After Sirius's panic attack had finally subsided, Euphemia, her expression softening with warmth, suggested something that might help him further settle. "Sirius," she said gently, her voice filled with a tenderness that Harry had always admired, "Would you like me to sing for you? Just like I used to when you'd come to visit, back when James was still with us."
Sirius looked up at her, his tear-filled eyes still heavy with emotion but now looking for comfort in the familiar. He gave a small nod, and with Remus and Harry helping him carefully back onto the sofa, they made sure he was as comfortable as possible.
Euphemia, always the picture of grace, took a moment to settle into her place, and as she began, Harry could see how much this song meant to Sirius, how deeply rooted it was in the memories of their shared history. The song had always been a symbol of comfort, and now it was offered to Sirius as a balm for his wounded heart.
The song that Euphemia began to sing was a cherished one—"Dekha Tujhe To," a song that Fleamont had learned when he discovered Euphemia's Indian heritage. He had been determined to sing it for her, despite not being of Indian descent himself. It was one of the first things Fleamont had done to show Euphemia his love, and it became a cherished tradition in the Potter household.
As Euphemia's voice filled the room, Harry could feel the comfort it brought, the soothing lull of the melody that had been passed down through the years, from Fleamont to Euphemia, then to James, and finally to Sirius and Harry. It was a song that had seen them all through hard times, and Harry now understood just how much it meant.
a soft and beautiful fragment that Euphemia had sung countless times over the years:
Dekha Tujhe To Dekha
Pehli Pehli Baar
Dil Ne Teri Soorat Ko
Mann Mein Apna Banaya
(Translation: "When I first saw you, I saw you,
For the first time,
My heart has made your face its own in my mind.")
Sirius, his eyes closed as he listened, felt a wave of warmth wash over him, memories flooding back. This was the song that had been a part of his teenage years , the one that had always comforted him when things got too hard to bear. Euphemia's voice, like a soft caress, carried him back to a time when he was surrounded by love, a time before everything fell apart.
Teri Aankhon Mein Jo
Khoya Hai Saara Jahan
Teri Aankhon Mein Jo
Khoya Hai Saara Jahan
Usmein Sab Kuch Hai Tera
Aur Usmein Hai Mera
(Translation: "In your eyes, I have lost the entire world,
In your eyes, I have lost everything,
In them is all that is yours,
And in them, is also mine.")
Harry, watching Sirius, realized just how deeply this song meant to him. It was more than a lullaby; it was a symbol of love, of family, and of all the moments Sirius had shared with the Potters.
Euphemia's voice grew quieter, and she looked at Sirius with affection as she finished the song, her gaze filled with sorrowful love. "You were always one of my children, Sirius," she said gently, her voice full of emotion. "Just like James, just like Harry. You've always been family."
Sirius, for the first time in a while, felt a sense of peace settle in his chest. The panic had ebbed away, replaced by something deeper—something softer, more enduring. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, Euphemia."
And in that quiet moment, with the echoes of the song lingering in the air, Sirius felt, if only for a little while, that things might just be okay.
After such an exhausting day, evening finally arrived. Harry, noticing how much the Potter Manor seemed to help Sirius's mental state, made a heartfelt suggestion during dinner.
"Sirius, Remus," Harry began hesitantly, "what if you two lived here? This house... it seems to do you a lot of good, Sirius. And I think it might help you heal."
Sirius's face lit up with joy, his expression a mix of gratitude and relief. "You'd really want us to stay here, Harry?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Harry nodded with a small smile. "Of course. But only if Hestia thinks it's a good idea," he added firmly, not wanting to skip over the practicalities.
Sirius tilted his head in consideration, then sighed with a soft laugh. "Alright. I'll call her tomorrow and see what she thinks. But Harry... thank you. You have no idea what this means to me."
Remus placed a gentle hand on Sirius's shoulder, his expression warm as he added, "It would be nice to have a place that feels like home again."
Chhavi, who had been quietly serving the dinner, beamed at the scene. She had prepared a comforting meal for the three—hearty stew, freshly baked bread, and a sweet pudding for dessert. As they ate together, the air was lighter than it had been all day, filled with quiet laughter and easy conversation.
When the meal was over, they decided to retire for the night. Harry offered them James's old bedroom, knowing it was one of the most welcoming spaces in the house. Sirius and Remus accepted, and with Harry's help, they settled in for the night.
The three of them lay on the large bed, Harry nestled between Sirius and Remus, as if to provide an anchor for them both. The room, filled with remnants of James's vibrant presence, brought a sense of calm and safety.
Before long, their exhaustion caught up with them. With the soft moonlight streaming through the windows, they drifted off to sleep, comforted by the thought that, despite everything, they still had each other.
