Hammersmith, Warwickshire, West Midlands.
November 3, 1959.
The amber light of a fading November afternoon spilled through the tall mullioned windows of Hammersmith's grand library, where ancient leather-bound books lined every wall. The heavy scent of woodsmoke and old parchment filled the air.
Mizar Black-Shafiq sat cross-legged on the floor, his dark eyes scanning a tome on magical creatures. To anyone else, he was simply a quiet boy, just shy of six years old—curious but calm, with an unsettling stillness that hinted at depths beyond his years.
But Mizar remembered. The future. The fractures yet to come. The unraveling of everything his family had held sacred.
Lord Arcturus Black, tall and formidable even in repose, stood nearby by the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore the traditional Black family robes—black velvet with silver trim—and his piercing gaze softened only for his sister, Lycoris, and now this boy, his nephew.
"Mizar," Arcturus said in a low, measured tone. "Come here."
The boy rose and approached with quiet steps.
"Do you understand why the purity of our House must be preserved?" Arcturus asked, his voice like smooth stone.
Mizar's gaze did not waver. "I do. Because the Black name is more than blood. It is honour. It is legacy."
Arcturus gave a slow nod, pleased despite himself. "Good. But honour demands sacrifice."
He paced once, then fixed Mizar with a sharper look.
"You know of Lucretia's fate?"
Mizar's jaw tightened. "She married a Prewett. A blood traitor. The family disowned her. Her name was stricken from the tapestry."
Arcturus's eyes darkened with the memory. "A warning to all who would betray the House."
Mizar swallowed hard, feeling the weight of that banishment ripple through time like a silent scream.
Harry, now Mizar, trembled in his little body. How was he supposed to save the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black if they were already casting out members when he was still a child?
Everything felt tense with talks of honour and duty, especially more now after Arcturus II, Lord Arcturus's uncle died earlier that year alongside his wife Lysandra from Dragon Pox.
Suddenly, a soft rap came at the door. A house-elf appeared, bowing low.
"Lord Arcturus, word from Grimmauld Place. The child of Orion and Walburga has been born. It is a son."
Arcturus's eyes briefly brightened. "Sirius."
Melania Black, ever composed and kind, stepped inside the room.
"You should see him," she said gently to Mizar. "Your cousin. Our first grandchild."
Arcturus nodded once and motioned.
"I shall write Regulus. Prepare so we can all go together."
Less than half an hour later, Regulus Black, first of his name, arrived by Floo powder and the family Apparated together to Grimmauld Place, the air inside the old townhouse was thick with dust and shadows, a silent witness to generations of Black family secrets. Candles flickered unevenly along peeling wallpaper, casting flickers of light on portraits whose eyes seemed to watch all who passed.
Arcturus led his wife while Regulus held his sister's hand who never let her son out of her reach through the narrow halls with steady steps.
Voices rose from the room's far side, sharp and strained.
Walburga Black, tall and severe, scolded sharply, "Orion, hold him properly! You'll give the boy a crooked neck if you don't support his head!"
Orion, her husband, eyes tired, muttered, "I'm doing my best, Walburga. He's not a cursed artifact."
Arcturus entered with a long stride, voice low and measured. "This is the welcome we give our heir? Bickering over him as if he were a common child?"
Orion straightened himself. "Father," he said formally. "We're honoured by your presence."
"He's healthy," Orion said quietly, standing beside his wife. His robes were immaculate, his hands clasped around the bundle of green cloth. He spoke with restraint, as if awaiting instruction even now.
"Of course he is," Walburga snapped. "He will not disgrace us like your sister Lucretia or that fool of Cedrella. My son will remember who he is."
Melania closed her eyes in pain and Arcturus held himself back. Walburga was his cousin's daughter. A child of House Black.
Melania offered a small smile as she stepped forward. "He has your hair, Orion."
Orion nodded faintly but did not speak.
