Chapter 64 - Sacrifice
Fifteen years had passed since Voldemort's defeat, a milestone that resonated throughout the wizarding world. The scars of war had faded but not disappeared, leaving an indelible mark on those who had fought so valiantly.
Harry and Tracey's wedding was an intimate affair, a quiet celebration of love amidst the chaos of Harry's public life. Their ceremony, attended only by their nearest and dearest, reflected their shared desire for privacy—a rare commodity for the Boy Who Lived.
In the years that followed, Harry turned his attention to Potter Manor. The ancestral home, long neglected, stood as a silent testament to the family he had lost. With determination and reverence, he breathed life back into its weathered stones, transforming the manor into a beacon of hope and new beginnings. In a poignant gesture, he relocated his parents' graves to the grounds, ensuring they would forever be part of his growing family's life.
The manor soon echoed with the laughter of children. James, their firstborn, now 12, inherited Harry's unruly mop and Tracey's vivacious spirit. Hazel, 11, followed, her mother's wit sharpening behind her father's emerald eyes. Evan, the youngest at 10, completed their brood—a thoughtful child who mirrored Harry's contemplative nature.
Rigel and Daphne's family grew swiftly and surely. Their eldest, Orion, now 14, came into the world as they left Hogwarts, the first of four to carry the Black name. Three daughters followed—Lyra, 13, Vega, 12, and Cassiopeia, 11—each a unique blend of their parents' strength and grace. Perseus, the youngest at 10, inherited the Greengrass name, fulfilling the terms of their marriage contract.
After Perseus was born, Daphne began to notice something she hadn't expected: irregular pain and an unusual fatigue that seemed to follow her more and more as time passed. She brushed it off, attributing it to the strains of parenthood and the natural effects of getting older. With five children to raise and a demanding life alongside Rigel, she kept the discomfort to herself, convincing herself it was nothing serious. Her focus remained on her family and her spellcraft, the quiet aches merely a background to the life she had built.
While Hermione and Ernie had yet to wed, their lives intertwined as they shared a home in one of the Macmillan properties. Hermione's career, however, took an unexpected turn. In the wake of Madam Bones' clash with Rigel, the political tides shifted. Rigel, ever the strategist, orchestrated Bones' departure from office. To Harry's initial surprise, Hermione emerged as her successor. Despite his reservations, Harry supported Rigel's choice, recognising Hermione's innate political acumen. She quickly proved herself an exceptional Minister of Magic, leveraging her position to further the Order of the Black Cat's agenda.
Astoria and Ginny's union faced its own challenges, particularly from Molly Weasley's disapproval. In a bold move, Ginny adopted the Greengrass name, distancing herself from her family's prejudices. The couple, along with Luna, their chosen partner, settled into a former Black family estate—a gift from Daphne, symbolising acceptance and new beginnings.
The Order also introduced new laws that brought sweeping changes to wizarding society, aiming to erase the outdated "Muggleborn," "Halfblood," and "Pureblood" classifications. The most controversial measure required that magical children born to Muggles be placed with wizarding families. Muggle parents, unaware of their loss, had their memories altered, while their children found homes with those unable to have their own - including same-sex couples and single parents longing for a family. Under these reforms, Ginny, Astoria, and Luna each adopted a child, becoming some of the first to benefit from the new laws.
This policy sparked intense debate. Supporters within the Order argued it was crucial for preserving and growing the wizarding world. They believed it would create a more unified society, free from the prejudices that had divided them for generations. Critics, however, saw it as a violation of Muggle rights and family bonds.
Despite the controversy, the Order pressed forward, convinced that these difficult choices were necessary for the greater good of their world. The adoptions of Ginny, Astoria, and Luna's children became symbols of this new era - a future where magical ability, not blood status, determined one's place in society.
Harry had initially been vehemently opposed to the new laws, outraged by the idea of separating magical children from their Muggle parents. He saw it as a cruel violation of family bonds, something that mirrored the worst excesses of the past. But when Rigel reminded him of the harm that Muggles could cause—using Harry's own life as an example—his perspective began to shift. Rigel pointed out that Harry himself, though not Muggleborn, had suffered greatly at the hands of Muggles, as had Voldemort. Both had grown up in neglectful or abusive environments, their magic hidden and suppressed, their potential stifled. "Think of how different your childhood could have been, Harry," Rigel had said, his tone firm but not unkind. "Had you been raised by a loving wizarding family, free from fear and hatred, you might have been spared so much pain." That argument struck a chord, and with a heavy heart, Harry found himself reluctantly supporting the law. It was a difficult compromise, but one he came to believe might spare others the suffering he had endured.
