St. Mungo's Hospital, London – October 31st, 1975
It was late evening when it all started.
The halls of the maternity wing at St. Mungo's were quieter than usual, though there was still the faint hum of magic in the air, and the occasional sound of footsteps echoing through stone corridors. Behind the main door of the delivery room, voices could be heard—healers and nurses casting spells, calming instructions, and—
Seraphine's voice. Loud. Pained.
Another scream followed not long after.
Outside, Edric Vaerendral was pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his long dark coat, and he looked like he'd worn a hole into the floor already. He was nervous, more than he'd ever admit.
Near him, two very old men were sitting in padded chairs, watching him like they'd seen this all before. Because they had.
One of them was Edric's father, Lucian. He was in his nineties now, silver hair combed back, cane resting against his leg. He still had that sharp-eyed look that most Vaerendrals were born with, though his body had clearly started giving up long ago.
The other man, even older, was Thierry Fontaine, Seraphine's father. If anyone had ever met an actual relic, it was probably him. He had to be around 120 by now, but still looked like he could stare someone into the floor if he wanted to.
Lucian let out a low chuckle, watching his son pace like a caged dragon.
"You're going to wear a trench in the floor," he said.
Edric shot him a quick glare but didn't stop.
Thierry adjusted his monocle (yes, really), and looked up. "Sit down, Edric. You pacing like that is making the healers anxious."
"I can't sit," Edric muttered, brushing a hand through his hair. "What if something goes wrong?"
"She's strong," Lucian said. "She'll be fine. Fontaine women always are. It's the men who worry themselves to death."
Before Edric could answer, there was a sharp cry from inside the room.
Everyone froze.
Another cry followed—louder, newborn.
Then silence. The kind that presses on your ears.
Edric turned toward the door, breath held.After what felt like forever, the door creaked open. A healer stepped out with her robes slightly wrinkled and a big smile on her face.
"It's a boy," she said. "He's healthy. Both mother and child are doing fine."
Edric blinked. Just for a moment, he couldn't move.
Then he let out a breath he hadn't even noticed he was holding.
Thierry stood up slowly, cane tapping lightly against the floor. Lucian followed, though slower.
The healer stepped aside to let Edric in.
----------------------------------------
Edric stepped into the room slowly.
It was warm inside, the air thick with magic and the scent of calming potions. There were still quiet charms drifting in the air—light blue runes fading near the ceiling. He looked toward the bed and saw Seraphine, pale and flushed, her hair sticking to her forehead. She looked exhausted, but she smiled when she saw him.
She was holding a small bundle in her arms.
The baby squirmed a little, let out a soft noise—somewhere between a sigh and a grumble. He was wrapped in blue, his skin pale and soft, and just the tiniest bit of dark hair stuck out from under the blanket.
Edric didn't say anything at first. He walked up to the bed, his steps quiet. Seraphine looked at him, still smiling, and carefully handed the baby over to him.
He took the baby gently, sitting down next to her on the edge of the bed.
For a second, he just stared.
The baby blinked slowly up at him, those blue eyes with just a hint of silver shining in the light.
Edric's thumb brushed across the little cheek, soft and warm.
He let out a shaky breath. "He's got my hair," he said, voice quiet. "But your eyes."
He looked down at the boy again, heart full in a way he hadn't expected.
"He's perfect."
Vaerendral Keep – Early December, 1975
Snow had been falling since morning.
Not the harsh kind, just soft flakes drifting down over the valley like feathers shaken from the clouds. It blanketed the mountaintops and softened the edges of the trees around the lake. The waterfall still roared in the distance, but even its sound felt quieter under the snow.
Inside the Keep, the nursery was warm and quiet.
The room was built high in one of the eastern towers, where sunlight touched it first. The stone walls were smooth and pale, enchanted to hold warmth. Curtains fluttered gently from a cracked window, letting in the faintest bit of winter air.
Cassian lay wrapped in pale blue blankets inside a whitewood crib. His breathing was steady, small chest rising and falling in rhythm. His cheeks were rosy from sleep, and a soft wisp of black hair curled near his temple.
