Chapter Text
It was his fourth lesson with Abraxas, and Harry clutched his dream journal like it was something fragile, something secret. He’d started keeping it after that first lesson, when Abraxas had looked him in the eye and told him that dreams, properly tended, could reveal more than any textbook. Now the worn little book was filled with messy notes, sketches, and scattered bits of memory - fragments of the strange, unsettling dreams that lingered even after waking.
But today wasn’t about his recent dreams. Today, he’d bookmarked a page that made his stomach knot every time he thought about it. The dreams from the previous year - the ones with the voice. The voice that called him ‘ little master ’, that spoke in riddles, that seemed to know far too much.
He could still remember the last of those dreams, clear as if it had happened the night before. The being, cloaked in shadow and mist, its voice both kind and terrible, had ranted about fate denying it sight, about Ignotus - the guide it claimed was Harry’s - and how it had somehow kept Ignotus from doing his job. Harry hadn’t dreamt of it since, but the confusion, the questions, lingered like a weight in his chest.
Harry glanced down at the messy notes he’d written in those first few nights trying to make sense of it all:
“Again you ask and again I tell you that I have many names, little master. You simply need to figure out what one of them is to unlock the rest. No need for a hint when in this lifetime you have relatives who know my secret.”
“Because a name can be powerful. So powerful that those around you shudder at the idea of it. It can be so many things and to give it so freely…it is a mistake to do so.”
“No, no little Hadrian. I am not your guide. Your guide is my friend though, sweet Ignotus. He shall guide you properly soon, I suppose. Letting him do his job is important.”
“Fate doesn’t like to show me things. She’s rather mean that way. Letting her little wizards and witches see things but not me? So horrible. So unfair. I should be allowed to see.”
Harry wished he’d kept a journal from the start. Too much was already lost in the haze of memory. But this - this was what he had, and maybe Abraxas could help him make sense of it.
Their arrival at the manor had been anything but peaceful. Harry had barely stepped through the great doors before Lucius’s angry voice rang out, echoing off marble walls.
“And I’m telling you, there are no dark objects here!”
Harry froze at the sight of the foyer - Aurors everywhere, tearing through trunks, opening cabinets, sending dust and shattered heirlooms scattering across the floor. He shot a glance at Osric, whose earlier cheer vanished in an instant.
“Hadrian, go to Narcissa and Draco.” Osric ordered, his voice low, controlled and very serious. Harry didn’t argue. He darted toward them, and Narcissa folded him into her arms, smoothing his hair like a mother hen shielding her chicks.
“What’s happening?” he asked, heart hammering.
“Raid,” she whispered, her voice bitter. “They’ve been doing this all summer. Targeting anyone in the Traditionalist circles.” Harry frowned, he remembered hearing about the Malfoy’s being raided in his old timeline rather consistently during the summer between first and second year - but he never imagined it would be like this.
“Isn’t that…isn’t that like…targeted? No, that’s not the right word-”
“Persecution,” Narcissa supplied, her tone sharp but weary. “And no one’s been able to stop it.”
Harry watched as Osric, Lucius and Abraxas finally drove the Auror’s out. The house felt bruised somehow, like it too was trying to recover from the intrusion.
“At least it was during the day this time,” Draco muttered beside him. “Last time it was midnight.” His voice was low, tight. Harry felt a surge of sympathy.
“That’s awful.” Draco shrugged, looking more tired than anything else.
“It’s…whatever. I need to go fix my room.” He turned away, shoulders slumping, and Harry instinctively started to follow - only to feel Narcissa’s gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Let him be, dear. He needs a moment.”
Reluctantly, Harry let her guide him to the west wig, to the sun-room where he always met Abraxas. The room spelled faintly of polished wood and tea, the late afternoon light turned the dust motes to gold. It was so quiet, so far removed from the chaos of the foyer, that Harry felt his breath finally start to slow.
He wondered if the raids were why Orion, Sirius and Regulus had been pushing back having him stay the night at Black Manor, or why Severus had been looking more and more ruffled each morning.
Had it been happening at their home and he’d been none the wiser? How? Why-
Abraxas arrived then, saying nothing about the raid as he poured tea, a matcha blend that Harry had grown to like. The older man handed him a slim book - one of the few on Seers that he actually respected - and waited. Harry hesitated, then handed his journal over, marked at the page he’d agonised over.
“I put a bookmark on the bit I want your help with.” Harry said, his voice small, not quite able to meet Abraxas’s eyes.
“Of course.” Abraxas muttered.
