The Kisses of Death

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/62718100.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of
Violence
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Regulus Black/Original Female Character(s), Regulus Black & Sirius
Black, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sirius Black & Remus
Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter
Characters: Regulus Black, Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus
Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Death Eater Characters, Alphard Black, Original
Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Order of the Phoenix
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), First
Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Prejudice Against
Muggle-borns, Prejudice Against Squibs (Harry Potter),
Implied/Referenced Character Death, Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter,
Hufflepuff/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Ravenclaw & Slytherin
Inter-House Friendships, Period-Typical Racism, Everyone Needs A
Hug, Slow Build
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2025-02-02 Updated: 2025-05-16 Words: 32,953 Chapters:
12/28
 The Kisses of Death
by Jack_A_Purple

Summary

Summer 1977. Argus, Halcyon, and Regulus’ world changes in ways they never could have
imagined. Their classmate Lucinda is dead, and in the wake of her loss, an unlikely trio—a
Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff, and a Slytherin—sets out to fulfill her final wish. Each has their
own reason, but none of them are prepared for what awaits.

Voldemort’s power is rising. Darkness creeps into every corner of the wizarding world, and
the First Wizarding War is about to escalate immensely. What begins as a simple act of
remembrance soon turns into a treacherous journey where loyalty is tested, the past refuses to
stay buried, and danger is never far behind.

Three wizards. Three fates. One summer that will change everything.
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 1977

She never would have thought her fifth year would end like this. That everything would fall
apart in just a matter of few weeks.

It all began when she was attacked by a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest. By some strange
miracle, she got away with only a few nasty scratches; it was still miles better than being
bitten or merlin-forbid killed.

Halcyon Proudfoot told everyone she didn’t remember anything. The professors didn’t
question her claim since she’d hit her head, and memory loss as a result seemed plausible.

The whole unpleasant situation escalated even further when Snape sent Sirius Black to the
hospital wing for a few days. It happened because James Potter and Severus Snape had an
argument a few days after the werewolf attack. They drew their wands on each other, and
while Potter won, he made the mistake of turning his back on his opponent. Snape was about
to cast a nasty curse at him from behind, but Sirius Black, without hesitation, jumped in front
of his friend. Could he have blocked the spell? Yes. He regretted not doing so in that moment,
as the Sectumsempra curse was anything but painless.

Amidst all this chaos was Halcyon, who had to focus on her OWLs despite not being fully
recovered (and as a result, she ended up back in the hospital wing, much to her displeasure,
where she had to share the space with Black). The professors gave her two options: either
repeat her fifth year or take the exams now. They weren’t exactly lenient with her—after all,
she had gotten herself into this situation with her recklessness… otherwise, why would she
have been wandering around outside her bed at night, after curfew?

Halcyon’s version of events was questioned by Lily Evans, her cousin. Lily couldn’t
understand what Halcyon could have been doing in the Forbidden Forest at night during a
full moon! She even suspected Potter and Black, thinking it was some kind of prank of theirs
that had gotten out of hand. Her accusations ended up hurting James Potter.

“What do you think of me, Lily?” he asked her, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Before this incident, you could say there was a fragile friendship between Lily Evans and
James Potter… but Lily shattered it in a single day with her distrust. No one could blame her
as Potter had been getting on her nerves for years, and he had also bullied her former friend
Severus Snape (who, in the end, didn’t turn out to be the best person either, after calling her a
“Mudblood”).

Now, Halcyon was sitting in the Hogwarts Express on the way to London. She felt bitter
disappointment. She had worked so hard all year for her exams, only for it all to end like this.
Her performance might have been better if her body hadn’t been so exhausted, if the scars
didn’t burn so much.

She leaned against the warm glass and closed her eyes. She was sitting in the coupe with her
Hufflepuff classmates, who occasionally cast her sympathetic glances. They were talking
about their summer plans. One was heading to Venice with her family, another to the Welsh
coast. Halcyon barely paid attention, pretending to be asleep while her thoughts remained as
heavy as a stone.

“Hey, Proudfoot, got a moment?” said a deep voice she had been hearing far more often than
she would have liked in recent days.

She turned to Sirius Black, who was casually leaning against the coupe door. He was the kind
of person people admired—a tall, lean figure with striking features, his dark, slightly
disheveled hair giving him a kind of careless elegance. His eyes sparkled with the usual
confidence that followed him everywhere.

Looking at him only made her feel annoyed. She knew her classmates, who were now casting
longing glances at Black, thought otherwise. The events of the past few days had done
wonders for his reputation; he’d become something of a legend, which she found incredibly
irritating.

“What do you need?” she asked, trying to keep any hint of irritation out of her voice. The last
thing she wanted was for her classmates to gossip about her.

“Come with me, you’ll see.” That was all he said. With reluctance, she got up and followed
him, trying to come up with any rational reason for why he was bothering her.

“If this is another—” she began, but Sirius cut her off with an amused smile that never quite
left his face.

“It’s nothing, Proudfoot,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as if they were
longtime friends. “And don’t be so uptight.” His touch was light, friendly, but Halcyon froze
for a moment as she hadn’t expected it. Sirius had an incredible knack for being invasive
without even realizing it.

“I just want to know what this is about,” she snapped, shaking off his arm. Sirius’s behavior
was grating, but she chose not to comment. She knew that showing how much he annoyed
her would only amuse him further.

“Remus wants to talk to you,” Sirius said, fixing her with his gray eyes. There might have
been something sincere in them, but Halcyon suspected it was just another one of his tricks.

She gave him a questioning look. “Why?”

“You’ll find out,” he replied cryptically. “But be nice to him. If you keep looking like that, I
won’t let you near him. After everything that happened, he’s nervous about talking to you.
And I don’t blame him—you look terrifying.”
A dangerous glint flashed in Halcyon’s amber eyes. It wasn’t the first time someone had
commented on how intimidating she looked. It was just her unsightly scars, which were
beyond her control. If there was one thing that truly angered her, it was when others made her
feel uncomfortable about something she couldn’t change.

“See! You’re frowning again! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Aren’t you Hufflepuffs
supposed to be all nice and friendly?” Sirius smirked.

Halcyon’s feelings toward Sirius Black were deeply conflicted after their shared time in the
hospital wing. Sirius couldn’t keep his mouth shut as if he was almost afraid of silence,
something she had never seen in him before. She didn’t particularly like him any more than
she had before, but she had started to feel a bit of compassion towards him. In those few
days, she had glimpsed another side of him, though it didn’t change her opinion much. She
still held him and his friends responsible for what had happened.

As Halcyon followed Sirius down the corridor, she noticed two familiar faces by the trolley
cart. Peter Pettigrew was hesitating over the candy selection before finally settling on a
licorice wand. Next to him stood James Potter, his arms full of pumpkin pasties, a testament
to his willingness to spend every Knut in his pocket.

When Sirius walked by, their eyes met. James gave him a conspiratorial wink, and Sirius
returned it with a smug grin.

“So, what do you want from me?” she asked. She still wasn’t sure whether to trust him. Her
mind was already crafting scenarios, like opening a coupe door only to have a dungbomb
drop on her head.

“Just sit here and listen to what Remus has to say. I swear, that’s all.”

“No tricks?”

“Why would—” he started, but Halcyon cut him off.

“Because you’re Sirius Black! I know you enough. If this is another one of your pranks—”
she added, her suspicion unwavering.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Proudfoot, don’t overthink it. Just go in.”

He was telling the truth—there was no trick. When Halcyon stepped into the coupe and saw
Remus, she immediately realized this wasn’t his idea. He was sitting there, hunched over, his
gaze fixed on the floor, as if too afraid to meet her eyes. She closed the door behind her to
give them the illusion of privacy, though she suspected all three Gryffindors were
eavesdropping outside.

“So,” she began, “what do you want to say to me?”

Remus finally looked up at her. His face was strained and haggard, as if he hadn’t had a
proper night’s sleep in weeks. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his robe nervously. “I wanted
to… apologize,” he began hesitantly. “I know I hurt you… and I’m so, so sorry.” His voice
trembled under the weight of his words, each syllable feeling like a confession of something
he didn’t want to admit to himself. There was something painful and ashamed in his eyes—
something she had never seen in him before.

“Sorry? That’s it?” Halcyon shot back sharply. “Do you even realize how much worse it
could’ve been? Why did you agree to something so stupid in the first place?” She exhaled
angrily, folding her arms across her chest.

Remus’s gaze fell back to the floor. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t answer, as if he
had run out of words. Then he took a deep breath, his voice weak and weary. “I… I know. I
have no excuse, Halcyon. It was reckless and foolish. I should have been… somewhere safe,
where I couldn’t hurt anyone. But they… convinced me they could handle it. And I—I
wanted to believe them. Foolishly, I hoped that…” His voice faltered, but he pushed on, “that
I could be normal, just for a little while.”

“You say that like it was their fault, Remus,” she replied, her tone softer but still tinged with
bitterness. “But it was you who agreed. You’re old enough to take responsibility.”

Remus nodded, a pained grimace twisting his face. “I know. I know all too well. Every
mistake I make, every time I hurt someone… it’s just a reminder of what I am.” His last
words were barely a whisper.

Halcyon watched him for a moment, trembling under the weight of his own guilt. Suddenly,
her anger felt petty. She was still furious and deeply disappointed, but she didn’t want to
leave things like this. Slowly, she sat down next to him and took a deep breath. “Remus,
look… I’m angry, and I’m also greatly disappointed. But seeing you tearing yourself apart
like this—it’s enough. It doesn’t help anyone.”

She pulled a chocolate frog from her robe and placed it in his hand. “You look like you need
this more than anyone else right now.”

Remus looked up at her, his eyes still clouded with pain but now showing a glimmer of
gratitude. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered.

“I hate seeing people wallow in self-pity,” she replied, though her tone was more forgiving.
“At least now you know it’s not all a game. From now on, you’ll transform where you’re
supposed to, and you won’t hurt anyone again. And I believe you won’t let it happen again,”
she added, though a flicker of distrust still lingered in her voice.

Remus nodded, his body relaxing slightly, and his expression softened. “Thank you,
Halcyon… And I’m grateful you’ve kept quiet about my… condition.”

“I only did what I thought was best. Nothing more,” she said, shrugging.

She recalled the days when rumors had spread through the school that she had been attacked
by a werewolf. Some claimed she had been bitten, speculating that Hogwarts would now
have a werewolf in its midst. Concerned parents had even written to Headmaster
Dumbledore, demanding her immediate expulsion. Other students began avoiding her, as
 though her very presence might somehow infect them. She had become a victim of the
wizarding world’s prejudices—and she didn’t even have a condition like Remus’s.

Halcyon realized that Remus had said all he wanted, so she opened the coupe door to let the
rest of the boys, who had been lingering in the hallway, back inside. She noticed Sirius gently
picking up a small calico cat from the floor.

“Who did you steal her from?” she asked as all three of them sat down on the leather seats,
and Sirius placed the cat on his lap. The animal was affectionate, happily allowing him to
scratch its back.

“She showed up here in the corridor, and we couldn’t just leave her alone,” Sirius explained,
his gaze still fixed on the cat as if enjoying her company.

“This is probably the first time one has willingly come to Padfoot,” Peter remarked with a
grin, watching the cat settle comfortably.

James burst out laughing. “Yeah, that’s true! Evans’s cat always hisses and growls at him.”

For the first time in a while, Halcyon genuinely laughed. All four Gryffindors stared at her as
if witnessing some sort of miracle. “January, that cat, he absolutely despises dogs,” she
explained, still smiling.

Sirius was the only one who didn’t laugh; instead, he rolled his eyes and muttered something
under his breath. The cat, as if trying to cheer him up, rolled onto her back and let him rub
her belly.

Although she could have stayed with them longer, Halcyon knew she didn’t want to get too
close. So, she made her way back to her own compartment. On the way, she came across a
panicked Lucinda Winston, frantically searching for her cat, Rue.

Chapter End Notes

I’d probably start by saying—poor Halcyon. The idea that someone would eventually
pay the price for the Marauders running around the grounds during the full moon came
to me while reading Prisoner of Azkaban. Because, sorry, guys, but that was really
irresponsible of you.
I don’t go into too much detail in the chapter about what exactly happened. I’m
expecting that the story will reveal it mainly through some conversation. That’s why I
don’t go too deep into the narration, but I think we already have some idea of what
might have happened.
At the end, we’re introduced to the true star of this story (no, I’m not talking about
Sirius)—the cat, Rue, whom we’ll definitely be seeing more of in the coming chapters!
 Chapter 2

June 1977

The train finally arrived in London. As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon and dusk
cloaked the city, Halcyon was the last to step out of the compartment. Just as she was about
to exit, she nearly collided with a Ravenclaw girl, Amoret Montfort.

“Sorry,” Halcyon muttered, looking up. In that instant, she froze. Standing next to Amoret
was Alfred Belby, his typically tousled dark brown hair falling in soft waves around his face
as he nervously raked his fingers through it. Their eyes met, and a tense silence hung between
them. Amoret gave Halcyon a faint smile, her expression carrying a hint of understanding.
Then she leaned toward Alfred and whispered something before walking away from the train.

Alfred remained where he stood. “Hal, can we talk?”

She felt anxiety rising in her chest. Struggling to keep her emotions in check, she nodded.
“Alright.”

They moved aside, away from the curious gazes of the bustling crowd.

“I don’t want things to end like this,” Alfred began, his voice quiet but urgent. “I realize I
might have said things that I shouldn’t and that I’ve been unnecessarily harsh on you. I’m
honestly sorry.”

Halcyon tried to stay composed. “It wasn’t the first time, Alfred. I don’t know, maybe you’re
just pushing me too hard. I just need time to think and process everything that’s happened.”

Alfred’s face twisted with pain. “But I’m here for you. We can get through this together.”

Halcyon sighed, forcing a faint smile that still felt bitter. “I appreciate that, but… no. I’ll see
you after the summer break.” She moved to walk past him.

Alfred straightened, his slender hand reaching out to grasp her wrist. “Wait!”

Halcyon pulled away. “Leave me alone, Alfred!” she shouted before she could stop herself.
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

Alfred slowly withdrew his hand, his expression shifting from confusion and regret to
something more resigned. “Alright, if that’s what you want. Just… take care of yourself,
Hal.” His voice softened, though a shadow of hurt remained.

“You too,” she murmured quietly before turning and walking away without looking back.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. She needed to find her aunt and uncle and head
home.
Halcyon stepped off the train and was immediately engulfed in a dense crowd of witches and
wizards—mostly students excitedly reuniting with their families. She had to weave through
them, her gaze darting nervously over the sea of heads. She was searching for her relatives.
At last, amidst the chaos, she caught a glimpse of bright red hair that could belong to no one
other than her cousin, Lily. The anxiety in her chest grew with every step, and the journey to
them seemed increasingly difficult, as though her legs were weighed down by the burden of
her own thoughts.

The horror in Aunt Evelyn’s eyes was unmistakable, while Uncle Edwin beside her appeared
calmer, as if trying to keep the situation under control.

“Halcyon!” Aunt Evelyn cried out as soon as Halcyon approached. Her hand shot out to grab
Halcyon’s chin, her touch unexpectedly firm, almost harsh. Halcyon was overcome by a
wave of shame. “What in Merlin’s name happened to you? Your face… why? Why were you
so reckless?”

“Can’t they remove that scar somehow?” her aunt continued, this time with urgency in her
voice. “You were so beautiful…”

Halcyon stood silently, the weight of failure pressing down on her like a stone.

“Trust me, it was way, way worse,” Lily said coolly. A flicker of regret crossed her emerald-
green eyes, subtle but unmistakable.

Uncle Edwin stood aside, silent, with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. His
face remained impassive—emotions weren’t his strong suit—but there was tension in his
posture that betrayed him. After a moment, he stepped closer and gently placed a hand on
Halcyon’s shoulder.

“Your aunt is just worried, dear,” he said softly, his deep voice unusually soothing. He
attempted a reassuring smile, though it felt forced. “We’re just glad you’re safe. That’s what
really matters, doesn’t it?” He gave her a light pat on the back, as if that could erase all
concerns.

Aunt Evelyn sighed, clearly trying to suppress her frustration. After a moment of strained
silence, during which Halcyon picked up her suitcase and prepared to leave, Evelyn
approached her, speaking with solemnity:

“Halcyon, I need to tell you something important. When Judith found out what happened, she
was so upset that she considered withdrawing you from Hogwarts. I tried to talk her out of it,
but… I’m not sure if she’ll listen to me.”

Halcyon swallowed dryly. The situation was worse than she’d expected. She had received an
angry letter from Judith, but she hadn’t thought she’d go so far.

When the car slowed and came to a stop in front of their house, darkness had fully descended,
and the streetlights cast a faint, cold glow over the surroundings. The modest family home in
the poorer part of Cokeworth looked even lonelier and gloomier in the dim light, but it was
still Halcyon’s home.
“Everything will be alright, Halcyon,” Evelyn repeated in a softer voice, as though trying to
convince herself as well.

Uncle Edwin nodded. “Good night, dear.”

Halcyon bid them good night and headed inside, her heart heavy with fear and doubts about
what awaited her behind those doors. Darkness surrounded her from all sides, but the one she
felt inside was far deeper.

✷✷✷

The streets of London were bustling with life, even at this late hour. Alfred Belby and Argus
Fawley slowly weaved through the crowd of Muggles, who seemed to drift aimlessly through
the streets, carried by an invisible current. Occasionally, someone turned to glance at Alfred’s
raven cage, but the two boys were long accustomed to such looks.

“So, what exactly happened between you and Proudfoot?” Argus asked cautiously as they
walked along the pavement, avoiding the occasional passersby. He cast Alfred a probing
glance.

“Amoret put you up to this, didn’t she?” Alfred sighed, not breaking his stride.

Argus shrugged, his lean frame exuding an effortless ease, as though nothing could rattle
him. “Maybe she did. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m curious why my mate suddenly isn’t
talking to the girl he used to call a miracle from the heavens.”

When Alfred didn’t respond, Argus continued, “If you want to talk about it… or we could
just get drunk, you know—my family owns a dive.” A mischievous grin spread across his
face.

Alfred smirked, shaking his head in disbelief. “I could use a drink,” he finally admitted,
resigned to the fact that the evening would revolve more around glasses than his troubles.

The Mad Boar Inn once had a reputation as a lively, boisterous place where wizards gathered
to unwind after long days. But now, it looked different. During Voldemort’s rise to power,
people were too afraid to venture out, and local businesses felt the strain. Tables remained
half-empty, conversations were hushed, and the atmosphere was more tense than jovial.

The room was dimly lit, with a cloud of smoke from a few scattered pipes lingering near the
ceiling. The whispers filling the air were low and cautious. Local patrons sat scattered at their
tables, faces hidden beneath coats or hats. Heavy curtains were drawn over dusty windows,
and the light of old lanterns hanging from the ceiling cast long, dark shadows on the wood-
paneled walls.

In the past, laughter and raucous conversations often echoed through the inn, but today, it was
quiet, almost eerily so. The only sounds were the soft crackling of a magical radio in the
corner and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath shuffling feet.
“Well, well! Look who’s decided to grace us with his presence after all these years!” boomed
old Ben, the innkeeper, maintaining his friendly tone despite the weariness and caution
etched into his features. His bald head and graying beard were the same, but there was an
unmistakable unease in his eyes.

“You know how it is—we’re here to celebrate the end of the year and passing our exams,”
Argus replied as they made their way to one of the empty tables in the back of the room.

Ben brought them a bottle of Firewhisky, remarking that he’d return shortly to hear their
school tales.

“And what about your mum?” Argus asked as he poured the golden liquid into two glasses.
He placed one in front of Alfred, a glint of challenge in his eyes—knowing this would be
Alfred’s first time trying it.

Alfred examined the glass of Firewhisky carefully. When he finally brought it to his lips, he
took a tentative sip, only to cough violently, his face turning red. Argus burst out laughing.

“You’ve got to knock it back in one go,” he advised with a grin, watching Alfred’s efforts
with amusement.

“Dad says Mom’s doing better, but…” Alfred finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “She still
doesn’t want to be around people. It’s bloody awful.”

Alfred’s mother had been bitten by a werewolf. It happened just before Christmas, and it had
shaken the entire family. She had completely withdrawn into herself. Once known as a
Quidditch star who married a highly successful potioneer, she had been active in events and
coached several teams. After the incident, she gave it all up. For Alfred’s father, watching his
wife fade before his eyes was unbearable.

“Everything that’s happening right now is bloody awful,” Argus finally said. He downed the
fiery liquid in one gulp.

“Yeah, and You-Know-Who keeps gaining more power. We’re going to end up in this war
too, and I still feel like I’m just learning to levitate a feather,” Alfred added with a bitter
smile.

“Yeah,” Argus nodded. “But in all this stress, it’s good to remember Leviosa every now and
then.”

It only took two glasses of Firewhisky for Alfred to start talking about Halcyon Proudfoot.
Argus couldn’t say he learned anything new from the tale, just that Proudfoot couldn’t
remember anything and probably couldn’t handle Alfred’s concern. The whole situation
seemed senseless—Proudfoot wasn’t stupid, and she wouldn’t have just wandered into the
Forbidden Forest without a reason.

“Maybe she fell victim to some kind of prank,” Argus mused, leaning on the table. “Maybe it
went too far. Or, considering she can’t remember anything, someone might’ve done it on
purpose. If I’m not mistaken, she’s Muggle-born, right?”
Alfred nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor as he studied the cracks in the wood, as though
they might offer him an answer. “Yeah, I think so,” he admitted, his voice filled with doubt.
“Merlin, I’m such an idiot,” he muttered desperately, burying his face in his hands as if trying
to hide his disappointment.

