Chapter 16: Choices and untold decisions
In one of the family bedrooms on the first floor, Shivansh Black looked, concerned, at his older sister. She was on the top bunk, and he'd gone to sit on the desk chair, because the boy wanted to see his older sister – to see her face, to see how she was doing.
But she held her head buried in her arms, and he didn't like it.
Varsha had been – not happy, perhaps – but taking it all in a stride, considering they'd just lost about everything they'd ever known and Mom wasn't even born yet. Shivansh and her knew tales of being stranded in a different time, with little support and the need to remake yourself and all your relationships. That was what had happened to their mother, more or less.
Then, she'd just stopped him from talking at dinner with the other kids, and Shivansh had no idea why. She hadn't had a problem with telling the others about Mom's time travel, so why...?
"What's wrong?"
Varsha's head trembled a bit, but she didn't look up, didn't look at him.
Then she started laughing – an ugly, sad little laugh, and Shivansh had only ever heard that from her once, when Harry had screamed that she couldn't understand because their mom wasn't dead, unlike his.
Varsha hiccuped, and the poor excuse of a laugh stopped.
"What's wrong?! Shivansh, our dad is a Death Eater!"
"Dad's not a..."
But the boy didn't finish his sentence.
Their dad wasn't a Death Eater.
Their dad had also met their mom at Hogwarts in 1975, and started dating her in 1977.
Sirius Black, here and now, had done nothing of that – and it was 1979.
That wasn't enough to accuse someone of being a Death Eater, but Varsha and Shivansh had heard the tale often enough, in ushered tones and grim words.
"I... Maybe he's not one, though! I mean, Mom did say he was against blood purity and Voldemort when she met him, it's only later on that..."
"When Mom arrived in 1975, she knew two things about Sirius Black: no one had truly suspected him until he'd murdered thirteen people in broad daylight, and he was dangerous enough to escape from Azkaban and get into Hogwarts several times."
Shivansh blinked – that had been, more or less, what he'd been going to say to the others at dinner, that Mom had accidentally time-traveled to 1975, and there she decided she'd keep an eye on a known Death Eater, because maybe she could do something, anything at all, because she had knowledge others didn't – but she'd changed something, what she wasn't certain, and Dad had never gone to the other side of the war.
"Yes, but... She also said, when she got to know him, she realized he wasn't like that yet, not in 1975. She figured something might have happened later on, and he changed, or maybe..."
Shivansh didn't think the man downstairs – Sirius Black, their father and yet not – was a Death Eater right now.
"They might not have gotten to him yet. It was 1981, when it was revealed, right?"
Varsha's face appeared from her arms – progress, maybe?
She scowled.
"So Dad's not a Death Eater yet. That's so much better."
Then she sighed.
"Or maybe he is. No one knew, the other... In Mom's time. They were all surprised. How do we know he hasn't turned yet? I've talked to him for maybe ten minutes tops, and you've barely said a word to him directly during dinner. We don't know him, even if he looks and sounds like Dad."
Shivansh bit his lower lip. He didn't like it, but Varsha was right on one point at least: they couldn't know for sure.
Varsha wasn't looking at him anymore.
"I don't... Mom didn't change the timeline here. So things should have happened the same way they did in her time, so far. Maybe Sirius is a Death Eater, or maybe he'll become one in the next months, maybe... Maybe he's killed innocent people already, I don't know!"
The girl fell on her bed, anxious thoughts scrapping at her mind.
"Maybe we can... stop him from turning? But if we discover that he is one already, what do we do? Do we denounce him, or do we lock him up in a dungeon and try to, what, brainwash him back?"
Shivansh's voice broke Varsha out of the moral dilemma that was trying to reverse-engineer brainwashing when you knew nothing about the proper procedure, not much about mind magic, and couldn't ask anyone about what to do without tipping them off.
"...I think Great-grandfather would let you use the basement cells of the Manor."
Varsha made a face, but didn't disagree. Arcturus Black might let them do it, too, her brother was right. He'd died three years ago, in their time, but Varsha remembered him well enough. They hadn't exactly been visiting for long periods of time – but Dad had taken them to see Arcturus and Melania, occasionally.
