When Sirius first reads the owl from his wayward eleven-year-old son, he wonders to himself where he went wrong. Slytherin, really? He imagines for a moment the horrible look of triumph that would appear on his mother’s face if she ever discovered that he, Sirius, had managed to raise some sort of slimy, no good—Sirius shakes his head and sighs. He shouldn’t have made the boy’s middle name Regulus. It’s as simple as that.
He inks his quill and begins his response.
“James Regulus Black, I cannot believe you!” he writes, then pauses and smirks. That should give the brat a good scare. Jimmy hates it when Sirius uses his middle name, used to cringe every time Sirius would call it out in front of all his little friends at the primary school when Sirius would walk over to pick him up at the end of the day.
It was unusual in that time that Sirius, the boy’s father, should be the one to be waiting for him every day, but Sirius hadn’t had anything better to do. Money from the locket and a couple of Quidditch World Cup wagers had taken care of their finances, so Sirius had no use for a job. Attending garden parties with the old muggle biddies in his neighborhood could only entertain him so far. And anyway, he liked spending time with his kid.
“I cannot believe that you forgot to pack more than one set of underclothes. Do you expect the House Elves to clean them every day? And what if they’re stained?”
Sirius can barely contain his glee as he dots his question mark with an extra flourish. Jimmy’s going to kill him for this.
“Only joking. Congratulations on your Sorting. Slytherin House is lucky to have you.”
Sirius finishes his letter, seals it and then begins the charm to turn it into a Howler. Howler charms aren’t meant to be invented for another decade or so, but picturing the now crimson letter jumping into the air above the Slytherin breakfast table, shouting about Jimmy’s underclothes, then disappearing in a great big flame—hilarious. But how to make it better? Sirius grins then sets about transfiguring the crumbs from his breakfast into about a hundred pairs of green undergarments. It takes a bit of creative spellwork, but by the time he’s finished, the Howler has been modified to explode sending underclothes everywhere. He adds one last line to his letter then sends it off.
“Oh, and hello to your new Housemates. I’ve taken the liberty of procuring a gift for each of them.”
A week and a half later when Jimmy’s answer comes, it does not disappoint. Sirius spends the whole day floating around his house, unable to get down until his son’s touch-activated wingardium leviosa spell finally wears off. The spell had been somehow tied to the parchment, and Sirius has to admit—it’s an impressive bit of magic from an eleven-year-old. His son really is something of a genius.
It's nearly Christmas break by the time Sirius finally receives a missive from Jimmy’s Head of House. Sirius is relieved. A Slytherin he can handle, but a model student?
Jimmy’s Head of House is Horace Slughorn, and the man simply writes to inform Sirius that Jimmy has been assigned a detention in the Forbidden Forest for being out of the common room after hours.
Sirius shows up outside Slughorn’s classroom three hours later.
“Mr.—Mr. Black? How the devil did you get in here?”
“I have my ways,” says Sirius, striding between the rows of desks to the front of the classroom. The students—a third year class it appears—all stare at him. “Now what’s this about sending my son out into the Forbidden Forest for detention? It’s dangerous out there you know. Werewolves, giant spiders, rogue giants for that matter—and don’t get me started on the centaurs. I don’t want Jimmy anywhere near it.”
“Mr. Black, I’m in the middle of a lesson,” says Slughorn irritably, and Sirius can’t help but grin. Riling up Slughorn had always been one of his favorite pastimes in his own youth. He’s glad he’s still got it. “Perhaps you can make an appointment and come back la—.”
“That’s alright. I’ll wait here,” says Sirius, parking himself at the empty desk in the front corner of the classroom.
“Mr. Black, I really must insist.”
“Professor Slughorn, I’m afraid I must insist more.” Sirius leans back on his stool, lifting the front two legs off the ground, just like he used to do when he was a student.
Slguhorn bites his lip, glances at the students—all of them watching the exchange rather than their potions—and then opens his mouth to relent. Sirius stands up, not even needing to hear him say it.
“Just have him scrub the tiles in the bathroom or organize Dumbledore’s sock drawer. Something safe, alright? I’ll be off then. Cheerio.”