Next to him, curled into a little ball, was a kitten.
Jet black, with a white patch on her forehead and tiny white paws tucked beneath her. Her fur was short and sleek, her silver eyes closed as she purred softly in her sleep.
Edric stood beside the crib, hands resting on the polished edge of the wood. He wasn't touching Cassian, not right now. He was just watching.
It had been a few weeks since his son was born, and yet, every time he looked at him, something in his chest twisted up. Like he couldn't quite believe he was real.
The kitten shifted slightly and snuggled closer to Cassian. He let out a little sigh in his sleep.
Edric smiled—just barely.
Behind him, the door creaked open quietly.
"Edric?" Seraphine's voice was quiet.
He glanced back. She was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over her robe, hair loose over one shoulder. Her expression was calm, but tired. The kind of tired that came from more than just sleepless nights.
"They want to talk to us," she said.
Edric turned to face her fully. "Now?"
She nodded. "They're downstairs."
He looked back at the crib one more time, brushing a corner of the blanket up a bit higher over Cassian's shoulder. The baby stirred but didn't wake.
"He's peaceful," Edric said quietly.
Seraphine smiled just a little. "For now. When he gets a little older he will be a handful. I just know it. "
Edric gave a small breath of a laugh. Then he followed her out, pulling the nursery door closed with a soft click.
They found Lucian and Thierry waiting in the eastern sitting room, a quiet chamber lined with tall windows and shelves of old books. The fireplace was lit, casting flickering shadows against the walls. Snow fell steadily outside.
Lucian sat closest to the fire, shoulders hunched slightly, a blanket over his knees. He looked like he had aged years in just the last few weeks. His cane rested beside him, untouched. Thierry stood near the window, arms crossed, staring out at the white-covered trees.
"Come. Sit," Lucian said when Edric and Seraphine entered.
They sat opposite the fire, the warmth creeping into their robes.
Lucian didn't waste time.
"You should start preparing," he said, voice low. "I don't think staying in England is wise anymore. Not with that abomination waging war openly."
Seraphine looked over sharply. "Voldemort?"
Lucian nodded. "The Ministry is useless. They're afraid. And that fool Dumbledore isn't helping matters—playing politics and waiting for something to fall into place."
Thierry turned from the window, face expressionless.
"Yesterday," Lucian continued, "your uncle's family was attacked in their London flat."
Edric froze.
"All six of them," Lucian said, his voice tight. "Gone. They didn't even have time to call for help."
Seraphine covered her mouth, eyes wide.
"I told your cousin it was foolish to join that Order," Lucian went on. "But he wouldn't listen. Thought he could make a difference. Now…"
He trailed off.
The silence in the room was thick. The fire popped softly in the hearth.
Lucian looked down at his hands. "Now we are all that's left of the Vaerendral bloodline."
A tear escaped him then. He didn't wipe it away.
Edric stared at his father, shaken. He hadn't seen him cry since his mother died.
"I don't have much time left," Lucian said, quietly. "Cassian is the future of both our Houses. We must protect him."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small silver object, shaped like a coin etched with runes.
"I've prepared this. It activates tomorrow night. It will take you to Rome. There's a safehouse, old family property. No one knows about it but us."
Edric blinked. "You're not coming?"
Lucian shook his head. "No. I have to seal the library. Activate the stasis wards. Once that's done, I'll seal the Keep. Then I'll come."
Before Edric could argue, Thierry stepped forward.
"I won't be joining either," he said. "I have to return to Fontaineclair. The Wellspring needs protection, and I must be the one to do it."
Seraphine looked up, startled. "You're returning to France?"
Edric opened his mouth to protest, but Lucian raised a hand, silencing him.
"Our Houses are not what they once were," Lucian said softly. "Us five… we are all that remains."
Edric frowned. "When are you leaving?"
"Once we're done here," Thierry replied."The portkey is ready."
He hesitated for a moment, then added, "I'll visit once the wards are secured. We'll meet again in Rome. I'll bring the springwater then—for the ritual."
Edric and Seraphine both looked up at that.