And then the room fell into a peaceful hush, the only sound the soft turning of pages as Abraxas read, his expression calm but intent
Harry could barely focus on his own book as he watched Abraxas closely as the older wizard leafed through his dream journal, long pale fingers turning the pages with care. The room was quiet apart from the soft rustle of parchment and the faint clink of china as Harry set his teacup down. Sunlight slanted through the high windows of the room, casting over them both. Outside, the distant sounds of the house elves trying to put the foyer back together after the raid echoed faintly - but here, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them, the journal and the strange, tangled dreams Harry had tried to capture.
Abraxas paused at the marked page, his pale eyes scanning Harry’s cramped writing, his expression unreadable. Harry felt his heart beat faster, nervous despite himself. What if it was nothing? What if the dreams were just nightmares that had no meaning?
What if he was wasting Abraxas’s time?
Finally, Abraxas closed the journal gently, resting his hand atop it. He regarded Harry for a long moment, and Harry had the oddest feeling Abraxas could see straight through him - not just the boy in front of him, but the weight of all his questions, his confusion, his hopes.
“You’ve done well to write these down, Harry,” Abraxas said at last, his voice low and thoughtful. “Memory of dream-speech fades quickly, and the being you encountered seems adept at twisting words to confuse as much as reveal.” Harry shifted on his cushion, frowning.
“So it is something real? I mean - it’s not just…just me being silly?”
“No,” Abraxas said simply. “This wasn’t you being silly, nor was this a normal dream. You’ve had a true visitation. Likely several. The being you describe…the way it speaks of Fate, names and sight denied…this is not a figment of a sleeping boy’s mind,” He tapped the journal lightly. “This is a force older than you, older than me. A spirit perhaps. A remnant. Possibly even a bound power.” Harry stared at him, trying to make sense of it.
“It’s not my guide, though? It said that.”
“No. But it knows your guide - this Ignotus. That, too, is significant. Ignotus…a name heavy with history. Your ancestor, of course. But guides can take forms that resonate with their charges. You are the child of the Hallows’ line - it makes sense your guide would wear that face.”
Harry’s nose scrunched at the mention of the Hallows’, remembering how much of a pain the ring and wand were in his past life. Thankfully, Abraxas didn’t seem to notice. Instead, the man steepled his fingers, thoughtful.
“As for this being…it is tied to fate, yes. Or at odds with it. There are entities that exist on the edges of the pattern - those who once saw, or wish to see again. It seems you’ve caught the attention of such a one.” Harry felt a shiver down his spine, though the sun still poured through the windows.
“Why me?” He asked, Abraxas’s eyes softened.
“Because you listen. Because, like it or not, you stand at the edge of great tides, Hadrian. And the things that linger at the edges of fate…they notice souls like yours.” He fell silent, studying Harry again. Then, more gently. “The beings' words are both a warning and a riddle. Names are power. To know its name could bind it, or free it, or give you sway over it. And it knows this. That is why it taunts you with hints.”
“But..” Harry looked down at his hands, brow furrowed. “It said I have relatives who know it’s secrets. But…” Abraxas smiled faintly.
“Perhaps they do. Charlus and Dorea…they are the last of your blood. Perhaps they understand what I cannot.” He reached across the table and gently set the Journal down before Harry. “Your task now is to be patient. Keep writing. Keep listening. And when the being comes, ask not its name - but its purpose. Names can wait. Purpose will tell you whether to trust, or to fear.”
Harry nodded slowly, his thoughts whirling. Outside, the manor seemed to exhale - the noise of the raid now just a memory, the house settling into uneasy peace. But inside, Harry felt something had shifted. There were answers ahead of him. But they wouldn’t come easily.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to.
🦁 🐍 🦅 🦡
Severus’s knife sliced cleanly through the firm flesh of Mock Mango, its peculiar scent filling the kitchen as he prepared the ingredients for a potion he planned to brew that evening. The simple, repetitive task was soothing, a rare moment of quiet in a summer that had been anything but peaceful. His concentration, however, faltered at the soft voice behind him.
“Are we being raided?”
The question made him pause mid-cut, the blade hovering over the cutting board. Slowly, deliberately, he set the knife down and turned, brow arched in a quiet inquiry. Harry stood there, looking smaller than usual, his fingers fidgeting with one of untouched fruits, eyes fixed on it as if the right words might be hidden in its skin. Osric, for once, wasn’t hovering protectively nearby. The boy had come to him on his own.
“What makes you ask that?” Severus said, his voice low, measured, though he could feel a flicker of unease. The boy has always been perceptive - too perceptive sometimes. Probably from being an Auror in his last life.