From what she knew of the old wizard, her great-grandfather held some beliefs none of her parents agreed with – but he'd never tried to force them on Varsha and Shivansh, and he understood that not everyone agreed with him. More importantly – he didn't like the irrational bloodshed of the war. He probably wouldn't want one of his heirs on the Death Eaters' side.
"So... We are doing something about it, right?"
Varsha glanced at her younger brother.
Shivansh looked hesitant, like she was supposed to have answers – and she didn't, not really. Mom and Dad weren't here, and she was only fourteen.
Still. She hadn't been Sorted in Gryffindor for nothing – and even if she didn't know what or how yet... Gryffindors acted. Even when they weren't certain, even when there were risks. Not because they were stupid, but because they didn't believe in simply letting bad things happen.
"...Of course. I don't know what yet, but we're doing something."
"We should ask the others, too. If their dads were Death Eaters, if there's something they know."
"Maybe not that directly, but... You're right, Shivansh. Thanks."
Now that she thought about it... She had no idea what kind of education and childhood the others had had. They didn't have the same mothers, but even their fathers might be very different from hers. Did some have muggle family members? Had they grown up in one of the Black houses, in a flat in London, in a suburban house? Were their dads still friends with James Potter and Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew?
They certainly had no ties to the Patil family, unlike Varsha and Shivansh.
Their worlds, in the end, could be entirely different. Something that was true in hers might not be in theirs...
Varsha, of course, wasn't the only one to think so on the first floor of Black Manor.
In the room Procyon and Altair had decided to share, the boys were both sitting on the ground, purposefully not looking at each other openly – but still sending glances towards their roommates when they thought the other wasn't looking.
They were going to share this bedroom – for at least one month and a few more days, until Hogwarts, if they didn't just... disappear out of existence. They needed to get to know each other, and they knew it.
Most of the other kids shared a bedroom with a sibling – but not them. Altair, because he didn't have a sibling, and Procyon, because his siblings were both older girls and already sharing a bedroom and anyway, he didn't want to share with Adrienne of all people!
Procyon liked his sister – a bit – but she'd started talking to him like he was stupid after she'd first gone to Hogwarts, and then he hadn't realized but now he knew and could hear it in her voice and words. Marianne generally said he was imagining things or blowing them out of proportion, but he knew, and...
He didn't want to share a room with Adrienne.
Even if it meant sharing with someone he didn't know.
Honestly, it wasn't that hard. Procyon had spent months last year with five roommates, during his first year – he'd only known one of those boys beforehand. He could get used to sharing a bedroom with a half-brother who didn't exist yesterday.
He could.
First thing first, then: get a better look at Altair.
They'd spoken earlier, of course – after all, Procyon had been the one to propose this arrangement – but it wasn't like he remembered every little detail.
Dad's ink-black hair. Very vivid blue eyes, but Altair didn't look people in the eyes very often. A handful of freckles, too, just like Marianne and Adrienne, and unlike the two's own brother. His skin looked like it could tan with a golden hue, which was not usual in a Black family member
Altair was a bit shorter than Procyon himself, but if he remembered right, they were both twelve.
Here. Conversation starter.
"Second year in September, right?"
Altair tilted his head in recognition at being addressed and his eyes almost reached Procyon's.
Almost. Procyon wasn't certain why anyone would be so averse to looking other people in the eyes.
"...Yeah. You too?"
"Yep! I'm in Gryffindor, what about you?"
"I... Hum, it's... It's Hufflepuff for me."
Procyon straightened, and Altair drew back a little.
"Really? My dad was in Hufflepuff too! And you'll be with Marianne, my oldest sister! Uh, the one who doesn't have glasses, if you remember her? She'll be a sixth year."
"I... do. But... What do you mean, your dad was a Hufflepuff? Wasn't he in Gryffindor?"
Procyon blinked, surprised and confused – and then, oh!
"Right, uh... No, I'm not talking about Unc... about Sirius. I'm Adhara's kid? Sirius' twin sister? So, my Mom is the Black, and she and Sirius are basically the same person in some ways so me and my sisters are there too? My dad... My dad's name is Alec, Alec Carlisle."
