Author's notes; (Nervous laughter) it's been how long? A full year?!😅 um…. I wanna say sorry, but it would definitely not suffice.
But alas, I'm here. Never really left, but I am, in fact, still alive. Grad school is soul draining. But! The good news is that I'm exactly half way through my degree! I survived this latest semester and even with better grades then the semester before wguch totally kicked my ass. Y'all, the way I cried when I saw I passed had my mom panicking 😂 I even got a job!
All this to say that I've not quite got the AO3 curse but shuts been busy anyway. Please forgive me? Hopefully the next chapters come easier and with less effort cuz this was a doozy ngl.
Y'all know the drill by There are officially 8 parts to this series, so if you enjoy reading this soul's journey through the cycle of reincarnation across the multiverse, maybe check them out? Though, all fics can be read independently too!
As always, thank you guys for showing your love for my work, and for being so patient with me. I hope yall enjoy and leave your thoughts down below! Hearing from you guys is my favorite part.
Discord! I have started releasing chapter previews there, and it's chill. Some of you lovely readers even help me brainstorm!
https://discord.gg/XhqUDAnbsH
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I lean back into Sirius as Arcturus gathers his thoughts, his wrinkled hands ghosting over the top of his pipe. When he begins, his voice is only just above a whisper. "I will admit that I have made many mistakes, the greatest of which was not protecting you, or even your brother. I let our family be decimated, and for what? In the end we gained nothing but devastation and lost sight of what we should have held dear. You were right all those years ago. I am nothing but an old fool."
Sirius freezes, stiff as a board against me where I sit in his lap, stunned speechless at the words his proud grandfather has spoken.
Arcturus sighs deeply as he leans further into the armchair. "Melania… your grandmother and my heart and soul. We were married for over 50 years, bonded together in magic and love so deeply that some days I swear I could not tell where one of us began and the other ended. We had been betrothed since we were children, and we had grown alongside one another, marrying as soon as your Lady grandmother turned 17 and graduated Hogwarts."
"I remember," Sirius mutters out gruffly, "I don't think I ever saw you without one another. Grandmother was… kind."
"Indeed, she was," Arcturus admits. "The McMillans did not require as strict an upbringing for their children as the Blacks did, so showing affection came easier to her than it did to me. She was truly the light of my life. When she left me…" Arcturus shudders visibly, struggling. "When she died, I wanted to follow her to the underworld."
Sirius flinches, and I press closer to him, struggling with my desire to comfort both men.
Arcturus continues, moving to light his pipe before remembering my presence and setting it down once more. "I… was not well during that time. I passed the Lordship off to your father, trusting him with our house, and secluded myself, hoping the pain of her loss would end eventually."
Sirius frowns. "Grandmother died during my second year at Hogwarts. I didn't see you again until my sixth year."
Arcturus grunts in agreement. "Your Aunt Cassiopeia had been keeping an eye on me, and she finally managed to beat some sense back into me."
Sirius actually barks out a laugh at this. "I can see it. I swear I learned most of my pranks and more obscure spells from punishments she doled out on various family members that got on her bad side. Is the old hag still kicking?"
"Impertinent!" Arty growls. "But yes. I believe she's off terrorizing the South African magical community with her newest experiment. Hecate have mercy on them."
Arcturus continues on. "It was only when I regained my bearings a bit that I realized what had been going on during my seclusion. Not only had some so-called Dark Lord risen up from gods know where, but several of our blood, including yourself, had been disowned." The old man's lips curl in distaste. "I sought your father out seeking answers, only to be met by your ranting and raving mother, spewing utter nonsense about how our family would gain glory and rise to new heights by licking the boots of this coward who hid his own name."
Sirius chokes in surprise, seemingly stunned that his grandfather was no Voldemort supporter. "I would've thought you would be in support of the Dark Lord."
Arty scoffs in disgust. "Foolish boy. Your grandmother and I have always believed in preserving the traditions of the magical world. We also believe that our blood is special due to things such as family magic, and that magic travels through blood. However, we have nothing against Muggles or Muggle-borns, beyond the fact that they spit in the face of our traditions. It is Dumbledore, his Light faction, and mudbloods who have foolishly pushed the Ministry into outlawing blood magic, something that our house, along with many of the other Sacred Twenty-Eight, have practiced for centuries. Bah!"