The next morning, Harry woke up early, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains of James's old bedroom. He felt a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through him—it was his first day at the magical hospital in India. He had been preparing for this moment for weeks, discussing the opportunity with Sirius through letters and even mentioning it to Andromeda, who had encouraged him wholeheartedly.
After quickly getting ready, Harry headed downstairs. The fireplace in the drawing room had been prepared for his travel. Sirius and Remus were waiting to see him off, still looking a bit groggy from sleep.
"You've got this, Harry," Sirius said with a proud smile, pulling him into a tight hug. "Go show them what a Potter can do."
"Don't forget to eat," Remus added with a knowing look, wrapping an arm around Harry for a brief moment of comfort.
Harry nodded, a warm smile on his face. "I'll write to you both as soon as I can. Take care of yourselves—and Chhavi," he added with a chuckle before stepping into the fireplace.
With a swirl of green flames and a firm "St. Mungus India, Magical Wing," Harry disappeared, emerging moments later in a large, grand hall.
The hospital was stunning, a blend of modern and traditional Indian architecture. The lobby had a high domed ceiling adorned with intricate mandala patterns that shimmered with soft, enchanted light. The walls were lined with marble tiles, their warm tones creating a welcoming atmosphere. Floating lanterns glided gently above, casting a golden glow. In the center of the room stood a magical fountain, its water cascading in mid-air in rhythmic patterns, forming glowing symbols of healing spells.
Magical healers, dressed in elegant white robes trimmed with gold, moved gracefully through the space, their wands occasionally flicking to adjust a hovering clipboard or direct a floating stretcher. Patients of all ages, from wizards and witches to magical creatures, filled the hall, each being guided to the appropriate wing by friendly staff.
A young, kind-looking witch approached Harry, her robes marked with the symbol of a trainee healer. "You must be Healer Potter," she said with a bright smile. "I'm Devika. Let me show you to the break room before your orientation."
Harry followed her through a series of wide hallways, each lined with more intricate decorations and enchanted murals depicting magical plants and creatures. The air carried a faint, soothing scent of lavender and sandalwood.
Finally, Devika stopped at a wooden door engraved with a phoenix symbol. "This is the break room for the magical healers," she explained as she opened the door.
Inside, the room was cozy yet professional. Plush sofas and chairs in vibrant colors surrounded a central coffee table covered with stacks of medical journals and enchanted quills. A self-refreshing tea station stood in one corner, accompanied by an array of traditional Indian snacks. The far wall featured a large, enchanted window that showed a serene view of the Himalayas, though Harry knew they were nowhere near the mountains—it was simply a charm to calm the staff.
A few healers were already there, sipping tea and chatting softly. They glanced up as Harry entered, offering polite nods and curious smiles.
"Feel free to make yourself comfortable," Devika said. "Orientation starts in an hour, so you have some time to settle in."
Harry thanked her, still taking in the vibrant atmosphere of the hospital. It was nothing like the cold, sterile environments he'd imagined. This place felt alive, a blend of magic, culture, and healing energy that filled him with excitement for the journey ahead.
An hour later, Harry sat in a cozy, warmly lit conference room, surrounded by four other trainees, each as unique as the places they came from.
To his left was Aaradhya, a 16-year-old Indian girl with long, neatly braided black hair and warm, curious brown eyes. She had a thoughtful air about her, often tapping her chin as she observed the others. Beside her sat Kainoa, a boy of 14 from Hawaii, with sun-bleached wavy hair and a playful grin that hinted at a mischievous streak. He leaned back in his chair with a relaxed confidence, his eyes darting around the room like he couldn't wait to start.
Across from Harry was Emilio, an 18-year-old from Mexico. His hazel eyes were steady, and he exuded a calm and focused energy. He was already jotting down notes in a small, leather-bound notebook, looking every bit the serious student. Finally, there was Min, a 15-year-old non-binary individual from Korea. Their silver-dyed hair shimmered under the light, cut short in a sharp, modern style. Min's outfit was understated but effortlessly stylish, and their quiet, observant gaze suggested they didn't miss a thing.
The group exchanged a few polite nods and smiles, but the anticipation in the room kept the conversation minimal. Then the door opened, and in walked Dr. Anaya Verma, their mentor for the internship.
Dr. Verma's presence was magnetic. She was a tall woman in her late 40s, with a commanding yet warm demeanor. Her dark brown skin seemed to glow in the soft light, and her almond-shaped eyes, framed by sleek glasses, carried a sharp intelligence that put everyone on alert. Her long black hair, streaked with silver, was tied in a loose braid that fell gracefully over her shoulder.
Her deep green robes bore the golden emblem of the hospital on the chest, a symbol of her esteemed position. She walked with purpose, her voice calm yet firm as she addressed them.
