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Chapter Text

The last few days of the summer passed in a blur. Lucius and Narcissa, who had agreed to alter their marks, became regular fixtures at the Pottery with Draco in tow. A change that worked well, since it allowed Theo, who had refused to return home after the World Cup, to have company when the twins left for three days with the Grangers and Hermione. Blaise, livid as he was, had been denied returning to the Pottery by his mother, though he was given the Floo address to the Pottery’s library, and spent most of his time there regardless. 

Hadrian had to inform his family that his first wand had been lost at the World Cup, as they’d not recovered it from the Weasley tent where he’d thought it to be. Gregorovitch had not been amused when he returned to the Pottery on short notice. Grumbling about them not understanding the term retired as he set up his kit to make Hadrian a new backup wand, as he had begun using the last one as his primary. Hadrian’s new wand was not what the wandmaker expected. Acacia wood, phoenix ashes made an appearance again, but a thestral hair became the new wand’s core. The end product was an unusual seven inches and swishy thing, which made Gregorovitch wonder if the wand wanted to be able to hide easily for the boy. 

“Underrated, acacia will rarely work for anyone but the one it is crafted for,” Gregorovitch had grumbled. “The phoenix ashes binding the thestral hair imply hiding from sight to those who are not merited. I have never crafted a wand so short; it seems it would like to be unknown.” The wandmaker’s case snapped back together. “The next time I have to return here, someone will suffer.” The wandmaker had left as abruptly as he had arrived. 

James spent his time picking apart the finer points of the curses. He also returned to Gringott’s with Hadrian and Arennia, allowing them to peruse the vaults of their names while he picked up a few odd pendants that he handed out. Not just to his family, or the Malfoys, but he also included Severus, Blaise, and Theo. The pendants weren’t pretty things. On rust colored leather hung triangular stones, with holes in the center. The stones themselves were nearly translucent, made of flawless quartz, and when looked through would allow the user to see magical auras, similarly to how James could see them. He did hope that next year his children would come into their abilities, especially since Hadrian already had a knack for magical sensitivity. Arennia, if she did, didn’t show it, but James had no doubt that if she suspected something was cursed, her fiendfyre could handle it. 

The twins did not stay through departure to King’s Cross, returning to the Pottery the day before their return to school. While it was still a few days shy of standard practice, James and Sirius had agreed that Hadrian’s quick finding of his Animagus form made it likely he would be capable of the transformation early. It would be far easier than trying to sneak Hadrian out of Hogwarts three days into the new year. As with Arennia, Mipsy apparated Hadrian to a storm. 

Regulus had been the most enthusiastic upon his return. Hadrian had landed, a bit unstable, on his sister’s shoulder. The black owl looked as if someone had inverted Hedwig’s colors. The owl's eyes were a bright silver color, surprising the family as they had thought his form would keep the distinctive color as Arennia’s had. Instead, he could be recognized by the splash of white feathers on his brow. Hadrian had changed human again shortly after, grinning madly. 

“When you return for Yule, I can give you some flight advice, depending on what you figure out yourself before then,” Regulus offered. 

“You can?” Hadrian asked, his head tilting curiously at his uncle. After the curse removal, the man had mellowed out considerably. While it didn’t make him approachable, it did make it so that Hadrian didn’t itch with irritation if he had to interact with him. 

Regulus smirked, shifting into his raven form that Hadrian had only heard of at the beginning of the summer. 

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that,” the boy said, watching the flashy flying of the Raven arcing in the room, before Regulus gracefully shifted back. It was one of the few times Hadrian saw his composed uncle smile genuinely, an expression that highlighted the similarities between Regulus and Sirius. 

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“I would like to leave for the station with my friends,” Blaise said firmly. His mother’s eyes flashed in contrast to her somewhat amused expression. 

“I understand,” she said primly, “however, I will not allow it. I will take you to King’s Cross, as I have since your first year.”

“Why are you trying to separate us?” Blaise asked, finally snapping after a near week of skirting his mother’s instructions. 

Viretta Zabini bit back a laugh at her son’s outburst. He had never reminded her more of his father than in this moment. Truthfully, she had no qualms with her son’s affections toward the little vipera. She had, initially, been surprised that Blaise had become so enamored of her, as she had always thought he would choose someone else. However, her observations during the Quidditch World Cup had been far more enlightening than she could have anticipated. 

From the evening the little vipera had stunned her, Viretta had carefully crafted a facade of upset with the girl and had spent the following days seeing how far she could push her son. She was most intrigued by observing how much her son was suddenly willing to push back. 

“I am not separating you, tesoro,” Viretta replied after a moment. “If I were, I would have cut off the Floo connection days ago.” 

Blaise bristled, his eyes narrowing on his mother. Part of him had wondered about that, knowing that she had certainly figured out how and where he was disappearing to between his required appearances at meals and tutor sessions that she had arranged to ‘refresh him’ before the school year. 

“Will you stop this if I convince Arennia to apologize?” Blaise asked with gritted teeth. 

Viretta laughed, the sound musical against the silence of the dining room. 

“My darling son, she made it very clear that she held no regret for her actions. Do you truly believe she would apologize?” Viretta asked, curious as to what her son would say next. Before Hogwarts, she had always been able to predict his actions and words. His friendship with the Nott boy had made him more elusive, but the addition of the vipera had made him unpredictable. 

“If I asked, yes,” Blaise replied. He wasn’t certain, but if Arennia was willing to repeatedly apologize and play nice with Ronald Weasley, he thought he had a slim chance of a single apology toward his mother. 

Viretta took a sip of her wine, watching the red liquid as it twirled with her hand before setting the glass down. 

“Very well, if you can convince her to apologize tomorrow, I will stop interfering,” Viretta promised. She smirked at the shock that flitted through her son’s face. She had fully intended on letting up the next summer; it wasn’t as if she could easily toy with them while they were in school. However, she found herself curious if the little vipera would swallow pride for her son. 

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“We weren’t expecting to see you again this evening,” Draco drawled when Blaise Flooed into the Pottery library. “Packed already?” 

“I need to speak with Arennia,” Blaise stated. Draco’s eyes narrowed, as did Theo’s, though for a different reason. Where Draco was suspicious, Theo was concerned. Blaise, while most would say he looked impeccable, had a slight breathlessness that Theo had caught. 

“And what is it you need from my cousin at this hour?” Draco asked acidly. 

“Conversation,” Blaies said blandly. 

“She’s checking her trunk to make sure she didn’t forget anything,” Theo said, standing and motioning Blaise to follow him. 

Draco’s book snapped shut as the two left. He immediately went to find Hadrian, figuring it a lesser offense than reporting to the adults of the sudden arrival and demand of Zabini’s. 

When Blaise and Theo made it to Arennia’s rooms, the doors were open. Where it had previously been neat and orderly, now there were random stacks of books and piles of clothing. 

“Ren, Blaise is here,” Theo announced. Arennia glanced up from the trunk she was playing tetris in with little luck. 

“Thank Merlin,” she said, making both boys arch brows at her. “Do either of you have extra space for a couple of books? I asked Hadrian for his old trunk, but he said he was using it for all his Quidditch gear,” she huffed. 

“A couple?” Theo asked, glancing at the stacks that were spaced around her. 

“You could just shrink them to fit,” Blaise suggested. Arennia’s eyes widened, making Blaise smile softly. 

“I am an idiot,” she muttered, searching for her wand. With a soft laugh, Blaise shrank the stacks of books, levitating the ones away from her to her side. “Thanks, darlin’,” Arennia said, carefully depositing the matchbook-sized books in the trunk compartment. The passive endearment warmed Blaise; he only hoped her affection was enough to take his request without fallout. 

“I came to ask you for something,” Blaise said quietly, leaning against the door frame. His arms crossed, a motion that made Theo frown. Blaise only crossed his arms when he was uncomfortable or nervous. 

“Do I even want to know what you need to ask of my sister at nine in the evening?” Hadrian asked as he stepped into the room. Draco lingered in the hall, a wise decision as he wasn’t in a position where either Blaise or Theo could accurately fire a hex at him without risking damaging the door frame itself. 

“Hadrian,” Arennia warned. Her brother ignored it, electing to sit on the edge of her bed, twirling his wand in a way that looked absent, but she knew full well it was a passive-aggressive display he’d picked up from their Dad. 

Not that Hadrian would admit it. While James and Regulus had reverted to the behavior she had expected, the change had left Hadrian unsettled. He had finally stopped referring to them by name and adopted Dad and Uncle the way Arennia used, but he still gave them a colder treatment than he did their Papa and Uncle Moony. 

“Your inquiry?” Hadrian asked lightly. He’d gotten past his initial animosity toward the Slytherins around his sister; now he, like Draco, only cared about making sure neither of the boys tried anything improper. Once he knew who Arennia regarded, he’d happily give the shovel talk and back off from there; until then, he fully intended on maintaining the confrontational air. 

“I would like to request that you apologize to my mother for what occurred at the World Cup,” Blaise said evenly. His heart was thundering, but he managed to keep his breathing even. He only made it halfway through the statement when he caught the sharp turn of Theo’s head. 

Arennia had begun shrinking clothing piles and sorting the doll-sized articles in another trunk compartment. She didn’t stop in her efforts, seemingly unaffected by his words. 

“Why would she do that?” Hadrian asked. He knew Arennia had stunned the woman, and Kundalin had bitten her, but frankly, he didn’t care. Anyone who raised a wand to his sister deserved what they got, regardless of the circumstances surrounding the event. 

“Hadrian, Draconis, would you both busy yourselves elsewhere?” Arennia asked, her tone held no room for argument. While he didn’t want to, Hadrian knew better than to push his sister when her voice held the dangerous undercurrent in it. 

§Watch them§ He hissed sharply to Kundalin. 

§Matessss will not harm massster§ The snake hissed lazily from the mantle of the fireplace. Even with it being the warmer months, Arennia lit fires for the serpent in any room with a fireplace, so Kundalin could bask on the warm stone mantles. 

§Neither are mate yet§ Hadrian hissed back with a glare aimed at both Theo and Blaise. 

§Humansss are foolsss§ Kundalin lamented as the door shut behind Hadrian and Draco’s departure. 

§Enough, Kundalin§ Arennia snapped at her familiar. 

Theo’s head tilted as he caught the hint of blush that bloomed across her cheeks. He wondered if there was an artificial way to learn or understand Parsel, and immediately decided he would begin researching the language thoroughly. He was tired of the secretive conversations the siblings had with the familiar that left Arennia blushing and Hadrian far too amused. 

“Why are you asking me this, Blaise?” Arennia asked. Her face was impassive as she regarded Blaise. 

“She is my mother,” he answered briefly. After a moment’s thought, he added, “She has been upset with what happened. Keeping my schedule busy in an effort to keep me from visiting here. She said she would stop if you apologize tomorrow.”

“So, not just an apology, but a public one?” Theo asked, and Blaise tensed. He hadn’t realized that, but yes, that was exactly what his mother had demanded. 

“Is this what you would ask as the favor I owe?” Arennia mused. 

“You owe me no favor,” Blaise said. Arennia scoffed. 

“I owe no debt,” she corrected, referring to the deal Blaise had made with Hadrian, granting Blaise and Theo full knowledge of her less-than-legal activities. 

“I will not trade a favor for your will,” Blaise said firmly. He knew it was pointless to argue about the technicalities. He considered the favor and debt voided, but she was correct. The deal had only really included the absolution of the life-debt in the end. 

“Pretty words,” Arennia said, smiling softly. “Why then, if not for the favor, should I apologize for actions I do not feel sorry for?”

Blaise felt a bit pathetic as the next words passed his lips. Especially as Theo looked far too entertained by the entire ordeal. “For me.” 