The former prisoner looks like he's having an existential crisis as he desperately tries to process how his entire perception of his grandfather is being turned on its head, but Arcturus doesn't give him time as he continues.
"I was against so many of our kin being disowned. We are Blacks, and blood comes first, but your mother would not see reason, and your father… he was different. Orion stood there next to Walburga like a doll, hardly even acknowledging me. If not for the Lordship ring upon his finger that I know protects against such a spell, I would've thought he had been Imperiused."
"I requested your parents allow me to take you in, but I was denied. Your horrid mother even dared to have me disowned should I contact you myself. At this point, I was deeply concerned with the changes in our house since my absence, so after I knew you were safe with my cousin Dorea, the Potters having taken you in, I decided not to rock the boat and instead figure out what had been happening."
Sirius starts. "You… you wanted to take me in?"
Artie scoffs. "Of course, child. Had it not been clear that you were doing well with the Potters, I would've told your mother where she could shove her disownment and taken you in anyway. But I was concerned for a great many of our family members, including Regulus, and I had a duty to check in on them as well. Then the war picked up…"
Sirius stares blankly ahead. "The war…."
Arcturus stands on creaky knees and comes to sit next to his grandson, carefully taking Sirius's shoulders in his hands. "It was only during this time that I learned from Regulus how your mother and father treated you two."
Sirius recoils, body like a spring about to release, venomous words already forming on his lips in defense, only for Arcturus to drag him into a tight hug as I slip out of his lap to give the two some space. Sirius is rendered mute instantly.
"My child, my grandson, I failed you. I did not see what was right in front of me," Arty rumbles, his magic swirling with grief and regret. "Had I known, I would have disowned your parents and brought you children to live with me."
"I—what?" Sirius replies weakly. "But I thought—"
"—that disciplining children through pain was normal in our family?" Arcturus finishes. "The occasional spanking or stinging hex wasn't unheard of when I was raising your father, but nothing like the things your brother recounted to me. By then, I couldn't afford to leave Regulus alone to seek you out. He was in too much danger with your parents subservient to that madman as they were and I feared what any would do to him or I should we try to contact you when you made yourself so publicly against the Dark Lord's forces. I assumed you would be safe away from us as I did my best to subvert Walburga and Orion within our house. Even when…. Even when your brother… died, there were those in need of my protection, like Cassiopeia and your aunt Lucretia. I only regained the Lordship of House Black and the Lordship rings after your mother passed less than a year ago."
Sirius stares. "I see… but I don't understand. Where were you when I was sent to Azkaban?"
"Your mother would not let me aid you," Arcturus explains grimly. "But I began working to get you a trial as soon as I regained the Lordship. Coincidentally, it was not long after that your cousin Andromeda reached out to me."
"…You didn't abandon me?" Sirius murmurs, in a voice so frail it hurts my heart.
"Never, child! You are my blood. Even if our beliefs differ, I would never have left you to such a fate." The old man shudders. "You do not have to forgive me. I don't expect you to, but please know that I truly wish to be a part of your life once more—"
Arcturus is cut off as his grandson flings himself at the old Lord, weeping like a lost child. With shaking arms, the two embrace one another tightly, the elder whispering things into the younger's curls.
Once it seems they have gotten the emotions mostly out of their systems, I clear my throat to catch their attention, snorting when the two men spring apart, immediately smoothing themselves over in a near-identical manner as though I hadn't just seen them both blubbering. "Well, I did have a gift for you too, but if you would rather wait, I can come by again later."
"Apologies, little queen, for the display," Arty drawls, brushing at the damp spot on his robes.
Sirius blusters, covering up his own moment of weakness with loud bravado. "A gift! We would love to see it!"
I grin wickedly. "Well, you see, I acquired something while you all were at Sirius's trial. I've been keeping it safe while Uncle Padfoot got his bearings and healed up a bit, but I figure the two of you would like to… play with it now. Come."
