Sirius felt dizzy.
The room spun, the edges of his vision blurring, and for a moment, he genuinely thought he might fall. He didn't even remember sitting down, only realizing he already had when Remus steadied him and adjusted him on the chair.
He felt faint, everything was spinning, yet nothing could truly distract him from the cold, devastating truth that had been dropped into his lap.
Regulus was dead. He already knew that, but it was how he died that shocked him.
Everyone knew that he was dead. It had happened at the height of the war, whispers spreading that Regulus Black had died on a mission for the Dark Lord, killed for failure or incompetence, when he hadn't been seen after a while.
The family tree had confirmed it soon after, his name burning away. Walburga had been inconsolable, if only because his death made Sirius the heir, something she would have rather died than allowed.
Regulus had been her favorite. Everyone had known it. The golden boy. The perfect son. The perfect heir.
He had followed their mother's beliefs. He had worn the Black name proudly. And when he disappeared, Sirius hadn't truly mourned the way he had for James. He told himself it was because they had been at odds that he was the rebel who rejected the Dark Arts, and Regulus was the fanatic who embraced it, that's why he didnt feel for him as he did james,.
That was a lie. He had felt sad, of course, there were still brothers after all, but he hadn't grieved. He had never thought that his brother died trying to end the war before anyone even had an idea of what he was doing.
The knowledge was a seismic shift in his personal history. All those years of hating his brother, of dismissing him as a fool who fell in line with the madness their family peddled, it was all a lie. Regulus hadn't been a coward, hadn't been a follower.
He had been a rebel, for Regulus had turned on the Dark Lord and alone at that. Sirius, the famous rebel, had fled the family home to join friends. Regulus, the supposed loyalist, had attempted to destroy the enemy, sacrificing his very life to strike at the Dark Lord's soul.
So unbelievable.
Now, to learn that the same brother he had dismissed, all but cast away as a worthless Death Eater fanatic, had died trying to do the right thing, died trying to save the world by undoing the Dark Lord's immortality... The crushing realization of Regulus's true sacrifice was a pain deeper than any Dementor's presence. It was the guilt of a brother who had left his brother to die alone.
A brother who was trying to save them.
The guilt that washed over Sirius was something that had built up in him for years. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing Remus would stop looking at him with pity.
It was... it was... His mind froze, he couldn't think. He just blanked out, staring at the tarnished floor of the room, the truth too painful to process immediately. A single, silent tear tracked a path through the grime and stress on his face.
Harry watched the man's emotional implosion for a moment, then turned his attention back to the locket. He knew this grief was necessary. It was better to burn off everything now than bottle it up.
He didn't hesitate.
Calling upon Fenrir's Authority, his nails lengthened into white, razor-sharp claws. He gripped the locket tightly, the metal immediately groaning under the immense, crushing pressure. His claws dug into the metal, and then he smashed it between his hands.
The reaction was immediate.
Black smoke burst from the shattered remains, shrieking a high, metallic wail. The smoke twisted through the air, screaming its silent, defeated rage, before dissolving into nothingness, just like the fragment that had once been inside his younger counterpart's scar.
"…Wow," Tonks muttered, running a hand through her rapidly shifting hair. "I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing something like that. It's absolutely awful. It felt like that sound was inside my skull." The emotional residue was far heavier than any curse she'd ever faced.
Harry chuckled softly. "You've only seen two." He shrugged, dusting his hands off with a casual flick of his wrist.
Silence followed, heavy with the realization of the sheer magnitude of what they were fighting.
"So…" Ron finally said, looking at the spot where the smoke had vanished. "Where are the others?"
Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, the snake is obviously with Voldemort. The ring's in little Hangleton, the Gaunt shack. The diadem is, funny enough, in Hogwarts."
That caught their attention immediately.
"But," he continued, emphasizing the weight of the next one, "the last one is going to be the hardest to get. Even more difficult than the snake, given that one you can potentially catch off guard if you distract Voldemort."
Hermione looked wary, her brow deeply furrowed. "Where is it?" she asked, pulling out a mental map of their world's most inaccessible locations.
Harry's lips curved slightly, enjoying their stunned anticipation. "Gringotts. Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. The cup of Helga Hufflepuff."
The room exploded.
"That's illegal! Stealing from Gringotts? That's not just a crime, it's an act against the Goblin Nation!" "They'd never let us in! We'd be thrown in Azkaban or worse!"
"What?!" Ron shrieked, his voice cracking. "How are we supposed to get in there? That's impossible! Gringotts is impregnable! They say that there is even a dragon to defend the lower vaults, and the Goblins can also defend it themselves!"
"Back up," Fred said sharply, pushing his way forward. "You said the diadem was in Hogwarts?" George added, curiosity overriding terror.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "It's actually what's powering the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse."
The students stared.
"Wait, are you saying the curse is real?!" someone shouted. "I thought that was just a joke, a long-running rumor, a bit of folklore to explain why professors keep leaving!" Hermione said faintly.