Harry shuffled forward, still not meeting his gaze. The boy’s messy hair fell into his eyes as he toyed with the fruit, as though trying to delay speaking.
“The Malfoys were being raided when me and Osric arrived,” Harry finally whispered, his voice barely carrying. “And the other day, you sent me over to Neville’s house with no warning. You made me go through your study. There’s no way you forgot about an arranged…play date.” his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment over the term, but his green eyes, when they lifted to Severus at last were far too knowing.
Severus couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. The boy deserved the truth - he always did. He resumed chopping, the rhythmic sound filling the space between them.
“You’re right,” Severus admitted quietly. “We’ve been raided several times these past few weeks. Usually at night, sometimes during your visits with the Malfoys. But it’s been growing worse. More frequent.” Harry leaned closer, his curiosity outweighing his worry for a moment.
“How come I didn’t notice?” Harry asked.
“Your rooms wardered to protect you. You’re under twelve and protected under the Minor status laws.” Severus explained.
“but…Draco’s a minor, isn’t he?” Harry asked.
“Yes, however. The law states that rooms that belong to those elven and under require the permission from a guardian to enter unless there is a clear and present danger.” Severus explained, though he didn’t look happy about it.
“But…that’s stupid,” Harry muttered. “We’re counted as minors until we’re seventeen. In my time-line that law extended all the way up until your seventeenth birthday.” Harry groused.
“Perhaps it changed after the raids in your world ended.” Severus reasoned, making Harry fall silent.
“Why?” He asked. Severus glanced at him, then back at the neat rows of fruit slices.
“Why what?”
“Why are they raiding peoples homes?”
“They’re attempting to distract the public,” He explained, his tone carefully neutral. “Fudge and his allies hoped to discredit Dumbledore over the changes that fell through. When that failed, they turned their attention to the Traditionalists, hoping to shift the scandal elsewhere. A convenient enemy.”
“Political persecution,” Harry murmured. “That’s the term Narcissa and Abraxas had used.” His voice was thoughtful, but his eyes were troubled. “Why can’t they stop it?” Severus washed his hands, drying them on a cloth before turning fully to face the boy.
“They don’t have the votes. Too many Neutrals are frightened, falling in line with the Progressives to protect themselves. The few who don’t are paying for it in other ways. It’s a mess.” Harry’s frown deepened.
“But that’s…that’s wrong.”
“It is,” Severus agreed, his voice softening. The boy’s indignation, so pure and instinctive, tugged at something deep in his chest. He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to Harry’s level. “The reason you haven’t noticed the raids at night is because I’ve warded your room. It’s invisible to them. The Auror’s have complained - claiming they have a right to search every room - but as you’re a minor, they can’t enter without my permission unless they have real cause for concern about your safety.” Harry blinked at him, his expression shifting from confusion to quiet understanding.
“Oh…is that why Sirius, Orion, and Regulus haven’t let me visit yet?” His voice was small, uncertain, and Severus felt that familiar ache again - the boy was so patient, so good, and it wasn’t fair that he’d been kept from those he loved.
Gently, Severus drew him into his side, feeling the tension ease from Harry’s frame as the boy leaned into him. The calendar loomed in Severus’s mind - July was nearly gone, and still no visit, no reunion.
“Yes,” Severus said softly. “The Black estate is raided daily. And the Auror’s are…not gentle. I’ve been helping them during your lessons with Abraxas - cleaning up, warding what I can. They didn’t want you caught in it. They want your first visit to be safe.” Harry pressed closer, his voice muffled against Severus’s robes.
“Can the government keep doing this?” his words trembled with a child’s worry, despite the older soul Severus knew hid beneath. Each day the boy acted more and more like the eleven year old he appeared to be, but he doubted the boy realised it.
“No,” Severus said firmly. “It’s reaching a breaking point. Even the public is growing angry. These raids aren’t just hitting the great houses anymore - ordinary families are suffering too. If it continues, there’ll be a reckoning. A vote of no confidence in Fudge, or somethings more…decisive.”
“That sounds scary.” Harry whispered. Severus smoothed the boy’s hair, his voice gentle.
“It is. But we’ll endure it. The Blacks are determined to see you on your birthday. And they will. We just need to be patient a little longer. Alright?” Harry nodded, his voice small.
“Alright…can I help with the Mock Mangoes? They make the best noises when you cut them.” Severus felt a rare smile tug at his lips as he handed the boy the knife and cutting board.
“Of course. Let’s see if your chopping is as precise as your questions.”
And in that quiet, Severus watched him, protective and steady, as Harry set to work, the simple task grounding them both for just a little while longer.