The soft smile on Arennia’s face faltered. When it did, hurt flashed through Blaise’s eyes. She did not like this. The hurt that Blaise had quickly occluded. The pained note in his voice as the last words hit the air. Her Dad had always taught her to stick to her choices, that once something was done, it was what it was. Uncle Regulus, however, had taught her that there was a fine line between pride and pretence. 

“Very well,” she said softly. Against the indignation of what she was agreeing to. Theo gave her an indecipherable look. Blaise’s eyes flickered back to life. Arennia wasn’t sure why the price of her pride was acceptable for Blaise’s relief, but she couldn’t find it in her to deny him this one request. 

Chapter Text

Arennia was rigid in her posture as soon as she stepped into the station from the Floo. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Blaise and his mother. When her initial sweep did not locate the Italians, she sighed crossly. 

§Kundalin, find Blaissse§ She ordered. 

Kundalin’s head lifted off her shoulder, tasting the air. 

§Mate isss thisss way§

Arennia scowled at her familiar, even as she followed the direction he turned. Theo followed, his brows furrowed. While he still had no idea what the Parsel was, he had started to notice the same familiar patterns in the hissing noises. Sirius followed. Arennia had informed him that morning of her plan to apologize to the Contessa, so he had offered to keep track of Arennia on the platform while she searched for Blaise. Although he did not mention the apology, he knew Regulus would have loved nothing more than to judge smugly in the background, and felt rather vindicated in denying him the opportunity. 

After a couple of minutes, they found the Zabinis. Contessa Zabini looked as imperial as ever, whereas Blaise looked somewhat stressed. His countenance lightened when he saw Arennia and Theo making their way to them. When Arennia was just out of arm's reach, she stopped and dipped into a ridiculously formal curtsy that made Blaise stifle a groan. He should have known she’d find a way to make the affair the most disrespectful of respectful apologies. 

“Contessa Viretta Zabini,” Sirius coughed to cover a laugh, “I would like to offer my apologies for my actions in the early morning of August 26th,” Arennia managed to sound sincere. “In my distress and only recently awakened state, I behaved most indecorously toward you. I do hope I have not revoked any sense of amicability between ourselves.”

Blaise’s mother was taken aback, though she did not show it. The little vipera had gall using her given name, even if the way she used it wasn’t technically a show of disrespect. Viretta stared regally down on the girl, who hadn’t moved from the curtsy. Seconds stretched by, and the girl’s form didn’t waver. She had half a mind to walk away; if any other person had given her such a display, she would have. 

To the side of the girl, Theodore Nott, disinterested as he may have appeared, was glowering at her. She knew the boy's manners well enough to recognize the challenge in the stormy eyes. In Viretta’s peripheral she could see the tension in her son’s frame. The fight he was having internally on deciding whether or not to intervene. It was when his foot moved, the smallest shift toward the girl, that Viretta knew she’d lost. She didn’t give him enough time to make a full motion to intervene.

“Your apology is accepted,” Vittera stated, bowing her head slightly toward the girl as she stood from the prolonged curtsy. “And, though I’m sure you have not the need of it, my forgiveness is given.” 

Piercing green eyes snapped to hers. Challenge mixed with humor. Vittera found herself surprised for the second time; she didn’t expect the little vipera to be amused in return. 

“I appreciate your graciousness, Contessa,” Arennia said with a venomous grin. She rather liked Blaise’s mother. She wasn’t treating Arennia like a child. Instead, she pushed right back, something Arennia was glad she’d mentally prepared herself for. 

“There you are, snidget,” James said with relief, “didn’t think you were going to traipse off to school without a proper hug now did you?” 

The corner of Contessa Zabini’s mouth twitched. Rather than the boisterous hug Arennia had been swept into by her Dad, the Contessa and Blaise kissed one another’s cheeks before she departed. Even with the Contessa present, Arennia hugged her father tightly. 

Yes, the little vipera is an interesting little thing. Vittera thought to herself as she departed. She glanced back once, enough to catch the more tame farewell between the girl and Regulus Black. Then the child surprised Vittera again, by hugging Remus Lupin as strongly as she had her Dad. Sirius Black swept in, lifting both the child and the were, the girl’s laugh rang out at her other father’s antics.  If the girl was willing to sacrifice image for family, well, Vittera couldn’t fault her for that. 

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Draco trailed after Hadrian, the two saying their goodbyes to the adults easily before hopping gon the train to find a compartment. Hermione found them first, looking bewildered. 

“What’s wrong with you, Granger?” Draco asked. Hermione’s shocked expression shifted into a glower. 

“You do know you can call me Hermione, right?” she huffed. Draco gave her an odd look. 

“I actually didn’t, until now,” he said. His mother had found out about the blood adoption. It hadn’t hit till this moment that that made Granger his cousin, too. Draco was wondering if he was going to gain any other cousins he’d once offended. With Sirius terrorizing the world, he was skeptical. Especially as his mother not only would not tell him why Sirius adopted Gr-Hermione, but had advised him to keep it to himself unless she chose to advertise it.

“In any event,” Draco said, shaking himself from his thoughts. “What had you looking a bit green, Hermione?” 

“I wasn’t green, I was just.... Surprised. Arennia was curtsying to Blaise’s mum, and it didn’t look like she was going to stand anytime soon.” 

“Please, never refer to the Contessa with the term ‘mum’ ever again,” Draco asked, actually looking faint. 

“Blaise asked Ren to apologize for what happened at the Cup,” Hadrian stated, ignoring the ill expression on Draco. The compartment door opened as Hermione’s expression darkened. 

“There you two are,” Ron stated with relief. His eyes hardened when he noticed Draco. “What’s he doing here?”

“He is our cousin, dear Ronald,” Arennia’s voice answered in the aisle. “Will you be joining us, or were you planning on standing in the aisle for the ride?” 

With a growl, Ron pushed into the compartment, slamming his trunk onto the racks above hard enough that the current occupants winced. 

“Where’re yours?” He asked as he sat down between the door and Hermione. 

Hermione and Hadrian pulled out a palm-sized rectangle from her pocket. “Ours are shrunk,” she answered. At the smaller size, Ron didn’t notice that not only were they shrunk, but they were new. Arennia, Blaise, and Theo settled onto the bench next to Draco, who looked a bit put out. 

“Maybe I should go find-” Draco started, only for Arennia to flick her wand toward the window. 

“Porrigo midi.”

Ron yelped when the compartment doubled in size. 

“How’d you do that?” Hermione asked, awestruck. 

“Uncle Regulus told us, not sure how he knew about it,” Hadrian answered, stifling a yawn. 

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake, take a nap,” Arennia stated, twisting so that she could lean on Blaise while stretching her legs over Theo, who merely lifted his book and then resettled the tome on her knees. 

“Nah, I don’t think everyone will behave if I nod off,” Hadrian teased. 

“Who’s-”

“Misbehaving?” Fred and George asked, leaning in the doorframe. George frowned, while Fred let out a low whistle. 

“Well, well, looks like the ickle snakes found the VIP compartment,” Fred said while George was still taking in the doubly sized space. 

“Extension spell,” Hermione answered, to Arennia’s amusement. “Ren could teach you.” 

“Could. Won’t,” Arennia said in a bored voice. In response, Hermione plopped Crookshanks on Arennia’s lap. The half-kneazle hissed angrily after its confinement, claws digging into Arennia’s thighs. Arennia hissed in pain, and then Kundalin reared at the cat. 

“A bit dramatic, sis,” Hermione teased. 

“Be glad she told him not to bite Crooks,” Hadrian said with a grin. “Kundalin was gonna go for the jugular.”

“That snake should be put down,” Ron huffed. 

Blaise threw an arm around Arennia, pinning her to him and preventing her from hexing the boy. Before anyone could say anything, Fred whacked his younger brother over the head. 

“Oi, what was that for!?” Ron shouted. 

“Being and arse,” George said while Fred gave a grave nod. 

“Mind if we join you?” Fred asked. “Then Harrikins-”

“-can get his Express snooze-”

“-without worrying-”

“-that you’ll kill one another.”

“Just the two of you?” Hermione asked archly. 

“Well-” Fred said with a smirk. 

“I might go grab Lee,” George added with a grin. 

“Sure,” Hadrian answered. “Not like we don’t have the room.” 

“Excellent,” the Weasley twins said. George left to find their friend Lee, while Fred sat in the space the extension spell had created between Ron and Hermione. Arennia’s eyes narrowed, to which Fred shot her a wink. She made a note to corner the twin with Hadrian at some point. 

“If they get a friend, can I not bring another Slytherin?” Draco asked imploringly. 

“You can leave,” Ron muttered. Hermione turned to admonish, but ended up giggling at the Slytherin green Ron’s hair had been turned. Her gaze caught Fred’s long enough for him to give her a conspiratory wink. 

“Fine,” Arennia huffed, aiming her wand at the window again. Ron winced dramatically at the motion, making Blaise roll his eyes. “Porrigo maxim.” The compartment doubled again, now quadruple the size it had originally been. “Now we have enough room for anyone else who needs to be adopted,” she huffed, shifting so she could lie down with her head in Blaise’s lap. He started pulling sections of her hair and weaving them together as he had at the end of the previous year. 

Draco started to leave to find himself backup, but paused at the threshold, smirking down at Ron. 

“Nice hair, Weasel, almost makes you tolerable,” he sneered before leaving. 

“Did he just compliment me?” Ron asked, looking ill. 

Arennia flicked her wand in his direction, circling the end. “Speculum temporus.” 

Ron yelped, first at the movement, then at the reflection he saw in the summoned mirror. 

“Oh, you got it to work,” George commented as he sidled in with Lee, who started snickering at Ron’s misfortune. Ron rounded on Fred. 

“Put it back or I’ll tell mum,” he snarled. 

Theo snapped his book shut, deciding there was no possible way to read with this group without obtaining a headache. “Finite Incantatem.” Instead of Theo’s spell setting Ron’s hair to rights, silver streaks joined the green. He gave the Weasley twins mildly impressed glances. “The spell isn’t Latin-based?” He asked. 

“No, however-” George said. 

“- We won’t be telling you what language it is in, little snake,” Fred finished. 

“I’ll figure it out eventually,” Theo said mildly, though his eyes were glittering at the challenge. It would make a good distraction when his Parsel research hit a wall. And another wall. And a cliff. He was not having luck finding books on the subject. He was still waiting for catalogues from bookshops out of country, but was not holding his breath. 

Draco returned at that point with more than one companion. Crabbe and Goyle moved to the far diagonal corner of the compartment from Ron. George and Lee had wound up in the space in the center of the bench next to Blaise, Theo, and Arennia. This left Draco sitting between Hadrian and Pansy, who immediately claimed the window seat. All of his cousins were giving him glares of varying degrees. 

Draco ignored the judging looks from his cousins. He had been hoping to find one of the Slytherins Arennia didn’t clash with, but had encountered Pansy first. When the two ran into  Crabbe and Goyle, he’d resigned himself to his Slytherin cousin’s displeasure.  

“Well, Granger, you actually look half decent for-” Pansy’s words stuttered when Arennia’s wand leveled her way across the compartment. “Once.” She finished icily. Arennia narrowed her eyes at the girl, but lowered her wand. 

“Thank you, Parkinson,” Hermione stated, not sounding at all grateful for the comment. 

“Father told me something interesting this morning,” Draco stated, shooting Pansy a warning look. 

“Not to use that hair gel anymore?” Arennia teased, though her glare was still aimed at Pansy. Ron laughed, despite the taunt coming from her. 

“Very funny,” Draco drawled, before turning toward the assembled group. “He said the Ministry hasn’t announced it yet, but since we’re supposed to find out at the feast, he saw no issue in telling me about it.”

“Are you going to keep grandstanding, or are you going to share your sacred secret?” Hadrian asked in a decent impression of his Uncle Regulus. 

“Hogwarts is going to be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year,” Draco stated. 

“What is that?” Hermione asked, confused. 

“It was stopped a couple of centuries ago,” Pansy said haughtily. “Apparently, the death toll was too high. Father said the rules have been changed, though, to make it safer.”

