The dimly lit study of Blackmoor Estate was a place where secrets were born and conspiracies carefully brewed. The afternoon sun streamed through tall, arched windows, casting elongated shadows across the grand oak desk between two men of considerable stature—Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black.
Charlus sat with his back ramrod straight, the weight of recent events pressing heavily on his broad shoulders. His fingers, calloused from years of political maneuvering, drummed rhythmically against the wood of the desk. His graying hair, though still thick, seemed somehow more fragile, as if even it could not fully bear the burden of what had transpired. He let out a low, measured sigh, rubbing his temples.
"Time is not on our side, Arcturus," Charlus began, his voice rich with authority, though there was an unmistakable edge of worry. "Harry's safety is paramount, yes. But Sirius… Sirius is rotting in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit. We cannot—will not—let this stand."
Arcturus, ever the strategist, perched himself on the edge of the desk, his long fingers clasped before him. His sharp eyes, gleaming with a mixture of calculation and cold fury, locked onto Charlus. "Indeed, Charlus. And the Ministry… well, we know how diligent they are in keeping the truth buried." His voice, deep and rich, reverberated in the quiet room, like distant thunder waiting to crack the sky. "But you are right. We cannot sit idle. I shall see to the groundwork. The Black family has resources. Influence. We shall use it to bring the truth to light."
Charlus nodded, his gaze hardening. "Our first course of action must be to reach out to those within the Ministry. Men and women who still owe us favors, those who have not yet lost their honor to the likes of Fudge and his sycophants. We need to unearth every shred of evidence—trial records, witness testimonies—anything that will show Sirius's innocence and Peter Pettigrew's guilt."
Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "And Pettigrew… We cannot ignore the rat. His disappearance after the events of that night is suspicious at best. At worst, it's a deliberate ploy to frame Sirius. We must find him. Alive or dead, we will drag him from the shadows."
Charlus's eyes narrowed. "The rat will be found. But we need to start with the facts. First, we must secure Sirius's reputation. I'll contact my sources within the Auror Office. If there have been any unusual animal sightings, peculiar reports—anything—then we will follow the trail."
Arcturus allowed himself a rare, thin smile, his face an unreadable mask of quiet malice. "You are the better man for this task, Charlus. No one knows the Auror Office like you."
Charlus's smile was tight but genuine. "And I trust you'll ensure that our resources are ready. I'd wager the Black vaults have more than a few things to offer in this matter."
Arcturus's lips curled into a grin of his own, though it was more calculating than joyful. "Of course. The Black family is not without its… power. But there is something you should know, something I've been mulling over." His voice dropped to a near whisper, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of an important revelation. "James, Sirius, and Peter… they were Animagi. All three of them."
Charlus's brow furrowed as he processed the words. Then, a look of quiet pride flickered in his eyes. "Animagi? All three of them? Why did I not know this?"
Arcturus leaned back, fingers steepled, contemplating the significance. "I can think of a few reasons. But first, I must ask—why did they not tell us?"
Charlus's lips quirked into a rare smile, and he leaned forward, his voice lowering as he shared the secret that had been kept so closely guarded. "It was all for Remus. The Marauders—James, Sirius, Peter—they became Animagi to help their friend, Remus Lupin. He was a werewolf, and they wanted to accompany him during his transformations. They risked their lives to become Animagi just so they could be with him. James… he was a stag. Sirius, a large black dog. And Peter… well, he was a rat."
Arcturus snorted, shaking his head with disdain. "A rat. How fitting." He raised his eyes to meet Charlus's, a cold glint of amusement in his gaze. "It would seem that Peter was always destined to betray them."
Charlus's expression hardened at the mention of the traitor. "Sirius was the most loyal of men. To think that he would be branded a murderer because of that rat…"
Arcturus's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "But knowing their Animagus forms gives us an advantage, does it not? If Peter is still alive, he could be hiding in his Animagus form, blending in with the world. We need to figure out where he is, and when we do, we shall expose him for the coward he is."
Charlus leaned back in his chair, contemplating the task ahead. "The rat will be found. He's no match for the Black family's determination. And Sirius's name… It will be cleared."
