Chapter Text
The dry sound of the small body hitting the floor echoed through the room.
For a moment, the silence seemed to stretch on too long - the echo of two overlapping voices, of two spells cast in the same second.
"What the hell did you do?!" Severus shouted, already running towards the boy.
"Me?" Sirius retorted, indignant. "You cast a spell too!"
"Somno!" Severus growled. "To make him sleep, not a Stupefy!"
He bent down, trying to pick Draco up in his arms, but Sirius intercepted him, crouching down first.
"Get out of the way, for Merlin's sake," Severus grumbled, but the other was already carefully lifting him, guiding the inert body towards the guest room.
Severus followed them, wand in hand. As soon as Sirius laid the boy on the bed, he cast a quick diagnostic spell. A green glow ran through Draco's body, and Severus let out a tense sigh.
"He'll be alright." He said, more to himself than to Sirius. "A slight bruise, maybe a headache when he wakes up."
Sirius remained silent for a few seconds, watching the motionless boy. Then he looked up "Aren't you going to Obliviate him?"
Severus turned abruptly. "What? No!" he replied, furious, pointing to the door.
"What's the problem?" Sirius retorted, confused. "James did that all the time when Harry saw something he shouldn't!"
Severus's gaze hardened.
"Do you know the effects an Obliviation can have on a child?" His voice was cold, controlled, but there was too much anger behind it. "My God... why do I still expect any maturity from you and Potter?" he said, already leaving the room.
"Harry's fine!" Sirius followed right behind, his voice growing louder. "But what the hell is he doing here?"
"I don't know, Black." Severus huffed, crossing his arms. "Maybe because his father is in prison and his mother is in a coma. Just a guess."
"Oh, that, right… " Sirius ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, pacing back and forth across the room. "I thought he had already gone to the manor."
"He doesn't like your mother. " Severus replied simply, sinking into the sofa as if the weight of the day had doubled.
Sirius let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Well, I can't blame the kid for that."
For a few moments, the silence between them was almost comfortable. Only the sound of the clock and their still-accelerated breathing filled the space.
Then Sirius snapped his fingers, and a bottle appeared in his hand - straight from the refrigerator. Severus stared at him, raising an eyebrow.
"What?" Sirius said, opening the lid with a snap.
Severus huffed, making room on the sofa as he stood up. "You're unbearable" he complained, irritated by Sirius's nonchalance in his house.
Sirius took a long drink without even looking at him. “Funny… you weren’t complaining when my cock was in your mouth.”
Severus turned so sharply his cloak nearly snapped with the movement. “Excuse me?” His tone was dangerous.
To shut him up - or at the very least to wipe the idiotic grin that was starting to form, Severus muttered, “Nippari.”
A slight, almost inaudible crack, and Sirius let out a loud “Ouch!”, clutching his arm.
Severus practically shoved Sirius out the door after his drink. He didn’t trust him enough to leave him there and he trusted himself even less. The mere possibility of Draco waking up again and finding the two of them together… was intolerable.
He slept badly. Or rather, he didn’t sleep, he just closed his eyes and thought. He rethought. He mentally retraced every detail of what Draco might have seen.
A kiss, perhaps, he could get around. Anything beyond that…Merlin… what a disaster.
Upon waking, he prepared the coffee in heavy silence, each movement meticulously controlled, as if that could compensate for his own carelessness.
And there was the hypocritical, shameful thought that insisted on returning.
Obliviate.
The word burned his tongue.
Absurd. Unacceptable. But for a moment -a single, miserable moment- he considered it.
Severus sat at the table with a rigid posture, his fingers drumming as he tried to assess the possibilities. Until the sound of light footsteps in the hallway pulled him from his thoughts. He took a deep breath, adjusted his expression, and waited.
Draco entered, dragging his feet, eyes swollen, hair messy, making a slight pout while rubbing a fist across his eyes. He sat down at the table without saying anything.