Neville's post-war life hadn't unfolded as he'd envisioned. While his friends found solace in matrimony and careers, his path meandered. His relationship with Hannah Abbott offered a gentle respite from war's lingering shadows, but Augusta Longbottom's passing shattered his world. His grandmother's death left a void that echoed with years of expectations and unwavering support.
Their wedding plans withered as Neville retreated into his verdant sanctuary. The greenhouses became his refuge, where magical flora's quiet hum soothed his raw grief. Amidst the earthy aromas and vibrant life, he found a semblance of peace, if not healing. His involvement with the Order of the Black Cat dwindled to perfunctory Wizengamot votes, his decisions still aligned with their agenda. Though he clung to their mission, he craved distance. For now, his world narrowed to soil-stained hands and the tender shoots of new growth.
Meanwhile, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks had found happiness amidst the chaos. The two had married quietly not long after the war, and soon after, their son, Edward "Teddy" Lupin, was born. With Tonks' bright hair and Remus' quiet strength, Teddy was a symbol of the life they had fought for, a reminder of hope in a world still healing. Remus, wanting to ensure his son had the right guidance if anything were to happen, named Harry as Teddy's godfather—a role Harry took to heart with the same quiet determination that had defined his years of battle.
Shortly after Teddy's birth, Remus made the decision to quit his job as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. He became a stay-at-home father, dedicating himself fully to raising Teddy while Tonks advanced her career as an Auror. Within the Order of the Black Cat, the pair became known as the best trackers in the organisation, their combined skills in stealth and detection unmatched. Remus' sharp mind and Tonks' adaptability made them an indispensable team, able to find anyone and anything, anywhere—no matter how well-hidden.
The Order of the Black Cat had burgeoned in Voldemort's wake. Whispers of their influence permeated Wizarding Britain, their crucial role in the final battle impossible to conceal. Few grasped the extent of their power, but rumours ran rife. Some believed they puppeteered the Ministry—a suspicion not far from truth. The Order's grip on Wizarding Britain was near-absolute, though cloaked in shadow.
Their grand vision to reshape the wizarding world, however, had faltered. Early triumphs in law reform and societal restructuring had plateaued. Denmark stood as a rare international success, with Layla—now married to a prominent politician and the Order's first international member—establishing a Danish branch. But beyond this, progress crawled. Other nations proved resistant to the Order's sweeping reforms.
Rigel, ever the strategist, recognised that global influence hinged on controlling the International Confederation of Wizards. A sympathetic Supreme Mugwump could catapult their agenda onto the world stage. The predicament lay in Harry being the sole viable candidate.
Harry baulked at the notion. Despite his wartime leadership and enduring fame, he shunned the spotlight of global politics. Content with his behind-the-scenes role and focus on family, he resisted Rigel's persistent, albeit careful, pressure. Without Harry, their international aspirations seemed to wither.
Domestically, Rigel had cultivated a thriving, peaceful Britain. Order members held key Ministry positions, ensuring that the country was guided by a steady hand, with decisions that favoured unity and prosperity. But it was Rigel's mastery of illusion magic that truly solidified his control. His illusions had become so advanced that they no longer required constant attention; instead, they operated independently, woven from a unique form of magic that allowed them to exist autonomously, though they still needed periodic adjustments to remain flawless. These illusions, when created, were indistinguishable from reality—solid, tangible, and able to interact with the world as if they were living beings. These illusions required significant magical power to create and maintain, meaning Rigel could only sustain a few of them at a time.
His most famous creation was Alain Delacroix, a fabricated French Dark wizard who had seemingly taken up the mantle of leading the remnant Death Eaters. Delacroix provided the perfect figurehead for the scattered followers of Voldemort, allowing Rigel to control and manipulate them from behind the scenes. As long as the illusion remained convincing, Delacroix served as the unifying leader for those still clinging to Voldemort's ideology, keeping them in line while maintaining Rigel's carefully orchestrated peace.
Harry had advocated using Delacroix to trap and imprison the remaining Death Eaters. But Rigel and Daphne proposed a different strategy, rooted in their cynical view of human nature. They argued that crime, an ineradicable facet of humanity, could be controlled and directed to minimise harm. Allowing Delacroix to helm a carefully orchestrated criminal network would keep it contained and manageable.
