Chapter 1: The Fall of the Star

The warmth of the fire bathed the sitting room in a golden glow, the flickering flames dancing like eager sprites across the polished wood floor. Regulus Black sat in a high-backed armchair by the hearth, the crackle of the fire mingling with the soft strains of a lilting waltz playing from the enchanted gramophone in the corner. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he scanned the day's issue of The Daily Prophet, though his eyes occasionally flicked over the rim of the paper to the scene in front of him.

On the plush rug by the fire, his wife, Amélie, sat cross-legged, Her deep chestnut hair caught the firelight, shimmering with faint copper highlights. She held her wand delicately between her fingers, flicking it in small, fluid motions. Each wave conjured a cascade of sparkling, multicolored sparks that floated gently through the air like miniature fireworks. Their son, Arcturus, no older than three, squealed with laughter as he scrambled to catch them in his tiny hands.

"Almost got it, Mummy!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together with an excited giggle as a particularly vibrant blue spark hovered just out of reach.

"Careful, darling, they'll disappear if you grab too hard," Amélie said, her voice warm and lilting, her eyes alight with affection. She conjured a soft golden orb next, letting it drift lazily just above Arcturus's head. The boy stretched his arms up, his dark curls bouncing as he tipped forward onto his knees.

From the kitchen came the occasional clatter and clang of enchanted cookware bustling about their work. The rich aroma of roasted herbs and simmering stew wafted into the room, a comforting reminder that dinner was nearly ready. A polished copper ladle could be glimpsed flitting past the doorway, stirring an unseen pot with rhythmic precision.

Regulus lowered the newspaper slightly, his gaze lingering on the scene before him. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of contentment, an emotion that had felt foreign to him for so long. The sight of Amélie's gentle laughter and Arcturus's unbridled joy filled him with a quiet sense of pride—and a faint, almost imperceptible ache.

"Do you think he'll ever tire of those sparks?" Regulus asked, his voice low and tinged with dry amusement.

Amélie glanced back at him over her shoulder, her honey-colored eyes sparkling. "Not a chance. He's your son, after all. Determined to catch the impossible."

Regulus chuckled softly and folded the paper, setting it aside on the small table next to his chair. "True," he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Though I'm starting to think he might catch them sooner than we think."

As if to prove the point, Arcturus let out a triumphant cry and managed to clasp his hands around the golden orb. For a brief moment, it shone brighter, bathing his cherubic face in light before dissolving into a shower of shimmering dust.

"I did it!" he crowed, turning to his parents with wide, triumphant eyes.

"Well done, my little star," Amélie said, pulling him into a hug and peppering his forehead with kisses.

Regulus watched them silently, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and something heavier, a shadow of worry that he kept carefully hidden. But as he returned his gaze to the fire and the cozy room around them, he pushed the thought aside. For now, at least, the world outside could wait.

The first jolt was sharp and unmistakable. Regulus gasped, his left arm snapping toward his chest as if yanked by an invisible chain. The pain was immediate, searing through his veins like molten iron. His vision blurred for a moment, the comforting glow of the fire and the peaceful laughter of his family twisting into something surreal.

No, not now. Not here.

He shoved back his sleeve, his stomach dropping as he saw it—the Dark Mark, writhing grotesquely on his pale forearm. It burned a sickly green, brighter than he had seen it in years. The room seemed to tilt as a distant but thunderous sound reached his ears.

A deafening crack. Another. Then a shudder ran through the entire house, as though the air itself had been torn apart.

The wards.

Regulus leapt to his feet, the blood draining from his face. He had woven those protections himself, layered them meticulously with spells so intricate that no ordinary wizard could have breached them. Yet now, he could feel each enchantment unraveling, their magic splintering like glass. The Fidelius Charm—his family's last and strongest defense—was gone.

"Regulus?" Amélie's voice was soft but trembling. She was standing now, her wand clutched tightly in her hand, her body angled protectively in front of Arcturus.

"Daddy?" the boy whispered, clutching his mother's robes, his wide eyes darting between them.

Regulus's mind raced. They had found him. After all this time, after years of hiding, the Death Eaters had come. He couldn't afford to think about how.