"Good morning, everyone. I'm Dr. Verma, and I'll be your supervisor during this internship. Each of you has been chosen because you've shown exceptional promise in magical healing. My job is to make sure that promise is realized. Let's get started."
Her subtle smile softened the intensity of her words, putting them at ease, but the unspoken expectation of excellence hung in the air, making it clear that this was going to be an experience they would never forget.
A month had passed since Harry began his internship under Dr. Verma, and life had settled into a rhythm that was both demanding and fulfilling. The brilliance of Dr. Anaya Verma continued to amaze him. She had revolutionized magical neurology with spells and techniques that no one had dared to imagine before.
She developed diagnostic spells like Mentis Revelare, which allowed healers to view the neural pathways in a patient's brain as if observing a map of glowing lines, showing areas of damage or misalignment. There was also Somnium Pondera, a spell that identified and treated sleep disorders by tracing the disruptions in dream patterns. For patients with chronic migraines, she had invented Dolorem Dissipare, a non-invasive charm that soothed inflamed magical synapses without the need for potions. Her crowning achievement, however, was a spell called Memoria Vitae, which could help retrieve repressed memories and heal trauma through carefully guided magical therapy.
Harry had the privilege of assisting her in these procedures, each one more intricate than the last. One afternoon, they worked on a young boy whose accidental exposure to a Confundus charm had left his memory scrambled. Dr. Verma's steady hand and calming voice guided Harry through the delicate process of untangling the boy's fragmented thoughts. The moment the boy looked up at his parents and recognized them again was one Harry knew he would never forget.
One of the most remarkable aspects of Dr. Verma's work was her use of Indian languages in the incantations of her spells. Early in his internship, Harry had asked her about it, curious as to why none of these spells were widely used in Europe or America.
Dr. Verma had smiled, a mix of pride and weariness in her expression.
> "The answer lies in history and pride, Harry. For centuries, Europe and America have clung to the belief that their magical traditions are superior to others. They've resisted incorporating techniques from outside their cultural spheres, especially from places they consider 'less advanced.'"
She explained that many of her spells used Sanskrit or Tamil, languages rich in meaning and perfect for weaving complex magical patterns. Harry had listened, fascinated, as she demonstrated how Manas Spandana (a spell to detect faint neural impulses) was so intricately tied to the phonetics and rhythm of the Sanskrit words.
Dr. Verma also mentioned that some of her more advanced spells combined an Indian language with Parseltongue—a magical blend that made Harry's ears perk up.
> "Many Indian magical families have this ability, Harry," she had said casually, her tone as if stating a common fact. "It's passed down, much like eye color or wand preference. We've learned to incorporate it into our magic for precision and power."
Harry felt a shiver of recognition at her words. The idea that Parseltongue could be a common gift in some parts of the world felt like a revelation. He couldn't help but wonder if his own family might have had such abilities. The thought lingered, a seed of curiosity planted deep in his mind.
He resolved to ask Euphemia the next time he was home. If the Potters had a history of Parseltongue—something he'd always thought was unique to Voldemort—he wanted to know. The connection between his heritage and the ancient traditions of Indian magic fascinated him, and it made him view his abilities in a new light.
For now, though, he returned his focus to Dr. Verma's work, eager to learn every spell, every incantation, and every bit of knowledge she had to offer. After all, she was showing him a side of magic he never knew existed—one rooted in language, culture, and a deep respect for tradition.
Despite the intensity of his internship, Harry found solace in his trips back to Potter Manor. Sirius and Remus always greeted him with open arms, their laughter filling the grand, echoing halls of the house. On some evenings, the family portrait of Euphemia and Fleamont would join them in the drawing room, offering advice, encouragement, and sometimes playful teasing.
The Tonks family often visited as well, their vibrant presence bringing life to the otherwise quiet manor. Andromeda would fuss over Harry, insisting he eat more, while Ted entertained them with stories of his travels.
It was one of those rare evenings when Harry had returned to the Potter Manor, spending time with the portraits of his grandparents, Sirius, and Remus. As they sat together, the fire crackling softly in the background, Harry couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. He had been thinking about what Dr. Verma had said about Parseltongue being a gift in many Indian families, and he wanted to ask Euphemia directly.
"Grandma," Harry began, his voice slightly hesitant, "Dr. Verma told me that Parseltongue is a magical gift in many Indian families. She said it's something passed down through generations. I was wondering... is it a gift your family had?"
Euphemia paused, her painted eyes glinting as she considered the question. Then, a gentle smile crept onto her face. "Ah, yes, Harry. My family—Kundalinî, my maiden name—was one of those families that possessed the gift. It was not uncommon in our lineage." She explained calmly, as if it were a normal, everyday topic.