Mizar clutched his mother's hand as he watched from behind Melania's robes. Lycoris squeezed it once, gently, sensing his hesitation. She knew what it was to walk among her family's shadows.
"Go on," she whispered. "Meet your cousin."
Orion opened the cloth and showed the baby to Mizar.
"What's his name?" The six year old asked.
"Sirius Orion Black III," Arcturus intoned, "Grandson of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. The star that shines the brightest. He shall be raised in our traditions. In our strength."
A pop rippled through the wards and Pollux and Irma Black came into the room.
"My Lord," he greeted Arcturus, then inclined his head towards Lycoris and Regulus. "Cousins. It's good to see you again."
Lycoris nodded quietly. "Thank you, Pollux. We miss you at Hammersmith."
Pollux's dark eyes twinkled. "Still playing the rebellious widow, I see. You refuse to go back to the Shafiq Manor. Doesn't your brother-in-law have something to say about that?"
It was Regulus who replied. "Careful, cousin. Just as Lycoris can mend bones, she can break them."
Pollux chuckled, his gaze landing on Mizar. "And you, young man?"
Mizar gave a small, polite nod as a response.
"Cygnus and Druella are bringing the girls. I'm sure your cousins will want to play," Irma told Mizar. She was a ginger but not like the Weasleys, he would say her red head was more leaning towards copper rather than fire.
As if summoned, Cygnus and Druella appeared at the threshold with three young girls in tow.
Cygnus's bearing was firm, though more diplomatic than the others. Nobody survived being the youngest child without knowing how to shake hands and sweeten deals.
"News of an heir travels fast," Druella said pleasantly. "We thought we might welcome our future Lord with more than whispers."
Her husband shook hands and kissed hands as it was expected of a gentleman of his station. He kneeled at Mizar's side and called him Lord of House Shafiq.
"I'm a Black too," he reminded him.
Cygnus laughed. "Nephew. You've grown taller."
"And bolder," added Druella, her voice soft as her blonde locks. She watched Mizar with interest.
The door opened again and in barged a hurricane of lace black robes and the sound of heels, Cassiopeia Black neared the cot where Orion had laid his son.
She looked at her older brother Pollux and asked, "what name has been chosen?"
"Sirius."
The ever spirited duellist smiled. "Welcome to the world, little Sirius. May you carry the name with honour."
Walburga's sharp gaze swept over them. "We have much to teach him. Strength, loyalty, blood."
Orion nodded, deferential. "Walburga is right. This child will not falter."
Mizar's small hands clenched. If only they knew how fragile the future truly was.
Arcturus crouched, looking into Mizar's eyes. "And you, nephew. Remember the burden and the promise the Black name carries."
Mizar met his uncle's gaze firmly. "I will protect him. I will protect us all."
Druella's eyes glittered. "Words are cheap. Action will define this House's fate."
Pollux cleared his throat. "For now, let us welcome the new blood, and hope the House of Black remains… unbroken."
Dorea Potter née Black and her husband Charlus Potter arrived not long after. It was in moments like this that Dorea missed Marius—if only the other Blacks present there knew she still visited her brother in Muggle London.
Mizar liked Dorea although he rarely saw her. She was kind and the few times she visited, he got to see Charlus, who was her grandfather's cousin—well, his grandfather's cousin in the future he had come from.
"Calidora is away in Hong Kong with Harfang but I'm sure she will visit once they return to Britain," Dorea announced.
"Well, this gathering grows," Alphard barged into the room. "The family never seems to be small, does it?"
Mizar thought of how the only remaining Black in the future he came from was Draco Malfoy. The Black family had been so numerous at one point. He wouldn't allow them to perish this time.
Later that evening, Charis and Casper Crouch arrived with their two adult children Bartemius and Aquila and their teenage daughter Titania.
The adults went on with their family reunion while the children had the playroom for themselves but the shiniest newest toy was their future Lord.