The sound of boots crunching on gravel reached his ears, faint but unmistakable.

"Amélie, take Arcturus," he said sharply, his voice low but urgent. He strode forward, gripping her shoulders as he spoke. "You need to go. Now. Apparate to—"

He broke off as his eyes darted to the window. The wards. He could feel the air thickening around them, the oppressive weight of Anti-Apparition spells snapping into place like iron chains. A trap.

"Damn it!" Regulus hissed, his breath ragged as he released her.

Amélie's lips parted, tears already welling in her eyes as understanding dawned. "What do we do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You're taking Arcturus upstairs," Regulus said, his tone sharp with a kind of calm born of desperation. He gestured toward the staircase. "Hide in the bedroom. Lock the door, bar it with every spell you know. Don't come out unless I come for you."

"Regulus—"

"There's no time!" he barked, his voice cracking under the weight of urgency. He took her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "Go. Protect him. That's all that matters."

For a moment, she paused, her gaze locking with his. Her irises, warm and honey-colored, shimmered in the dim light, echoing the same glow that was now reflected in their son's innocent eyes. The knowledge that this could very well be their last moment together resonated in the silence between them. Then, trembling with the weight of it all, she kissed him—frantic, desperate—as though drawing everything she loved into that single, heart-wrenching moment. As though trying to make it last forever.

"Come back to us," she whispered, her voice breaking as she pulled away.

Regulus couldn't speak. He nodded once, swallowing the lump in his throat as she scooped Arcturus into her arms. The boy cried out, reaching for his father, but Amélie held him tightly as she ran for the stairs, her wand already flicking to conjure protective spells in her wake.

The footsteps outside were louder now, accompanied by faint, chilling laughter. Regulus turned toward the door, his jaw tightening as he drew his wand. The Dark Mark still burned on his arm, a cruel reminder of the life he had tried so hard to leave behind.

But they would not take his family. Not tonight.

The door exploded inward with a deafening crash, wood splintering and flying across the room like shrapnel. The golden glow of the fire flickered wildly, casting jagged shadows across the walls as four figures stepped through the ruined threshold. At the center stood Voldemort, his skeletal frame draped in black robes that seemed to ripple like smoke around him. His pale, serpentine face twisted into a cold smile, his crimson eyes locking onto Regulus with predatory delight.

Behind him, three Death Eaters fanned out, their wands raised and ready, the masks they wore gleaming in the firelight.

Regulus held his ground, his wand steady in his hand, though his heart pounded like a war drum. He planted himself between the intruders and the staircase, knowing full well who they had come for. He forced his breathing to slow, his mind to focus.

"Regulus," Voldemort hissed, his voice smooth and cold as ice. He raised one spindly hand, signaling his followers to wait. "Did you truly believe Severus would protect a traitor?"

The words struck like a blow. Regulus faltered, his wand wavering slightly as the name sank in. Severus. One of the few friends he had trusted, someone who had shared his disdain for mindless cruelty and whispered doubts about their master's methods.

Betrayed.

Voldemort tilted his head, his lipless mouth curling into a mocking grin. "Ah, I see it now. The realization. Did you really think you could trust him?"

Regulus swallowed hard, shoving the betrayal aside. There was no time for anger, no time for regret. His grip tightened on his wand as he raised it again.

Regulus squared his shoulders, wand raised, every muscle coiled with tension. He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears. "I know why you're here," he said, voice trembling just enough to betray his fear. "But you'll leave empty-handed."

Voldemort released a low, mirthless laugh—a sound that curled through the air like venom. "Empty-handed?" he repeated softly, crimson eyes glinting with dark amusement. "You have something that belongs to me." He let the words hang for a moment.. "We both know how this ends. Yield, or be made to yield."

With a flick of his wand, Voldemort sent a curse streaking toward Regulus, who dove to the side just in time. The spell struck a bookcase, sending it toppling in a cascade of ash and flame.

Regulus retaliated instantly, firing a purple curse that Voldemort deflected with a lazy wave of his wand. "Such potential," Voldemort mused, sidestepping a second spell. "You could have been great, Regulus. You could have stood at my side. Instead, you threw it all away—for what? A fleeting moment of defiance?"