Severus raised an eyebrow. He was torn between respecting the silence and asking direct questions.
"Good morning" he said finally, studying the boy.
"Morning… "Draco murmured, his voice drawling, picking up the cup of hot chocolate without raising his eyes.
Severus hesitated for a second. "Did you sleep well?"
Draco rested his elbow on the table and used his hand to hold his chin, in a lazy and childish gesture.
"I had a strange dream" he said, grimacing. "I think I fell out of bed."
Severus kept his face impassive, although he felt his stomach sink.
" Yes?" he replied, trying to sound casual. But his own voice betrayed the tension.
Draco wrinkled his nose, thoughtful, staring intently at the chocolate as if searching for the words. "I dreamt that a giant hippogriff invaded the room…" he began, very seriously. " But it spoke. It spoke a lot. And it told me… to go to sleep! He paused, irritated. And it spoke with my Aunt Bellatrix's voice."
Severus blinked once.
Then again.
And then he exhaled slowly, almost silently. A relief so strong it almost hurt his shoulders.
The boy remembered nothing.
Nothing important, at least.
_________________________
The following days settled into a carefully imposed routine.
Severus believed - with almost obsessive rigidity - that Draco needed normalcy. Structure. Discipline. As though schedules and books could contain the chaos that had taken root in the boy’s life.
After breakfast, they Apparated back to Malfoy Manor, following hours of debate with Regulus, who had insisted they could stay at Grimmauld Place. The Manor remained immaculate, far too silent, as if it had been holding its breath since the attack on the Malfoy's.
Draco spent four hours each day studying with the private tutor his father had hired years ago - a short, meticulous, excessively proud French wizard named Alex Goldstein.
Severus used that time to retreat into the Manor’s old laboratory. The room still carried the scent of rare ingredients and unchecked ambition. There, at least, he could work. Think. Control something.
That was, when he managed to ignore the voices drifting in from the study. Because inevitably, he ended up listening.
“No, Mr. Malfoy, that is not the proper way to conjugate spells in Latin,” Goldstein would say in that affected tone.
And then Severus would appear in the doorway. “Fascinating,” he would murmur coolly. “Perhaps you should consider returning to school and relearning the basics before presuming to teach anything.”
It became a recurring argument. Goldstein defended methods that were far too modern, intellectually lazy, in Severus’s opinion.
Draco, for his part, watched their exchanges with bright eyes, almost entertained.
But the amusement did not last.
On the third day, Draco exploded.
“My mother is hospitalized. My father is in prison.” He shoved the book away. “Why do I have to study?”
Severus remained silent for a few seconds.
“Because the world does not stop when something terrible happens,” he finally replied. “And neither will you.”
Draco crossed his arms, sulking. “I could.”
Severus regarded him for a long moment. “I can always send you to the Black family home, if you prefer.”
The effect was immediate.
Draco huffed angrily. “I hate that house.”
“Then open the book.”
The tantrum ended there.
In the late afternoons, they visited Narcissa.
The room at St. Mungo’s was always the same: too bright, too quiet. Draco sat beside the bed and held his mother’s hand carefully, as if she were made of glass.
Andromeda received them every day, exhausted but steady.“Her condition remains stable,” she would say. “It hasn’t worsened. But it hasn’t improved either.”
She spoke of experimental spells, ancient curses, possible magical bonds that might be sustaining the coma.
Severus listened with sharpened attention.
Connections. Bonds. Pacts. Bellatrix had never done anything without a second intention.
Regulus usually appeared at night.
Silent as a shadow, he would arrive after meetings at the Ministry or on more tense days after supervised visits with Lucius. He always brought updates. He had tried to use his contacts to secure privileges for Lucius’s transfer. Fewer guards. More time before Azkaban. Some kind of arrangement. But the situation was not favorable.
“The transfer will take place in two days,” he reported one evening, pulling off his gloves with a grim expression. “And they’re pushing for formal sentencing.”