"...Oh."
Altair didn't seem to really get what he meant by "basically the same person", and that had Procyon a bit concerned: the little he'd understood from what he'd heard of the others had everyone being aware of Sirius-and-Adhara, of the twinless twins of the House of Black. The triplets definitely knew, his siblings and cousins had been told the story years ago, and many of the others had mentioned something linked to it at some point – but Altair didn't seem to know what it was about.
Why wouldn't he be aware of it?
Procyon realized something.
"I... They know we're Carlisles, they do. We said it when we filled out that statement form. But if everyone outside is supposed to know that we're here because we're... Sirius Black's possible children... Do you think they'll have us take the name 'Black'?"
Altair probably didn't know more than him on the matter, but he was the only one Procyon could talk to right now. Maybe Lamia would have an idea, or Alastor – Uncle Sirius had been training them both as heirs, until they decided which one would officially take the succession – but they weren't here.
Surprisingly, that particular question got the other boy to look him in the eyes.
"If you're children of the House of Black by your mother... Lord Black might insist on an adoption ritual, to ensure that the family line persists even if the bloodline is broken. In fact, he might want it for all of us... It's not like we were born in this world."
"...I guess. We don't really have an idea of the rules here, do we?"
Altair closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
"We don't even know if we're going to stay at all."
Procyon didn't have an answer to that – he just stared.
It was true, the adult who'd come and talked to him and his sisters – James Potter, of all people! – had said the unspeakables weren't even certain the children would even continue to exist. Tomorrow morning, Sterhn might come to see if they were still sleeping, and no one would answer, because they would all have disappeared in the night.
Pulled from other reali... no, from other possibilities in time, they'd said, into a reality that wasn't theirs. Maybe they were just a mirage, a lie of blood and magic.
Not meant to last.
Procyon, of course, didn't feel like a lie, and maybe that was why he couldn't truly consider the possibility that at some point, his future would just disappear, like a book read halfway through and discarded for some other activity.
Well.
Since he wouldn't care anymore, should that happen – he wouldn't even be dead, would he? Just... not here – he'd simply carry on as if certain of his own existence. Better for him to act normally and with a future in mind than to worry about how he might not have one.
After all, if they remained, he'd have done the work to go on, and if they didn't, his worrying would become inconsequential.
Maybe Altair had reached a similar conclusion, because the other boy changed the subject back to their first topic.
"I'm glad your sister is in Hufflepuff."
Procyon raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Why?"
Altair shrugged, eyes on the floor, tensely still.
"My mother was a Slytherin, and my fa... Dad is a Gryffindor, who almost went to Slytherin too. I didn't... I think I expected the others to all be Gryffindors or Slytherins, like Dad. I thought I'd be alone in Hufflepuff."
Altair was an only child, Procyon suddenly realized – he'd known, but he hadn't thought about it, not really – and if his dad had the same friends as Procyon's dad... Their children were likely Gryffindors too, more than any other house. Maybe he'd felt lonely at Hogwarts.
They didn't have their friends waiting back for them in September, either.
"There's Marianne, and Alastor, too, with the green eyes and black hair? Maybe there are others, I don't know."
The other boy nodded, brow furrowed, and Procyon added:
"Anyway, we're all there together, so it's not like you'll ever be completely alone. I'm sure having almost twenty half-siblings in the castle, even in other houses, is going to mean you won't be able to escape family!"
...Speaking of which, Procyon wondered, who else than him and Lamia would be in Gryffindor?
He had no idea. There were so many things he didn't know about the other children, so much to discover...
The kids were strangers amongst themselves, in truth, and it would take some time to get to know the others, like Altair and Procyon had started doing that night – and there was another bedroom in the manor that held two teenagers who knew nothing about the other either.
Dana watched as her roommate – sister, too – carefully deposited her saber in its scabbard under their bunk beds – Nashira had asked for the bottom one, and that was most likely the reason.
Dana couldn't help but wonder where the sword came from.
The hand jewelry, too. It was intricate, made of silver and rubies, and it covered the center of the back of Nashira's hand, ringing around three of her fingers – index and ring and little fingers. The rubies were carved – not the usual runes. Dana couldn't tell what the symbols were supposed to be.