Arcturus nodded, his mind already racing ahead. "Agreed. And I have another suggestion. We must begin with Gringotts. Dumbledore sealed James and Lily's will with his powers as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, but the Goblins will have a copy. The will will reveal information, potentially even some hidden assets that may help us. And more importantly, it might provide us with clues as to James and Lily's plans for Harry's future."
Charlus's brow furrowed, but his expression softened as he considered this. "You're right. That's our first step then. I'll go to Gringotts. There are few who understand the vaults and the Goblins like I do."
Arcturus's gaze was piercing. "And while you do that, I will begin reaching out to our contacts. The Black family has a long reach, and I intend to use every inch of it."
Charlus stood, offering his hand to Arcturus. "Thank you, old friend. This… this will not be easy. But for Sirius. For Harry. For all of us…"
Arcturus clasped his hand firmly, the weight of the promise settling between them. "Together, Charlus. We shall bring justice to our family. And we shall make sure that no man, not even the Ministry, can ever stand against us."
With the plans set in motion, the two men departed, each set on their path. The storm was gathering, and they would see it through to the end.
—
The room at Blackmoor Estate was bathed in the soft golden light of the late afternoon sun, casting long, languid shadows across the polished wooden floors. Shelves brimming with thick, ancient medical tomes lined the walls, their musty scent mingling with the faint perfume of dried herbs. At the center of the room stood a large bed, its quilted cover in rich shades of deep red and gold. On the bed sat Harry, his small frame a contrast to the vastness of the room. His legs swung restlessly, betraying his nerves despite the calm presence of the two women before him.
Melania, her dark eyes impossibly serene yet sharp, moved with a quiet grace as she hovered her wand above Harry, casting a series of diagnostic spells. She was a woman of few words, but when she spoke, it carried the weight of experience, of knowledge, of the kind of grace that came with both beauty and intellect. Her voice was soft, yet filled with an unwavering calm. "You've been very brave, Harry," she said, her gaze softening as she studied the diagnostic results. Her lips parted slightly in the slightest frown. "We will take care of you now."
Beside her, Dorea's heart seemed to clench as she knelt before Harry, her voice warm but firm. The elegance of her features, sharp yet dignified, bore the kind of strength that could shatter anyone who stood in her way, but now, it softened as she met Harry's eyes. "You're safe, my darling," she whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle but insistent. Her voice, like melted honey, wrapped around him, comforting him despite the clear signs of distress in his gaze. "No one will hurt you again. Not while we are here."
Harry hesitated, his large green eyes flickering with the faintest spark of hope. "Are you really my grandparents?" he asked, as if testing the possibility, as if it was too good to be true.
Dorea's lips curled into a smile, her eyes gleaming with warmth as she cupped his face. "Yes, Harry," she replied softly, her voice tinged with both sorrow and love. "We are. And from now on, you are part of our family. You'll never be alone again."
Melania, whose demeanor was always composed, now allowed a hint of emotion to rise in her voice. "We'll catch up on everything soon," she murmured, her eyes scanning Harry's fragile frame. "But first, we need to ensure you're strong and healthy." Her gaze turned to Dorea. "He's been through so much."
Dorea nodded sharply, her eyes steely with resolve. "No one deserves to be treated like this," she muttered, the anger in her voice evident despite her calm exterior. She reached for Harry's hand, her own large, elegant fingers brushing his with infinite tenderness. "But you're home now, Harry. No one will hurt you again, I swear it."
Harry, for the first time since he'd entered the room, felt a spark of warmth stir inside him. He looked at them both, his voice small but filled with gratitude. "Thank you… for everything."
Dorea pulled him into a gentle embrace, her sharp, regal features softened in the rarest of smiles. "We love you, Harry," she whispered, her voice laced with affection. "And we'll always protect you."
Melania's wand paused, hovering over Harry as the results of her diagnostic spells flickered in the air. Her sharp eyes narrowed, a look of quiet concern overtaking her serene expression. "Dorea," she said softly, almost too quietly, "Harry has severe malnutrition. His body is not just weak—it's been starved for a long time."
