay.

The boy opened his mouth, presumably to greet his father, but Regulus didn’t give him a chance, taking two long strides before bringing him into his arms, the two collapsing into a heap on the floor. As soon as Regulus’s arms closed around him, Hyperion broke down sobbing. All the emotions, all the fear and anger and pure exhaustion he’d been feeling for the past two weeks coming out in a tidal wave of tears he couldn’t even hope to stop, and Regulus didn’t want him to. He was glad the boy could express his emotions in front of his father and know he was safe, a feeling Regulus had never felt from his own parents.

“It’s okay, mon trésor, I have you. You are safe here.” The boy was ice cold, so Regulus tightened his arms even more if that was even possible. The two stayed there for a moment that could’ve been hours, though Regulus couldn’t care less, before Hyperion’s tears started to dry and Regulus pulled away a small amount to take a good look at the boy. He put a hand on the boy’s cheek, turning it left and right to see the damage, but then his eyes caught onto something else. Pulling away a bit more, he grabbed the boy’s hands and pulled his sleeves back, gasping in shock at the sight in front of him.

Hyperion’s veins had turned pitch black, starting at his wrists and ending just below his neck. The price a Black had to pay from overdoing it. It wasn’t just cosmetic, that Regulus knew intimately, it was a pain that was both physical and soul deep, an exhaustion that made you feel like you were constantly walking through quicksand…. Like your very being was slowly being drained.

“Oh, mon fils, what has that horrible man forced you to do?”

“I had to, Papa, I couldn’t… j'ai dû survivre.” Regulus’s eyes flashed a blinding white before they returned to their normal silvery grey. He wasn’t just mad or sad, he was fucking furious, his anger burning through his veins like lava. This is exactly why he did not want his son in Dumbledore’s orbit, because he knew, as the horrible man had done to his brother and the Potters and even Remus fucking Lupin, he would try to turn his precious son into a martyr, a hero he could hide behind when the war began once more, and Regulus had sworn on the souls of his most treacherous ancestors that he would not allow that to happen, not as long as he was alive.

“Hyperion, how did that man force your hand, what did he do to make you use your powers so… so intensely that you were punished for it?”

Hyperion hesitated for barely a second before he started speaking, and once he’d begun, he found he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop. His father had earned his trust tenfold, and Hyperion had promised never to hide anything from him, and he wouldn’t, especially not to help a man like Dumbledore.

So he told him. Told him about the tasks they had to do to reach the chamber where the secret artefact had been stored, how they were boring and basic, something Hyperion could bypass in his sleep. He told him how he’d found Quirrell at the end, creepy and angry, speaking of a master that was with them in the room. How he’d realised that it was the philosopher’s stone that the man was looking for. The frustrating conversation he had with the dense man. He admitted how he’d wanted the glory even while knowing that the professor’s plan would probably fail, giving his father a sheepish smile when he stared at him with an unimpressed stare. He described the Dark Lord’s disfigured face and annoyingly soft voice that grated on his nerves. How he’d been done with their bullshit and had simply acted, using his Black gift to pull the man close, how, as soon as he’d touched the man’s face, it felt like he was simultaneously burning Quirrell and himself. The pain and agony that Regulus must’ve felt through their connected rings, how he’d simply wanted it to stop, and then it did. He explained how he woke up in the infirmary surrounded by his injured and/or shocked friends, and the conversations he’d had with Dumbledore and Auror Gutierrez.

Regulus simply listened, holding onto his son’s hands and nodding or humming when needed. As soon as Hyperion was done, he pulled the boy up and onto the couch to be more comfortable before he began speaking.

“I will admit, Marisol’s presence was my doing. As soon as I realised what had possibly happened, paired with the letter you’d sent me previously about venturing into the forbidden corridor, I sent her a letter to investigate what had happened to you.”

“You two now each other, don’t you? She kept muttering about Blacks and you wouldn’t have sent her the letter specifically if you didn’t trust her implicitly.”

