Harry peeked from behind the door; his breath caught in his throat as the man stepped into the house. He was tall, striking in a way that reminded Harry of the actors Aunt Petunia admired on the telly. His eyes were a stormy grey, like clouds heavy with rain, and his wavy hair, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, gave him a wild, restless look.
This was the man Grandpa Marius had spoken of in the car. His godfather. The one who should have cared for him after his parents were gone. The Dursleys had always insisted that his parents died in a car crash. That the scar on his forehead was nothing more than a cruel reminder of it. But if that was true, why had this man been absent all these years? Why was he here now?
"Are you alright, lad?" Grandpa Marius asked gently.
Harry nodded, though his eyes never left the stranger.
"Come here, lad. Let me see. Do the clothes fit?"
Harry shuffled forward, tugging at the sleeves of the shirt. It was the first time he'd worn something that fit him. No sagging hems, no Dudley's cast-offs stained and stretched. Aunt Petunia would have scolded him for dirtying them, but here, no one seemed to mind.
"As I mentioned in the car, Harry," Marius said, gesturing toward the man, "this is your godfather, Sirius Black."
Sirius's voice was low, careful, as though he feared startling him. "Hello, Harry."
Harry ducked his head, half-hiding behind Marius's legs. "Hullo," he murmured, shy and uncertain.
"I know you're brimming with questions, lad. About your godfather, about yourself, and about Nathan. But first, I must have words with Sirius." Marius's gaze cut sharply toward Sirius, a warning in his eyes. Sirius opened his mouth as if to argue, then thought better of it. With a clenched jaw, he fell silent.
"My niece is upstairs tending to your brother. Why don't you go join her? I am sure she'll check on you after she checked with Nathan. She's a healer, uh, doctor you know." Marius's voice was calm, almost gentle. The boy gave a small nod and slipped from the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Sirius's eyes followed him until the latch clicked, a quiet longing etched across his face as though the closing door had stolen something precious from him.
Marius let the silence hang for a moment before turning to his nephew. His tone was firm, deliberate. "Listen, Sirius. I need to speak with you before you go to Harry. There are things you must consider. Those boys have endured more pain in their first few years than most face in a lifetime. I need you to be calm and not go gallivanting like an angry dragon. I need your word that you won't go charging after those Muggles, or the Potters. Do you understand?"
Sirius bristled, his mouth opening in protest. "What? But—"
"Promise me, Sirius." Marius's voice cut through his hesitation.
Sirius frowned at the insistence but, after a moment, gave a reluctant nod. He couldn't imagine what Uncle Marius needed to say that could possibly matter more than seeing Harry again. That thought vanished the instant Marius told him what had happened.
"They made them live in a cupboard?"
"And half-starved them, yes. We also found bruises..."
"Son of a—"
"Sirius, you promised!"
"I'm not letting them get away with this."
"And we won't," Marius said firmly. "But we cannot focus on that right now. The boys come first. They are your priority."
"They are my priority!"
"Are they? Because you seem determined to commit a crime, and you'll be no use to anyone if you end up in Azkaban."
Silence penetrated the room as Sirius contemplated the reality of it all.
"Besides, we know how powerful Dumbledore is. He could shut you down, blame you for kidnapping, and where will you be? At worst, they could return the boys back to them without hesitation." Marius added.
"Then we'll prove it." Sirius said. "We'll prove the abuse to prevent them from going back."
"And what next?" Marius asked.
"What do you mean?"
"What if we prove to the world that the Potters placed their children in the hands of the muggles and that they were abused? Even if the world didn't know that Charlus has other siblings, most wouldn't care. Some would say it is mercy to place squib children to muggle relatives to integrate them to the society." Marius bit his lip. "But that's not the problem."
"The problem is that Harry and Nathan are magical."
Paused. "What? Wait. Wait." Sirius stumbled. "I thought they were squibs."
"I thought as much," Marius said, his voice dropping an octave. "Ophelia and I spoke with Harry. It appears the Dursleys harbor a pathological hatred for anything they deem 'abnormal.' They weren't just punishing the boys; they were attempting to beat the magic out of them entirely. Harry is so deeply scarred that the mere mention of the word 'magic' makes him flinch as if he's expecting a blow."
Sirius felt as though the floor had tilted beneath his boots. The rage that had been boiling in his chest—hot, red, and directed at the Dursleys—suddenly went cold. It was replaced by a hollow, sickening guilt.
"They're magical," Sirius whispered, the words tasting like ash. "They were never squibs. They were just... suppressed." He looked at his own hands, the hands of a man who had spent years fighting a war, while his godson was fighting a war of his own in a cupboard. "James... Lily... how could they not know? The whole reason why they were sent to the Dursleys was because they were squibs! The Dursleys should have sent them back! I don't understand!"
Marius leaned heavily on his cane, his eyes dark with a cynical wisdom Sirius hadn't yet mastered.
"They didn't know because they were told what to see, Sirius," Marius said, his voice cold. "Dumbledore didn't just 'suggest' they were squibs; I suspect he provided the 'proof.' A dampened magical signature, a false reading... easily done for a man of his standing. And why would the Dursleys call back? Think, man."
Marius stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Petunia Dursley hated magic, but she loved the idea of being 'normal' more. If Dumbledore told her that keeping the boys was her 'sacred duty' to protect her own son—or perhaps hinted at a stipend from the Potter vaults for her trouble—she would have kept them in that cupboard until they rotted. She wouldn't call the Potters because Dumbledore likely told her the Potters didn't want them back. He severed the line at both ends."
Sirius's jaw tightened. "But why? What does he gain from two boys suffering in Surrey?"