🦁 🐍 🦅 🦡
The house was quiet. Almost too quiet.
It was well past midnight when Harry slipped out of his room. The floorboards were cool beneath his feet, and the low hum of wards - normally unnoticed - seemed louder in the hush of the sleeping house. He hadn’t meant to be awake. A nightmare, fleeting and half-forgotten, had jolted him out of sleep. It had barely been two days since he and Severus had discussed the raids, but the conversation had stuck with him and now all he wanted was a glass of water and the comfort of familiar surroundings.
He padded softly down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes, mind still fogged with sleep. The kitchen door creaked faintly as he opened it, the moonlight spilling in pale streaks across the stone tiles. The tap ran only for a few seconds before he heard it.
Crack.
Not Apparition. Something harder, more violent. He froze.
Then came shouting. Thundering footsteps.
A door slammed open - not his.
Then; glass breaking.
Harry turned toward the hall just as the air shifted, magic roaring in the silence like a storm through a keyhole.
“You dare breach my wards without notice or cause!?” Severus’s voice rang out, sharp and furious from somewhere in the hall.
“By order of the Department of Magical Law enforcement, we’re here to conduct a surprise search. You’re to stand aside, Snape. ” Another voice responded - colder, clipped. The way he said Snape was disgusted.
Harry’s heart dropped. He ducked back into the kitchen, hiding behind the doorway, pressing himself flat against the wall as boots stormed past. Three - no, four Aurors. Uniformed. Wands drawn. Their faces were grim, as if they were here for a battle, not a home.
He peeked around the edge of the door, breath caught in his throat.
The lead Auror - A broad shouldered man with a deep scowl and silver beard - was already issuing orders.
“Basement first. Then study. Don’t leave a single drawer untouched. You know the drill.”
“Do not enter that room,” Severus snapped, following them. His voice was a snarl. “That door leads to my private potions stores. Half of what’s inside is unstable. You’ll poison yourselves.”
“No exceptions,” One of the younger Aurors said coldly. “If it's locked, we’ll force it.”
Harry’s fists clenched. He’d never seen Severus like this. The man looked halfway between furious and sickened - like watching someone desecrate something sacred.
A sudden wave of magic tore through the air - the Aurors had breached the ward of the study.
A shelf upstairs crashed to the floor, books tumbling like thunder. Another door was wrenched open. They were everywhere.
Harry crept further down the hallway, trying to stay out of sight, heart hammering. One of the Aurors passed by just a few feet away, yanking open cabinets, muttering detection spells under his breath, wand light flickering like mad.
Then; one of them paused.
“There’s a room missing on the floor plan.” Harry’s blood froze.
“Upstairs,” Another voice said. “There’s a door that doesn’t register.” Severus was there in an instant.
“That room is protected under minor status laws. The child in this house is eleven. You are not legally permitted to enter unless there is a clear and present danger.”
“But-”
“ You will not touch that door. ” Severus’s voice was low and lethal. “Try it, and I’ll see you all in front of the Wizengamot before sunrise.”
A long silence.
“Fine, but we’ll be reporting it.” The lead Auror said with a terse nod.
“You do that.” Severus said coldly, spine straight as a wand. His night-time robes rustled faintly as he stepped back from the stairs, keeping the warded door in his line of sight - Harry’s door.
But the moment was brittle. The lead Auror had just turned away when a beam of pale blue light flickered in the corner of Harry’s vision - some kind of detection charm.
And then one of them saw him.
“There’s a boy,” Muttered the younger Auror at the rear of the group, lifting his wand higher. “In the corridor.”
Severus turned at one - fast, sharp, like a whip crack.
“Leave him be.”
But it was too late. The Auror had already taken a step forward, his boots thudding against the floor as he aimed his wand down the narrow hallway where Harry stood frozen.
“He’s out of his room.” The man noted - unnecessarily.
Harry didn’t move. His mouth had gone dry and the glass of water in his hand felt much heavier now. The glow of the spell illuminated his face, and in that moment, he felt like a specimen - someone to be examined.
“What’s your name, kid?” The Auror asked, tone clipped. His eyes raked over Harry like he was tallying a threat level.
“Harry,” It came out small, and he hated that. “Harry Potter.”
The lead Auror - Dawlish, from what Harry could make out someone whispering to the man urgently - gave a slow, calculating look toward Severus.
“You have Harry Potter under your roof?”
“Under my care ,” Severus said sharply, stepping between them in a fluid, protective motion. “And unless you are suggesting that the child is a danger to himself or others, your access to him is barred by moth magical guardianship law and the Minor Protection Act.” Dawlish looked like he wanted to argue.
