✯ ✯ ✯
When evening rolled around, Antares had already clicked the final latches on his luggage. Peri sat contently in her cage, having eaten a vole, her victory catch, half an hour before. He would have to let her out as soon as he got to Hogwarts, knowing she would be hungry again. Antares just hoped Peri wouldn't be too angry with him when she realized they had to apparate to Diagon Alley. Even worse, if she hurled her afternoon snack, she would be irritable the rest of the trip. Once Antares arrives at The Leaky Cauldron, he can use the floo connection to gain entry to the Faculty Tower at Hogwarts. Snape was kind enough— if you could call it that, to give him access to the network.
Should anything happen to Harry after curfew, Dumbledore had made it so that Antares was to be the first line of defence. His new room would be the one closest to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room.
Whichever one that would be, Antares thought in exasperation.
While it was convenient that the Gryffindor Tower was directly across from the Faculty Tower, the shifting castle never allowed them to be on the same floor. The upside was that Antares had entry to all four common rooms, not that anyone needed to know. The prefects would set the passwords and inform their Head of House, who would then tell Antares that password. The Ravenclaw common room would be the only exception, as you needed to solve a riddle to gain entry. Antares had never seen the interior of the Faculty Tower, but he did not doubt that it was more luxurious than any of the dorms.
As he descended the stairs, his luggage levitated down the center of the stairwell. He avoided touching anything he didn't have to, not wanting a repeat of what happened a week prior.
Antares mentally sighed.
Unfortunately, he would have to touch everything in his new room to relieve all the visions. Every wall. Every book. All the furniture and even the floor. Of course, that wouldn't even account for what new things he would glimpse throughout the year. Everything is always in motion, changing and warping as it sees fit. So naturally, since everything is always changing, so are the things that Antares can see. The Augurs had divided their visions into two distinct categories and bound themselves to the secrecy of both.
Dynamic points were elusive, like fleeting whispers of possibility. These visions show the potential paths that have the chance of being altered. They were a crossroads where choices and actions could sway even the smallest events in different directions, just waiting for someone to seize the moment. Say, if someone were to sleep in one morning or say they decided to wear one shirt over another, all choices change all outcomes. These visions changed on a dime.
Although, he would say that the true problem lay with its polar opposite. Static points were like unmovable pillars in time, events that, as sure as the sun rising and falling, were unchangeable no matter what actions you took. They were the most burdensome, often ending in tragedy.
Like the vision he saw when he accidentally touched Arthur Weasley.
Antares could tell by the feeling it left him with, the absolute sense of certainty, the impending certitude. Every fibre of his being screamed with finality.
An undesirable sixth sense.
Yet, there was nothing that could be done about it. Antares had vowed into secrecy, bound by an oath to the Circle— to his mother and every seer born to the Nine before him. The one thing that kept their bloodline alive for centuries past.
War was a dangerous time for a seer.
Antares stopped in front of the entrance to Grimmauld Place, taking a final breath before he left. He flexed his wrist, checking needlessly for his wand when someone cleared their throat behind him.
"You didn't say you were leaving," Sirius rasped.
"Duty calls," Antares shrugged. "There are still things that need preparation."
Sirius stepped closer, a wavering frown on his face. "Antares, about what I said..." he trailed.
Antares shook his head, cutting him off. "You don't need to say anything, and really, I don't have the time," he said, reaching for the doorknob.
"I'm sorry!" Sirius blurt out.
Antares paused, his hand still on the doorknob, and turned to look at Sirius. He saw the genuine remorse in his uncle's eyes, and for a moment, he considered staying to hear him out.
"You don't need to apologize, Sirius," Antares said calmly. "Your feelings are your own."
"I do," his uncle argued. "I was caught up in my own fears. I was so scared, Antares, so terrified of losing Harry like I did James. I'm ashamed of it, really, because I know it was my fault. So, when you called me out on my selfishness, it hit me hard. I didn't want history to repeat itself."