Dorea's breath hitched, a surge of protective fury welling up in her chest. "No child should ever go through something like this." She pressed Harry's small hands into hers, her grip firm yet comforting. "We'll take care of that. We'll make you strong again."
Melania's gaze flickered toward Harry's chest, her face tightening as she observed the deeper injuries hidden beneath his clothes. "He's got fractures—multiple broken bones. Some have healed, but there's no sign of magical intervention. It looks like they were left to mend on their own."
Dorea's face paled as she met Melania's eyes, the horror of what Harry must have endured settling in like a cold stone. "That's not all," Melania continued, her voice filled with sorrow. "There are burn marks, too—his body bears the signs of abuse and neglect." Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the wand, her concern evident even in her composed demeanor.
Dorea's jaw tightened, and for a moment, the fierce matriarch within her seemed to shatter, her composure slipping as her eyes filled with unspoken rage. She leaned down, her voice tender yet fierce as she cupped Harry's cheeks in her hands. "My dear boy," she murmured, the words filled with an aching sorrow. "You have endured more than anyone should ever bear. But I promise you, you will never suffer like this again. You are safe, and we will take care of you."
Harry looked at them both, a swirl of emotions evident on his small face—confusion, relief, fear, and something else, something deeper. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking too loud might shatter the fragile sense of security he was starting to feel.
Dorea kissed his forehead gently, her embrace warm and unyielding. "You are so precious, Harry. Never forget that. We will always protect you, no matter what."
Melania watched them with a quiet intensity, her eyes a mix of sorrow and determination. "We will heal you, Harry," she added softly, her voice a low promise. "And when you are strong again, we will help you understand the world you belong to. You have so much to learn, but we will guide you every step of the way."
Harry, his heart filled with the smallest flicker of hope, allowed himself to believe them. "Okay," he whispered, feeling for the first time that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't alone anymore.
—
Charlus Potter strode into Gringotts with the air of a man who knew his power and wasn't afraid to wield it. The bustling sounds of the bank fell into a stunned hush as wizards, witches, and goblins alike turned to watch the imposing figure move through the grand hall. He was every inch the Head of House Potter—his gait proud, his demeanor coldly authoritative. His appearance, once thought lost to the passage of time, sparked a ripple of disbelief. But for Charlus, it wasn't surprise that he sought—it was justice.
His sharp eyes swept over the room, taking note of every fleeting glance, every whisper. The most telling came from a tall, blonde figure standing by one of the large marble pillars—Lucius Malfoy. The moment their eyes met, Charlus felt the flicker of recognition, the flicker of fear that Malfoy couldn't quite suppress. Charlus's lips twitched, a smirk barely rising on his lips.
"Ah, Lucius," Charlus thought to himself, his voice in his head dripping with sarcasm. How lovely to see you so startled. Did you think you'd gotten away with it? He didn't need to say anything aloud. The fear in Malfoy's eyes said it all. Lucius knew the Potters were not people to be trifled with.
With a purposeful step forward, Charlus continued to the main counter, the weight of his intent anchoring his every movement. Behind the counter, a goblin was already eyeing him with a mixture of intrigue and caution, though there was no mistaking the respect in the creature's eyes.
"Charlus Potter," Charlus announced in a voice as smooth as it was commanding, drawing the attention of those still muttering in the background. "I wish to speak with the account manager for the Potter family vault. Urgent matters require my immediate attention."
The goblin at the counter straightened, his long fingers adjusting the quill in his hand. He blinked once, then twice, clearly processing the reality of the situation before him.
"Of course, Mr. Potter," the goblin said in a voice that was polite yet tinged with disbelief. "Please follow me."
Charlus did not miss the subtle shift in posture from the goblin. Griphook. He knew the name. The goblin had served the Potters with a professionalism that few could claim to possess. And as he followed Griphook down the grand hall and into the labyrinthine corridors of Gringotts, Charlus couldn't help but relish the sense of power in the air—the world had changed, and it was about to learn that the Potters were far from finished.
Griphook led Charlus to a private office, the door creaking open to reveal a small but efficiently arranged room. There were no windows, only shelves stacked with ledgers, scrolls, and ancient parchments. Griphook gestured for Charlus to sit.