"We should be able to gather the remaining ingredients by the time Cassian turns three," Thierry said, more quietly now. "At that age, the ritual will have the greatest effect. His body and mind will be ready. We must not delay it longer than that."
———————————————
In the crib, Cassian stirred.
He let out a small sound—half a sigh, half a yawn—his tiny fingers twitching as he shifted under the blanket. His silver-blue eyes blinked open, slowly scanning the room.
His gaze didn't move like a newborn's anymore. It was steadier now. Sharper. Quietly observant.
Beside him, the little black kitten stretched with a soft mew, its silver eyes half-open. Cassian turned his head and reached for her. His arms wrapped around the kitten awkwardly, but gently, pulling her close. He buried his face into her soft fur.
He didn't speak—he couldn't—but something deep in him stirred. Not words. Not memories. Just… feelings. Echoes of places he didn't remember seeing. People he didn't know but somehow missed.
Dreams had started a few days ago. Strange ones. A world without magic. Cold buildings. Blinding lights. Beeping machines. A man in a white coat. A violin.
He didn't understand them, not yet.
But they left him with a dull ache. A heaviness he didn't know how to name.
He sniffled quietly and hugged the kitten tighter.
Then there was a soft pop.
Cassian blinked and looked toward the noise.
Standing near the foot of the crib was a house-elf. But not like the ones in stories.
This one had smooth skin the color of warm ash, large leafy-green eyes, and wore clean white robes with delicate silver embroidery. Her ears were long and curved, and her hands looked softer than most elves he'd seen in picture books.
The elf gave a small bow. "Young master is awake," she said softly. "Tipsy was waiting."
Cassian stared at her for a second. Something about her voice, her eyes—it hit something he didn't understand.
And then he started crying.
It wasn't loud or sharp. Just quiet, confused tears, as if something inside him had cracked without warning.
Tipsy's eyes went wide. "Oh no—no no, young master, please don't cry!"
She looked panicked and wrung her small hands together. "Tipsy will fetch the Lady—yes, yes—Mistress will know what to do!"
She popped away with a soft crack—vanishing from the room.
———————————
In the sitting room, Thierry had just finished speaking when a sudden pop echoed nearby.
Tipsy appeared, wide-eyed and wringing her hands.
"Forgive Tipsy, Mistress," she said quickly, bowing to Seraphine. "Young master is crying—Tipsy does not know why! He was holding his cat one moment and then—tears!"
Seraphine was already standing before Tipsy had finished speaking.
"I'll go," she said, her expression shifting immediately. "I'll calm him."
Lucian and Thierry both nodded, the discussion paused—for now.
Edric followed her with his eyes, worry flickering across his face. Then he looked at the fire again, silently.
As the door closed behind Seraphine, the room felt noticeably quieter.
Only three remained now—Lucian, Thierry, and Edric. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, but no one moved.
Edric leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. Then, without looking at either man, he said:
"So we run?"
Lucian didn't respond.
Edric turned toward him. "Since when do Vaerendrals run? One of ours was attacked. Six of them, in one night. And we—"
Lucian grabbed his cane.
He didn't stand. Just turned his head slightly, looking toward the tall window across from them.
Outside, snow drifted down in slow silence. The lake was barely visible through the frosted glass.
Lucian's voice was low. Tired. Steady.
"Running," he said, "is exactly what I wish I could stop doing. If it were up to me, I would march straight into that cursed hole that abomination calls a home—wherever it is—slaughter every last one of his deluded followers, and dismember him with my own hands."
He tightened his grip on the cane.
"And after that, I would cut his soul into a thousand pieces," he said. "And feed them—slowly—to a Dementor."
The room went still.
Then Lucian let out a breath. "But this is not the time. I'm old, Edric. You know it. My strength isn't what it was. And Cassian…"
He finally looked at his son.
"Cassian needs a father."
Edric said nothing.
Lucian shifted in his seat. "Protect your family. That's your job now. Prioritize him before everything else."
He reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a small, palm-sized book. The leather was deep green, bound in silver thread, with a Vaerendral sigil etched into the cover.
He handed it to Edric.
Before Edric could speak, Thierry stepped forward.