Slughorn gapes after him, and Sirius swaggers out into the corridor whistling to himself as he goes. He can’t help but swing by the Great Hall to try and catch a glimpse of a young looking Dumbledore—or more importantly, “Wotcher Jimmy,” he calls, waving toward the Slytherin table and making his way over.
Jimmy glances up, then does a hasty double take, “Dad?” he asks, voice high with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? Can’t your old man drop in and say hello every now and again?”
Jimmy has six different books spread out in front of him, and a messy pile of parchments half on his lap. There’s ink on the side of his hand, and his hair is dishelved and getting a bit long in the back. He looks rather like Harry, or James even with his hair like that, and Sirius can’t help but grin and ruffle the hair even more.
“Oi,” says Jimmy, ducking out of his reach, “No. No you cannot drop in. In fact, I’m nearly certain it’s impossible. How did you get in here?”
“James, is this your father?” asks a high pitched, chillingly familiar voice.
Sirius blinks and then looks up to find a very young version of his own mother staring at him with great interest. For a moment, Sirius is completely lost for words, but then he manages a bright, “Ah, you must be Walburga. Jimmy told me all about you.”
Walburga’s eyes sharpen and she glances at Jimmy, then back to Sirius. “Did he really? I hope it wasn’t anything bad.”
“Of course not,” says Jimmy smoothly.
“Only that you were a bit of a harpy,” adds Sirius. He deftly dodges Jim’s elbow, and snatches the boy’s wand off the bench beside him before he can get any ideas about sending stinging hexes his way.
“Don’t listen to him,” says Jimmy, “I said nothing of the sort. Father, why are you here?”
“Father?” scoffs Sirius, then glances at Walburga suspiciously, “That’s my Father’s name. I’m just Dad. Honestly, what have these Slytherins been teaching you?”
“Dad!” says Jimmy.
“Oh fine, I only came to have a word with Old Sluggy about this detention he assigned you.”
“You did WHAT?” says Jimmy, voice cracking on the final word.
“Slughorn said he was going to send you out into the Forbidden Forest at nighttime for detention. Obviously, I couldn’t let him do that. It’s dangerous, you know. There’s all sorts of creatures out there, hippogriffs, thestrals—.”
“Those aren’t even dangerous!” shouts Jimmy, and he frowns when a slight giggle emanates from the other side of the table.
Sirius glances up in alarm. If he thinks about it, he can probably count the number of times he’s ever heard his mother laugh—and the laughs she had in Sirius’ childhood had always been scornful and very free of true mirth. This giggle is something else entirely.
“What?”
Walburga slaps her hand over her mouth to keep in another giggle.
“It’s not funny,” says Jimmy sourly.
“It is a bit,” she assures him.
“What? What am I missing?”
Jimmy crosses his arms, refusing to look at Sirius. Walburga drops her hand back to her lap, sits up, and says very primly, “James has been trying for weeks to secure a detention out into the Forbidden Forest. He’s quite the curious sort, wanted to see it for himself. I did tell him not to be such a Gryffindor, but well—.” Walburga tilts her head and waves her hand at Jimmy.
Sirius finds himself gaping, glancing from Walburga to Jimmy.
“I thought it would be safest if I went with a professor,” says Jimmy, “But none are willing to take first year students out for a tour. But sometimes for detention…”
Sirius shakes his head. His son really is some sort of criminal mastermind in the making, isn’t he? “I’m buying you a new broom for Christmas,” Sirius declares.
“What?”
“And a pony.”
“A pony?”
“Too old for ponies? A flying carpet then. We’ll pop over to Egypt over the holiday and find you a nice one. How’s that sound?”
“Those are illegal,” says Jimmy, looking at Sirius with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“And that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not illegal to own a flying carpet.”
“Yes it is—,” begins Jimmy, but Sirius shakes his head.
“I see there’s still a lot left to teach you,” says Sirius, patting his son’s head and ruffling his hair again, “It’s illegal to make flying carpets and it’s illegal to sell flying carpets. Not illegal to own flying carpets.”
