Chapter 4 – Welcome to Hogwarts
The morning of September 1st dawned crisp and cool, the early light spilling across the cobblestones as Harry and Snape arrived at King's Cross Station. The station was alive with noise: announcements crackled over loudspeakers, the scent of coffee and grease wafted from kiosks, and travellers hurried to their destinations.
Harry walked beside Snape with measured strides, his blue eyes scanning the chaotic scene around him. He noticed how passersby instinctively gave the tall, dark-clad man at his side a wide berth, as if sensing something about him was not to be trifled with.
"This way," Snape murmured, leading Harry toward platforms 9 and 10.
They stopped in front of a seemingly ordinary brick barrier, and Harry raised an eyebrow.
"You're not seriously expecting me to walk into a wall, are you?" he asked dryly.
Snape's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Precisely. Magic often requires trust in the unexpected. Watch me."
With a confident stride, Snape disappeared through the barrier, and Harry hesitated only a moment before following.
On the other side, a different world unfolded. The platform was bustling with witches and wizards, some waving goodbye to their children, others loading trunks and animal cages onto the gleaming scarlet train that dominated the scene: the Hogwarts Express. The air smelled faintly of coal smoke and excitement, and owls hooted softly from their perches.
Harry felt a twinge of unease as he looked around. The magical world was still new to him, and he wasn't sure he belonged here. Sensing his hesitation, Snape placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Remember what I taught you," Snape said quietly. "Observe, assess, and act accordingly. You'll do fine."
Harry nodded, his expression guarded but grateful. "Thank you, sir."
Snape inclined his head. "Go on, then. The train waits for no one."
Harry turned to board the train, his trunk trailing behind him. Snape watched him until he disappeared, then stood on the platform, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd until the train began to move. As it pulled away, he turned on his heel and left the platform, heading back to Spinner's End.
The gloom of Spinner's End enveloped Snape as he entered his modest home. The narrow house was filled with the scent of old books and potions ingredients, and the soft creak of the floorboards underfoot was the only sound.
As he settled into his armchair, an owl swooped through the open window, droppingThe Daily Prophetonto the table before him. Snape unrolled the paper and froze, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in the headline:
Bellatrix Black Escapes Azkaban
The First and Only Person to Ever Do So!
A dark chuckle escaped his lips. "And so it begins," he murmured to himself.
o – o – o - o
Harry found an empty cabin near the back of the train, grateful for the moment of solitude. He slid the door shut, placed his trunk in the overhead rack, and sat by the window, watching the scenery blur as the train gathered speed.
His quiet didn't last long. The door slid open with a loud clatter, and a red-haired boy peered inside, looking harried.
"Everywhere else is full," the boy said in a rush. "Mind if I sit here?"
Harry considered him for a moment, his eyes appraising. He didn't particularly want company but decided it would be easier to let him stay.
"Fine," Harry said curtly, "as long as you're quiet."
The boy—Ron Weasley, as Harry would soon learn—nodded enthusiastically and sat across from him. Quiet, however, was not Ron's strong suit.
"So, er, you're new to Hogwarts, then?" Ron asked after a few minutes of silence.
"Yes."
The trolley came by not long after, its witch offering sweets and snacks. Harry shook his head. "I'm not hungry," he said.
Ron pulled out a slightly squashed sandwich and unwrapped it, his curiosity evident as he stole glances at the mostly faded scar on Harry's forehead between bites. Suddenly, his eyes widened.
"Wait—are you… Harry Potter?"
Harry frowned. "Yes. Why?"
"You're the Harry Potter," Ron said, his voice rising with excitement. "The Boy Who Lived! How could you not know that?"
Harry's frown deepened. "What are you talking about?"
Ron gaped at him. "You—you don't know? Blimey! You defeated You-Know-Who when you were a baby. Everyone knows about it. You're famous!"
"I grew up in the Muggle world," Harry said flatly. "No one ever told me."
Ron's face turned red as he mumbled an apology, but the tension between them broke when the cabin door slid open again.
A blonde-haired boy with pale skin and piercing grey eyes stepped inside, his robes immaculate and his posture exuding confidence.
"Well, well," the boy drawled, his gaze locking onto Harry. "I thought I sensed something unusual."
"And you are?" Harry asked coolly, his expression unreadable.
"Draco Malfoy," the boy said, offering a hand. "I've heard about you. Professor Snape mentioned you'd be starting this year."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You know Professor Snape?"