Despite his misgivings, Harry was outvoted. The Order's leadership structure compelled him to acquiesce. Though unsettled, he couldn't deny the results. Wizarding Britain flourished—crime rates plummeted, prosperity soared, and the population steadily grew. Their reforms had forged a largely content and unified society. This peace, while divergent from Harry's vision, was hard to dispute in the face of such success.
Rigel had grown so busy in recent years that Harry rarely saw him anymore. The once inseparable Godbrothers, who had faced down Voldemort and the darkest moments of their lives together, now found their paths diverging. Rigel, ever the ambitious mastermind, was more burdened than Harry had ever seen him. The rare times they did meet were during the summer holidays, when all their children were home from Hogwarts. Playdates at Potter Manor or family vacations were the only occasions where the two families could truly come together.
Even then, Harry noticed the strain on Rigel. His Godbrother, once so full of life and energy, seemed perpetually tired, his face lined with the weight of his double life. Rigel's responsibilities had only grown over the years, balancing his public persona as Lord Black, the charismatic and powerful leader of one of the most ancient wizarding families, and his secret identity as Jingles, the shadowy de facto leader of the Order of the Black Cat. On top of it all, Rigel was further drained by the constant upkeep of the Delacroix illusion, a demanding creation that required regular magical reinforcement to remain undetected. Harry could only imagine how taxing it must have been to manage both worlds while keeping his true role hidden from even their closest allies.
Despite Rigel's absence, Harry and Tracey found joy in watching their children grow close to Rigel and Daphne's brood. It was a relief to see that, despite the darkness the parents had endured, their children could still form bonds of friendship, unaffected by the burdens of leadership and secrecy that weighed so heavily on their parents. James, Harry and Tracey's eldest, had been sorted into Gryffindor, much to Harry's pride, carrying on the Potter family legacy in the same house Harry had called home.
To their surprise, Hazel had been sorted into Hufflepuff, a decision that had taken Harry aback at first, though he quickly grew to appreciate it. Hazel embodied the traits of Hufflepuff—kindness, loyalty, and a quiet, unshakeable strength. He often thought that his daughter had inherited more of her mother's spirit, her groundedness and warmth, and that was something Harry deeply admired. Evan was still too young for Hogwarts, but he was already showing signs of magical talent, and Harry couldn't wait to see which path he would take.
In contrast, all of Rigel and Daphne's school-age children found their home in Slytherin. Orion quickly made a name for himself, reminiscent of his father's school days, while his sisters Lyra, Vega, and Cassiopeia followed suit, each showcasing the cunning and ambition prized by their house. Rather than causing tension, the house divide added a rich dimension to their intertwined family dynamics.
For the first time in his life, Harry felt a deep sense of contentment. His home echoed with laughter, his family thrived, and the country enjoyed a hard-won peace. The shadows of his turbulent past had receded, giving way to a brighter present. As he sat with Tracey, watching their children play in the expansive grounds of Potter Manor, Harry allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. The battles of his youth now seemed like distant memories, almost belonging to another lifetime.
For now, life was good.
~~~o~~~
Black Castle's halls echoed with an unnatural silence, the absence of children palpable now that the new school year had begun. With Orion, Lyra, Vega, and Cassiopeia back at Hogwarts, only young Perseus remained at home with Rigel and Daphne.
In his dimly lit office, Rigel was engrossed in his work, barely noticing the quiet around him. The delicate balance of his dual roles as Lord Black and leader of the Order of the Black Cat consumed his attention, leaving little room for anything else.
Meanwhile, Daphne sat with Perseus in the study, her sharp blue eyes watching as he practised wand movements for Charms. It was both a lesson and an excuse to spend time with her youngest. "Keep your wrist loose," she instructed calmly. When he finally mastered the movement, a rare smile graced her face. "Good. That will give you a head start at Hogwarts."
Pleased with his progress, Daphne turned her attention to refining a spell that had occupied her thoughts for weeks. Her reputation as an innovative spell creator had grown since the war, but she treasured these quiet moments with her son.
