The great silhouette of Hogwarts loomed in the distance, its towering spires cutting through the twilight sky like sentinels of ancient magic. The train slowed, the rhythmic clatter of wheels fading into the hum of eager voices and hurried footsteps. The station, bathed in the warm glow of lanterns, echoed with the excited chatter of students old and new.
Across the platform, the first years huddled together, their wide eyes darting toward the black lake, where enchanted boats bobbed gently on the water's surface. The Sorting Ceremony awaited them—an event that would define their path in the castle, marking the beginning of their new lives.
Inside the Great Hall, floating candles cast flickering light over the four long tables, each teeming with students dressed in the colors of their respective Houses. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the dusky sky outside, swirling with clouds that promised the coming night. Laughter and conversation filled the vast chamber, but amidst the lively energy, a quiet tension brewed among a particular group of students.
At the Slytherin table, Daphne Greengrass sat with an air of cold calculation, her piercing blue eyes sweeping across the hall in search of one person. Beside her, Blaise Zabini leaned forward, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood, his usual smirk absent. Theodore Nott exhaled in irritation, glancing toward the entrance before shaking his head. Tracy Davis, always the most openly expressive among them, frowned deeply, her arms crossed as she exchanged a look with Daphne.
At the Ravenclaw table, Xi Li was equally alert, her sharp gaze flicking between the gathered students. Though her Housemates chattered excitedly around her, she barely acknowledged them.
Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Violetta Lestrange sat unnaturally still, her violet eyes burning with a dangerous intensity. A part of her wanted to storm through the hall, to find him herself, but she knew Henry Potter well enough. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be.
The absence of their friend was not just unusual—it was unsettling.
Then, Susan Bones entered the Great Hall, slipping into her seat at the Hufflepuff table.
Instantly, Daphne's eyes locked onto her, sharp as a blade. A second later, Violetta's head snapped in the same direction, her expression darkening with barely contained fury. Even Xi, from her distant table, paused her search to glance toward the red-haired Hufflepuff.
Susan felt their eyes before she saw them.
The weight of their stares pressed down on her, cold and unforgiving. Once, she had laughed with them, shared secrets, stood beside them as a friend.
Now, they looked at her as if she were nothing at all.
She swallowed hard, her heart sinking as she lowered her gaze to her untouched plate. There was no escaping it. No way to undo what had been said. No way to take back the moment everything had changed.
Across the hall, Daphne's lip curled ever so slightly, a smirk without humor. Violetta's fingers twitched toward her wand. It was only the beginning of the school year, yet the battle lines had already been drawn.
And still, Henry Potter was nowhere to be seen.
Professor Bathsheda Babbling, her voice an excited cascade of ancient dialects and forgotten scripts, led the first years forward to the Sorting Hat. The enchanted ceiling reflected the storm outside—dark clouds swirled ominously, flashes of silver lightning briefly illuminating the enchanted stone walls. The Great Hall buzzed with the hushed whispers of students, all eagerly watching as the Sorting began.
One by one, names were called, and the Sorting Hat, worn and frayed yet brimming with ancient wisdom, gave its verdict.
"Granger, Hermione!"
A bushy-haired girl with bright, inquisitive eyes stepped forward, her hands clenching and unclenching nervously at her sides. As she sat beneath the wide-brimmed hat, it barely took a moment before it announced:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers as Hermione practically leaped off the stool, hurrying toward her new housemates, her face flushed with excitement.
The Sorting continued, each name bringing another nervous student forward.
"Malfoy, Draco!"
A tall, pale-haired boy strode toward the Sorting Hat with unmistakable arrogance, his every step measured and deliberate. He smirked slightly as he sat down, tilting his chin higher than necessary as the hat was lowered onto his head.
"SLYTHERIN!"
At the Slytherin table, Daphne Greengrass and her friends exchanged a knowing smirk. Blaise Zabini leaned back lazily, amusement flickering in his dark eyes, while Tracy Davis sipped her pumpkin juice without a word. Theodore Nott simply raised an eyebrow, but none of them looked surprised. Another piece had fallen into place.
More students were sorted, their fates decided by the ancient relic.
"Li, Su!"
A petite girl with intelligent, calculating eyes approached the Sorting Hat with measured steps, her face betraying little emotion. At the Ravenclaw table, her older sister, Xi Li, watched in quiet anticipation, her usually composed expression tightening ever so slightly.
