Arcturus scanned down the length of the Slytherin table, hurrying his steps as much as courtesy allowed. As always, Hadrian was surrounded by people that hanged on to his every word. One day, Arcturus would make his cousin admit how the bloody hell he managed that. Alas, there were more pressing matters.
The gal next to Harry immediately scooted over when she saw him, winking at him in invitation. Arcturus swiftly ignored her -as if such crude behavior was worthy of being admired. He settled down with all the grace required by the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, nodding politely to some of his classmates. There was scarcely the need for tearful reunions. As Slytherin purebloods, he saw his friends fairly often during the summer; they did run in the same circles after all. Arcturus had something much more important on his mind. He'd been obsessing over asking his cousin ever since he overheard a strange conversation at Grimmauld Place, but he hadn't dared question Harry via owl. Not in the times they lived in.
"Good evening, Hadrian," he greeted politely. He was perceptive enough to realize the exact moment his cousin detected some tenseness from him. His grin widened, a wild beast smelling blood. Arcturus gulped.
"Artie, dear cousin," Hadrian smiled, and Arcturus did not ignore how they'd become a scene from a sold-out play at their table. Slytherin had plenty of curious eyes and ears; some just were more discreet than others. "How are you?"
"I'm well," he replied curtly. He and Hadrian did see each other just a few days before. Not much had changed, but... "I've meant to ask you..."
"Surely, cousin, you are not bringing up the family business to the dining table?" Harry's smile was intact as if he and Artie were sharing a joke, but his green eyes were glowing. Arcturus knew he was taller than Harry; he just didn't feel like that most of the time.
"Later?" He pressed, hoping to squeeze a promise out of Harry. His cousin's eyes showed he knew precisely what Artie was trying to do but nodded anyway.
"We'll play some chess." Of course.
"Oh, you're going to kick Artie's butt early in the year, jeez," Emma's superfluous commentary joined them as the tension between the two teens break. The Slytherin looks dazzling as she flipped a curl of light brown hair over her shoulder. She was as stealthy as ever; Arcturus hadn't noticed when she sat down. Once, he might've sneered at the half-blood, but it'd been a long time since he'd cared about someone's blood.
"I'll have you know; I've gotten significantly better," Arcturus dismissed airily. He had been practicing over the summer certainly, but unless the world had entirely shifted on his axis between then and the week before, Hadrian was still the best Chess player Arcturus had ever seen.
"I'd quit while I'm ahead," Rene tagged on, lifting his silver-haired head out of his book. One tanned hand pushing up his glasses. "It'll only make you look worse when you're slaughtered." He was right, but Arcturus would say so over his dead body. He turned to his cousin, who was already conversing with Edward Mulciber, Slytherin's Quidditch captain. When they lulled, Arcturus cut in.
"Harry, stop being good at everything."
"I regret nothing." Harry turned around to look at them, smiling and eyes dancing.
"You're ruining the curve, Harry; think about the curve," Rene tells him, dexterous hands rebraiding the tail end of his long hair. Emma sighed and let her face fall into her hands. Like Arcturus, she had heard this argument plenty of times.
"You'd think you'd be used to the curve by now, Rene," Artie snorted.
"Not all of us spend the summer being academic and playing chess. Some of us are trying to relax and have fun."
"Not you."
"Yeah," the pureblood immediately agreed, "Not me, but if I wanted to, I can't because I'm expected to keep up with you lot. Why couldn't I get lazier friends?"
"Is it too late at this point?" Arcturus asked nobody in particular as if contemplating his choices.
"Oh shush, you know you love us." Emma refuted.
"Love is a powerful word." Rene rolled his eyes.
"I'm just saying, if anything, lending you my notes is out of love..."
"Black, you charge for those." Rene counters exasperatedly, braid done but giving up on going back to reading.
"Not to everyone, I don't. I refuse my notes to plenty of people."
"That's only because they don't have anything you care about to trade with."
"My point remains."
"It really doesn't."
"The sorting's starting." Harry's voice cuts easily through the conversation, and as if on cue, the tiny first years strolled in, a swarm of nerves and potential and innocence.
Artie had never been so carefree as to gape at the enchanted room, but he'd certainly wanted to. Who could blame them? In fact, it's a good thing they could recognize extraordinary magic when they saw it. He caught sight of black hair and round glasses, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. That's Charlie Potter, slowly he turned to look at Harry. He seemed as relaxed as ever, his eyes mirthful and green. Artie knew his cousin well enough to know that if he didn't want to give an inkling to his feelings, there would be little to glean without asking.
