The sun spilled through the windows, catching dust motes dancing over a table covered in half-eaten toast, jam jars, and flying bits of scrambled eggs.
Arthur paused at the bottom of the stairs, the noise of breakfast washing over him.
Leo and Theo Potter — Harry's six-year-old twin brothers — were in the thick of it, launching grapes at each other across the table using their spoons as catapults.
One grape narrowly missed James Potter's ear. He grunted, not even looking up from his newspaper. "Five points to Gryffindor if you hit me next time, lads," he said dryly.
"That's not how house points work, Dad!" Leo protested, giggling.
"Sure it is," James muttered into his coffee.
Baby Lyra squealed from her high chair, clapping sticky hands and shrieking in delight at the flying food.
Arthur lingered at the edge of the room, heart hammering, awkward and out of place.
He caught sight of Harry across the table — and for a second, everything went still.
Both boys stared.
Both remembered.
The trapdoor. The fear. The name that had poisoned the air: Voldemort.
Harry gave a small, understanding nod — the kind you gave when words were useless.
Arthur nodded back, relief loosening the knot in his chest.
"Arthur!" Lily Potter called brightly, pretending not to notice the heavy air. "Come sit, dear. You'll need your strength if you're going to survive Leo and Theo."
"Oi!" Leo shouted, laughing.
"She's right," Theo added smugly, scooping a third helping of eggs onto his plate.
Arthur shuffled to a chair beside Harry.
He barely touched the buttered toast Lily plopped onto his plate.
"They eat like dragons," Elira whispered slyly in his mind. "Maybe they are dragons."
Arthur was smothering a grin when the chair across from him scraped.
Elena Potter slid into the seat beside Harry, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"Morning, Arthur," she said, giving him a soft, shy smile.
Arthur opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Instead, he made a weird strangled noise and coughed into his sleeve.
"Smooth," Elira commented smugly.
And then it happened.
A prickling sensation at the roots of his hair— first pink blossomed at the tips (soft and shy), then jittery splashes of blue started swirling into it.
A slow pink–blue gradient shimmered across his head like a living watercolor painting.
Leo gasped. Theo pointed, wide-eyed. Even Lyra clapped again.
"Arthur!" Theo yelled. "Your hair! It's—it's doing colors!"
"Pink and blue!" Leo chimed, bouncing on his chair.
"Now what could that mean? It's first time I'm seeing this mixture " Lily said, tilting her head curiously.
Arthur panicked. Every one at the table was looking at him now—waiting for an answer.
He scrambled for words. "Uh—it's, um—it's... a... uh..." he stammered.
"Is it a spell?" Elena asked innocently, eyes wide.
Arthur nearly dropped his cup. He shoved a hand through his hair, which only made the color flare brighter.
"I—it's just—!" He grabbed the nearest thing on the table — an apple from the fruit bowl — and bit into it so fast he nearly choked.
"An excellent defense: stuffing your face," Elira quipped dryly.
Arthur mumbled something through a mouthful of apple that sounded suspiciously like, "Magic allergy. Metamorphmagus stuff. Happens sometimes."
Lily hid a smile behind her hand. James snorted into his coffee.
Harry was openly shaking with silent laughter beside him.
The twins, mercifully distracted, started arguing about whether magic allergies could turn people into unicorns.
Arthur kept his head down, chewing his apple furiously, wishing desperately that his hair would stop shouting his feelings to the whole room.
The laughter in the room buzzed in Arthur's ears, and he tried his best to ignore the uncomfortable heat creeping up his neck. The apple was a decent distraction, but the pink-blue gradient still flashed brightly across his hair. His fingers clenched tighter around the fruit as he chewed, desperately wishing for the magic allergy excuse to somehow be true — or at least a good enough cover.
Harry, still trying to suppress his laughter, leaned over to him with a teasing smile. "So... a magic allergy, huh?" he asked, his voice low enough that only Arthur could hear.
Arthur nodded quickly, mouth full of apple. "Yeah, totally," he muttered, still chewing.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Right. Metamorphmagus stuff, you said. I've never seen an allergy quite like this."
Arthur grimaced, wishing he could disappear. His hair felt like it was the only thing that mattered now. Of course, his body had to betray him in front of everyone—especially in front of Harry. The worst part? He didn't even know why his hair was doing this in the first place.
"Arthur," Harry said again, quieter this time, his tone shifting slightly. There was something more earnest about it now, a soft curiosity. "How've you been?"
Arthur's heart skipped at the question. He met Harry's eyes for a brief moment and then quickly looked away. His throat suddenly felt dry, and the words got stuck somewhere between his chest and his mouth. His hair, of course, glowed a deeper pink in response. He cursed under his breath.
"I've been fine," Arthur finally managed, his voice low and tight, avoiding Harry's gaze. He stabbed his fork into the scrambled eggs on his plate, pretending it was the most interesting thing in the world.
"Really?" Harry's voice was gentle, and when Arthur finally dared glance at him again, Harry was watching him with an unreadable expression. "You seem... different. After everything that happened, I thought... well, you might need some time, you know?"