Argus leaned back in his chair. “It’s all just speculation,” he said finally, attempting to offer
comfort. “But I think you should give her space and time to sort it all out.”

When Ben returned to their table, his presence lightened the heavy atmosphere between them.
The innkeeper smiled as he approached, his bald head gleaming in the dim lamplight. “So,
lads, how’s school going?” he asked, placing another glass on the table.

Alfred looked up at him with a faint smile, as if trying to shift his mind to a less troubling
subject. “School?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, school,” Ben affirmed.

“Oh, the usual. It gets harder every year… there was a bit of a row between Gryffindor and
Ravenclaw,” Alfred recounted. “Then it escalated, and suddenly everyone went mad, and
curses were flying everywhere.”

“You don’t say! That’s happening at your school?” Ben exclaimed in amazement.

“Yeah, and almost everyone got caught up in it. It all started with someone stealing the
portrait of the Fat Lady and ended when… well, when Dumbledore gave one of his long
speeches about how we should all stick together in these times.”

“Back in my day, anyone acting up like that would’ve been hanging by their thumbs in the
dungeons,” the old man chuckled.
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 1977

The only thing that indicated it was summer was the date on the calendar. The sky was
melancholically gray, and a sharp, cold wind whipped through the streets, so the elderly
woman had to carefully guard her elegant hat to prevent it from flying off. The silence in the
area was only interrupted by the occasional screeching of old doors or the rustling of paper
blown about by the wind, while in the distance, the dirty river sluggishly flowed between
overgrown banks littered with trash.

Anyone who happened to spot her in this neighborhood would undoubtedly wonder what she
was doing here—wealthy people never visited these places. The houses around her were
dilapidated, with gray walls, their windows dull and blind. The chimney of an abandoned
factory loomed like a foreboding monument above the river, reminding of long-forgotten
times. The sidewalks were covered in dust and grime, while overflowing garbage containers
were carried by the wind.

People either lowered their gaze or avoided her, for she didn’t give the impression that she
was thrilled to be there. She muttered angry curses about the weather under her breath, even
though the real cause of her bad mood was something else entirely; she hated this part of the
city, where the buildings were ugly and gray, the sidewalks dirty, and the trash cans
overflowing. The poor people, the plebeians of society, lived here.

So why did she come here?

She had decided to visit her daughter and grandchildren.

She wrinkled her lip as she stood in front of one of the houses, its plaster peeling, and the old
railing rusting. “If she had married better, she wouldn’t be living here with that good-for-
nothing!” she grumbled irritably, leaning on her cane as she opened the wooden gate, which
always creaked unpleasantly.

Old Mrs. Buttercup had never approved of her daughter’s husband. She would have cared
less if it hadn’t been for a car accident years ago, which had taken the life of her beloved son
Christopher. She had so many plans for him! When he suddenly died, all she was left with
was her clumsy daughter Judith, who reminded her too much of her late husband. Sometimes
—actually, often—she regretted it wasn’t Judith who had died.

Nevertheless, she was still her blood, and this was how she could still have some influence
over her grandchildren, whom she did love. Tobias, her grandson, even reminded her of her
beloved Christopher.
The door to the Proudfoot apartment opened just as she critically examined the peeling
yellow paint on the door.

“Mother?” Judith Proudfoot immediately exclaimed. Her mother was the last person she
expected at her door. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Emily replied with a smile, but her eyes remained cold. “I was passing
by and thought I’d stop by.”

“Oh,” Judith mumbled, still surprised, tucking a blonde lock of hair behind her ear.

She let her mother in and silently thanked the fact that the previous day, she had decided to
clean the whole apartment—she needed to work out some energy after getting upset with
Halcyon.

Emily Buttercup didn’t just dislike her son-in-law, Bruce; she also despised their adopted
daughter, Halcyon. Emily knew nothing of her real family and didn’t want to; all she needed
to know was that the orphan’s parents had been friends with Bruce—probably more
weaklings.

“That wallpaper you have here is dreadful, Judith. The color doesn’t suit this place at all,” the
woman said skeptically as she took off her olive-colored hat.

“You always say that mother,” Judith waved it off, wearing a light brown apron, which had a
bit of flour on it and a few grease stains. “We’re happy with it as it is and aren’t planning any
renovations. You know that.”

“If only you weren’t so stubborn…”

“Mom? Should I take this out? … And… hi, Grandma!” a girl’s voice called from the
kitchen.

“Frankie, sweetheart!” Emily exclaimed, her face suddenly lighting up. “I brought you
something!” She had bought her granddaughter a beautiful new dress.

A smaller girl, also wearing an apron, walked out of the kitchen. Her honey-blonde hair
wasn’t braided into two pigtails as usual, making her look slightly more mature. It was about
time, Emily thought to herself, after all, Frankie would be fifteen soon!

Then she insisted that Frankie try on the light pink dress. “Wow, darling, I must say, you look
like a lady. Don’t you think so, Judith?” She turned to her daughter, and all tenderness
vanished from her eyes.

Judith gave her daughter a warm smile, then went to the kitchen to check on the apple pies.
Jazz music was playing from there.

“Is it just you two here?” Emily asked as she sat in an armchair. The entire living room was
painted in a peachy-orange color—the one her daughter loved, but Emily herself could barely
stand.
“Dad and Toby should be back soon. Muffin ran out of food, so they went to buy some,”
Frankie replied, then went to change.

“Muffin… that’s your puppy, right?” Emily asked with fake interest. She still couldn’t
understand how any animal could live in such a small space without destroying everything.

“Mother, you’ve seen him before.” Judith sighed as she removed her apron. “And you
criticized the stupid name we gave him, remember?”

“Oh yes. Your dog tried to knock me over.”

“He was just greeting you,” Judith retorted.

“Either way, it has a foolish name,” Emily concluded the debate as she looked around.
“Shouldn’t that orphan be here too? I haven’t seen her in a while,” she complained.

“She’s outside with the dog.”

“Oh, right, but she should be back soon, shouldn’t she? I’m curious about her schooling at
that… what’s it called? Some school for the slow-witted, right?” Emily pursed her lips
thoughtfully.

“It’s a Catholic school for children with a special talent,” Judith corrected her immediately.
The truth was different, but Emily couldn’t handle it. “And her walk means she’s visiting
Edwin and Evelyn, which will take a while.”

“Ah, I see.”

Perhaps if Emily’s voice hadn’t been so loud, Halcyon would have opened the front door at
that very moment. But she stopped just in time. It took so little, and she would have been in
view of the old woman, whom she secretly hated.

The girl glanced at their black Labrador Muffin, stepped away from the door, and gripped his
leash tighter.

“You really don’t want to meet this witch, Muff, trust me,” she whispered softly as the dog
looked at her with bored eyes. She petted his head, then they descended the stairs again.

Once back outside, she sighed wearily. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly in the past few
days and was hoping she could return to her warm bed, though Judith would probably never
allow it.

The first few days after her arrival, she had been quite angry with Halcyon, constantly
reminding her of how foolish she had been. Halcyon understood their worry… but by
constantly throwing it in her face, nothing would change. Judith, however, didn’t argue and
tried to ignore it, hoping her mother’s anger would subside and lift the silly house arrest.

She wasn’t exactly dressed for the coming rain—light drizzle began to fall, and the cold wind
picked up.
Great, she thought.

For a moment, she considered heading to a store to wait out the rain. The problem was, she
didn’t have any money.

Perfect.

So, there was nothing left to do—she’d have to hide at Evelyn and Edwin’s place. She was
already planning to straighten things out with Lily anyway.

The walk to the Evans’ house didn’t normally take long, especially when running. Halcyon
didn’t want to be soaked. They reached the terraced house marked number 778. It was a
simple family home with a small garden. This was where she had spent most of her
childhood, pulling pranks with Lily.

She rang the bell, pulling Muffin close, but as it turned out, the puppy had great strength and
broke free as soon as it spotted Petunia.

“For heaven’s sake, get that wet thing away from me!” Petunia shrieked.

Muffin kept jumping on her, overjoyed. Halcyon grabbed the leash and tried to keep him
grounded.

“Great, Halcyon, now my clothes are ruined!” Petunia screamed, a paw print on her red T-
shirt.

“Oh, sorry, Muff’s still learning.” Halcyon nervously smiled. “Can you hand me a towel to
clean him up?”

Petunia muttered something under her breath and disappeared into the house. Halcyon
scolded Muffin, who promptly shook himself off.

“Oh, who do we have here?” Evelyn cheered when Muffin excitedly ran up to her. He had a
towel in his mouth, which he had snatched after Halcyon cleaned him.

“Hi, I hope we’re not disturbing you? Muff and I were out walking and got caught in the
terrible rain,” Halcyon explained while trying to take the towel from the dog. “I thought I’d
stop by.” She didn’t even mention Emily.

“I don’t understand how you go out like this without a proper jacket. You’ll catch a cold…”
Evelyn said, shaking her head as she turned to Petunia. “Petty, get her something to change
into.”

Petunia rolled her eyes but went to fetch clean clothes.

“You, girl! Keep rolling your eyes like that, and they’ll stay that way,” came the raspy voice
of Bluebell Evans—Petunia and Lily’s grandmother. As always, she sat in her blue armchair
by the TV, holding her knitting needles.
Muffin dropped the towel immediately when he realized that Grandma Bluebell wanted to
give him a treat. Then, fortunately, he just lay down beside her and stayed calm, which
Halcyon was quite glad about.

She sneezed several times in a row. Evelyn handed her some tissues.

“You are a complicated one, child,” Bluebell shook her head over her.

If there was someone Halcyon truly respected, it was Grandma Bluebell, who constantly
offered the girls excellent homemade cookies and gave them very valuable advice for life.

She was exactly the kind of woman everyone would wish for as their grandmother. Her red
hair streaked with silver strands was tied up in a careless bun. Lily resembled her somewhat,
except for the fact that Bluebell had warm dark brown eyes. Petunia, on the other hand,
looked more like her mother; both were blond with sharp facial features.

“Take a cookie. And tell the old lady how school is going… And I don’t mean that stupid
idea of yours to walk in the forest at night,” Bluebell said. Halcyon already had a dry shirt on,
and Evelyn placed a cup of hot black tea in front of her before heading to the kitchen to do
the dishes—Halcyon wanted to help, but the woman immediately shooed her away.

“Well… this year I took the O.W.L exams at the end of the year. It was tough… But I studied
enough over the year, since my future was at stake… the professors also tortured us with
various essays,” Halcyon said with a sour expression.

“Enough?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Oh, girl, with that attitude, you won’t get far. Only hard work will get you somewhere. I
wouldn’t rely on luck if I were you,” Bluebell scolded, and Halcyon just nodded in
agreement.

“And any boys?”

“What?”

“Did you find a suitable boy there?” Bluebell repeated curiously. Halcyon was a little
surprised that she was the one asking—she would have expected it from Evelyn.

“Well…” Alfred Belby, her first almost-relationship, immediately came to her mind, which
ended catastrophically. “No, no boyfriend. They’re apparently scared of me.” She shrugged
indifferently.

Bluebell had her usual comment, suggesting that boys were a distraction from studying.
Halcyon often wondered if Bluebell had been like that when she was young… focusing only
on studies and rejecting everything else. But Evelyn once told them that Bluebell had been
quite the wild one and now offered all this wisdom to prevent anyone from following in her
footsteps.
“Is Lily here?” Halcyon asked after finishing her tea.

“Yeah… she’s been locked in her room all day. She wouldn’t even watch Doctor Who with
me this morning. She acted strange, did you two fight?” Bluebell asked, giving her a probing
look.

“Unfortunately,” Halcyon muttered glumly.

“Take some cookies and tea, maybe that will make her forgive you… Nobody can resist my
cookies,” Bluebell said proudly with an encouraging smile. “And before you leave, turn on
the TV… my crime show is starting!”

Halcyon laughed. Bluebell had several favorite series she watched repeatedly. When they
were younger, Halcyon and Lily loved watching Doctor Who together, although now, they
barely understood the few episodes they watched during the holidays.

Naturally, when Halcyon grabbed the cookies and tea, Muffin faithfully followed her to
Lily’s room, which was on the first floor.

As she imagined this moment in her head, she wanted to rush in and tell Lily everything.
How could she be mad at her now, after the werewolf attack? How could she not believe her
when she had no idea what exactly happened that night?

What bothered Halcyon the most was that Lily was somewhat right—James and his friends
were indeed involved. From what Lily implied, she suspected Potter was the one who
dragged Halcyon into it. That would make sense, considering the events of the last few
months, when the houses had allied against each other. It could easily have been a prank that
got out of hand.

The truth was a bit different, though, and Halcyon couldn’t admit anything. Even Professor
Dumbledore didn’t know that all four Gryffindors had been in that forest—it seemed he
didn’t suspect anything about Remus.

She knocked on the door. She waited a moment for a response, but none came. She tried
again, but still, nothing. Cautiously, she opened it.

“Lily?”

No answer.

The red-haired girl was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chin, staring blankly
ahead—her gaze was completely empty, which scared Halcyon enough. Muffin, of course,
quickly ran to Lily. Halcyon blinked in confusion and gently pushed the dog aside.

“Are you okay?” Halcyon asked worriedly. Lily turned her emerald green eyes toward her,
filled with sadness.

Lily pushed the Daily Prophet toward her. The main headline read, “ATTACK ON DIAGON
ALLEY.” Halcyon’s breath caught.
In recent months, there had been more and more attacks. The main targets were wizards of
Muggle-borns and Muggles. The two of them always took it seriously, but this time it really
hit home because the Daily Prophet was showing a black-and-white photo of Lucinda
Winston, their classmate, who had lost her life in the attack.

✷✷✷

It took Halcyon a while to absorb this dreadful news. Her whole body froze as she tried to
sort her thoughts. She knew Lucinda—while they weren’t close friends, she had spent more
time with her in recent months through both knowing Alfred. She seemed like a nice girl who
certainly didn’t deserve to die. Just a few days ago, she saw her at the station—alive and
smiling. Now, as she remembered that scene, it felt like someone had suddenly punched her
in the stomach.

Lily looked at her sadly, her eyes full of suppressed grief. At that moment, it didn’t matter
that they were angry at each other.

“I still can’t believe it,” she whispered, nervously playing with the edge of her sleeve.

“Yeah… like it’s some kind of bad joke.” Halcyon replied, her voice empty as if she were
speaking to herself. She looked up at Lily, but her eyes were glazed, distant.

“And you still expect someone to come and shout April Fool’s!” Lily sighed and looked
away. Her hands were shaking as she folded them in her lap.

They looked at each other. Lily was wearing a winter hat for some unclear reason, and
Halcyon would have asked why under normal circumstances, but now it didn’t matter. She
placed the food on the desk and put her head in her hands.

In the ensuing silence, Lily suddenly spoke softly, her voice carrying traces of exhaustion.
“Why did you come?”

“What?” Halcyon, as if pulled from her own thoughts, lifted her head and stared at her in
surprise.

“You know that… what happened with Lucinda… doesn’t change the fact that we’re still
fighting.”

“I came because I want to fix things between us,” Halcyon replied firmly, her voice steady.
“But to be honest, I don’t understand why you’re mad at me. I’m just telling you the truth,
and I don’t understand why you don’t believe me.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed sharply, although her face still showed bitterness. “I’m not stupid—I
saw how Potter and his friends were looking at you! And I also find it strange that you,
injured, managed to get out of the Forbidden Forest and all the way to the hospital wing!”

“Pettigrew helped me,” Halcyon said calmly.

“Who just happened to be wandering the halls alone that night, right?”
“Maybe he was going to the kitchen, what do you want me to tell you?”

Lily quietly clenched her hands in her lap, her white knuckles revealing suppressed tension.
“The truth, Halcyon! I want to know the truth.”

“The truth is that I don’t remember anything, like already told you,” Halcyon began, her
voice gentle but full of fatigue.

“And… I haven’t told anyone because it scares me too. I don’t think I lost my memory just
like that. It’s like… like someone used some confusing spell or something. I remember
studying potions, and then—nothing. Darkness.”

Lily stared at her with a suspicious expression, but there was a flash of concern in her face.
“And how can you be sure it wasn’t Potter?”

“Now you sound like Snape,” Halcyon replied skeptically. “Remember his crazy theories
about Lupin’s condition? That’s exactly what you sound like. And all because you’re mad
and blaming Potter!”

“That’s not true.”

“But it is, you feel guilty! Admit it.”

“I… this isn’t important. Not now,” Lily answered, but her red cheeks gave her away. “I’m
angry at you. And not just because of the werewolf incident. Why didn’t you tell me about
Belby?”

Halcyon turned away, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I didn’t want to burden you when you
were so caught up in self-pity after the breakup. I didn’t have the strength to make it even
worse for you,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “Besides, you could have asked at any time
when I was hanging out with the Ravenclaws.”

Lily stared at her, her eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and pain. “You should have
told me. I would’ve supported you!”

“I know you would’ve. But that doesn’t matter anymore. And not like you could’ve helped
much anyways even if you wanted.”

“Wait—what do you mean? Don’t tell me he dumped you just because of your—”

“No. Not that,” Halcyon reassured her, but there was a strange emptiness in her voice.

Lily leaned closer, her expression softening, and when she spoke again, her voice was quiet.
“Because he looked really worried when it happened to you.”

“Uhm,” Halcyon cleared her throat. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to know
how worried he had been. She didn’t want her heart to betray her and forgive him again.
Alfred Belby had a way of saying cruel things unknowingly, things that deeply hurt an
unprepared person. He apologized, but that wasn’t enough. Besides, she didn’t know if she
could have a relationship with someone when others would point at her in disgust.
 “Well… I just can’t think about a relationship right now. That accident changed everything,”
Halcyon explained vaguely, not intending to elaborate.

Lily looked at her for a long moment, her expression finally softening, and then she nodded.

Finally, the girls lay on the bed, gazing at the ceiling, which looked like a night sky. When
Lily had decorated the room, they had convinced the Evans family to paint stars on it.

They ate Bluebell’s cookies, which improved their mood, and talked about various gossip
they’d gathered over the past few weeks.

For a moment, it seemed like things were returning to normal—if only Lucinda’s smiling
face from the newspaper wasn’t staring back at them.

Chapter End Notes

Even though Halcyon managed to talk her way out of it, this is our first clue as to why
she was in the Forbidden Forest. She’s not lying when she says she doesn’t remember.
So the question is—who’s behind it?
The bad news in this chapter is Lucinda’s death. (Looking back, I’m not sure if it makes
sense for Death Eaters to attack Diagon Alley. But for the sake of simplicity, I left it
there.)
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 1977

Argus Fawley spent the entire day in bed. Any movement felt like a challenge. A deep
sorrow and searing pain coursed through him, spreading across his body like venom. Even
something as trivial as breathing was a struggle. He wished desperately to feel nothing at all.

Why her?

Why did they choose Lucinda Winstone?

He couldn’t believe it. She was gone—so suddenly, so unexpectedly. Just a few days ago,
he’d begged her for forgiveness. Only yesterday, he’d planned to visit her in the coming days
to make amends. He’d even come up with a better apology, something less feeble to say to
her.

But that would never happen now—she was gone.

Forever.

The thought that he’d never again see her brown eyes or her unique smile… that was the
worst of it. There would be no next time, no second chances. It was simply over.

He had to reconcile himself with memories—memories that would inevitably fade over time,
leaving only fragments. Details would blur, and… he didn’t want to lose her.

Argus had always believed Lucinda would achieve so much in her life. She’d dreamt of
exploring the world, embarking on grand adventures. She even had a list of things she wanted
to accomplish before she died.

The world was cruel.

Blood purity… one of the primary reasons she lost her life. Because of her lineage. Argus
was certain it was no coincidence that Death Eaters had targeted her. Rumors were rife that
even some older students had joined the dreaded Voldemort.

“Blimey, that lad looks absolutely dreadful.”

“Cut it out! How would you feel if someone close to you died?”

“Maybe she was his girlfriend.”

“Well, she had pretty poor taste, then, didn’t she?”

“For Merlin’s sake! Could you two show a bit of kindness? Just because you’ve been dead
for decades doesn’t mean you have to act like it!”

“Oh, stop being so sensitive, Tommy.”

Argus swore under his breath. He wished he could vanish. Normally, he’d have banished
these ghosts the moment they showed up, but he didn’t have the energy today. He was
grateful he’d already pulled the blanket over his head earlier—it blocked out the harsh
sunlight streaming through the window.

These three ghosts had been an unexpected discovery when his family moved into this house
years ago. Argus’s father, Viktor Fawley, had inherited the property from a distant uncle who
hadn’t taken great care of it.

The ghosts had their quirks, but one thing was clear: they didn’t particularly like Viktor
Fawley and occasionally played pranks on him. (Unfortunately, Viktor had figured out how to
scare them off after a year.) Strangely enough, Viktor’s Muggle partner, Vivien, enjoyed their
antics. As Argus discovered, she was a huge fan of anything supernatural.

“I’m truly sorry about your friend, Argus,” said Thomas, the most sensitive of the ghosts, his
voice uncomfortably close. Unfortunately, Thomas was prone to melancholia, so having a
normal conversation with him was nearly impossible.

“Well, at least she didn’t become a ghost,” muttered Oswald.

“I certainly hope not. It’d be tragic if she ended up like Tommy here, fussing over his
ridiculous painting all the time,” Oswald added, his attempt at kindness falling flat. “Imagine
if she decided to haunt Diagon Alley instead—some of those shops might go out of business.
But worse, she might have to wander aimlessly… forever—”

“Oswald, shut it! Seriously!”