Antares stayed silent. His eyes dropped to the floor, unsure of what to say.
Sirius continued on, his voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't realize that it already was. When you yelled at me that day, it was like seeing Regulus again," he confessed. "I see so much of him in you. The way you refuse to back down, the look in your eyes, even the way you stand here now. As we got older, we argued about everything, our beliefs, about right and wrong. We argued like you and I had, and then he was gone. I don't want to push you away, Ares. I don't want our arguments to drive us apart. You're my family, my blood."
The room was starting to spin— Antares was sure of it. It felt like he couldn't breathe. Antares tried to steady himself, gripping the doorknob tightly to anchor himself to the present. He had never expected such vulnerability from Sirius, and the weight of his uncle's words pressed heavily in his mind.
"I'm not him," Antares finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't be him."
"I know," Sirius replied as he stepped forward, his voice softening. "I don't need you to be. I need you to know I'm sorry."
As Sirius spoke, Antares could feel the raw pain and regret that festered inside his uncle's heart. It was a side of Sirius he hadn't seen often, if ever. For a moment, Antares felt something flicker in his chest, a small and bridging tether. He understood all too well what it was like to be afraid of losing someone, maybe too well.
It was a maelstrom, reeling and all-consuming, pulling at Antares in hopes of drowning him in the depths of his own inadequacy. Growing up, he came to understand vulnerability was akin to weakness. Pureblood society would pick and tear at every gaping wound and the slightest of rifts. The Circle had helped him disguise his near-omniscient burden with decorum. But these past few months, he could feel it eroding the façade he so carefully crafted. In his mind's eye, he saw flashes of those who would slip away. It was suffocating.
"I don't want to lose you either," Antares admitted. "The things I've seen..."
He stopped himself, trying to find the words, but found none. By Merlin, his mother would scold him if she saw him now. He could already hear it.
ANTARES LUCIAN, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR HEAD?!
No, but he felt like he might. His mother's voice echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but radiate at the vividness of her voice. Daring to look into his uncle's eyes, he saw hope.
"I didn't mean it," Antares apologized, shaking his head. "What I said about the tapestry. You're not like them."
A lopsided grin appeared on Sirius' face, the lingering tension falling as it did. "You have the infamous family temper. It's the only thing we all have in common, really."
Antares managed a faint smile in return. "I suppose it is."
"I never wanted to be like the rest of the family, you know," Sirius said, placing an arm on the boy's shoulder, "but I couldn't escape the name, and neither could Reg..."
Sirius looked away, blinking as if the world fell upon his shoulders. When he looked back, Antares saw a sobering determination.
"My biggest regret is that Regulus isn't here to see you now. He would be proud to call you his son, as I am proud to call you my nephew."
Antares felt a lump forming in his throat, and he swallowed hard to keep the sob that welled within him down. His mother would always tell him the same thing, but no matter how hard he would try, he could never take it to heart. Antares tried to speak, but everything he wanted to say became quickly overshadowed by the need to cry- and scream and collapse, all at the same time. So instead, he surged forward, wrapping his arms around Sirius, and clutched him tightly.
Sirius let out a quiet "oomph" but hugged his nephew just as quickly. They stood in the hallway of Grimmauld Place, the culmination of all their sorrow, holding on to each other as if it were a lifeline.
A minute passed, and then another, before the storm began to subside, leaving a lingering sense of catharsis. Antares pulled away from the hug, shuddering a breath, and he noticed Sirius sniffing away tears. In that dimly lit hallway, the waves ceased.