“We’ve been… acquainted before, yes.” Hyperion tilted his head in thought for a moment before his eyes widened in realisation.

“Oh! You dated!” The boy exclaimed with a loud laugh, and Regulus grumbled under his breath but was hiding a smile by tilting his head to the side.

“Perhaps, but that does not matter now. Give me your hands.” The boy did as told, still snickering at the flustered look on his normally unflappable father’s face. The man shook his head before grabbing his son’s hands in his own and started chanting softly under his breath in what Hyperion recognized as Greek, though he wasn’t very fluent at it yet. Some of the words were familiar, like Black and save and heal, but he couldn’t understand anything else.

He watched as the black in his veins slowly started to recede, turning back to its normal colours, and Hyperion could feel the exhaustion that he’d become intimately familiar with start to slowly release him from its hold, and he could finally breathe properly. His body lost the tension it had been holding for the past two weeks and he practically melted into the couch.

“Thank you.” He said earnestly, and his father simply smiled and pulled him back into his arms. The Blacks weren’t normally cuddlers, but Hyperion was glad his father hadn’t held onto that, because he really needed this.

“I promise you, Hyperion, Dumbledore will pay for this. I will make sure of it. And so will the Dark Lord.”

“I know.” Hyperion said as his eyes closed, absolute certainty colouring his voice.

Regulus looked at the boy sleeping in his arms with wonder. He didn’t know how a wicked person like him had gotten a precious treasure like Hyperion as a son, but he would do his best to deserve this miracle he’d been bestowed, and to protect this boy, his son, from any harm threatening him.

December 4^th 1991

Courtroom Ten, Level 10, British Ministry of Magic, Whitehall, London, England.

“And in conclusion, I believe a higher level of oversight is needed to ensure the safety and welfare of the students are being met. There are a lot of things wrong with Hogwarts, and this incident has only highlighted what has been there for years, the problems that Headmaster Dumbledore insists aren’t there and continuously ignores.”

Marisol Gutierrez took a deep breath as she stared ahead, her posture ramrod straight, legs stuck together, hands by her side and wand in her holster, the picture perfect Auror ready to defend at a moment’s notice. She’d handed in her report about the Quirrell issue a few days before, and the issue had gotten so big until it found her here, in an emergency Wizengamot meeting behind the Chief Warlock’s back explaining her report to the Lords and Ladies representing the UKs oldest families and the department heads of the Ministry along with the Minister himself, a man Marisol had hoped not to personally interact with.

A wave of shocked silence propagated through the courtroom, and she waited for everyone to process what she was saying.

“So you’re saying that… what exactly? A group of first year students managed to defeat the wraith of the Dark Lord and lived to tell the tale? And some of them were our children?” Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom asked, her normally calm voice taking on an incredulous tone that was rarely heard from the formidable woman.

“It is not just your Grandson, Dowager, my son was involved as well. This is a crime, and consequences must be given!” Lord Lucius Malfoy shouted, standing abruptly, face red in rage, and Marisol had known this would be his reaction, the man was a well-known drama queen, even Reg-Black used to call him an attention whore. Look, Marisol got it, if it had been her brother in that position, she would be furious, but she didn’t think she’d be so… theatrical about it. “I demand Dumbledore be reprimanded and stronger limitations and controls be enforced in the school. I will not wait to get a notice of death!”

“And that is a valid request, Lord Malfoy,” Lord Ashford Avery said in soft voice, trying to calm Malfoy down, “and one I wholeheartedly agree with, but we must tread carefully. It is a well-established fact that Hogwarts is Dumbledore’s domain, and if we try to strong-arm our opinions on him, he may become… unreasonable.”

“Be that as it may,” Lord Theodorus Nott said in a gruff tone, “we are still Wizarding United Kingdom’s highest court of law and parliament. Our word is law, and even Dumbledore must bow to that at least once.”