The thought of Lucinda becoming a ghost hadn’t crossed Argus’s mind. As much as he
longed to speak to her, to tell her everything he never got the chance to say, he wouldn’t wish
that fate on her—an eternity of this half-life.

“The lad’s awfully quiet, isn’t he? You don’t reckon went nuts? You know… If he were
asleep, he’d be snoring, wouldn’t he?” Bernard chimed in. That was just how he was.

Though Argus didn’t want to, he knew he had to respond. Otherwise, who knew what these
three might do to check if he was still breathing? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Can’t you go bother someone else?” he muttered.

“We’d love to, but your father forbade us from talking to Gregor—said it might give him
another heart attack. He even threatened to smash my china tea set!” Oswald explained,
sounding deeply offended.

“And he asked us to check on you,” Thomas added.

“Seeing as you won’t leave this room… How do you even go to the loo?”

“Bernard!”

“What? I’m just curious.”

“Anyway, lad, you’ve got half an hour to pull yourself together. You’re having dinner with
them—nothing too terrible.”

“Fine. Now get out,” Argus rasped.

It took him a moment to process what he’d heard. His father was really forcing him to have
dinner with them, even though he knew Argus was struggling to cope with Lucinda’s death?
Didn’t he have the right to lie in bed and wallow in grief for a while? It might be bleak, but it
suited him just fine.

He pulled back the blanket—it was easier to breathe now—and saw that the sun was already
setting. He didn’t see the point in changing out of his pajamas, knowing he’d be back in bed
in an hour.

But perhaps he could manage a to take a shower.

✷✷✷

He had felt this way many times before—simply unable to perform even the most trivial task,
like turning on the shower. He hated these moments. It was as if something inside him was
resisting. All it would take was to reach out his hand, but even that felt unbearably hard. For
a while, he just stood there, motionless, his head filled with thoughts.

He considered giving up and crawling back into bed. But that would probably cause more
unnecessary drama. His father could be stubborn when he set his mind to something. Argus
knew he had no choice. He had to go downstairs.

Just how much he hated this house! No matter how hard his father tried, Argus simply
couldn’t accept the idyllic vision of a happy family. After his mother’s death, his father had
left him alone. Instead of being there for him, he had sent him off to stay with sickly Uncle
Tristan or the Blacks. His father was always at work, as if that was the only thing that
mattered. Little Argus desperately needed someone to be there for him, but instead, he was
repeatedly pushed aside.

When his father found a new wife a few years ago, Vivien—a Muggle, no less—Argus lost
the last shred of respect he had for him. It was perhaps the worst decision his father could
have made at the time. In a world where Voldemort’s followers were growing in power, this
decision painted a huge target on his back. The last thing Argus wanted was to come home
one day and see the Dark Mark hovering over their house. How could his father be so
reckless? Did he not care about the risks he was bringing upon their family?

Now Viktor was trying to reconnect, but it was far too late. Where had he been when Argus
lost his mother? Where had he been when Uncle Tristan died—the only person who could
cheer him up back then? Tristan had been ill, but at least he had made time for Argus, making
him feel loved. But even Tristan was gone, and from that moment, Argus had lost interest in
everything.

Vivien was quite kind, which Argus couldn’t stand. The more she tried to be nice to him, the
more it irritated him. He had locked his bedroom door to avoid her well-meaning attempts to
bring him food. In the mornings, he’d wake up to find a glass of water and a slice of bread
with spread on his desk, but he wouldn’t touch it. It felt like an attempt to play at being a
family, which they would never be.

Argus had the unfortunate tendency to stop eating entirely when he was sad or depressed.
Four years ago, he had been a somewhat chubby kid who tried to make others laugh. But
after he started feeling the weight of the losses he had endured, he stopped eating. He lost
weight quickly, and within a year, he was just a shadow of his former self. His father had
noticed the change and had been alarmed. Since then, he had tried to ensure Argus didn’t
begin starving himself again. That was perhaps the only thing his father genuinely cared
about.

Argus knew that if he didn’t go downstairs and eat something, it would cause a scene. His
father and Vivien would force him to eat, and that wouldn’t end well.

He felt anger bubbling up inside him. He had been feeling this way often in recent days. His
emotions boiled, but he didn’t know how to let them out. He didn’t want to scream, punch
walls, or tear up paper, but at the same time, he didn’t have the energy for any of that.

He remembered how Lucinda had once told him that writing in a journal could help clear his
mind. “It’s like you’re sharing your secrets with someone,” she had said. He took a deep
breath in and out. Eventually, he managed to overcome the feeling of paralysis and took a
shower.

Success.

The hallway was eerily quiet, which made him a little nervous. Wouldn’t it be better to stay
in his room? He didn’t want to run into anyone or talk to anyone… what if they spoke to
him? Vivien could sometimes be quite chatty… He began to doubt everything.

“What are you waiting for?” a voice whispered near his ear.

He jumped in fright. Oswald especially loved scaring people this way. Sneaking up on them
at the most unexpected moments and whispering something in their ear. It was enough to give
someone a heart attack. The worst part was that you couldn’t even punch a ghost for it.

“Okay, okay… sorry, kid, I just couldn’t help myself,” Oswald laughed. “Now you’ve got a
rare chance to overhear the grown-ups talking about you. Vivien’s giving the old man an
earful, which is unusual, so I’d tread lightly if I were you. Gregory is thankfully in his room
polishing his… football trophy. Thank goodness it’s nothing else.”

Gregory, Vivien’s son, was utterly obsessed with soccer. Argus hated the sport for that very
reason—Gregory wouldn’t stop talking about it and annoying everyone with it. Soccer might
have been interesting for Argus otherwise, but his stepbrother had completely ruined it for
him.

Argus thanked Oswald and then carefully made his way down the stairs. Luckily, he had
become quite good at it.

“You can’t approach him like that, Viktor. Think about it… how would you feel? Yes, it’s bad
that he’s falling into these states… but you must give him time to pull himself together. You
can’t just push him—it doesn’t work that way.”

“Don’t tell me how to raise my own son. I know best what works for him… and giving him
time? Please. It’s been almost three years since Tristan’s death, and he still hasn’t moved
on… he hasn’t changed in all this time, and he’s still acting like a wreck. And I certainly
don’t want him to grow up to be like that, especially with the war going on!”

A cold sweat ran down his back. His father’s words etched themselves into his memory. No
matter how hard he tried to deny it, those words hurt. A wreck.

“That’s exactly why you need to be kinder to him. What if he’s the next one to face such a
fate… And you think you know what works for him? Well, I remember last year how you
handled things. You threw him out of the house and then spent the whole afternoon looking
for him. And he spent the night under a bridge. At sixteen years old. Yeah, that was stellar
parenting.”

Vivien was truly furious; Argus had never seen her like this before. In fact, he had never
witnessed the two of them arguing or yelling at each other.

He didn’t want to hear another word about himself. So, he cleared his throat and walked into
the kitchen. Vivien gave him a sad smile, while his father averted his gaze and simply left the
room. Argus felt a wave of relief—it wasn’t like he wanted to sit in silence with his father.

“He didn’t mean it—”

“I think he did,” Argus interrupted her immediately. He didn’t need her to try and justify his
father’s words.

“He’s just been under a lot of stress lately… with everything going on in the world…” She
shook her head. “Would you like me to make you something to eat?” she asked with a kind
smile.

“No,” Argus replied flatly. He knew it would take him a long time to find something he could
eat, but he wasn’t interested in letting this woman do him any favors.

“Ah… alright then.” She nodded and left the room. Argus remained in the silence. He tried to
find something he could eat… but couldn’t. Moments later, he was back in bed, wrapped in
his blankets.

✷✷✷
Lucinda’s entire family attended her funeral, along with some friends, most of whom were
from Ravenclaw House. Emily White, her best friend, held a handkerchief to her eyes and
cried softly, while Desdemona Fox tried to comfort her.

The most heartbreaking sight was Lucinda’s family. Olivia Winstone, her mother, looked
utterly exhausted, her eyes red and her black dress hanging loosely on her. Argus couldn’t
imagine how hard this must have been for her. Her brother held her shoulders and whispered
something softly to her. Not far from them stood Victoria, Lucinda’s cousin, quietly chatting
with Regulus.

Before the ceremony began, Argus approached Mrs. Winstone to express his condolences.
She immediately hugged him, visibly trying to hold back her tears.

“My family has been such a great support to me. I don’t know what I’d do without them,” she
said with a weary smile.

“I’m glad to hear that… if you ever need anything, Mrs. Winstone, I’m here for you.” He
meant it. He liked her; when he’d stayed with them during the last holiday, she had been very
kind to him. Lucinda was almost a perfect copy of her.

“That’s very kind of you… I think Lucinda would want you to have some of her things… I
haven’t had the strength to go through them yet, but I believe she’d want someone to read her
books or something like that…”

Argus swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready to go into her room, either.

“I’ll definitely stop by.”

Lucinda’s family decided to hold the ceremony in a church, even though Lucinda herself
wasn’t particularly religious. As a child, however, she had enjoyed visiting the church and
wore a small crucifix around her neck, which had personal significance to her.

“Are you holding up?” Alfred Belby appeared beside Argus, his concerned expression
showing he was worried. Argus hadn’t replied to his letter because he didn’t have the energy,
but he valued his friendship immensely.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Argus replied after a moment of silence. “This… I just didn’t
expect it.” He glanced at a photograph of Lucinda, taken when she was about ten. She wore a
fluffy light-blue dress and a crown on her head, her eyes shining with joy.

“Nobody did…” Alfred sighed, looking over his shoulder.

“Ah, the rest are here.”

Argus turned to see Nathan and Terry approaching. Before he could say a word, Terry hugged
him tightly. It startled everyone because Terry Freeman wasn’t one for hugs.

“I’m so sorry, Argus,” Terry whispered.

Argus just nodded, stunned. When Terry pulled away, his eyes were red—evidently from
crying.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Terry wiped his nose with a handkerchief.

“I have feelings too, you know… don’t look at me like I’m an unicorn.”

The eulogy was delivered by the local priest, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Argus
didn’t fully understand the speech, as it included many references unfamiliar to him. Nathan
held an arm around Terry, who was still emotional, while Amoret Montford leaned against
Raymond.

Suddenly, a black dog appeared next to Argus. The dog looked at him briefly but didn’t let
itself be petted. Instead, it walked over to Regulus, who barely noticed it.

“Do you know that dog?” Argus asked quietly as Regulus approached him. The wind tousled
Regulus’s dark hair.

“A local stray,” Regulus shrugged. The dog nudged his hand with its nose as if trying to get
his attention, but one stern look from Regulus was enough for the dog to lie down and stop
bothering him. Argus remembered that Regulus had always wanted a dog, so he was
surprised at how distant he was from this animal. He decided not to dwell on it; the day was
already strange enough.

The funeral didn’t last long. Everyone was given a flower to place on Lucinda’s grave. The
stray dog stole Regulus’s flower and ran ahead to the grave—it seemed almost rehearsed,
Argus thought.

“You poor thing,” Emily White sobbed as the dog approached her.

“If I had some food, I’d give it to you.” She knelt by the dog, which licked her face. Emily
began crying again, seemingly moved by the animals actions.

“I’m so sorry you don’t have a home.”

“Emily, don’t touch it too much; it might have fleas or who knows what… I saw one like that
eating a rat,” Amoret Montford warned her.

The dog gave her an offended look, as if it understood exactly what she had said.

No one spoke after that. Everyone realized that Argus and Regulus wanted to stay by the
grave alone. Emily wanted to stay with them, but she couldn’t hold back her tears, so the
others led her away to calm down—it might have helped Terry, too.

The dog whined and then let out a long howl.

In that moment, Regulus petted its head for the first and most likely, the last time. Argus still
felt like there was something missing in all of this… he shook his head to get rid of that
feeling.
 There were many things he wanted to say to Lucinda as some kind of farewell, but at that
moment, nothing came to mind. He just hoped she was in a better place.

Chapter End Notes

I originally wanted to cut out Argus’s depressing section because it didn’t move the plot
forward much. On the other hand, we did learn a little about his life—family tragedies
and conflicts with his father.
Luckily, we get some relief with my favorite ghosts. And that funeral doesn’t really help
the mood, does it?
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 1977

Argus decided to stay at the Black family’s house for a few days. At home, he packed only
the essentials and left a short note on the kitchen table—he knew his father wouldn’t be
pleased, but he didn’t care.

The house at Grimmauld Place appeared old and dignified at first glance, but the longer
Argus stayed there, the more the gloom of the house consumed him, especially due to the
dark decor and the eerie gallery displaying goblin heads.

The Black family was even more complicated than his own. For years, he had witnessed their
internal conflicts or heard about them from Regulus. A turning point came last summer when
Sirius ran away from home and didn’t return this time. Argus remembered being there when
James Potter and his mother came to take Sirius’s belongings while Walburga and Orion were
away. Since then, the Blacks had changed—the pain of losing a son was omnipresent. Orion
began spending his evenings at the pub, while Walburga threw herself into the family theater,
The Black Lily.

Argus was aware of how hard it must have been for Regulus. He, too, needed someone to
stand by him, especially during these times. It was strange that Lucinda was never mentioned
at home. Argus noticed that Regulus’s parents didn’t even know where their son had been
that morning. Regulus probably knew how they might react to Lucinda—pure-blood wizards
like the Blacks were often obsessed with bloodlines, and Argus sometimes wondered if their
obsession with purity was a sign of madness. Still, he had managed to find common ground
with them. If they avoided political topics, the Blacks could be pleasant company.

When they returned home, Argus was warmly welcomed with many questions—especially
during dinner, where the Blacks asked about his future. Argus revealed that he was
considering a career as a Curse-Breaker.

During dinner, Walburga critically examined her son.

“I’d say it’s high time you got a haircut, Regulus. I can’t believe you go out looking like
that… look at Argus; his hair is well-kept. Besides, you look like s—like some kind of girl,”
she corrected herself at the last moment. Both Argus and Regulus knew exactly what she had
originally wanted to say—Sirius.

“It’s fine the way it is,” Regulus replied with a confused frown.

“It’s not. Besides, that’s how Muggles have it styled these days, as I’ve noticed. So tomorrow,
we’ll go somewhere to get it done; it’s dreadful.”
Regulus wanted to protest but then slumped his shoulders in a gesture of surrender and said,
“Alright then.”

Walburga then started talking about her theater and practically ordered Argus to go see it.

He had only been to The Black Lily once, when he was about five years old, and his uncle
Tristan was babysitting him. He didn’t remember much of the visit—just the rather high
ceiling.

Although Argus’s mother loved culture and art, she avoided that theater like the devil avoids
the light; at the time, she was in a feud with Walburga, and they didn’t speak for many years.
Argus never found out what caused their falling-out, but Walburga regretted it. Argus’s
mother had died in a fire when he was about four years old.

“What are your plans otherwise?” Walburga asked curiously.

“Oh, you know… just enjoying the last moments of childhood…”

“Don’t be dramatic, Regulus,” Orion scolded him with a weary sigh.

After dinner, they planned, as usual, to get to Regulus’s room as quickly as possible. It should
have been a simple task, but just as they were about to go head up the stairs, Walburga
stopped him with the means to show him something. It was no secret that Walburga was very
fond of Argus—in many ways, she seemed to see his mother in him.

As Argus saw upon entering the room she led him into, she wanted to show him a portrait she
had commissioned. She was depicted a little differently than how Argus perceived her. She
wore a dark dress and looked slightly older in the painting. Overall, she appeared as a very
stern woman who was somewhat intimidating. Even the painted Walburga didn’t smile at
Argus.

“It’s nice.” Argus couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t risk offending her.
Walburga smiled contentedly.

“Well, of course—it’s me,” she laughed lightly. “But it’s true, there’s something… something
off about it. Just recently, it scolded Orion because she saw him placing an old vase from his
great-grandmother in the wrong spot.” She smirked, clearly amused by the thought of the
scene. “I’m not prone to fussing about something like that.”

“For the record, I’m not malfunctioning! And that sad excuse of being wanted to put the vase
in a place where someone could knock it over!” the painted Walburga interjected in an
unpleasant tone.

“It could easily be fixed,” the real Walburga waved dismissively. Then she covered the
portrait with a dark cloth—it hadn’t been hung yet.

“So, you’re going to replace it?” Argus asked, wondering how such portraits were actually
made. He had never thought about it—it was probably just an animation charm.

“No, no. I like it as it is,” she said proudly, looking at the covered painting.
“If we can’t have a dog, at least we have a painting,” Regulus added, earning himself a slap
from his mother.

Regulus’s room was tidy, considering the circumstances—Kreacher, the house-elf, was doing
his best. Still, young Black wasn’t exactly the neatest person. Books and parchment were
scattered everywhere, and a calico cat, Rue, was lounging on them.

“You actually took her in?” Argus asked in surprise. Rue had belonged to Lucinda, but her
mother had a severe allergy to cats, so they were looking for a new home for her.

“I volunteered,” Regulus shrugged and sat on the edge of his bed. “No one else seemed
interested.”

“Well, I hope you’re not letting her wander around the house. You never know what any
given object here might do. And you know how curious cats are.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Regulus muttered irritably. After a moment, he remarked, “My parents
just like you more than me.”

“Eh? Where’d you get that idea?” Argus threw a pillow at him.

“It’s obvious… Before you came, they were constantly asking if you’d come stay for a while,
and then… their beloved Argus shows up, and for the first time in a hundred years, we have a
family dinner where they mostly talked to you.” He threw the pillow back at Argus.

“They just like me.” Argus retaliated, but Regulus dodged in time.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“But not more than they like you.”

“Yeah, they do… Mom was talking to you about that stupid theater…” Regulus crossed his
arms indignantly. “If they could, they’d definitely adopt you.”

“Are you that upset because Walburga had some comments about your hair?” The Blacks
were always sensitive about their hair. “Poor thing.”

“It’s high time you got a haircut, Regulus. I can’t believe you go out looking like that… look
at Argus; his hair is neatly kept,” he mimicked his mother. “But seriously, your hair’s longer
than mine! It just doesn’t show because it’s curly.”

“What can I do about it…” Argus shrugged. “Besides, maybe your mom doesn’t talk to you
about the theater because every time someone mentions it, you bristle.”

“I’m traumatized by it.”

“I know… I’ve heard.”

“From whom?”
“That time when Wal showed me photos, and you left the room all annoyed.”

“Why haven’t I burned that album yet?” Regulus groaned.

Argus laughed for the first time in a while. Regulus didn’t find it nearly as funny, which
Argus understood—when Regulus was little and Walburga didn’t have childcare, she decided
to take her sons to work with her. The plan was to sit the boys down at a children’s
performance to keep them entertained—but Regulus got lost. He was found only after he ran
terrified onto the stage. The audience thought it was part of the play as he was being chased
by an old witch with a black veil over her face. As it turned out, Regulus had run into a
Boggart, which had taken the form of his grandmother Irma.

✷✷✷

“Reg?”

“Hm?”

“I know something’s going on,” Argus said calmly, watching every movement Regulus made,
trying to decipher anything—anything at all. And he noticed how Regulus hesitated before
replying.

“What do you mean?” Regulus looked at Argus with feigned confusion.

“Exactly what I said—you’re hiding something from me. Something’s happening.”

Regulus chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know where you got that idea. What could I
possibly be hiding from you?” he said nonchalantly.

Argus sighed. He knew something was happening… he could feel it. Plus, Regulus had been
acting differently. Could it be because of Lucinda’s death? Of course, it could, but why was
he so nervous? For instance, now Argus noticed Regulus’s hands trembling. Something was
definitely going on—the question was how serious it was.

“You’ve been acting strange these past few days,” he argued.

“Gee, I wonder why…” Regulus rolled his eyes dramatically and added, annoyed, “and since
when do you care so much?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? As far as I know, I’ve always cared,” Argus defended
himself. “Or at least I’ve tried.”

Regulus avoided his gaze. “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he muttered more to himself.

Argus stayed silent. He refused to let Regulus’s passive-aggressive remark get to him. On the
contrary, he suspected Regulus was trying to divert attention. He noticed Oliver, the snake,
slithering near Regulus’s feet. He picked him up.

Argus Fawley was a Parselmouth, a gift Lucinda claimed he must have inherited from
someone in his family—likely his mother’s side. The ability was unsettling and not
something he bragged about. Nevertheless, word had accidentally spread through Hogwarts,
sparking all sorts of rumors about Argus.

Getting any useful information out of Oliver was a Herculean task—the snake was always in
a perpetually pessimistic mood, especially with Rue the cat around.

Although all Argus gleaned from Oliver was a monologue about the futility of existence,
Regulus quickly reclaimed the snake and stuffed him into his pocket. Argus noticed Rue
watching the scene unfold with predatory interest.

“Can’t you just let this go, like you usually do?” Regulus ran a hand through his hair. His
gray eyes gleamed with frustration.

“I just want to help you. Whatever it is, you know you can trust me,” Argus said.

Regulus turned away, as though waging an internal battle. “Uncle Cygnus is seriously ill. The
others are desperately searching for a cure, but it doesn’t look promising.”

“That’s all?” Argus asked cautiously.

Regulus hesitated. “Yeah. They just want to try anything to reverse the illness.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Argus murmured, though his mind was elsewhere. He knew Regulus
wasn’t telling him everything—his tense, restless tone said it all.