Arthur's face flushed, and his hair turned a deeper shade of pink, the color shifting almost imperceptibly to a soft red at the tips. He tried to laugh it off. "I'm fine," he repeated, but his voice was strained. "Just... tired. That's all."
Lily, who had been half-listening, glanced over at the two of them with an amused smile. "Arthur, dear, I hope you're not getting too flustered by the breakfast chaos." Her tone was teasing but kind. "No need to get all pink and blue. It's just breakfast."
Arthur's grip on the apple tightened again, and he forced a small chuckle. "I'm not flustered," he said quickly, though it didn't quite match the rising color in his hair.
Elena, still watching him with her usual soft gaze, raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? It's okay if you're not feeling okay, Arthur."
Arthur's stomach flipped at the concern in her voice. Why does she care? He didn't know, and that was what made it even more complicated. He wasn't used to people caring. And that... made him even more uncomfortable.
"I'm fine," Arthur repeated firmly, forcing a smile. He cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject before it got worse. "So, uh, I prefer apples to... whatever that is." He pointed at Theo, who had started to push scrambled eggs onto Leo's plate, aiming to start an egg fight.
Harry's gaze softened, but he didn't press it further. Instead, he grinned, the tension between them easing just a fraction. "Guess we all have our preferences," Harry said, his voice warmer now. "You really do eat like you're trying to avoid something, though."
Arthur laughed awkwardly, feeling the heat from his hair slightly ebbing away as the conversation shifted. But there was still that undercurrent of tension, something unsaid. Something he didn't know how to handle, especially with Harry.
Elena, who had been quiet for a moment, spoke up again, her tone light but still holding that unspoken curiosity. "I think it's cool, though. The hair, I mean."
Arthur's heart raced again. She thinks it's cool? Act natural, Arthur. Besides he couldn't tell if that was a compliment or if she was just trying to make him feel less weird.
"Yeah, uh, cool," Arthur muttered, still fumbling with his apple.
James gave a short laugh. "Arthur, I think you've broken our family's record for the most color changes before breakfast."
"That's not a record to be proud of, Dad," Leo said with a grin, flicking a grape in his direction.
The room fell back into its usual chaos as everyone went about their business. But Harry and Arthur remained quietly in the same space, the unspoken tension hanging in the air between them.
Arthur's heart still hadn't quite settled. The awkwardness wasn't going away. But there was something more there — a strange pull in his chest, something deeper than just the weirdness of breakfast. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Maybe we can do something after breakfast?" Harry suggested, his voice almost too casual, as if he were testing the waters. "It might help take your mind off the... color situation."
Arthur's pulse quickened. "Like what?"
"Whatever you want," Harry said with a shrug, his smile easy, but Arthur could still sense the flicker of something else in his eyes. "You choose."
Arthur nodded, his stomach twisting. He still wasn't sure what was going on. But for once, maybe it didn't matter. Maybe things didn't have to be so complicated.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
The clatter of dishes had faded. Morning sunlight poured through the windows, making golden puddles on the wooden floors. Breakfast at the Potters was lively—Lyra squealing happily when Harry lifted her high in the air, the twins stuffing their faces with alarming speed, James chuckling at something Lily said under her breath.
Arthur had sat through it all with a quiet smile, content to listen rather than join.
Now, the house slowly emptied of sound.
"We're heading into town," Lily said, slipping her wand into her bag. "Harry, come along? I need another pair of hands if Lyra gets fussy."
"Sure," Harry grinned, ruffling Lyra's fine hair as he lifted her into his arms.
"We won't be long!" Lily called over her shoulder as she, James, and Harry disappeared through the front door, Lyra babbling nonsense in Harry's arms.
The twins, predictably, bolted outside to the back garden the moment no one was looking, shrieking in delight as they raced to the woods beyond the orchard.
Elena lingered for a moment in the hallway, fiddling with her sleeves, before glancing at Arthur.
"I'm gonna go read," she said with a small shrug, before vanishing upstairs.
Arthur remained alone, the soft ticking of the grandfather clock filling the empty spaces.
He shifted restlessly on the couch, running a hand through his hair. His fingers brushed his pocket out of habit — searching for something that wasn't there, even though he wasn't old enough to perform magic outside of school.
His wand.
He had lost it last term thanks to his Ex - DADA professor, and the absence of it gnawed at him more than he liked to admit.
Like a fool, he pointed at a stray parchment crumpled on the floor and muttered under his breath, "Accio."
Nothing happened.
He snorted at himself.
But then — the parchment stirred.
Arthur froze, heart leaping into his throat.
It shifted again, a sluggish scrape across the floorboards.
He stared at his hand like it wasn't part of him.
Another breath. Another try. No force. Just wanting.
The parchment twitched an inch closer.
A low, smoky chuckle whispered through his mind:
"That's new."
Arthur jolted upright, scanning the room — but he was alone.
Elira.
He exhaled sharply, pulse racing.