It looked too deliberate, too carefully made to be just an accessory.
Some alphabets – and other writing systems – were particularly good at shaping magic – same reason as why most european spells were crafted and derived from Latin, because some languages got magic focus better than others – and precious gems were always good conducts for power, too. One alternative to wands, staffs, usually had a big gem at the top – or a constellation of small ones – for the same reason wands had a magical core. Staffs had been scorned for a while, now, because they weren't inherently better than wands, were harder to conceal, and took a lot of space in general – their only positive point was that you could also use them to physically beat an opponent without the risk of breaking your magical conduct.
Also, the weaves and patterns of the silver seemed almost familiar, like they'd been crafted with magic in mind, too.
Dana seriously doubted that particular piece of jewelry was only an accessory.
Nashira noticed her frowning, obviously, and as she got back up – her blade safely stored under the bed – she followed Dana's line of sight.
Looking at her hand jewelry, the younger girl sighed and started taking it off.
"I should have raised my hand when Da... when Sirius asked who needed a wand. I didn't think much of it, but... I doubt Hogwarts knows how to accommodate everything for alternate magical conducts..."
Nashira paused just before taking off the rings.
Even if the school knew some of it... Staffs and hand jewelry and tattoos all had their own sets of magical movements and power balances, even if the incantations or intents didn't change. She imagined it was true for wands too.
The teachers might, perhaps, know some of the other ways – but not all of them.
"...I do want a wand, too."
The older girl – Dana, the baby's sister – asked:
"So it's really a magical conduct, then?"
Nashira bit her lip – put the rings back on as she answered:
"Where I grew up, we couldn't make wands. The wood was alright – a bit difficult to identify, no, huh, I think the name is bowtruckles? No bowtruckles to select them easily, but you could make do. The problem, I think, was cores? I'm not sure, they just said..."
Dana waited, but nothing more came – not until the other girl shook her head and continued on.
"Anyway. They needed an alternative to wands. The easiest options were staffs, or creating a new type of conducts. Warrior mages use staffs, but the crafters designed hand jewelry for everyone else. Mine's silver and rubies and tengwar letters, Dad's is... was... Dad's is tungsten and onyxes and black star diopsides."
Dana blinked – where had Nashira grown up, that wandmakers couldn't even work and had to find alternatives, what did she mean "warrior mages", what even was "tengwar"?
"Oh."
Nashira smiled – a bit forced, but not too much.
"I do want a wand, though. Like Dad had, before. Like you all do. I'll tell them before we leave tomorrow afternoon. Meanwhile, do you want to see some spells with hand jewelry instead of a wand?"
Dana's eyebrows rose, but she didn't deny being curious – and it wasn't like the Trace would pick up on them doing magic in the middle of Black Manor of all places, so as long as they didn't do enough to draw the attention of the adults...
Did they even have the Trace on them? She had no idea how that part of the official monitoring enchantment worked, so maybe being brought into an entirely new world meant you were devoid of it even if you were underage? Something to look into, later.
"Sure."
While Nashira showed her roommate her variations of the commonly-used spells despite not being strictly allowed to use magic unsupervised, one of the adults in the Manor stood above the crib where he'd left Stefania to sleep, just across the corridor from the baby's sister.
Sirius didn't feel like sleeping, like doing anything at all – he just kept staring at this small child, not even a toddler, and at everything she'd brought with her. The other children, also his – but most were old enough to be his younger siblings, all of them except Fania were too old, too close in age to be his children proper.
With them, they'd brought back family – and he didn't know if it was a good thing at all.
Family meant Dad and Regulus and Grandmother Melania, but family also meant Mother and Grandfather Pollux and Bellatrix. It meant Grandfather Arcturus, who wouldn't acknowledge anything unless you shoved his nose in it. It meant choices and untold decisions.
It meant Sirius himself, thrumming with Black blood and dark magic and cruel thoughts.
It wasn't good or bad but it was complicated, and the war outside didn't help.
So day 1 ended, after 16 chapters.
Ah!