Sirius and Remus exchanged surprised glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and shock. They had always believed that Parseltongue was something , something only Voldemort possessed, and now they were hearing something completely different.
"But… why didn't James know about it?" Sirius blurted out, his voice cracking with disbelief. "If it's in your family, why didn't he ever say anything?"
Euphemia sighed softly, her face reflecting a trace of sadness. "The gift doesn't always appear in every generation, Sirius. It can skip generations entirely. James… well, it seems it skipped him. But it didn't skip you, Harry."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Euphemia's words confirmed something he had suspected, but hearing it from her, the source of his magical heritage, made it feel more real.
"Yes," Harry confirmed quietly, "I can speak Parseltongue."
The comfort in Euphemia's words seemed to lift the weight from Harry's shoulders. He had always accepted his Parseltongue ability, but for the first time, he felt a sense of relief in associating it with something other than Voldemort. Knowing that it wasn't inherently wrong or evil, but rather a part of his family's legacy, gave him a new sense of pride. He could choose how to use it—and that was what mattered most.
And so, in the quiet of the room, surrounded by the portraits of his grandparents and the warmth of his family, Harry felt a sense of peace settle over him. The secrets of his past, of his family, were beginning to unravel, and though there were many more questions to answer, for now, he was just glad to have found some understanding.
During the entire month, Harry would take a weekend day and go to visit Margret.
, the elderly librarian who had once been a cornerstone of his world. Her announcement that she had taken on an apprentice to carry on her work had been bittersweet for Harry.
He remembered their first conversation after she told him:
"It's time, Harry," Margaret had said, her voice soft but resolute. "The library needs someone young, with fresh energy, to take it into the future."
"But you're still... you," Harry had protested, his chest tightening. "No one can replace you."
She had laughed, the sound warm and familiar. "Oh, I'll still be around, my boy. You can't get rid of me that easily. But it's time I focused on the parts of life I've neglected."
They had sat together in her cozy little house, surrounded by stacks of books and parchment. Harry had noticed, for the first time, the photographs on her mantelpiece—a younger Margaret with a man who had to be her husband, and another of a small boy who looked remarkably like her.
"I had a family once," she admitted quietly, catching Harry's gaze. "And I lost them to time. The library became my refuge, my distraction. But now... now I want to live for me again."
They promised to write letters, and they did. Harry would return to the manor after his weekends with her, clutching tightly to the notes she gave him. Sometimes they were filled with advice, other times with stories about her apprentice and the future of the library.
In mid-August, a month and a half had passed since Harry had begun his magical medical training under Dr. Anaya Verma. During this time, he had learned a vast amount, both theoretically and practically. The last day of the course was fast approaching, and Harry felt a mix of pride and excitement about how far he had come. Dr. Verma, a brilliant and well-respected figure in magical neurology, had been impressed with his progress.
One of Harry's most significant achievements during the course was the spell he had developed, a fusion of runes, arithmancy, and charms, designed specifically for the diagnosis and treatment of brain injuries.
Harry's spell was an innovative fusion of runes, arithmancy, and charms, designed specifically to analyze and accelerate the healing of neurological trauma. It wasn't a simple spell — it was a multi-layered approach that required a deep understanding of both magical and Muggle medical principles. Harry had spent countless hours studying not only the theory behind magical medicine but also the way the brain functioned, both in terms of magical damage and physical injury. By combining these elements, he created something truly unique.
The spell itself was built upon the foundation of ancient runes used for communication and healing. The primary rune he focused on was Ansuz, which represents insight and the flow of energy — perfect for diagnosing hidden trauma within the brain. He combined this rune with a set of diagnostic charms, carefully selected for their ability to detect energy disturbances within the body. However, the challenge was to make this spell work specifically for the brain, where the delicate balance of magic and physical matter could be so easily disrupted.
Next, Harry turned to arithmancy, the magical science of numbers. After learning from Dr. Verma and other magical practitioners, he realized that mathematical patterns in the brain could reveal the extent and nature of a trauma. By infusing his spell with an arithmantic matrix — a set of numerical coordinates that could map the brain's electrical activity — Harry was able to pinpoint areas of dysfunction. These coordinates would then guide the spell to the specific areas where damage had occurred.
To bring these elements together, Harry had to carefully craft a spell that would not only identify the damage but also heal it. He infused the spell with a charm to promote rapid cell regeneration and another to accelerate the healing of neural pathways. The goal was to encourage the brain to repair itself as much as possible, speeding up recovery and reducing long-term damage.