"Please, Mr. Potter," the goblin said, with a respectful nod. "What can Gringotts assist you with today?"
Charlus took a seat, his posture perfectly composed, his hands folded on the table. His sharp gaze met Griphook's with cold precision.
"I require access to the will of James and Lily Potter," he said, his tone calm but filled with undeniable authority. "The copy sealed by Albus Dumbledore. I understand Gringotts holds the official records."
Griphook's eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a polite dip of his head, his lips tight with the understanding of the request. "As Head of House Potter, you have every right, Mr. Potter. Please wait here."
Charlus was left alone in the quiet room, but not for long. It wasn't long before Griphook returned, carrying an ancient-looking scroll bound in a dark leather cover. The goblin moved with the measured grace of one who was used to dealing with the weight of centuries.
"Here it is, Mr. Potter," Griphook said, handing the scroll over with a soft but precise gesture. "The will of James and Lily Potter. As requested."
Charlus accepted it carefully, his fingers brushing over the smooth leather before unrolling the parchment. His eyes quickly scanned the document, the weight of it settling heavily on his chest.
The will held several key points, and Charlus's heart tightened with each revelation:
First, Peter Pettigrew was named as the Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm that had protected James, Lily, and Harry. His betrayal echoed through Charlus's mind like a bitter, poisonous wind. He clenched his jaw in silent fury. Peter Pettigrew, the coward, the rat. He would pay for this.
Second, the will reaffirmed Sirius Black as Harry's godfather. Charlus allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. Sirius had always been like a son to him, and this ensured that Harry had a safe, loyal protector—a source of light amidst the dark storm.
Third, the will explicitly stated that Harry was not to be raised by Lily's sister, Petunia. The Potters had known that Petunia and her husband, Vernon, were ill-suited to care for Harry. Charlus felt a pang of guilt deep in his chest. So much for their wishes, then, he thought bitterly.
His fists clenched as his gaze dropped to the words that confirmed the horror—Harry had been left in the hands of the Dursleys, despite everything.
Charlus stood abruptly, the will gripped tightly in his hand. He could hear Griphook's footsteps as he moved back into the room, but his mind was already several steps ahead, calculating how he would make this right.
Without sparing another moment, he made his way through the corridors of Gringotts, and as he passed the main hall, he caught Lucius Malfoy's eye once again. This time, there was no hint of surprise on Malfoy's face—only cold recognition. Charlus allowed his lips to curl into a grim smile. It was the kind of smile that could freeze a man's blood.
There was no need for words now. Lucius would know. The Potters were not done.
As Charlus stepped outside and Apparated back to Blackmoor Estate, he felt the weight of the past decade on his shoulders, but there was something else there now—a renewed sense of purpose.
—
The moment Charlus strode into the drawing room, the tension in the air thickened, as if the very atmosphere recognized the gravity of the situation. His figure, tall and regal, commanded immediate attention. He held the will of James and Lily Potter in his hand, his fingers curling around it with the same precision he would use to wield a sword. His voice, low and measured, carried the weight of authority as he spoke.
"I have the will," Charlus declared, his tone unwavering, echoing through the room like the final verdict in a courtroom. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across his family. "It names Peter Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper. Sirius is Harry's godfather, as it should be. And James and Lily explicitly stated that Harry was not to be placed with Petunia Dursley under any circumstances."
Dorea's lips curled into a thin, controlled line, her eyes narrowing with the unmistakable fury that only a mother could possess. "Then Dumbledore," she spat, "violated their wishes. Harry should never have been subjected to that household. The nerve of him."
Her voice, while calm on the surface, held a venom that only years of enduring betrayal could have shaped. Every word was a sharpened dagger aimed directly at the heart of Dumbledore's integrity.
Arcturus, his face as stoic as ever, but with the deep, ancient wisdom of a patriarch etched into every wrinkle, nodded gravely. "This gives us leverage, Charlus. This document is more than just a will. It is the key to dismantling the foundation upon which Dumbledore built his control over Harry. If we can expose Peter's treachery and clear Sirius's name, we'll have the leverage to force Dumbledore's hand."