Was it a coincidence? The conversation he'd overheard his father having, Harry's suspicious movements over the summer, and Charlie Potter's arrival to Hogwarts. No way those were unrelated. His cousin was smart enough for this one. Artie just wanted to know what he was getting into this time.
For the Slytherin boys came Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini. Most of the names he recognized. For the girls came Bulstrode, Davis, Greengrass, and Parkinson. Lots of old families in this batch. With the lull in the war, the purebloods had gotten busy. Artie immediately grieved for such a vulgar thought.
"A lot of old pureblood's heirs are among the firsties," Emma voiced, echoing Arcturus' thoughts.
"We will just have to give the right impression." Harry smiled. Even though the entire hall went wild when he was announced, Harry had remained quiet during his brother's sorting.
The boy was tiny but clearly in good physical condition. He strode to the hat purposefully. His oldest brother had none of his fame and had managed to quiet the hall just as quickly, Arcturus recalls.
The Gryffindor table turned impossibly more raucous when the Savior of the Wizarding World was sent to their House, not entirely unexpected. A part of Artie had been hoping Charlie would've been a Slytherin like Hadrian. He knows his cousin would've liked that.
He and Emma made eye contact briefly, an unspoken message between them.
Dumbledore stood up, and for a moment, Arcturus felt a chill crawl its way down his spine. He had to suppress a reflexive shudder. He didn't have to look at Hadrian to see his eyes glowing, though the Slytherins around them seemed to miss it. Hadrian's enigmatic dislike of the Headmaster had only grown through the years, but Arcturus was as puzzled by it now as ever. A mistake, Hadrian had said when Arcturus had mustered enough gall to ask, he made a huge mistake.
It'd been years since that encounter, but Arcturus was no closer to understanding what could possibly earn Hadrian's passionate dislike. After a few odd words and senseless speech, the food appeared, and Arcturus put Albus Dumbledore out of his mind.
Regulus is much too young when he coordinates his friends into bringing back the Dark Lord, and he doesn't dare think it even in the darkest corner of his mind, but... maybe it hadn't been his brightest moment. He wishes his mistakes of youth were like Sirius, pregnancy scares, and failing grades, rather than the responsibility of unleashing the darkest wizard to ever live back into the world.
But... but the wizarding world is dying. Regulus knows most of the wizards don't realize it, but it is, and back then, Lord Voldemort had been the way, the only way.
The Horcruxes made him pause when Regulus realizes just what Kreacher has been sent to hide. For an insanity-riddled moment, Regulus thinks about betraying his Lord. Blacks are considered the darkest of magical families but splitting your soul through innocent murder to live forever? Who can stomach such a thing?
But in the end, Regulus stays loyal to the cause.
When his Lord is vanished -never killed nor defeated, Regulus only has the vaguest idea of what to do, but he knows the locket is one piece, knowing Voldemort, there must be more. He starts making floo calls.
Did the Dark Lord ever ask you to safe keep an object?
Lucious. Bellatrix.
A diary. A cup. A locket.
A cursed decade.
One more war.
These are the thoughts interrupted by knocking at the library's thick, cherrywood doors. The arrival does not wait for a reply, the knock heralding his presence rather than an askance for permission. Regulus looks over at the green eyes at his door, a deadened expression on his nephew's face, and wonders what Sirius would do to him if he knew what type of trouble Harry is into.
Pureblooded Death Eater Regulus Black, an accomplice to a teenager's whims.
"Harry," he greets, motioning for him to join him in the middle of the library. The young man's steps are silent on the light-colored rug as he settles on the adjacent armchair, and Regulus purses his lip in disapproval at the way he takes off his shoes to curl socked feet onto the chair.
"Hailie," the young man calls. Pop and the elf manifests.
"Special tea, Mister Hadrian?" The young man nods, pressing hands to his face.
"Thank you," he gets out. Regulus is never less impressed by the fondness in Hailie's expression when it comes to Harry. With another soft pop, she's gone. "It's been a long week, Uncle," he murmurs. Regulus swallows. He'd been curious as to what would've brought Harry to his door; he should have suspected it'd be this. He's glad Melva is visiting family in France; his wife doesn't tend to be so cavalier about Harry's consistent sneaking out of boarding school. She doesn't approve much of Harry's activities at all, actually.