The Death Eaters joined the fray, their curses flying wild and fast, but Regulus fought like a man possessed. A chair flew across the room, shattering against the wall, as a shield charm deflected a barrage of hexes. He moved with precision and speed, each spell calculated, each step deliberate.

One Death Eater fell, struck by a ricocheted curse. Another was thrown backward, crashing into the fireplace as Regulus's hex sent a plume of sparks into the air. The third collapsed moments later, caught in the crossfire of Voldemort's own relentless attacks.

The room was in ruins, the fire guttering in its grate as Regulus squared off against Voldemort, their wands locked in a dazzling collision of light.

"You disappoint me, Regulus," Voldemort sneered, his voice colder than the grave. "You could have been extraordinary. Instead, you will die. Your wife will die. And your son…" He let the words hang in the air, their weight suffocating. "Your son will suffer."

Rage flared in Regulus's chest, but before he could speak, a jet of red light struck him squarely in the chest. He crumpled to the floor, his wand slipping from his fingers.

"Crucio," Voldemort said softly, almost tenderly.

The pain was immediate and all-consuming, ripping through him like jagged glass. Regulus screamed, his body convulsing as his vision blurred. He could hear Voldemort's voice, calm and unhurried, cutting through the haze of agony.

"Where is it, Regulus?" Voldemort asked, crouching beside him. "The locket. I know you took it. It isn't destroyed—I would feel it if it were. So tell me, where have you hidden it?"

Regulus clenched his teeth, biting back another scream as the curse subsided. He shook his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I'll never tell you," he spat, his voice hoarse but defiant.

Voldemort's expression darkened. "You will. Crucio."

The world dissolved into pain once more, his body writhing helplessly on the floor. Yet even as his vision dimmed, even as Voldemort's voice continued to taunt him, Regulus clung to one thought, one truth. He had taken the locket for a reason, and he would never let Voldemort reclaim it.

As the curse lifted again, Voldemort straightened, his face impassive. "You're resilient," he said, almost admiringly. "With a little more time, you might have been my greatest weapon. But now…" He flicked his wand, lifting Regulus's face toward him. "It's far too late."

The Dark Lord raised his wand again, his voice a sibilant whisper. "Legilimens."

Pain surged anew as Voldemort delved into his mind, tearing through memories and thoughts like a predator hunting its prey. Regulus fought back, summoning every ounce of strength he had left, throwing up barriers to protect the secret he had sworn to keep.

Voldemort growled, his frustration evident. "You cannot hold out forever," he hissed, his voice low with menace. "Crucio."

Regulus's screams echoed through the ruined house as the fight waged on.

Amélie stood frozen in the dimly lit bedroom, Arcturus clinging to her chest. Her heart pounded in her ears, nearly drowning out the muffled sounds of chaos below—the crash of splintering furniture, the sharp cracks of spells ricocheting off walls, and the worst of all, Regulus's anguished cries.

She tightened her grip on Arcturus, whispering soothing nonsense against his dark curls, though her voice trembled. "It's alright, sweetheart. Mummy's got you. Everything will be fine."

A sudden pop shattered her fragile composure. She spun around, wand raised, but it was only Kreacher, the house-elf trembling violently as he wrung his hands.

"Mistress!" Kreacher croaked, his wide eyes brimming with tears. "Master Regulus is in danger! Kreacher can feel it—oh, Mistress, they're hurting him!"

Amélie knelt quickly, her free hand reaching for the elf's bony shoulder. "Kreacher, listen to me." Her voice was quiet but firm, a desperate calmness masking her terror. "Take Arcturus. Go to my brother in France. You know where to find him. He'll keep him safe."

Kreacher's head snapped up, his face a mixture of horror and disbelief. "No, Mistress! Kreacher must stay! Kreacher must help Master!"

"You can't help him now," Amélie snapped, though her voice cracked under the weight of her words. "You can't help me either. But you can save Arcturus."

Arcturus whimpered, his small hands clutching at her dress. She set him down gently and cupped his tear-streaked face in her hands. "Listen to me, my little star," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You're going on a special journey with Kreacher. You'll be safe, and I promise, one day you'll understand."