“Safer doesn’t mean safe,” Hadrian said drily. 

“Perhaps not, but given your skills, you’d probably fare fine,” Pansy purred, eyeing Hadrian. Granger’s hair had been the first glow up she had noticed, and taken the opportunity to taunt. But Hadrian had definitely been converted into a proper Heir. 

She didn’t get far in her observations before a snake slithered up him, wrapping around his shoulders. Its head moved to her eye level, and it hissed loudly. Draco’s head thudded into the wall behind him. He should have just suffered through the company there instead of trying to add Pansy to the mix. Crabbe and Goyle, thankfully, were minding their own.

“I don’t think the scaly sibling-” said Fred.

“-appreciated you undressing-” said George. 

“-dear Harrikins with your eyes.” The twins finished the statement together. 

Pansy glowered at each of them before she noticed the death glare coming from Arennia, whom Blaise had pulled up into an embrace that prevented her from attacking the girl. It hadn’t stopped her from ordering Kundalin to go to Hadrian and keep the chit off him. 

“He also warned me that they’d be cancelling Quidditch this year,” Draco threw out. His statement definitely caught the attention of the Weasleys, Lee,  and Hadrian, but he gulped when four turned angry looks his way. Hadrian just looked somewhat sad. 

“They can’t-” “-cancel Quidditch!” Fred and George exclaimed. 

“That’s what I was told,” Draco stated. 

“Thank Godric, Wood’s left,” Lee snickered. The Gryffindor players all paled at the thought. 

“You could probably arrange the games between houses unofficially,” Arennia offered. She didn’t like the way her brother had slumped with the news. 

“You’d have to get a teacher to agree to supervise,” Theo added. 

“McGonagall would do it!” Ron said fiercely. Hermione snorted. 

“McGonagall is Deputy Headmistress and the Transfiguration Professor,” she deadpanned. “She doesn’t have time to manage an informal Quidditch group.”

“What about Se-Professor Snape?’ Hadrian offered, stuttering over the potion master’s name. He’d gotten too used to the man billowing about the Pottery, with the other adults calling him by name. Although Hadrian had only started doing it to annoy the great bat, who had warned him it would be a month of detention for every slip-up at Hogwarts. 

“Like Snape’s gonna do anything that would bring us joy,” Ron said sadly. 

“Doesn’t he gamble the matches with McGonagall?” Hermione asked. Hadrian nodded. 

“Ask McGonagall while Severus is there,” Arennia suggested. Those who hadn’t inhabited the Pottery for any amount of time gaped at her. “What? She may say yes, in which case, huzzah. However, Mi is correct; she is a busy woman. However, if Severus is there, she’ll suggest it to him, and then he won’t have a choice. Unless he wants to look like a coward to her, which he wouldn’t do.”

“Why in Morgana’s name are you calling Professor Snape that?” Pansy asked, horrified. 

Arennia laughed. “Don’t worry, Parkinson, I won’t do it when he can hear me. He already threatened us with a month's detention if he caught us calling him Severus.”

“But why call him that at all?” Pansy insisted. 

“Obviously to keep his ears burning,” Arennia said with another laugh. While the others were still recovering, she turned to Theo. “You could arrange a schedule and manage tracking the points and everything, couldn’t you?” 

“I don’t even go to matches,” he deadpanned. Arennia pouted. “Are you going to go with me, then?” He asked. 

“Of course, she is. We both will,” Blaise hummed. Theo gave Blaise an annoyed look. 

“Theo, you don’t even have to go; you just have to get the scores to arrange the future matches,” Arennia said.  “You could probably convince one of the teachers to accept the project as extra credit.” 

“Why not ask Hermione to do it?” He asked. 

“Because she knows I have better things to do,” Hermione huffed. 

“Oh, like what?” Fred asked. “Studying?” Hermione’s face reddened. 

“Sweetheart, I  have better things to do,” Theo said to Arennia, ignoring the conversation on the opposite bench. 

“Please?” She pleaded. 

“Blaise, make her stop,” Theo ordered his very amused friend. Blaise responded by chuckling into Arennia’s shoulder. 

“I can only hold her back, you’re the snake charmer,” Blaise answered amidst chuckles. 

Hadrian shot Draco a confused look, one his cousin missed as he was analyzing the interaction between the three with a frown. 

“Theo,” Arennia whined. 

“Fine, but you’re helping if I get bored with it,” Theo huffed. He wondered if Sirius Black had somehow transferred the perfect puppy eyes to his kids. 

“You’ll do brilliantly,” Arennia said, wiggling out of Blaise’s hold, which had gone slack as the fit of laughter hit him, and pecking Theo’s cheek. 

“Whatever you say, dear,” Theo sighed, though there was a small smile on his face. 

Draco’s eyes darted between the three. He was waiting for Blaise to snap at Theo. Blaise had very clearly staked his claim on Arennia the previous year, and he had yet to do something that showed he’d stopped the pursuit. Why was Theo flirting with her, and why was Blaise ignoring it? Was it some inside joke the three had? That had to be it, especially with how hard Blaise was laughing. 

Conversations mellowed out. Hermione and Theo managed to read the books they had kept on their person. Hermione was reading one of the many Arennia had given her. Hadrian swapped spots with Fred so he could converse with Ron, lest Ron start picking fights with Draco or the other Slytherins. The change allowed the Weasley twins to plot with Lee over the center of the compartment. When Fred lamented not having a table in the open space, Hermione glanced up from her book long enough to conjure a temporary table. 

When the trolley came through, the witch took one look at the group before giving Hadrian a look. “Let me guess...” 

“We’ll take the lot,” He said with a grin. 

“At least you’re in the first car this time,” she laughed. She pushed the cart into the compartment, fitting it next to the conjured table, leaving enough space still for people to get in and out if they needed. “Thankfully, I keep two stocked. I’ll be back for this an hour before we arrive at the station.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Graeme,” Hadrian said with a smile. 

“Mhmm,” the witch tutted as she let the compartment close behind her. 

“She has a name?” Crabbe said, the first thing he’d said to the group since entering the compartment. 

“Yeah, asked what it was at the end of the first year,” Hadrian said with a shrug. Arennia smiled softly; most wouldn’t think to ask or remember the trolley lady’s name, herself included. She was glad her brother was a kinder person than most. 

Shortly after the cart had been dropped in, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom showed up. 

“How’s this compartment so large?” Seamus spluttered, taking in what was essentially a room. 

“Family secret,” Arennia and Hadrian answered at the same time. 

“That’s creepy,” Fred and George stated, making the others laugh at them. 

Seamus was still wearing an Ireland rosette from the World Cup. The poor thing sounded like it was begging for death, weakly chanting “Troy-Mullet-Moran!” squeakily. Neville listened, looking a bit jealous, as the others recounted their favorite and least favorite parts of the game. 

“Gran didn’t want to go,” he said miserably. “Wouldn’t buy tickets. It sounded amazing, though.”

“Be glad,” Arennia murmured from where she had sprawled over Blaise and Theo, Kundalin matching the sprawl but over her. “No offense to your mother’s hospitality, Blaise, but I don’t think the game was worth the trouble in the end.” 

She immediately regretted the statement as she felt both Blaise and Theo groan and sigh, respectively. Hadrian glowered at her as Ron opened his mouth. 

“You mean when half your family terrorized the celebrations?” He snarled. 

Blaise was not fast enough to grab her this time; however, Hadrian was fast enough to disarm her, snatching her wand as it arced. He was not ready for the slap that echoed in the room. 

“Say that again,” Arennia said in a deadly whisper. Her hand was shaking while the impression of it bloomed across the side of Ron’s face. “I fucking dare you.” 

Hermione closed her book, unholstering her own wand. She knew that her sister was capable of some wandless magic, and she wasn’t going to let things escalate to the point that Arennia would risk expulsion. 

“It’s only true!” Ron yelled, standing up so that he towered over her. Hadrian moved to intervene, but was stopped when Hermione grabbed his arm firmly. Even without words, he got the message. Not yet. “Everyone knows your Uncle was one of Voldemort’s, and I doubt Sirius Black’s as innocent as they say!” 

Fred and George were having a silent conversation. Deciding whether or not to save their brother or help maim him. They didn’t know Arennia, not really; she did come across as a bit of a red flag to them. Although for them, that only meant that under no circumstances would they even remotely consider pranking her. However, they did know Harry. He was practically a brother. Which meant that the family Ron was insulting wasn't just hers, but Harry’s as well. 

“I would recommend shutting the fuck up now,” Draco said coldly. 

Ron turned, glowering at the blond. 

“Like mummy and daddy weren’t out there playing Death Eaters themselves, Malfoy,” Ron spat. 

The air went cold. Green sparks flickered off Arennie’s ring. 

“My aunt and uncle are not Death Eaters,” she said in a dangerously calm voice. “My father and uncle are not Death Eaters. If you ever accuse my family of association with that bastard, I will make you beg for hexes. I promised Hadrian I wouldn’t raise my wand against you, but I promise you, I won’t need one to ruin you.” 

“Y-y-you won’t-” Ron stuttered, all but falling back into his seat. 

“Fucking try me.” Arennia hissed. Kundalin chose that moment to wind up her, hissing as he coiled over her shoulders. 

Seamus and Dean watched the affair with wide eyes. Harry’s sister was terrifying; however, they couldn’t help but think of how they’d react to someone, not even Ron, just anyone, making such an accusation against their family. Especially their dads. Considering all she’d actually done was slap him, they thought he was getting off easy. 

§Enough sssisster§ Hadrian hissed angrily. Arennia’s eyes darted to him. 

§You would let him insssult our family like thisss?§

§Uncle Regulusss was one, so were Dracosss parentsss§ Hadrian pointed out. §Sssure they aren’t anymore, but you can’t deny that they were§ 

§He accusssed Papa alssso§ Arennia seethed. She was willing to concede the point about their aunt and uncles, but not Sirius. 

§Ssssit down, let me handle Ron, pleassse§ 

Arennia stepped back, letting Blaise pull her back into an embrace she knew was both to keep her from launching at Ron again and to attempt to calm her. Theo took one of her hands, tracing patterns across it. Only he knew that they were Runes his mother had once used to calm him; he was just praying he remembered the patterns right. He wasn’t sure there would be anything he could do to keep her from Azkaban if she killed Ronald Weasley on the Hogwarts Express, although he was fairly certain he could convince Sirius to help break her out. 

“Ron,” Hadrian said, turning toward his first friend warily, “I think we should go see Madame Pomfrey when we get to the school.” 

Everyone shared confused looks. Everyone except Arennia and Hermione, who only exchanged knowing glances. 

“What are you on about?” Ron asked. 

“I think you might have compulsions on you, and I want to help get them cleared,” Hadrian said as calmly as he could. Ron rolled his eyes. 

“Now you sound like Bill, he took me to Gringotts, they did some weird ritual thing to get rid of one of those,’ He said with a scoff. Hadrian’s face fell. 

“You had one,” He muttered. 

“I guess, something called an inferi ti something or another,” Ron rambled, before frowning. “What’s all that got to do with this?"

Hadrian’s mind was reeling. Ron did have a compulsion, but it was gone now. And most likely it was something that spawned an inferiority complex, if he was interpreting Ron’s incorrect terminology properly. But that was something that shouldn’t have weighed into his treatment of Arennia last year. Or his current actions. 

“Apparently nothing,” Hadrian said, a bit stunned. 

“Why don’t we take a walk, Ron?” Neville said suddenly. “We’re getting close to the station, should probably get changed.” 

Confused, Ron allowed Neville to pull him up and push him into the aisle outside the compartment. Before Nevile followed, he took a breath and looked directly at Arennia. 

“For what it’s worth, I believe you,” he said simply, before he grabbed the school robes Ron had left on his seat. 

The moment the compartment door closed behind him, Pansy snorted. 