"Lucius might've mentioned it." Harry lets his hands drop to give Regulus an unimpressed stare, it's cold, indeed, but Regulus has known Harry since he was a toddler. He catches on to the annoyance with ease.
"Does he not keep anything to himself?"
"...Not really," Regulus admits, then steels his resolve. "Did the Dark Lord really...?" His answer is a measured stare. Harry's out of uniform, of course, wearing black pants and an oversized green hoodie. He looks like a muggle, a well-educated one surely, of good breeding with delicate features and arched brows. Hadrian looks like a rebellious child, fighting back against traditional parents. He looks nothing like the vital piece in Lord Voldemort's success in taking over Britain.
"Do you really want to know?" No, Regulus definitely does not want to know. Alas, as the only responsible parental figure in Harry's life who is aware of his rather extreme extracurriculars, someone has to. Telling Harry that is a sure-fire way of losing him, though. Regulus does things the Slytherin way and goads him.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," he offers magnanimously, biting his cheek at Harry's irritated expression.
"Don't try that with me," he warns, and Regulus replies with nothing but innocence shining in his grey eyes. "It doesn't matter," he dismisses, which is clearly a yes. "It was a small price to pay anyway; I expected a lot worse."
"Killing Barty was risky, Harry," the older wizard concurs, "I'd say too risky."
"He was getting in the way," Harry dismisses.
"I rather think you were peeved he signed Charlie up for that tournament."
"Considering I pulled his beating heart out of his chest," Harry voices darkly, "I'd say I was a lot more than peeved."
"What reason are we supposed to give the circles?"
Hailie materializes out of thin air, handing Harry his tea and a couple of crackers. Harry looks exhausted, but he musters a charming smile for the elf. She squeaks, flustered at the praise of all things, and disappears once more. Harry brings the teacup closer, taking a whisk of the smell before taking a sip. He sighs, content, before tensing up as he answers Regulus' previews questions.
"That no one touches Charlus Potter. Not even the Dark Lord, and certainly none of his dirty death eaters." He looks up where he's being lost in the ripples of darkened tea, eyes honest. "No offense."
"I'd be more concerned with hypocrisy," Regulus answers dryly, "but none taken."
"Or you can say I didn't like a young thing licking the Dark Lord's boots,"
"Am I really supposed to sell the idea that you were jealous?"
"They think I'm crazy anyway," the teenager shrugs.
"A strategy I still struggle to respect."
"I didn't know you had respect for me at all," the comment seems to be more biting than intended, Harry having leaned out of his chair to stare Regulus down. Now, deflated, he rests against the white leather of the armchair. Too jaded for being only seventeen.
"You've had a rough week." The younger man offers a hum, it doesn't sound quite as agreement, but knowing Harry, it might as well be.
"Did you know?" he asks wistfully, "Lily Potter was rescued from the Lake this week partly due to my help?" Ah, that would definitely do it. "I've never felt so dirty." Dark amusement grips Regulus' heart, once more in awe at Harry's ability to handle the situation he's continually evoking.
"Really? That's what does it?"
"Are you asking me about other occasions? Because last week, Uncle, after curfew, I found myself in the Dark Lord's study. Not-" his eyes narrow, "-that we were there long, Tom isn't as patient as he seems..."
"Merlin, Harry," Regulus cuts him off, experience already pushing down whatever mental imagery his nephew is willing to construe, "I take it back."
"You know..." Harry's smile is small and devious, but genuine. Regulus is always relieved when he is witness to it. It looks like hope to him, an unwhispered promise that they might genuinely make it to the other side of this. "You and Severus are so easy to tease."
"Are you still using his chimney?"
"Of course,"
"I thought you had a portkey."
"I do." Now the smile is all teeth. "Small pleasures, Uncle, small pleasures."
"I will now very politely move the subject to less harrowing topics."
"Agreed," the other concedes gracefully, "our first timeline is coming up."
"I think we're acting too soon."
Hadrian shakes his head.
"I am absolutely sure Tom can take him, and I want this war to end as soon as possible. It's consumed enough of Charlie's life as it is."
What about your life? Regulus doesn't ask.
"When then?"
"The last tournament," Harry tells him, "we just need to make sure that when Tom arrives, Dumbledore will be there to greet him."
Until next time :)