"Blood is thicker than water, but it stains the floorboards just the same." — Druella Black
August 12, 1963, Blackwood Manor, Wiltshire
If one looked at the terrace of Blackwood Manor, one saw the height of British magical society: a tableau of velvet robes, ancient lineage, and hushed, venomous conversation. The air smelled of expensive perfume and the ozone crackle of high-density warding.
Vega Black, aged six, sat on a weathered stone bench near the perimeter of the rose garden. He was dressed in formal robes of midnight blue, itchy at the collar but impeccably tailored. He ignored the politics on the terrace.
His entire universe was currently occupying the two square feet of space directly in front of him.
"No, Siri. Not that one," Vega murmured, his voice a low vibration meant only for them. "That one has teeth."
He reached out, his hand moving with a fluidity that belied his age, and gently caught the wrist of his four-year-old brother.
Sirius Black was a blur of kinetic energy and chaotic intent. He had grass stains on his knees, his bowtie was already crooked, and he was currently trying to grab a Venetian Viper-Rose, which hummed ominously and snapped its petals like hungry jaws.
"Pretty," Sirius insisted, his grey eyes wide, stubborn, and utterly devoid of self-preservation. "Want it."
"It bites," Vega said softly, uncurling Sirius's fingers from the stem. "And Mother will bite us both if you bleed on your dress robes."
Sirius pouted, a full-lip expression that usually melted the house-elves. It didn't work on Vega. Vega just smiled—a genuine, warm expression that reached his eyes—and pulled a small, smooth white stone from his pocket.
He held it in his palm. He didn't use a wand. He didn't speak Latin. He simply reached into the concept of the stone—the solidity, the silence—and invited it to move.
The stone shivered. Legs sprouted. It didn't become a real beetle; it became a stone that remembered what a beetle looked like.
"Here," Vega said, placing the crawling pebble in Sirius's hand. "It walks."
Sirius gasped, the tantrum forgotten. "Bug!"
On Vega's lap, a two-year-old Regulus sat like a small, solemn porcelain doll. He was clutching Vega's sleeve with a grip that turned his tiny knuckles white. Regulus was quiet, watchful, and hated loud noises.
Vega looked down at the baby. He felt a surge of emotion so powerful it was almost physical—a heavy, warm weight in the center of his chest.
He didn't know what their futures held. He didn't know who they would grow up to be. He only knew that in this massive, cold house full of dark artifacts and distant parents, these two were the only things that felt warm.
They were small. They were soft. And looking at the sharp smiles of the adults on the terrace, Vega realized with a sudden, fierce clarity that they were vulnerable.
Mine, the instinct whispered.
It wasn't the possessiveness of a Black, grasping for ownership. It was the devotion of a garden wall protecting the seedlings. I have to keep the wind off them.
"Well," a sharp voice cut through the peace. "If it isn't the nursery brigade."
Vega stiffened. He recognized the tone. It was the sound of something brittle looking for something to break.
He turned to see the three sisters standing on the gravel path.
Bellatrix, aged twelve, stood with her hip cocked, looking bored and dangerous. She had the heavy-lidded stare of the Blacks and a wand twirling lazily in her fingers—a violation of the Underage Magic laws that no one would dare report. Andromeda, ten, stood a step behind, looking apologetic. Narcissa, eight, was hiding behind Andromeda, eyeing the baby with curiosity.
"Cousin Bellatrix," Vega said politely. He shifted his weight, angling his body so he was a physical barrier between her and his brothers. It was a subtle move, but Bellatrix saw it. Her eyes narrowed.
"They say you're a prodigy," Bellatrix drawled, stepping closer, her boots crunching on the gravel. "Grandfather says you're going to be the greatest Black since Phineas. You look like a glorified house-elf to me."
She pointed her wand at Sirius.
"Bang."
Sirius flinched, dropping his stone beetle.
A cold calmness settled over Vega. It wasn't the detached analysis of a scholar; it was the chilling focus of a wolf watching a threat approach the den.