The true innovation, however, was how Harry tailored this spell to track the exact areas of the brain that were affected by trauma. Instead of relying on broad magical diagnostics, which could only give a general idea of damage, Harry's spell used the arithmantic matrix to create a map of the brain's damaged regions, identifying specific neural pathways that needed attention. This allowed him to not only treat the injury itself but also monitor the healing process with unparalleled precision.
When Harry tested the spell, he used a young boy who had suffered a severe concussion as his first patient.
The boy's brain was damaged due to an accident, and he had difficulty forming coherent thoughts. Harry cast the spell, the runes glowing softly in the air, the arithmantic matrix aligning with the boy's neural patterns. As the spell worked, Harry could see the areas of damage highlighted on a floating image of the brain that appeared in front of him. He was able to identify the exact regions where the damage had caused the most disruption in cognitive function.
Using the spell, Harry was able to target the areas of the brain that were most affected and accelerate the healing process. The runes began to pulse in rhythm with the boy's brainwaves, and Harry focused on healing those parts of the brain, using charms that stimulated neural regeneration. As he did so, he saw the boy's facial expression soften and his breathing become more steady. The spell worked not just by mending the physical damage but also by reintegrating a part of damaged cognitive processes, allowing the boy to regain his mental clarity more quickly.
Dr. Verma, who had been observing from the side, was astounded by what she saw. She had never seen a spell like this before — one that was able to track the brain's electrical patterns with such precision and then heal the damage in real-time. She had always known Harry to be talented, but this spell was beyond anything she expected from him.
"Harry, this is... remarkable," she said, her voice full of awe. "You've created a bridge between different fields of magic — runes, charms, and arithmancy — in a way that I've never seen done before. Not only have you diagnosed the trauma with accuracy, but you've also accelerated the healing process by directly stimulating the brain's natural healing mechanisms. This is groundbreaking work."
Although Harry's spell had been impressive, it wasn't perfect. While it showed promise, there were still limitations that needed to be addressed. The boy he had tested it on had only been moderately injured — a concussion that had caused some swelling and cognitive confusion, but not deep or irreversible brain damage. Harry had been able to make a significant difference in his condition, but the true test would be when the spell was used on a more severely injured patient.
The boy had shown improvement, his mental clarity returning within hours, and the swelling had gone down. However, Harry had noticed that there were some lingering effects, subtle but present: The boy's motor skills were improving, but they weren't fully restored to normal. He could move without difficulty, but his coordination was still a bit shaky, and some of his movements lacked the precision they had before the injury., and there was a slight delay in his ability to process complex thoughts. Better then before,The spell had worked well in some areas, but there were still parts of the brain that had not healed as completely as Harry had hoped.
Dr. Verma, ever the astute observer, had been quick to point out these imperfections. As Harry looked at her, his own mind racing with possibilities, she gave him a measured smile.
"Harry, this is a truly groundbreaking spell, but it's not perfect yet," she said gently. "You've made an incredible start, but you'll need to run more tests, work through these variables. The boy you treated was only moderately injured. What happens when the trauma is more severe, when we're dealing with long-term damage or more complex neurological conditions? You'll need more data."
Harry nodded, understanding the challenge. The spell had shown promise, but the application needed to be more refined before it could be used in more dire cases. It wasn't just a matter of the spell itself, but of ensuring it would work consistently and effectively across a range of injuries.
"I understand," Harry said, his voice thoughtful. "I'll need to do more trials. Maybe I can work with some of the more severe cases at the hospital to see how the spell performs under different conditions."
Dr. Verma nodded in agreement. "Exactly. And remember, sometimes magic alone isn't enough. It's about understanding the balance between magical healing and the natural healing processes of the body. You've got a good foundation, but there's still more work to do."
She paused, then added, "But don't be discouraged, Harry. You're on the right path. This spell has real potential, and I believe it can change the way we approach neurological healing. It will take time and practice, but I'm confident you'll get there."
Harry felt a renewed sense of determination. He had come so far in a short amount of time, and while he wasn't satisfied with just a partial success, he knew that progress took time. This spell, though not perfected yet, could be the breakthrough that magical medicine had been waiting for. He would refine it, test it, and continue to learn from every patient and every result.
That evening, as he reflected on Dr. Verma's words, Harry sat alone in his small room at the hospital. The soft hum of the magical equipment in the background reminded him of the long journey ahead. He was eager to continue his work, but he knew that the real challenge was just beginning. This spell would require many more trials, adjustments, and, most importantly, patience. But Harry was prepared for the challenge — he was determined to make this spell work, to make it perfect, and to prove that he could be a healer who changed the world of magical medicine.
Dr. Verma's praise was more than just a compliment — it was a recognition of Harry's potential as a healer. She saw that he had the ability to push the boundaries of magical healing and make a lasting impact on the field.
