"The line between miracle and mistake is drawn in silence, not light."— Thalen Orr, once advisor to King Ereudor, who chose exile after a blessing turned to ruin.
October 4, 1969
The Slytherin dormitory was quiet, save for the rhythmic lapping of the lake water against the thick glass. It was a Saturday evening, which meant the common room was a riot of noise—Exploding Snap tournaments and people arguing over the best Quidditch teams—but Vega had retreated early.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, the velvet curtains drawn to create a private cocoon of green-tinged shadow. In his lap lay a letter that had arrived by special courier that morning, bypassing the usual owl post chaos. The parchment was heavy, expensive, and smelled faintly of the cedarwood smoke from the study at Grimmauld Place.
Arcturus Black didn't send casual notes.
Vega smoothed the parchment out. The handwriting was jagged and vertical, looking less like script and more like the scratch marks of a very intelligent hawk.
Vega,
Your assessment of the faculty is adequate. Slughorn is a glutton for influence; feed him, but do not let him swallow you. He forgets that he is the spider only because the flies allow him to spin the web. Use the connections, but sign no contracts. I have sent him a case of the Ogden's '48. That should keep him pliable until Christmas.
Regarding your cousins: Narcissa understands the board. Andromeda understands the pieces. Bellatrix, unfortunately, seems intent on setting the table on fire. I am not surprised, merely disappointed. The 'Knights of Walpurgis' you mentioned are a known quantity to the Wizengamot—a club of dissatisfied purebloods playing at revolution. They are led by a charismatic ghost, but ghosts rarely have the capital to fund a war.
Do not engage him. Do not oppose him publicly. If Bellatrix wishes to chain herself to a sinking ship, that is her choice. Your duty is to ensure the House of Black remains the ocean, regardless of who sails on it.
The portrait of Corvus Black is indeed charmed. It is a kinetic anchor. If you can activate it, it may teach you the difference between Alchemy and Chemistry. Do not blow up the common room.
Enclosed is a draft from Gringotts. Do not spend it all on sugar.
— Arcturus
Vega read it twice, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
A ghost, he mused. Arcturus thinks this Dark Lord is just a phase.
It was a dangerous underestimation, perhaps, but typical of his grandfather. To Arcturus, anything that wasn't the House of Black was just temporary weather.
He folded the letter and tucked it into the hidden compartment of his trunk, right next to the vial of his perfect Boil Cure.
The silence of the room was pressing in. Cyrus was still in the library, probably trying to charm Madam Pince into letting him check out a book on venomous plants, and Barty was holding court in the common room.
Vega felt a sudden, sharp pang of homesickness. Not for the house itself—Grimmauld Place was a mausoleum—but for the noise. For the chaos of his brothers.
He reached into his trunk and pulled out the two-way mirror framed in tarnished silver. It looked like a piece of junk you'd find in a Knockturn Alley bargain bin, but the runes etched into the glass hummed against his fingertips.
"Sirius," Vega whispered to the glass. "Regulus."
The surface of the mirror clouded over, swirling like grey smoke.
Vega grinned. A wicked idea sparked in his mind. He couldn't resist.
Let's see if the Gryffindor bravery runs in the blood yet.
He closed his eyes, tapping into the Hum. He didn't go for a subtle shift this time. He went for the nightmare fuel.
He focused on his jaw. He felt the bone soften and unhinge, dropping lower than humanly possible. He pulled the pigment from his skin, turning it the wet, mottled grey of a drowned corpse. He widened his eyes until the whites vanished, leaving two pitch-black pools, and then, for the pièce de résistance, he elongated his canines into needle-thin translucent fangs.
He looked like something that lived in a drain.
The smoke in the mirror cleared.
"Vega? Is that you? We thought you'd—"
Sirius's face appeared in the glass, bright and eager. Then he saw the reflection.
"AAAAAAGH!"
The scream was loud enough to distort the audio connection.
On the other side, the view jerked wildly as Sirius scrambled backward, falling off his bed with a crash. Beside him, Regulus, who had been sitting politely with a book, turned the color of parchment and pressed himself flat against the headboard.
"WHAT IS THAT?" Sirius shrieked, grabbing a pillow and wielding it like a club. "IT ATE HIM! THE SQUID ATE VEGA AND NOW IT'S CALLING US!"
Vega leaned closer to the mirror, his unhinged jaw moving with a wet, clicking sound.