"Put the wand away, Bella," Vega said. His voice didn't rise. It was level, adult, and utterly devoid of fear.
Bellatrix laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Or what? You'll tell on me? You're six, Vega. What are you going to do?"
"I'm not going to tell," Vega said, standing up. He handed Regulus to Andromeda, who took the baby instinctively, looking startled.
Vega stepped forward. He was half her height, but he held himself with the posture of a miniature Arcturus.
"I'm asking you nicely," Vega continued, his grey eyes locking onto hers. "Don't point weapons at Sirius."
Bellatrix sneered, her pride stung. "Make me."
She wasn't going to curse him; she was just bullying. She wanted a reaction. She wanted him to cry or run to his mother so she could laugh at him.
Vega didn't run. He took a breath. He felt the static in his blood, the Metamorphmagus ability that lay coiled in his DNA like a spring.
He didn't need to be a monster. He just needed to be someone she respected. And in the House of Black, respect was fear.
"Look at me," Vega commanded.
Bellatrix looked.
Vega didn't turn into a goblin. He didn't make his eyes glow. He simply... aged.
He visualized the portrait that hung in the hallway. He pulled on the concept of Authority.
In the span of a second, the baby fat melted from his cheeks. His jaw sharpened into a cruel, aristocratic line. His brow became heavy and furrowed. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, imperious judgment that weighed the soul and found it wanting.
For a fleeting moment, he didn't look like a six-year-old boy. He looked exactly like Orion Black—their austere, terrifying father—staring down a disappointment.
It was a perfect mimicry of patriarchal power.
Bellatrix froze. The wand in her hand wavered. For a split second, the instinct to obey the Patriarch kicked in, bypassing her conscious mind. She stumbled back, the sneer faltering into genuine confusion and a flicker of childhood fear.
Vega let the shift drop instantly. His features softened, flowing back to his six-year-old face like water returning to a cup.
"The adults are watching from the terrace," Vega said quietly, nodding toward the house. "If they see you dueling a toddler, they won't think you're strong, Bella. They'll think you're bored. And bored witches get married off to boring wizards."
He stepped back, taking Regulus from a stunned Andromeda.
"And you're better than that, aren't you?"
It was a lifeline. He had asserted dominance, but he had given her a compliment that saved her pride.
Bellatrix stared at him, her chest heaving slightly. She looked at his calm grey eyes, then at Sirius hiding behind his legs. She huffed, shoving her wand back into her sleeve.
"This party is stupid anyway," she muttered. She turned on her heel, her black hair whipping around. "Come on, Cissy."
She stomped off toward the refreshment table.
Andromeda lingered for a moment. She looked at Vega with a new expression—wary respect mixed with amusement.
"That was... brave," she hummed.
"It was necessary," Vega replied.
She nodded and languidly followed after her sisters.
Vega let out a breath he had been holding. His knees felt a little weak. Channeling the essence of Orion was exhausting.
"Vega?"
He looked down. Sirius was tugging on his robe.
"You made a dad-face," Sirius whispered, awestruck.
Vega chuckled, the tension bleeding out of him. He sat back down on the bench, pulling Sirius up next to him.
"I did," Vega agreed. "But don't tell Father. He holds the copyright."
He settled Regulus back into his lap. The baby was asleep, thumb in mouth, completely unaware of the standoff.
Vega looked at the two of them.
He didn't see the weight of history or the shadow of a war to come. He just saw his little brothers, soft and defenceless in a garden full of thorns.
I am not a passenger in this body, he realized. I am the blood and the bone. I am the wall.
"Stay close," Vega whispered to them, smoothing Sirius's messy hair.
"Okay," Sirius chirped, leaning his head on Vega's shoulder.
Vega closed his eyes, listening to the heartbeat of the baby in his arms and the chatter of the brother at his side. The magic of the House of Black hummed in the soil beneath his feet, ancient, demanding, and cruel.