"Nope. Very real," Harry shook his head. "Voldemort came back to Hogwarts after graduating to be the DADA professor, but Dumbledore turned him down, no doubt seeing right through his motives. So before he left, he hid the diadem in a room in Hogwarts, and, to spite Dumbledore, he cursed the position, using the diadem to fuel the curse." He laughed, the sound cold. "Talk about petty, right?"
That sobered them.
The room filled with uneasy silence as the implications sank in. The list, snake, ring, diadem, and the puff cup sounded like a death sentence. The snake meant confronting Voldemort directly.
The Cup meant breaking into Gringotts. Stealing from Gringotts isn't just illegal, it's considered an act of war against the entire Goblin Nation, a feat no sane wizard has ever accomplished and survived. It's the ultimate 'do not touch' sign in the wizarding world.
"So that's all seven," Harry said, scanning their faces. "Think you can get them all?"
He saw the way a lot of their faces fell. He could see the way Hermione's face tightened like she wanted to cry, but was holding it together,
Ron looked frustrated, and Tonks, while her face didn't express much, her hair did that for her. The color was switching fast, a whirlwind of pink, red, and yellow confusion. He sighed internally, feeling the familiar pull of responsibility.
'Damn my soft heart for my girls,' he thought, even when she wasn't his Tonks.
"Don't look so glum," Harry said at last, letting a sliver of genuine power seep into his voice. "I said I'd handle it. Ol' Voldy will be dead before I leave, don't doubt that."
The tension eased almost instantly, replaced by a desperate hope that was almost as heavy.
After a few moments, Hermione started to fidget. "I… I wanted to ask," she said hesitantly, eyes shining with bright, desperate curiosity. "What is your world like?"
Harry considered the question. "It's hard to explain, given I haven't really seen this world. But from what I can tell about all of you, I guess you could say it's mostly the same, well, besides the fact that the gods are real and running around like lunatics."
"And… us?" she asked, eyes bright. "What are we doing there?"
"Well, as you can guess, seeing me here, we're a bit ahead of this world's timeline," he said. "We've all graduated. Everyone's doing their own thing."
Hermione leaned forward eagerly. "What am I doing there? Did I get into the Ministry?" she asked excitedly. She really wanted to know, even if it really wasn't her future, it was still a possibility of hers.
Harry chuckled, then said, "No."
Her face fell immediately.
He burst out laughing. "You worked there for a few months. Then you quit."
"What?" she asked, stunned and confused. "Why?"
"You decided it wasn't for you. You found the bureaucracy too suffocating and the progress too slow," Harry explained patiently. "You tried to fix everything in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in about six weeks, ran head-first into the wall of pure wizarding inertia, and realized you needed a faster, more flexible environment. You're currently a student-teacher at the moment, attending the Grand Athena Academy and teaching part-time there."
"…The what? Grand Athena?" Hermione blinked, the name ringing no bells.
"A mage academy," Harry said. "You decided to go back to school, to learn about an entirely different magical paradigm. A different system of magic, when you learnt it, you were so excited to have a chance to learn."
"Mages? You mean wizards?" she asked.
He turned to look at her. "No, mages. You know, magus." She shook her head. "Guess that's another difference. If you don't have them here, then you won't really understand the difference in how they touch magic. And it will be better not to confuse you."
Ron, who had been listening patiently, finally chimed in, freezing mid-sentence. "Wait—what am I doing?" he tried not to sound excited as his legs bounced a bill.
Harry grinned. "Playing professional Quidditch. You're a Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons."
Ron practically launched out of his seat. "You're joking! Seriously?!"
"Nope, not joking. After we graduated, you wanted to play pro, but couldn't get a chance with any major teams because your school reputation preceded you. So, I helped you get a tryout."
"Really?" Ron looked surprised, then slightly deflated as Hermione quickly interjected, leveling him a glare.
"So you used your fame to get him on the team," she said disappointedly, seeing it as an unfair advantage. Connections, wasn't that how it all worked at the end, if you know someone, can't you help.
Harry shook his head, instantly correcting the impression. "Just to get him a tryout. I already made it clear to Ron that it was just help to get his foot in the door. If he wasn't good enough, and they decided to kick him off the team after the trial period, then I wasn't interfering. Ron is exceptionally talented, and he knew he had to earn his spot. He earned his contract with his own skill."
He then spent time telling everyone else what their counterparts were doing, how their lives were.
The atmosphere finally settled into a calm, a soft counterpoint to the earlier chaos. Harry checked the subtle energy signature beneath his skin. "I'm heading out," he said. "Need some air," he told as he got up and headed for the door.
With a wave of his hand, a coat covered him. He wanted to explore and see what this world had to offer. It would be very interesting to see what different dimensions did to magic. Were some of the laws not in place.
He wanted to know if the rules of magic were the same as in his world, too.
He waved them goodbye before leaving through the door.
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