“But he is our Chief Warlock as well, going behind his back seems… dishonourable.” Lord Andrew Macmillan said hesitantly, and those of the Light faction nodded at his words. Marisol couldn’t help scoffing under her breath, annoyed but unsurprised by the fact Dumbledore’s followers were being publically loyal to him even in a situation like this, a situation that was completely of the man’s doing and had put four innocent students in danger.

“With all due respect, Lord Macmillan,” Lady Longbottom said in a tone that implied there was actually no respect given by her, “you only say this because your son wasn’t the one in danger, but my grandson and Lord Malfoy’s son were, not to mention the new Black heir, apparently.”

“That has not been confirmed by the family, Lady Longbottom,” The Minister finally spoke, trying to save face most likely, because if it wasn’t just two heirs to most ancient houses, but also a Black, then he would have a very big problem on his hands. Some nodded in agreement, but Lord Malfoy’s smirk spoke volumes, and those that noticed it tried their best to hide their shock, but Marisol still noticed all of them. “But we are all in agreement then? The Board of Governors must interfere in Hogwarts?”

“Yes.” The voices of about three quarters of the chamber spoke in unison, and the magic of the courtroom counted those in favour versus those against. The score was obvious and not surprising at all. “Then, Lord Malfoy, as Head of the Board, you have the backing of the ministry and the Wizengamot to start. Now onto the specific changes required, what should Lord Malfoy start with?”

And Marisol watched silently as the Wizengamot deliberated on staff, security and more, hoping that her actions today help bring change to the school, for her brother and the other students’ sakes.

And maybe also bring a bit of justice for the boy who’d been thrown to the wolves at the school where he was supposed to be safe.

¡Maldita sea! Her dastardly soft spot for those fucking Blacks.

December 25^th 1991

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England.

There is something magical about waking up in your own bed on Christmas day, especially for someone like Hyperion who hadn’t had a family to celebrate with until the year before. Christmas had been so nice last year, so warm and breathtakingly beautiful, that Hyperion couldn’t think anything could top it off, but of course, his extremely competitive father had taken that as a challenge when Hyperion had causally spoken those words, and now Hyperion was bracing himself for something as dramatic as the man himself.

He woke slowly with soft hands combing through his hair, which was a vast cry from last Christmas already. The year before, his father wasn’t as affectionate as he was now, a development Hyperion proudly took full credit for, and had simply sent Kreacher to wake him up for breakfast, and while the presents he’d received were more than he could’ve ever expected – not that he had much expectations after the Dursleys – the simple fact he’d had a family that actually wanted him was what had made the day so magical for him – even if that family was a reclusive man and his crazy house-elf.

Now though, the soft touches his father was bestowing on him, and the look of adoration he could see directed at him from under his lashes, it all made his breath hitch and warmth fully consume him. They truly had come a long way, Regulus and he, from the touch averse duo that were simply trying to carve a place in each other’s lives to a father-son pair that loved each other more than anyone else in the world and weren’t afraid to show it, even if they showed it in more… aggressive ways than was probably normal. Blacks loved fiercely, and both Hyperion and Regulus were perfect examples of that.

“I know you’re awake, mon cœur, Joyeux Noël.”

“Joyeux Noël, Papa.” Hyperion whispered, turning his head and taking the chance to cuddle into his father’s warm embrace. The man above him laughed softly at his affectionate actions, but Hyperion didn’t care. Their family had a certain reputation, and being soft and loving wasn’t part of it, so he couldn’t really act like this anywhere but here, behind Grimmauld Place’s vicious wards.

“Time to get up I believe, or do you not wish to open your presents today?”

“No!” Hyperion snapped up, and Regulus let out one of his rare full bellied laugh, it wasn’t the evil cackle he let out when he felt particularly mad, but the one he only revealed when he was truly happy, and Hyperion couldn’t help feeling proud that he was the one to cause its appearance.

“Alright then, up you go.” Regulus said as he helped Hyperion get out of bed. “Now, clean up, get dressed and meet me downstairs. I believe today should be to your liking.”