“There’s been no formal documentation of Guardianship.” He spat.
“There has, actually,” came a voice further down the corridor - Osric, appearing like a shadow out of the dark, wand in hand and a look of protective rage clearly etched on his face. “Registered through the Wizengamot’s Neutral Holdings office, ratified by the Goblins at Gringotts, and confirmed by the Department of Records. Oversaw by Madame Bones herself.”
Harry blinked. He hadn’t even known Osric was here.
“Then why wasn’t it made public?”
“It kind of was?” Harry offered softly, flinching as the Aurors all turned to him. “There was a news paper article about it and everything.” Harry whispered.
“Exactly,” Osric said, stepping forward slowly, every syllable precise. “THe child is under magical protection and warded concealment. You’ve already violated two terms of search authorisation simply by engaging him. Shall I alert Madame Bones of the breath?”
The room seemed to drop ten degrees.
The Aurors hesitated - clearly unwilling to be on the receiving end of Amelia Bones’s fury. One of them gave Dawlish a subtle nudge.
“Fine,” Dawlish muttered. “No contact, then.” He turned, gesturing to his team. “Wrap it up.”
The Aurors retreated with sharp movements and lingering glares. One brushed past Osric with a sneer. Another slammed a cabinet drawer shut without bothering to align it properly.
And then they were gone - out the door with a crack of forced Apparition, leaving behind the sour stink of disrupted magic and dust.
For a long moment, the house was silent.
Harry stood rigid, his fingers curled tightly around his glass of water. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding. Severus turned to him then, crouching slightly so they were eye level.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”His face was unreadable, voice measured, but low with worry. Harry stared at the door they’d tried to breath. Then back at Severus. His chest ached. The air felt too heavy.
“Is this what it’s been like…for everyone?” He asked. Severus looked tired, older than usual.
“For too many. Yes.”
“...I hate it.” Harry said.
“I know.” Severus reached out and gently guided him back toward the stairs. “Come. You should rest.”
Harry didn’t move when Severus finished guiding him upstairs. His feet halted automatically on the landing, in front of his own bedroom door - the same door the Aurors had stopped short of violating.
But the magic felt thinner now. Brittle, almost.
His hand twitched toward the doorknob, but he didn’t reach for it.
Severus paused beside him. His hand hovered just behind Harry’s shoulder, not touching but close enough to feel.
“Would you like me to cast a stronger ward?” but Harry shook his head.
“I don’t want to go in.”
A breath caught in Severus’s throat - subtle, but not unnoticed. Osric, silent behind them, stepped forward and crouched slightly to meet Harry’s eyes.
“Would you like to sleep in our room tonight?” he asked, tone soft but even, not a whisper of pity in it.
Harry hesitated only a moment before nodding.
“Please.” His voice was almost inaudible when he answered. Osric gave a small nod, stood - stealing his glass of water and passing it to Severus, before he then hoisted Harry up and onto his hip. Much to his embarrassment.
But Osric didn’t seem to care as he moved to the master bedroom.
The room smelled like cedarwood and potion herbs - calming in a way Harry didn’t realise he needed. The bed was large, low and dressed in dark green sheets and a thin, welcoming duvet. Perfect for the summer heat. The room felt warm. Safe.
Severus set his glass down on one of the bedside tables and pulled the duvet back whilst Osric settled him on the floor.
They didn’t speak much after that, there was no need.
Harry climbed into the middle of the bed, small and quiet between the two older men, his breath still shaky but slowly evening out. Osric turned off the lights with a wave of his wand. Severus lay down beside Harry with practiced ease, his hand lightly brushing Harry’s hair back from his forehead.
“I’ll ward the door.” Osric said, stepping out briefly again.
“Thank you.” Harry murmured. Severus’s hand stilled on the crown of Harry’s head.
“There are very few places in this world where you are safer than here, child.” He said softly.
“I know,” Harry leaned into the touch. “It just didn’t feel like it tonight.” Severus was quiet for a moment.
“No,” he said gently. “I suppose not.”
When Osric returned, he settled on the other side of the bed without fanfare, one arm resting loosely above the pillows. Harry could feel both their presence like anchors - one warm, one cool, both steady. They didn’t hover. They didn’t smother.
They simply stayed.
Wrapped between them, Harry’s mind finally quieted. Only the low sound of Severus’s breathing and the slow rhythm of Osric’s - and Harry, slowly relaxing between them, until sleep found him at last.
The house finally fell still.