“Well, I  know better-”

“For once in your life, shut up, Parkinson,” Theo warned. Her eyes narrowed on him. 

“Well, look who’s learned to talk,” she sneered. “Fine, I know when I’m not wanted.” She moved to the compartment door, her head held high in a snobbish manner. “Draco, are you coming?” When he shook his head, looking a bit disgusted, she gave him a nasty look. “Fine, play with the perfect Potters. Your head.” 

Draco turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “You two gonna follow her?” 

Crabbe and Goyle frowned at him.

“Why would we?” Crabbe asked.

“Yeah, you’re our friend, not her,” Goyle added. 

It wasn’t that either was as dumb as people assumed. Sure, they were slow on the uptake sometimes, but they knew full well what had just passed. They weren’t going to choose her over Draco. Draco had always helped them, even if it was with barbs, but Pansy had been nothing but a bitch to both of them long before they were in school.

“Well,” Fred said, breaking the silence of the other Gryffindors. 

“Does that mean-”

“-none of you will-”

“-take it personally-”

“-if we target her?” 

Draco made a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh, blinking back tears furiously before he met the gaze of the twin that was opposite him. 

“Have at it,” he said, his voice sounding a bit broken. 

George gave the Slytherin a feral smirk. They’d avoided the Slytherins in general, only making retaliatory strikes against the snakes. Given the things he and Fred had learned about the Malfoys over the summer, and the shine of tears the previous prat had glittering in silver eyes, George was more than willing to consider anything they did to Pansy Parkinson as retaliation. 

Chapter Text

Neville returned with Ron just as the train pulled into the station. Besides the dark look he shot at Arennia and Draco, he said nothing as he collected his trunk. It was his departure that shredded the atmosphere.

He looked at Neville, who had retaken his seat between Dean and Crabbe, and was chatting in hushed tones to Draco about something innocuous. 

“I don’t understand how you can talk to him, Neville. Not only after how he’s treated you for years, but especially given what his aunt did.” He left right after. A good thing, really, because the shock had prevented either Blaise or Theo from grabbing Arennia. Lucky for them, she had only turned a rageful red as her blood boiled, but hadn’t set off after him. 

Hermione had become ashen. Hadrian and Arennia had told her about Bellatrix, the psychopath married to her biological father. She hadn’t connected the dots of their imprisonment with Neville until now, though. 

“You aren’t your aunt, Malfoy,” Neville said weakly. “I don’t blame you for her actions.” 

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, sounding just as weak. Neville frowned, but was stopped when Draco continued. “For before now. What I have done. I’m sorry.”

“Accepted,” Neville replied, leaving the compartment with Seamus and Dean, both of whom were confused but decided not to push for information. 

“I am going to have Uncle Regulus see if he can learn exactly what compulsion he was under, and he had better pray it was actually something that made him into an insensitive prat, because if not, he’s dead,” Arennia said angrily. 

“Inferitus Demrit was the name of it,” Fred said. 

“I’ll look into it,” Hermione said softly, a tear slipping off her lashes. 

“Come on, Granger, let’s get you closer to your natural habitat,” Fred said with a lightness that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Hogwarts isn’t my natural habitat,” she sniffled. 

“I was referring to the library, bookworm,” he said, walking out with Hadrian following quietly behind. The others gathered themselves, Crabbe and Goyle frowning at Draco had yet to stand. 

“You lot go on, I’ll catch up in a minute,” he said calmly, staring absently out the window. 

The second the compartment door shut, he broke down. Part of him wondered if maybe he’d earned the harsh treatment, after everything he’d done the last three years. His actions to save the Hippogriff had only really corrected the wrong he’d committed to it. 

He froze when an arm looped around him, tugging him into a one-armed embrace. 

“I wouldn’t put much merit in my youngest brother’s words,” George said softly. Draco tore out of the embrace, landing on the bench on the other side of the compartment. 

“I wanted to be alone,” he said. His glower had lost its regular effect with tear tracks and puffy eyes in the mix. 

“Terrible thing to be, not that I’d know,” George mused. “Six siblings, one even had the audacity of sharing the womb.”

“Go. Away.” Draco insisted. 

“I was waiting outside of the compartment; you just didn’t hear me come back in,” George stated. 

Draco drew his wand, “If you don't leave right now, I will-”

“Three older brothers, dragon, whatever you cast is nothing compared to apprentice cursebreakers and dragontamers. And we dealt with their antics without our own wands.”

Draco froze; only his parents and godfather had ever called him dragon. He refused to give that information to one of the Weasley pranksters. 

“What about the third brother?” He asked. 

“Percy, the worst. Curses and fire I can take, but waxing poetics about the illustrious Mr. Crouch? Pretty sure he has singlehandedly taken a decade off my life this summer.” 

“You’re... different without your twin,” Draco observed. “More... normal.”

George snorted. “Normal is overrated. Now, you’re looking better. Ready to get to our prison for the next ten months?” 

Draco frowned. He did feel better, and he was at a loss as to when that had happened. 

“In addition to the three older brothers, I also have three younger siblings. Granted, I’ve only ever had to comfort the one born minutes after me, but I am capable of some good.” 

Draco walked with the Weasley twin. By the time they made it to the carriages, only one was left. 

“Heard you had a falling out with Parkinson,” Cassius Warrington commented. He and Marcus Flint were the only two students left. 

“You two get lost? Here I thought you still had brains,” George tskd. 

“Last carriage, Fred said he’d hex us pink if we left without you,” Marcus answered. Draco’s eyes darted between the older Slytherins and the Gryffindor prankster. 

“You all get along,” He said with surprise. 

“We learned a long time ago,” Cassius drawled. 

“If ya can’t beat ‘em,” Marcus gave a what-else-can-you-do look. 

“You literally try to kill each other on the pitch,” Draco stated as they climbed into the carriage.

“That is Quidditch, dragon, no one is safe there unless they’re wearing the matching jerseys,” George stated. 

“I’m surrounded by crazy people,” Draco muttered. 

“Could be worse,” Cassius said with a smirk. “You could still be in Parkinson’s good graces.” 

“Like being on her bad side is going to be good for my health,” Draco sighed. 

“You just let us deal with her,” George said with a grin. 

“You aren't talking about Cass or Marcus, are you?” Draco asked with narrowed eyes. 

“Well, they’ll help. How else are we supposed to get into Slytherin?” George asked. 

“You help them prank us?!” Draco yelled at his housemates. 

“Prank or be pranked,” Marus said with a shrug. “I choose to prank. Better for my health.”

“I trust you won’t be sharing our little secret?” Cassius asked.

“What secret would that be, Mr. Warrington?” Snape drawled as the carriage door opened. 

“Trying the triad thing, Cass and Marcus are helping me with the concept,” George chirped. 

“Detention, Mr. Weasley, now move it,” Snape snapped. George gave the professor a mock salute before he started bounding up the steps. 

“Wait!” Draco called, George stopped, one foot crossing the threshold as he glanced back at Draco. “Which twin are you?” 

Something flashed across the Weasley twin’s features that Draco couldn’t identify. 

“George,” he said after a heartbeat. Then he left, the door to Hogwarts swinging shut behind him. 

“You’re never gonna tell them apart, Malfoy,” Marcus said, shaking his head. 

“We’ve known them since we were all first years, and we can’t even tell them apart,” Cassius said with a scoff. 

“Unless you would like to join Mr. Weasley in detention, I would suggest you join the rest of the school,” Snape drawled. The two sixth years exchanged nervous looks before sprinting up the steps. 

“Are you alright, Draco?” Severus asked softly. 

“Who told you?” Draco asked accusingly. 

“Hadrian, actually,” Severus said, making Draco’s eyes go wide. “His report has resulted in the youngest Mr. Weasley assisting me with ingredient prep for the next fortnight. It would have been longer, but Arennia showed up and asked for leniency. I can only imagine what your more volatile cousin has in mind for him. I’m sure it will make potion ingredients look like a day at the beach.”

“She might just kill him,” Draco offered as they walked to the doors. 

“Doubtful, before I left the Pottery, I was able to extract a promise from her not to kill on school grounds this year,”  Severus said with faint amusement. 

“This year?” Draco asked. 

“She negotiated.”

Their conversation ended as they crossed the final threshold into the Great Hall. Draco took the seat saved by Crabbe and Goyle just as Professor McGonagall set the Sorting Hat on the stool. The brim of the hat opened as it began its song:

A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Proud Slytherin, from fen.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, 

They hatched a daring plan

To educate young sorcerers

Thus Hogwarts School began. 

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues

In the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor the warriors, 

Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw, the cleverest,

Best of strategists;

For Hufflepuff, the patient clutch,

Helping all with with gentle touch. 

Then Slytherin the cunning ones,

Ever ready for needs be done.

While still alive they did divide

Their favorites from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head.

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,

I’ve never yet been wrong. 

I’ll have a look inside your mind

And tell you where you belong!

Applause rang out throughout the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat’s song ended. 

“I wonder just how much the Sorting Hat knows about the founders...” Arennia mused. Blaise and Theo shared a look. 

“Belleza, what are you plotting?” Blaise asked. Arennia gave him a sideways grin. 

“Who says I’m plotting? I’m supposed to be on my best behavior, lest the Headmaster see it fit to snap my wand,” Arennia said innocently. Draco scoffed at his cousin from across the table. 

“I would pay to see Dumbledore try that,” he drawled. “First off, I don’t see you just handing it over. Secondly, not only would your fathers’ wrath risk the structural integrity of Hogwarts, but my parents would have a field day ruining him legally and socially.”

“Not going to join your brother in worshipping the Headmaster?” Pansy sneered a few seats away. 

“We will discuss that later, Parkinson,” Arennia said, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It would not do to start the year off with a public quarrel at the Slytherin table.” 

The Bloody Baron paused his floating pace along the table, somewhat between the two girls. 

“Well said, Heiress Peverell,” the Baron stated, before continuing on. Silverware clattered to plates, the tabletop, and, in some cases, the ground. 

“You’re the Peverell heir?” An older student, Arennia couldn’t name, asked with wide eyes. She did notice the prefect pin the boy had, and figured he must be a fifth year, the newest prefect in Slytherin. 

“Well, that’s one diricawl spotted,” Arennia murmured, glaring at the Baron. 

The family had agreed that outside of Hadrian’s known status as the Heir to the Potter and Black houses, they would leave the rest alone. Lucius had confirmed the Ministry knew of Arennia’s status with the Peverell heirship, but had, as Sirius intended, linked the occurrence to the attack in London. While there were some nerves about the Peverell seat returning to play, it had been sidelined as Arennia wouldn’t be able to take the seat until her majority. 

James and Sirius were considering returning to the Wizengamot, but not playing proxy for the extra houses between the kids until all were revealed. Mostly at Hadrian’s request to keep attention away from himself for once. 

Arennia, who had her Heir ring glamored over, channeled the Peverell ring forward before dropping the glamor. She ignored the zap that came from the disgruntled LeFay ring. Multiple students stared at the ring. Not just other Slytherins, a few eavesdropping Ravenclaws twisted or stretched to catch a glimpse as well. 

Further inquiries were prevented as the Sorting Ceremony finished, and Dumbledore stood for his standard announcements. 

“I have only two words to say to you,” he said loudly, his eyes twinkling. “Tuck in.”

With everyone mostly distracted by food, Theo took note of those who were either sending Arennia spiteful glances or ones that looked a bit too starstruck. When he spared a glance for Blaise and Arennie, he found Blaise glowering at Evras Rosier. Evidently, the older boy had held a grudge against Arennia from the previous year. Her status moving from mere scion to heiress seemed to have only further drawn the seventh year’s ire. 

As the meal came to its end and chatter began to fill the Hall, Dumbledore took to his feet again. The student body quieted, in the near silence, the rain and thunder could be heard, howling against the stone exterior of the castle. 

“So!” Dumbledore said as he smiled around at the students. “Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs.”