“I have no doubt, Dad.” The two shared another soft smile before Regulus clapped his hand and pushed Hyperion towards the bathroom, laughing when the boy stumbled before leaving him to his morning routine.

Hyperion got washed and dressed in record time, taking the stairs at a run, ignoring Kreacher’s warning shout. As soon as he entered the dining room, he found himself under the heavy scrutiny of the portraits of his family.

“Happy Holidays, young heir.” His great-grandfather, Lord Arcturus Black, said formally, and Hyperion replied in the same tone.

“Happy Holidays to you as well, Great-Grandfather.”

“Oh heavens Arcturus, can you not show the boy an ounce of affection?” A much warmer female voice came from the same frame with a thick Scottish accent, and Hyperion watched as the man’s wife, Lady Melania Black née Macmillan entered the frame, a soft smile on her beautiful face. “Happy Yule Darling.”

“Thank you Grannie, Happy Yule.”

The other portraits followed suit, and Hyperion greeted each one personally, giving them all small smiles. It would be unbecoming if he grinned broadly as he was tempted to do, and if he did, he knew he would get an earful from the… stricter personalities in his extended family.

Regulus entered the room then as Kreacher and about five plates trailed him, all filled to the brim with food that made Hyperion’s mouth water from the smell alone.

“Kreacher hopes Masters enjoy Yule Breakfast.” The elf said with a dramatic flourish, and Regulus and Hyperion shared an amused look before thanking Kreacher in unison and digging into the incredibly delicious food. Kreacher had truly outdone himself, making them eggs, bread with cheese and salmon, and even, to both their surprise, French toast. Hyperion had never had anything so sweet in his life, and he barely resisted the urge to hum in satisfaction.

The two ate in silence, as was becoming for members of an Ancient Family, but afterwards, they converged to the sitting room where Hyperion was handed his presents.

“You didn’t have to get me all of this.” The boy said softly as he found himself surrounded by wrapped packages.

“I wanted to,” Regulus said simply, his eyes softening at the boy’s awed expression. Last Christmas, Regulus had been too scared to even try ordering things, much less get his newly acquired son anything for the holiday, but he wasn’t scared anymore, and he was already making plans to return to society, so he might as well spoil his son for the first time in the boy’s life. “And not everything is from me.”

“What?” Hyperion asked, shocked by the man’s words, which only made Regulus’s heart clench further. His son, who was precious in his eyes, still hadn’t realised other people cared for him enough to send him gifts.

“Yes, look.”

The man was right; there was a present from Barty, another from Narcissa and Draco, and even ones from Neville, Hermione and Ron.

“The ones from your friends arrived last night, and Barty dropped his off a week ago.”

“There’s one here from Remus Lupin,” Hyperion gasped out, shocked. He thought he’d never get in contact with the man who was his supposed pseudo-godfather, but here he was, receiving a present from the mysterious man.

“Apparently he’s been trying to reach you for years, sending letters and presents every birthday and holiday since you were two. I don’t know where that mail went, though I can make an educated guess, but since the adoption any mail addressed to Harry Potter gets redirected to me through Gringotts. I hadn’t realised last year because of everything, but I noticed this year and ensured it was here if you want it. The choice is, of course, yours.”

“Merci, papa.” With that admission of gratitude, Hyperion started carefully opening each present, making sure he knew exactly who it was from, so that he could express his gratitude to each of them properly.

The first three was from Regulus. One was a classical robe that he could wear in formal events – it was full black, with the Black family crest on the sleeve to indicate his status as heir, emerald green trim and a delicate pattern of ravens in a darker black, the fabric was clearly an expensive cotton blend, and Hyperion could feel the softness on his hand. The second was a set of three books especially curated from the Black library at Grimmauld, specifically the section Hyperion wasn’t allowed to go near.

“I went through the books and picked the ones you might find most interesting.”