They follow me to the dungeons, progressively more interested as we slip through travel doors and secret entrances until finally we are standing in front of the cell.
"Is that—" Sirius whispers as he catches sight of the slumped form in the corner, something crazed lighting his eyes.
"One traitor, all for you. Personally, I say you torture him and then wipe his memories before shipping him off to Azkaban. There is little in this world worse than having to live around Dementors," I explain calmly. "However, you of course don't have to listen to me."
"This debt, Little Queen, will not be forgotten," Arcturus rumbles, and I raise an eyebrow when I note that, despite his lack of time in Azkaban, the gleam of his silver eyes and the insanity behind them is near identical to that of his grandson.
Guess the Black Madness is a very real thing after all.
"It was my pleasure. But if you wish to thank anyone, the Weasley twins were the ones who did most of the heavy lifting, so consider rewarding them instead," I reply. "Oak!" I call, my brownie appearing with a crack. "Make sure the prisoner doesn't escape while the Blacks avenge themselves."
"Yes, Queenie," the little butler agrees, ears flopping in a bow.
With that, I excuse myself, ignoring the screams that echo behind me before I even make it halfway up the stairs.
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Dinner was an interesting affair that night, involving the Blacks, Weasleys, Tonks, and my own family, including my Muggle grandparents and aunt.
Danae spends half her time flirting with Sirius and the other half being grilled by Arthur who wants to know absolutely everything about Muggles. I can tell that she's having to put her engineering degree to work just keeping up with him.
Meanwhile, Arcturus was getting along surprisingly well with my grandparents, his aura lighting up with surprise every time they exceeded his expectations of mere muggles. He seems somewhat fascinated by the lack of difference between them and himself. They were probably the first Muggles he's ever actually met, now that I think about it, and I hope it will help him break down some of those long held prejudices.
At the other side of the table, Molly and Andi were having an in-depth conversation about the newest fashion trends in wizarding high society while Dora seemed to be plotting with the Weasley kids, judging by the rapidly changing colors of her hair and the vaguely sneaky vibes coming from their huddled up forms.
I grin to myself, enjoying the warmth of the atmosphere as I take it all in, Kila perched on my head, his claws gently kneading the top of my head like a cat baking biscuits. It was everything I had yearned so desperately for in my past life as Nissa, this feeling of belonging and the knowledge that should I falter there would be others there to steady me. I leaned back further into my chair, carefully snatching my father's cup of tea from under his nose, silently sending up a prayer to the gods to help me preserve it all.
Tomorrow, Sirius would be getting another check-up with the healers and soon after that, Harry will be coming home. I can't wait for the kid to experience all this for himself.
Just hold on a little longer, Harry. Soon, you'll have all this for yourself and you won't have to be alone ever again.
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Tonight, Kila and I had snuck off to roam the estate beyond the garden. The dragon, as per my request, had agreed to teach me a bit more about the old traditions, ones that evoked the gods, and so here I was, off to do my first ritual in the middle of the night trekking through several inches of snow.
I pant, lugging my full satchel along as I stumble in the wake of a Great Dane–sized Kilgharrah, his glorious midnight- and silver-colored scales glinting like a piece of the starry sky above us. It was only the contrast of his true form and the brightness of the snow that allowed me to follow him, allowing his tracks to break up the snow ahead of me, making it easier to travel through. "Are we there yet?"
"Almost, child," the dragon replies for the fourth time, patient as ever.
I stumble over yet another tree root, banging my shoulder on its trunk and face-planting into powdery snowflakes. "…Can't you just give me a ride, Kila?"
"Making the trip upon your own feet and energy is important to the ritual. It is a part of the sacrifice," he rumbles, chiding.
I groan, but stagger up, clenching my teeth together so they won't chatter. "Damn… yeah, okay."
"We're here," Kila growls suddenly, and I perk up, stomping forward faster in anticipation. The moment I step into the clearing after the dragon, the woods seem to become quiet. I blink and take in my surroundings, one hand wandering to touch my ear in confusion.