That bit of wisdom imparted, Sirius decides it’s time he heads home. “Keep up the good work, son,” he tells him, “I’m afraid I’ve mucked up your chances of visiting the Forbidden Forest for a detention, but I’ll take you myself once the weather warms up. Warming charms only get you so far, you know. Bye Jimmy, Bye Wally.”
“It’s Walburga,” says his eleven-year-old mother, voice shrill and disapproving. It’s almost music to his ears. Oh yes, Sirius definitely still has it.
“Wait, you never said how you got in here!” calls Jimmy.
“I should like to know that as well,” says another familiar voice. Sirius allows himself the briefest moment to take in young, auburn haired Albus Dumbledore. Sirius smiles, winks at the man, then breaks into a run.
He morphs into Padfoot by the time he reaches the stairs and finds his way to one of the secret passageways shortly afterward. He’s gone before anyone can stop him.
Jimmy’s second year at Hogwarts is slightly more eventful than his first. Sirius receives three letters from the school—two from Slughorn and one from Dumbledore. Slughorn sounds disapproving of Jimmy’s disastrous experiments with potions, but Dumbledore, despite assigning Jimmy a detention for an extracurricular transfiguration experiment, seems mostly amused.
It isn’t until Jimmy’s fifth year that the real excitement begins—at least for Sirius.
The owl this time comes from Dumbledore, and Sirius really has to hand it to his son. It’s difficult to pull things over on Dumbledore, but his son has done it—he’s somehow managed to convince the Deputy Headmaster that he’s the Heir of Slytherin.
Sirius can barely contain his laughter as he shows up to the school and heads for Dumbledore’s office by the Transfiguration classroom. “Good Afternoon, Professor Dumbledore,” says Sirius amiably after letting himself into the office.
Dumbledore looks up, and he doesn’t look as surprised as Sirius had hoped he’d be at finding his office invaded. “Good Afternoon, Mr. Black. I see once again you’ve managed to bypass the school’s ancient wards, designed by the founders themselves to keep out trespassers. I don’t suppose you’d care to share how you did it?”
“My son’s the Heir of Slytherin,” says Sirius cheerfully, “Has to come with some perks, doesn’t it?”
Dumbledore considers him for a long moment, his bright blue eyes washing over Sirius where he sits. “Am I to understand you were aware of your son’s after-hours activities this year?”
“You mean when he charmed that Ravenclaw girl’s hair to fall out? What was her name, Horby? Hornabee?”
Dumbledore says nothing, just waits.
“You’re talking about the acromantula incident? We found the great spider a home with some specialists in Albania. Hagrid’s welcome to visit whenever he pleases.”
When Dumbledore still says nothing, Sirius shrugs, defeated. “Alright then, what’s he been up to?”
“Mr. Black, your son uncovered a secret chamber beneath the ladies’ washroom in the dungeons. The chamber has been hidden for hundreds of years, was believed to be lost for good, but your son trekked down into it and discovered down there a basilisk the size of a train. He and young Mr. Hagrid have been visiting for the past few weeks—Mr. Hagrid to feed and play with the beast, James to study it.”
Sirius blinks. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and then blinks again. Finally, in an admirably put together tone of voice, he says, “Er sorry, I think I must have misheard. But did you just say my son has been spending his weekends just hanging about with a… a class XXXXX magical creature? In the Chamber of Secrets?”
Dumbledore tilts his head to the side, still studying Sirius even as he nods. “Yes.”
“I’m gonna kill’im!” says Sirius, and he leaps to his feet, grabs his wand and begins marching out of Dumbledore’s office.
“Ah, I’m afraid there is a bit of a problem,” says Dumbledore.
“What’s that?”
“I admit to some culpability in this,” says Dumbledore and Sirius frowns. “You see, when James told me about the basilisk, I’m afraid I reacted rather poorly. I was concerned for the safety of the other students in the school, and so I conjured a rooster and set off for the Chamber at once, planning to induce it to crow. You see, the crow of a rooster is deadly to basilisks.”
Sirius nods, thinking it doesn’t sound like a half-bad plan.
“James and Hagrid did not approve of this particular course of action and expressed their dissatisfaction quite vehemently,” says Dumbledore. “They’ve since holed themselves up in the Chamber to protect the basilisk, and I’m afraid none but the Heir of Slytherin can follow. I tried casting any manner of spells on the bathroom floors, and between you and me, I know quite a few destructive ones that really ought to have done the trick. The Chamber is well protected.”
Sirius nods again, frowning now. Jimmy isn’t really the Heir of Slytherin of course. He remembers a story Harry once told him about how Harry had gone into the Chamber of Secrets himself to fight Slytherin’s basilisk and some shade of Voldemort that had been able to control the creature. Riddle was it? That was Voldemort’s name growing up he thinks. He wonders, briefly, if Riddle is somehow involved in THIS basilisk incident as well. Riddle is the real Heir of Slytherin. Perhaps he’s at Hogwarts at that very moment.
It's a chilling thought but Sirius shakes his head to dispel it—not important right now. He summons a patronus and gives it a message to pass on to his son.
“James Regulus Black,” he begins, “You come out of that chamber right this instant. And leave the basilisk. It was difficult enough finding a home for the Merlin-cursed acromantula, where do you reckon we’re going to find a home for a basilisk? In case it slipped your notice, basilisks kill people by looking at them. They’re not puppies. Professor Dumbledore and I are going to humanely exterminate the beast, and then you and I are going to have a long talk about putting yourself in harm’s way.”
Dumbledore watches the ethereal hound disappear out of his office, then turns to Sirius. “That’s a clever use of the patronus charm,” he says, “I’ve never seen one carry a message before.”
“Yes, I’m quite brilliant,” replies Sirius—who’d learned the trick from Dumbledore himself. He glares at the office door and waits, tapping his foot and checking his pocket watch every other minute.
Finally, finally a great bloody snake made of pure white light slithers its way into Dumbledore’s office and curls itself up in front of Sirius. “Merlin, what is that? A python?”
“Appears to be,” agrees Dumbledore.
“Dad, you don’t understand the scope of the situation,” says Jimmy’s voice coming from the gaping open mouth of the Python. Sirius wants to strangle the kid, “Do you have any idea how rare it is to find a fully grown basilisk? She was alive a thousand years ago, and she remembers it! She belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself. Sorry, but I’m afraid there is simply no chance I will permit you to come down here and kill her.”
Sirius crosses his arms and huffs. “Permit me, eh? We’ll see about that.”
Dumbledore fixes him with a surveying gaze. “Am I to understand that you might be able to follow James into Salazaar’s Chamber?”
“Merlin no,” says Sirius regretfully. “I haven’t the foggiest how he’s managed it.”
When Sirius had been fifteen, the most dangerous thing he’d done was play Quidditch—well, that and illegally learned to become an animagus—and hung out with a transformed werewolf on full moons. Ah, on second thought, he could perhaps see where his mum was coming from with all those howlers she’d sent him back in the day. Like Jim, Sirius had had a bad habit of putting himself in danger, hadn’t he?
He sits back down in the seat across from Dumbledore and tries to think of a new plan.
“He’s too bloody much like me,” Sirius laments. “Do you know, I reckon he got himself sorted into Slytherin just to spite me,” says Sirius. “It’s what I would’ve done. Hell, it’s what I did.”
“You were a Slytherin?” says Dumbledore, sounding rather doubtful. “I confess I don’t remember you attending Hogwarts.”
“A Gryffindor actually,” says Sirius, “But back in my own time. Oh, I suppose I should mention I’m a time traveler. Fell through a veil in the Department of Mysteries and ended up in this time on New Year’s Eve 1926. James isn’t my biological son. I met his mum on the day I arrived—she was in a bad way. I did what I could to help, but well.”
Sirius holds out his hands in a helpless gesture. He glances up at Dumbledore and finds the man’s bushy red eyebrows are raised so high on his forehead, they’re nearly touching his hairline.
“Er, you should know—you defeat Grindelwald in 1945 and find the 12th use of Dragon’s Blood in the 1950s,” rambles Sirius, “There’s a young dark wizard called Riddle running around, most likely a student at Hogwarts right now, and he grows up to be a very dark wizard, worse than Grindelwald. I reckon we should do something about him once we’re done with this basilisk fiasco.”