He clasped his hands behind his back, his posture unwavering as his eyes flicked toward the heavy curtains, as though contemplating what action would follow. "The Ministry may cower before Dumbledore, but they won't be able to ignore the Potter legacy. Not once we take action."
Charlus met Arcturus's gaze, his mouth curling into a slight, almost imperceptible smirk, one that carried both determination and a dash of disdain. "They won't have a choice, will they?" His voice was low, steady, but there was a glimmer of something darker in his eyes. "And once we have Sirius's name cleared, the Ministry's actions will be under scrutiny. It's time for them to feel the weight of their own missteps."
Melania entered the room just as the conversation reached its peak. Her presence was commanding, quiet but certain, like the calm before a storm. The curves of her figure were elegantly draped in a dark dress, her face serene but with an intensity behind her eyes that only those closest to her would ever recognize. She had been watching over Harry, her protective instincts as sharp as a dagger's edge.
"Harry is resting," Melania spoke, her voice soft, but with the kind of quiet strength that could command a battlefield. "He'll be safe here, in our care. But we must move quickly. If Dumbledore suspects our intentions, it could be too late."
Charlus nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes softening as they turned toward her. "We'll move swiftly, Melania. But there's more to do than just keep Harry safe. The Potter legacy demands action. We need to expose Peter's betrayal and make sure Harry's future is secure. Not just from Dumbledore, but from everyone who would use him as a pawn."
"Is it time to call the Legion?" Arcturus's deep voice broke through the momentary silence. His eyes glinted with the promise of something darker, something dangerous, as his sharp gaze shifted to Charlus. His massive frame seemed to take up more space in the room as he spoke, his words carrying the heavy weight of history.
Charlus turned to face his old friend, his eyes narrowing as he considered the question. There was no hesitation in his voice when he answered. "Yes, it's time." He let out a slow, deliberate breath. "The Black Dragon Legion has waited long enough in the shadows. We'll need them at full strength if we're to challenge Dumbledore and the Ministry. If we are to restore the honor of House Potter, we cannot afford to be subtle."
Arcturus gave a grim nod, his expression set, the lines of his face deepening with resolve. "I'll send word immediately," he said, his voice heavy with authority. "The Legion has been waiting for this moment. They will be ready when we call on them."
As Arcturus turned to make the arrangements, Charlus watched him go, his mind already racing through the plans that would need to be set into motion. The call to arms, however, came with risks. But then again, in his world, risk was simply another word for opportunity.
Dorea, having regained her composure, stood up, her eyes blazing with the fire of a lioness protecting her cub. "The Legion will be ready," she said. "But we cannot underestimate Dumbledore's reach. He may have been wrong in his handling of Harry, but he is not a fool. We'll need more than just the Legion's strength to topple him."
"Indeed," Charlus murmured. "But we'll have the truth on our side, and that is something even Dumbledore cannot silence forever."
The conversation hung in the air, filled with a charged anticipation. As Arcturus left the room to send word to the Legion, Charlus turned back to Melania, his voice dropping to a more private tone.
"We'll move quickly, Melania," he said. "But it will take time. Are you prepared for what lies ahead?"
Her gaze met his, unwavering. "I've been prepared for this moment my entire life, Charlus. The Potters will rise again, and this time, we will make sure Harry is safe. No matter the cost."
With that, the plans were set in motion, and the quiet, determined march of the Potters began. The Black Dragon Legion would not remain hidden for long. And when they struck, it would not just be for the Potter name—it would be for the future of everything they held dear.
—
Arcturus Black strode into the dimly lit headquarters of the Black Dragon Legion, the weight of history pressing down upon him like a tangible force. His silhouette, tall and imposing, seemed to absorb the shadows around him. With each step, the whispers of the Legion's past echoed in the corners of the room—a past forged in fire and blood. The cold, unyielding stone walls seemed to reverberate with the footsteps of those who had fought and fallen in service to the Legion's cause.
Accompanied by a small retinue of trusted advisors, including the ever-grizzled Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, Arcturus could feel the familiar pull of urgency in the air. Moody, his one eye constantly swiveling like a hawk scanning for danger, moved with a tense, predatory grace. His face was lined with the marks of countless battles, his features hardened and scarred, but the fire in his gaze remained as fierce as ever.