“Shouldn’t that have been included in our letters, not given as news after we get here?” Arennia asked in a whisper. 

“Cousin, it’s Dumbledore,” Draco deadpanned in a hushed tone. 

Dumbledore had continued while the cousin had bantered. 

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year,” Dumbledore paused at the outcries from various students. “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing through the school year, taking up much of the teacher’s time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have the great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-”

His announcement was interrupted as the doors to the Great Hall banged open. Lightning flashed in the enchanted ceiling, illuminating the cloaked stranger as heads swiveled toward him. When he lowered his hood, shanking out a mane of dark gray hair, Arennia fought the urge to groan. 

“Is that?” Draco started, but halted his question. 

“Mad-Eye Moody,” Arennia muttered. The name had scarcely passed her lips when the ex-auror's magical eye swiveled her way. 

• Nessstmate?§ Kundalin hissed lazily, raising his head but leaning into Arennia’s neck as he did so. 

• Nessstmatesss are fine, Kundalin, go back to sssleep§ Arennia hissed back. As the snake slumped back onto her shoulder, she did a quick inventory. Blaise, Theo, and Draco were easy, as they were right by her. It was her brother and sister on the other side of the Hall that took her a moment to spot. She was glad Hadrian had allowed the silver and gold in his hair, as she caught it shimmering in the corner of her eye. Hermione was next to him, making Arennia a bit relieved. Kundalin had made her wonder if perhaps one of them was in some kind of danger, but as she glanced around, the only threatening countenance was of Ron Weasley, and he was glowering at her, not her siblings. 

After speaking briefly with Dumbledore, Moody took the vacant seat at the faculty table. The blue eye swiveled about, taking in the Hall, but Arennia couldn’t shake the feeling that it rested more on the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables than the rest. 

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” Dumbledore said brightly in the shocked silence that had spawned with Mad-Eye’s arrival. “Professor Moody.” Only Dumbledore and HAgrid gave the standard applause for the newly announced teacher. When they stopped, Dumbledore cleared his throat. 

“As I was saying,” he continued, ignoring how the students were observing Moody rather than listening to him. “We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

“You’re JOKING!” Fred Weasley called out. George snickered next to him. With the outburst, the tension from Mad-Eye’s arrival popped, and other students laughed as well. 

“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said, chuckling lightly, “though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar...”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, giving him a stern look that made him appear a little sheepish. 

“Er - but maybe this is not the time... no,” said Dumbledore, “where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do  know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.” 

“The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that it, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.”

“Death toll?” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. 

“Nothing establishes friendships quite like a funeral service,” Fred said with a falsely sombre tone. Hermione gave him a fleeting look of reproach. 

Most of the response thus far to Dumbledore’s informative speech was excitement. Whispers of intrigue spread through most of the student body. 

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.” 

Hadrian snorted at the statement. Two of his three previous years at Hogwarts had ended with him in mortal danger. In all three, an animagus had been hiding as a pet with the faculty none the wiser. He didn’t have much faith that the Hogwarts staff would be of much help. Maybe the other schools were better at keeping their charges safe. He still felt bad for the potential champions, though. Even if loss of life was avoided, he wouldn’t at all be surprised if there was loss of limb. 

“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”

“I’m going for it!” Fred hissed. His twin gave him an agreeing nod. Throughout the house tables, others were making plans to attempt to champion for Hogwarts, imagining the glory and riches they could win. 

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.” While many became furious at the restriction, Arennia breathed a sigh of relief. While she didn’t think Hadrian would put himself forward, she had no doubt her brother would have found himself involved with the event. With them only being fourteen, though, he would be able to watch the event as a happy bystander. 

Dumbledore’s voice rose in volume over the indignant students. “This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.”

As his eyes settled on the Gryffindor table, Arennia’s eyes narrowed. If this judge was so impartial, why was the Headmaster involved? Surely the judge could accept and sort through applicants on their own, casting aside any that were below the age requirement?

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he, or she, is selected. And now it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!”

“That’s hardly fair,” George scoffed, leaving the table bench while glaring at Dumbledore. “We’re seventeen in April, why can’t we have a shot?”

“They’re not stopping me from entering,” said Fred stubbornly, scowling at the faculty table. “The champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!”

“Yeah,” Ron mused. Out of habit, he had wound up in the same group as his brothers, Lee, Hadrian, Hermione, and Neville. His expression was dazed. “Yeah, a thousand Galleons...”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Even before the heirships, she didn’t think a game where one danced with death was worth even a hundred thousand Galleons. “Come on, we’ll be the only ones left if we don’t move,” she huffed, pushing Hadrian towards the doors. 

“Who’s this impartial judge who’s going to decide who the champions are?” Hadrian asked as they set off toward the entrance hall. 

“Going to try to charm them, Porter?” Parkinson asked coyly. 

“Could probably fool them with a couple of drops of Aging Potion,” Fred said thoughtfully. George said nothing, glaring at the Parkinson girl. 

“Dumbledore knows you aren’t of age, even if you fool the judge, he wouldn’t allow you to compete,” Hermione stated. 

“Right, like he wouldn’t let students face dangerous trials or basilisks,” Arennia sneered. As soon as she, Blaise, Theo, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle joined the group, Parkinson sniffed and sauntered off with Arennia’s eyes following, trying to burn through the other girl’s skull. 

“Good night, brother,” Arennia hugged Hadrian, a novelty he still couldn’t become accustomed to. Her hugs held a warmth far at odds with her countenance. “Good night, Mione.” She surprised everyone when she hugged Hermione as well, in a manner that made it seem she’d always done such. After which, the Gryffindors and Slytherins parted ways.

Chapter Text

“You aren’t actually going to try to enter the Tournament, are you?” Hermione asked Fred as the Gryffindors continued on their way to the tower. 

“Oh, c’mon, Grangr,” Fred rolled his eyes. He glanced at George, frowning slightly at the distracted look in his brother’s eyes, before continuing the conversation with Hermione. “Dumbledore isn’t the one choosing the champions in the end. Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he’ll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore’s just trying to stop us giving our names.”

“People have died, though!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“Yeah,” Fred said carelessly, “but that was years ago, wasn’t it? Anyway, where’s the fun without a bit of risk?” 

“Be cool to enter, wouldn’t it?” Ron said. Between the feast and announcements, he had forgotten that he was at odds with his friends. Nor had he ever realized he’d placed himself at odds with his brothers, also. “But, I s’pose they might want someone older... Dunno if we’ve learned enough...”

“I definitely haven’t,” Neville moaned gloomily. “I expect my gran’s want me to try, though. She’s always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I’ll just have to -”

“AGH!” Ron cried, his foot sinking halfway into a trick staircase. Usually, by students’ third or fourth years they would jump the known tricks by habit, but in his daydream, he had forgotten it. Hadrian, with Neville’s help, managed to pull Ron free. When Ron went to give his thanks, he froze at the distant, detached expression in Hadrian’s eyes. A suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked, laughing wheezily.

“Shut it, you!” Ron snarled, banging down its visor as he passed it by. The others caught up to him moments later at the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was giving him an imperious look whilst refusing him entry.

“Password?”  she requested, in a tone that made it clear the request wasn’t her first iteration. 

“Balderdash,” George replied. At the surprised looks of the others, he shrugged. “Prefect downstairs told me.”

Ron dove for his bed immediately after changing, avoiding any further discussion with Hadrian, or Neville, for that matter. Dean and Seamus were already in bed, though still chatting idly. Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum above his bedside table; a Muggle football poster was next to it, almost eerily still, next to the one of the Bulgarian seeker. As the thunderstorm sang an eerie lullaby to the lions, a starkly different tune had begun discordantly elsewhere in the castle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We weren’t given the password,” Draco said as they approached the entry to the Slytherin Common Room. Blaisesmiled sharply as Theo smirked. 

• Open§ Arennia hissed, and the entry revealed itself. Draco barely resisted the urge to gape at it, though Vincent and Gregory were bug-eyed at it. 

Rosier’s expression was the only openly hostile one as they entered. Their other yearmates were divided between derision and indifference, while the rest of the house merely gave curious or confused looks. 

“You didn’t actually think you could prevent a Parselmouth from entering the domain of Salazar Slytherin, did you, Rosier?” Arennia said sweetly. Kundalin drifted up, nuzzling against her neck. The youngest years made small motions away. 

“Maybe we don’t want blood-traitor trash in our house,” Rosier sneered. 

“Blood traitors?” Arennia asked, her expression quirked, challenge lighting in her eyes.

“Everyone witnessed you embracing the Mudblood bitch, it’s one thing to be soft toward your brother, but another to accept-”

“Silencio,” Arennia snarled, any trace of humor gone. Rosier moved, but didn’t make it far. 

“Incarcerous,” Blaise cast, magical ropes wrapping around Rosier enough to halt his movement. He was lucky enough that they didn’t result in him falling to his face. 

“I believe our housemates are woefully misinformed of who they are dealing with,” Theo said idly. Though his eyes darted among silver and green trimmed robes, assessing where the next threat would come from. 

“Indeed, which means it’s time for their first lesson of the year,” Arennia said coldly. The chill of her voice permeated the air of the dungeon as she channelled the Peverell ring. I want their blood to run cold in their veins. I want them to to feel as if they are trapped in a cave. I want them to fear this fear.

With her will focused on the Peverell magic, she got what she wanted. Breaths became puffs of air with haggard exhales. Students shrunk unwillingly as the shadows darkened, and spread, nearly shrouding the torches of the common room. 

“Last year, I was Arennia Lillian Potter-Black,” Arennia said, her voice barely a whisper, yet every student there heard it clearly. “My brother, now both Heir Black and Heir Potter, was the extent to which I could threaten to ruin those who would dare insult my family. That is no longer the case.” Arennia gave a homicidal grin to the room, sparing only Blaise, Theo, Draco, Vincent and Gregory. “As of now, Hadrian is off-limits. If anyone so much as looks at my brother the wrong way, I will declare them, and all that shall bear or have ever bron their blood, as enemies to the House of Peverell.” 

Amid the choing fear, several gasps and outcries rang. Declaring a person and the blood they bear as enemies was harsh, declaring it against the bloodline, both past and present, was condemnation. Especially from a house such as the Peverells, a house that was rumored to be able to destroy the living and torture the dead. 

“You are not in charge of us,” Desideria Avery, the female seventh year prefect, and Rosier’s fiancee, snapped at Arennia. “You are nothing but an ignorant, arrogant, little halfblood! We don’t-”

Her voice cut off with a shriek as a spell nicked her ear, as well as most of the hair by it. Theo’s eyes matched stormy seas, as he glared the older girl down behind his wand after sending the wordless diffindo her way. 

“I dare you, repeat that,” Theo said lowly. 

“Calm, darling,” Arennia soothed, her hand settling onto his wandarm. He lowered it, but not because she pushed. She left the decision to be his own, though she was relieved he took the advised action. 

“Didn’t realize the House of Nott would tarnish its reputation on the unworthy,” Adrian Pucey sneered. 

It was at this moment that Severus Snape entered the Common Room. Taking in the slightly bleeding, terribly hairdressed Avery girl, the bound and silently fuming Rosier, and the sneering Pucey he arched a brow at Arennia, who let him through her mental shields enough to tell him to stay out of this. 

“First and Second years, to your dormitories,” Snape drawled. “The rest of you, ensure this room is in the same state in the morning that it is presently.” As the door toward his Head of House rooms closed behind him, he shifted to his animagus form, squeezing through the gap under the door and observing the spectacle his Slytherins were engaging in.

“Even Snape won’t save you,” Pucey said derisively. 

Arennia’s eyes flashed, the patience of the LeFay ring snapped and the older boy found himself dragged to her, shocks crumpling him onto his knees along the way. 