"Mummy—" he began, but she silenced him with a kiss on his forehead, pressing her cheek against his one last time.

"Go," she choked out, rising to her feet. "Kreacher, take him. Now."

The house-elf hesitated, trembling with indecision, before nodding with a sharp, tearful bow. He wrapped his thin arms around Arcturus, who screamed and reached for Amélie as they vanished with a deafening pop.

Amélie stood motionless for a moment, her arms aching where her son had been. The room felt unbearably empty now, the silence like a wound she couldn't stop from bleeding.

Her resolve hardened as she turned and bolted down the stairs. Regulus's screams grew louder with every step, each one twisting the knife in her chest. When she reached the bottom, the sight that met her stole the air from her lungs.

Regulus lay crumpled on the floor, his body writhing under the force of Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse. His screams were raw, broken, echoing off the ruined walls of the once-cozy home.

Voldemort stood over him, his face pale and cold, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

"Get away from him!" Amélie screamed, raising her wand with shaking hands. She didn't hesitate. Her first curse flew true, aimed directly at the Dark Lord's chest.

But Voldemort didn't block it. He merely stepped to the side, his movements slow and deliberate, as though mocking her. The spell hit the wall behind him, leaving a scorch mark in its wake.

Amélie fired again, and again, her breath hitching with each desperate attempt. Voldemort didn't even bother deflecting them. He dodged each one with an ease that turned her desperation into despair, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"Such fire," Voldemort drawled, his voice soft and poisonous. "And yet so pathetic."

With a flick of his wand, a jet of red light struck her square in the chest. The pain was instant and unbearable, searing through her body like molten iron. She collapsed to the ground, her wand slipping from her grasp as she screamed, the sound raw and animalistic.

Voldemort let the curse linger, watching her writhe with a detached sort of curiosity. When he finally lifted it, she lay gasping on the floor, tears streaking her face as she turned her head toward Regulus.

He was looking at her, his face twisted in anguish. "Don't," he croaked, his voice barely audible. "Please, don't hurt her…"

Voldemort crouched beside him, his cold gaze fixed on Regulus's trembling form. "You could end this," he said softly, almost kindly. "All of this pain—hers, yours—it could be over. Just tell me where it is. The locket. Tell me where you've hidden it."

Regulus shook his head, his jaw clenched against the tremors of pain still wracking his body.

"Stubborn," Voldemort mused, rising to his feet. He turned back to Amélie, who had managed to push herself to her knees, her tear-filled eyes blazing with defiance.

"Perhaps you need more incentive."

He raised his wand, but before he could speak the words, a sound pierced the night—sirens, faint but growing louder. Voldemort's expression soured, his crimson eyes narrowing.

"No matter," he said coldly, his tone now edged with irritation. "I have wasted enough time here."

He turned to Regulus, then Amélie, his face devoid of emotion.

Voldemort raised his wand, his voice cold and final. "Avada Kedavra."

A single flash of sickly green light engulfed them both, and when it faded, Regulus and Amélie lay still, their lives extinguished in an instant.

Voldemort lowered his wand, his expression one of detached finality. He cast a final spell, his wand carving an infernal serpent of Fiendfyre that coiled hungrily around the house. The flames roared to life, consuming everything in their path as Voldemort swept out through the broken doorway.

Above the burning ruins of the house, the Dark Mark hung in the sky, its sickly green glow a stark reminder of what had been lost.


Welcome to my AU Harry Potter fanfiction! Before you start reading, I'd like to outline a few important details:

Rating & Content: This story is rated Mature for violence, sexual situations, and language.

Alternate Universe (AU): This is an OC-centric story set in a familiar but distinctly altered wizarding world. While you'll see appearances from beloved canon characters, their paths and relationships may unfold differently—imagine the butterfly effect in action! Small changes can have significant repercussions, so don't be surprised if events don't align perfectly with the books.

Progression & Characters: The narrative follows a weak-to-strong arc for our main character, filled with growth, challenges, and personal development. Meanwhile, the side characters play meaningful roles of their own—no one's here just to fill space.

Romance & Timeline: No harems. Any romance will come later, around the time the Goblet of Fire typically takes place. Until then, expect a focus on friendships, family bonds, adventure, and the mysteries.