"Control," Marius snapped. "Charlus is the 'Boy Who Lived.' He is a symbol. Symbols are easier to manage when they don't have 'squib' brothers hanging around to complicate the narrative or remind the public of the Potters' perceived failure. Dumbledore didn't want them back at the Potters because he wanted the Potters' focus entirely on his 'Chosen One.' He treated your godsons like discarded drafts of a manuscript, Sirius. He put them in a place where they would be forgotten, and because of their 'squib' status no one would question as to why they were with muggle relatives."
Sirius let out a breath that sounded like a wounded animal. "James and Lily... they worshipped him. We all did."
He leaned his head against the cold stone of the fireplace; his eyes glazed with a memory from a decade ago.
"I remember when I first ran away from Grimmauld Place," Sirius whispered, his voice hollowing out. "I was sixteen, covered in the soot of my mother's "lessons," and terrified. Dumbledore was the first person I saw at Hogwarts. He sat me down in that office, gave me tea, and told me that my family's darkness didn't define me. He was so kind. He looked at me with those twinkling eyes and made me feel like I was finally... safe."
Marius watched him, his face unreadable.
"But then the war started," Sirius continued, a bitter edge sharpening his tone. "Once I joined the Order, that kindness turned into something else. It was like a frost had settled between us. He never looked me in the eye anymore. He gave me orders through James or Remus. I thought it was because I was a Black—that he didn't trust the 'mad dog' in the ranks. But now..."
Sirius straightened up, his silver eyes flashing with a terrifying clarity.
"Now I see it. He didn't want a protégé; he wanted a soldier who wouldn't ask questions. He kept his distance so I wouldn't see the chess pieces he was moving. He knew if he stayed close to me, I'd see right through the lies he was telling the Potters. He needed me out of the way so he could convince James that abandoning his own blood was 'for the greater good.'"
"A man who stays at a distance can see the whole board, Sirius," Marius noted dryly. "And you were always too loud, too observant, and too loyal to the boys to be a useful pawn."
Sirius barked a laugh, but it was devoid of any warmth. "Loyal. Yes. That's the one thing the 'Greatest Wizard of the Age' forgot. A Black's loyalty isn't to a cause, or a Headmaster. It's to our own."
He turned toward the door where Harry had disappeared.
"He spent years keeping me at arm's length so I wouldn't protect them. Well," Sirius's hand dropped to his wand, his jaw setting into a hard, aristocratic line, "he's got my full attention now."
"Then we should go up," Marius said, his voice heavy. "We must see if they are alright. I know Harry is your focus, but his brother's condition is... concerning."
"How serious?" Sirius asked, the lines of his face deepening with a fear he hadn't felt since the height of the war.
Before Marius could respond, a soft, rhythmic clicking of heels echoed in the hall. The door opened and Esme emerged, her Healer's robes slightly rumpled, her expression unreadable.
"Oh, Esme. How is the lad?" Marius stepped forward.
"Stable for the moment," Esme said. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension of the hallway like a blade. "But we are looking at a very narrow timeline."
Sirius straightened, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets to hide his lack of control. "What is it, Esme? Just give it to me straight."
Esme took a breath, the vowels of her French accent sharpening. "Nathan is dying."
The world seemed to stop. "What?"
"The boy is in what we call pre-Obscurcissement," she explained, her gaze fixed on Sirius. "You know of Obscurials, non?"
Sirius nodded slowly, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He remembered the old legends—darkness that leveled villages, monsters of myth. But the modern world knew better now. Since Scamander's journals had been published, the truth was much more tragic: it wasn't a monster; it was a child's magic, suppressed through pain until it turned into a parasite. It was the mark of a child who had been broken.
"The boy is not an Obscurial yet," Esme continued. "If he were, this house would already be in pieces. But the process has begun. His magic is turning necrotic because he has been forced to push it down for so long. It is curdling inside him, poisoning his blood. Most children die before the transition is even complete. That is why they are so rare."
Marius looked as though he had aged a decade in seconds. "Can you heal it? Can it be stopped?"
"No," Esme said firmly. "To purge the shadow is to purge the life. Right now, Nathan's body is shutting down because it cannot house both the magic and the trauma. He is... he is simply giving up."
Sirius felt a hollow coldness settle in his chest. "Give me the bottom line, Esme. No Healer-speak."
"He will be dead by Friday if we stay here," she said plainly.
"So soon?" Sirius's voice cracked.
He was five. Five, for Merlin's sake. He had spent his entire life in a cupboard, and now he was going to die before he even saw the sun properly.
Esme sighed. "I do have a statis chamber. It uses ancient wards to 'pause' a patient's magical signature. It will stop the decay, but it is not a cure. It is a coma, Sirius. A magical coma that basically stop himself from aging. It's like stopping time itself. He won't age under this chamber, but it won't be good to put him in such a condition for a long time. Its purpose is to be used temporarily until we can find a cure – if there is one."
Sirius looked at the floor, the weight of his failure as a godfather pressing down on him. Then he looked at the door to the side room where Harry was waiting.
"We go," Sirius said, his voice cracking but certain. "We take both of them. I'm not leaving Harry here to wonder if his brother is ever coming back."
Esme nodded, her eyes softening just a fraction. "Then prepare yourselves. The transition to the lab will be difficult for them. And Sirius..." She paused, her hand on the banister. "Do not look for someone to fight today."
Sirius grinned, though the expression didn't reach his stormy eyes. "So even you know about my explosive personality."
"I wouldn't be surprised if you have already burned down those Muggles' house," Esme said, her voice softening.
Sirius let the grin fall away. He looked at his hands—hands meant for war, now tasked with holding together a shattered family. "Then let's get them to your stasis chamber, Esme. Before the clock runs out."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and headed for the drawing-room, the weight of a dying boy's life and a traumatized boy's hope resting heavy on his shoulders.
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