Severus felt his stomach grow heavy.
Draco was already asleep in the next room.
“And the possible connection to Narcissa?” Severus asked.
Regulus hesitated. “It’s still a theory. But if there is a magical bond… the transfer could trigger something.”
“Something like what?”
Regulus held his gaze.
“Like the death of one of them.”
The silence that followed was thick. For the first time since Draco had arrived, Severus realized this might not be merely a temporary arrangement.
On Thursday night, dinner unfolded in relatively peaceful quiet. Draco pushed peas around his plate with barely concealed disgust, as though they had personally offended him. Severus ate slowly, methodically, ignoring the dramatic sighs of a child far too spoiled for his own age. It was almost… domestic.
The crack of the fireplace split the air like a misfired spell.
Green flames burst into the room, casting warped shadows across the walls of the small flat. Severus was already on his feet before the first figure stepped through the fire. Draco remained at the table but lifted his head immediately, eyes wide.
Regulus emerged first, his expression closed off, robes marked with soot.
Andromeda followed close behind, her face pale, composure held together by force.
Sirius came last, and the only one who did not appear on the verge of collapse. He merely brushed ash from his coat, crossed the room, and dropped into the armchair as though he’d been invited for brandy.
“What happened?” Severus asked, his voice too low to be casual.
Regulus dragged a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of lost control. “Lucius is being transferred tomorrow morning.”
The silence fell heavy as lead.
“Tomorrow?” Severus repeated.
“It was confirmed less than an hour ago,” Regulus replied, shooting his brother a sharp look before turning back to Severus. “The Ministry wants this concluded before any… interference can arise.”
Sirius crossed one leg over the other, observing them as though studying a chessboard. “I can give you thirty minutes at most,” he said at last. “James and I will be part of the transfer escort. Longbottom’s handling the paperwork. It’s the only opening you’re going to get.”
Draco looked from one to the other, absorbing far more than he should have.
“We need to test the theory before he sets foot in Azkaban,” Andromeda said quietly, forcing a brief smile in Draco’s direction.
Severus understood too late that the kid had been following every word.
“Draco,” he said, in a tone that allowed no argument. “Go to your room.”
The boy hesitated. “But—”
The chair slid back on its own, firm and unmistakable.
“Now.”
Draco swallowed. He looked at Andromeda. At Regulus. For a second too long, at Sirius. Then he went upstairs in silence.
The sound of the door closing echoed through a house far too small for so many secrets.
Severus turned back to the three of them. “Start talking.”
Andromeda drew in a steadying breath. “If the bond exists, once the transfer is complete it could activate. And if it does… it could kill Narcissa.”
Regulus added, more quietly, “It’s still only a theory.”
“It’s the best one we have,” Andromeda shot back, irritation sharpening her voice. “Or do you suggest another explanation for a stable coma sustained by residual magic?”
Severus did not answer. He was watching something else.
The look exchanged between the brothers.
The tension.
That spark of something unspoken.
Andromeda noticed it too. She raised an eyebrow slowly. “What is it?”
Sirius met Severus’s gaze.
And then he smiled.
Not the careless smile from seconds before, but the other one. The sharp one. The one that reminded everyone in the room of someone they all knew too well.
“Bella,” he murmured.
The name hung in the air like a curse.
Regulus let out a tight breath, straightening on the sofa. “It’s a possibility…”
“What?” Andromeda asked, still trying to follow the shift in logic.
Severus folded his arms, his mind already fitting pieces together.
If there is a bond…
If Narcissa is tethered to something…
If Lucius is not the anchor…
Then perhaps this is not a bond between husband and wife.
Perhaps it is a blood curse.
And no one in that family understood blood curses better than Bellatrix.
“Bellatrix was always exceptional at blood magic,” Sirius said.
There was no pride in his voice. Only an uncomfortable acknowledgment.