"Legionnaires, the hour is upon us," Arcturus's voice rang out, deep and resonant, reverberating off the walls like a thunderclap. His words carried the weight of a man who had seen empires rise and fall, and whose resolve had been tempered in the forge of countless wars. "The time to act has come, and we will not wait another moment."
The generals, an elite circle of warriors who had fought in both the Grindelwald and Voldemort wars, stood in a semi-circle around the large stone table. They were an imposing group, each one radiating the cold aura of those who had long since abandoned any pretense of civility. Worn battle armor, fresh scars, and the unspoken language of veterans filled the room. These were not men who believed in second chances.
One of them, a hulking figure with a thick, bushy beard and a deep, gravelly voice, broke the silence first. "And what are we marching into, Arcturus?" His voice was both wary and expectant. "We've been quiet too long. If we're to rise again, we need a target."
Arcturus's lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Peter Pettigrew," he said, his voice a cold whisper that carried the promise of retribution. "The traitor who betrayed James, Sirius, and so many others. His actions have left Harry Potter in the hands of the very people we loathe." He let the words hang in the air like a storm cloud, gathering strength. "And we will not let it stand. We march to bring him to justice—and, perhaps, to clear Sirius's name."
The generals exchanged knowing glances. They had long held grudges against those who had wronged the Black family. Pettigrew's betrayal, which had led to the downfall of so many, was the wound that still festered in their hearts.
Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody let out a low, gravelly chuckle, the sound rough and unsettling. "Pettigrew, huh?" His magical eye spun to focus on Arcturus with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of the room stand up. "Last time I checked, that rat's been hiding in plain sight for years. We'll need a damn good plan to drag him out of his hole."
Arcturus met Moody's gaze without hesitation. His voice remained cold, yet there was a fire within it, a hunger for justice that would not be denied. "Then we'll burn down every hole until we find him. We know what he's done, and there's no hiding for him any longer."
Moody grunted, his eye swiveling to scan the room before settling on a tall, gaunt general standing near the table. "Well, if anyone's going to make him squeal, it's going to be us." His voice was thick with a biting, sardonic humor. "And I've got a few tricks up my sleeve to help with that."
Arcturus gave a sharp nod, his mind already calculating the steps needed to dismantle the conspiracy that had kept Pettigrew safe for so long. "We will move swiftly," he said. "No mercy. The Black Dragon Legion is a symbol of power, and we will remind the world of what it means to cross us."
A younger general, still with the gleam of hunger in his eyes, shifted slightly. "And the Ministry? They'll be on our backs soon enough, won't they?"
Arcturus's gaze was a cold blade as he looked at the young man. "Let them come. The Ministry may think they control the game, but they do not. We've waited long enough to take back what is ours."
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Arcturus's words settling over the generals. The Legion, infamous for their brutal tactics and unflinching resolve, would rise again—and this time, they would make sure no one would stop them.
Moody finally spoke, his voice gruff and matter-of-fact. "I'll make sure our people are in place. But we'll need to move quick. Dumbledore will be watching, and his people will be expecting trouble."
Arcturus's eyes narrowed, a glint of something dark and calculating flashing behind them. "Dumbledore," he spat, his words dripping with disdain. "He's played his hand, and now it's time to remind him that the Black Dragon Legion never forgets. Prepare the forces, and make sure they're ready for anything."
The generals stood straighter, their posture rigid with resolve. They understood what was at stake. They had bled for this cause before, and they would do so again without hesitation.
"We march at dawn," Arcturus declared, his voice unwavering as he turned toward the door. "Prepare your forces. Leave no stone unturned, no ally untested. The Potter legacy shall not fall, and we will ensure that the name Black is synonymous with power once more."
As Arcturus turned and strode toward the door, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody's voice rang out, a growl of approval. "That's the spirit, Arcturus. We'll make sure the world remembers who we are."
And with that, the Black Dragon Legion began to stir, their readiness palpable. They would fight for their honor, for their legacy, and for the future of House Potter. The battle ahead would be hard, but it would not be fought alone.
---
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