Argus pieced together the fragments of information he’d gathered recently. If Cygnus was
truly that ill, the Blacks might be seeking all possible means to save him. And Argus had
overheard Regulus mention Bellatrix’s unwavering loyalty to You-Know-Who and her claims
of his miraculous capabilities. What if they’d turned to him?

Argus’s gaze involuntarily shifted to the wall behind Regulus’s bed. There, under the Black
family crest, hung old newspaper clippings—articles praising Voldemort, his “vision,” his
“cleansing.” They had been in Regulus’s room for so long that Argus had forgotten about
them. But now, he felt a surge of disgust and anger. These articles celebrated someone
responsible for Lucinda’s death.

He slowly walked to the wall, running his finger over one of the clippings.

“Why do you still have this?” he asked quietly but urgently. Pain and confusion laced his
voice. “Why do you still keep this nonsense, Reg?”

Regulus tensed, his expression twisting as if battling something deep and dark. “It’s not
nonsense,” he protested weakly.

Argus frowned. “This is garbage, utter garbage” he said bitterly. “Do you honestly think your
Dark Lord cares about your well-being? That out of the goodness of his heart, he’s decided to
‘cleanse’ wizarding society? He only cares about power and spreading fear. It’s the same as
Grindelwald. He too promised grand ideals—a strong, united wizarding world where wizards
ruled over Muggles for their own good. And how did that end? Instead of peace and
prosperity, he brought only chaos and death.
 “And now, Reg, can’t you see history repeating itself? You-Know-Who is even worse than
Grindelwald. His promises are only empty words. If he wins, he won’t bring peace to wizards
—only more fear and death. And those who admire him now will be the first to fall when
they stop being useful.”

Regulus averted his eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he might relent, might say something,
but then his face hardened into a cold, unreadable mask. “You just don’t understand,” he said,
but there was no anger in his voice this time.

“Then help me understand,” Argus pleaded. He stepped closer until they were almost face to
face.

“Why do you still have this? You still believe in this crap?” He pointed at the clippings on the
wall.

Regulus hesitated. For an instant, something inside him seemed to crack. Argus saw his
hands tremble, saw him swallow hard. “I should believe in it,” he finally said softly. “My
parents support what he’s doing. If I got rid of it, they’d have questions.”

“You care too much about what they think. It’s not like they’ll disown you the second you
take it down.”

Regulus sighed, his expression a mix of exhaustion and disdain. Argus understood how
difficult it was for him. The weight of his family’s expectations was crushing. But Argus
couldn’t let Regulus sink deeper into the darkness.

With a swift flick of his wand, the newspaper clippings burst into flames. Fire leapt from the
wand’s tip, consuming the papers that glorified someone who had caused so much suffering.
The room filled with the smell of burning paper, and as the flames danced, Argus felt a sense
of relief.

“What… what are you doing?” Regulus stared at him in utter shock.

Argus flicked his wand again, and the ashes vanished in a puff of smoke. It was a symbolic
act, but Argus knew that removing those clippings wouldn’t change everything. Regulus was
still trapped in the expectations and the darkness was still surrounding him.

“What I should have done a long time ago.”

Chapter End Notes

I think this scene revealed a lot. And it’s nice that at least Argus has some historical
perspective and understands how people like Voldemort operate.
I’m actually surprised the guys hadn’t talked about this before (maybe they did, and
then, as it happens with friends, they just stopped discussing it together...), but I get the
feeling that Lucinda’s death really pushed Argus to take a stand.
Of course, the most important detail in this chapter is that Reg took in Rue. Which is
very sweet of him (he earns bonus points from me), but the boy didn’t really think it
through, given that his pet is a depressed snake.
Ahhh, does anyone remember when fanfics where the main character had some special
ability were all the rage? I remember writing a story once where the hero could control
water. The funny part was that I forgot about it in later chapters because I had just
thrown it in to make her "special."
With Argus, we do have the ability to talk to snakes. (And no, this is not a story about
Voldemort’s children, which is also a popular concept.) But it’s important to the plot and
future storyline.
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The sun had long since set below the horizon when the young witches decided to visit the
house owned by the Fawley family.

For a long time, it had stood empty because it was haunted. But a few years ago, the Fawleys
moved in. They restored the half-ruined building to its former glory, which Halcyon found a
bit disappointing, as the house lost its eerie charm.

She and Lily used to visit this house often. At first, it was because Lily wanted to find out if it
was truly haunted; it took a lot of courage for two ten-year-old girls to sneak out at night.

Once they decided it was safe to leave the warmth of their home, they threw raincoats over
their pajamas and quickly pulled on their boots. They had to be very quiet, as Grandma
Bluebell had fallen asleep on the couch while watching TV.

On that fateful night, the girls indeed discovered that the creepy house was haunted. Under
normal circumstances, Halcyon would have turned tail and run until she collapsed from
exhaustion, but she didn’t—thanks to Lily.

Halcyon remembered it vividly: how Lily gave the terrifying ghost a critical look and said,
“And this is supposed to scare me?” Halcyon thought they were done for, but suddenly, she
heard a gleeful laugh that sent shivers down her spine.

“You’re a real piece of work, Red!” boomed the ghost, who was missing part of his right leg.
“What’s your name?” He floated high in the air, gazing down at Lily with interest. Though he
glowed a bluish hue in the dark, he was still transparent.

“Like I’d tell you,” Lily retorted defiantly. “But you can call me... Johanna.”

Johanna... that’s what Lily used to be called, but after Grandpa Harry died, people stopped
using it. Johanna was her middle name, chosen by Harry himself—he claimed it was the most
beautiful name in the world.

It didn’t take long for the two ten-year-olds to befriend the one-legged ghost, who proudly
sported a thick beard. It turned out he was a rather kind fellow who loved Canadian pranks
and a particular porcelain set that was kept in the house—he guarded it like a treasure.

His name was Oswald, but everyone called him Os. Among other ghosts, he was known for
scaring off anyone who dared enter the house that once belonged to him.

Everything changed when the Fawleys moved in.

Lily let out a ringing laugh and grabbed Halcyon’s hand, breaking into a run. “Hurry up, it’s
almost midnight!” she called into the quiet night. Soon, both girls, breathless, reached the
fence that bordered the property. Behind the house was a large garden filled with trees. So far,
no one had ever noticed the girls.

Lily was the first to crawl through a hole in the fence. Halcyon could hear her cursing as she
pushed through the bushes. She glanced around to make sure no one was on the street... the
coast was clear, so she followed her cousin.

It was strange how mist seemed to hover around the sturdy trees. It took Halcyon a moment
to spot the three ghosts who were, as usual, playing cards.

“Well, well, look who’s here! My favorite little redhead!” Oswald grinned broadly as soon as
he saw the girls. Anyone seeing him for the first time would have screamed and run away, as
Oswald looked even more terrifying than usual. Halcyon felt as if blue flames flickered in his
eyes. She also knew that if he could, he would have hugged Lily in greeting. “How are you,
Johanna?”

“And what am I? A ghost?” Halcyon quipped sarcastically before Lily could answer. Over
the years, she had gotten used to Lily being Oswald’s favorite, but it still annoyed her.

“Not yet. Your time hasn’t come.”

Suddenly, Tommy appeared beside her. If he weren’t transparent, he would have looked like a
fifteen-year-old boy with sticking-out ears. The girls always felt sorry for him because he
could have lived a wonderful, happy life. But fate had other plans, and he died of cholera
during an outbreak in his time. Thomas was the oldest ghost of the trio, as he died years
before the other two, although it definitely did not look like it when judged by appearance.

“I’m doing alright, Os. How about you?” Lily asked.

“Mice chewed up my portrait,” Tommy sighed mournfully. “But otherwise, I’m fine! Luckily,
I have a view of the street. Mary Hopkins was out with her dog three times today and tried to
replant some shrubs in her garden. Took her about twenty minutes. It was quite dramatic
because she struggled at first.” He smiled slightly and tilted his head to the side.

Lily and Halcyon stared at him in silence for a moment, unable to believe this was his only
entertainment. “Good grief, you have such a boring life,” Halcyon finally said with a light
laugh.

“Not us, just Thomas,” Bernie chimed in. “Not much happens around here... but we do have
some fresh gossip. Mr. Fawley’s in love! And guess what? His wife has a son named Gregor,
who knows you, Johanna. Biggest prat I’ve ever seen.” He rolled his eyes.

Lily frowned in confusion. “Wait. Gregor Moore?”

“I think so. He said something about knowing you from primary school, that you’re meant to
be, and that he’s definitely winning your heart this summer,” Bernard explained, amused.

Halcyon burst out laughing when she saw the horror in Lily’s eyes. She had talked to this guy
last summer, considering him a friend, but then he started pursuing her heart and didn’t take
no for an answer.

"And we can't even properly scare that boy, for Merlin's sake," Oswald complained with a
frown. Halcyon subtly stepped away from him—he was far more intimidating this way.

"I'd say that's a good thing, Os. Think about it... this way, you have time to do so many other
things," Tommy said optimistically, sitting down on the grass next to Bernie.

"What things, for Merlin's sake? Staring out the window at old ladies in the garden? No,
thanks!"

"You'll find something, Os." Bernie waved it off. "Wanna play with us?" He gestured at the
deck of cards.

"Like you have to ask… but why can't you scare that dunce Gregory? You used to pull all
sorts of tricks on Argus Fawley, didn't you?" Lily asked as they all sat down on the cold,
damp grass.

"Him, yeah," Oswald nodded. "But as soon as that woman moved into the house, everything
had to change immediately. Those little brats stole my tea set," he revealed bitterly.

"He's been unbearable ever since… constantly scheming how to get it back. Ugh, he still
hasn't managed and never will," Bernie gave Oswald a skeptical look.

"You'll get it back one day, Os." Lily smiled encouragingly.

"And how did they even find out you cared about that set so much?" she asked. Halcyon had
started shuffling the cards but noticed how Bernie and Oswald both shot Tommy an angry
glare.

"Because of this blabbermouth…," Oswald gritted through his teeth. "Trying to get along
with those intruders. He had no problem spilling my secret, yet he keeps his mouth shut about
that rotting painting in the attic." Halcyon smirked—she could tell Thomas was getting tired
of Oswald provoking everyone.

"So, you really can't scare anyone anymore? Not even Argus?" Halcyon asked curiously.

"That little snake Fawley didn't even mention him. I mean, I could still mess with that junior
brat, but I doubt he'd even appreciate my efforts. A year ago, maybe. Back then, he was fun,
but now he's just like his old man. No sense of humor."

"His friend died, Oswald. Of course he's sad," Tommy pointed out with a grim expression.

"Oh, come on, he was already humorless before that! Remember what happened at
Christmas?"

"What happened?" Lily asked, intrigued.

The ghosts exchanged glances before Oswald continued.

"Fawley senior and junior had such a huge fight that the old man kicked the kid out of the
house. All because the kid didn’t like that new woman. You know, the one who can't even do
magic."

"Why am I not surprised," Lily said coldly. "There are a lot of disturbing rumors about
Fawley."

"Just stupid gossip," Halcyon cut in. "I’ve talked to Argus—he's just a normal guy. Not some
dark wizard like people say."

"Amelia Bones, his ex-girlfriend, said he was trying to raise the dead in the Forbidden Forest.
And when it comes from his own ex, that means something!"

"Did you hear that from her directly?"

"No, but I heard it from—"

Halcyon rolled her eyes at her cousin. It wouldn't have bothered her so much if she hadn't
been a victim of prejudice and rumors herself after she was attacked. The same thing had
probably happened to Argus. She seriously doubted he had killed several members of his
family as a child, spoken Parseltongue, or traveled the world learning dark spells before he
even got to Hogwarts.

"If he were that bad, he wouldn’t have let Potter and Black mess with him back then."

"Oh, for Merlin’s sake, why are we even talking about this?" Bernard sighed. "Anything new
with you two? We haven’t seen each other in ages—give us some details."

Halcyon was dealing the cards and was secretly glad it was a full moon, so she could see her
hand properly.

"Ehh. Well, I’m seventeen now, so I can legally use magic."

"Oh yeah… that’s brilliant, Johanna!" Oswald grinned. "You could help me get my teacups
back." He winked mischievously.

"Sure… and then you’d lose them again with your clumsiness," Bernie muttered.

"Is it just me, Halcyon, or is there something different about you?" Thomas looked at her
thoughtfully. In the moonlight, her long scars weren’t as visible.

All eyes turned to her.

"Bloody hell… that scar is wicked!" Oswald exclaimed in awe. "Get a few more, and you’ll
be a proper legend!"

✷✷✷

He wanted to be alone to sort out his thoughts.

The day before, he had returned to Cokeworth. The house was filled with a gloomy
atmosphere because Vivien, his father’s girlfriend, had suffered a miscarriage. Gregory and
Argus’s father were trying to cheer her up, but they weren’t having much success.

The day was coming to an end. The sun was setting beyond the horizon, painting the sky with
a multitude of colors, though behind his back, dark clouds were gathering.

He had spent several days at the Blacks'. He was taken aback when Walburga and Orion
pulled him aside to talk to him. They told him they had heard that his father had gotten
involved with a Muggle, and they understood why he couldn’t bear to stay at home. They
didn’t blame him for what Viktor, Argus’s father, had done; on the contrary, they wanted to
offer him the chance to move in with them—after all, he was Phoebe’s son, and she would
have certainly wished for it.

Argus didn’t know what to say. “If they could, they would definitely adopt you,” he recalled
Regulus’s words.

It terrified him that they had found out. If there was one thing that made Argus angry at his
father, it was his choice of partner. There was truly no worse time to fall in love with a
Muggle and build a life with her. It was exactly such mistakes that led to entire families being
murdered!

Before returning to Cokeworth, he had stopped by Alfred’s for a few days. The visit left a
bitter taste in his mouth because he was there when Reymond received a letter that made him
turn pale. Then, he informed them that Death Eaters had murdered his father.

The worst part was that their family had never been well off financially. Mr. Gibbs had once
racked up debts that now fell on Mrs. Gibbs, who struggled to find decent employment.
Eleanor Sarah Gibbs was an excellent playwright, but after an incident at the Black Lily
Theatre (where Walburga Black was the director)—when she had been tasked with looking
after the Black brothers, only for it to end with Regulus being chased by a Boggart—she was
fired, tarnishing her reputation.

Reymond had to quickly find a part-time job—Damocles Belby, Alfred’s father, offered to
help him find one.

Beyond the town of Cokeworth, there was a meadow that was rarely visited. The grass was
damp, and Argus noticed various slugs lounging in it. He walked up to a large oak tree with a
bench underneath. From there, he had a view of a sunflower field with the setting sun behind
it. He thought of Lucinda, who would undoubtedly be marveling at the beauty and snapping
photos. She loved photography and often organized her massive collection in the common
room.

A few days earlier, when he and Regulus had visited Mrs. Winstone, she told them that
Lucinda had been making albums for her friends. Sadly, she hadn’t finished Argus’s. He
didn’t even want to go into her room—it brought back too many memories.

Amoret Montfort was there with them, sharing a few stories about Lucinda. Argus smiled at
them.
He only took a few books—ones that Lucinda had read over and over, always urging him to
read them as well.

Inside one of the books, he found a few bookmarked photographs and a folded piece of paper.
He was surprised to see that one of the pictures was of him, frowning at some parchments.
He had no recollection of Lucinda taking his photo in the library. The second picture was of a
beautiful butterfly on a daisy. Then, his eyes landed on the folded paper.

It was her list of things she wanted to do before she died. His heart ached as he read it. Before
he even realized it, tears were streaming down his face.

He didn’t finish reading because suddenly, a scream echoed from somewhere behind him. A
painful scream. Argus quickly jumped to his feet, carelessly stuffing everything back into the
book. Then, he looked down the hill and saw a black dog sprinting towards him, holding its
leash in its mouth.

Before Argus could properly react, the creature was already upon him. It enthusiastically
leaped, knocking Argus off balance and sending him tumbling to the ground. The dog began
licking his face. It didn’t take long for Argus to grab the collar and hold the dog away from
him. He was relieved that it was only greeting him and not trying to bite him.

“Muffin! You idiot!” a girl ran up, clutching her arm. Her voice was filled with frustration.
The mentioned Muffin cowered and hid beside Argus, as if expecting him to protect him
from the girl. “I’m so sorry if he knocked you over—he’s… he’s still a puppy and really
wild.” She launched into apologies but then froze when she realized who she was talking to.

Argus was just as surprised when he realized he was staring directly at Halcyon Proudfoot.
Her usually sleek hair was now curly, messy, and sticking out in all directions. She was out of
breath, evidently from sprinting after her unruly dog.

“It’s fine,” was all he said. He noticed that Proudfoot was looking at him differently—she
must have seen that he had been crying.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

It was definitely obvious.

Great.

“I said it’s fine.” He quickly got to his feet, and the dog stood up with him. “What happened
to you?” he asked, this time using a gentler tone.

Halcyon examined her injured hand before replying steadily, “It’s fine. Just a bit of scraped
skin, nothing major.”

Argus nodded in understanding, and an awkward silence followed.

Even though he had spoken with her before, he still had no idea what to expect from her. She
had always seemed very distant and reserved. Anyone who didn’t know her immediately
found her a bit intimidating—whether it was because of the way she dressed or because she
never looked particularly friendly. The only time she allowed herself to be truly herself was
when she was with her friends.

“Do you want me to patch it up?” he asked, as nothing else came to mind.

“Fine… just don’t unspell or conjure anything on me.”

They sat down on the bench, while the dog moved around them excitedly, wagging its tail the
entire time. Eventually, Halcyon ordered it to lie down at her feet. Argus noticed that she had
rather interesting shoes—they were just regular canvas sneakers, but they were bursting with
cheerful colors, and each one was different.

"You call this 'nothing'?" he marveled as soon as he saw her hand. He carefully held her
wrist, examining the injury, which didn’t look good at all. The skin on her palm was severely
damaged—he was sure it must have burned terribly. He lifted his gaze to the girl, who let out
a nervous chuckle.

"I've had worse," she tried to sound nonchalant. "It just stings a little, that's all. It'll stop in a
while."

From playing Quidditch, he often ended up with small injuries, so he had quite a bit of
practice with healing spells. It didn’t take long before the girl’s hand was good as new again.

"How did that even happen?" he finally asked out of curiosity.

"Well…" She examined her now-healed hand. "I was out on a walk with Muffin. Then, for
some reason I don't understand, some flies started dive-bombing me, and I freaked out
because they got tangled in my hair. This idiot thought I was messing around, so he tried to
snatch the leash from me. And then, in the middle of our little tug-of-war, he noticed you and,
of course, just had to see you… I was holding that stupid leash the wrong way, and it burned
my hand. That’s all."

Argus burst into laughter at the image. Muffin immediately perked up and joined in the
excitement, enthusiastically licking Argus’s face once again.

"I'm glad at least someone finds my misery amusing," she crossed her arms over her chest,
but her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"You're just clumsy…"

"I'm not! I just have bad luck," the girl stubbornly defended herself. "Besides, I thought no
one was around… but whatever. Do you smoke?" she asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes and
a lighter from her pocket. Argus was slightly taken aback.

"You know that's harmful, right?"

"Imagine that, I do," she muttered, cigarette between her lips. "Anyway, what are you
reading?" she asked as she exhaled a puff of smoke. Before he could answer, she grabbed the
book and examined it.
"The Chronicles of Narnia… Hey, give it back!" He reached out to snatch it from her. But she
jumped back.

"Wait, wait!" She raised a hand and, for the first time, smiled genuinely. "I'm not going to
hurt it. I've always wanted to read this series but never really had the chance. Is it any good?"

"I haven't read it yet," Argus admitted patiently.

"Doesn't matter…" She opened the book, and some photos along with a list slipped to the
ground. Argus quickly picked them up. "Oh… You could have just said you had secrets in
there." She handed the book back immediately.

"It's nothing."

"Judging by your face, I'd say it's something," she smirked, the scar on her lip curling
slightly. "Love letters?" The smoke stung Argus’s nose.

"No," he snapped irritably. "Just… this book belonged to Lucinda," he added, his voice
suddenly quiet as memories flooded his mind. The girl’s expression shifted instantly, her
teasing smirk disappearing.

"So… are those her love letters?" she quipped after a moment, raising an eyebrow.

"No, not that…" He smiled faintly, picking up the paper. "It's just a list of things she wanted
to do before she died," he explained and handed it to her. He had no idea why he was telling
her this, but maybe he just needed to share it with someone. Halcyon could be annoying
sometimes, but Argus knew she had a good side, too.

"Whoa, this is genius!" She grinned as she read it, her eyes lighting up. "I might just steal this
idea… Looks like we're about to start a minor crime spree," she laughed, pointing at items
eight through ten. "'Steal something from a store, steal a shopping cart, steal a traffic sign'…
Damn, I’ve never even thought about stealing a sign. Brilliant." She laughed, but quickly
stopped when she noticed Argus’s blank stare.

"Are you planning on completing it?" Halcyon asked after a moment. "You know, to honor
her memory or something. I think she'd be happy if someone carried out these things."

"That’s a good idea," Argus admitted after some thought. It really was a good idea, though
there were some things on the list he couldn't imagine himself doing—and some he didn’t
even understand what they were. What the hell is Star Wars? "I’d just need a partner."

"I can lend you Muffin." She winked. "He’d definitely help you with this one… wait… oh,
here it is. 'Wear only dresses for a whole week.'” She barked out a laugh and stroked her dog.
"But seriously, if you need help with anything, I’m in… I know a good music shop and where
to score some weed."

"Wait, what?"

She grinned conspiratorially. "I’ll show you tomorrow."

