The Black family dinner unfolded in the dimly lit grand dining room, cloaked in an atmosphere of austere opulence. Deep, dark tapestries adorned the walls, absorbing any stray hint of light that dared to intrude upon the somber atmosphere. The long dining table, polished to a mirror-like sheen, hosted an array of delicate silverware. Yet, despite the grandeur, an oppressive silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the measured clinking of cutlery against ornate china.
Seated at the table were Sirius, Regulus, Orion, and Walburga. Each family member was lost in their own thoughts, and a palpable tension hung in the air, thickening the silence like a heavy fog. The only audible sounds were the occasional sighs and the soft rustle of fabric as they mechanically went through the motions of eating.
The patriarch of the family raised a fork to his mouth, preparing to take a bite of his steak when an abrupt burning sensation seared through his left arm. The knife slipped from his hand, clattering against the porcelain plate, a disruptive sound in the otherwise hushed room. He rose abruptly from his chair, his sudden movement jolting the other family members into a collective gaze.
"Where are you going, Orion? We're having dinner," Walburga's voice cut through the silence, tense and disapproving. Her brow furrowed slightly, a sign of irritation.
"I just remembered that I promised Henri to bring him some documents," Orion replied, the timbre of his voice low and measured. His eyes locked onto Regulus with a directive intensity. "You're coming with me."
Regulus nodded, his movements calculated as he wiped the corners of his mouth with the napkin in his lap. Rising from his chair, he followed his father, the heavy silence lingering in their wake as they left the dining room and disappeared down the dimly lit hallway toward Orion's study.
"What's wrong, Father?" his son inquired, closing the study door behind him.
"It's Hermione," he whispered, sweeping documents off his desk with a swift motion of his hand. Tapping his wand on the surface, a detailed map materialized. "Take my arm." Orion instructed, his gaze penetrating on the map as Regulus complied and in an instant, they vanished from the study.
They reappeared at their destination, a cold and desolate scene where Orion rushed toward a prone figure lying in the snow, with Regulus trailing closely behind. "It-it's Hermione," his son whispered, dread pooling in his stomach at the sight of crimson staining the pristine white.
"Son, look at me," Gray worried eyes met his, as he spoke with a reassuring intensity. "She's going to be fine, okay? But I need you to take her inside while I call Lyall and Dorea."
Regulus cradled Hermione in his arms, navigating the delicate dance of supporting her limp form. Inside the Lupin house, the contrast of warmth enveloped them as he laid her on the couch, the flickering flames in the fireplace casting a dance of shadows on the walls.
"What do I do now?" Regulus whispered to himself, glancing nervously at Hermione. He ran his hand through her hair, strands falling delicately through his fingers, and took a seat in a nearby chair, cradling her hand in his.
"Lyall, listen to me," his father's words held a gravity that echoed through the receiver. "I need you to come to your house—no, don't bring Hope—I don't know what happened—okay, bye."
Hanging up the phone, Orion turned to his son, who remained steadfast by Hermione's side. "She reeks of black magic, Father," Regulus confessed, his voice barely above a breath. "Who could have done such a thing to her?"
"That's what we're going to find out, but she's a strong girl, Regulus," Orion assured, his voice carrying the weight of both fatherly concern and determination. "The fact that she survived one of these attacks shows how powerful she is. Remember she fought a war. She's going to get out of this."
The minutes stretched into eternity as both of them sat, anticipating the arrival of the girl's father. The distant hum of a car engine signaled Lyall's approach, and through the door, he staggered into the room, his eyes widening in distress as he took in the scene.
"Oh my god, Mimi," he cried out, rushing toward the couch but halting, a mix of fear and concern etched on his features. "What happened?" He looked at Orion, desperation burning in his eyes. "My daughter reeks of black magic."
"Someone has attacked her," Orion reported solemnly. "We don't know who it was, but when we arrived, there was a lot of blood, and she was lying in the snow. But she's breathing. She's going to recover, but we need Dorea, and you can't stay here. It's not safe until we find out what happened."
"What do I tell Hope? It's Christmas, Orion, I can't—" Lyall's frustration manifested in the gesture of running his hand through his hair. "We can't take her to St. Mungo's," he whispered, his gaze fixed on his daughter.
"You will tell Hope that someone broke into your house and attacked Hermione, hit her head, and that you will stay temporarily at Potter Manor, at least until we find out what happened," Orion instructed, extending a supportive hand to his friend. "You'll be fine there, and you'll spend Christmas together. I know it's not ideal, but it'll do for now. I'm sorry, Lyall."