"RAVENCLAW!"
Xi allowed a small, pleased smile as Su Li joined her, her posture as poised as ever.
"Longbottom, Neville!"
A round-faced boy stepped forward, his legs trembling slightly as he walked. As he sat down, the hat nearly slid down over his entire head, making him appear even smaller.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Gasps of surprise rippled through the hall. Most had expected Gryffindor, but the Hufflepuff table welcomed him with warm applause. He stumbled toward his new housemates, his cheeks burning, but his shoulders relaxing as he was offered a spot beside a kind-looking boy with blond hair.
"Weasley, Ronald!"
A freckled, lanky boy with an air of nervous excitement strode forward, his fingers twitching at his sides. The moment the Sorting Hat touched his head, it barely hesitated.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Ron sighed in relief, grinning as he rushed toward his brothers, who clapped him on the back.
Then, the name that held the Great Hall captive rang through the air.
"Potter, Charlus."
A hush fell, thick and suffocating as the storm outside raged on.
Charlus Potter -The Boy Who Lived—the younger brother of Henry Potter.
Hundreds of eyes bore into the small boy as he hesitated for the briefest moment before stepping forward. He tried to keep his back straight, his face unreadable, but the weight of their stares pressed down on him.
He sat beneath the Sorting Hat, his hands gripping the edges of the stool.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The silence stretched impossibly long.
Then, polite, measured applause rose from the Hufflepuff table. Charlus hesitated for just a second too long before making his way toward them, his face carefully neutral.
As he sat down, he noticed the Gryffindor table remained unnaturally quiet. The Hufflepuffs welcomed him, but there was no fanfare, no giddy excitement. Just… acceptance. No more, no less.
Charlus clenched his fists under the table. He would prove himself.
The Sorting concluded, and Headmaster Dumbledore rose, his presence commanding yet oddly subdued. His usual twinkle in those ancient blue eyes was dimmed, replaced by something heavier.
"Now that we have been well-fed and refreshed, let us partake in the traditional song before we retire for the night!"
As the students sang, the Weasley twins predictably slowed their voices, drawing out the last lines. Laughter rippled through the hall, momentarily lightening the air. Dumbledore, ever the showman, clapped the loudest, wiping away a dramatic tear.
Yet, beneath the theatrics, something lurked.
His gaze lingered on Charlus.
But beneath the cheerful façade, Dumbledore's face betrayed something darker. His frown was a clear indication that the night's events had not gone as he had hoped. After the Halloween incident, the Potters were no longer so trusting of him, and he could hardly blame them. He needed Charlie Potter, though. And from the looks of things, young Charlus would not be so easily manipulated. He prayed that the boy would be different from his elder brother. There were things that needed to be set in motion, and Dumbledore could not afford to lose the Potter boy now.
Not far away, a figure wrapped in dark robes, with a turban around his head, watched Charlus from the shadows. Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, had heard whispers of the elder Potter in recent weeks. But now, all that mattered was Charlus—the key to the Stone that was hidden within the halls of Hogwarts. Once he had it, he could bring forth the power his master craved.
Meanwhile, far from the bustling Great Hall, Henry Potter sat in his dormitory, his thoughts heavy with the weight of the past. He had not come to the feast.
scene break
The Hufflepuff common room was warm and inviting, filled with the soft hum of conversation as Professor Sprout spoke to the new first years. She was explaining the house rules with a gentle but firm tone, her eyes twinkling as she made sure everyone understood the importance of loyalty, hard work, and fair play. The prefects, eager to assist, began showing the first years to their rooms, guiding them with friendly smiles.
But as Charlie Potter was about to follow his fellow first years to the dormitory, a voice called out to him, halting him in his tracks.
"I hope you're not some dark lord like your bastard brother, mate," sneered a third-year boy from across the room.
Charlie froze, his eyes narrowing in confusion. The casual cruelty in the boy's words sent a chill through him. He turned to face the speaker, a frown settling across his face. He knows something about him? he thought, his mind racing.
Before Charlie could respond, a voice from behind him cut through the tension.
"Shut up, Smith!" A seventh-year girl, her purple hair striking against her pale skin, appeared at his side. "I didn't hear you have the guts to say that to his face last year."