 Muffin suddenly spotted a bird near a field of sunflowers. First, he barked, then took off
running. Halcyon yelled after him, but he ignored her completely, dashing through the
sunflowers.

Argus expected her to jump up and chase after the dog, but instead, she just sighed and
leaned back on the bench. She loosened her hair and tried to fix it. He noticed that in the
sunlight, it had an inky blue sheen.

"Hopefully, that idiot comes back," she muttered calmly. They could see Muffin moving
between the sunflowers, chasing something. "And hopefully, he doesn’t eat anything weird…
Do you have any food on you?" She kept staring ahead.

"Unfortunately, no."

"Never mind, never mind. This will have to do."

Eventually, Halcyon figured out how to get her dog's attention. She and Argus started tossing
a stick back and forth, which, of course, caught Muffin’s interest. He immediately tried to
snatch it—either by jumping at them or waiting for the perfect moment. Then Halcyon
suddenly took off in a sprint, and the black whirlwind of energy instantly chased after her. On
the way back, he proudly carried the stick in his mouth.

Chapter End Notes

Unfortunately, in this chapter, we say goodbye to Lily for a while. I adore that girl.
Originally, I planned to have far more chapters with her, where we’d also get some
funny interactions with her admirer, Gregory. But that would have stretched the whole
story too much, so—unfortunately—that had to go. Amen.
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July, 1977

“Oh no… they’re arguing again,” Tobias muttered gloomily, lowering his head toward the
little car he was driving across the table. Tobias resembled his mother Judith far more than
his father — with light, nearly platinum blond hair and delicate facial features. The only trait
he had inherited from Bruce were his striking green eyes. “Do you know why?” he looked up
at Halcyon.

“Unfortunately,” she lied quickly.

That weekend, the Proudfoot couple’s quarrel had started when Judith complained about how
little time Bruce spent at home because of work. But eventually, the fight turned to which
high school Tobias should attend — Judith had one idea, Bruce another.

Most of the time, when his parents argued, Tobias would go to Halcyon’s room, since the
loud rock music drowned out the shouting; right now, Paranoid by Black Sabbath was
playing on the radio.

Tobias stared thoughtfully at his toys, then glanced up at Halcyon as if searching for a
distraction. “Mom said I’m not supposed to ask you about your scar,” he complained.

“That story might scare you,” Halcyon replied.

Tobias puffed out his chest and gave her a confident smile. “I’m not scared of anything! You
fought a monster, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. Tobias didn’t know much about what had happened to her. When she
came home, the Proudfoots had first hugged her tight, then taken her aside to find out what
really happened.

“And did you beat it with some heroic spell?” he asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Not really,” she shrugged.

Tobias bent back over his toy cars again, but after a while, looked up with curiosity. “So how
did you survive?”

“Because I was lucky,” Halcyon answered, but her eyes avoided his.

“So… you didn’t defeat the monster? Someone saved you?”

“Listen, kid, didn’t your mom tell you not to ask me about this?” she snapped, a bit irritated.
She didn’t want to revisit one of the worst nights of her life.
Tobias wrinkled his nose, offended. “I’m not a kid! I’m the tallest in my class!” he declared
proudly. Halcyon smiled and nodded, but before she could say anything, Muffin — their
ever-curious labrador — trotted into the room and sat down beside Tobias. He petted him
excitedly and then, as if afraid Halcyon wouldn’t believe him, squinted his eyes and
whispered:

“You know, Hal… I think I can do magic too.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“One time… one time I managed to make my stupid math tests disappear completely. I
wished for it all night. And the next day? The teacher couldn’t find them.”

“If you were a wizard, you’d have got a letter from Hogwarts this summer,” Halcyon said
with an amused smile.

Tobias frowned even more. “But it’s still only August!”

“True, but when they send the letter, they want a reply by the end of July, you know? So you
can enroll and they can count on you,” Halcyon explained, but then she saw how much her
words had affected him. Disappointment appeared on his face, his lips twisted into a grimace.
He turned away in frustration and started mumbling under his breath.

Just then, one of his toy cars, which had rolled under the wardrobe earlier, suddenly crawled
out again and stopped right next to his foot. Halcyon stared at it in surprise, and when Tobias
noticed what she was looking at, he gave a small smile.

“See? I told you I can do magic!” he said proudly.

Halcyon stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. And then it clicked – of course!

Bruce Proudfoot had one big secret he’d kept from his family; he was a wizard (and had
befriended Halcyon’s mother back at Hogwarts). Bruce had given up the magical world when
he met Judith. He was afraid to tell his beloved that he’d been lying about who he really
was… and that’s exactly why he kept trying to talk her out of that expensive school.

“Actually, I might be wrong. Maybe your letter did arrive. Bruce picks up the mail in the
mornings – he could’ve put it somewhere by accident.”

“You think? Then I’ll go ask him!” Tobias burst out suddenly, his eyes lighting up with a
hope so intense it left Halcyon speechless. Before she could say anything, he shot out of the
room like a Comet Six, leaving her stunned.

When Halcyon heard Tobias asking Bruce about the letter, she decided to follow. She stopped
at the doorway and watched as Tobias pressed him eagerly.

“What letter?” Judith said sharply, instantly alert at the sense that something serious was
going on.
“You know, from Hogwarts!” Tobias answered, a slight impatience in his voice as he turned
excited eyes toward her. “Halcyon said I should be getting it around now.”

Judith’s gaze snapped to Halcyon. Her aunt’s expression shifted from surprise to irritation.
“Why would you even tell him something like that?” she snapped, clearly thinking Halcyon
was filling Tobias with false hopes or, worse, mocking him.

“He can do magic,” Halcyon answered calmly, shrugging, and shot a meaningful glance at
Bruce.

Judith turned her sharp gaze on her husband. Bruce paled even more, and when he pulled an
envelope from his pocket, it was clear he knew he could no longer stay silent. Tobias reached
for it, but Bruce handed it to Judith instead.

She read it silently, her face slowly sinking into utter shock. After a few lines, she had to sit
down.

“Darling, I…” Bruce began carefully, but Judith cut him off with a stern wave of her hand.

“Don’t speak,” she said firmly and placed the letter on the table. She took a slow breath, as if
trying to regain control over the storm of emotions it had stirred. Then she declared in an
uncompromising tone, “He’s not going to Hogwarts.”

Tobias’s face twisted in protest. “But I want to go! Dad, say something!”

Bruce cautiously opened his mouth, but his attempts at a peaceable tone met the wall of
Judith’s decision.

“I’ve already made up my mind,” she said, her gaze locked stubbornly on Tobias. “You’ve
already been accepted to another school – a normal one, a much better one – where there
definitely isn’t some werewolf that could kill you!”

“But I want to go!” Tobias shouted in despair. Anger flared in his eyes, and with a loud crack,
the glasses on the table shattered. Everyone froze, staring at the shards in tense silence.
Tobias muttered something under his breath and stormed off to his room, stomping so hard
the stairs trembled.

Judith remained in shock and only after a moment noticed her palm was bleeding – one of the
shards had cut her. Bruce quickly reached for a handkerchief and began tending to her gently.

“Judith, he has to learn… it’s in him. He needs someone who can help him… someone who
can teach him to control it,” he said softly as he dabbed the blood away.

Judith’s face was full of confusion and inner conflict. Halcyon decided to give them some
privacy, quietly slipping into the hallway and leaving the Proudfoots to face the questions
they could no longer ignore.

✷✷✷

Lunch passed in uncomfortable silence.

Tobias sat in his chair, absentmindedly poking at his plate, while Judith wore the expression
of someone who wasn’t even there. Bruce tried to break the silence with a completely
mundane question—whether there was still milk in the fridge—but all he got in return was a
tense nod.

Halcyon just sat quietly, cutting her food into small pieces she didn’t particularly feel like
eating anyway.

When the meal was finally over—or rather, when it reached its inevitable end—Bruce stood
up and began clearing the table without a word. Judith got up a moment later, gave Bruce a
brief glance, and disappeared into the bedroom.

Halcyon was now sitting on the bed in her room. She’d hoped the music might distract her,
drown out the heavy silence that had settled over the entire house. But it wasn’t working. She
could feel the tension crawling under her skin, untouched even by the opening notes of a
familiar song. The music filled the room, but couldn’t cover the weight in her chest. She felt
trapped—by the walls, by the unspoken words, by her own thoughts.

Her gaze drifted to Muffin, who lay at her feet with his head resting on his paws. His dark
eyes were half-closed, but the moment he sensed her looking at him, his ears perked up and
he met her gaze. Halcyon reached for his leash.

“We’re going out, buddy,” she muttered.

She headed straight for the door, opened it, and made her way through the hallway. At the
coat rack, she grabbed her denim jacket, and just as she pulled it over her shoulders, the door
across the hall opened and Frankie appeared.

“I’m coming with you,” she said abruptly.

Halcyon stopped and eyed her. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Frankie replied coolly, folding her arms. “I need to clear my head.”

Halcyon zipped her jacket a bit higher, looking up at her sister with a mildly annoyed
expression. “That’s nice—but no.”

Frankie tilted her head and gave her a challenging look. “Well, too bad for you, because I’m
going anyway.”

“Oh, no you’re not,” Halcyon said with a bitter laugh.

“Oh, yes I am.”

Their bickering was accompanied only by a quiet growl from Muffin, who raised his head
and looked back and forth between them.

Then footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Judith appeared. “Frankie, Halcyon was first. If
you need to get some air so badly, take your brother.”
Frankie looked as if someone had just spat in her face. “What? Why me?!”

“Because Halcyon was first,” Judith repeated, her patience clearly gone.

Then she turned and walked off.

Halcyon gave Frankie a smug smile, stuck out her tongue, and with a soft click, opened the
door.

“Later,” she said with wicked glee, and stepped outside.

As the door shut behind her, Halcyon exhaled loudly.

Freedom.

She pulled the hair tie off her wrist and quickly tied her hair into a messy ponytail, her
thoughts swirling back and forth. She didn’t know exactly where she wanted to go — the
main thing was to get away from all that tension. Muffin gave an impatient hop beside her
and tugged on the leash, as if urging her to make up her mind.

She could go to Jaffa’s. Throw her feet up on the table, have a joint, listen to some music, and
just switch off. For a while, everything would cease to exist — the arguments, the family
drama, the way Judith kept making her feel like an outsider, even though she’d grown up here
since childhood.

But then another idea came to mind.

Argus.

Lucinda’s list. And the thought that maybe, just maybe, she could occupy herself with
something that actually made sense.

“All right, change of plan,” she muttered to herself, heading in the direction of the Fawleys’
house.

She’d decided to keep the promise she’d made to Argus. His ideas were brilliant, and right
now, she needed a distraction like that. After fifteen minutes of walking, she stood in front of
their house. For a moment, she debated whether to go the normal route… or the more
Halcyon one.

Ringing the doorbell? Too complicated. Muffin would go nuts, and she might run into
Gregory — something she definitely didn’t need right now.

So she went for the simpler option.

She headed to the side of the garden and slipped through a gap in the fence. Muffin followed
right behind, tail wagging like this was the best game in the world.

“Halcyon?”
She jumped and turned around. Floating beside her was Bernard, the Fawleys’ house ghost,
who always struck her as ridiculously theatrical.

Muffin immediately started hopping around him, trying to jump up — which of course didn’t
work. He was clearly fascinated that his paws kept passing right through.

“Oh, great… hey, is Fawley home?”

Bernard frowned. “Which one?”

“Argus.”

“I’ll check… why?”

“We’re going somewhere.”

“Well, Halcyon, you never cease to surprise,” he said with a mischievous wink.

She gave him an unamused look. “Just tell him to come outside. Thanks.”

Muffin leapt when the ghost vanished. Then he looked around in confusion and started
sniffing the air. Halcyon tugged on the leash and led him back toward the front of the house.

A moment later, the door opened and Argus’s head appeared. Muffin nearly lost his mind
trying to get to him. Halcyon didn’t stop him.

“Is he always like this?” Argus asked as he scratched the dog’s head.

He was wearing a black leather jacket — and she was honestly a bit jealous. She’d been
meaning to get herself a proper jacket for a while, but still hadn’t found the right one.

“Yeah… always. Acts like he’s got no friends,” she replied dryly.

“So where are we going?” Argus asked, adjusting his sleeve.

“That’s a surprise,” Halcyon answered with a slight smirk. “But Muffster’s your
responsibility now.”

She handed him the leash with a cheerful grin and watched as Argus, slightly confused, tried
to wrangle the overexcited labrador.

✷✷✷

The bus ride went relatively smoothly, aside from Muffin, who was as excited as a small
child and kept bouncing onto the seat every time the bus slowed down, as if he were planning
to leap out the window. Argus threw him a few amused glances but otherwise stayed silent.
Halcyon just smiled quietly and watched the city lights pass by.

When they got off, they found themselves in front of an old, worn-down building with
massive metal doors. Neon lights from the nearby street cast muted reflections across the
pavement, and in the distance, the low thrum of music could be heard.

Argus looked around and frowned skeptically. “You’re not secretly a serial killer, are you,
Halcyon?”

Halcyon burst out laughing. “If I were, you’d already know.”

She pointed toward the door, where the name Electric Voodoo was etched in faded metal
letters.

Argus squinted at the inscription and tilted his head. “That sounds like something between
the dark arts and Woodstock.”

“So basically, exactly my vibe,” Halcyon smirked and headed to the buzzer by the entrance.

She pressed the button, and a few seconds later the door creaked open. Standing in the
doorway was a girl who had an even bigger rebel aura than Halcyon herself—faded jeans, a
worn leather vest over a Led Zeppelin tee, and hair that screamed rolled out of bed and
straight to the bar. Her black eyeliner was perfectly smudged, toeing the line between careless
and effortlessly cool, and she was chewing gum in the corner of her mouth.

“Well, I’ll be… Hal! You bastard!” she exclaimed playfully, and before Halcyon could say
anything, Muffin leapt at her with such enthusiasm he nearly knocked her over.

“Muff, you damn mutt, always trying to break my ribs,” the girl laughed, scratching him
behind the ears.

“Cass,” Halcyon smirked. “Still living the dream, huh?”

Cassidy Bishop grinned and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Only way to live,
babe. Come in, Jeff’ll be here soon.”

She stepped aside, and Halcyon and Argus walked in.

The interior of Electric Voodoo was exactly Halcyon’s kind of place. Dim lighting, band
posters plastered on the walls — Black Sabbath, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin. At the far
end stood a bar, behind which a lit-up aquarium filled with neon fish glowed — total kitsch,
but in the best way. The air smelled of cigarettes, beer, and something sweet and indefinable.

Cassidy made her way to the bar and had drinks in their hands in no time.

“So, Hal, what brings you by? Looking to get in the mood, or just hanging out with your new
guy?” she nodded toward Argus, who was eyeing her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“This is Argus, and he’s here voluntarily — though I’m still not entirely convinced,” Halcyon
winked and took a sip.

Cassidy grinned at Argus. “Voluntarily, huh? Then you’re in the right kind of company.”

Argus sighed and looked away.

 “Jeff’ll be here soon,” Cassidy added, tossing her hair. “You can grab a spot, but if Muffin
jumps on a bar stool, I swear he’s getting something better than water.”

Halcyon laughed and took a seat.

Yeah, this was definitely a better plan than sitting at home listening to fights.

Chapter End Notes

The Proudfoot household is pretty wild, don’t you think? For the sake of every glass in
the house, I really hope they send that boy to Hogwarts.
Although, I can’t blame Judith for not wanting to send him there—Hogwarts doesn’t
exactly sound safe, with the Forbidden Forest full of werewolves, the Whomping
Willow, staircases that change direction...
I originally considered having this chapter include a meeting with Lily to discuss
Halcyon’s O.W.L. results, which she would have received around this time. But I
decided to save that for later. (I still can’t quite decide how well she did and in which
subjects.)

And with Lily gone (probably visiting her friends), Hal can at least spend her free time
with Argus. So we have some friendship-building here.
Of course, the two already know each other through Alfred (Argus’s best friend), but
they haven’t really had the chance to talk much. A lot of it comes down to how I picture
Argus—someone always busy with his projects and experiments.
 Chapter 8

July, 1977

The door creaked open again and Jeff slipped inside—bags in one hand, an amp slung over
his shoulder, fingers drumming along to some invisible rhythm. He wore an oversized Deep
Purple T-shirt, round glasses perched on his nose, and his presence filled the room—not just
metaphorically. The scent of weed clung to him like an extension of his personality.

“Well hey there, Hal, Cass,” he greeted with a lazy grin and dropped his stuff on the bar.

Then he noticed Argus and narrowed his eyes slightly, as if assessing whether the guy fit the
evening’s vibe.

“And you are…?

“Argus,” Fawley replied curtly, still unsure what kind of scene Halcyon had dragged him
into.

“Jeff,” he nodded and offered a hand. Argus accepted it after a brief hesitation.

“Friend of Halcyon?” Jeff smirked.

“Something like that,” Argus answered neutrally.

Jeff chuckled and turned back to Halcyon.

“So, who’s showing up tonight?”

He tilted his head casually and said with a smirk, “The guys from Quartz.”

Halcyon’s eyes went wide. “Ooooh…”

Quartz was a British rock band slowly but surely crawling out of the underground, backed by
none other than Black Sabbath. They weren’t superstars yet, but among true fans, whispers
had already begun—they were the next big thing.

Jeff just grinned, opened a case, and wordlessly pulled out an electric guitar. But not just any
guitar—a stunning black-and-gold Gibson Les Paul Custom, flawless and gleaming under the
bar lights like the holy grail of rock.

Halcyon felt her pupils dilate

“Cool!” she breathed, running her fingers along the fretboard like she was afraid the treasure
might vanish at any second.

Jeff snorted. “Go on, pick it up—don’t just drool on it.”

Halcyon took it carefully, almost reverently, and strummed a few chords. The sound was
perfectly tuned, deep and rich—exactly what she expected from a guitar of that caliber.

“By the way,” Jeff added with a lazy stretch, “I’ve got new records. If you wanna spin
something…”

Halcyon lit up instantly. “Yes yes yes!”

She turned to Argus and waved him over excitedly. “Hey, come on! We’re picking music.”

Argus looked up from his drink with all the joy of someone being led to the gallows. “Me?
Uh…”

“C’mon, we don’t bite,” Cassidy teased, tossing a rag onto the bar.

With visible reluctance, Argus stood and shuffled toward the mixing console like he was
stepping through a minefield. He eyed the blinking lights and the messy stack of vinyls with
careful suspicion.

Meanwhile, Jeff laid out a few records and picked one. “How about some Fleetwood Mac?
Chill?”

Halcyon nodded eagerly. “Perfect.”

The first notes of Dreams started flowing from the turntable—gentle guitars, Stevie Nicks’s
dreamy voice filling the space like silk fog. Halcyon swayed gently to the rhythm, and even
Argus seemed to ease up.

But Jeff gave him a long, mischievous look, leaned toward Halcyon, and lifted one side of
her headphones. “Now let’s give him something better…”

Halcyon burst out laughing. “Oh no, what are you up to?”

Jeff just winked, grabbed a Judas Priest vinyl, dropped it onto the second turntable, and
switched the input.

Suddenly, a shrieking electric guitar ripped through the air, thunderous drums crashed in, and
Rob Halford’s razor-sharp vocals exploded into the room.

Argus nearly jumped out of his skin. “WHAT THE—”

Halcyon almost collapsed laughing while Jeff, completely unfazed, kept smoking and
watched Argus spiral into panic under the surprise metal assault.

“Welcome to the club, Fawley,” Halcyon giggled, giving him a pat on the back.

✷✷✷

Music still pulsed through the room. Fleetwood Mac had long since been replaced by other
bands—Black Sabbath, UFO, a bit of The Doors. Halcyon leaned against the mixing console
while Argus eyed the gear in front of him with quiet curiosity.

Meanwhile, Jeff pulled a little box from his pocket, fished out a hand-rolled joint, and calmly
slid it between his lips. He flicked his lighter, and soon the air was filled with the thick,
familiar scent.

Argus leaned slightly toward the console and squinted. “So… how does this all actually
work?” he asked hesitantly.

Jeff exhaled a puff of smoke and nodded with a lazy grin. “Well, man, this is the new Allen &
Heath Syncron A. Pure analog mixer, no crazy tech. These knobs here—see?—they’re for
EQ. You tweak your highs, mids, and lows with those. And this,” he gestured toward a slider,
“is your fader. You use it to transition between records, smooth as butter. No choppy cuts.”

Argus tilted his head a little. “So if I pull it down, the sound goes quiet?”

“Exactly. But with finesse, dude—don’t yank it like you’re pulling a train brake,” Jeff
chuckled and gently slid the fader down. The sound of Black Sabbath faded, then swelled
back up.

Argus watched his movements with growing interest. He’d never seen this kind of setup
before, but for some reason, it captivated him.

“And… those speakers? Are they part of the whole system?” he asked, nodding toward the
massive boxes on the edge of the room.

Jeff grinned. “Yeah, we got JBL 4311s. Fresh gear, total beasts. Three-way monitors, tons of
power. Crank it up, and the glasses behind the bar start shaking.”

Argus stroked his chin. “And… why are the speakers set up like that? Usually I see them…
closer to the floor?”

Jeff raised an eyebrow, surprised by the genuine interest. “Good question. Look—put ’em
higher like this, and you get better sound spread. Plus, you don’t get that muddled bass from
the floor.”

Argus nodded, clearly having no idea what Jeff was talking about, but fascinated all the same.