“I do not need saving,” Arennia hissed. Kundalin dropped from her shoulders, slithering over to the now-trembling boy. “Now, let me set a few ground rules. First, Kundalin,” she waved at her menacing familiar as he hissed in Pucey’s face, fangs glitting in the firelight of the torches, “will bite anyone using the following terms: Mudblood, halfblood, or bloodtraitor. The school has the antidote to his venom, but I promise you will never forget the pain. Second, stay away from me and mine. Hadrian, Blaise, Theo, Draco, Vincent, Gregory, and Hermione are off-limits. Should I add to that list, I will make you all aware. Should any of them come to harm, but hand or wand, I will make the perpetrator beg for forgiveness.” Her eyes measured the reactions in the room. Few looked outraged by her audacity, but most stil looked terrified by the effects of the Peverell magic that she had yet to lift. 

“Lastly, and listen very fucking carefully,” Arennia said, as Kundalin wound his way back up to her shoulders. “If I ever catch so much as a glimpse of the Dark Mark, there will only be two options. Begging for my aid and absolution, or death.”

“You can’t threaten us!” Avery exclaimed, her face splotchy as she fought the urge to cry. 

“This ring,” Arennia held her hand, where the Peverell ring shined regardless of the darkened lighting of the dorm, “proves that I am very much capable of killing, Miss Avery. I assure you, my statement was no threat, it was a promise.”

“What does it matter if our parents can’t come her under threat of death by you?” Pansy scoffed. Arennia’s head tilted toward her.

“Oh, you foolish, naive child,” Arennia tutted, ignoring the fact that Pansy was a few months her elder. “Voldemort -” many winced, a few heads snapped to her angrily, “- is not dead, yet. Not while his mark on this world still survives.” 

“So what, you think you can just wipe out his work and replace him?” Graham Montague asked. He reminded Arennia of Theo, in a way. He kept his demeanor calm, his voice even, not revealing what side he was on. 

“Replace him?” Arennia laughed. “Why would I want the broken crown left by Tom Marvolo Riddle?” As she sneered his name, she spelled it with her wand in the air, slashing through the letters so they rearranged into the anagram as she’d seen the memory of Tom Riddle do in her brother’s memory. She left the confused silence, Blaise and Theo following at her heel. Severus ignored the fact she headed into the boys’ dorm. Blaise and Theo would keep her safe from other Slytherins. Draco would keep them from impropriety. Arennia certainly wouldn’t be safe that evening, at minimum, in the girls’ dorm. Not sharing with Pansy Parkinson. Not where Desideria Avery could get to her.

After confirming his wards around the Slytherin dorms and common room were activated to notify him of certain spells, and health anomalies, Severus left the castle grounds before apparating to the Pottery. 

Chapter Text

“So, now that the kids are gone, should we talk about it?” James asked at the dining table as the Pottery occupants were having dinner. By this point in the evening, the children were likely sitting down to the opening feast at the school as well. 

“It?” Remus asked, arching a brow at his friend. 

“The marks,” Regulus stated. James nodded slowly. 

“I thought I would have it forever,” Lucius said softly. Sure, the new mark had been seen above the camp, but the Death Eaters would know what it really was. A new start, a fresh start for the Dark faction. 

“I’m commissioning a pendant with it for Arennia,” Narcissa stated. 

“Are you serious?” Sirius exclaimed. Narcissa smirked.

“No, dear cousin, that would be you,” she said. Regulus groaned, his forehead thudding onto the table. If Narcissa was going to make the Sirius/serious joke, he could forego etiquette.

“She could change everything,” Lucius said carefully. James’s eyes narrowed. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“Severus told us about your... family neutrality,” Narcissa said cautiously. 

“My family is not Neutral,” James said slowly. Narcissa frowned, but James continued to speak. “We aren’t Dark or Light. We aren’t anything. We practice what is right, and abhor what is wrong.”

“Your family traditionally has neutral cores,” Regulus mumbled into the table. 

“Because we practice both Light and Dark magic, not because we follow the Neutral Party. My father would have a conniption at the very thought.”

“Why do the Potters sit in the Light faction?” Lucius asked curiously. James sighed. 

“We haven’t always. Before my grandfather, the Potter seat changed factions regularly. The acting Lord chooses the party that is most inclined towards his stances. The seat was dark for almost two centuries before my grandfather, Henri, moved it to the Light faction. It has stayed there since because the Dark preached ideals neither my grandfather nor father were willing to so much as lend an ear toward.”

“What ideals?” Lucius asked. He made a mental note to check what James had said about the seat changing factions in the archives later. 

“Do you want the full list, or just the highlights?” James asked, summoning a bottle of firewhiskey. If he was having this conversation, he was having a drink with it. 

“Highlights, for now,” Lucius said, leaning toward the Potter Lord eagerly. Narcissa shook her head. As ferocious as her husband acted, he turned into a puppy worse than Sirius when he was faced with the unknown. 

“Very well,” James said, downing his first glass of firewhiskey in a single go. “Muggleborns, primarily the Dark faction’s active pursuit of banning them from our world, their rightful world.” James paused, waiting for Lucius to rebuff him. The Malfoy patriarch shifted in his seat, looking a bit uncomfortable. 

“I- Can you explain your stance, then?” Lucius said after a minute. Regulus summoned the whiskey to him. He’d had over a decade to have these conversations with James. Now he was going to sit back and enjoy the show. 

“My father was researching it before he passed; however, it has always been the stance of the Potters that magic is magic, regardless of the blood behind it,” James said sharply, before he continued. “Anyways, my father’s research was voluntary, and he only had seventy-three examples, but his theory was that the muggleborns were from lines of magical families where the magic had dried out, so to speak.”

“Squibs, you think all Muggleborn are Newblood?” Lucius asked with a sneer. He immediately schooled his features at James' glare. 

“As I said, my father had seventy-three examples. Seventy-three Muggleborns he sponsored Inheritance tests for, with the condition that they report any magical family that showed. Every single one came back reporting at least one magical ancestor. And before you say it, they each were asked to give a vow of honesty regarding their reports, which they all performed.” Lucius’s jaw snapped shut, much to his wife’s amusement. 

“Perhaps it is the majority, but that does not mean that all Muggleborn could be-”

“Did you know that as squib deaths declined, the influx of Muggleborns paralleled it almost a century later?” James interjected. “Interesting, isn’t it? Purebloods send their unwanted, unmagical offspring out to the mundane world, only for the mundane world to send back, if not the same amount, then more magicals in return.”

“Lily?” Narcissa asked, saving her husband from the others catching his gobsmacked expression. 

“Newblood,” James said with a sly grin. 

“Malfoy?” Lucius inquired in response to James' expression.

“Oh, no, Lucy, you wish,” Sirius said as chuckles took over him. 

“It will come out eventually, James,” Regulus stated, sipping on the glass of whiskey. 

“I’m aware,” James said with an eyeroll, “although I would prefer if you would keep this information hush for now.” He said to Lucius, who simply nodded. 

Regulus levitated a new glass of firewhiskey to his cousin’s husband. The man gave it a wary glance before taking a large gulp of it. If Regulus Black thought he needed a drink for this, he was going to trust that judgment. 

“Arennia has the heirship; Lily was a descendant of the House of LeFay,” James stated. Lucius downed the rest of the glass, while Regulus lifted his own. 

“You mean to tell me that your children have the blood and magic of Morgana?” Narcissa asked numbly. 

“Not just her,” Sirius snickered. Both Malfoys turned incredulous looks his way before they returned as imploring ones to James. 

“Myfamilybloodadoptedanewblooddescendedfromtheemrysline,” James mumbled. He remembered Regulus’s reaction. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the Malfoys’. 

“Come again,” Narcissa whispered, not believing for a moment she’d heard what she thought she heard. 

Sirius was snickering, while Regulus looked entirely too amused by the scene before him. Remus took pity on James, though. 

“His family, great-grandfather, I believe,” James nodded, “blood adopted a muggleborn. When they did the inheritance test, they found out he was descended from the Emrys family,” Remus explained. 

Neither Malfoy said a word. Didn’t move. Faintly, James wondered if he should have had Severus here for this conversation to help, but then he remembered that he hadn’t given the man the information yet either. 

He had just enough time to make that realization as the shock wore off of Narcissa. 

“You combined the bloodlines of Merlin and Morgana,” she said a bit reverently. 

“Well, we were already engaged,” James chuckled. “Weren’t gonna cancel the wedding for finding out we came from opposing families. Now, if we’d learned we were cousins or something- OUCH!” James started at the stinging hex sent by Regulus. 

“Emrys, Peverell, LeFay,” Lucius muttered thoughtfully. “Your children literally have lineage representing one of the strongest families for each affinity.”

“Plus the Potters and Blacks,” James said, nodding. 

“Well, they also have the whole founders thing going on,” Sirius said mindlessly. Both Malfoys snapped their heads towards him. 

“What ‘founders thing’?” Narcissa asked. 

“Lily won the rights to the Slytherin line by conquest; both twins are Scions, not sure what the requirements are for that one,” Remus answered, trailing off thoughtfully. 

“Is that all?” Lucius asked weakly. 

“Hadrian is Heir Gryffindor,” Regulus offered. “He earned the family line of his own merit and met the requirements for claiming the heirship.”

“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Narcissa said, taking a deep breath. “Your children hold the heirships for four lines that have been derelict for centuries, and one that one of them could gain, depending on the requirements for it.”

“And Hadrian is still Heir Potter and Heir Black,” Remus said sagely. 

While both Malfoys stared at the assembled men, James downed a second glass of Firewhiskey. 

“This is not what we were supposed to be discussing,” he said irritably. 

“No, we were discussing kitten’s ability to remove the Dark Dumbass’s marks,” Sirius stated. 

“She didn’t remove them, though, Pads, she changed them,” Regulus said gravely, as his hand traced over the new mark. 

“So what? Not like she’s going to go mad ordering her aunt and uncles about,” James scoffed, but froze when he was the only one finding humor. “Please tell me you’re all joking? You can’t honestly believe Arennia is going to turn into the next Voldemort.”

“No, but she could be more,” Narcissa said. Lucius shook his head at his wife, not liking the way Potter’s eyes flashed dangerously with her statement. 

“My daughter is not going to be a Dark Lord,” he said with all the calmness of an approaching hurricane. 

“Of course not,” Narcissa conceded. Lucius’s tension melted momentarily, only to snap back into him with her next words. “She would be considered a Dark Lady.”

No one spoke. A wall sconce behind James shattered, making Regulus wince. He’d been the opposition of James Potter when his magic would lash out. It rarely ended well. He was still alive, though, so it wasn’t necessarily deadly. 

“You have five minutes to convince me not to hand deliver both of you to Thaddeus Nott,” James growled. 

“Arennia would never speak to you again,” Sirius answered. 

“Stay out of this, Sirius,” James snapped. 

“They have a point, James,” Remus added thoughtfully. 

“They have no point,” James snarled. 

“Enough, all of you,” Sirius snapped. “Arennia did what she did to take her aunt and uncles out of the Death Eaters. Not to make herself a second option for the Dark.” Narcissa opened her mouth to comment, but Sirius kept going. “If she chooses to do so, then we will support her. Hadrian is already forced into the role of Saviour to the Light. You said it yourself, James, they are two sides of many coins.”

“You think Hadrian will become a Light Lord?” James asked pensively. 

“I think he’s been pulled too far down that path to prevent that, James,” Sirius answered. “He is Light. He has the power to back it. If Bumblefuck is replaced, all the better. You said your family embraces magic from all the branches. Imagine what would happen if your children were the next leaders of opposing factions.”

“Assuming they get along all the time,” Remus added. He wondered how long Sirius had been thinking about all of this. He seemed better prepared for this discussion than the Malfoys, both of whom were openly gaping at his mate. 

“Oh, they won’t, siblings fight,” Sirius chuckled, “but they agree on what matters. Arennia risked actual death for Hadrian. Not just once. By my count, she’s done so at least three times.”