"He's my godfather," Draco said, smirking.
Harry nodded, impressed despite himself. Draco's polished appearance and poised demeanour reminded him of people who commanded respect without asking for it. Yet there was something too eager about the way Draco sought his approval.
As Draco sat beside Harry, the cabin door opened again, revealing a bushy-haired girl who looked slightly frazzled.
"Have you seen a toad?" she asked breathlessly. "Neville's lost his—"
Ron, who had been sulking since Draco's arrival, jumped up. "I'll help you look."
As the door closed behind them, Draco turned to Harry, his smirk widening. "You're better off without him, you know. The Weasleys are… well, let's just say they're not your kind of people."
Harry didn't reply, but his sharp gaze took in everything—the subtle tilt of Draco's chin, the calculating gleam in his eyes. He filed it all away, unsure yet of what to make of the boy.
For the rest of the journey, Harry's cabin remained lively, yet his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the new world awaiting him.
The platform at Hogsmeade Station buzzed with excitement as students disembarked from the train. The cool evening air was filled with the chatter of old friends reuniting and the nervous energy of first-years. Hagrid, towering above the crowd, called out in his booming voice, "Firs'-years! This way, firs'-years!"
Harry turned to the source of the voice, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the giant of a man. Hagrid's wild hair and friendly demeanour were a curious mix of intimidating and endearing. Despite himself, Harry felt a small flicker of relief—this man seemed approachable, at least.
"Come on, Potter," Draco said, gesturing toward the boats as Hagrid led the first-years toward the black, glassy lake. Harry's steps slowed as he caught sight of the small, rickety boats waiting at the shore.
"Are we really supposed to get in those?" Harry muttered under his breath, his lips curling in distaste.
Draco smirked. "Tradition, Potter. Don't tell me you're afraid of a little water."
Suppressing a retort, Harry forced himself to step into one of the boats. Draco followed, seating himself beside Harry with Crabbe and Goyle taking up the other side. The boat rocked slightly as they settled in, and Harry gripped the edge tightly, his jaw clenched.
As the boats began gliding silently across the lake, Harry's initial discomfort melted into awe. Hogwarts rose before them, its turrets and towers glowing golden in the twilight, their reflections shimmering on the water's surface.
"It's incredible," Harry murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Draco followed his gaze and nodded. "Impressive, isn't it? Best viewed from here. That's why they make us come this way."
Harry said nothing, his blue eyes fixed on the castle. He realised Draco was right—this was meant to inspire awe and wonder, and it was working.
When they reached the castle, the first-years were led up a winding stone staircase and into a grand entrance hall. The ceiling stretched high above them, and the walls were lined with flaming torches that cast flickering shadows.
The stern-looking witch waiting for them at the top of the stairs surveyed them with a critical eye. Her robes were perfectly pressed, and her sharp gaze seemed to weigh and measure each student in turn.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said briskly. "I am Professor McGonagall. In a few moments, you will enter the Great Hall, where you will be sorted into your houses. Your house will be your family while you are here, and any accomplishments—or rule-breaking—will reflect on it. Follow me, and please compose yourselves."
Harry's first impression of McGonagall was one of respect. She radiated authority and a sense of fairness that reminded him faintly of Snape, though her demeanour was less forbidding. He stood a little straighter, determined to make a good impression.
As they waited outside the Great Hall, the other students whispered excitedly. Snippets of conversation drifted toward Harry:
"Is that Harry Potter?"
"Look at his eyes—he's so…"
"Can't believe he's real!"
Before long, a girl with bushy brown hair pushed her way through the crowd. She stopped in front of Harry, her cheeks flushed from exertion.
"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" she asked eagerly, her eyes bright. "I've read about you in Hogwarts : A History and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. There's so much written about you!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you could lend me those books sometime. It seems everyone knows more about me than I do."
Hermione blinked, then let out a startled laugh. "I—I suppose I could."
Before the conversation could continue, Professor McGonagall opened the towering double doors to the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was a breathtaking sight. Thousands of candles floated in midair, casting a warm glow over the long tables filled with students. Above them, the enchanted ceiling reflected the night sky, dotted with stars.
Harry was struck by the sheer scale of it all. He had never been in a place that felt so alive, so full of energy.
At the front of the hall, a battered, ancient hat sat on a stool. Harry frowned as the hat began to sing, its voice clear and surprisingly melodic.
Oh, you may not think I'm much to see,
A shabby hat, and old as can be,
But I've sorted wizards, brave and wise,
And seen the world through ancient eyes.
So come, young minds, and place me here,
I'll tell you truths, crystal-clear.
For within my seams, your traits I find,
Your strengths, your heart, your brilliant mind.
In Gryffindor, you'll find the bold,
With nerves of steel and hearts of gold.
Bravery's call will lead your way,
Through darkest night and brightest day.
In Hufflepuff, the loyal stand,
With patient hearts and helping hands.
Fair and true, they'll do their part,
With kindness rooted in their heart.
In Ravenclaw, the wise shall dwell,
With minds as sharp as any spell.
For those who seek to know and learn,
Their path to greatness they shall earn.
In Slytherin, the cunning thrive,
With sharp ambition to survive.
Resourceful, clever, bold, and keen,
They'll seize the crown and rule unseen.
But now, dear students, it's time to see
Where Hogwarts' home shall be for thee.
So place me on, don't be afraid,
Your destiny is ready-made.
For Harry Potter, the choice runs deep,
A legacy both dark and steep.
To Slytherin's halls or Gryffindor's might?
His future shifts like shadowed light.
So let me choose, for I know best,
Your house, your path, your fateful quests
As the sorting began, Harry watched the other first-years step forward, their names called one by one. Finally, it was his turn.
"Potter, Harry!"
The hall fell silent as every eye turned toward him. Harry walked forward with deliberate grace, his face calm and had the sorting hat spoken of him directly, he hadn't done that to anyone else.
He looked up to see an aged wizard with a long white beard eyeing him curiously as if wondering the same thing. Then he caught Snape's approving nod out of the corner of his eye, and it gave him a flicker of confidence.
He sat on the stool, and the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.
"Ah, Harry Potter," the hat said in his mind, its voice warm and contemplative. "Such potential… such ambition. A thirst to prove yourself, and a hunger for knowledge. But where to put you?"
"Not Gryffindor," Harry thought firmly.
The hat chuckled. "Ah, not a fan of heroics, are we? No, I see something else in you. Power… cunning… resourcefulness. You would do well in Slytherin, my boy. And yet… I see another gift. Parseltongue, is it? Yes, the ability to speak to snakes. That could be… significant. The Chamber of Secrets, Harry—there is much for you to discover there."
Harry's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"Time will tell," the hat said cryptically. "But for now—better be SLYTHERIN!"
The hall erupted in whispers as the hat made its decision.
At the Slytherin table, students clapped politely, though many were openly curious. Whispers flitted through the other tables as well.
"Harry Potter, in Slytherin?"
"I thought he'd be a Gryffindor for sure!"
At the staff table, Dumbledore's brows knitted in surprise, though his expression remained mild. Professor McGonagall looked disappointed, while Snape's lips curved into a rare, genuine smile.
Harry removed the hat and made his way to the Slytherin table, his expression calm despite the stir he had caused.
"Welcome to Slytherin, Potter," Draco said with a smirk as Harry took a seat beside him.
Harry nodded, his mind racing. The hat's words lingered with him. The Chamber of Secrets? What could it mean?
The feast was a whirlwind of new experiences for Harry. The grandeur of the Great Hall, with its enchanted ceiling mirroring the night sky, and the buzz of hundreds of excited voices. He quietly enjoyed his food and then felt himself starting to yawn. It had been a long day.
Eventually Professor Snape led the newly sorted Slytherins out of the hall. The group walked in silence, the echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the cold stone corridors as Snape's dark robes swept the floor ahead of them.
When they reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Snape paused before a blank stretch of damp stone wall. He turned to address them, his deep, silky voice slicing through the quiet.
"The password, which will be changed periodically, is Salazar's Legacy. Do not share it with anyone outside this house under any circumstances."
At his words, the wall shifted, stones rearranging themselves to reveal a low, arched doorway. The students filed in, and Harry's breath caught as he stepped inside.
The common room was unlike anything he had ever seen. The low-ceilinged room was illuminated by the greenish glow of light filtering through the lake above. Rich emerald and silver tapestries adorned the walls, depicting serpents coiled in intricate patterns. The furniture was dark and polished, with plush armchairs and sofas gathered around an ornate fireplace carved with serpentine details. It exuded both elegance and an unsettling coldness, much like Snape himself.