Halcyon chuckled to herself. Of course Argus was trying to make sense of something he
didn’t understand at all. He probably thought if Jeff explained it just right, it would suddenly
click. Ravenclaw, she thought with a smirk.

Meanwhile, she gave Jeff a look as he continued enjoying his joint with serene detachment.
“And what about me?”

Jeff smirked, reached over, and passed her the joint. “What else would you want, Hal?”

She took it and inhaled wordlessly. The hot smoke burned down her throat, and she savored
that familiar feeling of her thoughts beginning to melt. She leaned back, smiling, and blew a
thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
Then she noticed Argus watching them with a suspicious look.

“Oh, come on, Fawley,” she teased, waving the joint in front of his face. “Relax, your dad’s
not here.”

Argus snorted. “He sure isn’t. But I don’t know…”

“Dude, it’s a one-off. No stress,” Jeff added, leaning back on the console. “It’s not gonna
bite.”

Cassidy, who was wiping a glass behind the bar, raised an eyebrow and chimed in with a
laugh, “Go on, Argus. Might help you loosen up a bit. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Argus rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Halcyon, who was watching him with an
amused grin. He got the feeling that if he said no, they’d never let him live it down.

“No one’s judging you here, bro,” Jeff said, holding the joint out.

There was a pause. Argus looked at them all, as if weighing whether this was some kind of
elaborate trap.

Then he sighed, took the joint, and inhaled.

A beat of silence. Then he exhaled the smoke and shrugged.

“Not bad.”

Halcyon burst out laughing.

Jeff hummed along to the rhythm of the music, satisfied.

✷✷✷

The late afternoon air was cooler than Halcyon had expected, but after the heavy haze and
smoke inside Electric Voodoo, it felt like a blessing. The breeze tousled her hair as she
walked slowly beside Argus. Muffin trotted a little ahead of them, his tail wagging happily
from side to side, occasionally bouncing with excitement to sniff something along the
pavement.

Argus walked in silence next to her—and he looked… different. Not completely out of it, but
his eyes had a soft, foggy look, as if he was turning each thought over in his head twice as
long. His usually sharp reactions were dulled, and his steps more relaxed, unhurried.

Halcyon opened a bag of crisps and popped one into her mouth. “Mmmm,” she murmured
with contentment.

Argus had his hands stuffed in his pockets and slowly scanned their surroundings. Then he
looked at her—not the usual guarded glance or half-suspicious squint, but with a sort of quiet
curiosity, like he was really seeing her for the first time instead of just listening to her talk.
“What’s it like having Gregory as a brother?” Halcyon asked casually. She’d originally meant
to ask about Alfred, but… thought better of it.

Argus sighed and then—unexpectedly—laughed. Briefly, almost to himself. “He’s… well,

obsessed. Always going on about Evans. He even tried to convince me to smuggle him—”

Then he stopped. “Wait… how do you know about him?” His attention sharpened slightly,
even if his voice still carried that slowed edge.

Halcyon noticed how his posture shifted—tenser now, more alert.

“The ghosts told us,” she answered, a little more cautiously. She suddenly realized Argus had
no idea she was friends with them. And that thanks to them, she knew a lot more about him
than he probably wanted anyone to know. “You know them, right?” she added with a nervous
chuckle.

Argus blinked. It was clear he was trying to piece things together in his head, but it was all
coming a bit slow.

“So… they play cards with you guys at night?!”

“Yeah… but they suck at it,” she shrugged. “You mad?”

Argus looked thoughtful, not angry. More like someone who just found out their house had
been listed in a travel guide. He was quiet for a moment.

“No…” he said at last. “Just… how?”

“People say your house is haunted, so Lily and I decided to check it out, and well… we kinda
became friends with them. Mostly Lily, honestly—I was ready to bolt. Just—”

“Gryffindors,” he finished for her, shaking his head with a faint smile.

Halcyon figured that sober Argus might’ve sounded more irritated. But now he just shrugged
and sighed. “I suppose they talked about my family, huh?”

“A bit,” Halcyon said innocently.

Argus shot her a look.

“Halcyon.”

“Okay… maybe a bit more than a bit. But not that much! And we haven’t told anyone, I
swear…”

Argus nodded but didn’t say anything. He just stared ahead.

Halcyon felt the tension in the air and it unsettled her. She’d been happy thinking she’d made
a new friend, and now she felt like she’d messed it up. Typical.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Argus looked up slowly. There was a softness in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Maybe it
was the haze. Maybe it was the fact that—for once—he wasn’t holding everything at arm’s
length.

“It’s okay,” he answered just as softly.

Halcyon sighed. She wanted to shift the mood.

“If you want, you can ask me something personal too,” she offered. “You know, so we’re
even.”

Argus looked at her and was quiet for a moment.

Then he almost unconsciously bit his lip—and Halcyon noticed, just for a second, his gaze
flicker to her scar.

No. Don’t ask about that.

But instead, he met her eyes and gave a faint smile.

“Right… are the Proudfoots your real family?” he asked. “Cause… sometimes it sounds like
you talk about them as if you weren’t really one of them.”

The question knocked the breath out of her.

She hadn’t even realized she talked about them that way. But of course—Argus never missed
a detail.

“You’re right,” she admitted. No point pretending. “My mum left me with Bruce. It was
supposed to be temporary, but… things got complicated.”

A wave of sadness rolled over her at the thought of her real mother.

“Someone hurt her,” she continued softly. “She ended up at St. Mungo’s… because she lost
her mind.” She took a deep breath. “And Bruce was kind enough to take care of me. I think I
was about six at the time.”

Argus didn’t speak. But his silence wasn’t heavy.

It was a look of… understanding.

He gently reached out and gave her hand a soft squeeze.

And for the first time in a long time, Halcyon felt like someone truly understood her.
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

August 1977

They had been talking for just over a week, spending a lot of time together and occasionally
ticking things off the list. But they hadn’t touched on the serious stuff—like the war, school
problems, or family issues.

She’d told him about her parents that day in front of the shop, but hadn’t gone into detail. He
didn’t ask, and she didn’t ask about his family either—and that worked for them.

Today, she didn’t have Muffin with her, which disappointed Argus a bit. He had really started
to like the dog. Muffin was a walking, barking ball of optimism—always excited to see
Argus, even though, according to Halcyon, he did that with everyone.

“Hey, that’s not a good idea,” Argus warned as he watched her push a shopping cart and flash
him a triumphant smile.

“It’s not my first time, relax,” she replied with a wave of her hand, determined to find the
right hill. Her energetic vibe drew curious looks from passersby, but no one said anything.
After a bit of walking, they found themselves on the edge of town, where green meadows
stretched out before them, bordered by woods on the horizon. Halcyon immediately headed
for a gentle slope and, without hesitation, rode down.

“Try it!” she called up from below.

“I’m not that suicidal,” he replied, watching her make her fifth descent. “Especially not when
that thing doesn’t even have brakes.”

“With your caution, you’re not gonna experience much in life,” she sighed, shaking her head
at him.

Argus didn’t respond, but he felt uneasy inside. Halcyon’s recklessness and thrill-seeking felt
foreign to him. This wasn’t the Halcyon he thought he knew—just and sensible, a proper
Hufflepuff. Right now, she seemed more like a reckless Gryffindor chasing danger.

“Alright then, let’s go…” she said after a while, glancing into the distance. “Look—there’s a
bigger hill over there!”

Argus stared at the steep slope ahead of them and frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sure and fearless, that’s me,” she grinned and jumped into the cart.

“That’s suicide,” he warned as the cart started rolling downhill. “It’s gonna pick up speed and
if it hits anything, you’ll go flying.”
Halcyon gave him a thoughtful look before lightly tapping the scar on her shoulder. “I’ve got
a thing for suicidal stunts, so I’m good.”

Argus took a breath but said nothing. Just to be safe, he readied his wand—he wasn’t keen on
dealing with a mangled Halcyon.

He watched the cart speeding downhill, rattling over uneven terrain. For a brief moment, as
Halcyon started losing control, a flicker of fear crossed her face. Maybe she was trying to
convince not just him, but herself, that she had it under control. But Argus had a feeling that
the recklessness she displayed wasn’t entirely real.

The cart picked up dangerous speed, and with a shout, Halcyon finally jumped out. She lost
her balance and rolled down the grass, while Argus quickly used a spell to stop the cart. He
rushed to her and found her lying in the grass, staring at the blue sky with a smile on her face.

“You’re blocking my view,” she said with a laugh.

“Merlin, who am I even hanging out with,” he muttered, offering her a hand. “Come on.”

The sun warmed his back as he looked around. A nearby tree cast a wide shadow over the
soft grass. Without a word, he walked toward it, and as he expected, Halcyon followed.

They leaned against the rough bark and closed their eyes, letting the sun wash over them.
Only birdsong and the rustle of leaves in the breeze disturbed the peaceful silence.

Halcyon slowly slid down into the grass and resumed watching the sky. For a moment, both
were lost in their thoughts; maybe now was the time to tell Regulus about Lucinda’s list and
how they’d started ticking things off.

He should join them. The only issue was... Argus wasn’t quite sure how well Halcyon and
Regulus would get along. If Regulus started acting too much like a Black, things could go
south fast.

✷✷✷

Argus and Regulus sat on a low stone wall, the summer breeze toying with strands of their
hair. Argus rubbed his palms together, glanced briefly at his friend, and tried to figure out
how to begin. Regulus wore his usual expression of skeptical distrust—eyebrows slightly
raised, lips pressed into a thin line. One look at him was enough to know this wouldn't be an
easy sell.

“You’ve completely lost it,” Regulus smirked, crossing his arms. “That list is full of
nonsense.”

Argus smiled faintly, though irritation started to build. Of course Regulus would complain.
Of course he’d find something to pick at. “Lucinda wrote it,” he said quietly, turning to look
at him. “It doesn’t matter what’s on it. We’re doing it for her. These ‘nonsense’ things—she
wanted to try them.”
“Fine,” Regulus replied slowly, as if still digesting the idea. “But even if I agreed—there are
things I don’t understand. Who the hell is Audrey Hapburn?”

“That’s why Halcyon Proudfoot is coming with us.”

Regulus stiffened slightly and shot him a suspicious look. “Proudfoot?” he repeated, his voice
laced with mild contempt. “You mean that M—” He caught Argus’s warning look and
corrected himself. “The Hufflepuff girl everyone says is a werewolf? Why on earth would we
spend time with someone like that? She didn’t even know Lucinda.”

“That’s not true,” Argus answered calmly, though a sharp undertone crept into his voice.
“They did know each other. And Halcyon’s cool if you give her a chance. Plus,” he leaned
closer, “she actually knows all that Muggle stuff.”

Regulus was quiet for a moment, his gaze tense. Slowly, he looked away into the distance,
Argus’s words echoing in his mind. “I don’t know,” he muttered eventually, “don’t we know
someone… less... Muggle-born?”

“Halcyon isn’t Muggle-born,” Argus said evenly, though he felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t
want to reveal her secret, but he knew that unless he did, Regulus would never accept her.
“Her mother was a witch.”

Regulus was clearly surprised, though not particularly pleased.

“So I can count on you?”

Regulus was silent for a while, then gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I guess,” he said thoughtfully.
“Uncle Alphard’s house is empty,” he added, now more confidently. “Mum said he’s off
somewhere in Europe again for the summer. He always told me that if my parents were
getting on my nerves, I could go there. So we can stay at his place.”

Argus knew they didn’t need Halcyon. But he’d noticed that things hadn’t been great at her
place lately, so he offered her to come along. Naturally, she hesitated about going anywhere
with Black. She tried to talk Argus out of it—but failed.

“I can’t believe I let myself get dragged into this,” she muttered, an unlit cigarette between
her lips. They were in her garden, and she was sitting cross-legged on the ground.

“You’d be bored alone,” Argus replied, leaning against his suitcase.

She shook her head. “Bullshit. I’d find something to do… This was just the lesser evil—so
don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it… now hurry up.” They were already ten minutes late. Not that Argus
was worried—Regulus was used to him being late.

“I hate Floo powder. Let me mentally prepare… by the way, is it true Black was friends with
Winston?”
“Well obviously, or we wouldn’t be going anywhere, would we?” Argus snapped, slightly
annoyed.

“Sure… I know. I’m just surprised. Black keeps going on about how much he hates blood
traitors, and Lucinda was one. So it’s weird they were close.”

He didn’t want to talk about it. “Regulus and Lucinda lived pretty close to each other.”

Halcyon stood up, adjusting the strap on her leather bag. Argus had always wondered how
she managed to fit all her things inside—she’d eventually explained it was charmed, inherited
from her mother.

“Ready?”

“Are you sure we can’t take the train? Or the Knight Bus? Though that might be worse…”

It took some effort, but Argus finally got Halcyon to step into the fireplace and let herself be
swallowed by green Floo flames. When he arrived at the destination, he burst into a coughing
fit as the ash scratched his throat. Halcyon shot him a look of pure blame—she was covered
in soot.

“Welcome to Liverpool,” he grinned.

Inside, the place looked nothing like the Black family’s home on Grimmauld Place.
Alphard’s house was much brighter, filled with light tones. Big windows let in tons of natural
sunlight, bouncing off the walls to create an airy, open feel. Still, Alphard’s home wasn’t
without its secrets and dangers—every room was filled with curious, often magical artifacts
from his travels. The furniture was elegant and exotic; it looked comfortable, but Argus knew
some of it was enchanted—and potentially dangerous.

With a soft pop, a house-elf appeared before them. She was tiny, barely reaching Argus’s
knee. Her grayish-green skin seemed even paler compared to her large, bulging eyes that
glowed like moonstone. Her long, pointed ears resembled bat wings, and tufts of silver hair
peeked out from beneath them. She wore a simple cloth resembling an old dish towel, tied
neatly with string.

She gave a deep bow, but unlike Kreacher, didn’t touch her nose to the floor. Halcyon looked
visibly uncomfortable with the gesture. “Master Regulus is waiting for you in the lounge,”
she announced in a high-pitched voice.

In the lounge, Regulus sat in one of the armchairs, a tricolor cat curled on his lap. Rue purred
contentedly. Argus smiled—Rue was known for wanting to curl up on someone and nap all
day. He was glad Regulus had taken her in; they seemed to get along well.

“What took you so long?” Regulus asked without looking up. Rue turned lazily toward the
newcomers, then yawned grandly. Regulus stroked her more firmly, coaxing her to stay, and
it worked—she curled right back up.

“We’re relatively on time,” Argus said.

“Maybe it’s time you adjusted your watch, don’t you think?” Regulus replied with a straight
face, though a spark of amusement glinted in his eyes. Then his gaze landed on Halcyon; of
course he gave her a critical once-over. Her style was a bit different than what was typical in
the wizarding world—ripped jeans (recently torn climbing a tree), a skull-printed bandana
tied around her head, and sunglasses perched on her nose.

Argus had to admit, though, she looked pretty normal compared to the Muggles he
sometimes saw on the street. Halcyon had told him it was part of the punk movement. The
wild hairstyles were probably the weirdest part.

“Please show Miss Proudfoot to her room,” Regulus ordered the elf, then turned to Halcyon.
“And don’t touch most things. Some of them are cursed.”

She nodded silently, though she seemed too fascinated by the place to really listen. She and
Falby disappeared up the stairs.

“It looks different than I remember,” Argus said thoughtfully. The only thing that hadn’t
changed were the little trains still running across the ceiling. Alphard had always been
obsessed with trains.

“We had to tidy things up with Falby… you know how Alphard is with cursed artifacts.”
Argus instantly recalled being fooled by a finger-trap once. Took him ages to get free.

“Damn,” Regulus muttered suddenly.

“What?”

“What are the odds she listened and didn’t touch—”

Just then, a scream echoed from upstairs, and Regulus went pale. “Of course… I
left that bloody bearskin up there.”

“The one from Irma’s room?” Argus asked, horrified.

Regulus didn’t answer. He rushed up the stairs, Argus following behind, unsure what exactly
to expect. Halcyon’s room was at the back of the first floor, and when they reached the door,
Regulus threw it open.

The sight was grotesque. Halcyon sat on the floor, her left leg pulled close, hands gripping
her ankle. Blood dripped slowly down, forming red puddles on the wood. Beside her lay the
bearskin rug, complete with a stuffed bear head. Its jaws were still open, as if trying one last
desperate bite. The floor around it was stained red.

Across the room, Falby stood trembling, ears twitching in distress, hands pressed to her head
as she whimpered softly. Then she suddenly threw herself to the floor and began hitting
herself, moaning, “Falby bad, Falby failed... Falby deserves punishment!”

“That’s enough!” Regulus snapped, his voice carrying such authority that the elf fell silent
immediately, curling up on the floor in despair. “This isn’t your fault. Stand up.”
Falby rose unsteadily, still clutching her ears, eyes lowered. “Falby... Falby failed...”

“Falby,” Regulus said, softer but firm, “I need the first aid kit. Now.” The elf vanished with a
soft pop.

“I’m fine,” Halcyon blurted, trying to ward off any concern or scolding. Her voice was calm,
but pain flashed in her eyes. “Hope that bear was vaccinated for rabies. Though I’m not sure
taxidermy spreads it.”

Argus narrowed his eyes and knelt beside her. “She’s delirious,” he muttered to Regulus, then
used his wand to stop the bleeding with a quick flick.

“How is this my fault?” Regulus snapped immediately, still standing near the door, arms
crossed, gaze fixed away from the wound. “If she’d listened to me, this wouldn’t have
happened.”

“You could’ve been more specific...” Halcyon grumbled. “And what kind of family keeps
objects around that try to maul guests?”

Argus chuckled under his breath. “Welcome to the Blacks. This is normal.”

Falby reappeared with a soft pop, hands trembling as she handed over the kit. Argus thanked
her, pulled out a bottle of dittany. “This is gonna sting,” he warned before applying it.

Halcyon hissed quietly and closed her eyes as steam rose from the wound. Her face showed
just how unpleasant the healing process was.

“You’ll have small scars,” Argus said after inspecting it.

“Adds to the collection,” Halcyon muttered with a grim chuckle.

Regulus cleared his throat. “You should’ve listened to me.”

Halcyon looked up, still pale. “I would’ve listened—if you’d told me the stupid bearskin
might maul me.”

✷✷✷

It was the first time she had ever been inside the estate of someone like Alphard Black.
Naturally, she had imagined the place as some kind of gothic mansion; so it came as quite a
surprise that the style leaned more toward the 1920s. She might have even liked the house—
if it weren’t for the random and quite dangerous objects scattered throughout.

After the dramatic incident with the bearskin rug, she’d tried to relax in the living room, but
the chair she sat in suddenly tried to swallow her. Luckily, she realized it just in time and
managed to leap out of it.

The place terrified her.

She was alone in the room now and didn’t dare touch anything else. She sat down on the
wooden floor and watched the locomotives chugging across the ceiling, little puffs of smoke
dissolving into the air. For a brief moment, she wondered if they would fall or stay suspended
if she threw something at them.

“Is it just me, or can that vulture statue blink?” she muttered thoughtfully, just as Argus
entered the room. To the right, a large window with a vulture taxidermy sat on the sill.

Argus gave her a confused look, seemingly wondering why she was on the floor. Then he
followed her gaze to the window. “Oh… no. That’s not a statue.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well, it’s Alphard’s pet. A one-of-a-kind phoenix.”

Halcyon nodded, turning back to the strange bird. At first glance, it looked like a particularly
grimy vulture, but upon closer inspection, the details revealed something odd. Its feathers
were dark, nearly black, with a greenish sheen in places, contrasting with the pale, almost
grayish-white head that gave it a gaunt, ghostly appearance. Its body was thin, with a long
neck and a slightly curved beak that gleamed metallic in the light.

It stared at her with such an eerily penetrating gaze that she shivered. There was something
disturbing about it—maybe its mournful expression, or the way it sat in absolute, unreadable
stillness.

Then she registered what Argus had actually said. “That thing’s a phoenix?” She expected
him to correct himself, but he didn’t.

“It looks like a starved vulture on a diet.”

“But it’s a phoenix.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Wanna bet?” he said with a lazy smile, sitting on a couch that—much to Halcyon’s surprise
—didn’t try to eat him.

She had sworn never to bet with Argus again, because somehow he always won. Still, she
was convinced this creature was no phoenix—something in the house must’ve confused his
judgment. “Fine. But this time, you’re buying the Butterbeer.”

The bird on the windowsill seemed to notice them—it stared directly at her, then let out a
deep, vibrating sound that resonated unpleasantly in her bones. Goosebumps ran down her
arms, though she tried not to let it show.

At that moment, Black entered the room, glancing at Argus and then Halcyon. “You’ve met
Ted?” he asked, nodding toward the odd bird.

“Who?”
“Ted... Alphard’s phoenix,” Black replied in a tone that carried the faintest hint of irritation.

Halcyon looked at both of them, dumbfounded. “Have you two fallen off your brooms?”

Black tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and said with a mocking smirk, “Funny hearing that
from you. I get it—growing up Muggle-born, you’re probably not used to civilized furniture,
but that,” he pointed at the couch, “is for sitting.”

“Yeah, we have chairs too,” she snapped back, “but ours don’t try to eat us!” She gestured at
a perfectly normal-looking armchair—though she knew better.

Argus and Black both burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s Alphard’s,” Argus said. “He enchanted
it so people wouldn’t steal his favorite seat.”

“Well I’m so glad I found that out the easy way,” Halcyon replied with a fake smile.

“You’re welcome.” Black nodded. “Careful, though. He might peck your finger off,” he
added as Halcyon flipped him off.