Daphne's vision blurred as she watched Perseus perfect his wand movements, her body suddenly feeling as if it had been drained of all strength. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped her lips, but before she could even process the sensation, her knees buckled. The room spun, and the comforting sight of her son vanished, replaced by a darkness that engulfed her completely. The last thing she felt was the rush of cold marble against her skin as her body collapsed to the floor. Perseus's panicked shout echoed distantly, but she could no longer hear it.
~~~o~~~
Daphne's consciousness returned slowly, her eyelids fluttering open to a dimly lit room. She was in her bed, the familiar silk sheets cool against her skin. The warmth of the fire from the hearth flickered in the corner, but her focus was drawn to the low, tense voices nearby.
Rigel's voice, sharp with concern, cut through the haze clouding her mind. "This is my wife," he was saying, the authority in his tone unmistakable. "I expect you to do everything you can. I don't care what it takes—find out what's wrong with her."
Daphne blinked, her vision clearing as she took in the scene. Rigel stood at the foot of the bed, his posture rigid, facing a man dressed in the white healer's robes of St. Mungo's. The doctor—pale and middle-aged, with tired eyes that spoke of long hours—was looking between a parchment and Daphne, his expression grave but calm.
"Physically, she appears to be stable," the doctor replied, his voice measured but cautious. "However, there are definite signs of a magical affliction at her core. Her magical signature is... distorted, somehow. I've never encountered anything quite like it."
Rigel's fists clenched at his sides, his voice hardening. "She's had recurring pain and fatigue over the years. It never seemed severe enough for concern—she brushed it off as stress from the war and, later, from motherhood. As for her family history... her parents died long ago. I'll need to consult their records in the family vault."
The doctor gave a thoughtful nod, scratching something on his parchment before speaking again. "That may be a wise place to start. Magical conditions can sometimes be hereditary, especially if they were not well-documented. Mrs. Black's symptoms suggest this could be something ancient or rare." He looked up. "Did she ever mention anything—any symptoms, even minor ones, before this?"
Daphne stirred then, the sound of the conversation dragging her fully from the depths of unconsciousness. She groggily pushed herself up on the bed, the soft rustling of the sheets catching Rigel's attention. His head whipped toward her, and in an instant, he was at her side, eyes wide with concern. Perseus, who had been sitting quietly near the bed, hurried over as well, his small hand reaching for his mother's.
"Daphne," Rigel breathed, gripping her hand firmly, his blue eyes searching her face for any sign of pain. "Are you alright?"
She gave him a weak smile. "I heard most of it," she said softly, glancing at the doctor. "Rigel's right. I don't know of any family illnesses, but my parents were secretive about many things. It's possible there's something in our history that I never knew about."
The doctor stepped closer, his wand in hand, performing another diagnostic spell. A soft light hovered over Daphne's body for a moment before fading. "Mrs. Black, I'm going to give you a potion to restore some of your energy, but you must take it easy. Rest is crucial." He withdrew a small vial from his robes, the liquid inside glowing faintly. "This should help you feel a bit stronger, but it's only a temporary solution."
Daphne took the potion, feeling a warmth spread through her limbs as the magic coursed through her, reviving her just enough to sit up fully. "Thank you," she murmured, handing the empty vial back.
The doctor nodded, slipping the vial into his bag. "You mustn't strain yourself, Mrs. Black. We need more information before I can determine the best course of action. Rest, caution, and above all, avoid using magic until we know more." He glanced at Rigel, his tone shifting slightly. "Mr. Black, please keep me updated with anything you find from the family records."
"Of course," Rigel replied, his voice still thick with worry. "We'll get to the bottom of this."
With that, the doctor bowed slightly and turned to leave. "I'll return once you've gathered more information. Don't hesitate to call if anything changes," he said before disappearing through the doorway.
As the door closed, Rigel let out a long, frustrated sigh, sinking into the chair beside the bed. "I should have looked into this earlier," he muttered, his hand still clutching Daphne's. "I've felt your fatigue through the bond for years, but we both dismissed it as stress—children, the war, all of it. I should have known better."
Daphne's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "You couldn't have known, Rigel. We both thought it was nothing more than the weight of our responsibilities. Don't blame yourself. We'll figure this out, just like we always do."
Her voice was calm but steady, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll write to Tori," she added, her mind already turning to her younger sister. "Maybe she remembers something. I'll ask if she knows anything about illness in our family—"
"Absolutely not," Rigel cut in, his voice firm. "You are staying in bed, Daphne. I'll write to Astoria. You need to rest, like the doctor said."
Daphne narrowed her eyes, the hint of a protest forming on her lips, but the stern expression on Rigel's face made it clear he wasn't going to budge. After a moment, she sighed in defeat. "Fine. But don't hover too much," she muttered, half-amused, half-exasperated.
Rigel stood, placing a kiss on her forehead before glancing at Perseus. "Perseus, stay with Mummy. Don't let her out of bed, alright?"
Perseus nodded eagerly, puffing out his small chest with pride. "I won't let her, Dad! Promise!"
Rigel ruffled his son's hair with a smile before heading to the door. "Good boy. I'll be back soon."
As soon as Rigel left the room, Daphne turned to Perseus, her eyes softening. "Why don't you continue practising your wand movements, love? We've still got some time before your father returns."
Perseus's face lit up, and he hurried to retrieve his wand, his small frame bouncing with excitement. "Alright, Mummy!" he said, eagerly positioning himself to resume his practice. As he moved through the wand motions she had taught him earlier, Daphne watched him, her heart swelling with pride despite the lingering unease in her chest.
Whatever this was, they would face it together.
~~~o~~~
An hour later, the sound of the bedroom door opening pulled Daphne's gaze from the ceiling. Rigel strode in, his mood lighter, and following closely behind him were Astoria, Ginny, and Luna, their faces a mix of concern and determination. Rigel carried a massive stack of documents in his arms, the weight of them precarious but handled with ease. Outside, the castle was quiet—Perseus had retreated to his room, diligently practising his wand movements and studying the Charms his mother had taught him earlier.
"I brought reinforcements," Rigel said with a small, somewhat forced cheeriness. He set the pile of records on the table beside the bed with a soft thud. "We're going to figure this out together."
Astoria rushed forward, her brown hair falling in loose waves as she leaned over and hugged her sister tightly. "Daphne," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion, "we'll find out what's wrong with you. I swear it."
Daphne, though weary, managed a small smile. She squeezed her sister's hand. "Thank you, Tori."
Rigel, never one to overlook Daphne's stubbornness, handed her a neat stack of documents. "I know you wouldn't want to be left out of this," he said, his eyes catching hers, a flicker of amusement hiding beneath the concern.
Daphne took the documents gratefully, her fingers brushing the aged parchment, the familiar scent of old ink and dust filling the air. "You know me too well," she replied softly, settling back against the pillows as the others arranged themselves around the bed.
The room fell into a comfortable silence as everyone turned their attention to the mountain of Greengrass family documents. The flickering firelight cast long shadows on the walls, the quiet shuffling of parchment the only sound that filled the space. They worked methodically, page after page, searching for anything that might explain what was happening to Daphne.
It was Luna who finally broke the silence. Her usual dreamy tone was absent, replaced by a grim weight. "I think I've found something."
All eyes snapped to her as she held up a yellowed piece of parchment, her fingers delicately tracing the ancient ink. "It says here that one of the Greengrass ancestors was cursed with a blood malediction." She glanced up, her large silver eyes serious as she continued. "According to these documents, the curse claims the life of one member of the Greengrass family... every generation."
Daphne's heart plummeted, her breath catching in her throat. "What?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Luna passed her the document, and Daphne snatched it with trembling hands. She read quickly, her eyes scanning the faded script, each word sinking deeper into her chest like a dagger. The malediction was real. It was right there, recorded in cold, unflinching detail—a curse passed down through her bloodline, claiming the life of one member of each generation.
Her grip on the parchment tightened, the fragile edges crinkling as a cold, burning fury rose within her. Her parents. They must have known. They must have hidden this from her and Astoria, condemning them to ignorance. She could feel the weight of that betrayal, the icy realisation that one of her own children—Orion, Lyra, Vega, Cassiopeia, or even Perseus—could one day be claimed by this curse unless—
"Daphne." Rigel's voice cut through her spiralling thoughts, his strong hand gripping her arm gently. His blue eyes, usually so composed, now mirrored the storm of emotion she felt. He understood. They both knew the gravity of this discovery.
"We can fix this," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "We'll find a way."
Daphne's fury surged again, this time directed at the people who had kept her in the dark. "They never told us," she spat, her voice shaking with anger. "They knew, and they never said a word. How could they keep this from us? I could be dying because of their silence! And now... now, one of my children—our children—might..." She couldn't finish the thought, the words too painful to say aloud.
Astoria, her face pale and eyes wide, immediately tried to calm her sister. "Daphne, please," she said softly, her voice pleading. "Maybe they would have told us... if they hadn't been killed by Death Eaters. They might have—"
"Don't protect them!" Daphne snapped, her eyes blazing as she looked at her sister. "You know how terrible they were! They didn't care about us—about me. They cared about their reputation, about their standing, and now we're paying the price for their secrets!"
The air in the room grew tense, the charged energy crackling like static. Rigel, sensing the growing hostility, placed a calming hand on Daphne's shoulder. His touch was grounding, pulling her back from the edge of her anger. "That's enough, Daphne," he said softly but firmly. His gaze shifted to Astoria, Ginny, and Luna, his tone gentler as he added, "Thank you all for helping. We've learned more today than we could have hoped for. I'll contact some specialists—blood magic experts, curse breakers, healers—who can deal with this sort of thing."
His voice softened further as he tried to reassure them. "Don't worry. We'll find a solution. I'll keep you updated on Daphne's condition."
Astoria, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, hugged her sister tightly once more. "We'll get through this, Daphne," she whispered, her voice soft but determined. "I love you."
Daphne's heart ached, but she returned the embrace, whispering a quiet, "I love you too."
Ginny and Luna, though more reserved, each gave Daphne a look of quiet strength before they stood to leave. Luna, always a little out of step with the world, paused at the door, her silvery gaze flickering back to Daphne. "Remember, curses can be broken," she said softly, her voice carrying a faint echo of hope. "There's always a way."
With that, the three of them left, the door closing softly behind them, leaving Daphne and Rigel alone in the quiet room.
~~~o~~~
Over the next week, Daphne's condition deteriorated rapidly. Her once graceful movements had become slow and laboured, her skin growing paler, and the spark in her bright blue eyes dimmed day by day. Rigel had thrown everything at the problem—curse breakers, blood magic scholars, even dark wizards skilled in ancient rites. None of them had made progress, and with each passing failure, Rigel's hope flickered like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.
But Daphne had not been idle. Even as her strength waned, she continued to research, poring over ancient texts and magical theories, determined to find a way to save her children. And finally, she had done it—she had perfected a spell. A spell that, when cast, would destroy the malediction entirely, erasing it from her bloodline forever. The cost, however, was one she could not escape. The current host of the malediction—her—would not survive the spell. If she had more time, she might have refined it, found a way to spare herself. But time was running out. Each day she grew weaker, and soon she wouldn't even have the strength to cast the spell at all.
When Rigel entered the room, a tray in his hands, Daphne knew it was time. He placed the tray gently on the bedside table, the scent of her favourite tea wafting through the air. He turned to her, his face tired but still filled with love. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low and soft, as though afraid the very sound of it might break her.
Daphne took a deep breath, mustering the strength she needed. "Rigel," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've created a spell."
He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin as he sat beside her on the bed. "Of course you have. I knew you would—you're only the greatest spell inventor alive, after all." He kissed her forehead tenderly, his grin warm and full of pride.
Daphne smiled weakly in return, but the joy in her eyes was quickly overshadowed by the weight of what she had to say next. Her hand trembled as she reached for his. "The spell... it will work, Rigel. It will destroy the malediction and save our children... and all the generations to come."
Rigel's smile faded as he saw the sorrow in her gaze. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.
"There's a price," Daphne whispered, her voice faltering. "I... I won't survive it. The curse must die with the current host."
For a moment, Rigel's face was blank, as though he hadn't processed the words. Then, his entire expression crumbled. "No," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "No, you can't do that, Daphne. You can't—" His voice cracked, and he grabbed her hand as though holding her tightly could keep her there. "Think of our children. Think of me! You're my other half... my soulmate. I can't live without you."
Tears welled in Daphne's eyes, but she smiled softly, her fingers brushing his cheek in a tender caress. "That's why our bond is a good thing," she murmured. "I won't truly die, Rigel. A part of me... a part of my soul will always live on through you."
His grip tightened on her hand, and his voice trembled. "You can't... can't you make the spell better? Make it so you survive, too?" He was pleading now, desperate.
She shook her head gently, her energy fading faster with every word. "I've tried... but my strength is waning too fast. My time is running out."
"I'm not ready," Rigel whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't let go of you. I'll find a way. I swear, I'll dedicate everything I have to bringing you back."
Daphne nodded slowly, her gaze filled with love and trust. "I know you will," she whispered. "And I believe in you. You still have the Resurrection Stone, remember? You'll be able to talk to me... to get my help in your efforts. Together, Rigel... together we can beat this."
He reached up, mirroring her earlier gesture, gently caressing her cheek. His voice was barely audible, thick with grief. "Together."
Daphne's hand slid to his, her fingers weakly interlacing with his. "But for now... it's time to say goodbye, my love." Her voice broke slightly, and she fought back tears. "If I wait any longer, I might not have the strength to cast the spell." She took a deep breath, her eyes searching his face, memorising every detail. "Watch after our children. Tell them why I had to do this. They'll understand one day. The girls... they'll know a mother would do anything to protect her children."
Rigel's throat tightened, but he nodded, his eyes filled with unspoken promises. "I will. I swear it."
With trembling hands, Daphne pulled him close, kissing him softly—one last kiss. "I love you, Rigel," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
"I love you too," he replied, his voice thick with tears. "Forever."
Daphne raised her wand, her hand shaking as she pointed it toward her heart. The room seemed to still, the air thick with tension as the incantation left her lips in a soft, melodic whisper. Pale blue light blossomed from the tip of her wand, swirling around her body in ethereal tendrils. The magic built slowly, glowing brighter and brighter until the room was filled with its haunting, spectral glow. The tendrils of light wrapped tighter, spinning faster, and as they did, the curse—the ancient malediction—was drawn from deep within her. Dark, crackling energy coiled within the light, fighting against the spell, but Daphne's magic was too strong.
With a sudden burst of brilliance, the light flared and exploded outward, the room momentarily filled with blinding white. The force of it rattled the windows, and then, as quickly as it had come, the magic was gone.
Daphne's wand slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the bed. Her body now lay still, her hand limp in Rigel's grasp. Her chest no longer rose and fell with breath. The soft warmth of her presence had faded, leaving only a cold, lifeless shell.
Rigel's heart shattered. "Daphne!" he cried out, clutching her lifeless hand in both of his, his face crumpling as he buried it in her hair, her scent still clinging to her even in death. His tears soaked into her long, golden strands as sobs wracked his body.
The love of his life was gone. But even through the crushing pain, through the heartbreak that threatened to drown him, Rigel knew he had to be strong. For their children. And for her.
He would find a way to bring her back. He swore it.
But for now, all he could do was weep, clutching her lifeless body as the weight of her sacrifice settled over him like a storm.
~~~o~~~
The day of Daphne Black's funeral was grey, the sky heavy with clouds that threatened rain but never delivered. It was as though the world itself held its breath, brimming with unshed tears. Black Castle stood solemn and foreboding, draped in mourning as the close-knit circle of friends gathered to say goodbye to one of their own.
The ceremony was small and private, attended only by those closest to Daphne and Rigel. Harry and Tracey stood together, their hands intertwined for comfort. Hermione and Ernie lingered nearby, silent but present. Neville and Hannah, the warmth between them a quiet reassurance, stayed close as well. Astoria, Ginny, and Luna were there, too, though Astoria had barely stopped crying since her sister's death. She clung to Ginny's arm, pale and fragile, as though the loss had carved something irreparable out of her.
Remus and Tonks were also among the mourners, the weight of the loss was palpable. Tonks' usually bright hair had dulled to a sombre black, reflecting the heavy mood, while Remus wore his grief quietly, his eyes shadowed with sorrow as he offered silent support to Rigel and the others.
Even Layla had made the journey from Denmark with her husband, taking an international Portkey just to be here. Their faces, like the others, were marked with grief.
Daphne and Rigel's children had been pulled from Hogwarts to attend. Orion, the eldest, stood with a sombre, resolute expression. He was the only one of the children who truly understood why his mother had done what she did, why she had sacrificed herself to save them all. There was a flicker of determination in his eyes, a faith in his father that few could match. He tried to comfort his younger siblings—Lyra, Vega, Cassiopeia, and especially little Perseus—but it was difficult. They were all so young, and the finality of death was not something easily explained, nor easily accepted.
Cassiopeia had clung to Lyra's hand the entire time, her tears silent but constant. Lyra tried to be strong, but the occasional sob escaped her, and when it did, Orion was always there, his arms around them both, whispering reassurances that their father would bring their mother back. He had to believe it—because if he didn't, everything would fall apart.
The funeral itself was a dreadful affair. The ancient rites of the Black family were observed, blending with the solemn traditions of the Greengrasses, but there was an unspoken undercurrent of despair that ran through it all. Daphne's body lay in a pristine, enchanted casket, her face as serene as if she were simply asleep. There was no rot, no decay—Rigel had seen to that. Her body was preserved perfectly, waiting for the day it could hold life again.
As the mourners stood in silence, watching as the casket was lowered into the crypt beneath Black Castle, Rigel's expression remained unreadable. He had not shed a single tear since shortly after her death, though the hollowness in his eyes betrayed the storm of emotions raging inside him. He stood like a statue, cold and still, as if any movement might shatter him.
Only a few days after the funeral, Rigel returned to his work. He had no choice. His responsibilities were too great—both to the Order of the Black Cat and to his family. But now, there was even more work than before. Not only did he have to continue pushing the Order's agenda, guiding Wizarding Britain from the shadows, but he also had to delve into the darkest depths of magic in search of a way to bring Daphne back.
The study where Daphne had once sat, where she had crafted her spells and perfected her art, became Rigel's sanctuary. He refused all offers of help, including those from Harry. His Godbrother had tried, of course—tried to offer his support, to ease the burden that was clearly crushing Rigel beneath its weight. But Rigel had turned him away each time, cold and distant.
"I'll deal with this alone," Rigel had said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Harry had been put off by his Godbrothers reaction, but Tracey had taken his hand, offering a gentle reminder. "He's grieving, Harry," she had said softly. "Everyone deals with that differently. You remember how you were when Sirius died. He just needs distance. Time."
Harry had nodded, though the worry never left his eyes.
But Rigel's grief had driven him into the darkest recesses of magic. Alone in his study, he combed through the vast wealth of knowledge Daphne had left behind—her spells, her research, her brilliance. His mind kept returning to the ritual the necromancer had used so many years ago, the one that had given him a new body, allowed him to escape his form as Jingles the cat. Could something similar be done for Daphne? Could he use a similar ritual for her body?
The answer, Rigel knew, lay in the darkest corners of magic. He would need to use part of his own soul—something akin to a Horcrux, though not quite as monstrous. He had already enchanted Daphne's casket to prevent her body from rotting. She would need it when he brought her back, after all. But there was more to be done. He needed to study necromantic rituals, curse-breaking magic, anything that could offer even the smallest chance of restoring her.
Late into the night, when the castle was deathly quiet, Rigel would work, pouring over ancient texts, practising forbidden spells, his mind focused on one goal: bringing Daphne back. He refused to use the Resurrection Stone, not yet. He wasn't ready—wasn't emotionally stable enough to see her, to hear her voice again. The tale of the second brother echoed in his mind, a cautionary whisper. If he spoke to her now, he feared he might lose himself to the temptation of the Stone, the way the second brother had.
Perseus, the youngest of their children, remained in the castle with Rigel. Rigel tried his best to be a good father, to educate his son as Daphne had been doing before. But his mind was always elsewhere—lost in the intricate, dangerous web of dark magic that consumed his every thought. Still, he would take time to sit with Perseus, to teach him as Daphne would have wanted.
One afternoon, Perseus had looked up from his lessons, his eyes wide with worry. "Is Mummy coming back?"
Rigel's throat tightened, but he managed to nod. "Yes," he said, his voice firm, though a flicker of doubt gnawed at him. "I'll bring her back. I promise."
Perseus had nodded, his trust in his father absolute. "Okay, Daddy."
But as Perseus returned to his studies, Rigel's heart ached with the weight of that promise. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't.
Night after night, he delved deeper into magic most wizards feared to even speak of. He had always been willing to bend the rules, to use the dark arts when necessary, but this was different. This was something beyond anything he had ever attempted. He knew he would have to break every magical law, tear down every barrier that separated life and death, if he was to succeed. No one had ever truly been resurrected from the dead, but he would not be the first to fail.
In the silence of the castle, his whispered incantations echoed off the stone walls, dark and ominous. He wouldn't rest. He wouldn't stop. For Daphne, he would do the unthinkable. He would push the boundaries of magic until he found a way to bring her back.
Because, as he stood over her still, lifeless form each night, the cold certainty settled deeper into his bones: he couldn't live without her. He wouldn't.
He would break the world if he had to.