The third gift was probably the most precious of anything he’d ever gotten, aside from his watch. A small dagger matched the one Regulus always carried around; with a sharp silver blade that seemed to suck the light instead of reflecting it and an ornate handle of black obsidian with the carving of a Hungarian horntail dragon winding around the handle. Its twin had a handle with a Hebridean Black wrapped around it, and was owned by Regulus himself, who never went anywhere without it.

“So?” Regulus asked, nerves making his voice shake a bit but he forced his expression to remain impassive, but then his son turned towards him and Regulus could see the tears glistening around his lashes and he immediately softened. “You like them?”

“I love them. Thank you, Papa.” The boy whispered emotionally, and Regulus pulled him into a short but tight hug. The two took a moment to compose themselves before Hyperion continued opening the rest of his presents.

He’d received expensive going out robes from Narcissa and Draco, a pair of dragon hide boots with lots of silver accents from Barty, who’d attached a note saying he hoped Hyperion used them to stomp on idiots, which made the boy laugh for a solid minute while Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose and contemplated his life decision. He’d also gotten a book on obscure offensive spells from the seventeenth century from Hermione Granger, a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages from Ron Weasley and a very thick tomb with every single Law that governs Wizarding England from Regulus’s cousin Andromeda, which wasn’t surprising considering the woman was proud defensive attorney with her own law firm.

Regulus noticed that Hyperion had left Remus’s letter and present for last but didn’t comment on it, just watched as the boy opened the envelope first and started reading the parchment inside. Regulus watched closely for the changes in Hyperion’s face he knew were coming. And he was right, he thought with a tinge of pride and being so attuned to his son’s emotions now, a development that had taken them a while.

The first expression that crossed his face was confusion, and then a hit of bitter anger had sharpened his eyes to a darker green before they lightened back to emerald and then grew wet with tears that didn’t actually fall.

The boy took a moment to compose himself before extending his hand in Regulus’s direction.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Which was all the confirmation Regulus needed to take the letter from his hand and start reading it himself. He really hoped Remus hadn’t filled it with the bullshit the Marauders had been known for back in school.

‘Dear Harry,

I’m not sure if your aunt and uncle ever talked to you about your parents, but my name is Remus Lupin and I was a friend of your parents’, one of their best friends actually, though I doubt that matters much to you. I know you don’t remember ever meeting me, but you were so precious to me, still are really, I wanted to meet and know the wonderful young man I’m sure you’ve become, but the opportunity hasn’t come as of the time I am writing this letter. Still, I would love if we could meet, but if you don’t feel comfortable enough for that, I completely understand if you don’t want that. Just know that there is a person out there who cares about you very much.

I don’t think writing the full story of how I know your parents here will be possible, it would take me a lifetime and I probably wouldn’t be able to, but I hope you know I loved both James and Lily dearly and losing them, and subsequently you, was like losing a part of myself. The events of that Halloween were horrific for you, I know more than you can probably imagine, and I hope you know that as you mourn them, so do I. You are not alone in missing them, you never were. They were my family when my own didn’t want me, and I will always love and miss them.

Happy Christmas prongslet (a nickname your godfather parents had lovingly bestowed on you).

Yours truly,

Uncle Moony (another nickname with a long story).’

“If he loved me so much, why did he let Dumbledore leave me with the Dursleys?!” Hyperion asked with an incredulous laugh, and Regulus could feel his heart break slightly as the way his son’s eyes were dark, seemingly lost in painful memories.

“I don’t know. There are reasons, secrets that are not mine to tell, but I don’t know if they are the reason or if it was something else. I have not spoken to Remus Lupin since he graduated from Hogwarts.” It was probably before that actually, which just showed the state of his relationship with Sirius during those last few years before Regulus’s almost death, especially considering Remus’s relationship with his brother. Even then, Regulus could respect the man’s privacy and not reveal anything without talking to him first.

“I don’t know if I want to reply or not.” Hyperion said after a minute or so of silence where Regulus could tell the boy was processing everything and analysing his thoughts, a habit he’d gotten from Regulus himself and probably Lily Evans-Potter as well.