"I asked him to bring it," Thierry said softly. "It's the Family Grimoire. Enchanted and linked to the archives—it contains everything your family has gathered. Every spell, every theory, every discovery."
Edric looked down at the book in his hands, the cover warm under his fingers.
Thierry continued, his voice lower now. "I've added our knowledge to it."
Edric looked up, surprised.
Thierry gave a quiet nod. "With both bloodlines joined in Cassian… it felt right. The Fontaine legacy—our knowledge of potions, alchemy, healing, the Wellspring, our family rituals, even our history—it's all in there now. Interwoven with yours."
The glow from the fireplace flickered across Thierry's face. "Everything he'll need to know. Should the worst happen… it will guide him."
"Acceptum duorum sanguinum," Thierry murmured, the tip of his wand glowing pale blue.
The Grimoire trembled.
Its green leather shimmered, then slowly began to shift—changing under their eyes. The color deepened into a deep, regal blue, threaded through with thin veins of silver. Ornate silver embellishments formed at the corners, and a spine of etched runes wrapped down its side like living script.
Beside the Vaerendral sigil, a second crest slowly carved itself into the cover—a stylized fountain of cascading water, encircled by healing runes.
The Fontaine family crest.
The book pulsed once with soft magic and then grew in size—just slightly, but enough to feel more complete. It glowed faintly in Edric's hand, then settled… warm and solid.
Thierry stepped back and gave a slow, satisfied nod.
"There," he said quietly. "Now it holds both Houses. Not just in knowledge—but in name, in legacy."
Then Lucian removed a ring from his left hand.
It was silver, aged but polished, with the Vaerendral crest carved into its face. The Lordship Ring.
He placed it in Edric's palm.
"It's yours now," Lucian said. "When the time comes… pass it to Cassian."
Edric couldn't speak. He just nodded.
Lucian stood with a groan, leaning heavily on his cane.
"I need to prepare the funeral," he said quietly.
Without another word, he walked slowly toward the door and disappeared down the corridor, the soft tap of his cane echoing behind him.
That left just Thierry and Edric.
The older man stepped forward and put a firm hand on Edric's shoulder.
He didn't speak at first. Then, in a lower voice, he said:
"I'll be going then too."
He took off the silver necklace from around his neck. Inside the pendant, a glowing blue liquid pulsed gently, like it held the memory of starlight. It looked impossibly old.
Thierry pressed it into Edric's hand, then removed a second ring—his own, bearing the Fontaine crest—and handed that to him too.
"Keep them safe," Thierry said. "And give them to Cassian when the time is right."
He paused.
"I don't know why… but I've had a feeling. Since the moment I stepped into the hospital the day he was born. Something in my blood. Like none of us will be here to see him grow."
Edric's breath caught.
"Promise me, Edric. No matter what—protect Seraphine and Cassian. Keep them safe."
"I will," Edric said softly. "I promise."
Thierry gave a short nod.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a silver pocket watch, its surface engraved with intricate runes. He flipped it open, whispered something in Latin—"Tempus vinculum activare."
The runes glowed faintly. The portkey was set.
Thierry looked at Edric one last time. "We'll meet again. In Rome."
Then, with a soft pull of magic, he vanished in a swirl of silver light.
The room was quiet again.
Edric stood alone, staring at the now-empty chairs, his fingers still wrapped around the items his father and Thierry had given him.
He looked down at the Vaerendral Lordship ring in his hand. The silver band shimmered softly in the firelight. He hesitated only a moment before slipping it onto his finger.
The ring pulsed faintly, a soft silver glow radiating from the crest before it resized itself, tightening to fit perfectly. The warmth faded, and it settled against his skin like it had always belonged there.
He let out a slow breath, then crossed the room.
On the nearby table, he carefully set down the Fontaine ring, the ancient blue vial, and the family Grimoire—placing them side by side. The symbols on the book's leather cover glowed faintly as it touched the wood, like it could sense the presence of the rings.
He stared at them for a long moment.
Then he turned and walked toward the nursery.
The soft sound of humming reached him before he got to the door.
He paused in the hall, listening.