She gave him a cold glare but tucked her hand away just in case—which made Black chuckle
quietly. Jerk. She’d been here for barely an hour and was already wondering if this was all
one big mistake… and if something here really wouldkill her.

The bird behind them let out a low hoot. “You know, Uric the Odd was said to have fifty of
them,” Argus commented idly, while Black looked unimpressed—as if he’d heard the story a
thousand times. “They said their song was a sign of death, so he thought he was a ghost and
kept trying to walk through walls.”

Uric the Odd… The name was painfully familiar. She remembered all the jokes and stories
told about him—even Binns used to mention him in History of Magic, though Halcyon
mostly slept through that class. Her exam results showed it.

“If that was a clue, I’m still lost,” she admitted. “And no—give me the short version. No
lectures, no rambles where I don’t follow and you magically turn out to be right. Just facts.
Please.”

Argus looked mildly disappointed, but to be fair, his history tangents could be incredibly
annoying—and rarely relevant to her interests. “Augurey is also called the Irish Phoenix,” he
explained. “So that’s another Butterbeer for me.” He grinned.

Halcyon rolled her eyes. She really needed to stop betting with this know-it-all.

“Hasss to wander alone again, hisss,”

She froze. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if someone had actually hissed. She
glanced at Argus, who had gone still and was scanning the room.

“What is it?” Black asked.

“Seems you’ve lost Oliver,” Argus said.

“Oliver who?” Halcyon looked between them, confused.

“The snake.”

“WHAT?!” She shot to her feet, a bit too fast—her head spun. The sudden movement startled
Ted the augurey, who flapped out of the room in a huff. “Oh that’s just great. What’s next, an
acromantula?”

“Oliver’s depressed. You could step on him and he wouldn’t care,” Argus waved it off.

“And how exactly do you know that?” she cried in frustration. Maybe he really can speak
Parseltongue, she thought. There were rumors about Argus—some students swore they’d
seen him talk to snakes.

The thought brought back a childhood memory. She’d once tried to impress Snape because it
annoyed her when he assumed she was just some dumb Muggle. She’d told him and Lily she
could understand snakes. Snape, of course, had called her a liar—said only great wizards
could speak Parseltongue. They’d asked her to prove it… but she hadn’t known how.

“They’ll replace me with flying mousssseesss.”

Argus gave Black a meaningful look. Sure enough—a bat was crawling on Black’s shoulder.
Halcyon hadn’t even noticed in all the chaos that she’d lost Padraig. Not unusual—he often
vanished without warning and she had to track him down.

“Reg, hold up.”

“What?”

“You’ve got a bat on you.”

Black’s eyes widened, and he looked instinctively at his shoulder. When he saw the black bat,
he let out a shriek and jumped up like he was being attacked. Normally, Halcyon would’ve
laughed—but right now, she was genuinely worried about Padraig.

“Hold still! I’ll get him!” she called, rushing over.

“Hurry,” Black hissed, still refusing to look at her. “If he ruins my robe, I’ll hex you.”

“Stop flailing!” she snapped, noticing he was holding his breath—probably praying that his
precious robes stayed intact. She focused, reached for Padraig, and realized she was standing
uncomfortably close to Black, right in his personal space. Nervous energy jolted through her
—not only did he smell surprisingly nice, a spicy scent she didn’t expect from him, but she
could feel the intensity of his stare.

It only made the moment more awkward. The more carefully she tried not to ruin the fabric,
the closer she had to lean. She stood on tiptoe, arms reaching carefully to scoop Padraig from
his shoulder. She stepped back, clutching the bat to her chest to prevent more trouble. Finally,
she could breathe again.
 “Like you haven’t handled worse in Potions,” Argus remarked dryly.

Black sneered. “Potions ingredients don’t usually climb me.”

“Fair point,” Argus said, glancing around. His hand slid under one of the couch cushions and
pulled out Oliver—the green snake, who immediately slithered into his sleeve.

“I want to go home hisss. My life hasss no meaning.”

Without hesitation, he handed the snake to Black, who gently took it and tucked it into his
robe pocket.

“Is there anything in the garden that won’t try to eat me, maim me, or kill me?” Halcyon
asked seriously.

“Maybe stay away from the plants…” Black offered helpfully.

Chapter End Notes

I love Alphard’s house... It’s kind of dangerous, but still... I think his library has a slide
leading to the kitchen. Lucky man.
The plot in this chapter is a bit chaotic (poor Halcyon), but we do see how fun Alphard
is, right? I especially love that the fur rug is in Irma’s room—it really says a lot about
her relationship with her dear mother.
Still, the most interesting part is that both Argus and Halcyon can understand
Parseltongue. So we can look forward to an explanation in future chapters—which will
definitely be dramatic.
Don’t worry, I have it all planned out! This isn’t some random ability thrown in just to
make the characters seem more interesting. And no—this story is not about Voldemort’s
children. I know Voldemort’s daughter is a popular concept, but you won’t find her here.
 Chapter 10

August 1977

“I’m starting to have second thoughts about all this,” Regulus muttered the moment Halcyon
disappeared around the corner. His fingers tapped nervously against the carved armrest of the
chair, though his eyes were fixed on the antique table between them.

“Really?” Argus crossed one leg over the other, his calm voice a sharp contrast to Regulus’s
tension. He leaned back comfortably, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Personally, I think it’s
going quite well. I mean, aside from the beginning. But let’s be honest—it wouldn’t be
Alphard’s place if something didn’t try to kill someone. I’m glad you hid
the especially dangerous things.”

Regulus shrugged, as if his efforts weren’t worth mentioning. “I had to, because of Rue. She
hates being alone in a room, and if I let her—” He didn’t finish. At that moment, a tricolored
cat leapt from behind the sofa with elegant agility and landed directly on Alphard’s armchair.
The cushion seemed to expand like it was trying to swallow her. But Seeker reflexes kicked
in—Regulus reached out and caught the cat just before she vanished into the killer furniture.
Rue hissed in fright and scrambled onto his shoulder, curling up there, her tail brushing
against his face.

“I didn’t realize keeping one animal alive was such a challenge,” he said tiredly. The cat gave
him one of her signature annoyed stares in return.

“I’m honestly surprised they’re both still alive,” Argus commented with a smirk, watching
Rue leap onto the couch beside him.

“A cat and a snake under one roof… who could’ve guessed that might be a problem,”
Regulus sighed.

Argus flicked his wand and conjured several bright yellow canaries, which immediately
began flitting about the room. Rue tensed, her eyes narrowing to slits as she tracked her prey.
Her claws dug into the couch as she launched into the chase, making a series of cute sounds.
Argus remembered how Lucinda used to melt every time Rue did that in the common room.

Regulus watched the scene for a while, then reached into his robe pocket. He pulled out a
small photograph. “I found something you might want to see,” he said, handing it to Argus.

Argus took it, and as his eyes landed on the image of a young man and woman, his
expression hardened. The woman had a soft, oval face and thick curly hair cascading over her
shoulders. Her eyes were large and bright, full of energy. Next to her stood a young Alphard,
smiling with such rare sincerity that Argus had to blink. He was surprised the two had known
each other so well—but it made sense; they were both wearing Slytherin ties.

“I’ve never seen him look that happy,” Regulus said, somewhere between wonder and
uncertainty.
“Black men and Montfort women—always a weakness.”

Lethe had been Argus’s aunt, and like most Montforts, she had died far too young. A quiet
pang shot through him. After his mother, Aunt Lethe had been one of the few sources of
comfort in his life.

As expected, rain had started outside. Heavy drops struck the windowsill, the muffled rhythm
filling the room.

A moment later, Halcyon entered, her hair damp from the rain. Yet she looked inexplicably
content. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, spotting Rue chasing a canary.

“Just some hunting practice,” Argus replied without looking up from the photo.

Halcyon approached the sofa and sat beside him. She noticed the photograph he still held.
“What’s up with you?” she asked directly, this time without her usual teasing tone.

Argus hesitated before replying. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, though his eyes said otherwise.
He lifted the photo so she could see it too. “Regulus found this. That was my aunt.”

Halcyon looked at the picture and blinked in surprise. “That’s your aunt? I mean—she’s way
too pretty to be related to you,” she teased with a grin.

Argus nudged her in the ribs. “Hilarious.”

Then Halcyon asked more seriously, “How did she die?”

“Muggles killed her,” Regulus said from the armchair.

“That’s not true,” Argus retorted. “Muggles killed Thalia. Lethe… Lethe died of a broken
heart. Another tragedy.” He let out a bitter laugh, completely devoid of amusement. “And
don’t even try to tell me my family isn’t cursed.”

Halcyon gave him a look of understanding. “Who was Thalia?”

“My cousin,” Argus answered. “I think you two would’ve gotten along.”

“She was even engaged to Sirius for a while,” Regulus added, his tone laced with irony.

Halcyon’s eyes widened. “What? That’s insane.”

“Pretty standard in high society,” Regulus replied flatly. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Can’t
blame her for choosing death over marrying my brother.”

“Or maybe she ran off and is living a fabulous life somewhere,” Halcyon suggested.

Argus didn’t respond. Instead, he placed the photo on the table, like closing a chapter he
didn’t want to revisit. His gaze drifted to Lucinda’s list.

“Let’s get back to what matters,” he said, picking it up.

Halcyon leaned in to get a better look. “What’s a Patron?” she asked, pointing to an item
halfway down.

“Defensive charm,” Regulus replied, arms crossed, reclining in his chair. “Used against
Dementors.”

“Yeah, but what does it do?” Halcyon frowned at him, clearly expecting more of an
explanation.

“It repels them,” he added curtly.

“A Patronus isn’t just a charm—it’s a projection. A manifestation of a happy memory,” Argus

explained, still looking at the list. “For it to work, you need a memory strong enough to carry
you.”

Spells usually didn’t give him much trouble, but this one had always been difficult. Most of
his happy memories were tinged with bitterness. He’d only ever managed to cast a fully
formed Patronus once—it had taken the shape of a raven.

“That doesn’t sound that hard,” Halcyon objected.

Regulus gave her a sharp look, far less tolerant now. “Yeah, well, you’ve never tried it,” he
said dryly. “Dementors suck the happiness right out of you. Try finding a happy thought
when you’re up against that.”

“You’ve met a Dementor?” Halcyon asked, tilting her head.

Regulus shrugged. “Not personally. But I’ve heard enough from people who’ve had the
misfortune.”

“Not like it matters anyway, we’ve got the bloody trace on us.”

Argus decided not to mention how the trace actually worked—and that being in a wizard’s
house meant the Ministry wouldn’t detect any spells. Instead, he focused on the list. “The
most complicated—and most interesting—part will be making a wand.”

“Interesting for you maybe,” Regulus muttered. “Unless we’re planning to make the
Deathstick.”

Halcyon raised an eyebrow. “The one from the children’s story?”

His thoughts wandered to the legends he’d read about in magical history books. It wasn’t just
a fairytale; the Elder Wand had existed—or at least its traces wound through history like a
shadow. Duel victories, mysterious disappearances, violent ends for those who held it. He
didn’t believe the relics were sacred as some zealots claimed, but still… the idea haunted
him. The Resurrection Stone. What if it really existed?

For some time now, another strange thought had taken root in his mind—what if Thestrals
were connected to these powerful objects somehow? They were beings shrouded in mystery
and fear. Argus knew enough to realize their true nature ran deeper than most understood.
Only those who had truly witnessed death could see them.

It was irony he couldn’t ignore. He’d suffered so much loss, so much pain—and yet, death
had always narrowly escaped him. Without that experience, the Thestrals remained invisible
to him, as if death itself had denied him access to its secrets.

“I think we’ll be lucky to find any magical wood,” he said finally, looking up at Regulus.
“Besides, you know what they say—‘Elder wand, empty hand.’”

“You know that’s just a stupid saying,” Regulus shot back.

“Well, if you find elder wood, be my guest.”

“What about… Whomping Willow?” Halcyon offered with mock seriousness, the corners of
her mouth twitching.

Argus gave her an amused look. “Maybe for a wand core, not the wood. It’d be more likely
to punch you than be carved.”

Halcyon laughed. “Still better than a Deathstick.”

“Maybe, if we combine it with the right wood. Each has its own character—just like wizards.
You can tell a lot from someone’s wand. Hawthorn’s supposed to suit complex people,”
Argus added offhandedly, shooting a quick glance at Regulus, who rolled his eyes.

“What about cedar?” Halcyon asked.

“Repels moths.”

✷✷✷

Argus lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as if the answers to his questions might be etched
there. His thoughts circled like a herd of rampaging hippogriffs—wild, relentless, impossible
to rein in. The melancholy that had haunted him for months had returned once again, settling
like a heavy shadow in his mind.

Unwanted memories surfaced—his mother’s smile, warm and safe; Aunt Lethe’s voice,
always tinged with calm even when the world raged outside; Thalia and Tristan, their
laughter echoing from another life. And finally, Lucinda.

He’d always tried to convince himself that those who had passed were in a better place, but
tonight that thought brought him no comfort.

Lately, he’d poured all his energy into completing Lucinda’s list. It was his way of doing
something right—for once. And yet, fear gnawed at him that something would go wrong
during their little expedition. He knew how dangerous the world outside could be. The last
thing he wanted was for someone to get hurt.
He rubbed his face wearily. Sleep wouldn’t come. Eventually, he sat on the edge of the bed
and reached for a small bracelet on the table beside him. It was simple yet elegant—a thin
silver chain with a tiny rune charm, smooth and polished as if no dust had ever touched it.
But the bracelet was more than just a trinket. Argus had been enchanting it to create a
protective shield—one that would activate if someone cast a curse on the wearer.

He intended to give it to Halcyon. Not because he didn’t trust her… Well, okay—
he didn’t trust her. At least not when it came to dueling. She didn’t strike him as someone
who handled combat with any natural ease. He had no intention of telling her that, of course
—but the feeling that he had to be ready for anything drove him to keep working.

Argus pulled out his wand and was just about to begin the next enchantment when the house
was split by a ghoul’s long, echoing wail. The sound was sharp enough to send chills down
his spine. Another cry followed from the attic—louder, more persistent—like the foul
creature was deliberately sabotaging his concentration.

“Merlin,” he muttered in frustration. “If this keeps up, I’m going up there with a frying pan.”

He threw on a sweater and quietly made his way to the library, hoping to find some peace. In
the arms of old books, he always felt safer.

Alphard Black’s library was unlike any other room in the house—shielded from noise and the
ghoul’s howls, it felt like an island of calm. Argus walked silently between the shelves,
heading to the central table. He paused when he noticed some books that had been left there.

Titles that stirred unease in him: The Cruciatus Curse: Anatomy of Pain, Madness of the
Mind: Causes and Treatments. There were even notes on how the song of pastelinks could
drive people insane. Alphard had apparently theorized that playing the song backward might
have healing effects. The notes revealed he’d tested it on house-elves—and that the
experiment had failed.

Maybe it had something to do with Cygnus’s illness. If Alphard had been searching for a cure
for his brother’s madness, no wonder he’d strayed into dark waters.

Argus was about to return to his bracelet enchantment when something else interrupted him
—muffled voices from downstairs. He turned toward the chute that led directly from the
library to the kitchen. One of Alphard’s creative ideas, which Argus considered more
whimsical than insane. Proof that even the Blacks had a streak of playfulness.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to catch fragments of the conversation. Regulus’s voice rang
out, hard, edged with anger—and something about it unsettled Argus. He soon thought he
heard something that stopped him cold: mudblood bitch.

The words hung in the air, slicing the silence.

Argus wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard right—but he already knew something had gone
wrong.
He stood frozen for a moment, wondering whether it was his place to interfere. He’d known
Regulus a long time, but things with him were always complicated.

The idea of using the chute crossed his mind. But then he pictured himself tumbling into the
kitchen and stumbling to his feet under Regulus’s withering gaze. Yeah—stairs were the
better option.

He opened the hallway door just in time to hear Halcyon slam another door. He stopped,
listening, unsure whether he should go after her. In the end, he let it go. He just hoped the
door wasn’t offended enough to magically lock itself—something that occasionally happened
if handled too roughly.

Argus stepped into the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Regulus sitting at the
table. But the single candle’s glow was faint, casting long shadows that obscured his face.
The atmosphere was heavy, silent—only the soft crackle of the candle broke the tension.

“What would Lucinda say if she heard you talk like that?” Argus said calmly, walking toward
Alphard’s liquor shelf. The bottles were meticulously arranged, each with a label hinting at
the rarity of its contents.

“She’s not here,” Regulus replied coldly, his voice thick with bitterness.

Argus selected a bottle of Campbell’s Finest Old-Cut Whisky, instinctively sniffed the
contents. He’d once heard Regulus mention that Alphard had experimented with poisons.
Argus had been careful ever since.

Satisfied, he poured them both a drink, remembering his uncle Tristan’s words: the best way
to talk about your problems is over a good glass of something strong.

“Who knows—maybe she is watching. And maybe she’s thinking of creative ways to punish
you for that foul mouth.”

Regulus looked at him, then snorted. “Please. Whatever I said, she never cared anyway.” His
voice was filled with resentment as he took the glass and drank.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Argus said softly.

“I wish it were,” Regulus muttered, eyes fixed on the liquid in his glass like it held the
answers. “She only ever had eyes for you. And you were too blind to notice.”

Argus froze. It didn’t surprise him. Halcyon had told him about Lucinda’s feelings a week
ago. But still—it stung. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the swirl in his mind.
Regulus’s words rang true—and maybe that’s what hurt the most.

“I know I hurt her,” he admitted quietly. Then he took a sip, letting the whisky burn gently
down his throat. “I wanted to make things right this summer. But… as usual, everything went
completely to shit. Maybe it won’t change anything, but… if she could see us now, I think it
would make her smile. Well, except for your language.”

Regulus let out a short, bitter laugh. “Force of habit.”

Argus looked at him. “And I’m the one who’s blind?”

“More than you think.”

 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

August 1977

The silence of the night in Alphard Black’s house was pierced by the wailing of a ghoul in
the attic—long, grating, and unbelievably annoying. Halcyon pulled the blanket over her
head as if that could somehow muffle the sound, but the screech bored into her skull like a
dull knife.

“Stupid ghoul,” she muttered, rolling onto her side with a frustrated sigh. A thought crossed
her mind—maybe music could shut it up. She vaguely remembered that ghouls howled like
this when the house was too quiet. But the idea of experimenting with the gramophone in
someone else’s home put her off.

With mixed feelings, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small bottle of Dreamless
Sleep. In the past few weeks, it had been her only defense against the nightmares that had
plagued her since the werewolf attack. Still, she knew she was relying on it more than she
should.

Eventually, it wasn’t the indecision but her thirst that pushed her out of bed.

The hallways were swallowed in darkness—thick and inky. The flickering light of her lighter
cast strange shapes across the walls, making the old portraits seem to shift and breathe.

When she finally reached the kitchen, she cautiously lit a candle on the table. Its flickering
glow revealed worn furniture and chipped shelves lined with dusty porcelain cups. She
breathed in the scent of wax, mingled with old wood and something damp, like wet stone.

She filled a glass with water, brought it to her lips, and took a sip. The cold liquid slid down
her throat in a wave of relief—cut short by a voice slicing through the stillness.

“What are you even doing here?”

She choked on the water in surprise, coughing violently as pain shot through her chest. She
quickly covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound, set the glass down, and wiped
her chin with the sleeve of her pajamas, her eyes scanning the room.

He was standing in the shadows by the door, arms crossed casually. The candlelight lit only
half his face, but his eyes were fixed on her with such intensity it felt like they were burning
holes through her.

“I was thirsty,” she replied to Black, trying to sound calm, though her heart pounded wildly.
She struggled to regain her composure, but under his gaze, it felt impossible.
“I asked why you agreed to all this,” he repeated, this time more sharply. “Don’t you have
anything better to do than chase the wishlist of a dead girl?”

“Argus asked me,” she shot back. “And I happened to have some free time.”

Black scoffed. “You can’t be that stupid.”

Halcyon met his stare with a cold look, though she could feel her blood boiling. Typical
Slytherin, she thought. Always looking for some hidden motive behind everything. She
decided to play his game.

“What’s the matter, Black?” she said sweetly, her voice laced with mockery. “Afraid I’ll tell
everyone I spent part of the summer with you?”

Black chuckled. “I’d deny it all.”

“You underestimate the power of photographic evidence,” she replied, a glint of smug
amusement in her eyes.

He stepped toward her—movements smooth, silent, predatory. Halcyon felt the distance
closing between them, and her confidence wavered. He was dangerously close. The warmth
radiating from him felt like heat, but in his eyes was a cold abyss. She had no intention of
backing down, but his intensity was disarming.

“Is that a threat?” he asked quietly. His voice wasn’t angry—more curious, almost amused.

Halcyon’s stomach twisted, but she refused to flinch. “Take it however you want.”

Black was close enough now for her to catch the faint spice of his cologne. He studied her,
his eyes lingering, then dropped his gaze to the scar on her shoulder. He stared at it for a long
moment, examining it so intently it became almost unbearable. Halcyon realized his gaze
wasn’t mocking—there was something unsettling in it. Something she couldn’t read.

“Shame you’re a filthy little mudblood,” he said at last. “You’d suit Slytherin.”

She didn’t move, her face calm—but it was only a mask. Usually, words like mudblood didn’t
bother her. Not because she was above them, but because they never really applied—she
wasn’t Muggle-born. She’d always found it amusing to watch pure-blood snobs miss their
mark.

But this time was different. This time, the words cut deeper. They reminded her of Lucinda.
Of everything this twisted ideology had already destroyed.