Andromeda went still. “Sirius…”
He drew in a breath, running a hand over his face.
“There’s an alternative in inheritance rituals. Old ones. Some older than Ministry regulation.”
“What are you saying?” Andromeda cut in, harder now. “Do you know something?”
Sirius shot Regulus a brief glance before answering.
“Not every book in the Black library was available to every Black,” he said, a bitter half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Some sections were restricted to direct heirs. Others… to those who demonstrated ‘aptitude.’”
The word tasted like poison.
His expression sobered.
“An anchor can be used when the heir doesn’t possess enough magic to sustain the family’s power. At least, that was the theory. Partial transfer of magical flow between members of the same bloodline.”
Regulus spoke then, colder. “What he means is that Bellatrix may be using Narcissa’s magic to strengthen herself.”
The air seemed to thin.
“How do you know that?” Andromeda asked, her voice wavering between disbelief and something closer to betrayal.
“Since when have you known this?” Severus asked at the same time, his eyes fixed on Sirius.
Sirius held both their gazes. “Does that matter right now?”
“It matters if you kept silent while Narcissa was wasting away,” Severus replied quietly.
For a second, something hard flickered across Sirius’s face. “It’s only a possibility. After all, we’re still dealing in hypotheses, aren’t we?”
Andromeda began pacing, her hands trembling slightly. “It doesn’t make sense… Bella was always the strongest of the three of us.”
“But she was never stable,” Severus murmured, his voice low and analytical. “Bellatrix is volatile. She always has been. And obsession is dangerous fuel when mixed with power.”
Andromeda turned slowly toward him.
“What exactly are you saying?” Her voice came out more fragile than she would have liked. “That my sister is… insane?”
Sirius let out a short sound, almost a humorless laugh. “She wouldn’t be the first in the family.”
The comment lingered in the air like smoke.
Severus did not smile.
“She developed an obsession with Voldemort,” Severus said coldly, recalling the almost feverish intensity in Bellatrix’s eyes whenever she spoke of the Dark Lord. “It wasn’t loyalty. It was pathological devotion.”
“‘Obsessed’ is an understatement,” Regulus added, his expression hardening. “She was willing to sacrifice anything for him. Including the family. Mother argued with her for weeks when Bella made an Unbreakable Vow with Voldemort.”
Andromeda went pale. “She made a vow…?”
“She did,” Regulus replied flatly. “And it wasn’t symbolic.”
Andromeda shook her head slowly, as though trying to dislodge the idea. “They’re sisters,” she murmured, almost to herself. “We are sisters.”
The word felt far too fragile for that room.
Sirius tilted his head, his gaze darkening. “Exactly. It’s the same blood. For a ritual involving magical flow… that’s ideal.”
The silence that followed was too heavy for the small flat.
Severus exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, a rare display of visible exhaustion. His mind was moving too fast.
If it’s an anchor ritual…
If Bella is draining or stabilizing her own magic through Narcissa…
If there are periodic reinforcements involved…
The implications were worse than they had imagined.
“This isn’t an accident,” he said at last. “If it’s her, it was deliberate.”
Andromeda closed her eyes for a moment.
“You’re saying my sister may be using Narcissa as a… reserve?”
No one answered immediately.
Because they all knew the correct word was not reserve.
It was instrument.
Regulus spoke at last, more quietly.
“If that’s true… moving Lucius won’t change anything.”
And then the final realization settled in, cold and inevitable:
The problem was not in Azkaban.
It was in Bellatrix.
“We still need to test it,” Andromeda said, shaking her head, but there was steel in her voice now. “If it isn’t Lucius… then we’ll know it’s Bella.”
Severus studied her for a moment. That wasn’t denial. It was method. “I agree,” he murmured.
Regulus glanced between the three of them. “And how exactly are we going to do that?”
Sirius leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“The book says blood anchors react to abrupt instability in the primary recipient’s magical flow.”