“Are you counting last year as one big event?” Remus asked, remembering how many times she’d come close to death at the end of a Professor’s wand as Panic. Sirius growled in response. 

“You aren’t joking, you actually want to position our children as the next leaders for the Light and the Dark,” James said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Want? Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Sirius scoffed. “However, they’re already in those waters, and I won’t let them sink. Though I was planning on waiting to actually discuss it with them until their majority, unless one of them brought it up first.”

“Were you going to discuss it with me?” James demanded. 

“Well, when I first thought of it, you were still acting batshit, so no, not at first,” Sirius answered. “However, after the whole cursed item event, yes, I did plan to-”

“When?!”

“Well, before I spoke to them, obviously. It’s only been a few weeks. I hadn’t marked the date on a calendar yet,” Sirius answered apathetically. 

“What if they don’t want that future, Sirius?” James asked. 

“Then they don’t do it, what do I look like? Walburga?”

“Alright then,” James conceded, his indignation deflating rapidly. Multiple faces regarded him with surprise at his sudden nonchalance. 

“Alright then?’ Remus asked, leaning forward. 

“I mean ‘alright then,’ Rem,” James said with a bewildered shrug. “I nearly lost any relationship I have with my children due to a curse I couldn’t control. I’m not going to risk losing them over actions I am in control of. Ren becomes a Dark Lady? Fine, I’ll paint the walls black. Harry takes Dumbledore's place? I’ll get him a better stylist for one, but otherwise game on.”

“What if only one of the children takes over a faction?” Lucius asked. He was beginning to hope they never left the Pottery. He adored Narcissa, but even she looked to be enjoying the dinner discussion here far more than their standard discussions of work and social outings. 

“Then I follow through for whichever it is, and support whatever it is the other decides to do,” James said with a helpless shrug. 

“What about your family legacy of non-bias?” Narcissa asked. 

“From what I can tell, I have already well and truly fucked the standard set by my predecessors. They can rip me a new one when I die, for now, my only goal is ensuring my children get to live their lives however the hell they choose. And I do mean how they choose.” He glared at Lucius and Narcissa. “I already have to butcher a meddling old goat for his machinations in Hadrian’s life. Do not force my hand by trying to manipulate my daughter into a path she has yet to choose.”

“Very well,” Lucius murmured, seeing Lord Potter as a Lord for the first time, not just the boisterous James Potter. “Perhaps another insight into your family’s beliefs? Something you don’t agree on with the Light or Neutral parties? For the sake of balance.”

James rolled his eyes, reverting more to his regular self at Lucius’s request. “Fine, the Light is easy enough. The Potter seat sat in the Dark faction for almost two centuries, trying to prevent the restriction of certain magics. Necromancy, Blood Magic, and Shadowcasting were particularly upsetting. My grandfather was willing to sacrifice those branches of magic to prevent the potential genocide of magicals, so the seat went Light.”

“Potters fighting for Necromancy, Blood Magic, and Shadowcasting,” Regulus deadpanned, then glared at James. “Why were you so upset about me teaching Arennia umbral flight?”

“Firstly, I was still wearing the super special spectacles,” James answered. “Secondly, and why I still don’t appreciate that little lesson, I know full well it was a creation of Voldemort’s.” 

“It’s a useful skill,” Regulus insisted. 

“Please, Reg, now that Arennia has the Peverell Grimoire, she’ll be learning Shadowcasting that will make umbral flight look like a child’s broom,” James sneered. 

“How do you know that?” 

“Because anything the Potter Grimoire has on Shadowcasting was originally from the Peverells, and often includes annotations about other abilities not included in the Potter Grimoire.”

“I suppose the fight for Necromancy came from the Peverells as well?” Lucius asked. 

“Yes and no,” James said hesitantly, his head teetering as he considered how to approach this subject. “Potters practiced necromancy before the Peverell line was married in. However, it was.... Different. When people think of Necromancy, they think of raising the dead, manipulating corpses, and other such depravity. Now, the Peverells certainly had rituals and practices that dabbled in those areas, but they mainly focused on parleying with Lord Death. On the Potter end, well, let’s just say they didn’t mind using the dead as components and leave it at that,” James said, suppressing a shudder.

“And Blood Magic?” Lucius asked, hanging on every word. He was baffled that the man was being so forthcoming with his family secrets, but then part of him wondered if his search on Potters in the archive would only corroborate James’ words. If there were records of Potter Lords defending Dark Magic in Wizengamot transcripts. 

“Do you know when the Potters gained their seat on the Wizengamot, Lucius?” James asked. 

Lucius racked his mind, frowning slightly. “They were a part of the Wizard’s Council, before the Wizengamot. They’ve always sat on the Wizengamot.”

“Indeed, do you know why they were inducted into the Wizard’s Council?” James reminded Lucius of his father and grandfather, teaching him the history of the Malfoys. After a moment’s thought, Lucius shook his head, much to Narcissa’s amusement. “Few remember,” James said softly, before standing and moving toward the only painting in the dining room. The others gave it odd looks, as the contents were nothing but rows of olive trees that moved in a breeze from time to time. 

“Tacitus, Θα θέλατε να μοιραστείτε την ιστορία σας?” James' voice sounded like a question as he spoke to the scenic frame. A minute later, a figure was walking through the row of trees, stopping to lean against one as the man within observed the occupants of the dining room. 

“These are not mine,” the portrait said after a moment. His accent sharpened the syllables, resembling the sound of broken porcelain. Dark brown hair fell freely, the wind that rustled the trees billowing it around the man. He had the same olive skin tone as James, the same jawline, but his eyes were blood red, making Lucius and Narcissa share an uneasy look.

“No, πατέρας όλων, but they are of kin to me. Sirius,” James gestured to his friend, who gave the portrait a nod, “blood adopted my children after their birth. Among the others are his lover, his brother, his cousin, and his cousin’s lover.” Lucius looked like he wanted to say something at being referred to as a lover, but resisted, as he was still unsettled by the red-eyed portrait. Besides that, he figured James had introduced them that way for a reason. 

“υιοθεσία αίματος?” The portrait growled, glowering at James. Narcissa whimpered slightly at the outright rage the portrait exuded. 

“Yes,” James said firmly. Man and portrait glared at one another, a silent battle of wills, until eventually the portrait laughed; the laugh resembled gravel crumbling underfoot and only further set the Malfoys on edge. 

“Very well,” the portrait stated, his attention returning to the others at the table as James took one of the seats nearer the frame. “My name is Tacitus, son of Ganymede. I was born in Greece in the year you would know as 1316. At the age of thirty, I relocated my wife and five children to English soil, a decision I forever regretted as that same year the Black Death spread, claiming the lives of all of my family.” Tacitus continued, clinical in his tale, one he had obviously shared over many generations of his descendants. “Even after the plague was resolved, lingering health issues were rampant.  By the time I reached forty years, only nine known magical children had been born; of those, only four reached their first birthdays. Our world was dying. In the mundane world, orphans littered the streets, having lost their parents. Rather than watch magic die out in Europe, I worked on a solution. Using river clay and a ritual I developed over time, I moulded a chalice. A few years later, I was able to develop a ritual to go with the artifact that allowed me to claim an orphan child as my own. Though mundane, after the child was adopted, they were able to access the magic my blood afforded them. I shared the practice with my peers, those who had no heirs, or none that survived, and we were able to stabilize the future of our legacy.”

“You invented blood adoptions...” Narcissa said, awestruck by the man’s story. 

“With the clay moulded chalice, I was from then on referred to as Tacitus Potter, and Potters all have been that were shared of my blood,” Tacitus said, finishing his tale. “My story is shared, I return now to my solace.” With his final words, he left. His form walking away through rows of olive trees before fading away. 

“That’s why you suggested it! I thought it was odd, you suggesting a Dark Ritual for me to adopt the twins,” Sirius said. 

“Dark, yes, but it still isn’t illegal,” James replied with a grin. 

“If Dumbledore has his way, it will be,” Lucius said gravely. James’s smile sharpened menacingly. 

“I would love for him to try. Banning a ritual that not only started a family name, but also prevented the fall of the majority of the European houses would be the easiest fodder for his fall.”

“And you refuse to sit Neutral because-?” Narcissa prompted incredulously. 

“Multiple reasons,” James shrugged, though his expression darkened. “Primary of which is that the Neutral faction is good at pitting both Light and Dark against one another to gain what they want. Before the Wizengamot, the Potter Lords refused to align with any side; however, the transition from the Wizard’s Council to the Wizengamot prevented such dissociation, as the role of Chief Warlock was determined by the majority faction, and seat retention required assignment to one of the factions for votes to be considered valid.”

Both Lucius and Narcissa were gaping at him behind masks of mild wonder. Lucius was wondering if he could convince James Potter to blood adopt Draco, if only so he could learn every secret the Potter name kept hidden in the walls of the Pottery. He wasn’t sure the tenuous affiliation through Black would be enough to keep the family history trickling to Lucius’s insatiable appetite for knowledge. He couldn’t wait to add all heard and experienced in a single dinner to his daybook, his nineteenth one. Since he absolutely refused to call them anything so plebian as a diary or journal, Narcissa had taken great joy in reviving a rarely used term and emblazoning it across the leather face of the books. There had been twenty originally, though as he closed in on filling the last ones, Narcissa found herself wondering what design to commission next. 

Just as Lucius prepared to launch another inquiry, James stood from the table, his brows furrowed with evident confusion and a hint of panic as he dashed out of the dining room. 

Chapter Text

“Severus?” James asked, confused as the potion master raised his wand accusingly towards him. Where once James would have reacted in turn, he only frowned at is. “Are the kids alright?” James asked a heartbeat later. 

“Pensieve,” Severus said flatly. 

“Right then,” James said, motioning for Severus to follow him to his office. They’d barely left the foyer when they ran into the other Pottery residents. 

“Severus?” The name was queried by the others in various tones of surprise. 

“Are the-”

“You lot may as well come, it would be easier for you all to see what fresh hell your spawn has created in less than twenty-four hours out of your purview,” Severus drawled, passing James, leading the bewildered parents and uncles to follow him to James’s office. 

There, he placed memories in the Pensieve. The evasive, yet informative one from the train that Arennia allowed him to see via legilimency, and the display from the Common Room after dinner. 

Lucius, Narcissa, and Regulus exchanged amused smirks when they exited the memories. Sirius and Remus shared worried looks that flickered to James. 

“When is the next Wizengamot session, Lucius?” James asked impassively. Lucius jolted, regarding James with confusion. 

“Unless anything comes up, it is set for the seventh of October. Why?”

“Because it seems Siri and I are going to need to take our seats, sooner rather than later,” James stated. “If Arennia is going to start making power plays, we need to make sure she has the political power to back it. Heirships are one thing, the backing of acting Lords is another.” 

“Can our first motion be the alteration of those gods-awful robes?” Sirius asked, his nose crinkling as he recalled the plum robes worn by the Wizengamot Lords and Ladies. 

“I’ll back that,” Lucius snorted. 

“Do you need to return to the school?” James asked Severus, who was analyzing the others, trying to figure out what he was missing. Their reactions were not at all what he had braced himself for. 

“I do teach there,” he drawled in response. 

“No, I mean, do you need to return immediately?” James stressed. 

“Is there a reason I should not?” Severus asked. 

Remus’s eyes followed the exchange, amused. “Come on, Padfoot, let’s go plot your government takeover.” As his arm claimed Sirius’s shoulders, he shot Regulus a look, jerking his head in a manner that he hoped the other Black would understand the message. 

“Narcissa, Lucius,” Regulus said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Lupin’s gesture, “would you two be willing to go to Malfoy Manor so I could peruse your library. I’ve hit a bit of a wall with my research, and the Malfoy library may help further my perusal.” 

