A Potter and a Black
The air inside Grimmauld Place felt colder, as if the house itself was reacting to the earth-shattering revelations Harry had uncovered. The stack of letters lay on the table before him, the elegant script of his father and the ominous words of Lily looping endlessly in his mind.
He had barely slept since he’d discovered the truth — or at least, pieces of it. Each time he closed his eyes, images of Regulus, James, and Lily flooded his thoughts. He couldn’t escape the persistent ache in his chest, the swirling mix of emotions that wouldn’t settle no matter how hard he tried to calm his racing mind.
James and Regulus were lovers.
Lily wasn’t really his mother.
Dumbledore knew.
The last thought hit him the hardest. He couldn’t prove it yet, but Harry had a gnawing suspicion that Albus Dumbledore had known more about his family than he’d ever let on. Dumbledore always had a reason for keeping things hidden — secrets that Harry now realized had shaped his entire life.
With a sigh, Harry grabbed one of the letters and began reading it again, hoping to find some small detail he might have missed.
Dearest Regulus,
I know things have been difficult since you left the Death Eaters. The burden you carry weighs heavily on you, but I want you to know that I am proud of your strength. You’ve made the right choice, and one day, we will be free to live without fear. Harry will know who you really are. He will know his true family.
Love, James.
The ink was smudged at the edges, as if James had hesitated while writing it. There was a vulnerability in the words that Harry hadn’t seen before in his father’s previous letters. James had always been painted as the brave Gryffindor, the perfect hero who had sacrificed everything for his family. But these letters revealed something far more complex — a man torn between love, loyalty, and fear.
Regulus wasn’t just a fleeting character in his father’s life. He wasn’t just a Death Eater who had died trying to destroy Voldemort’s Horcrux. He was family.
And Harry felt betrayed. Not by James or Regulus, but by the world that had hidden this truth from him. Dumbledore, the one person Harry had trusted completely, had orchestrated everything — from Harry’s placement with the Dursleys to the lies about his parents.
Why had Dumbledore kept this from him? Why had he allowed Harry to believe in a version of his family that wasn’t true?
Harry stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor, the sound echoing in the quiet house. His thoughts were spiraling, anger bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to overflow.
"I need answers," he muttered to himself.
Grabbing his wand, Harry made his way to the portrait of Sirius’s mother, the ever-irritating Walburga Black. The painting was usually an endless source of frustration, but if anyone would have known about the true dynamics between Regulus and James, it would be Walburga. She had always kept a tight grip on family secrets.
As he approached the portrait, Walburga’s eyes snapped open, glaring at him with a familiar sneer.
“Filthy half-blood, what are you doing near my—”
“Silencio,” Harry cast the charm before she could finish, her mouth still moving in anger though no sound came out. “You’re going to listen for once,” he said, his voice steady but firm.
She stopped moving for a moment, her eyes narrowing.
“Tell me about Regulus,” Harry demanded. “Tell me about his relationship with my father, James Potter.”
Walburga’s mouth twisted into a grimace, but the silence charm prevented her from spewing any vitriol. Harry waved his wand, lifting the charm just enough for her to respond.
“You dare speak of him to me?” she hissed, venom dripping from her words. “That traitor? That disgrace to the Black family name? Regulus was my son, but he threw it all away for a Potter.”
Harry’s breath hitched at her admission. Walburga continued, her voice full of bitterness.
“He was always weak, easily swayed by emotions. First, it was that fool Severus and his obsession with dark magic, then James Potter. He claimed it was for the ‘greater good,’ but I knew better. It was love that corrupted him. Love for that arrogant Gryffindor.”
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, confirming what the letters had only hinted at. James and Regulus had truly loved each other. He wasn’t sure why the truth felt like a dagger being twisted in his heart, but it was as though the world he knew was shattering into pieces.
“And Dumbledore?” Harry pressed. “What did he know?”
Walburga’s lips curled into a malevolent grin. “Dumbledore? That manipulative old fool knew everything. He knew about Regulus, knew what he had done. But he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was that the war was won, no matter what or who he sacrificed.”
Harry took a step back, bile rising in his throat. Dumbledore had known. He had used James and Regulus, manipulated them just as he had manipulated Harry. And Regulus had been cast aside, like so many others who weren’t useful to Dumbledore’s grand plans.
“Silencio,” Harry said again, silencing the portrait before Walburga could continue her rant. He couldn’t bear to hear any more of her vile commentary.
He walked back to the kitchen, his mind racing with the enormity of what he had just learned. Every thought was a whirlwind of anger, betrayal, and sadness. How could Dumbledore, the man who had stood as a guiding figure in Harry’s life, hide something so monumental from him? How could he have let Harry live a lie?
Harry’s hands shook as he sat down, and his mind kept returning to one question: Why?
Why had Dumbledore let him grow up thinking his mother was Lily? Why hide the truth about Regulus and James? Was it to maintain control over him, over the prophecy? Had Harry simply been a pawn in the grand game Dumbledore was playing?
It was too much. Too many lies, too many manipulations. The weight of it all bore down on Harry’s chest, threatening to crush him. He had lived his life based on lies fed to him by the people he was supposed to trust the most.
A sudden, harsh sob escaped his throat, and Harry buried his face in his hands. The grief of losing his parents felt fresh again, but now there was something darker — a betrayal that felt more personal.
He wasn’t just mourning the loss of the parents he thought he knew. He was mourning the loss of trust, the loss of certainty in the man he had revered for so long.
But as the initial wave of emotion subsided, something else rose up in Harry: anger.
Not just anger at Dumbledore for lying to him, but at himself for not questioning things sooner. How many times had he blindly followed Dumbledore’s orders, never once questioning his decisions or the information he was given? How many times had he allowed himself to be led, rather than taking control of his own fate?
No more.
Harry wiped his face with his sleeve and stood up, determination hardening within him. He couldn’t change the past, but he could control what he did now. He would get to the bottom of this, uncover every secret that had been kept from him, and confront Dumbledore’s legacy once and for all.
The anger in Harry’s chest burned like a fire, but this time it was a fire of clarity. He wouldn’t let himself be manipulated again. He would find out everything about his family, about Regulus, and about the ways Dumbledore had twisted his life for his own ends.
He glanced back at the stack of letters. There were still more to read, more layers to peel back. And somewhere in those letters, he was certain, was the key to understanding everything. The key to unraveling Dumbledore’s manipulations once and for all.
Taking a deep breath, Harry picked up the next letter, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded it. It was time to face the truth.