Charlie recognized her immediately: Nymphadora Tonks, his uncle Sirius's cousin, and known for her unpredictable transformations. She was a Metamorphmagus, able to change her appearance at will, though she always seemed to gravitate toward vibrant colors—today, her hair was a shade of lavender.
Smith sneered at Tonks, undeterred by her presence. "Shut up, Tonks. Always defending your ex."
Tonks' expression darkened. "Why don't you take it up with him, then, Smith?" she shot back with a smirk. "I dare you. I bet he'd wipe the floor with you—blindfolded. So why don't you just fuck off before I add a detention to your list?"
The boy's face turned crimson, and he muttered something under his breath before quickly retreating to his dorm, his head bowed in shame.
Tonks turned back to Charlie, her expression softening. "Don't mind him, little potter. He's just jealous of your big brother."
Charlie watched the boy retreat, still processing what had just happened. "Do you know him? My brother?" he asked.
Tonks shrugged. "I do, but if you want to know more about him, you'll have to ask the Bones girl. Atleast this will give her a chance to mend things back. She was friends with him."
"Was?" Charlie asked, intrigued.
Tonks gave a slight roll of her eyes. "Yeah, they had a falling out. Most likely over your brother."
The mention of Henry made Charlie's stomach churn, but he pushed the feeling aside. "Why do they call him a dark lord?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tonks' eyes widened in surprise. "You don't know?" she asked, incredulity in her voice. "Morgana's tits, how can you not know? Your brother's a Parselmouth."
Charlie's heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"You didn't know?" Tonks blinked, clearly stunned by his lack of knowledge.
"No," Charlie replied, shaking his head slowly.
Tonks sighed, her face a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "He's a bloody Parselmouth, Charlie. Can speak to snakes. And that's not all. He has a Runespoor familiar."
"A what?" Charlie asked, his mind struggling to keep up.
"A Runespoor," she repeated. "A three-headed, poisonous talking snake. Classified as a XXXX creature, for good reason. It's dangerous, and your brother—well, he's a clever one. Knows how to bend the rules to his will."
Charlie's jaw dropped, his mind reeling. "How did they… let him keep it?" he stammered.
Tonks raised an eyebrow. "Allowed? Your brother was a manipulative bastard, Charlie. Hell of a Slytherin hiding behind a Ravenclaw mask. He could charm his way into or out of anything. But that snake? It's still just a hatchling, but your brother? He'll bend the rules to whatever he needs, no matter what."
Charlie's thoughts were racing. "If he was that much of a… troublemaker, why didn't anyone say anything to the headmaster?"
Tonks gave him a pitying look. "You think no one did? Your brother was an enigma, Charlie. No one could predict what he'd do next. He'd go to hell and back for those he cared about, and he'd bury anyone in the same hell if they crossed him. Even the professors were wary of him. And as for Dumbledore? He couldn't do a damn thing about your brother. No one could. No one ever formally complained, because no one could—he'd always be one step ahead."
Charlie felt a knot form in his stomach. "So what should I do?"
Tonks smiled, a touch of kindness in her eyes. "If you want to know more about him, ask the Bones girl. She's the one who knows the most in our house. But if you need anything else, feel free to ask me. I've got your back."
With a final wink, Tonks turned on her heel and left Charlie standing in the common room, his mind swimming with new revelations about the brother he couldn't remember. He was left with more questions than answers, but one thing was certain: there was so much about Henry Potter that he had yet to learn.
Shaken, Charlie slowly made his way to the dormitory, where he was sharing a room with his friend Neville Longbottom. He needed time to process everything.
As Charlie entered the dormitory, he couldn't shake the feeling that the questions about his brother would only continue to haunt him.
scene break
In Potter Mansion
James Potter ran a hand through his already messy hair, his hazel eyes peering through the slight gap of the door into the dimly lit bedroom. The quiet sound of muffled sobs reached his ears, twisting something deep in his chest.
"I don't know what's wrong with her, Padfoot," James admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Maybe she found out about your secret affair," Sirius Black quipped, his signature grin tugging at his lips.
"What?! I would never—" James sputtered, glaring at his best friend. "I love Lily too much to—"
"Relax, Prongs, I was just trying to lighten the mood," Sirius interrupted, smirking, though his eyes held a trace of concern.
"This is serious, Padfoot!" James hissed, careful not to wake his already distressed wife.