Before the conversation could continue; however, a burst of flames shone above their heads, and the two flinched away from the blinding light for a moment before the reason behind the flash landed on their table with a soft trill.

“Fawkes!” Regulus exclaimed, eyes flashing a blinding white as he tried to calm down his powers that were starting to get out of control alongside his overprotectiveness. “Fuck! I forgot you could flame through wards. I should’ve put up a phoenix specific wards.”

Fawkes was the phoenix residing at Hogwarts School alongside the Headmaster, though Regulus didn’t know if he were a fixture of the school or Dumbledore’s familiar, but the truth was that the phoenix listened to the old man’s every command. The bird trilled musically at Regulus’s comment, but he ignored it to stare at the package it had dropped on Hyperion’s lap.

“What is happening?” Hyperion asked softly, staring between his father, the package in his lap and the phoenix lounging casually on their centre table.

“Fawkes is Dumbledore’s phoenix, so the man must’ve tried sending you this package and failed so he sent the phoenix.” Regulus said with a groan of annoyance. The intelligent creature nodded in agreement, and Regulus wasn’t surprised one bit that the bird understood and knew what had happened. “Now, let me test the parcel for spells or curses before you open it.”

The boy nodded, so Regulus got his wand out of its holster, and started muttering every detection spell, light or dark, while directing his magic solely on the parcel in his son’s lap. The spells came back clean one by one until Regulus breathed a sigh of relief and nodded to Hyperion, who nodded back before carefully opening the parcel. As soon as Fawkes saw that, he spread his wings, rose in the air and disappeared in a burst of flames, leaving behind a single orange feather as the only evidence he’d ever been there and the parcel hadn’t just come from thin air.

Regulus turned back to his son, who’d just raised his arm to show a cloak made out of shimmery grey fabric that fell to the floor like a river cascading down a hill.

“The note says; Your Father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it Well. It’s unsigned.”

“Oh, fuck my life.” Regulus groaned out, immediately recognizing what it was and regretting all the decisions he’d made from the start of the day. He shouldn’t have woken up that morning, should’ve just wasted the day in bed. He hadn’t done it since Hyperion had come into his life, but a routine can be broken.

“Why? What is it?” Hyperion asked, incredibly confused by his father’s reaction to what was seemingly a piece of fabric.

“It’s your father’s invisibility cloak.” Regulus groaned out, and watched as Hyperion’s eyes shone with a mischievous glimmer. Regulus should’ve known his peace couldn’t last long.

“Oh, is it?”

“No.” Regulus said decisively. “You are not taking it with you to Hogwarts. You’ve already gotten into a mountain of trouble without such an artefact in your disposal.”

“But papa, it’s a family heirloom, clearly, and it’s only right to use it as my father had once upon a time.”

The argument devolved from there, but with a playful air that kept both father and son relaxed and happy. Regulus couldn’t help thinking, as he continued trying to convince his son to leave the cloak at home, that this was probably one of the best Christmases he’d ever experienced. He was glad his son could also get a happy celebration.

June 21^st 1992

The Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle, South Hogwarts Region, Highlands, Scotland.

Hyperion did end up getting his way and taking his biological father’s invisibility cloak with him, though he only used it to sneak into the restricted section to find the books first years weren’t supposed to read.

The rest of the school year passed by in a whirlwind of classes, student meetings where Hyperion tried strengthening his connections for next year and exams at the end that proved to be easier than Hyperion had been expecting, especially with the study group he’d established with the other first years.

It had been a genius idea, especially when smaller groups found the subjects they were exceptional at and started helping the rest, like the tutoring services his idiotic ex-cousin used to force his parents into giving him because of his horrible grades but this was free, and no one was so dumb. Everyone was smart enough to retain the information after listening to it explained one, or maybe two times.