"Where… whoa," I murmur, stepping forward as I spin in a circle before collapsing to my knees in the perfect, untouched snow. "That's one big-ass tree."
Kila snorts a puff of smoke at the top of my head. "Indeed. Back in the days before wizards used wands and instead worshiped Mother Magic as druids, most magic was done through rituals in sacred places like this."
I take in the oak tree towering above me, its frosted branches stretching out to span the entire clearing, which must have been at least a few hundred feet wide. The branches were draped in what looked like ropes, ribbons, ornaments, and metal chains, miscellaneous in nature yet somehow fitting together as they stretched across the whole clearing, attaching to the giant stone structures that circled the edge of the site. "A sacred site?"
"Yes. They are called druneton, or nemeton," Kila rumbles.
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"—a nemeton, one of the great trees that keep balance in the universe, between good and bad, mundane and supernatural, life and death," someone—a boy that wasn't a boy—was saying, the scent of flowers filling my nose—
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"—Ria? Kamaria?! Child?!" I blink and turn my head toward the ancient creature at my side.
"Sorry, just a… vision, I think?" I mumble, feeling oddly floaty as I stand, grabbing onto Kila to balance myself, the heat of his scales near scalding on my frozen, numb skin, the feeling of déjà vu rolling through me. "Or maybe… a memory?"
This hadn't quite felt like a vision, though; it was too steeped in the feeling of nostalgia for that. And yet it was definitely not something I remember from being Nissa, but then again, Lady Magic had said I would begin to remember my past lives beyond my last one.
"We'll discuss this later, but we have more pressing matters now. The time is nigh," the son of Magic announces, nudging me with his snout.
With effort, I stagger forth and make my way to the ornate stone altar centered in the clearing in front of the tree, cursing and shivering the entire way. With a huff, I finally reach it, sweating as I dump the contents of my bag out.
"Light the torch like we practiced and use the athame to drip your blood into the stone bowl," Kila instructs.
I nod and rest my hands over the tall torch set into the stone edge of the altar, a lovely thing that looks like it was a piece of wood that grew twisted around bits of uncut jewels and veins of precious metals. It was natural and organic looking despite the impossibility of it, and despite the centuries it must have spent resting here on the altar, it was entirely untouched by time.
"Incendio," I demand, rising on my tiptoes to reach and tugging sharply on the magic swirling beneath my ribs. After a moment and a second, more insistent tug, a spark sputters to life from my core and escapes my suddenly warming fingertips, a little flame springing to life in the cradle of the torch, floating midair there as though lighting an invisible wick. It had taken me a few days, but I'd finally managed the spell, something infinitely easier when I knew the incantation.
I grin before continuing. I follow my dragon friend's instructions, setting out my offerings, which include some crescent-shaped honey cakes, a cup of milk, one of Pluto's most magnificent feathers, some nightshade, sage, a bit of obsidian, and a silky midnight-blue ribbon. Then, in the center of the objects, I drip seven drops of blood from my nicked finger into the ancient, inscribed runic bowl. Lastly, I set a simple silver charm bracelet on the table.
With a slow, reverent inhale, I sink to my knees and bow, pressing my forehead to the cold stone altar.
The world shifts.
A soft whoosh unfurls through the clearing, the winter sky having drawn a breath, and one by one the lanterns kindle all around the perfectly circular clearing, golden blooms of light chasing away the dark. Warmth pours into me, swift and merciful, the night"s bone-deep chill fleeing from my limbs as though it had never been there at all.
My breath catches. In the sudden unnatural hush, I feel it. It is the unmistakable regard of something vast, ancient, and immeasurably more than I am. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, magic surges, swelling until it spills off of my form in bright fractals of light in all manner of shades between silver and blue.
"Holy shit," I whisper, the words as a prayer in their own right. Snow soaks through to my knees and legs, but I barely notice. For the last year, I have begun learning to lean on magic where my eyes failed me, using it to map the world through echoes and impressions.
But this? This is nothing like that.
