The grim, utilitarian room at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place felt suffocating in the quiet—lit only by the flickering, muted glow of candles. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, as if the darkness is creeping like a physical manifestation of the tension in the air.A rare, unsettling silence hung in the air as members of the Order of the Phoenix gathered. The faces in the dim light were grim and wary, for each of them knew the stakes of this war better than anyone.
Remus Lupin sat quietly near the window, his expression one of deep thought, his usual calm now tainted with unspoken concern. Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned against the far wall, his arms folded as he scanned each person with the unblinking, watchful eyes of someone constantly assessing danger.
Mad-Eye Moody paced with his usual anxious, stilted movements, his magical eye swiveling to catch every corner of the room. His mood was tense—though few things could throw him off balance after years in the field—the recent disappearance of Sirius Black, along with Harry, had shaken him to his core. Dedalus Diggle stood near the door, shifting uneasily under the heavy atmosphere, while Tonks had claimed the far corner, her metamorphmagus tendencies struggling to hold her appearance in one state for too long.
"Are we really spying on kids now?" Tonks muttered, noticing Kingsley performing an eavesdropping charm. He stared back at her with silent intensity until she shrugged, rolling her eyes.
Suddenly, a soft murmur of a conversation broke through their wariness. Muffled by walls and doors, but sharp enough to catch their attention, Ron's voice, clear and anxious, cut into the secrecy of the room.
"Something about 'not bothering us anymore,' like we had more important things to worry about."
"He stopped writing after that," Hermione's voice replied.
"All those questions he asked—about the Order, the prophecy, what we thought he should do next… we kept telling him, 'Trust Dumbledore.' 'Follow his lead.' But what about us, Ron? He trusted us, and we just—"
"—passed the buck to Dumbledore," Ron interrupted.
"Yeah, I know. We treated him like he was just another problem to be managed. No wonder he—"
"Ran away?"
"Do you really think Harry would just abandon us like that? No, Ron. He hasn't run. He's… he's doing something, something he thinks he has to do."
"What? What could be so important that he wouldn't even tell us?"
"I don't know. But whatever it is, I think he felt like he couldn't trust us with it. Not anymore."
Across the room, Remus clenched his fists. His knuckles whitened under the pressure as his mind raced.
"I can't stand this, Hermione. Sitting here, not knowing if he's okay? Not knowing if he's out there being—being—"
"We'll find him, Ron. If anyone can, it's us," Hermione replied.
"You sound just like Dumbledore. 'When Harry's ready…' Like he's supposed to magically show up and tell us everything's fine. What if he doesn't? What if he—"
"Stop," Hermione's voice was firm. "Don't say it, Ron. I can't… I can't hear it."
"I should've said something—done something!" Ron's frustration filled the silence.
The charm ended.
"How the hell do they know about the prophecy?" Diggle's voice sliced through the silence, alarm evident in his tone. "And why is Dumbledore's plan still a mystery?
"More like, what is Dumbledore's plan, really?" Arthur's voice had a sharp edge.
"There is a plan?" Emmeline Vance asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.
"Something's off," Remus muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't shake the feeling we're missing something."
"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss Dumbledore," Moody growled, his magical eye swiveling to focus on Lupin. "But you're right. Something's off. And I don't like the fact that even these midgets know about the prophecy."
"Harry's gone, and I— I should've known Sirius wouldn't sit by after that last meeting. Not after all that talk about protecting Harry," Remus murmured, his voice thick with regret.
"That idiot," Diggle said, shaking his head. "Sirius Black… always had more heart than sense. Disappearing like that—leaving things open to speculation—he shouldn't have gone off on his own."
But it was Remus's voice that cracked the silence again, his words sharp and full of grief, "He wouldn't take Harry's disappearance lying down. I should have known."
"Well, he certainly made our work simpler," Podmore muttered darkly.
As the Order members exchanged knowing glances, the room fell into a deep hush. Their minds connected to a singular, worrying thought—one that could turn everything they knew upside down. The shadows seemed to stretch long and dark across the walls of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
A few days ago
Sirius sat slumped in front of the fireplace at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the dim flickering light from the flames casting an eerie glow on his weary face. His expression was drawn, the weariness of sleepless nights evident in the shadows beneath his eyes. A half-empty bottle of firewhisky rested beside him, its contents depleted and forgotten in his grasp as his attention lingered on the Black family tapestry.
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaustion clouding his thoughts, but it was the name that had caught his eye—Hadrian Potter Black—that gripped him with such force that everything else seemed to fade into nothingness.
Sirius' heart hammered violently in his chest as his eyes scanned the name again. Hadrian? There was only one Hadrian he knew, one connection to this name, and it was Harry. But Harry? Why this name, and why now? His mind wrestled with this sudden twist of fate. James had wanted to name his son Hadrian, a name from the Potter line that had carried meaning for generations. But Lily had insisted on naming him Harry, in honor of her own father, Henry. James had relented, but now, standing in front of him on this tapestry, a dark mark on his family's history—Hadrian's name was here.His chest tightened painfully. Hadrian… it couldn't be. Not here, not now.
