Exhausted. There was only one word that could describe the condition of Sitara. She was adjusting to the body of Alicent Hightower, and truly, the children were not the source of her fatigue. The burden of being ensnared in the web of court politics weighed heavily on her, dragging her spirit into shadows.
The people Alicent surrounded herself with were either neglectful, indifferent to her plight, or only cared for her as long as she remained the perfect puppet to their actions. The one who resented her was her apparent ex-best friend and current stepdaughter, Rhaenyra, whose gaze was often a dagger, cutting through the flimsy threads of their former bond. The one who overlooked her, neglecting her completely, was her dearest husband, Viserys Targaryen, a man trapped in his own world of illness and half-hearted attempts at leadership. The one who used her was her own father, Otto Hightower, who maneuvered her like a pawn on a chessboard, his ambitions always lurking just beneath the surface.
Sitara almost had the urge to bang her head against the wall, frustration building as she finally understood the true dynamics of her situation. No wonder Alicent had been so powerless to push back against the vultures circling the throne. She was already too mentally exhausted, a mere husk of a woman burdened by the weight of her responsibilities. To her, death must have felt like a release—a door to escape from this suffocating reality. But if there was one thing Sitara was a master at, it was navigating uncomfortable situations. She had survived wars, betrayals, and the heartache of loss. She could handle this.
In the midst of her internal chaos, the only delight in her life came from the twin boys, Aegon and Sirion, who contrasted each other so profoundly. Just one week old, yet Sirion already demonstrated flashes of the intelligence that had defined him in her past life. He would fix his deep, knowing gaze upon her in moments that made her heart swell, as if to say, “I know who you are.” He was a lovely little boy, calm and collected, hardly ever fussy. Aegon, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of cries and demands, a vibrant ball of energy that seemed to soak up every ounce of attention in the room. Both of them had become the anchors she desperately needed, even as they drained her.
Her heart swelled with love for them. They refused to leave her side, insisted on sleeping only when nestled against her, and would only eat if she was the one feeding them. Such a strong bond had formed between mother and children, a tether that anchored her amidst the chaos. Aegon would sometimes tolerate others—though not easily—while Sirion had a strict no-policy against anyone who wasn’t his beloved mother. He was showing early signs of becoming a mama’s boy, a notion that brought a smile to Sitara’s lips. It was laughable, really, considering Sirion was the son of a man who had once tried to murder her. Yet, that only deepened her affection for him; they shared a common goal: to protect Aegon at all costs.
As she sat by the crib, the warm sunlight filtering through the windows, she took a moment to bask in the joy of their presence. Aegon cooed softly, his tiny hands grasping at the air, while Sirion watched with a serious expression, as if calculating the world around him. “Look at you two,” she whispered, her voice laced with affection. “You’re going to be strong, just like your mother.” Sirion turned to her, a soft gurgle escaping his lips, and she felt a rush of warmth fill her heart.
Yet, beneath the surface, unease simmered. Sitara thought about how weak Alicent’s body was, the limitations she had to contend with. This body was fragile, but it was her responsibility to strengthen it. She had agility in her past life, a gift that had served her well in combat and survival. That was something she needed to develop over time. She’d learned the hard way how vital agility was during the wars that had defined her previous existence, and she wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away.
But there was more troubling her mind. The magic that coursed through her veins felt volatile, unsettled after giving birth. The stresses of her new life compounded the discomfort she felt within, the familiar sense of chaos swirling around her. She understood the nature of witchcraft well enough to know that magic was often capricious after childbirth, and being thrust into such a high-stakes environment only amplified her discomfort. Every time she thought about her powers, a shiver ran down her spine. Was she truly ready for what lay ahead?
The anxiety gnawed at her, a relentless reminder of the looming threats that surrounded her. A war was brewing; she could feel it in the air—a storm ready to break. How could she protect her children when she could barely protect herself? But before she could spiral deeper into her thoughts, a warm sensation blossomed in the internal pockets of her gown.
Confused, she reached into the fabric, her heart racing. Her fingers brushed against something cool and solid, and she pulled it out in shock: a communication mirror. How was it here? Panic gripped her for a moment—had Lord Death sent it? Was it a sign that her people were in this world and might attempt to contact her?
With trembling hands, she activated the mirror. As she touched it lightly, the surface shimmered and transformed into a hologram. Her heart skipped a beat as the familiar face of her godfather, Sirius Black.
Sirius Black felt the warmth of fur enveloping him as his eyes fluttered open. The coolness of the air pricked at his skin, a biting wind whispering through the open window. He blinked, taking in his surroundings—a luxurious room exuding an unmistakable air of royalty. Rich tapestries depicting fierce wolves and majestic dragons hung across the walls, their colors vibrant against the deep hues of the room. The flickering flames in the hearth cast a soft, golden glow, creating a stark contrast to the chilling air outside.
A rush of realization hit him like a cold wave. This was no dream. The veil he had fallen through in the Department of Mysteries had not simply transported him to another realm; it had brought him somewhere tangible and real. His heart raced as he turned his gaze to the bed beside him, where a familiar figure lay still.