The castle's magic is usually thick enough that I never struggle to orient myself. It rebounds off walls and pillars, off of the doors and furniture, returning knowledge the way sound returns to a bat. It is functional, yet limited, details demanding a closeness and patience I can't always manage.
But here and now, all the previous restrictions on my sensing vanishes.
I could have counted the snowflakes clinging to my lashes, traced every fracture in the altar's weathered face. The world no longer merely surrounds me—it flows through me. Every object, every breath of air, every fragile spark of life feels threaded into my being, as if my body were no longer a boundary but a conduit.
As though everything were an extension of my flesh.
Of my soul.
It is so achingly beautiful that it steals what little breath I have left.
"Focus," Kila reprimands, bonking my head down with his snout even as he settles at my back.
"Er, right," I mumble and clear my throat, blinking away overwhelmed tears before shutting my eyes as I begin to sing softly. It should have sounded dumb, the pronunciation still foreign on my tongue and the self-consciousness difficult to shake. It had sounded pretty pathetic when I had practiced, but the moment I open my mouth, I feel the magic around me surge once more.
My first note wakes the earth. There is a heartbeat thumping below my knees, a drumming in my bones, a whisper in the silent wind, and the incorporeal embrace of nature. My words spill out like flowing water, easy and strong. The song thanks Lady Magic for her blessings, guidance, and favor, asking her to accept my offerings and to continue to watch over me, something overwhelmingly joyful filling me as I sing and sing, and soon I begin to sway, the urge to dance nearly making me succumb. I struggle to fend off drunken giggles as the scent of flowers and honey fills my nose, and I could have sworn I heard a certain goddess's tinkling laugh.
After what feels like mere seconds, the song ends, but the voice of the earth continues on. Grinning uncontrollably, I bow my head, voice raspy as I clasp my hands. "Lady Magic, thank you for this second chance at life. I won't waste it, and I'll do my best not to disappoint. Please bless this bracelet with your protection. That child could really use it."
My magic dances alongside the song of the earth for a bit longer as I finish my prayers before settling, the vibrations slowing before vanishing, the world stilling once more. For the briefest second, I think I feel a hand settle on top of my head, but when I look up, there is no one but Kilgharrah.
I stagger up and the torches around me go out, and I curse as the icy wind suddenly floods the clearing again and the magic dims, leaving me feeling blind and bereft. Fighting off the urge to cry from the loss of it, I reach for my bag, noticing all the offerings and my blood are gone. All that remains is the bracelet that I carefully tuck away, even as the winter cold settles beneath my skin once more.
"Good job, child. I believe my mother is pleased," Kila notes, nudging me onto his back before he grows to the size of a horse, mercifully warm scales rippling beneath me and instantly fending off the chill.
With a single flap, we are launching into the winter sky, and I hiss softly as the cold suddenly hits me yet again. I curl myself closer to the guardian creature of my family, smiling as his scales shift from midnight sky to sunset hue beneath me. "How can you tell that?"
"Obviously, because she acquiesced to your request and blessed that bracelet. But it was clear even before that from the way the earth sang."
I hum, watching the snow-covered land pass below us in a sheet of pristine white. The castle looms ahead, and I find myself grumbling at how quick the journey back is going when it took me so damn long on my stubby legs.
Kila lands seamlessly on my balcony, and I dart inside with a sigh of relief, slamming the door shut as soon as the guardian of my house enters.
I begin to strip, tossing my wet clothes in the corner as I try not to trip over myself. "Well, let's hope it's enough for some extra luck in the coming days. After all, Baby Harry is arriving tomorrow."
"Indeed," Kila murmurs, crawling under the covers with me and curling one rose-gold wing around my trembling form, tucking his tail around my icy feet. I snuggle closer, setting the bracelet on the night stand and tucking my face beneath his snout, smooth scales rubbing against my skin like warm stones. "Goodnight, hatchling."
"Night, Kila. Thanks for helping and coming with me tonight," I mumble.
"Always."
I fall asleep to the rumbling purr of a dragon.
XXXXXXXXXX
I step out of a Travel Door, looking around in confusion. Somehow, rather than where I had intended, I had ended up in the entrance hall. "Damn. I thought the door in the second sitting room led to the small kitchen."