Sirius' breath came in shallow pants as his thoughts tumbled in a blur. Names carried power in the wizarding world—mysterious, complex power that even the most seasoned witch or wizard could barely understand. Harry, always Harry… But if James had indeed intended to name him Hadrian, could this be more than coincidence? There had to be another reason.
Sirius had heard of magical protections tied to names—ancient, subtle veils meant to safeguard children in ways few could comprehend. The idea gnawed at him, clawing at his insides like the bite of something poisonous. Could it really be that simple? Could Harry—Hadrian—be at the center of a protection even now hidden from them all.
His fingers reached out hesitantly to touch the tapestry again, brushing against the thread of the name Hadrian. What were they hiding from him? What had they kept from Harry?Black? Why black.
Lily was muggleborn and on james side only great aunt dorea was married to charlus potter. Jame's uncle. None of this was enough to warrant a black surname.
"No… this isn't just coincidence," Sirius muttered, his voice thick with regret and confusion. He whispered a "Notice-Me-Not" charm over the tapestry and waved his wand. The heavy weight of secrets pressed down on him as he instructed Kreacher to help him leave quickly. He didn't have time to waste. If Harry was hiding here, somewhere in the depths of this twisted family legacy, then it was high time he found him.
In no time, he was at the goblins' doors, exchanging a fee far too high for comfort, but Sirius had little choice. The goblins provided him with an answer as terse as it was cryptic: Harry was connected to the Black lineage—something hidden, something more complicated. He did not hesitate and, with Kreacher by his side, immediately made his way to the Black Manor.
Inside the manor, the sight of Harry standing before him was both a relief and a shock. The boy who had once been full of life was now just a shadow. His gaze held bitterness, suspicion, and an unspoken ache. Sirius, too, was overwhelmed by everything he had failed to do as a godfather and friend.
The door creaked open. Harry's gaze fell onto Sirius. His voice was low, betraying no surprise, but something else lingered in his eyes. "Sirius… What are you doing here?"
Sirius stepped forward, voice raw with desperation. "I came to find you, Harry—Hadrian. We've been worried sick about you. Why didn't you tell us? Don't you know how hard this has been for everyone?"
Harry's face twisted with frustration and pain. "Don't you think I know that by now?" he spat back, his voice harsh with betrayal."You promised me, Sirius." The words were thick, as though a thousand other things might spill out but were held back by sheer willpower
"I couldn't act the way I wanted to, Harry. The Ministry, the Order, they had me tangled in these rules. I wasn't gone, I was only standing by… waiting for the right time, hoping for the right opportunity to protect you. The order unintentionaly caged me. And i thought being in that cage was the only way to protect you" sirius said tiredly.
But Harry turned his back in a sudden burst of anger, frustration pouring out like a flood. "We were children, Sirius! I didn't know where to go. I trusted you, and now—now I'm supposed to forgive you?"
The silence between them grew, heavy with their unspoken truths and wounds neither knew how to heal. And then Harry collapsed, the weight of everything pressing him down as he sighed deeply.
"I couldn't see past my own anger," Harry admitted bitterly, his voice strained. "The voices, Sirius—they were never just whispers. They're screams. I don't know what they are, what's happening to me, but it's tearing me apart. I don't know how much longer I can do this by myself."
Sirius stood frozen, his eyes still locked on Harry's pale, haunted face. His pulse thrummed in his ears as Harry's quiet whisper about the voices echoed in the room.
"What voices?" Sirius asked, his tone thick with unease, his mind racing to connect the dots.
Harry didn't answer immediately. His expression twisted in frustration, the words weighing heavy on his lips. "The voices… they're not just whispers anymore," he whispered again, his eyes glassy, distant. "They're… loud. Screaming, always screaming. And when I close my eyes, I feel them clawing at my thoughts—"
Sirius stepped forward, his brows furrowing with a mixture of fear and anger. "Who are they, Harry? Tell me!"
Harry's breath hitched, but before he could speak, a voice from behind them broke through the tension.
Lyra stood, awkwardly shifting her weight, her hands trembling at her sides. Her gaze moved uneasily between Harry and Sirius. She swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat as she saw the fear and confusion in Harry's eyes, a reflection of her own tangled emotions. She hesitated but could no longer remain silent.
"it's Arcturus" Lyra said. Sirius whirled around.
"Who are you?" Sirius asked quietly, meeting Lyra's gaze with intensity.
My father… was Regulus Black," she whispered, the words heavy with a dark finality. "
Sirius froze. Regulus Black. His brother—lost to them all. His gaze turned sharply to Harry, disbelief swimming in his eyes, before his expression darkened with recognition.
"Then you're one of the last true Blacks," Sirius muttered bitterly under his breath, all the words tangled together like knotted yarn.
"And the voices,"Lyra's voice cut through the spiraling thoughts. "They're Arcturus—part of him lives inside Harry's head now." Her words seemed to fall heavily in the silence between them, and for a brief moment, Harry seemed to withdraw even further into himself, his body language closing off, eyes unfocused.