Lyall nodded, the weight of the situation evident in the deliberate steps he took toward the phone. With a deep breath, he picked up the receiver. "Honey, I— something happened."
The soft glow of the fireplace cast a warm radiance upon the walls adorned with garlands and twinkling lights. The sweet melodies of Christmas carols wafted through the air, intertwining with the rich aroma of evergreen and the savory notes of a meticulously prepared holiday feast.
"And then James-" Remus began, intending to spin in an animated tale that would surely have James and his parents erupting into laughter.
The idyllic scene was interrupted by Bailey, the Potters' house elf, "Lady Potter, they are requesting you at the door. They claim it is urgent,",her high-pitched voice momentarily cutting through the cheerful atmosphere. Dorea raised an elegant eyebrow at the clock in curiosity and mild concern, noting the lateness of the hour. She wasn't expecting anyone, and a frown creased her forehead as she wiped the corner of her lips with a napkin, her poise undisturbed.
Charlus made a move to rise, concern etched on his features, but the elf stopped him. "They have insisted that only Lady Potter answer the door, Lord Potter," Bailey explained, causing the patriarch to cast a curious glance at his wife. Respecting the elf's wishes, he settled back into his chair, and James and Remus exchanged quizzical glances, wondering about the unexpected interruption.
"Darling, don't worry. I won't be long," Dorea reassured, a fleeting smile gracing her lips as she gracefully rose from the table. She made her way through the festively decorated hallways until she reached the imposing front door of Potter Manor. As she swung open the imposing front door of Potter Manor, an unusual assembly greeted her— Orion with his son Regulus, and the Lupin couple with Hermione cradled in Lyall's arms.
"Dorea, I'm sorry I didn't warn you sooner, but we have a problem," Lyall's voice, laced with urgency, prompted Dorea's discerning eyes to scan the worried faces of the newcomers, paying special attention to the distress etched on Hope's face.
"Come in," she welcomed, stepping back to allow them entry. The group moved inside, shedding coats that Bailey took with a worried glance at Hermione's unconscious form. "Thank you, Bailey. You can leave now. I'll take it from here." The elf bowed and vanished with a soft pop.
"She's been attacked," Orion disclosed to his aunt, walking through the opulent halls toward the south wing of the manor. "She reeks of black magic, and when Regulus and I arrived, Hermione had lost a significant amount of blood."
"Lay her down here," Dorea instructed as they entered a room. The space was dominated by a grand four-poster bed, crafted from the finest mahogany with the Potter family crest proudly displayed. Burgundy velvet curtains cascaded around the towering frame, creating an air of regality.
Dark wood Victorian furniture adorned the room, intricately carved and adorned with brass accents. A wardrobe, a dressing table, and bedside tables stood as silent witnesses to the family's long history. Plush chairs and a chaise lounge, upholstered in rich burgundy fabric, offered inviting respites for moments of contemplation. The carpet underfoot was a dense tapestry of patterns, mirroring the deep hues of maroon.
"My daughter. Is she going to be okay?" Hope's voice wavered with fear as she watched Dorea take out her wand and run it over Hermione's unconscious body. Lyall pulled his wife into a comforting hug, placing a kiss on the top of her head.
"Mimi is in the best hands," Lyall reassured her, watching the lady of the house work. "Besides, we've raised a strong girl, honey. She'll get through this. Why don't we go see Remus and let Dorea work?"
"Go easy, Regulus and I are here," Orion encouraged, settling into a chair in the corner of the room. Regulus followed suit, sitting on the opposite side of the bed and taking Hermione's hand.
"I can't read her mind," Dorea mused, her eyes narrowing as she observed the unconscious body. "Her mind is like a fortress with gates that cannot be breached. Perfecting Occlumency to the point of it becoming second nature, even in unconsciousness? She's not even aware she's doing it."
"That's impossible," Orion stood up, approaching the bed with his wand drawn. "Legilimens," he uttered, pointing it toward Hermione. He found himself abruptly immersed in the girl's mind, only to be violently pushed out, stumbling over a chair. "How is it possible?"
Regulus erupted into laughter, drawing confused glances from those in the room. "I can't believe she did it... and unconscious to make matters worse."
"Regulus, son, what do you mean she did it?" Orion and Dorea exchanged puzzled glances, trying to decipher the youngest Black family member's revelation. "Do you know what happened?"