"You mean serious as in grave, not Sirius as in me, right?" Sirius chuckled, but James shot him a sharp look that made him raise his hands in surrender.
His expression softened. "Alright, alright. What happened?"
James exhaled heavily, rubbing his face. "You saw how she was when I got home. A complete wreck. Thank Merlin Rosaline was asleep. She was clutching this photo—gripping it so tightly like it was the only thing keeping her together—and she was crying like… like the whole wizarding world was about to meet its doom."
Sirius frowned. "Did you see what the photo was?"
James shook his head. "I tried, but she wouldn't let me. When I reached for it, she looked at me like I was a stranger and threatened to hex my private parts, Padfoot! And you know how creative she gets with hexes."
Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "Now that's the Lily I know."
James groaned. "Sirius, focus! She's been acting strange ever since Charlie left for Hogwarts. She barely even seemed aware when we put him on the train. And since we got home, she just… sits there, lost in thought. Is that it? Is it just because she misses him?"
Sirius crossed his arms, tilting his head in thought. "Could be. Mothers get weird when it comes to their kids. They carried them, gave birth to them—there's something different in that bond. Though, my mother was an exception. She probably would've tossed me out of a window if it weren't for family honor."
James let out a humorless chuckle before sighing. "Probably," he murmured, but doubt gnawed at him. No, it's more than that…
Something felt off.
Something was missing.
And James hated that he couldn't figure out what it was.
"But I don't know, Sirius," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I feel like we're missing something. Something big. It's like—I can't explain it—but I have this awful feeling that I've done something I shouldn't have, or worse, forgotten something I shouldn't have…"
Sirius clamped a firm hand on James' shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. "Look, Prongs, I don't know what it's like to be a parent, but I do know that you need some rest. Your wife needs you more than you think. Whatever this is, you'll figure it out. You always do."
James gave a distracted nod, his mind still a storm of thoughts.
"I'll check in on you both tomorrow," Sirius added. "i have to check on Remus and then I will come by."
James barely acknowledged him, already turning toward the bedroom. He entered quietly, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
Lily was curled up on the bed, her back to him, her body trembling with silent sobs.
James' heart clenched at the sight.
Removing his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose before slipping them back on. Scattered across the floor were numerous photo albums, pages flipped open to old memories. With a wave of his wand, he gently cleaned up the mess, but his gaze remained on his wife.
She was crying in a way that frightened him.
Not the type of sadness that could be soothed with whispered words or comforting arms.
But the kind that came from loss.
And James still didn't know why.
Instead of searching for answers, he simply climbed into bed, wrapping his arms around her trembling frame, whispering soft words of comfort, even as unease gnawed at the edges of his mind.
scene break
Sirius Black stumbled into his flat, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. He kicked off his boots, loosening the collar of his robes as he made his way toward his liquor cabinet. A drink, then sleep. That was the plan.
But that night, sleep was far from kind.
Darkness.
A child's laughter.
A small boy, barely older than four, with messy black hair and emerald green eyes, beamed up at him, his tiny fingers gripping a toy broomstick.
"Come on, padfoot! Watch me fly!"
The boy shot forward, the broom carrying him a few inches off the ground as he giggled, his bright green eyes alight with pure joy.
Sirius laughed, chasing after him. "Alright, pup, slow down before you—"
The boy collapsed.
Like a marionette with its strings cut.
His body crumpled, motionless.
A scream tore through Sirius' throat as he rushed to the child's side, shaking him, calling his name—
But the name wouldn't come.
No matter how hard he tried, his lips refused to form it.
The harder he remembered, the foggier it became, as though something was clawing at his mind, tearing pieces away.
Who… was he?
Who was this child?
Sirius jolted awake, gasping, his body drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as he gripped the sheets, his fingers trembling. The dream was already fading, slipping through his grasp like smoke.
But the unease remained.
Staggering to his feet, he reached for the nearest bottle of Firewhisky, uncorking it with shaking hands. He didn't bother with a glass—just took a deep swig, the burn doing little to chase away the lingering dread in his bones.
He tried to grasp onto the fading edges of the dream, tried to remember the child's face.
The harder he tried, the less he could recall.
A frustrated growl escaped him as he took another drink.
Then another.
Eventually, Sirius Black passed out, the bottle still clutched in his grip, the phantom laughter of a forgotten child echoing in his dreams.