Sirius looked at her, horrified by the mention of Arcturus Black, his former grandfather, the man who was the most manipulative black in existence,the very essence of their family. The thought that Arcturus could have done something like this—something so monstrous to Harry—sent a cold wave of revulsion through him.
Sirius's pulse thudded in his ears, the implications settling into the pit of his stomach. He was starting to piece it together, his mind working furiously. This wasn't just about pain or fear—this was something far worse, far deeper than any trauma he'd witnessed before. Arcturus's influence was still rippling through Harry, poisoning him even after death.
Sirius's jaw clenched as he looked from Lyra to Harry. "Is it just Arcturus who's doing this? Is there someone else, Harry? Another voice?"
Harry's lips trembled as he shook his head slightly, unable to form a complete sentence, his mind too clouded to respond coherently. But from the corner of his eye, Sirius saw a slight flicker in Harry's gaze—a strange tension, like a flicker of something darker trying to break through.
The torment Harry had been enduring wasn't simply a product of trauma or his usual enemies. It was a legacy of evil, laced with manipulative magic that had burrowed into his soul.
Sirius's hands reached out to Harry, trembling as he laid a hand on his shoulder, desperate to bridge the vast distance that had grown between them. "You're not alone, Harry. We'll fight this. You don't have to carry this—whatever he did—alone."
Harry swallowed, eyes distant as he barely acknowledged the comfort, his gaze still lingering somewhere far away, caught between the whispers, between the two worlds battling within him.
"You don't know how much longer I can keep fighting them, Sirius." Harry's voice barely rose above a whisper as his hand clutched his shirt where his heart thudded in pain. "The darkness… it's too much."
"I'll be right here, Harry. You're not alone." Sirius's voice held a deep, fierce determination, his own heart breaking as he saw the raw anguish reflected in Harry's eyes.
Lyra remained silent, her face pale and grim, her thoughts consumed by the monster within her own bloodline that had wrought this devastation. She knew Harry didn't deserve this. None of them did. And though she could not completely understand the depth of what Arcturus had done, she felt, deep in her bones, that the road to healing for Harry was one fraught with unimaginable challenges.
Sirius looked back at Harry. Their gazes locked once more.
"We'll face this together, you and me, Hadrian," Sirius said with conviction, his voice firm despite the storm in his chest. "All of us. No more secrets. You don't have to carry it alone anymore."
"The voices are not just from Arcturus, Harry… Are you sure there isn't another presence?" Lyra pressed softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry's face contorted for a split second, a surge of internal conflict flashing across his expression. His hands clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms, as if grounding himself against an overwhelming tide. He wasn't looking for comfort. He wasn't seeking solace. He was trying to make sense of the madness swirling in his mind. Finally, his voice came out, unyielding though quiet. "There's another voice. It feels… familiar. Part of me."
Sirius's heartbeat spiked. "Familiar?" he repeated, fighting against the disbelief that threatened to flood him.
Harry's eyes narrowed, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Voldemort's presence," he muttered, voice quiet but resolute. "I can't escape it, not completely. It's a shadow, barely there, but it's still part of me." His fingers twitched at his sides, not in fear, but in something more calculated—more desperate. He wasn't looking for someone to solve this for him. He just wanted the facts, the answers.
Sirius's mind reeled. "But he can't—he shouldn't still be in you. How—"
"Doesn't matter how," Harry interrupted, voice sharp, filled with restrained anger. "It's there, and I need to do something about it. All of it. I'm not going to sit here while it eats away at me."
Lyra looked at him with compassion, her gaze shifting to Sirius. "There has to be something we can do—"
"I'm not looking for magic that'll just chase it away," Harry snapped, the intensity of his gaze cutting through the moment. "If Arcturus's legacy is in me—if Voldemort's remnants are—then I'll deal with them. On my own terms."
Sirius stared at him, a knot tightening in his chest. This wasn't the broken, lost Harry from days past. This was someone who was plotting his own survival with that same fire that had always carried him through.
"Harry, you don't have to do this alone," Sirius said softly, but with conviction. "There's a way to separate them. We can find it."
Harry turned to face him at last, his eyes locking with Sirius's. "I don't need to separate them if I can control them. You want to help me? Then help me figure out how to do that."
Sirius was taken aback, struck by the raw determination in Harry's voice. The way he was standing—no hesitation, no plea for comfort—just a quiet resolve.
Lyra stepped closer, feeling the weight of what was unfolding, but understanding the courage it took for Harry to take this stance. "We will help you, Harry. You'll have a plan. But you're not alone in this fight."
There was no sentimentality in Harry's reply. No thank-yous, no words of gratitude. Only clarity in his gaze. "Then let's figure it out."
For the first time in weeks, Harry felt something akin to hope—someone was finally standing by his side. Someone who understood him, who wouldn't turn away when things got too dark. The isolation that had overwhelmed him now seemed just a little less unbearable.
Artcurus voice whispered " Are there really blacks that you can trust?
while voldemort laughed.