"I think that's the door in the third sitting room," Dora answers, shaking her head as she follows me out—Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George trailing behind. "Er, at least when you take it after noon, I think."
"This place is bloody insane," Bill murmurs under his breath as he takes a headcount as the eldest, making sure we haven't lost anyone on the way here. "Is it really necessary for the doors to lead to different places depending on the time of day?"
I shrug, hefting the book in my arms and adjusting my translator glasses on my head. "My ancestors were a paranoid bunch."
"They had to fight a lot of bad guys," Percy says seriously, holding up an even thicker book than the one I was carrying.
"Wicked!" the twins chorus.
I hum. "Well, I think if we take that hallway behind the right staircase, we'll end up in the big kitchen. We don't use it much, but the brownies will be fine to make us something in there as well. Right, Dora?"
"…Maybe?" Dora offers hesitantly.
"You two have lived here for almost a year, and you still get lost?" Charlie asks, amused.
"Can you blame us?" Dora complains, and I begin to tune them out as I try to get the castle wards to help guide me. They didn't always seem to hear me yet, but when they did, I could usually find whatever I was looking for.
I perk up when I feel someone appear outside the front door. Before I can figure out who, the door opens to reveal Ted and Andi. "Oh! Welcome home!"
I toddle over, hugging their legs in greeting. Ted scoops me up, setting me on his hip, and from up here I can see the grim expression on his face. "Uncle Ted?"
Ted's brown eyes soften as he pats my head, his citrus-and-parchment scent wafting over me. "Everything is fine, dear. Just some… annoying paperwork regarding bringing little Harry home."
I narrow my eyes darkly, sending a sharp glance at my proxy, whose face is ice-cold as she presses Dora to her side. "…Nothing to worry about, love. Why don't you children go play? The adults need to have a conversation."
Ted sets me down, and I grab Dora's hand just as her hair sparks into fiery red, her face puffing up in indignation at the clear dismissal. "Right. We'll see you later then!"
I pinch Dora to cut off her protests as the Tonks-Blacks hurry off. Dora whirls on me as soon as they are out of sight.
"Kamaria! They are hiding something from us! They're treating us like babies!"
Bill nods, arms crossing. "Oh, definitely. It's probably about Harry moving to live here."
"That's so not fair," Charlie grumbles.
I nod, smirking. "Which is why we are going to eavesdrop rather than argue."
"Prank! Prank! Prank!" the twins begin to chant in a whisper, like cultists mid-ritual.
I close my eyes and focus on the wards, using them to feel Ted and Andi's movements across the castle, which is harder than you'd think since the Travel Doors have them popping up in unexpected places.
"Mummy says eavesdropping isn't polite!" Percy whispers from the back of the group as we sneak around corridors.
"It's not polite," I agree. "But sometimes it's necessary."
I let Bill deal with his little brother's moral crisis as I focus on tracking Ted and Andi. Eventually, we end up in the closest dining room of the Family Tower before we climb up a few flights of stairs and find ourselves in a hall outside a sitting room with voices coming from it.
We plaster ourselves against the wall, peering around the corner where conversation spills faintly from the half-open door. A scuffle for the best spot promptly ensues, quiet bickering and hair pulling included.
"Ow!"
"You're stepping on me!"
"Whose bloody elbow—"
"Oooh, that's a—"
"—bad word!"
"Shh!" I hiss, elbowing whoever is stepping on my sleeve as I lay flat on the floor and ignoring whoever is half-sprawled on top of me.
"—Bledor's faction is making things hard," Andi's voice says, her tone of frustration reaching my ears.
"…stalling with bureaucracy… procedural loopholes…" Ted continues, his lower voice making it harder to catch his words.
"THIS IS BLOODY RIDICULOUS!" Sirius's voice booms, making everyone piled together flinch as one, and I have to fight the instinct to run from a screaming adult man ingrained in me from my past life. "HOW DARE THEY TRY TO KEEP MY GODSON AWAY—"
There is a sharp smacking sound, and I get the feeling that someone just whacked Sirius over the head, followed by a tapping sound that feels like Arcturus's pimp cane.