It was Seraphine's voice, singing quietly in French—something gentle, old. A lullaby passed down from her mother, and her mother before her.
He pushed the door open just slightly.
Inside, the nursery was dimly lit by soft candlelight. Snowflakes still tapped against the tall window, glowing pale behind the frosted glass.
Seraphine sat in the rocking chair near the crib, holding Cassian in her arms. She had a bottle of milk in one hand, gently feeding him as she rocked.
Cassian's eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering as he fought off sleep. His little fists were balled against his chest, and the soft black kitten lay curled on a nearby pillow, watching.
Edric leaned against the doorframe.
He didn't say anything. Just stood there. Watching them.
His wife. His son. This moment.
For a few heartbeats, the world was still.
Seraphine glanced over her shoulder and smiled when she saw him. Then, slowly, she finished feeding Cassian and stood.
She carried him over to the crib and gently laid him down. The baby murmured softly but didn't wake.
The kitten stretched with a squeaky yawn, got up, and padded over to the crib, hopping in with practiced ease. She curled up beside Cassian and rested her chin on his arm.
Seraphine pulled a blanket up over them both.
Then she leaned down and kissed Cassian's forehead, brushing back a wisp of hair with her fingers.
She turned to Edric and walked toward him.
They stepped out of the room together, Seraphine giving one last glance over her shoulder before closing the door behind them with a quiet click.
The fire was low, casting a golden hue across the sitting room. The heavy snow outside made everything quieter than usual, as if the world was holding its breath.
Edric stood near the hearth, hands in the pockets of his robe. On the table before him sat two objects: the Fontaine ring, its silver surface cool and glowing faintly in the firelight, and the necklace, the vial of glowing blue liquid suspended inside its delicate frame.
He picked them up and crossed the room, where Seraphine sat curled in one of the deep chairs, a blanket draped across her lap.
He kneeled down in front of her, gently setting the ring in one of her palms, the necklace in the other.
"Your father left these," Edric said softly. "He asked me to give them to you. Said he'd meet us in Rome—after he's secured the Wellspring and updated the wards."
Seraphine stared down at them, her hands closing slowly around the pieces of her family legacy.
"I'll be back tomorrow morning," Edric said, standing again.
Seraphine blinked up at him, frowning slightly. "Where are you going?"
He pulled his coat off the back of the chair and slid it on.
"First to Gringotts," he said. "Updating the wards on our vaults. Normally I wouldn't rush it, but… we're leaving, and this war isn't slowing down. Just in case."
She nodded, but he wasn't done.
"I also need to visit a few people. Old friends. The old guard who stood with us during the Grindelwald days—Arcturus Black, Charles Potter."
That caught her off guard.
"You're telling them?"
"I have to," Edric said. "They deserve to know we're leaving Britain. We've fought too many battles together to vanish without a word."
He walked to the door, then paused and turned back.
"Tonight I'm meeting with an informant in the Ministry. My family still has a few contacts here and there. And honestly…" He hesitated, eyes distant. "I hadn't realized how far things had gone. I thought… this war still had time."
He scoffed bitterly. "This abomination—this madman with no nose—he's got his claws deep in the Ministry already. People are scared. Silent."
He looked at her again.
"I didn't take him seriously at first. When he started with his nonsense about 'blood purity'… who would?"
He shook his head. "He doesn't even understand it. The value of bloodlines. The gift we carry. He thinks it's about superiority—about power over others."
Edric's voice lowered.
"Yes, our families, our magic—they're strong. That's true. But our numbers? They're dwindling. Magic like ours… it clashes. Without the new blood, without fresh magic flowing through wizardkind, we'll die out."
He looked down, hand tightening on his coat.
"Tell them to be careful, Seraphine. If anything happens—if I don't come back—get Cassian to Rome."
She stared up at him, eyes shimmering.
Then she nodded once.
Edric stepped forward and kissed her gently on the forehead, then turned toward the door.
With a soft crack, he apparated away.
The room was silent again.
Seraphine looked down at the items in her hands—the necklace, still glowing faintly, and the Fontaine ring, etched with generations of memory.
A single tear escaped her, landing softly on the back of her hand.