Snape turned to face them, his expression severe as he spoke. "Now, a few reminders. First, you represent Slytherin House. You are expected to act with dignity and intelligence at all times. Rule-breaking will not be tolerated, but I expect you to be clever enough not to get caught should you ever feel tempted."
Several students smirked at this, but Snape continued without acknowledging them.
"You will be courteous to one another. Disputes within this house are a sign of weakness, and weakness will not be tolerated. Older students," he gestured to a group of older Slytherins standing by the fireplace, "are here to help the first-years adjust. If you have questions or concerns, consult them before bothering me."
Harry noted the sharp glance Snape gave a few of the rowdier boys.
"And one more thing," Snape added, his gaze settling briefly on Harry. "Mr. Potter, please report to my officetomorrow morning. We have matters to discuss."
The room fell silent as the professor's gaze swept over the rest of them. "That will be all. Get to your dormitories." With that, Snape turned sharply on his heel and exited the room, his robes billowing behind him.
An older Slytherin prefect, a tall boy with a commanding presence named Adrian Pucey, approached Harry and gestured for him to follow. "I'll show you to your room," he said curtly, leading him down a narrow staircase that descended deeper into the dungeons. The air grew cooler with every step.
The boys' dormitory was a circular room with walls lined by windows looking out into the murky depths of the lake. Each bed was canopied in green velvet, and a small trunk sat at the foot of each.
"You'll be sharing this room with Draco Malfoy," Pucey said, motioning to one of the beds. "Malfoy's bed is there." He didn't wait for a response before leaving.
Draco, who had followed closely behind, wasted no time in trying to strike up a conversation. "So, Harry, what do you think of Slytherin? Impressive, isn't it? My father always said it's the only house worth being in."
Harry gave a noncommittal grunt, already unpacking his belongings. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, especially after the long day he'd had.
Draco, sensing Harry's disinterest, added, "If you need anything, just let me know. I'm sure Crabbe and Goyle will be around if you want to hang out with us."
Harry turned briefly, offering a polite but distant nod. "Thanks, but I'm fine."
With that, Draco sighed, muttered something under his breath, and left to find his friends. Harry was alone at last. He sank onto his bed, letting the day's events wash over him. The train ride, the sorting, and the whispers about him—it all felt surreal. The Slytherin common room's eerie beauty and the unspoken expectation of greatness weighed heavily on him.
He pulled the thick green blanket over himself and stared at the canopy above, his mind whirring. The Sorting Hat's cryptic words echoed in his the Chamber of Secrets…What secrets could the castle hold for him? And why did everyone seem to expect so much from him?
But soon, exhaustion overtook him. His eyes closed, and the steady sound of water lapping against the windows lulled him to sleep.
o – o – o – o
Azkaban was a fortress of despair, surrounded by icy waters and patrolled by soul-draining Dementors. For years, Bellatrix Black had been a shell of her former self, her once-glorious mind battered by the separation from her soulmate and the guilt that threatened to consume her. But when Snape's visit brought news of D - Harry Potter, a fire reignited within her. She would not rot in this hell any longer.
Bellatrix spent weeks meticulously plotting her escape, observing the guards' routines and mapping the pathways the Dementors patrolled. Every detail mattered. She acted the part of the broken prisoner—sullen, quiet, unthreatening—while keeping her sharp mind focused on finding her way out. Hidden beneath her tattered robes, she had secreted away a jagged shard of metal from a discarded serving tray, honing its edge until it was sharp enough to serve her purpose.
One stormy evening, the wind howled fiercely against the stone walls, drowning out the sounds of the prison. It was the perfect cover. Bellatrix crouched near the iron bars of her cell, her eyes glinting with predatory intent.
The guard delivering her meager meal came as expected, moving with the sluggishness of routine. Bellatrix sprang, her movements fuelled by years of pent-up fury. The metal shard drove deep into the guard's neck, silencing him before he could cry out. She ripped his wand from his belt and dragged him into her cell, throwing his body onto the cot to delay detection.
Disguised in the guard's robes and clutching the stolen wand, she slipped into the dimly lit corridors of Azkaban. Each step was calculated, her senses heightened as she navigated the maze-like prison. The Dementors were the most dangerous obstacle, their presence heavy and oppressive, but Bellatrix had trained herself to suppress her emotions. She projected nothing—no fear, no hope, no joy. The creatures drifted past her without pause.