“I see,” says Dumbledore slowly. He’s quiet for a long moment and then says, “Thank you for telling me all of that, I confess I am equal parts bewildered and touched by the trust you’ve placed in me this evening. Am I to understand that we’re close in your former time?”
“Not close precisely,” says Sirius, “I was a member of the Order and as you were the leader—that’s it!” exclaims Sirius excitedly, hopping back out of the chair and placing his hands on Dumbledore’s desk. “Where’s that phoenix of yours? He can take us down to the Chamber.”
With Fawkes’ help, they disappear and reappear in the Chamber of Secrets in a burst of golden fire. Jimmy eventually agrees to come back up, and rather than killing the basilisk, Sirius and Dumbledore agree to put it back into an enchanted sleep.
“I’ve a former student and dear friend who should have some ideas on what to do with her,” says Dumbledore.
“You can have XXXXX pets when you’re older,” says Sirius, “But you’re too young right now. You’re giving me grey hair just thinking about it. And did you say the basilisk can talk?”
“In a manner of speaking,” says Jimmy, “She can speak to me anyway, and she understands me.”
“Jim can speak teh snakes,” clarifies a thirteen-year-old Hagrid, voice tinged with admiration. “Wish I could speak teh snakes. That’d be dead useful.”
“You’re a parselmouth?” says Sirius, giving his son an incredulous look.
“Looks like it,” says Jimmy, shrugging, “Must’ve gotten it from my mum.”
For a moment, Sirius stares at his son, an odd, niggling feeling in the back of his head. He eventually shrugs it off and cuffs Jimmy on the back of the neck, “Must’ve done. Now, as for your punishment, I’ve already arranged with Professor Dumbledore that you’re to organize his sock drawer.”
“What is your obsession with Dumbledore’s socks?” says Jimmy, sounding quite put upon all of a sudden.
“Young Hagrid here will assist you,” continues Sirius, unperturbed.
“Curiously Sirius, I do not recall you making these arrangements,” says Dumbledore.
Sirius rolls his eyes and pats the spot next to him on Jimmy’s flying carpet.
Things grow rather more interesting in the Black household after that. Sirius invites Hagrid to spend part of the summer holiday with them, which he does, and then Hagrid spends the rest of it with Dumbledore’s friend Newt Scamander, who shows up and creates an enormous system of pipes for their new basilisk. He shoves the entire, miles-wide construction into a hat box and tells Jimmy to keep track of it.
Sirius isn’t sure leaving the care of a XXXXX creature in the hands of a sixteen-year-old wizard is a great idea, but doesn’t fight it. He’s busy now anyway—Dumbledore has once again recruited him into fighting a war against the forces of darkness.
They end up defeating Grindelwald half a year early. The muggle armies that had been working with the dark wizard crumble immediately, and the war ends. Sirius is surprised about how many muggles know about it. He turns to Jim, proud of how well his son had fought, but finds his son deep in conversation with an unfamiliar group of muggles.
“Er, hello,” says Sirius, addressing the muggles. There’s an army commander among them, a scientist, and a young woman holding a briefcase which Sirius recognizes as one he’d bought for Jim the previous summer. It takes Sirius a moment to realize that the woman is not in fact a muggle at all, but Walburga Black.
When the obliviations begin later that day, Sirius can’t help but notice that the muggles that had been talking to Jim earlier don’t seem all that disoriented. He wonders if the obliviations worked on them, but dismisses it.
When Jimmy finishes Hogwarts a few months later, he earns the highest NEWT scores every achieved, somehow managing to surpass even Dumbledore himself. Sirius stares at the parchment with horror.
“Merlin, this is worse than when you were made Head Boy,” says Sirius. “How did I raise such a swot? How?”
Jimmy snatches the parchment back and with a wave of his hand, it vanishes.
“Show off,” mutters Sirius.
“That would be something I inherited from you,” says Jim.
“Cheeky,” says Sirius, turning toward the kitchen to see about making a celebratory cake. By now Jim is aware that Sirius is not his biological father—he knows about the time travel and he knows that before falling through the veil in the Department of Mysteries, Sirius had been embroiled in another war.
