(Hermione POV)
Hermione slammed her fist against the kitchen counter, the chipped porcelain rattling precariously. "Damn it, where is he?"
Lily, her brow furrowed with worry, set a cup of tea in front of Hermione. "Mom, you need to calm down. You haven't slept in days."
"Calm down?" Hermione's voice cracked, her anxiety a tangible force that filled the small kitchen. "James is missing, Lily! He could be hurt, kidnapped, dead…"
Tears welled up, blurring her vision she thought of harry, Sirius, but she angrily brushed them away. There was no time for tears. Not now. Not when her son was…gone.
It had been 12 days since the bombing. the world had tilted on its axis, the illusion of Vincent's carefully constructed peace shattered by the flames that had consumed the Parliament building.
The news reports had been relentless – images of the burning building, interviews with survivors, frantic pronouncements from world leaders scrambling to reassure their populations, to quell the growing panic.
But Hermione barely registered them. Her world had shrunk to the agonizing silence of James' empty flat, the unanswered calls, the gnawing dread that had burrowed deep into her soul.
"He's an Auror, Mom," Lily said, her voice a gentle reminder. "He knows how to take care of himself."
But her words offered little comfort. The Aurors, even Adrian Pucey and his elite team, had been caught off guard. The Parliament building, once considered an impenetrable fortress, had been breached with a terrifying ease.
And James… he'd mentioned something about a possible lead on the Fenrir attacks, about needing to check something at the Parliament.
"They found Isabella's body, Lily," Hermione whispered, the words a chilling echo of her worst fears.
Lily's face paled. Isabella Rossi, James' partner, a bright, capable Auror, had been among the casualties. A wave of sorrow for the young woman, cut down in her prime, washed over Hermione, adding another layer of grief to the already unbearable burden.
She'd gone to James' flat, searched every inch, hoping for a clue, a sign, anything… but his Auror robes were gone, his wand missing. And the wards… they'd been intact
."Mom, what is it? What are you thinking?"
Hermione's gaze darted around the kitchen, landing on the framed picture on the mantelpiece. Harry and Sirius, their smiles a bittersweet reminder of a life shattered, of futures stolen.
"There's somewhere… a place… Harry used to talk about," Hermione said, her voice a strained whisper. "A cabin. In Scotland. He said it was… remote. Isolated. Peaceful."
A flicker of memory sparked – a conversation years ago, Harry's voice filled with a wistful longing, "It's the only place I truly feel… safe."
She hadn't thought much of it at the time. Just Harry, yearning for a retreat from the pressure of fame, from the burden of his legacy. But now…
"We need to go there, Lily," