The rest of the journey home was rather quiet and uneventful.

While Altair was still plenty excited about Hogwarts, the thought of such a mass murderer on the loose had put quite the damper on his spirits. All they found left was a finger. He could hardly even imagine such a gruesome sight.

As he sat by the dinner table, absentmindedly flipping through the Definitive Book on Basic Charms, there was a tiny part of him that wondered if that was what became of his father. What was left of him after the dark wizards got him? An arm? Maybe even only a few strands of hair? His mom had never taken him to visit his resting place. Maybe this was why.

Shoving the uneasy thought to the back of his mind, he allowed his eyes wandered to the kitchen, where Remus had wanted to speak privately with his mom. Suddenly he had an idea. He never wanted to upset his mom by bringing up memories of his father, but maybe he could ask Remus instead?.

He knew his mom had been good friends with Remus since their Hogwarts days, so surely he must know something about his dad. He might even have stories!

His mind made up, Altair crossed the room towards the kitchen with his newfound excitement; he was going to catch Remus on the way out. As he neared the kitchen door however, he heard something that made him freeze.

"—You never mentioned Black's escape to him?" It was Remus' voice, and they were discussing Sirius Black!

Desperate to hear more, Altair pressed his ear gently against the door.

"Never thought… escape… even after… can't imagine Sirius… target his own…" It was his mom speaking now, and she was speaking in a subdued tone, devoid of her usual cheeriness .

"None of us ever thought he was capable of what he did either," Remus responded, kindly.

"I… thanks again for taking on the Defense position, I really am much more at peace knowing that you're there to keep an eye on him."

"It's the least I could do May, after.." Remus sighed, "after everything."

There was a brief silence.

"Will you be staying for lunch?" His mom's voice had recovered some of its usual cheerfulness.

"Not today, I need to head to—"

Sensing an end to the conversation, Altair quietly scrambled back to where he'd been sitting by the table. He'd just picked up his book when the two adults walked out the kitchen.

Why had they been talking about Sirius Black? Remus seemed quite surprised that his mom had never mentioned the escaped convict to him. Why had his mom been so worried about him going to Hogwarts? And what had happened? What was "everything"? It could've just been a coincidence, but it sounded like Sirius Black had something to do with them specifically.

He was pulled away from his pondering by the sound of his name. "I'll be seeing you at Hogwarts Altair."

"You too Remus!"

"It'll be Professor Lupin to you from now on," this time, Remus was definitely smirking.

"Aye Professor!" Altair mock saluted.

With a chuckle. Remus closed the door behind him, and Altair heard the signature CRACK of disapparition.

How did Sirius Black escape Azkaban? He'd read a ton on wizarding history and things like this just didn't happen. According to Magical Menaces: The Most Monstrous Wizards and Witches to Ever Live, no one had ever managed to escape before; even Emeric the Evil who was known for evading capture failed to escape.

He'd also read in The History of British Magical Law and an assortment of other books that mentioned the wizarding prison, that it was on an island in the middle of the ocean, guarded by some of the worst creatures the world had to offer.

How could any human, magic or not, escape such a hellish place?

It wasn't until his mom had sat down next to him and a freshly baked steak pie was floating towards the table that he realized that amongst all the thoughts about Black, he'd completely forgotten to ask Remus about his father.

-X-X-X-

August passed slowly, slower than any other month Altair could remember.

With the advent of Hogwarts to keep him excited, he was counting down the long days till September 1st. He'd spent the month before school in a renewed vigor for his studies. He had begun to experiment on some of the introductory potions for the third year Potions curriculum, and it had been absolutely fascinating. He'd always possessed a natural talent for potions.

He'd been able to outdo his mother in some of the more basic potions by the end of his first year of homeschooling, and she mostly let him take the reins for his second year potions. She let him be creative, being more than happy to restock his supply of ingredients if he ran low due to his frequent experiments and explosions.

He'd found that many of the instructions given in the textbooks weren't actually the most effective techniques, especially the stirring patterns. Sometimes a potion could be made faster by adding a counter clockwise stir for every three clockwise motions, and sometimes they could be made to better quality by stirring seven times instead of six, or eleven times instead of thirteen. Some potions were also especially sensitive to temperature changes, and while he hadn't quite mastered temperature control yet, he hoped the enchantments on his new cauldron would help.

To him, potions were the pinnacle of magic, capable of curing everything from a common cold to splinched limbs. He wasn't just interested in their healing qualities either. Even though most potion masters tended towards the more protective potions and cures, Altair was also very interested in their offensive potential — though he had so far made little headway in that department — for when he was older.

This unusual interest was due to a single very simple reason: he was absolutely abysmal at casted wandwork.

While he'd always been a fan of dueling as a child (perhaps influenced by Tonks' Auror dreams), he'd quickly discovered upon purchasing a wand (chestnut, 12 3/4 inches, pleasantly springy) at age eleven that casted magic simply wasn't his forte. He was decent at transfiguration, mediocre at best in charms, and downright awful at defense.

The first time he attempted to cast the Disarming Charm Expelliarmus, he had shattered every window in the house. Even after his mom finally convinced him to give it another go, all he could produce was a weak flicker of red that barely made her wand hand shake. It was like even his wand knew that it was a fruitless labor.

He was better at charms, but then again, anything compared to his pathetic defense ability would've been better. While he still couldn't make an onion dance ballet by the time they'd gone through all of his second year material, he could at least make it twirl and (somewhat) jump. And while he couldn't say he was anywhere above average, at the very least he wasn't hopeless, hence the damned charmwork book he'd received from Remus. It didn't make him at all more interested in the subject, however.

He was actually quite decent a transfiguration though, and found it much more enjoyable than the other two casted subjects. To Altair, it was the casted equivalent of potions. There were exact hand motions and tones for incantations, just like there were exact ingredients and stirring techniques in potions, and a tiny mistake could be the difference between success and complete failure. Unlike charms and defense, no amount of embellishment was necessary nor helpful. On the other hand, if you understood the core principles and the way magic was woven into each step, precise, subtle changes could be made to great effect. There was a method to the magic, though he supposed it was probably different for each witch or wizard.

Despite his distaste however, Altair resolved to at least try and improve his defense and charms. He gave up on the former barely a week into August, after he nearly set the garden on fire in an attempt to cast Bombarda on a training dummy his mom had conjured for him. Instead he told himself — perhaps a tad too wishfully — that Remus' teaching when he got to Hogwarts would fix up his defense. He did continue to dedicate a few hours a week to charms though, albeit a little half-heartedly.

He also had to to pick his electives. His options were: Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Muggle Studies simply didn't seem very interesting to him — his mom was a half-blood anyway so he knew plenty about muggle culture — and Arithmancy was out of the question since he didn't much like maths. Ancient Runes was fantastic though, since he was loved magical history, and most authentic historical texts could only be read in their original runes.

Care of Magical Creatures was also intriguing, most potion ingredients came from magical creatures after all.

His mom however, wasn't too impressed, apparently she wasn't a fan of the professor ("I think it's still old Kettleburn teaching the class, and half my friends who took his NEWTs nearly lost their fingers. He's got a weird sense of humor," though she added in afterthought, "but it's up to you of course, whatever you want to do I'll be happy with."). He ended up picking both, as well as Divination just because of how interesting it sounded, prompting another visit to Diagon Alley with his mom to buy more supplies.

Finally, after what seemed like an entire lifetime, September first arrived. Altair woke up before the sun was properly in the sky and with a glance outside at the pinkish-orange sky, he half skipped, half jumped down the stairs.

Surprisingly, he found his mom already in the kitchen, humming a cheery tune as the delicious scent of good food wafted through the living room. After a hearty breakfast of eggs and waffles (during which his mom was uncharacteristically quiet), he was forced to go through the painstaking process of checking each and every compartment of his trunk "just in case".

His mom was soon proven right however, when it was discovered that he'd somehow nearly forgotten about his broomstick. He'd spent a lot of time over the summer training for Quidditch — usually with an apple his mom had charmed to grow to the size of a quaffle — to make the team when he got to school. It was truly thankful that he realized that it hadn't been in his trunk before he was actually at the castle, else he might've seriously considered jumping off the Astronomy tower.

It was nearly ten by the time he'd finally gotten everything in his trunk by the front door. Finally having heaved his trunk down the stairs, he saw his mom sitting by the fireplace. She had a deeply contemplative look on her face, clearly torn about something.

He had an idea of what she must've been troubled about.

A month after he'd first heard about the mass murderer on the run, the Ministry of Magic was no closer to catching him. Altair had made an active effort to read the Daily Prophet at least once a week to keep up with the investigation, but so far there'd been nothing new. There were a few reported sightings here and there — and mostly by muggles at that — but nothing was ever confirmed.

Instead, the articles seemed to be more interested in Minister Cornelius Fudge's constant political fumbles around Black's escape. When, in mid August, he'd frustratedly asked his mom about this after the third straight day the Prophet had only covered the potential Wizengamot inquiry into Fudge's position with barely any mention of Black at all, his mom had simply laughed; "My angel's growing up! He's finally starting to hate the Ministry!"

He'd asked her if she had known Black.

From what he knew of famous murderer, he would've gone to Hogwarts around the same time she did. Her face had immediately clouded up. For all her strengths, his mom had always had a terrible poker face. "Yes," she had responded eventually, "though.. not very well I suppose." She'd then vanished into the kitchen before he could ask more. He'd kept trying, but was never given much better of an answer. It was a little frustrating, but he supposed he understood. Maybe she was worried that she'd scare him. Or it could've been the same perpetual reluctance to talk about the war she always had.

Besides, he really had nothing to do with Black anyway. No point arguing and making his mom upset over something so small. She had seemed a little down over the summer, like she always had something on her mind, though he couldn't tell whether it was over the murderer-at-large or Altair going to Hogwarts. She acted cheerful all the same, but he caught her sitting and staring into the fire quite a few times in the last few weeks.

She had that exact conflicted look on her face now. When she opened her mouth to speak, however, he could've never, in a million years, have guessed what would come out.

"Your father… he wanted you to have this before you went to school." She said quietly.

Pulling her wand out from her pocket and without waiting for his reaction, she tapped twice on the small mahogany tea table between them. Right before his eyes, an envelope appeared.

It looked a little like the Hogwarts envelope he'd received from Remus just a month earlier, but there weren't any animals and instead of the red "H" seal, the seal was dark brown and had what looked like a paw print stamped square in the center. For the second time in two months, Altair reached out with trembling hands to pick up the envelop, which felt smooth and inexplicably heavy in his grasp. Gently — for fear of damaging any part of the precious envelop — he pulled out the letter hidden within.

He began to read;

Hey Son!

Altair, if you're reading this, it probably means I'm dead. But that's okay, because I know you'll make me proud.

I asked your mom to give this to you right before you went to Hogwarts, to give you the proper send off I always wished my parents had given me. My family was never, shall I say, the best type. In fact, they were pretty terrible. Hogwarts was my first true home, and I found my first true family there. I know you'll find it just the same as I did. While your mom is an absolutely lovely woman (the most lovely woman, its why I married her!(she's way better than I am, a true shame for her that she just had to fall for my devilishly good looks)), one of the best parts of being a wizard is going finding those friends for life at Hogwarts.

The castle is truly breathtaking, and quite literally a work of magic. In my time there, my friends and I explored every unused room, every hidden passageway and every little secret it had to offer. We learned together, laughed together, grew together, and had our fair share of mishaps (maybe a tad bit too many of those now that I think back to it), and more importantly, we became brothers through and through. I can't wait for you to take in the castle for yourself!

We were also something of a dynamic troublemaker group, and in that vein, I have a welcome gift for you lying in wait at Hogwarts. Keep the letter safe with you, and when you get the castle, simply tap your wand to the back of the letter and whisper "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good" and it'll point you to the right direction. While your mom has kindly reminded me as I write this that I'm not supposed to be encouraging mischief, it couldn't hurt to help you have a little bit of fun now would it? Clearly, she wouldn't have gotten with me if it did.

On a more serious note, I'm sorry you didn't get to properly know me. This is my third attempt at writing this (I'm not the best with emotions) and while I dearly miss you and wish I had the chance to watch you grow up, I can't say I'd regret dying in the war. I fight everyday knowing that I do it for my family, and more importantly, for you. I would never be able to forgive myself if you somehow grew up in such a dark world. And I know that your mother will take good care of you and that you'll make me proud.

Stay strong, and find your second family at Hogwarts.

I love you.

Dad.

Altair reread it once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth time before he finally let it rest in his lap. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

This was the most he'd ever heard from his dad, and it sounded every bit like the loving, brave and loyal war hero he'd always imagined him to be. I fight everyday knowing that I do it for my family, and more importantly, for you, he had written. Not quite knowing how or even what to feel from joy to grief, he hardly felt the tears roll down his face or noticed his mom sitting down next to him. Once he felt her arms wrap around him however, he leaned into her, eagerly hugging her back.

"I…"

"It's okay angel, I know."

And together they sat facing the empty fireplace.

Altair thought he could almost see a face in the fire: his dad's face, though it must've been a trick of the flames or the light because he blinked, and it was gone. His mom had her eyes closed contentedly, basking in the warm light and unconcerned about faces in the fire.

Surely it he had imagined it?

Even that was weird now that he thought of it… for he had never even seen his dad's face before.