"I... Hermione has been insisting on perfecting her Occlumency shields for weeks. She's spent sleepless nights, and we practiced non-stop because she said she had to be able to do it in her sleep. And she achieved it," Regulus explained, a watery laugh escaping him before he clamped his mouth shut upon realizing he was crying.
"Hey," Dorea walked over to give him a comforting hug, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. "She's going to recover. The worst part is over, and now we just have to wait for her to wake up. She's a strong girl."
"I can't lose her," Regulus whispered, allowing himself to be embraced, "she's the most important person in my life." The room held an air of collective concern, a silent acknowledgment of the fragility of the bonds that tied them together in that moment of uncertainty.
"Dad, mom, what are you doing here?" Remus greeted them with a jovial smile, rising from the table. "Where—Where's Mimi?" His expression darkened as he noticed the tears in his mother's eyes, a sudden heaviness settling over the room.
"Rem, honey, I'm so sorry," His mother embraced him, and he returned the hug, an ominous feeling settling over him. His father placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, his eyes reflecting deep concern as he observed his family.
"Your sister has been attacked," Lyall gently informed his eldest son. "We don't know what happened, but she's breathing. We're going to stay here for probably the rest of the Christmas holiday until we make sure it's safe to return to our house. You understand, right?"
Remus nodded, a mixture of shock and fear clouding his usually composed demeanor. The revelation that his little sister had been attacked shook him to the core, and a sense of guilt gnawed at him for not being there to protect her. "Where is she? Is she here or in St. Mungo's?"
"She's in the south wing of the manor. Dorea, Orion, and Regulus are with her. You can go with James if you want. Be strong; your sister is going to—she's going to need us strong, okay, buddy?"
James, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, swiftly rose to accompany Remus to see his sister. They moved through the hallways in somber silence, the curious gazes of the portraits following them until they reached the hallway leading to Hermione's temporary room.
"I can't," Remus whispered, halting a few steps from the door. "I can't.
As he contemplated turning back, James intervened, placing a reassuring hand on Remus's shoulder. "She's your sister, Moony."
"I know she's my sister, Prongs," Remus stressed, terror reflected in his chocolate eyes. "She's my little sister." James understood at that moment that what scared his friend was losing his little sister and the guilt of not having been there to protect her when the attack had happened.
"She's a feisty girl," he remarked, attempting to lighten the mood with a small smile. "Or at least that's what you always say when people ask you what she's like. Always protecting you when you were kids, right?"
Remus chuckled wistfully, recalling the childhood antics. "She always came home with some scrapes and bruises or a bloody knuckle. Mom always worried, but Mimi said it was nothing. I think she sometimes forgets that I'm her older brother, you know?"
"Then be her big brother," his friend urged sincerely. "Go in there and do what she does every full moon. Whatever you decide, I'll be right behind you."
With a deep breath, Remus stared at the door for a moment. "You can do it," he whispered to himself, determination rising. His trembling hand reached for the doorknob, and with a slow turn, the door clicked open.
The next few days unfolded in a constant flux of Hermione's friends coming and going. The room took on the appearance of a makeshift camp, with several beds scattered on the floor, forming a protective ring around the unconscious girl on the bed.
"We're going to make them pay, right? Whoever did this to Mia is going to wish they'd never been born," Evan asserted confidently, his posture relaxed in a chair with his feet nonchalantly propped at the foot of Hermione's bed.
The room, bathed in the soft glow of dimmed lights, held an undercurrent of collective worry as friends took turns visiting and keeping vigil. Alice, her eyes welling with tears, gazed at her peacefully sleeping friend, her vulnerability laid bare.
"Who could have done something like that to her?" she questioned, the room momentarily silenced by the gravity of the situation. "She has never hurt anyone," she continued, amending her statement amid scattered snorts. "Okay, yes, she has hurt someone, but that was only once," she rolled her eyes, adding a touch of levity. "You guys are very mature, seriously."
"Now that Mia is 'dead' to the world, let's talk about the elephant in the room," Arabella proposed, directing a pointed look at her friends. "She killed her ex for cheating on her and a nasty comment about her brother. To me, that sounds a bit extremist; I don't know what it seems to you."
"There is a reason for what happened," Regulus's voice cut through the murmurs, his presence commanding attention. "But you will have to wait for her to wake up. You have to trust her. Nothing she does is pure chance."