“If anyone should be asking what they’re doing here, it’s you, Black,” she said firmly.
“Lucinda died because of shit like that. You make me sick.”

She walked past him without another word, not sparing him even a glance. Her steps were
brisk, nearly furious, and she tried to ignore how her hands were shaking. Her mind was a
storm—a tangle of anger, disappointment, and helplessness. She’d grown used to Black’s
personality, his sarcasm and smug detachment, but this—this was too much.
She flopped onto her bed and buried her face in the pillow. She’d been expecting it all along.
She knew it would happen—that one day, Regulus Black would reach into his bag of pure-
blood slurs. And even though she’d predicted it, it still stung. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe
because she’d foolishly hoped that someone who had once been friends with someone like
Lucinda might be different.

How could anyone who knew Lucinda—who had been so close to the Muggle world—say
something like that? How had their friendship even existed?

Halcyon rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts drifted to the list. If there
was one thing she needed to finish—it was that. She was determined to complete every item,
not to disappoint Argus. She had promised him, and she always kept her promises.

She wouldn’t let Regulus Black—or his stale, rotten dogma—ruin it.

✷✷✷

The sunlight creeping through the curtains painted the room in soft golden hues, mocking her
reluctance to face the day. She shifted and stared up at the beam above her, where Padraig
was curled in a tight ball, sleeping soundly. Typical, she thought. Not even the bloody ghoul
wailing in the attic could wake him.

While she tossed and turned all night, Padraig had the luxury of flying around as he pleased,
only to sleep the day away like a log. The thought nudged her to sit up and reach for her
sketchbook. It was well-worn—black covers scuffed from frequent use, corners bent, and
loose sheets of parchment occasionally falling out.

Most of her drawings moved—magically enchanted images that had become her secret
refuge, especially during History of Magic. They were full of goblin wars, legendary duels,
and witch trials. One of her favorite characters was Wendelin the Weird, who had apparently
made a near-lifestyle out of being burned at the stake. She admired her audacity—getting
caught forty-seven times, each in a different disguise, was truly something.

She froze when her eyes landed on a note she definitely hadn’t written. A sketch of a knight
with a massive sword had been annotated with: “Definitely compensating for a tiny
wand.” Another note near the goblin uprising made her laugh: “The goblin on the left looks
like my brother.”

Sirius Black, she thought immediately. The git. He must have swiped her sketchbook during
their shared stay in the hospital wing.

Deciding to sketch instead of stew, she sat at her desk, grabbed her quill, and began a new
drawing of Padraig. The quill’s tip glided across the parchment, forming delicate lines that
captured his wings, tiny claws, and peaceful, curled-up body. She drew in silence until the
ghoul let out another, louder shriek.

Startled, her hand slipped—and a thick line cut across Padraig’s wing. With an irritated huff,
she snapped the sketchbook shut. It was time to deal with this, before the damned ghoul—
and her growing frustration—drove her insane.
But the moment she reached the door, she hit a problem. The handle wouldn’t budge. She
stared at it, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her. Then she yanked hard. Nothing.

“This better be a joke,” she muttered. She rattled the door again, and when that failed too, she
pounded on it. “Hey! Open up!” Her voice rang into the silence—but there was no reply.

Suddenly, glowing text began to form on the wooden surface, the lines appearing in rhythmic
waves as if written by an invisible hand:

In darkness their glow prevails,

by day their trace grows pale.
Yet never do they disappear,
their power ever near.

Halcyon read the riddle aloud, then again, slower, and a third time—hoping the words would
explain themselves. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

It was far too early for riddles. Instead, she tried brute force—listing every word a blood-
purity-obsessed Slytherin might’ve picked as a password. “Pureblood. Snake. Ambition…
Death to mudbloods?”

None of them worked. With a sigh, she pulled a charmed pin from her bag—a personal
lockpick—and slid it into the keyhole. She waited for the click. Still nothing.

She rubbed her temples, thinking. Not being seventeen yet really sucked—because right now,
she would love to blast the damned door off its hinges.

She rushed to the window and cautiously slid it open. Cold morning air rushed in and
whipped her hair. For a moment, she hesitated, staring at the dewy roof below. Still, the
image of Black’s triumphant smirk pushed her forward.

Once on the windowsill, gripping the frame tightly, she braced her back against it to orient
herself. Then came a clickbehind her. She turned sharply—and froze in horror. The window
had closed. She reached for it, tried to open it again—it was stuck tight.

She stood still, regretting her impulsive decision. The wind hit her harder now, chilling her to
the bone, while sunlight glinted off the wet copper roofing in blinding flashes.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” she whispered, eyeing the roof below.

There was no going back. And waiting to be found sounded just as dreadful as Black’s smug
expression if he discovered his trap had worked.

Pressing against the house’s façade, her hands searched for any hold. The roof’s surface was
much slipperier than she’d expected, and her confidence drained with each step.

“If I survive this, I swear I’m going to kill Black,” she muttered through gritted teeth, inching
forward, barely breathing.
The path was narrow—decorative roofing over the ground floor offered barely a foot of
space. The first section was relatively flat, but then it curved downward into a steep slope.

Every movement brought a flash of fear that the copper beneath her would give way and send
her tumbling to the ground. She found her footing along a deep red line of bricks, laid neatly
between the windows and contrasting elegantly with the shimmering green stucco façade.

When she finally spotted an open window, relief surged through her. For a second, she
hesitated. Did she really want to end up in Black’s room? One glance downward gave her the
answer. She’d take his mockery over a broken neck.

Determined, she continued toward the window—only to be startled by a sudden hiss and a
blur of motion. Before she could react, something small and furry pounced on her.

“Aaargh!” she yelped as Rue, clearly mistaking her for an intruder, dug her claws into
Halcyon’s torso.

She lost her footing and slipped down the curved slope, skidding several feet lower.

Luckily, the roof’s drainage system had been designed with a wide gutter at the edge—almost
like the architect had expected to catch more than just rainwater.

She landed in it with a wet thump, instantly soaked by cold water, soggy leaves, and
accumulated grime.

Grumbling, she tried to sit up, Rue still clinging. Then the cat tensed—and leapt off her face,
leaving behind a sharp stinging trail of scratches as she bolted.

“Rue?!” came Black’s voice from above—surprisingly alarmed. “What the hell are you doing
out there?”

Halcyon looked up just in time to see Rue, who’d just scampered along the rooftop, suddenly
lift into the air—pulled by an invisible force—flying in a neat arc straight into Black’s arms.
He’d summoned her.

Rue grunted on landing and immediately wriggled free, disappearing into his room without
so much as a thank-you.

Halcyon groaned and pulled herself to her feet. When she looked up, she caught Black staring
at her from the window—her tangled hair full of wet leaves, fresh scratches on her face.

He recoiled, like he’d seen a ghost—then slammed the window shut so hard the glass rattled,
and drew the curtains.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, still catching her breath. A moment later, a
muffled wail echoed from his room—desperate, almost ghoul-like. She raised an eyebrow,
unsure whether to laugh or worry.

She wiped soggy leaves from her face and tried—unsuccessfully—to untangle the twigs
stuck in her hair, muttering curses under her breath. Mostly directed at Black, Rue, and
everyone else who had ruined her morning.

Then the curtains were pulled back. The window reopened—and Black reappeared, about to
say something.

Instead, he burst into laughter—loud, from the gut, like he’d just witnessed something
gloriously absurd.

“What the hell are you doing?” he called down between gasps.

“Bathing,” she snapped, trying to sound nonchalant, even as her pride screamed in protest.
“What do you think I’m doing?”

“You know there are bathrooms inside,” Black said, laughing again, nearly out of breath.
“But I get it—this might be too posh for you.”

“Glad you’re entertained,” she growled. “But how about helping me up? It’s slippery and I
can’t get out.”

Black folded his arms, his expression turning mock-serious—but his lips still twitched. “I
don’t know, Proudfoot. You got yourself into this mess. Maybe you should get yourself out.”

“If you hadn’t locked my damn door, I wouldn’t be here!”

Black blinked, confused. “What? What door?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know!” she snapped. “There was some stupid riddle and the door
wouldn’t open!”

He started laughing again. This time he had to brace himself on the window frame. Halcyon
clenched her fists—her patience was hanging by a thread.

“Stop laughing! I’m cold and starving and seeing double! So—are you going to help me?”

Black leaned forward, mischief in his eyes. “Say please.”

Halcyon froze. Her pride stood between her and safety—but the situation left her no choice.
She took a deep breath, looked him in the eye, and forced the words out: “Fine. Please,
Black. Help me.”

He stared at her for a second, muttered something that sounded like a curse, and began
climbing out the window. Bracing his knee on the curved ledge, he grabbed the underside of
the frame.

“Grab my hand,” he ordered.

She hesitated only a moment before reaching for him. He gripped her forearm and with a
smooth motion pulled her up onto the roof. Once she was steady on her feet, he let go and
stood upright.
 “Watch out—” she started, but too late. With a loud click, the window slammed shut behind
them. The sound was so smug, Halcyon could swear the house had a twisted sense of humor.

Chapter End Notes

So, what’s the answer to the riddle? :D

If you think Halcyon should have figured it out immediately, the fact is that she refuses
to think before breakfast. Which was also evident when her stupidity landed her on the
roof, right?
Writing the first part was a bit... well, Regulus is just an idiot. But this kind of
interaction had to happen, considering his family background.
In the second part, though, he redeems himself. I really like his relationship with Rue—
it shows his softer side.
Originally, this chapter was supposed to take them on their journey already, but then I
had an idea about what could happen if a door gets knocked off its hinges.
 Chapter 12

august 1977

“Great,” Black muttered, clearly annoyed. “That’s what I get for not leaving you behind... I
don’t suppose you have your wand on you?”

His own wand lay just inside the closed window—tauntingly close, yet completely out of
reach.

“I don’t,” Halcyon admitted, somewhat reluctantly. She looked away for a second, knowing
full well it was her mistake. “And… my window shut on me too.”

Black glanced at her and let out a short, bitter laugh.

“Glad to see your sense of humor’s still intact,” she said dryly. “But I’d really like to get
down from here. Preferably soon.”

“I could push you off,” he offered, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “That’d be quick
enough, wouldn’t it?”

“Go ahead, but I’m taking you with me.” She gave him a sweet smile.

Black snorted and turned back toward the window. “We could try—” His words cut off as he
caught movement behind the glass. Halcyon followed his gaze and spotted Rue approaching.

“Look at that—rescue’s here.”

The cat gave them a completely indifferent look, the way only cats could—and then, with
dramatic flair, promptly vomited. Right next to Black’s wand.

Halcyon glanced at him cautiously, half-expecting him to toss her off the roof then and there.
To her surprise, he looked unusually calm—even resigned. As if this was a regular part of his
mornings.

“The roof continues that way, and there’s a terrace at the end. If we make it that far, we can
climb up from there,” Black said matter-of-factly.

Her stomach clenched at the distance they had to cover. Climbing out onto the roof had been
a terrible idea, and she sincerely regretted it.

Her eyes flicked back to the closed window. Maybe… maybe it could be opened. Ugandan
wizards didn’t use wands, after all. She took a deep breath, extended her hand as if holding
an invisible wand, and pointed her finger at the glass. “Alohomora,” she said with
concentration.

Black immediately froze, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying wandless magic.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Seriously? What
are you going to do if it backfires and sends you flying?”

Halcyon rolled her eyes and lowered her hand.

“Well, I’m not waiting around for Argus to come looking,” Black continued. “So move.”

She edged back to the parapet, grabbed the wall for balance, and once again stepped onto the
narrow ledge. The slick surface didn’t allow for any missteps.

And just to make things worse, the rough brick was suddenly replaced by a smooth,
Slytherin-green plaster. No footholds. No handholds. Nothing but slippery paint. Halcyon bit
back a curse and moved slowly, scanning for any cracks or ledges she could use to steady
herself.

They had to cross several meters before a new row of windows and brickwork finally offered
some grip again.

“If we fall, I swear I’ll kill you myself,” Black growled behind her. “Now pick up the pace—I
don’t want to be up here all day.”

They were approaching the corner where the roof curved into a rounded angle. Halcyon
slowed down, knowing the slick surface and narrowing ledge demanded her full focus. Every
movement was measured, precise.

Black, following behind, lost sight of her and advanced impatiently, unaware she’d slowed
down.

She felt him bump into her—lightly—but it was enough to make her wobble. Though the
pace was slow and the impact minor, his arm shot out and pulled her back, holding her steady
against him. His fingers were cold but firm, his grip flawlessly sure. Halcyon looked up at
him, stunned.

Black let go just as quickly as he’d grabbed her, his expression already soured.

“Ugh, what the hell did you roll in?” he asked, disgusted.

Halcyon stared at him for a moment, shivering from the cold and the burst of adrenaline. She
couldn’t decide what annoyed her more—his comment or the fact that he’d ruined a moment
that had been almost… nice.

There was no point arguing—she must’ve looked pitiful. And she didn’t even want
to know what she’d picked up in that gutter.

✷✷✷

Argus sat in a comfortable armchair in the lounge, the terrace doors wide open as morning
light streamed through the French windows. A teapot gently steamed on the small table
before him. He held a cup of tea in one hand and turned a page in his book with the other,
wearing an expression of absolute calm—an ironic contrast to the chaos he’d just heard
outside.

When one of the idiots finally appeared on the terrace, he almost spit out his tea. He coughed
sharply and set the cup down, trying not to choke.

Halcyon looked… catastrophic. Her hair was damp, plastered to her face and neck, tangled
with leaves and tiny twigs. Wet patches stained her clothes, emphasizing her utterly miserable
appearance. Argus stared at her in disbelief, the corners of his mouth twitching until he could
no longer hold back a laugh.

“This…” he started, but the laughter overtook him again. He raised a hand in mock apology
and tried to compose himself. “This really exceeded all my expectations.”

Halcyon ignored him. With a grim expression, she removed her soaked, filthy shoes and
walked past him without a word, disappearing from the lounge. Argus slowly shook his head.
“It’s going to be a long day,” he murmured.

Moments later, Regulus appeared on the terrace. His hair was slightly tousled, but otherwise
he looked as polished and alert as always. He stopped beside the table and remarked
sarcastically, “Your weakness for Hufflepuffs is going to get us killed one day.”

Argus propped an elbow on the chair’s arm and squinted at Regulus with a faint smile. “And
I thought it would be your ego. Tea?” He flicked his wand toward the teapot, which lifted
itself and poured Regulus a cup.

Regulus took the cup and inhaled the aroma briefly before looking back at Argus. “I suppose
I’d better get used to the idea that mornings with you two will never be peaceful,” he sighed,
sitting across from him.

Halcyon returned shortly after, still in her sorry state. Without a word, she walked over to the
small table, grabbed a biscuit, and bit into it. As Argus and Regulus exchanged looks, she
snatched Argus’s still-warm teacup and drank from it with open disdain.

Argus opened his mouth to protest—but then thought better of it. One look at her told him a
comment might not survive the encounter.

Whether she burned her tongue was unclear—she showed no reaction. Still, Argus secretly
hoped she had paid for her crime. She set the cup down and, with a smile that was far too
calm, said, “I still can’t get into my room. The damn door’s still locked.”

Regulus burst out laughing. “Did you try asking nicely?” he teased, leaning back in his chair
and clearly enjoying himself.

Argus raised an eyebrow. “What are you two talking about?” he asked, but Regulus only
smirked.
“If you’re so clever,” Halcyon snapped, “why don’t you try it yourself?” She grabbed another
biscuit without shame.

Argus and Regulus followed her upstairs and stopped in front of her door. Argus read the
riddle still rippling across the wooden surface—primitive, in his opinion. He had no idea
what the problem was.

“Seriously, Proudfoot?” Regulus said in exasperation. “Over this? Merlin’s—”

Halcyon clenched her fists, but before she could argue, Argus cut in. “It’s stars.”

With a soft click, the door unlocked.

Regulus shook his head. “If you were in Ravenclaw, you'd probably still be waiting outside
the knocker.”

Halcyon ignored him and entered her room without so much as a glance in his direction.

“Don’t slam the door,” Argus warned just in time. “These ones are moody.”

Halcyon growled something unintelligible but, surprisingly, heeded the advice. The door shut
with a soft click. The silence that followed was brief—immediately broken again by the
ghoul’s agonized screech.

“Somebody deal with that bloody ghoul!” came her muffled shout through the door.

Regulus chuckled and leaned against the doorframe. “But I kind of like him,” he said with a
mischievous grin.

“Sorry, mate,” Argus sighed. “Even I have limits—and I live with three ghosts. That the way
to the attic?”

Regulus looked at him with a dramatic expression, eyes gleaming. “I’m thirsty,” he declared
theatrically. “And so are you.” Before Argus could object, he was already heading back
toward the lounge.

Argus followed, resigned to the fact that nothing with Regulus could ever be straightforward.
Regulus moved to the cabinet with cut crystal glasses, rummaged for a moment, and finally
selected a particular ornate one. With a soft click, a section of the wall beside the cabinet
opened to reveal a hidden staircase.

Argus shook his head. “How many secrets does this house even have?” he muttered.

“These are just the little ones. You’d be surprised,” Regulus replied.

They ascended the narrow stairs, which creaked underfoot, and soon arrived in the attic—a
chaotic space full of dusty boxes, old furniture, and cobwebs. On the far side stood the ghoul
—his grotesque, snaggle-toothed face twisted in a strange grimace as he swayed pitifully
from side to side. But this time, the sound he made wasn’t just loud—it was desperate.
“Think he’s constipated?” Argus quipped.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it,” he said, pointing his wand. “Look behind him.”

Argus followed his line of sight—and froze. Behind the ghoul, a shadowy figure was taking
form. His heart stopped. It looked like his father. Lying on the floor, limp and bloody, eyes
staring blankly into nothing. The air in the room grew heavy and still.

“I think your uncle killed my dad,” Argus said quietly, his voice eerily calm despite the ice
gripping his chest.

Regulus glanced sideways at him. “Argus… it’s a Boggart,” he said after a moment, his tone
softer than usual.

“Yeah, I know,” Argus muttered, eyes locked on the scene. “But it’s a damn accurate one.”

Regulus didn’t respond, letting Argus handle it in his own way. Argus drew his wand, turning
it over in his fingers. His grip was firm, though his hand trembled slightly. “Riddikulus,” he
said, steady and clear.

The Boggart didn’t vanish right away. As Argus stared at the image of his father, the room
felt frozen in a breathless silence. Only after the second “Riddikulus!” did the figure begin to
shift. The lifeless body shattered into a smoky gray cloud that slowly dissolved into the air.
Nothing remained.

Argus inhaled sharply, as if he’d only just realized he’d been holding his breath. Regulus
stood quietly to the side, raised his wand, and carefully shut the wardrobe the Boggart had
come from.

He leaned back against one of the chimneys and dropped his arms to his sides. “At least that’s
dealt with.”

“We still need to shut that guy up,” Argus said, nodding toward the ghoul, who now stood
transfixed by the empty space the Boggart had vanished from. His voice wasn’t as steady as
he’d meant it to be—there was a weight in it he couldn’t hide. His chest felt tight, like he
couldn’t get enough air.

He was overheating. His chest burned, yet his body felt oddly frozen. He looked around and
leaned against one of the chimneys, not caring about the dust and soot rising around him. He
just needed a minute. Just a moment of quiet to breathe.

Regulus, usually the type to give him space, frowned this time. He stared at him for a few
seconds before tilting his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

Argus closed his eyes. His palms were sweating. He took a deep breath—or tried to—and
forced a reply. His voice sounded calm, detached, even though he felt like he was drowning.
“Nothing. I just need a second to catch my breath.” He bowed his head and rested his
forehead against the cool brick. The chill helped him focus. “It’s nothing.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Argus… it was just a Boggart,” he said carefully. “I’m sure your
dad’s fine.”

Argus turned to him slowly. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his
eyes. “How can you be sure?”

Regulus shrugged lightly. “I assume you put every protective charm you know on your
house.”

Argus looked away and nodded, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. “Still… maybe they
should run. Leave. Leave the country, this madness. But he’s so damn stubborn…”

Regulus drew breath to respond, but from the stairs came Halcyon’s voice: “You two having
a date up there, or what’s taking so long?”

She joined them moments later, freshly cleaned, in a change of clothes, and clearly in a much
better mood. “Why the long faces?” she asked, noticing the two boys facing her.

“The ghoul’s been babysitting a Boggart,” Regulus replied, folding his arms.

“Hmmm. That actually explains a lot,” she admitted. Her eyes flicked to Argus. The tension
in his shoulders had lessened, but a trace of unease lingered. Their eyes met, and in her amber
gaze, he caught a glimmer of sympathy.

Without another word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. She
tossed it to Argus, who caught it.

“Here. Helps with nerves,” she smiled. “But I want the card back.”

Argus looked at her in surprise, then unwrapped the frog. “You collect them?”

“Occasionally,” Halcyon shrugged.

“I’ve got them all,” Regulus said, not bothering to hide the pride in his voice.

“No surprise there,” Argus muttered as he bit into the chocolate. He checked the card and
smiled faintly. “Nice. You got Phillipus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim.”

Regulus blinked. “That a new one?”

Argus held out the card, and as Regulus leaned in to look, he snorted. “Oh. It’s just
Paracelsus.”

Halcyon laughed. “Yeah, but admit it—his full name sounds way cooler.”

Argus joined in with a soft laugh, and the last of the tension finally lifted from the room.
Regulus huffed but leaned back against an old beam, unable to keep the small smile from his
face.
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!