“Regulus!” Sirius gasped, a mix of disbelief and joy flooding his senses. His younger brother, once lost to the world, was back. Shaking with urgency, he rushed to Regulus’s side, shaking him awake with gentle yet fervent hands.
Regulus startled awake, his eyes wide with confusion. “What—what happened?” he stammered, looking around the lavish room.
“It wasn’t a dream,” Sirius said, still grappling with the enormity of their situation. “You’re really here.”
“Then where the hell are we?” Regulus asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and apprehension.
“I don’t know,” Sirius replied, glancing out the window at the snow-laden trees beyond. “Definitely someplace further up north.”
Regulus clapped mockingly. “Yeah, as if I couldn’t understand that from the snow and the conical trees.”
“Are you done?” Sirius questioned, trying to suppress a grin at Regulus’s cheekiness.
“No, I am never done,” Regulus jested, and they both erupted into laughter, a sound that felt nostalgic and comforting in the unfamiliar room. They hugged each other tightly, the bond of brotherhood rekindled, filling the space with warmth.
“But how did we end up here?” Sirius pondered aloud, a frown creasing his brow. “Could the veil have something to do with this?”
“What veil?” Regulus questioned, confusion clouding his features.
Sirius hit him playfully on the back of the head. “I just told you that I died after falling through the veil of death in the Department of Mysteries!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes. “Defending your daughter, right?”
“Wait, you have a daughter?” Regulus’s voice sharpened with surprise.
Sirius sighed, his expression softening as he thought of his little girl. “Destiny doesn’t always give us what we want. Sometimes it gives us better. I didn’t want any children, but after you died, I couldn’t let the Black family lordship fall into the wrong hands—Bellatrix, Narcissa, or even Andy, who wanted nothing to do with it. And then, you know, my best friend...”
“James,” Regulus interrupted, the name a familiar echo.
“Yes, James,” Sirius continued, a smile creeping onto his face. “And his wife—”
“Lily, the Muggle-born,” Regulus interjected again.
“Yes, exactly! But don’t cut me off again!” Sirius scolded playfully, making Regulus duck his head in mock submission.
“So, James and Lily had recently had a daughter called Sitara Evangeline Potter. James gave me the honor of becoming her primary godfather, with Severus as her secondary godfather, and Narcissa as her secondary godmother, along with Alice Fortescue Longbottom as her primary godmother. I even requested James to blood-adopt Sitara, and he was more than glad to comply.”
Regulus’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, you did a blood-adoption? Blood adoption is considered blood magic and thus classified as dark in the wizarding world. Foolish, if anybody asked.”
“Yes, I did it for everyone’s sake,” Sirius replied firmly. “Could you imagine Bellatrix becoming Lady Black?”
At the thought, Regulus shivered, fear coursing through him. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, shaking his head. “So you think the veil of death brought us here, but how the hell did I get here? I don’t suppose Inferi have any sort of transportation system like this, you know.”
“Inferi?” Sirius questioned, furrowing his brow. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”
Regulus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was trying to destroy the Horcrux—the Locket Horcrux. The Inferi pulled me into the water. That’s how I died.”
Sirius felt a wave of despair wash over him as he processed Regulus's words. “Oh my god,” he breathed, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. A sudden chill enveloped him, a feeling of overwhelming loss washing over his heart as he remembered the finality of Regulus’s demise. The pain was still fresh, and he hadn’t expected to feel this deeply for a brother he had thought he’d lost forever.
Regulus watched his brother's expression, noting the anguish etched on his face. It pained him to think that his actions had caused Sirius to suffer so profoundly. The weight of guilt settled on his shoulders, mingling with a bittersweet relief that they were together again.
Sirius looked up suddenly, his hand fumbling in his pocket. A small object slipped from his fingers, landing on the floor with a soft clink. He picked it up, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh my god!” he exclaimed, holding it up. “The communication mirror!”
“What happened, Sirius?” Regulus asked, intrigued as he watched his brother jump with enthusiasm.
Sirius quickly brushed off the dust and waved the communication mirror in Regulus’s face. “This is a communication mirror, something James and I created during our final years at Hogwarts to maintain contact during the war. I also replicated it and gave one to Sitara.”
“But how the hell did it get here?” Regulus questioned, bewildered.
“I don’t know,” Sirius admitted, his brow furrowing in thought. “Maybe you should try it out. Who knows, we might get some answers.”
With a skeptical nod, Sirius tapped the mirror three times, his heart racing with anticipation. He took a deep breath and called, “Sitara! Sitara! Sitara!”
Suddenly, the mirror warmed under his touch, and a shimmering hologram materialized before them. Both brothers gasped in shock at the sight of his beloved daughter.
Sitara Evangeline Potter stood before them, her raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders like a blanket of the dark night, framing a face marked with youthful determination. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled with curiosity and confidence, a reflection of the bravery she had inherited from both her father and the line of Potters before her.
Sirius couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her, a wave of pride washing over him. In that moment, all the pain, all the suffering they had endured seemed to fade away. Regulus, too, felt a sense of warmth spreading in his chest, a flicker of hope igniting within him.
“Dad?” Sitara’s voice echoed, a mixture of surprise and relief threading through her tone. “Is that really you?”