“You couldn’t have had me do that, before I locked down the estate?” Lucius huffed. Narcissa took in the scene. Lupin’s removal of Sirius, the motion for Regulus to do something. She glanced at James, who had begun placing memories in the Pensieve himself, and Severus, who watched in what she could only describe as.... Fascination? 

“Of course we can,” Narcissa told Regulus. “Come along, dear.” She grabbed her husband’s arm, forcing him to follow as Regulus led them out of the office. 

“Your turn,” James motioned for Severus to enter the Pensieve as he sank into his desk chair. It was only after the man’s head entered it that James realized the others had gone, leaving just him and Severus. When Severus exited the memory of the dinner conversations, James gulped, wishing the others were here to attempt to prevent Severus from murdering him. 

“Black, Emrys, Lefay, Peverell, Potter, Slytherin,” Severus hissed, looming over the desk.

“And Gryffindor,” James offered, one of his hands rubbing his neck while the other drummed against the desktop. 

Severus scowled, lips drawn into a thin line. His hands clenched on the desk, had he claws the wood would have been marred by the action. When he pushed away from the desk, wand snapping into his hand, James flinched. He was relieved when all Severus did was conjure a chair on the opposite side of the desk, one not unlike his own, more comfortable than the spare chairs that were available in the room. 

“Is there anything else I need to know that could potentially put targets on their backs?” Severus asked, his voice clipped. 

James sighed, looking away from Severus before summoning the copies he had of the twins’ original Inheritance Tests. The air grew dense, almost unbreathable, as Severus read the papers. 

“There is one other thing,” James murmured, tracing the wood grain on the desk. He felt Severus’s attention snap to him. “The cloak, the one Hadrian has, is one of the Deathly Hallows.”

Severus blinked; he could almost place the term. The way James said it made it seem like something important, but there was nothing Severus could think of. 

“What does that mean?” Severus asked after a moment’s difficulty. He didn’t enjoy needing James to expand, to educate him on something he was lacking the knowledge of. Part of him tensed, ready for a jeering response. 

“Have you ever read the Tales of Beedle the Bard?” James asked softly. Severus shook his head; he knew the title. A children’s book in the wixen world. His father would have set it aflame if his mother had even attempted to read him such a thing as a child. 

“Right, well, I suppose you’ll be getting the more in-depth version of the one about the three brothers,” James said, shifting in his chair. He closed his eyes, remembering when his own father had told him the story. 

“Once there were three brothers, their parents' screams echoed in their ears as they fled the torches that had lit their home ablaze. After some time, they reached a river too deep to wade through, too dangerous to swim. Since they were magical, they worked together to channel their magic and make a bridge to provide them safe passage away from the danger hunting them. They were halfway across when their path was blocked by a hooded figure. 

In those days, it was common for Death to reap the souls destroyed by the acts of humanity. Men, women, and children were often burned at the stake, or worse, for witchcraft, though rarely were the claims valid. Lord Death was angry. He hated humanity, hated the waste of his brother, Lord Life’,  craft, and hated the way those blessed by his sister, Lady Magic, would only flee from Death without intervening in the pain and suffering. 

As he regarded the three brothers, who so recently fled, so recently survived, he offered them a gift each, of their choosing, to counter the sorrows upon the world. 

 Antioch, the eldest, desired to never be weaker than another, ever again. He asked for a wand, more powerful than any, so that magicals would rally to his call, and the mundane would tremble to behold his power. So, Lord Death crossed to an elder tree, fashioned a wand from the branch, and bestowed it on Antioch. 

Cadmus, the second brother, thought bitterly of everything their parents would never experience. Weddings, grandchildren, the rest of their lives. With this in mind, he asked for the power to recall others from beyond, so he could commune with them, to bring peace to those who were torn apart by the blade of the veil. Lord Death picked up a stone from the riverbank, giving it to Cadmus, advising him to tread carefully. For death is freeing, and the dead do not suffer the living. 

Lord Death then turned to the youngest brother, Ignotus. The boy trembled, terrified. Terrified of fire, of smoke, of hearing the screams of those he loved. Experiences he wished never to endure again. So he asked for the ability to hide from all, to prevent being found by those who would harm him and his loved ones. Lord Death placed upon the boy his own cloak of invisibility.”

James paused. Severus had sucked in a sharp breath, barely there, but James had caught the motion of it in the rapid jump of the other’s chest. The tension that stiffened his shoulders spread to Severus’s jaw, which was clenched so tightly together that James could outline each vein in the man’s neck. When Severus made no comment, yet, James continued. 

“After the gifts were given, Lord Death stepped aside, allowing the brothers safe passage to the safety of the opposite bank. During their encounter, those chasing them arrived at the bridge. Though the brothers could no longer see Lord Death, they felt his presence. The mob made it to the center of their bridge before the construction shuddered, collapsing and sending the crowd to the final embrace of the rushing waters. 

As the brothers grew, they grew apart. Antioch rallied wixen, city to city he went. His goal was to confront the mundane with their power, to take command of both worlds and force peace, killing any who would not comply. His most trusted friend and right-hand man coveted Antioch’s power and following. He killed Antioch in his sleep, claiming the wand as his own, a symbol of his new right to rule in Antioch’s place. 

The second brother travelled, following the chaos and carnage of the brutal acts of humanity. He spoke to families, helping them commune with their dead to bring peace. Cadmus often called upon the spirits of his parents, seeking their advice in death as he had of them in life. However, Lord Death was right. Decades after summoning them, the spirits turned bitter, jealous of his life for the lives they had lost. Cadmus asked for advice, how to help cure an infection spreading through his hamlet. None of the spirits of the deceased knew how they caught the contagion. His parents did, though, and they advised him, framing it in such a way that he succumbed to the illness rather than eliminating it. His son used the stone after his death, and his spirit warned him to keep it hidden and use it sparingly. The son and his descendants kept the stone close, but never again tried to use it so freely. 

Ignotus, the youngest, kept to himself, living his life in obscurity. He did not want to fight. He did not want to heal. He simply wanted a peaceful life. When he reached an old age, he handed the cloak to his son, and called for Lord Death, greeting him as an old friend, and taking the offered arm to pass through the veil and reunite with those he had outlived. 

After Ignotus passed, Cadmus’ eldest son, Cadeyrn, attempted to steal the cloak from his cousin Iarlaithe. He failed, his life taken as Iarlaithe defended himself from the robbery, not realizing he fought his cousin until it was too late. 

After that event, he met with Cadmus’s second son, returning to him the stone Cadeyrn had. Together, they laid a curse on the Hallows, that no owner of one could bring to harm the one of the others, suffering a fate worse than death should they try. Cadmus’s son Cyprian, who had witnessed his father speak to Antioch a few times with the stone, also informed Iarlaithe of the betrayal that cut short Antioch's life. They added a curse to those who survived losing ownership of the wand, binding them to those of Peverell blood. Antioch’s friend, who had lost the wand in a duel, lost the wand, but not his life, was little more than a slave to the Peverells until his death. 

It is believed that the Deities blessed the curse, considering it vengeance for those who sought personal glory over the betterment of the world. Two scrolls appeared to each man, listing the previous owners of each Hallow. To this day, the registry shows the history of the wand, the hands it exchanged, and those who still draw breath answer the call of the Peverell descendants, though they are rarely told why they are summoned or how their will is seemingly stripped away in the situations when they would normally refuse. 

I digress, the gifts given to the three brothers were called the Deathly Hallows. My family is descended from Ignotus, through his great-granddaughter Iolanthe Peverell, who married into the Potter family.”

James watched Severus carefully. He half expected the man to slap him the way Lily had when he had told her the tale. She had thought him unhinged and threatened to check him into St. Mungo’s. The other half, though, he may react as Regulus had, silent, brooding, ignoring his existence for weeks until eventually acting as if the story had never been shared. Regulus still seemed to pretend the tale of the Hallow cloak had never occurred. James wondered if maybe he ought to bring it up to him again, now that Regulus was free of the cursed locket; he may actually have an opinion or comment on the object or its origins. 

“Gregorovitch?” Severus asked. 

“I remember my father laughing when his name showed on the scroll,” James said, smiling faintly. “When the kids needed wands, wands not made by the machinations of Ollivander, I decided to see if the curse was real. He’s refused other private requests with public contempt since his retirement.”

Severus closed his eyes and took a breath, and another, and another. The only sound in the room was his breathing, as he counted how long he was holding each breath, counted out the seconds of each exhale. 

“Anything else?” Severus asked. James gave him an odd look. 

“You seem strangely alright with all of this,” James observed. 

“I will likely hex you later; however, I would rather have all the information so I know just how much hell you have to pay,” Severus said, a hint of humor in his voice despite his best efforts. 

“Well,” James said, thinking,” You know the origins of the Potters, how we relate to the Peverells, and what we inherited as a result of that. I don’t have any grand Black secrets, but we can be partners to duel Siri and Reg should they have any life-altering information to share. You saw the kids' inheritance tests, and I figure you are clever enough to know where the Lefay, Slytherin, and Gryffindor titles came from. Emrys was somewhat explained. I can go in depth on that; however, the tale has less to do with the House of Emrys and more to do with my grandfather and how he came to be adopted by my great-grandparents.” With the last statement, he gave Seerus an inquiring look. 

Severus shook his head softly, “Another time, perhaps.” James gave a relieved nod. 

“Then I cannot think of anything else, unless you have any specific questions?” Severus shook his head in response, making James grin. “May I ask a question of you then?” 

“Do I owe you an answer?” Severus asked, eyeing James skeptically. The skepticism melted when James laughed, a bright sound contrasting the serious air the office had been suspended in. 

“I suppose you don’t, it’s more for my own curiosity,” James said, chuckling still. His eyes crinkling, the faintest wrinkles were beginning to show at the corners where his eyes met his temples. 

“Ask,” Severus said in a bored voice. 

“Your memory from the common room, you changed into an animagus, but I couldn't tell what-”

“No.” 

“No?” James asked, pouting. “After the wealth of family history I shared with you, you won’t even let me know what your animagus form is?”

“You did that so that I am better equipped to keep your children safe,” Severus said harshly. 

“Come on, Sev, you know mine,” James whined. Severus’s brain froze at the shortened name. 

“A bat,” he said, the answer slipping unbidden as his brain restarted. James' face lit up. 

“Can I see?” He asked, excitedly. 

Severus wanted to say no, to huff and walk out of the Pottery. Not because he wanted to return to the school, no, he just wanted to escape the glassy, pleading eyes of James Potter. However, it was far too late to escape. The opaline eyes had him trapped. With a resigned sigh, Severus shifted forms, making James squeal.

“Ooooh, aren’t you adorable!” James cooed at the tiny bat. As grand and swooping as the Professor was, the tiny bat, barely the size of a galleon, was not what James expected. He reached a hand toward it, only to have a flushed Severus Snape replace the small mammal. 

Normally, Severus would threaten James, warn him from sharing the information with anyone else. Then again, normally, he wound’t have given in. There was also the added fact that James Potter had called a version of Severus adorable, and now Severus was certain he needed to check his heart when he returned to his chambers at the school. 

“Oi, I wasn’t done, change back,” James demanded with a laugh, his hand pushing playfully into Severus's shoulder, or it made to do so. 

Instinct took over. The warmth of the interactions vanished with the visceral flinch that tore through Severus as a memory of his father flashed across his mind. 

“Severus?” James' voice turned worried, the teasing and happiness gone. His hand moved toward Severus again, slower, offering something Severus wasn’t ready to name. Severus forcefully shoved everything behind his Occlumency shields, straightening his posture and donning his impassive mask. 

James frowned at him, concern growing, evident in his eyes. His damnable eyes, Severus thought bitterly, though he kept the thought from affecting his demeanor. 

“I must return to the school,” Severus said tersely. Turning sharply and leaving the office. Through the wards, James could feel each measured step the man took as he left the Pottery. As Severus left, James wondered what it was he had done wrong and what the hell he was supposed to do to apologize. The last thing he wanted was for them to be back to square one.