…Yeah, that tracks.
Arcturus rumbles something low, but judging by the malicious intent I feel coming from his aura all the way from over here—and the way it seems to calm and amuse Sirius—it was probably a particularly vicious plan to deal with whoever is standing between us and getting Harry.
"…are going to do about…" my father mumbles about something, but I curse under my breath, unable to hear his calm, measured tone or even really get a read on his aura.
I think Arcturus says something in response, but frustrated, I inch closer to try to catch it. I must have moved something important, though, because whoever is on top of me lets out a soft omph and seems to become unbalanced. There is a thud of someone hitting another, and then a crash as that person hits the nearby suit of armor.
There is a moment of perfect stillness as I stare down the hallway with wide eyes. Then I turn very slowly, making eye contact with Bill looming above me—the silent understanding that we'd fucked up and our parents were going to have our asses passed between us.
"Run!" the twins hiss, and that breaks us all out of our frozen dread. We scramble up, Charlie snatching me off the floor and to my feet, and Dora—who trips over the armor's helmet—is saved from face-planting by Bill. The twins frog-march an already crying Percy between them.
Footsteps begin approaching from down the hall, accompanied by confused voices, spurring a second of panicked running back and forth, with us kids silently screaming and motioning at one another as we all try to figure a way out of this.
I tug on the magic connecting me to the castle, quietly pleading for an escape as I slap a hand over Percy's mouth. Mercifully, the castle responds, a strong pulse of magic lighting the way in my senses like a beacon.
Head whipping around, I dart to a nearby tapestry, patting it repeatedly before cursing my own dumbassery and yanking it to the side, revealing the plain wall beneath. Or at least, it's plain until I smack my palm against it and it swings seamlessly inward.
Bill notices first, hauling Dora in past me, followed by the twins dragging a struggling Percy, and finally Charlie, who nudges me aside and seals the door just as the footsteps and voices are about to round the corridor.
Before the darkness can spook us, there is a whoosh and torches all along the wall light up, revealing a corridor similar to the one that led to the underground vault where I first met Kilgharrah.
"Kamaria, where does this secret passage go?" Bill asks softly, taking one of my hands in his, eyes wide as he looks about.
"You haven't shown me this one!" Dora complains, sprawled across the floor in a heap, clearly having tripped again.
I grin in frazzled relief at having escaped my father's dreaded, disappointed look and help her up. "I didn't know about it either until the castle told me a minute ago. I don't actually know where it goes."
"Wait, why are there even secret passages?" Charlie asks from where he's calming a still-sniffling Percy, who's clearly the only Weasley kid unused to Molly's wrath. "Like, there are already the Travel Doors that connect all over the place. Isn't secret passages overkill?"
"If they were meant only as a way of traveling around the castle, maybe," I reply thoughtfully. "But I'm pretty sure that anything hidden like this is not an area connected to the regular Travel Doors."
"Like your special study in the broom closet!" Dora perks up.
"And the dungeons!" the twins pipe in.
And the secret vault, I mentally add, nodding as I begin to lead the way, hoping my Emrys blood will allow the others to follow me without triggering any traps that may be here. Both my study and the dungeons didn't seem to be accessible by any Travel Door, excluding the Master Travel Door in my room, though I had yet to confirm that. It's like certain areas of the castle were completely isolated from the Travel Door network.
"Maybe the Doors were created later and these passages are just older areas of the castle?" Dora wonders.
I hum, letting my fingers trail across the carvings littering the walls. "That's probably part of it, but it's more likely that my ancestors really were just that paranoid."
I try to reach for the wards to pinpoint where the hell we are physically, but all I get is a blinding, staticky sensation that makes me go a little cross-eyed. "Ugh. Weird."
"There is a door up ahead!" Percy announces, more or less recovered now that he isn't in danger of an imminent parental scolding.
"Let me touch it first," I remind them, hurrying up to the rectangle carved into the wall and squinting at it. "Where's the doorknob?"