Reaching the outer walls, she faced her greatest challenge yet: the sea. The frigid waves churned violently, daring her to cross. Summoning every ounce of her remaining strength, Bellatrix pointed the stolen wand at the scattered debris along the shoreline and muttered a spell. A makeshift raft of driftwood and rusted chains rose from the depths, and with another flick of her wand, a powerful gust of wind sent her sailing into the dark horizon.
The cold bit into her skin, and her limbs ached as she clung to the unsteady raft. But as the silhouette of Azkaban faded into the distance, Bellatrix laughed—a wild, triumphant sound that echoed across the waves.
She was free.
It was just before dawnon September 1stwhen Bellatrix staggered to the gates of Malfoy Manor, drenched and trembling, her robes in tatters. She pounded on the heavy iron doors until they creaked open, revealing a bleary-eyed Narcissa.
Narcissa gasped at the sight of her sister, her usual composure shattering like glass. "Bella…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "You escaped. How is that possible?"
Bellatrix pushed past her, her teeth chattering as she clutched her sister's arm. "I don't have time to explain, Cissy. I need your help. And I need to see Severus."
Narcissa hesitated, her eyes scanning her sister's gaunt face and wild expression. She closed the door behind her, casting a warming charm and conjuring fresh robes with a flick of her wand. "You're freezing. Let's get you warm first. Then we'll talk."
"I can't wait, Cissy," Bellatrix snapped, though her voice wavered with exhaustion. "He's out there. My nephew. Harry Potter. He needs me."
Narcissa froze mid-step, the words striking her like a physical blow. "Your nephew? Harry Potter?"
Bellatrix's eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her manic intensity. "Yes. There's so much you don't know. But I'll tell you everything. Just… just let me sit down, and I'll explain."
Moments later. firelight danced across the ornate drawing room of Malfoy Manor, casting long shadows over the two sisters. Narcissa sat rigid in her chair, her sharp blue eyes fixed on Bellatrix, who paced the room with a restless energy. The Bellatrix before her was not the sister she had known. Her face was gaunt, her robes tattered and damp, and her eyes burned with a wild intensity that set Narcissa on edge.
"I believe you have some things to tell me," Narcissa said at last, her voice crisp and controlled despite the turmoil roiling in her chest.
Bellatrix stopped pacing and turned to face her. Her dark eyes locked onto Narcissa's, pleading and urgent. "I need you to listen, Cissy. What I'm about to say… it won't be easy, but you deserve the truth."
Narcissa's fingers tightened on the armrests of her chair. "The truth about what?"
Bellatrix hesitated, drawing a shaky breath. Then, with a resolve that seemed to cost her dearly, she said, "About your son. About Donovan."
The name struck Narcissa like a blow. Her heart seized, and a tremor passed through her body. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice trembling.
Bellatrix stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "This won't be easy to hear, but I'll do my best to explain."
"There was a ritual," Bellatrix began, her words slow and deliberate. "A powerful, ancient magic. The Dark Lord needed an heir, and he chose you, Cissy. He chose you because of your strength, your purity, your loyalty. You carried his child."
Narcissa's breath caught in her throat. She shook her head, denial flooding her system like ice water. "No. That's not possible. I would remember something like that."
"You would," Bellatrix admitted, her voice pained. "If the ritual hadn't erased your memory of it. You thought you conceived him naturally with Lucius. But the truth is, Donovan was always meant to be the Dark Lord's legacy."
Narcissa's sharp intake of breath broke the tense silence. Her world tilted dangerously, and memories she had buried deep began to claw their way to the surface.
She was lying in her bed at Malfoy Manor, the room dimly lit, her body exhausted from hours of labor. Bellatrix had been there, gripping her hand tightly, whispering words of encouragement. When the baby finally came into the world, Narcissa had felt an overwhelming flood of love.
She remembered holding him briefly, memorising his delicate features—the dark hair curling at his temples, his tiny hands, his vibrant blue eyes, a perfect mirror of her own. She had whispered his name, Donovan, her voice trembling with joy and exhaustion.
But the moment was fleeting.
The mediwitch had taken the baby from her arms. Narcissa had felt a prickle of unease as she watched the mediwitch hand the infant to the Dark Lord himself.
And then—darkness.
Her chest heaved as the memories resurfaced, dragging her back to the present. She let out an agonised cry, her hands clutching at her chest. "They stole him from me," she whispered, the words laced with fury and heartbreak. "I knew. I always knew. My heart told me something was missing."