✯ ✯ ✯
Antares sat at the bar of The Three Broomsticks, minding a chilled glass of Lichleaf Gin. He didn't plan to, but then he started conversing with Madame Rosmerta, who coerced him into staying just a bit longer. During his seventh year, he, Vita Macmillan and Adrian Pucey were regulars at the pub. Despite the regulated Hogsmeade trips only occurring on the last Saturday of every month, Snape— or whoever made the class schedules, made the fortunate mistake of giving them all a 4-hour gap after Ancient Runes and before History of Magic. It didn't take long for them to seize the opportunity. They all agreed there was absolutely no way they could attend Binns' class completely lucid. So every other Thursday afternoon, which soon became every Thursday afternoon, you could find the trio sitting in the corner booth at The Three Broomsticks.
"You couldn't even wait a whole summer before coming back here," Rosmerta grinned cheekily, wiping another glass with a clean rag.
"How could I?" Antares smirked, tipping his glass to her. "You keep this on special order just for me."
Rosmerta chuckled. "Oh, I have to. You refuse to drink butterbeer, and I'm afraid your tastes are much too posh for a place like this."
Antares took a slow sip, savouring the icy sensation that danced on his palate. He supposed it was an expensive brand and could largely blame his upbringing for that. The Lichleaf plant itself was a rare and borderline dangerous subterranean species. The iciness of the drink came from the residual effects of the paralytic toxin that coated its leaves.
Adrian called him crazy for liking it, preferring to stick to Firewhiskey.
"Someone has to keep things classy," Antares drawled playfully. "I can't leave you stuck serving riff-raff, now can I?"
"Not everyone can have your flair," Rosmerta said puffed indignantly, blowing a piece of her curly blonde hair away from her face. "And I'll have you know, I've served the bleedin' Minister of Magic, thank you!"
"As I said, riff-raff."
"Speaking of flair," she continued, leaning in conspiratorially, "your darling Vita was here just the other day, asking about you."
Antares couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance even as curiosity piqued within him. "Was she now," he hummed noncommittally.
Something in Rosmerta's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Oh, yes, she seemed quite interested in catching up. Rumour is you're heading back to teach at Hogwarts."
The Slytherin clicked his tongue. "Where did she manage to hear that?"
A part of him wanted to worry. Word got around fast in the wizarding world, and Antares was well aware that gossip spread like fiendfyre. His seclusion in Grimmauld Place was deliberate— if you didn't count the fact that he practically left for a week, not that it mattered. He didn't meet with anyone, despite what he told Remus.
"Got herself a position at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Rosmerta boasted. "Quite an impressive job, I must say. Apparently, she works with the Rosier boy— you know, the one who studies dragons— and he said that he's cousins with that Farley girl—"
"Ros—" Antares tried to interrupt.
"Oh, and did I mention that she was seen having lunch with Williamson from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Some say it's just friendly, but others speculate there might be something more going on—"
"Ros—"
"Then there was that whole debacle with those bigots from the Wizengamot. Did you hear? Vita gave them a piece of her mind during a public hearing on magical creature rights for centaurs."
"Rosmerta!" Antares finally yelled, unintentionally waking a wizard who had passed out at the end of the bar.
Rosmerta blinked, finally realizing she had gone on a tangent of gossip. "Sorry, deary. What did you ask again?"
"How does Vita know that I'm teaching at Hogwarts," he stressed.
Antares took a generous sip from his drink, thankful for the non-melting ice cube Rosmerta had placed in the glass. He had forgotten how much she loved to talk.
The barmaid flushed slightly with embarrassment. "Oh, that," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Well—"
"Ask me yourself, why don't you?" A familiar and jubilant voice said from over Antares' shoulder.
Turning in his seat, Antares met with a friendly sight. There in all her glory, was Vita Macmillan, a confident arch in her brow lighting up her face as she smiled at him.
✯ ✯ ✯
My boys are happy! They're okay! I got so emotional writing the scene between Ares and Sirius.
Introducing Vita! That's 2/3 of Ares' little trio.
And yes, Ares drinks gin. Expensive gin.
Be sure to VOTE and COMMENT to show your support. FEEDBACK is always appreciated and feel free to ask any questions you may have!
~Hircines