Invisible String | TVD x WIZARDING WORLD

THEY'LL STILL SHOW UP

The front door creaked open and in walked Regulus Black, casually brushing imaginary dust off his coat like he hadn't ghosted the entire family for two days straight.

"Morning," he said breezily. "I brought pastries."

Damon didn't even look up from where he was sprawled on the couch. "Oh, look who finally decided to descend from his dramatic cloud of mystery."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome, by the way. Those cinnamon ones are from that place you like."

"Oh, no no," Damon said, rising to his feet. "Let's not pretend we're all civilized here. I'm still trying to process the part where my daughter has a brother, and the man who was apparently keeping that detail buried under ten years of sarcasm and tea parties is you."

Kol leaned toward Caroline and whispered, "Ooh, he went straight for the 'you'—this is gonna be good."

Regulus blinked, innocent. "You say that like I dropped her in the middle of a dragon pit."

"No, you dropped her in the middle of Hogwarts, with blood bottles in her socks and a surprise Malfoy on aisle three," Damon snapped. "We got a letter last night, Regulus. A delightful one. Full of existential horror and ink stains and—oh yeah—'Did you know I had a brother?'"

"I assumed Lucius would keep Draco away."

"You assumed?" Damon barked out a laugh. "You—Regulus Black—you who makes backup plans for your backup plans, just assumed the Malfoys would exercise restraint?"

"Well excuse me for hoping Lucius had evolved past being a melodramatic pureblood mannequin."

"He hasn't!" Damon threw up his hands. "The man's hair gel hasn't changed in twenty years, what made you think his morals would?!"

Bonnie cleared her throat softly. "Should we maybe—"

"Nope," Elijah said calmly, not looking up from his paper. "Let them have it out."

"I'm just saying," Damon continued, pacing now, "you can write sonnets about broomsticks and cry over James Potter for hours, but the one time you should've said something, you just... didn't?"

Regulus squinted. "Did you just emotionally weaponize Quidditch against me?"

"I'm on a roll."

"You're being dramatic."

"I raised her!"

"I saved her!"

Kol clapped once. "Ten points to both of you for sheer pettiness."

"I was trying to protect her!" Regulus insisted, hands in the air. "From all the Malfoy crap. From the whole 'noble pureblood' disaster."

Damon stopped, pointing a finger. "You protected her so hard, Regulus, that she got blindsided by a boy with platinum hair and abandonment issues."

"That's—okay, fair."

"Thank you!" "—and then she just signs off like, 'Love you, your dramatic but totally fabulous witch,' like that makes it better!"

Regulus, who had now settled into an armchair with ridiculous calm, sipped his coffee and said, far too casually, "Well, we could always send her a howler."

The room blinked.

Damon stopped walking. "A what now?"

"A howler," Regulus repeated. "Magical letter. Shouts your message at the recipient. Normally it's for yelling—horrifying public embarrassment, very dramatic, very Hogwarts. But we could tweak it, make it sweet. Send her some love, you know? Our voices, all of us. She'd hear us."

Damon narrowed his eyes. "So, your answer to 'Sorry I never told you about your biological brother' is to yell at her in surround sound?"

"I said a sweet howler," Regulus said indignantly. "It's called innovation. I'm trying to be emotionally supportive."

Kol perked up. "Can mine still include yelling? Like... affectionately?"

"You would," Caroline muttered.

Damon turned slowly, arms crossed over his chest, and fixed Regulus with the kind of look that could drain the color from even a vampire's face.

"Fine," he said, voice edged in dangerous calm. "We're doing it. But this doesn't save you, Regulus Black. You still owe me for... literally everything."

Regulus, ever unfazed, raised his coffee cup in salute. "Noted. Now, who wants script duty?"

Kol raised his hand immediately. "Me. Obviously."

"No," three voices said at once—Caroline, Bonnie, and Klaus.

Jeremy leaned forward from where he was perched on the windowsill. "Okay, wait. Are we actually doing this? A group howler? To Diana? At breakfast? In front of the entire school?"

"That's the idea," Regulus said cheerfully. "Heartwarming and mildly traumatizing. Like all the best family moments."

"I still don't understand why we can't just write her a nice letter like normal people," Elijah muttered, flipping a page of his book without looking up.

"Because," Kol said, grinning, "we're not normal. And she's not either. She's ours."

That shut everyone up for a second.

Then Caroline sighed and pulled out her planner. "Okay, if we're doing this, we're doing it right. I want charm synchronization, voice layering, and absolutely no swearing—Kol, I'm looking at you."

"Fine," Kol said. "But I'm saying 'bloody hell' at least once. It's cultural."

Regulus rolled her eyes. "I'll handle the spellwork. We'll record each message, then enchant the parchment to activate on arrival. Shouldn't be hard. Might be a little loud."

"Loud is the point," Jeremy said smugly.

"You're enjoying this way too much," Damon muttered.

Regulus shrugged. "She deserves to hear from us. She's angry, and she has every right to be. But she also needs to know we're not going anywhere."

Silence fell again, softer this time.

Then Klaus spoke, low and firm. "Let her rage. Let her curse our names. We'll still show up."

"Alright," Bonnie said. "Let's make some noise."