Narcissa stood abruptly, her movements sharp as she paced the room, her hands trembling. "And where has he been all these years, Bella? Where is he now?"
"That's the other thing I have to tell you." Narcissa's eyes narrowed at her sister.
"What have you done?" Said Narcissa with a steel edge to her voice. Bellatrix knew she had to tread very carefully.
"He's fine, he's alive. Snape says he's extraordinary. He lives as Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter? Severus seemed so fond of the boy when he spoke of him this summer. I found it very odd. But –" Narcissa's world seemed to tilt, and for a moment, she could only stare at her sister. "How is that possible? Are you saying they've switched places? Surely 'the light' would have noticed it was the wrong boy when they rescued him."
"Not exactly switched – more like combined," she replied with a wince, knowing she was on thin ice. "I'm saying that the boy everyone knows as Harry Potter is not a Potter at all," Bellatrix said, her voice thick with emotion. "He isyourson. The one you gave birth to that night. Harry Potter IS your son."
"I still don't understand. How is that possible?" Narcissa asked.
"After the Dark Lord fell, I had to act quickly. The Potter boy was dead, and I saw an opportunity to protect Donovan. I combined their life forces, their magic, to create a new identity for him. He became Harry Potter.
"You combined their magic?" Narcissa's voice rose, sharp as a blade. "You turned my son into some... Frankenstein creation?" Bellatrix raised her eyebrows slightly at the reference to muggle literature.
"No!" Bellatrix snapped. "His body carries traces of both boys, that couldn't be avoided. He looks like a perfect blend of Lily and James Potter, but eyes Cissy, I remember him having your eyes and the magic inside him—that's all Donovan. He's still your son, Cissy. He always has been."
"Where did he go?"
"I don't know. I looked everywhere I thought he would be but I couldn't find him. That's when I set the Bones Manor on fire and got arrested. I gave up all together, until Snape came to tell me he had seen him and he was going to Hogwarts this year."
"You said it was to protect him. But you let him be taken by the light. He could be anywhere. Albus has always been a bumbling old fool."
Bellatrix's face crumpled with guilt. "I didn't know what else to do. After the Dark Lord fell, I knew the world would be chaos, they were the only ones who could keep him safe."
Narcissa's breathing quickened. "You lied to me. You let me spend all this time believing he never existed. Do you know the pain I have suffered?"
"Do you think I haven't suffered for it? He's my soulmate, Cissy! Do you know what it's like to be apart from your soulmate for eleven years? To feel that emptiness every day? I took the consequences for us both because I could not bare him to suffer for my choice. Most people couldn't have survived what I've endured."
Narcissa's expression faltered at the raw anguish in her sister's voice."Soulmate?"
"Yes, I knew the moment he wrapped his little chubby hand around my finger. Then it was confirmed by the goblins. It was why my marriage was annulled."
"Ah, I wondered why they called you Black in the Prophet. They don't usually make mistakes like that." Narcissa let out an exhausted sigh and then continued. "I don't know how I feel about that, but I know I have no choice but to accept it. It would kill you both if I tried to keep you apart."
Bellatrix dropped to her knees in front of her sister, gripping her hands tightly. " I have hated myself for my choice every single day. But he's alive. And he's extraordinary. You were never meant to know of his existence Cissy, but you do and now you could know him."
Narcissa stood abruptly, her mind racing. She felt a rush of conflicting emotions—anger, grief, betrayal—but also a fierce, undeniable sense of purpose.
Narcissa wiped her tears, her sorrow giving way to a fierce determination. "He's my son," she said, her voice trembling with anger and resolve. "Mine. And I will not let anyone keep him from me again."
Bellatrix rose as well, her expression a mixture of relief and trepidation. "Then we must act quickly. He's at a crossroads, Cissy. He doesn't know the truth yet, but when he does... he will need us both."
Narcissa turned to her sister, her eyes blazing. "You will help me fix this, Bella. For Donovan - Harry. For my son."
Bellatrix nodded solemnly. "I will."
"And if I find out he suffered for even a moment with whomever raised him, I will hold you responsible."
Bellatrix nodded solemnly. "I'll do whatever it takes. I swear it."
Narcissa turned away, her mind already racing with plans. For the first time in years, her purpose was clear. Harry Potter—her son—would learn the truth. He would know his mother.
And nothing would stand in her way.