Now it was time for the end of term feast, and Hyperion was actually excited, for a multitude of reasons. The first was simply getting to go home and staying with his father for the whole summer. The second was the fact that he’d be getting more advanced training from both his father and Barty, who he’d been in contact with and who was excited to share the fountain of knowledge he’d accumulated through his travels with Hyperion. The last was Slytherin winning the House Cup, an honour they’d been proudly discussing for the past week.

It was also very clear that the next year would be completely different, and there were many signs pointing to that. There was the fact that Marisol Gutierrez had become their temporary DADA professor after what happened to Quirrell, then there was the cancellation of their History of magic classes after Christmas, and because there were no fifth or seventh year students taking the HoM OWL or NEWT respectively, so the subject’s exams were cancelled as well. Hyperion was excited for what the Wizengamot had in store for them next year, and it was indeed the Wizengamot alongside the Board of Governors making these decisions. The passive anger Dumbledore exuded whenever he left his office was just a lovely bonus.

So here Hyperion was, sitting at the Slytherin table and listening to another stupid Dumbledore speech and waiting for the man to announce the cup winner so they could eat.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully, and Hyperion could feel his face twitching in irritation. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts….

“Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table, including Hyperion who was actually happy about this. Slytherin had worked their asses off to earn this, and they were proud of their achievements.

“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore said, and everyone at the green and silver table could tell it was sarcastic. “However, recent events must be taken into account.”

The room went eerily silent. The Slytherins’ smiles faded slowly but surely; they all knew what the man was trying to do. But what could he possibly be talking about, Hyperion thought, confused at what was happening, I’m the one who saved everyone.

“Ahem,” Dumbledore continued, pretending not to notice the reactions to his words. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes….”

“First, to Mister Ronald Weasley…” Ron went red in the face, and Hyperion couldn’t help laughing quietly at the visual, his friend looked very much like a ripe tomato. “…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Hufflepuff house fifty points.”

Hufflepuff cheers rang out loudly through the hall, and the Slytherins shared some smiles, their badger friends deserved this. Percy Weasley from the Gryffindor table could be heard bragging to the other Prefects, “My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall’s giant chess set!”

“Second, to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Ravenclaw house fifty points.”

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Hyperion was certain she had burst into tears. The girls surrounding her all patted her back while the other Ravenclaws cheered in happiness and excitement.

“Thirdly, to Mister Harry Potter, I mean Mister Hyperion Black and Mister Draco Malfoy….” Dumbledore continued, purposefully saying the wrong name first. Hyperion wanted to stab him with his newly acquired dagger. The room went deadly quiet as they waited for the man to continue. “I award Slytherin ten points. While the two were involved in the incident that occurred before Christmas, Slytherin already has a comfortable lead and we all must learn that recklessness is not always rewarded."

“Last but not least, to Mister Neville Longbottom, for pure, unrestrained bravery and the willingness to throw himself in the flames for the greater good, I award Gryffindor one hundred and seventy points.”

The sounds emitted by the lions were deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and eighty-two points, which was the same as Slytherin. They had drawn for the House Cup, if only Dumbledore had given Neville just one more point.

The whole of Slytherin House stood up in pure rage, their shouts overtaking those of Gryffindor house while Draco and Hyperion shared a look of absolute fury. When the Gryffindors realised what had happened, most of them seemed to quiet down. Then Draco rose from his seat and started screaming in absolute fury, and Severus had stood up as well, looking at Dumbledore with a murderous look on his face.

Hyperion could see Marisol Gutierrez staring at the Headmaster in bewilderment from her perch beside the teacher’s table, genuinely shocked by his actions at that moment, which is amusing but Hyperion wasn’t dwelling on that. It is time to do something.

“Enough.” He says in an even tone, but his voice carries through the throng of Slytherins surrounding him. They all go quiet immediately and Hyperion takes the opportunity to jump onto the bench then the table, towering over everyone despite his short stature. He was eleven; give him a break.