After seeing Harry's work, Dr. Verma offered him an incredible opportunity. She invited him to return for future years of study, allowing him to work directly under her guidance and deepen his expertise in magical neurology. Harry could even potentially earn a master's degree in healing under her tutelage. The thought of continuing his studies with someone as accomplished as Dr. Verma thrilled him, and he was eager to learn more.
"Harry," Dr. Verma had said with a warm smile, "You have something special, not just in your understanding of magic, but in how you apply it. I want to help you develop your skills further. After this program, I'll make arrangements for you to work with some of my colleagues in other areas of magical medicine. You'll continue your practical training, and who knows, perhaps in a few years, we'll see you at the top of the field."
Harry's heart raced with the excitement of the future that was suddenly opening up before him. She had praised him for his practical work as well, especially in treating a young boy who had suffered a severe concussion. The boy's case had been one of the most difficult Harry had encountered, but after hours of careful work, he had helped stabilize him, and Dr. Verma had been impressed with his calmness under pressure. It was moments like these that had shaped Harry's confidence in his abilities, solidifying his decision to pursue healing as a lifelong path.
Throughout his time in India, Harry had not only absorbed magical knowledge but had also honed his practical skills. He had witnessed, firsthand, the complexity of neurological issues and the ways in which magic could be used to heal.
So, Harry had returned unexpectedly to the Potter Manor, but he shouldn't have been surprised by what he heard. The sound of groans from Sirius and Remus reached his ears before he even stepped inside. Harry, flushed with embarrassment, quickly realized what was happening and made a hasty decision to leave the manor. He stepped outside and called for Chhavi, asking her to teleport him to his mother's apartment instead.
Chhavi, ever so naïve, asked why Harry didn't want to greet Sirius and Remus first. Harry, still flustered, told her that he just needed to go to the apartment first. Without asking any further questions, Chhavi agreed and, with a flick of her hand, teleported them both there.
Harry had never stopped thinking about the locked cupboard in his mother's room. The more he learned about Lily, the more curious he became about that mysterious place.
He had known Lily Potter as a woman deeply in love with his father, James, whose magic had always been neutral. He had also known Lily as a friend of Severus Snape, the man who had spoken to him about some of their moments together, particularly about his mother's fascination with all forms of magic. Harry had learned about one such type of magic—blood magic—which had led him to understand more about dark magic.
This knowledge made Harry think. If his mother had gone to such lengths to protect something by inscribing runes on that cupboard, it must have been important. She must have hidden something valuable, something powerful inside, and if she had used blood magic to secure it, it would have been something potent, something she deemed worth protecting.
Finally, Harry stood in his mother's room, looking at the cupboard that had haunted his thoughts for so long. He approached it with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
The runes glowed faintly, ancient symbols whose meaning Harry could now comprehend. He took a deep breath, summoned his courage, and pulled out a knife. He sliced his palm, feeling the sting as the blood welled up. Then, with steady hands, he pressed his bleeding palm to the runes, letting his blood seep into them, infusing the symbols with his magic and his love for his mother.
The runes began to pulse with light as the magic took effect. The cupboard groaned, the seals breaking open slowly. The door creaked, finally giving way, and Harry felt a rush of triumph mixed with a quiet sense of reverence for the task at hand. His mother's work, her careful protection, had been passed on to him. The door swung open, revealing stacks of photographs, books, newspapers, and journals—tangible pieces of her past, waiting to be discovered.
The first thing Harry picked up was a photograph. It was of Lily, James, and Regulus, lying together in the grass, smiling and laughing. The image moved, as wizarding photos often did, and Harry saw his mother kiss Regulus , then James on the lips. Harry's heart clenched as he watched the scene play out before him. There was no mistaking the bond between them, the undeniable connection of love . His mother's love for both men was clear. Harry had always wondered about the nature of their relationships, but seeing this photo made him realize something he had already known deep down—the Three was in love and he is the proof of this love.
With shaking hands, Harry set the photo aside and reached for the next item: a leather-bound journal. The cover was worn with age, and the pages inside had yellowed slightly, but the ink was still clear. Harry opened the first page and began to read. It was his mother's journal, filled with her personal thoughts—thoughts she had never shared with him.
The first entry read:
"March 1975
Alice gave me this journal today. She said it might help me if I ever feel like talking, but don't know who to turn to. I wasn't sure at first, but now... I think she might be right. Sometimes it's hard to talk to anyone, especially when you've got all these confusing feelings swirling around inside you.
James... He's still trying so hard to win me over. Honestly, it's getting harder to brush him off. I always thought he was just this silly, charming Gryffindor, but there's something more there. He's not bad, really. He makes me laugh, and I can see the good in him. But part of me still isn't ready. I can't figure out why. I think part of me's afraid of how I might feel if I let him in, even just a little.