"Sssiriusss..." he hissed, the vocal cords distorted and raspy. "The water... it's so cold... come join usss..."
"GET THE WAND, REG!" Sirius yelled, throwing the pillow at the mirror. "BLAST IT!"
"I'm not touching it!" Regulus squeaked, eyeing the mirror with horrific fascination. "It has his hair!"
Vega couldn't hold it anymore. The laughter bubbled up in his chest, ruining the monstrous effect. He snorted, and the grey skin rippled.
He let the Hum snap back.
His jaw popped back into place with a sickening squelch. The grey flushed back to healthy pink. The black eyes filled in with grey. In two seconds, the drowned monster vanished, replaced by a grinning eleven-year-old boy.
"You scream like a banshee, Siri," Vega laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. "I thought you were the brave one? That was embarrassing."
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end.
Sirius climbed back onto the bed, his face flushed a brilliant crimson. He snatched the mirror up, glaring into it.
"That wasn't funny!" Sirius shouted, though his shoulders slumped in relief. "You absolute... you looked like Aunt Walburga before she puts her face on!"
"Low blow," Vega chuckled. "Hello, Reg. Still breathing?"
Regulus exhaled slowly, picking up his book with trembling hands. "That was grotesque, Vega. Do it again."
"Maybe later," Vega promised. "So? How is the mausoleum? Has Mother burned the house down yet?"
"She's in a mood," Sirius grumbled, tossing the pillow back to the head of the bed. "She found my stash of Muggle motorcycle magazines. Incinerated them. Said I was polluting the house with 'mechanized filth'. I hate her."
"She's just terrified of combustion engines," Vega said dismissively. "How's the training?"
"Boring," Regulus piped up. "Grandfather has us memorizing the 1642 Goblin Treaties. Did you know goblins tax based on the weight of the soul? It's morbid."
"I heard," Vega said, thinking of Professor Thorne's crimson eyes. "Listen, I got Grandfather's letter. He says the 'Dark Lord' stuff is mostly hot air, but keep your ears open. If Bella visits and starts talking about 'Knights', you tell me."
"Knights of Walpurgis," Sirius muttered. "She was raving about them last Sunday. Brought a weird silver cup into the drawing room and wouldn't let anyone touch it. Said it was blessed."
Vega's smile tightened slightly. Blessed.
"Don't touch her stuff, Sirius. Seriously. If it bites, it probably has venom."
He looked at his brothers. Sirius, full of fire and rebellion, desperate to break everything he touched just to see how it worked. Regulus, quiet and compliant, watching the world from the sidelines. They looked so young.
"Hogwarts is amazing," Vega told them, shifting the tone. "The stairs try to kill you on Tuesdays. The history teacher is a vampire who definitely eats people. And I nearly put a feather through the ceiling in Charms."
"Wicked," Sirius breathed, his eyes lighting up. "I can't wait. I'm going to set so many things on fire."
"Just wait one more year," Vega said. "Keep your shields up. Don't let Mother get under your skin."
"Hard to do when she's screaming," Sirius muttered.
"Be the mountain, Siri," Vega advised. "Let the wind blow."
The sound of the dormitory door opening caught his attention. Cyrus was back.
"I have to go," Vega said. "The snakes are returning. Clear the mirror."
"Bye, Vega," Regulus whispered.
"Don't get eaten by the squid," Sirius added, grinning.
The mirror swirled to grey, then reflected only Vega's own face.
He stared at his reflection for a moment, the smile fading into a look of quiet determination. He tucked the mirror away as Cyrus walked in, looking disheveled and dumping a stack of library books on his bed.
"Madam Pince is a tyrant," Cyrus announced, collapsing onto his mattress. "She tried to banish me for breathing too loudly near the Incunabula section. I think she sleeps standing up."
"She's guarding the knowledge, Cyrus," Vega said, picking up his quill again. "Dragons don't like it when you touch their gold."
"They're books, not gold," Cyrus groaned. "And you look entirely too cheerful. What happened? Did you find a spell to turn lead into chocolate?"
"Better," Vega said, dipping his quill into the ink. "I found out that my little brothers still think I'm the scariest thing in the dark."
He looked out the window, where the Giant Squid drifted past, a massive, silent shadow against the green.
Knights of Walpurgis, he thought. Alright, Bella. Let's see who's sitting at your Round Table.