Suspicion lingered in the air as Barty pointed an accusatory finger at Regulus. "What do you know? How do you want us to trust her if she—if you keep secrets from us?"
"That's what trust is about, right? Not understanding and still knowing there's a reason behind it." Regulus rose from his seat with restrained anger, running a hand through his hair. A charged silence enveloped the room. "When we swore this," he pointed to his ring finger, "we promised each other that we would blindly trust each other no matter what. What will happen? This is one of those moments."
"What do we know about the attack?" Lucy interjected, steering the conversation away from the tension. "Black magic, what else?"
"Our parents think the culprit was some follower of Tom Riddle," Evan added lazily, kicking off his shoes. "They didn't find anything at the Lupines' house."
"How did she survive the attack?" Alice asked, her green eyes locked on Hermione, observing the rise and fall of her chest.
"Using transmutation," Regulus revealed, prompting wide-eyed surprise from everyone. "When my father and I arrived, there was a huge crack in the ground like a crooked line and remains of an ice barrier that my father said had Mia's magical imprint all over."
Before the discussion could delve deeper into speculation, the door creaked open, and Hope entered, bearing a tray of hot chocolate and cookies for her daughter's friends. Her weariness was evident, dark circles underlining her eyes, and her smiles were more infrequent.
"How are you guys? I brought you hot chocolate and some cookies. I know they're not the same as Mimi's—"
"It's perfect," Lucy interrupted with a kind smile, the warmth of gratitude evident on everyone's faces. They understood the situation must be challenging for Hope, a Muggle, amidst magical circumstances.
"I, uh, Lyall and I wanted to thank you for, well, being here," Hope whispered tiredly, her eyes fixed on her daughter. "Mimi was always the daughter who gave us the most headaches, you know? And that's taking into account that our son is a werewolf.
"Typical Mia," Evan commented, injecting a bit of humor to lighten the somber mood. "Leaving it to her to be more troublesome than a werewolf."
Hope smiled, looking at her daughter's friends scattered around the room. "I'm glad to know that my daughter has her own support system when Lyall, Remus, or I aren't there for her. You can't imagine how hard it is for me to think that a non-magical doctor can't cure her."
"But the worry is the same," Alice interjected, her gaze conveying sympathy. "You're her mother, and a mother's worry is the same whether you're a Muggle or not."
"Alice is right; Mia is a fundamental piece in our lives. We are never going to abandon her. She is always the one who comes to our aid without us telling her. It is only fair that we pay her in the same coin." Barty declared, and many voices supported him, saying, "Of course," "You're absolutely right."
"Thanks, guys. You don't know how much it means to me that you're all here."
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, the soft glow of moonlight revealing the unfamiliar surroundings of a cozy room. The air was still and quiet, and she felt a dull ache all over her body. Confused, she tried to piece together what had happened.
As she turned her head, her eyes landed on the figure seated in a chair near her bed, and she squinted in the low light to see James, casually seated in a chair beside her bed, his feet comfortably propped up on the edge. A book lay open on his lap, and he seemed entirely engrossed in its contents.
Her voice, still raspy from the long slumber, cut through the quiet room. "Enjoying the book, Potter?" she murmured, her lips curving into a faint smile.
James, absorbed in his reading, responded absentmindedly, "Yes, it's quite interesting—"
Suddenly, he snapped his head up, his eyes widening with surprise as he saw Hermione awake. Her small, amused giggle filled the room. He pushed the book aside, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he approached her bed.
She chuckled weakly. "Interesting enough to keep you from noticing I've been awake for a while?"
James grinned sheepishly, ruffling his hair. "Well, I suppose I got a bit carried away. How are you feeling?" he asked, careful not to startle her.
"Sore," she admitted, wincing slightly as she shifted in the bed.
Worry etched across James' face, and he immediately offered, "Do you want me to call your parents or something? We can get you anything you need."
Hermione shook her head gently, glancing at the clock. "No, it's late. I don't want to bother anyone." With that, she pulled back the sheets, creating a space next to her.
He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on his lips. "If I recall correctly, Miss Lupin, you once told me you didn't want to sleep with me." he teased.
Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "You're such an idiot. Now, are you getting in or not? My arm won't hold out much longer."
James chuckled and obliged, sliding into bed and pulling the quilt over them. "Welcome back, Angel," he whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist. The warmth of his embrace and the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped her, making her feel safe and at home.
"It's good to be back," she whispered, her eyes closing as sleep claimed her once more.