Today in Potions, I had to partner up with someone from the year below me. He looked at me like I was something disgusting when he saw I was Muggle-born—just like everyone else, I guess. But I don't know, there was something different. I was getting ready to mix the potion, and he kind of just stared at me for a second. He didn't say anything mean or anything, but I could tell he was surprised when he saw how good I was with the ingredients. And then, when we actually worked together, he... he complimented me. It wasn't much, but it was enough that I almost didn't believe it at first.
His name is Regulus Black. And now I'm wondering if he's related to that... that Sirius Black that James hangs around with. If he is, then I guess I've got no chance of figuring him out. He's so different from Sirius. Not that I know much about Sirius, but still, Regulus seems so... serious. He doesn't really seem like the type who'd ever speak to someone like me, but... there was something in the way he acted, something I didn't expect. He's cold, but not completely. I don't know what to think. It's confusing, and I feel like there's something I'm missing. Maybe I shouldn't pay attention to it. But, honestly, I'm not sure I can stop myself from wondering about him."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Seeing this vulnerable side of his mother, reading her raw thoughts, was like discovering a new piece of her—a piece he had never known existed. Lily Potter wasn't just his mother, the protector, the sacrificial figure he had always admired from afar. She was young, filled with confusion and emotion, trying to figure out the complexities of love, loyalty, and her own identity. Her feelings for both James and Regulus mirrored the kind of complex emotions Harry himself had started to recognize in his own life, particularly when it came to Théo. The realization hit him hard: his mother had been a person in her own right, with dreams, uncertainties, and deep, conflicted emotions.
As he read on, Harry saw how she had evolved—how her feelings for James had grown into something beautiful and undeniable, but also how she had struggled with her connection to Regulus. Her vulnerability, her confusion about her heart, was something Harry could relate to on a very personal level. Just like he had struggled with his feelings for Théo, his mother had once wrestled with her own heart's desires.
The journal wasn't just a glimpse into Lily's past—it was an understanding of who she had been, the choices she had made, and the growing pains she had endured. Harry was no longer just seeing his mother as the perfect, unwavering figure who had loved him so selflessly. He was seeing a woman with the same complex emotions, doubts, and heartaches that anyone else might face, someone who had learned to navigate the maze of her own feelings.
Harry didn't read everything, but he made sure to go through the entries date by date. Some of the entries were short, a few lines at most, while others were filled with pages of detailed thoughts and emotions. Lily hadn't written every day, but when she did, it was clear she poured her heart into it.
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December 1975
James I can't say I don't like him—because I do, I really do—there's something about him that makes me hesitate. He's relentless, but there's something comforting about his persistence, the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing that matters. But I'm still not sure… I just don't know if I'm ready for all of this yet. I want to figure it out, but sometimes I wonder if I should be asking myself if I'm only falling for him because of how hard he's trying. Can I even trust myself right now?"
Then there's Regulus. He and I, well, we're sort of friends now, unofficially. I don't know how it happened. He's not exactly what I expected. He's been raised in this rigid world, one where family loyalty is everything, but when I see him, I don't see the cold, unfeeling person everyone thinks he is. There's more to him, something trapped beneath all those walls. It's like he's been forced into this role—this perfect little Black boy who can't ever be anything but what they want him to be. It's so unfair. He's smart, funny, even a little sarcastic when he lets his guard down, but he won't let anyone see it. It's like he's not allowed to be himself.
I can't help but wonder how he feels about Sirius. It's almost like they don't even know each other anymore like me and petunia. Sirius avoids him like the plague, and Regulus... well, Regulus acts like Sirius doesn't even exist. He looks at me sometimes, with that frustrated, sad look on his face, like he's lost something he'll never get back. I don't know how to fix it, but I wish I could. I hate seeing him like this, like a bird in water—he can swim, but that's not where he's meant to be. He's not a fish, and he shouldn't have to be one just to survive. I don't even think Regulus realizes how much he's hurting.
But no matter what, I can't seem to get close to him—not really. Every time I think I understand him, there's something else, some wall that goes up. Maybe I'm just not supposed to get it. Maybe I'm not supposed to be the one to save him. But I can't just walk away either. There's something in him—something worth knowing—and I'll keep trying. Even if it means standing by while he shuts me out, I won't stop. Maybe one day, he'll be able to see that I'm not trying to fix him, just trying to be there, just trying to listen.
---
Harry paused for a moment, the weight of the words sinking in. His mother had been so open, so raw in her thoughts, and it made him realize just how deeply she had been affected by Regulus and Sirius. She had cared about both of them, even when it hurt, and she had tried to understand them, even when it seemed like an impossible task.
