We're getting into the deeper repercussions of this story, and what I'm aiming for. A lot of this back half has turned into commentary, and I think you could say that this story is a journey in my own beliefs, not just regarding HP canon but just … life in general.

I guess that's probably true in a lot of my work.

We all put a bit of ourselves into our art.

It's part of the process.

One.

Late into the night, long after Thomas returned to his mother and they both retired to bed, Severus Snape called for Sirius Black to meet with him. The two former enemies stood together in an otherwise-empty room, with a small army of students' desks between them, and silence reigned.

Eventually, Severus said: "What gave you this mad idea?"

Sirius considered this question for a long time. He stroked his beard. "Honestly," he said, "it was hearing about how he grew up." He gestured. "Everything we went over: the fact that she barely made it to Wool's Orphanage, gave birth, and died; how everyone bought into the idea that she coerced a man into marriage with a love potion." He stopped. "Tell me, Severus, honestly. You know potions better than anybody in this castle. Do you think Merope Gaunt, without a wand, without training, with only the slightest notion of what magic even is, could brew a love potion? Never mind enough of a love potion to keep a man at her side for months?"

Severus's brow furrowed. He seemed surprised that his old nemesis was taking his expertise seriously. He considered the question, more seriously than he might have. ". . . No," he finally said. "Not on her own. Even the weakest of love potions requires years of practice."

Sirius nodded. "That's what I thought," he said. "It didn't add up. It's never added up." He cleared his throat. "Far be it from me to criticize our fearless leader, but sometimes I think the headmaster is so caught up with his machinations and brilliant schemes that, sometimes, he buys into what he wants to believe much more easily than what is."

Severus snorted with something like laughter. "You . . . will not hear disagreement from me."

"So," Sirius said, "I looked into the truth. For whatever reason, I've got a man in possession of powerful fae magic interested in me." Severus hummed; he was obviously familiar with the subject of Kafell. "It just wouldn't do for me to not take advantage of that. I wanted to know what really happened; how Lord Voldemort really came to be. Once I knew the truth, I realized I had a golden opportunity in front of me, pun fully intended. I'm a Black. I have old money. What good is it if I don't use it? What difference might it have made, I asked myself, if Merope Gaunt had someone in her corner? Someone to help her?" Sirius held out his hands, like he was making a presentation. "What good have I done with my life? What am I? An idiot with more money than brains. This was my chance to make a real difference, to make this world safer not just for my godson, not just for my friends and allies, but . . . for a woman who just wanted to have a family."

Severus crossed his arms over his chest. "You are more sentimental than you lead others to believe, Black."

Sirius laughed. "That's one way to put it."

"Well," Severus said, "I think it's ridiculous, I think it's stupid, I think it's absolute madness, and I think it might be the best hope we've ever had to put an end to the Dark Lord for good."

Two.

Sirius wondered, in the back of his mind, if Thomas Gaunt would find Harry Potter too simple, too crass, too childish to bother with. Despite being older by nearly half a year, Harry was hardly the intellectual, introverted boy that Thomas was. Where Thomas enjoyed quiet study and people-watching, Harry liked flying and loud games. Where Thomas would giggle to himself and roll his eyes, Harry would toss his head back and howl.

They were, in almost every way that one could see on the surface, opposites.

Sirius couldn't figure out what it meant when the two boys bonded immediately.

Despite the fact that he lost every game, Harry never tired of playing wizards' chess, and he was always keen to trade chocolate frog cards. For Thomas, who'd grown up with only his mother and Sirius for company, the whole experience was novel and seemed to awaken something in him.

"So, so," Harry was saying now, "your mum's going to Hogwarts too?"

"I think so," Thomas said. "I guess they don't usually do this sort of thing. It's unprecedented."

"Un-president-ed," Harry murmured thoughtfully.

"Mama is a special case." He turned to Sirius. "Mister Sirius, isn't it true that magic usually overwhelms a person if they aren't taught to control it? Isn't that why Hogwarts exists?"

"More or less," Sirius said.

"So, Mama is special." Thomas preened like a peacock. "She's kept her magic in check, even though it's been so long. She learned how to do it all by herself. But there's still lots to learn at a school."

"True," said Sirius.

"My mum went to Hogwarts. Didn't she?" Harry looked at his godfather.

Sirius hesitated, thinking about what Lily Potter might think if he started talking about her memory in front of the man who killed her; but then, Thomas Gaunt wasn't that man at all, was he? That was the whole point. Sirius eventually said: "She did. Head Girl. Gryffindor, like me and your dad, and your uncles Remus and Peter."

"Mama says Grandfather was very proud of being descended from Slytherin," Thomas said thoughtfully.

Sirius nodded. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said. "It wouldn't surprise me if you end up in Slytherin, actually. It's in your blood, if you think about it." He drew in a slow breath, let it out slower. "I think, if I were a younger man, I would tell you that it's best if you don't. But . . . well. There's a reason for everything, including all four houses. Whether you end up in Slytherin or any of the other three, I'm sure you'll make your mother proud."

Thomas beamed.

Three.

"Miss Gaunt," Dumbledore said slowly, "do you know what a horcrux is?"

Merope's eyes flashed. She hesitated, fidgeted, then eventually she said: ". . . Yes."

Dumbledore nodded. "I thought you might."

"I would never make one," Merope was quick to say next.

"No, no," Dumbledore said, "I shouldn't think so. I'm not accusing you of anything, dear girl. The reason I ask you is because . . . I have reason to believe that Lord Voldemort has made use of the rituals required to fashion a horcrux." He hesitated. "Possibly more than one."

Merope's face fell. "My Thomas would certainly be clever enough," she admitted. She sounded like she didn't want to be proud to say this, but she was.

"I believe that Voldemort would make use of items with sentimental value," Dumbledore continued, "and so I would be much obliged if you could help me. Think back, if you would, please. Think broadly. If your Thomas were to make a horcrux, one which meant something personal to him, what object do you think he might use?"

Merope considered this. "You aren't accusing Thomas of anything."

"No." Dumbledore shook his head. "I trust your judgment and Sirius's. I'm sure that you've raised a fine boy, and I do not believe that he will prove a threat to Wizarding Britain. I think, if Sirius Black has taught this old man anything with this mission he's taken on, it is that I sorely underestimated what a difference it must have made in the boy I knew as Tom Riddle, growing up without his mother."

Merope averted her gaze, then forced herself to meet Dumbledore's eyes again.

". . . My father's ring," she said with conviction.