"There isn't one," Charlie murmurs from behind me.
"That's Elder Futhark," Bill says, using one of my hands as a pointer, tapping specific sections of the carvings. "And this is Ogham. This is Turkic or Orkhon, I think? And here is Cuneiform or Sumerian! And this has to be Ancient Chinese Seal—"
"Nerd!" George interrupts loudly.
"Bill's a rune nerd!" Fred sings.
"And he's going to take my arm off if he keeps forgetting there is a person attached to the other end of it," I grit out, yanking my hand out of his grasp with a glare.
Bill cringes, apologizing softly, but I wave him off with a snort. Clearly, the boy was interested in becoming a curse-breaker even at this age.
"Well, go on, Mari!" Dora says cheerfully. "Open the door!"
I shoot her a look, gesturing at the thing. "I would, but we've established there isn't a doorknob."
"Ah, come on, Princess. Work that Emrys Magic," Charlie teases, tweaking the end of my silver ponytail.
I frown but concentrate, reaching for my magic. I focus on the warm, tingly pool in my belly, instinctually smiling when I grasp for it and less slips free of my hold than the last time. I carefully manipulate it, gathering it up into my fingertips, concentrating it until my hands start to glow faintly. I nearly lose hold of it, the light flickering precariously, when my friends swarm closer, jostling me to get a better look—but I manage.
"Here we go," I murmur and press my hands flat to the door.
There is a moment of perfect, silent stillness as we all collectively hold our breaths.
Then absolutely fucking nothing.
"You did it wrong," Fred whispers loudly into my ear.
"Did not," I hiss, affronted as my magic escapes.
"Did too," George intones, smiling wickedly.
"Did not," I retort, lighting my hands up and trying again.
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Did n—"
"Oooookkkaayyyy…." Charlie steps in, grasping the twins around the neck and leaning until they are bowed under his weight. "That's enough of that! Are we even sure this is a door?"
"I mean, it doesn't have a doorknob?" Dora offers hesitantly. "It's kind of just a rectangle on the wall?"
"It's the only rectangle interrupting the wall carvings we've seen so far!" Bill points out, sounding exasperated now. "It's obviously a door!"
"What makes a door a door?" Percy asks genuinely, innocently pulling on Bill's sleeve for attention.
"I dunno, but this feels like a door," I answer, poking it in a few places as I try to trigger some kind of secret button to open the damn thing.
"What does that even mean?" Charlie asks, bewildered.
I shrug. "Magic is weird, mate. I dunno how else to explain it."
After a few more minutes of trying, we give up and head further down the hall until we find another door—this time with a handle. With little fanfare, we open it to find ourselves outside of the apothecary—an apothecary that is definitely nowhere near the entrance to this passage that had been in the Family Tower. The moment we exit into the hallway, the door slides seamlessly back into place at the trunk of a huge tree statue, a stone rendition of Kilgharrah himself napping in the branches.
"This is the third floor of this tower, right?" Dora asks, confused. "Weren't we on the sixth floor of the Family Tower? These two towers aren't even connected on this level!"
"It's clearly special magic," Bill says, examining the seamless tree trunk where the door was hidden. "It was an Emrys specialty."
"It was?" I ask curiously. It makes a lot of sense, considering the castle's proclivity to defy space and time at every opportunity, but no one had mentioned it—not even Kilgharrah or Balinor, who had both taken to teaching me family history in our free time.
"Alden Emrys created apparition!" Percy pipes up, hefting the large book he'd somehow been carrying around this whole time. I squint, leaning forward to read it: A History of House Emrys: The Lost Royal Lineage of Dragonlords.
"Let me borrow that when you're done," I mutter with intrigue. "But I'm officially hungry now. To the kitchens!"
"And which way is the kitchen?" Charlie asks.
"Uh…"
XXXXXXXXXX
AN: I got another chapter of this ready. Do y'all want it now or for me to hold onto it and release it when I don't have time to write so that y'all don't have to go as long without a new update?l
Side note- I did some research on how ancient druids practice, but I claim nothing regarding the realism if this ritual.