Something inside him — something old and restless — was waking.
Almost without thinking, he rose and wandered through the house, moving on instinct rather than thought. His steps carried him to a door he wasn't supposed to open.
James' study.
The door was ajar.
Arthur hesitated. Then, slowly, he pushed it open and slipped inside.
The room smelled of parchment, dust, and something older — the kind of smell that clings to memories you didn't know you missed.
Drawers, bookshelves, neat piles of parchment — he didn't touch anything.
Not until something tugged at him.
The desk.
A single drawer, the brass handle dulled by time.
Locked.
Arthur crouched, laying his hand lightly over the wood. He didn't speak this time. Didn't force it. Just... wanted.
Click.
The drawer slid open.
Inside, wrapped carefully in an old handkerchief, was a small wooden box.
Inside the box — a bundle of letters, tied neatly with a frayed green ribbon.
Arthur lifted them out carefully. They were heavy with age, and heavier still with something more invisible — hope, maybe. Or regret.
The first envelope had his name on it.
"Arthur — 11 years old."
In a handwriting he had only seen once before — in a crumbling photograph, clutched tight in a hand that was not his.
His mother's.
Arthur swallowed hard and broke the wax seal.
A moment later, the room filled with the soft, crackling hum of magic.
And then — a voice.
Clear. Familiar in a way that made his chest ache.
"Arthur..."
There was a laugh in her voice — light, warm, breaking just a little at the edges.
"Wow, I've missed eleven of your birthdays. What a mother I am."
Arthur sat down hard on the floor.
"If you're somehow reading this... no, that's not right... if you're listening to this, then your dad and I have..."
There was a pause. A breath.
"...and you somehow survived. No — that would surprise me, honestly."
Another shaky laugh.
"So if I'm right — and I really hope I am — you should be at Lily and James' place. And if that's true, then you've already found out about me... and our family line."
Arthur clutched the letter tighter.
"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking," she said, her voice almost teasing, but soft underneath.
"How could your mother be related to a lineage of Death Eaters? Trust me, sweetheart, it wasn't exactly something I bragged about at dinner parties."
There was a pause, and when she spoke again, the teasing edge was gone.
"I'm the daughter of a Rosier — your grandfather was Druella Black's brother. My whole family was devoted to the Dark Lord. They wanted me to follow too. But I didn't. I couldn't. I chose your father instead."
The voice shook, just slightly.
"We knew the cost. We always knew."
Arthur felt his throat tighten.
"So — this letter, and others like it — I hope they'll help you understand everything someday. About us. About you. About the blood that runs in your veins."
Another long breath, almost like she was steeling herself.
"But right now, you need to leave the Potter's house. You have to find Cassian Reeves — your father's older brother. Your uncle."
There was a faint scraping sound, and then she recited an address slowly and clearly, like she wanted to make sure he heard every syllable.
"There will be an answer waiting for you there."
Her voice cracked, just slightly, in a way that made Arthur's stomach turn over.
"I—" she faltered, and he could almost hear her wiping her eyes.
"Take care, Damian."
The magic crackled once more — and the letter fell silent.
Arthur sat there for a long moment, the silence pressing against him.
"Damian," he whispered.
Only Sirius ever called him that.
Now — his mother.
A sound behind him made Arthur jump.
"Phew," said a voice, and he spun around to see James leaning against the doorframe, looking slightly winded.
"I was thinking about how I was going to give you that."
Arthur instinctively moved to hide the letter, slipping it deeper into his jacket.
James didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did, he couldn't say.
He stepped inside the room, his eyes falling briefly on the open drawer, then back to Arthur with a curious lift of his eyebrows.
"So?" he asked, nudging his chin toward the letter.
"What did it say?"
Arthur hesitated — only a second, but long enough.
The real words trembled on his tongue, but he swallowed them down. Some things weren't meant for sharing. Not yet.
Instead, he managed a smile — shaky, thin.
"She said she loved me."
His voice cracked, just a little.
There was a soft noise — almost like a gasp — and James looked at him sharply.
Arthur blinked, confused for a second — until he realized James wasn't staring at his face.
He was staring at his hair.
Arthur looked at the mirror hanging by the wall. His hair was no longer their usual stormy black.
They had shifted — color bleeding into color — until they sported a deep, slow-burning purple. A shade he had never seen on himself before.
A color born not of fear, or anger, or love — but something heavier. Sadness.
Real and raw.
Arthur ran a hand through it, feeling stupidly self-conscious.
James, bless him, didn't press.
Instead, he clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder and gave a half-hearted grin.
"By the way," he said lightly, ushering him gently out of the study, "how the bloody hell did you open the drawer? I'm pretty sure I locked it."
Arthur shrugged, forcing his own smile to match.
"Luck, I guess."
James chuckled, steering him back toward the kitchen.
Outside the study door, sunlight poured into the hallway. Birds chirped. Life went on.
But inside him, something had shifted — something permanent.
And somewhere out there, Cassian Reeves was waiting.