_____
Mars 1976
Oh journal, it's been so long since I've written about Regulus and James. But there's so much to tell you. First of all, James saw me talking to Regulus in our secret spot at the beginning of the year. I still don't understand how he knew we were there, but anyway. At first, he thought Regulus was going to do something bad, but I explained that wasn't the case. Slowly, the three of us started hanging out together. Don't ask me how it happened. I was friends with James and Regulus separately, but now the two of them were also becoming friends. We started talking about everything—my issues with Petunia, James's struggles as the only child of the Potters and how lonely he sometimes felt, and Regulus's sadness about his brother not caring for him. At first, Regulus wouldn't talk about his brother—understandable since James was Sirius Black's friend, and I was too. But little by little, he started to open up. We shared everything, and what we said was just for us. No one would ever know.
But the best thing that happened was one night when we were all together, all cozy and warm. I saw them, and that's when I realized why I was so uncertain about saying yes to James. I wanted to say yes to both of them. So, I took a deep breath and kissed James first. He accepted it immediately, then I kissed Regulus, who was much more shy. Without saying a word, Regulus and James kissed each other too. Since then, we've been together. No one knows, but we do.
_______
There are so many tears on these pages...
________
November 1979
Oh journal, I think Regulus has left us, James and me. We talked about making our union official—more than just the magic that binds us together. Yes, we bonded with a spell we found in the Potter family books. A marriage spell that Aunt Euphemia's family used to do. We're bound—soul, heart, body, and magic. We won't die if one of us does, but a part of each element will break.
James and I wanted more. We asked for a real wedding, something tangible, with everyone there, not just the moon and us. But Regulus refused. He said that the Dark Mark, which links him not only to his family but to Voldemort, will make us victims of him too, as if we aren't already. You see, Regulus was forced to take the Mark before he turned 18. It's tearing him apart. His family is destroying him, and neither James nor I can do anything to help. We wondered if we could tell Sirius—maybe he'd help us. But even with Reggie's love for Sirius, he's become so paranoid, so convinced that his family and Voldemort will do something to hurt us all.
I don't know what to do anymore.
______
December 1979
Oh, no, no... this can't be real. My heart is shattered—Regulus is dead. He's gone. He's gone.
James and I... we wanted to follow him. We wanted to go with him, to leave this world behind because what's left for us now? How do you keep living when someone you loved so much is ripped away from you, leaving a hole so wide, so deep, it feels like it will swallow everything in its path? But we can't. We can't. Not yet.
I'm pregnant.
I'm pregnant with James's and Regulus's child. We did the spell. We checked—our three DNA is in this baby. The child... a small piece of Regulus lives on in him. I don't know if I can carry this weight. How can I look at this baby and not think of Regulus and what we've lost? How can I raise him, teach him, love him with this part of me so broken?
I'm torn into pieces. Every part of me is screaming, "No. This isn't fair." But I can't stop this baby. This tiny part of Regulus, growing inside me. I wanted him to be here. I wanted to be with him, to have a life with him, with James, with us three—but now, it's just... me and James, struggling to stay afloat in a sea of grief and guilt.
How can I look at James without seeing the weight of this—how can I look at our child and not feel the constant ache of losing Regulus, the ache of knowing that part of him is gone forever?
I don't know how to do this. I don't know if I can. It feels like my heart is being ripped apart every second. But... I have to try. For him. For the child. For Regulus. Gods, why did it have to be him?
I want to scream. I want to disappear. I want to follow him, to feel the weight of my grief lift. But I can't. I can't leave James... I can't leave this child who is both a part of me and James , and a part of Regulus. I have to keep going, even when it feels like my heart is a thousand miles away from me.
How do I live with this? How do I breathe?
________
Harry's chest tightened as he read, his vision blurring with tears that fell onto the pages. His hands shook as he held the journal closer, trying to make sense of the overwhelming emotions that surged through him. He could feel the weight of his mother's words, each one like a dagger to his heart.
He now knew. He understood, perhaps for the first time, just how much love had been between them—his mother, James, and Regulus. They had all loved each other, in their own way, with such depth, such intensity. And yet... Regulus hadn't known. He hadn't understood the bond they had shared until the very end. The magic they had woven between them—the spell—had bound them together as family, as parents in a way no one could have ever expected.
Tears streamed down Harry's face, but he didn't wipe them away. He let them fall. For Regulus. For the love they had all shared. For the father he had lost before he could ever know him. For the family that had always been broken, yet bound by magic and love that transcended death.
His heart ached for the boy who had never known how deeply he was loved, for the bond that had never had the chance to grow. And as Harry sat there, surrounded by the weight of his mother's words, he finally understood something that had always eluded him.