Bellatrix Black, eight and already impossible, peered into the cot with the scowl of a general inspecting a very disappointing recruit.
"That's it?" she said. "Everyone's acting like a prince was born, but he just looks like a lump."
"Bella," Druella's voice rang from the corridor, sharp and tired, "mind your mouth."
"I am! I didn't even touch him this time."
Andromeda, six, leaned over the cradle next, her storm-grey eyes curious and a little gentler. "He's really small."
"They're all small when they come out," Bellatrix said. "Doesn't mean we have to pretend he's special."
"I think he smiled at me," Andromeda whispered, grinning.
"That's just gas," Bellatrix muttered, arms crossed.
Narcissa, perched in the window seat with her feet dangling, said dreamily, "He's quieter than the portraits."
Bellatrix glanced over. "You say the weirdest things, Cissy."
"You say mean ones," Narcissa replied without looking at her.
Mizar stood in the doorway, silent.
He already knew what everyone would become. Not the details—not names like "Azkaban" or "Malfoy Manor" or "Mudblood"—but he felt the wrongness in his bones. He looked at Sirius Black, only hours old, and wanted to wrap his whole self around him like a shield.
But instead, he just stood there.
Bellatrix noticed him first. "You're always lurking like a house-elf."
"I didn't want to wake him."
"You didn't wake him. You stared at him."
"I'm thinking."
"Again?"
"I like thinking."
"Why? It doesn't change anything."
Mizar looked at her. "Sometimes it helps me understand people."
Bellatrix snorted. "Well, good luck understanding him."
She jerked her head towards the cot. "You never knew your father, did you?"
The words hit like a sudden drop in the air.
Mizar didn't answer.
Bellatrix wasn't done. "He died before you were born. That's what father said. That he died of Wane's Grasp."
Andromeda frowned. "Bella, stop—"
"Why?" she snapped. "It's true. Everyone whispers about it, like it's a curse that'll get passed down. It's an illness."
Mizar's mouth was a flat, silent line. His fists clenched at his sides.
"I don't care what people say," he said quietly. "He loved me."
Bellatrix looked at him closely, almost surprised by the answer. "You didn't even know him."
"I still miss him," Mizar said, with a sharpness that startled even himself.
That shut her up for a moment.
Andromeda came to his side, her voice soft. "I think that's allowed."
Narcissa climbed down from the window seat and wandered over to the cradle. She reached in carefully and touched Sirius's hand with just two fingers.
"He's not scary," she said.
Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Babies aren't scary."
"I meant Mizar," she added, without looking back.
Mizar blinked.
Bellatrix huffed. "Well, I'm not scared of him either."
"No one said you were," Andromeda said with a smirk.
"I'm just saying, he's always looking at us like we're chess pieces. It's weird."
Mizar finally moved towards the cradle. He looked down at Sirius. The baby's eyes weren't quite open yet, but his hands twitched like he was reaching for something invisible.
"I won't let them hurt you," Mizar whispered, so softly only Sirius could hear.
Bellatrix had been watching. "You're really strange, you know that?"
"You keep saying that," he said.
"Because it keeps being true."
But there was something unsure in her voice now—like she didn't understand why looking at Sirius made Mizar look almost… sad.
"I don't get it," she muttered. "He's just a baby. What's so important about him?"
Mizar didn't answer. He just kept watching Sirius with that quiet, aching intensity.
"I like him," Narcissa said suddenly. "He makes me feel warm inside."
Andromeda smiled. "You say that about kittens too."
"Well, he's softer than a kitten," she argued. "And warmer."
Druella's voice rang again from down the hall. "Girls. Mizar. Enough. You've bothered the baby long enough."
Bellatrix turned as if to argue, but then smirked. "Come on, then. Let the prince nap."
The girls trailed out one by one. Mizar lingered.
He looked at Sirius one last time.
This time, I'll save you.
Then he turned and followed the rest of the House of Black—into the hall, into history, into war.