Sirius waves his wand in the kitchen to summon all the ingredients for a chocolate cake but pauses when he spies a letter for Jim sitting on top of the muggle post. “Trinity College Cambridge,” reads Sirius.
“Jim!” yells Sirius, “Some muggle university is writing to you. I hope you didn’t break the Statute of Secrecy!”
“Not yet,” says Jim, striding into the kitchen. He holds his hand out and the letter jumps and flies across the room to land on his palm. “Oh good, they’ve accepted me. I’ll be attending in the Fall, studying Physics.”
Sirius turns and stares at his son. “I think I misheard that. Are you saying you’re going to be a muggle?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m simply continuing my non-magical education.”
“What non-magical education?”
“I’ve been in correspondence with a private school in Lincolnshire for years,” says Jim dismissively, “Didn’t you wonder where all that money was disappearing to?”
“I thought you were spending it on normal things—fire whiskey and new broomsticks,” says Sirius. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to go to a muggle school? Aren’t you worried they’ll discover—?”
“They won’t,” says Jim, rolling his eyes and rifling through the rest of the mail. “And even if they did—ah, it seems Walburga had her acceptance letter sent here as well. I’m not sure why, she has a perfectly serviceable address of her own.”
“Wait,” says Sirius, who turns so quickly he nearly drops the mixing bowl out of the air, “Walburga Black—my mother Walburga—wants to attend a muggle university?”
“I wish you’d stop referring to her as your mother,” says Jim, “She’s seventeen. It’s weird.”
“Yes, it’s very weird,” agrees Sirius fervently, “That woman wouldn’t step foot in a muggle institution. How did you manage it? Imperius?”
Jim shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen in search of their owl.
In the years after the war, Sirius spends his time helping to rebuild and visiting Dumbledore at Hogwarts or Jim his muggle school. When Jim finishes school, he doesn't come back to England, and Sirius is forced to track him down at—wherever he happens to be. They have lunch in Paris one weekend, strolling along the Seine and then New York City the next. It’s odd because no matter where they go, people seem to know Jim—muggles and wizards alike either wave to him or stop and gawk at him.
Once when they’re walking along the rocky coast of southern Chile, a mermaid even pops out of the water and gazes at Jim, then slants her scaly arm through the air, making a fist toward the sky. It’s an oddly familiar gesture and Sirius wonders where he’s seen it before.
“You sure do know a lot of people,” comments Sirius, watching the mermaid’s tail disappear beneath the surf. He remains quiet for a long time until Jim quietly interrupts his musings.
“You’re in a pensive mood today,” he says, “What’s on your mind?”
Sirius brushes a hand through his greying hair and shrugs. “It’s odd is all,” says Sirius. “Do you remember my birthday party last month?”
“Yes, how could I forget, you made us all play quidditch on flying abraxans.”
“And don’t forget the party favors.”
“Yes, more emerald green undergarments. You know, Dad, that joke has grown quite stale by now.”
“I don’t know. Dumbledore seemed to find it amusing. I saw him trade with Hagrid for the socks.”
Jim crosses his arms and stares at Sirius. He’s dressed in a set of muggle trousers and a pressed linen shirt that looks, in Sirius’ opinion, much too nice to wear to the seaside. The other attendees at the conference Jim had been hosting were dressed similarly though, so Sirius accepts that maybe he’s the one that looks out of place.
“It struck me that day, that I’d never be born. Isn’t that odd? Sirius Orion Black was supposed to be born on that day, but Walburga was there at the party, playing a very mean beater—certainly not giving birth. The world is very different from how I remember it.”
Jim inclines his head, looking thoughtful.
“I’ve also been searching for any sign of Lord Voldemort. You’ll keep an eye out for him in your travels, won’t you Jim? If you hear anything, don’t approach him on your own. I know you can take care of yourself, but this wizard is very dangerous, Jim.”
Jim looks at him closely then. Sirius thinks there’s something Jim wants to tell him. But instead, he starts walking again. Sirius follows.
“What do you think of Walburga?” says Jim suddenly, looking straight ahead and not ceasing his walk.
“My mum?”
“No, I mean Walburga my closest friend,” says Jim, “She’s second in command of my organization, did you know?”
“Oh right, WUG.”
They’re interrupted then as a young woman pushing a dingy looking baby pram stops dead in front of them and begins blabbering at Jim in rapid Spanish.
Jim takes out his wand—in full view of the woman—and casts a translation charm.
“Oh God, it’s really you? James Black? It’s an honor! You’re the one that saved my village!”
The woman surges forward and grabs Jim’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically.
Jim handles the interaction with an impressive amount of grace, and when Jim finally sends the woman on her way, Sirius can’t help but smirk at him.
“What?” says Jim, allowing irritation into his voice at last.
“Nothing,” says Sirius, still smirking. “Now, you were saying? About Walburga? And WUG?”
“I was only wondering what you thought about Walburga,” says Jim, “And about the Worlds United Group. That didn’t exist in the world you remember, did it?”
Sirius stops and grabs his son’s hand. “Wait, you’re not thinking about marrying Walburga, are you? Look, she’s great and all, but Jim, that’s your grandmother.”
“She’s not my grandmother,” says Jim, looking thoroughly annoyed, “And I’m not marrying Walburga. I’m only saying, things are different from the world you remember, but maybe they’re better, right?”
Sirius looks at his son closely, feeling sure there’s something that Jim is trying to tell him. He gives up after a minute and picks up the Walburga conversation again. “If you dare make my own mother into my daughter-in-law, I swear by Dumbledore, I will turn you into an aardvark at your wedding.”
“An aardvark? Really?”
“It was the first animal I could think of,” says Sirius.
“Do you organize your animal lists alphabetically in your head?” drawls Jim.
“Obviously,” says Sirius.
Sirius has some very strong mixed feelings when October 31, 1981 rolls around. There’s no Sirius Black, no Peter Pettigrew, and no James Potter. There is a Remus Lupin and a Lily Evans though, and they both work for WUG. There’s also a much older man named James Potter, he’s the oldest of three sons of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, and he works in Potions development at the newly founded Black College at Cambridge.
World leaders from magical and non-magical populations are meeting today at an enormous summit to sign the Worlds United Treaties. The Statute of Secrecy has been dissolved, and magical populations around the world have come out of hiding to interact with their non-magical neighbors for the first time in hundreds of years.
Sirius sits at a small café, staring around at the people and creatures of all types, shapes, and sizes. He watches an actual giant go lumbering down the street outside the café, the ground shaking with each step, and a house elf beside him, squeaking up in some sort of voice that Sirius’ suspects is meant to be commanding. There are goblins and humans at the table next to him, and two ethereal looking faeries in line at the register—Sirius hadn’t known the fae were even real before a couple of weeks ago.
Jim walks into the café a few minutes later, a line of people crowded around him. He dismisses all but one familiar looking girl with red hair and almond shaped green eyes.
“Hello Father,” greets Jim, taking a seat across from Sirius and accepting the cup of hot chocolate with a slight scoff. He changes it to coffee with a wave of his hand and takes a sip, “I believe you know my assistant Miss—.”
“Lily Evans,” Sirius says, smiling brightly and extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Wonderful to meet you as well,” answers Lily with utter sincerity. There's a pin on her collar, a familiar looking fist with a finely scripted, "Worlds United Group," overlaid. “Mr. Black is amazing," she continues, glancing at Jim with the exact sort of awe that Sirius has now come to expect from his son's acquaintances. "It’s an honor to work for him, and an honor to meet the man that raised him.”
“And he was a handful, let me tell you,” says Sirius, deciding he'd better put Lily's thinking to rights at the very least. Grinning, he takes a large gulp of his hot chocolate and begins, “I'll never forget the time he convinced Old Dumbledore he was the Heir of Slytherin.”
“Dad, I am the Heir of Slytherin,” says Jim, “On my mother’s side.”
“Sure you are Jim,” says Sirius with a wink that makes Lily giggle. “So Lily, tell me, do you have any children?”
The years pass and the world grows less and less familiar by the day. When Dumbledore retires, Sirius throws him a large party. Sirius ends up spending more and more time with his old headmaster, and they pass the time telling each other old stories that they’ve each heard a thousand times by then.
“I wonder what ever happened to Voldemort,” says Sirius one day, sitting across from Dumbledore at their patio table. They can hear the sea somewhere far below, lapping against the cliffside.
“Ah you mean Riddle,” says Dumbledore. He hums thoughtfully and says, “Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
Sirius looks at him, surprised. “How do you know his full name?”
“James and I puzzled it out. We tracked down James’ birth mother’s family, uh, shack in a town called Little Hangleton. The Gaunts did not live well.”
“What’s this have to do with Jim?” says Sirius, “I thought we were talking about Voldemort. Wait, did you say the Gaunts? My memory isn’t what it used to be, but weren’t they supposed to be the last descendants of… Merlin, are you telling me all this time that little bugger really was the Heir of Slytherin?”
The glass door on the balcony slides open with a snick and the man of the hour steps out.
“James Regulus Black,” begins Sirius.
Jim pinches the bridge of his nose, “Don’t call me that,” he says, in the same whiny voice he’s been using since primary school.
“Albus here was just telling me about how you’ve been lying to me for the past near-century.”
“What?”
“You really are the Heir of Slytherin.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’m always—.”
“Don’t you dare finish that. I’ll curse you.”
Sirius turns to Dumbledore, shaking his head with utmost disappointment, “Horrible sense of humor on this one.”
Jim sighs and slips into the chair between Sirius and Dumbledore. He traces out the name “Tom Marvolo Riddle” in the air above them with a fiery script which floats before them ominously.
“This was supposed to be my name,” says Jim, “The name my mother wanted to give me. You remember what she said, don’t you?”
Sirius squints back, trying to remember. “Jim, I was a bit busy at the time—trying to save her life. I’ve always been pants at healing magic, and we didn’t have the modern advances that exist now in the world so—.”
“I was supposed to be named for my father,” continues Jim, “My birth father. Albus and I met him in Little Hangleton. His name was Tom Riddle.”
“Oh yeah, that is what the girl said, isn’t it? ‘Name him for his Papa.’ Only I didn’t know who your papa was supposed to be, so obviously that was out.”
“And what else did she say?”
“Er, let’s see,” says Sirius, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “Your middle name was supposed to be for her father. But I didn’t know him either, so what was I supposed to do?”
“Not name me for your brother,” says Jim, “Regulus, really? It’s a terrible name.”
“Oh hush, you like it.”
“Marvolo,” says Jim, pointing at the fiery letters, “That was my grandfather’s name. Marvolo Gaunt.”
“Yeah, cause that’s so much better,” mutters Sirius.
Jim rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, just looks at Sirius expectantly.
“So what? You’re related to the Heir of Slytherin? That means you must be related to Voldemort, whatever happened to him. But you know, I’m starting to think he was never even born.”
Jim groans in annoyance, flicks his wand through the air and the fiery letters rearrange themselves into what Sirius has to admit, is a fairly alarming message.
“I am Lord Voldemort,” say the letters.
Sirius reads through the message several times. The path the letters took through the air as they rearranged themselves is burned into the back of his eyelids.
He tries to make sense of it. He thinks there's something obvious here he's meant to grasp, but the only obvious thing he can think of is that somehow Jimmy is actually Lord Voldemort and has been all along.
Sirius meets Jimmy's worried eyes, gazing at Sirius, waiting for his reaction. On his other side, Albus is watching him closely as well.
Sirius coughs. He coughs and it morphs midway through into an undignified giggle.
Then Sirius throws his head back and laughs. He laughs so hard he nearly chokes.
“Oh Merlin!” he says, between guffaws, “Oh Merlin.”
Dumbledore and Jim exchange looks, and then laugh uncertainly as well.
“Oh Merlin, that’s a good one Jimmy,” says Sirius. “You really had me going. I almost believed you. But how ridiculous would that be? Oh Merlin, just imagine if I’d accidentally traveled through time and adopted the Dark Lord Voldemort.”