Severus lifted his gaze slowly. “Primary recipient.”
“In the case of a marital bond, it would be the spouse,” Sirius continued. “In matters of inheritance… the closest available blood counterpart.”
Regulus completed the thought almost automatically. “So if Narcissa is tied to Lucius, any aggressive containment of his magical core should cause a fluctuation in hers.”
“Small,” Sirius corrected. “But detectable.”
Andromeda frowned. “And if there’s no reaction?”
Severus answered before anyone else could hesitate. “Then we discard the marital bond. And move on to Bellatrix.”
He finished the sentence while looking directly at Sirius.
Andromeda drew in a steady breath. “Does the book specify the method?”
Sirius nodded, though he seemed less confident now.
“It’s not a full ritual. It’s a controlled provocation. A brief shock to the possible anchor’s magical core.”
“Painful?” she asked.
“Enough to displace the flow,” Regulus replied. “Not enough to kill.”
Andromeda folded her arms, processing. “How do you know all of this?” she asked Regulus, suspicion sharpening her tone.
“I didn’t,” he admitted evenly. “Not about the private library. Sirius warned me about it two days ago.”
“And Narcissa?” Severus cut in.
“If there is a bond, she’ll feel it.”
“And if there isn’t?”
“Nothing will happen.”
The silence returned - heavier this time.
Sirius broke it. “We have a thirty-minute window during containment before the transfer. James will help me with Longbottom. But not for long.”
Regulus nodded. “I’ll stay with Severus at the hospital.”
Andromeda closed her eyes briefly.
“If there’s any reaction…”
“We’ll know,” Severus said.
And for the first time that night, the strategy was clear.
They would test Lucius.
------------------------
They set the time with almost surgical precision.
05:45.
According to Sirius, it would be the exact moment Lucius would be under maximum containment before the official escort to Azkaban. Chains activated. Magical core compressed. Vulnerable.
Severus hated relying on others to execute a plan.
But that morning, there was no alternative.
Draco was asleep in the flat. Severus had checked on him three times before leaving. The boy hadn’t even stirred, curled beneath the blankets as if the world outside could be kept at bay with enough fabric.
At St. Mungo’s, Narcissa’s room was too quiet.
Andromeda stood on the other side of the bed, wand in hand. Regulus remained near the door, alert for any interruption. Severus stood beside the bed, watching the Black sister as if he could force answers out of her through sheer scrutiny.
The magic around her was nearly imperceptible. A faint shimmer, like dust suspended in air.
05:44.
Severus raised his wand. “Be ready.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
05:45.
The small communication mirror in Regulus’s hand vibrated softly - the agreed signal.
It was time.
Severus closed his eyes for a second and murmured the spell for reading magical flow. The room seemed to contract around him.
He felt the fluctuation before he saw it. A distant pulse. An abrupt compression somewhere along the city’s magical map.
Lucius.
Containment activated.
He opened his eyes immediately and focused on Narcissa.
Waited.
Andromeda held her breath and Regulus did not even blink.
The haze surrounding Narcissa’s body remained… stable.
No tremor beneath her eyelids, no alteration in her magical pulse, no variation in the density of the field around her.
Severus waited five more seconds. Then ten.
Nothing.
“Again,” Andromeda whispered.
Regulus adjusted the mirror.
At the Ministry, Sirius repeated the provocation. Severus felt the second impact - stronger, sharper.
Lucius was undeniably being pressured.
If there were an active marital bond- Narcissa should have reacted.
Severus analyzed every particle of magic in the air.
Nothing.
The stability was almost insulting.
Andromeda was the first to lower her wand.
“It’s not him,” she said, though her voice faltered at the end.
Severus did not reply.
He already knew.
A few minutes later, a silver flare cut across the hospital window.
Sirius’s Patronus took shape in the center of the room - a large luminous dog that landed silently on the floor before speaking.
“Transfer complete. Malfoy is in Azkaban.”