“We, the House of Slytherin, thank you for your consideration Headmaster, and for recognizing the incredible actions of our ally, Neville. Even then, I feel I must explain that I was the one found in the final chamber underneath the school, passed out after defeating a dark wizard, and the results of the House Cup should reflect that. It was because of Hufflepuff Loyalty, Ravenclaw Intelligence and Slytherin cunning that the school wasn’t in grave danger, and it is a disservice that you did not recognize this in the initial point distribution. All four of us survived because we were united, not because of a singular hero.”

The whole Great Hall froze before applause erupted around them, starting from the Hufflepuff table, to Ravenclaw then Gryffindor. Everyone joined in, even some of the teachers seemed to agree with his words, nodding their heads. Snape was looking at him like he’d just seen him for the first time, which made him smug but he’ll ignore that. For now.

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment too long, Hyperion staring back with a look of absolute defiance. He could feel the man trying to get into his head, but after two years of intensive Occlumency training with one of the best Legilimens in the UK, Hyperion had become an expert at rebuffing unwanted poking into his head. The old man then turned to watch as the entirety of Hogwarts’s student body expressed their support for his words. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, and Hyperion could immediately tell that he’d won this round.

“It is true that unity in the face of danger is the spirit which Hogwarts has always tried to instil in its students, and I thank you for clarifying the situation, as I hadn’t been fully aware of what had occurred. With all this in mind, and in appreciation of what these four students have done in protection of our school, I award each of them another hundred points, which does change the score a bit. In fourth place, with four hundred and eighty two points, is Gryffindor. Hufflepuff in third place with five hundred and two points, Ravenclaw in second with five hundred and seventy six points, and finally, in first place is Slytherin house, with six hundred and eighty two points. This means that the winners of this year’s House Cup, are Slytherin!”

The cheers that sounded from that declaration were deafening, even those in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and a few Gryffindors cheered for the House that truly deserved to win. Hyperion grinned in triumph as he climbed down the table and let himself be crushed by his classmates. He was truly happy, and he couldn’t help letting himself get swept up in the celebration.

He’d proven himself, and no one could say that Hyperion Black hadn’t brought glory to his House like his ancestors before him. He was a true Black, and this was clear proof of that.

Now, let the summer begin.

June 22^nd 1992

Knockturn Alley, Diagon Alley, London, England

The Half-Moon Den was quiet this early in the morning, not open and certainly with no patrons. At this hour, usually only the owner was present, getting everything ready for opening at four in the afternoon.

The bar was currently empty save for one person, sitting at one of the tables like the worn wooden chair was his personal throne, legs crossed over each other and nursing a glass filled with an amber liquid that could be anything from apple juice to whiskey, which would be preposterous at this hour.

All of this the owner noticed as he unlocked the door, but he did not get a good look at the person gracing him with their presence until he moved closer, wand held loosely in his hand, ready to strike if need be. As soon as he stood in front of the person, ready to demand an explanation, his guest raised their head and the hood they’d been wearing fell, revealing a face he hadn’t seen in twelve years. His breath hitched, his eyes widened and his brows raised. This was not what he expected when he’d woken up an hour before.

“Hello Lupin,” the unmistakable voice of Regulus Arcturus Black, previously presumed dead ex-death eater and his Sirius Black’s younger brother, said sardonically, smirking at the man standing in front of him, “It’s been a while. You and I have much to discuss, starting with how to destroy a manipulative old man.”

As Remus John Lupin stared on, Regulus pulled out a chair opposite him and gestured for the man to sit with a wicked smirk on his face. Remus did as instructed and stared at this familiar face, so similar to the man who’d destroyed him so completely a decade ago, and cursed the day he ever got enmeshed in the Black Family’s unique brand of chaos. But maybe, just maybe, this plan would help Remus with a goal he’d had for many years…. To get his family back and destroy the man who’d thrown him to the wolves – no pun intended – as soon as his usefulness had ended, Remus would do anything, including making a deal with the literal devil.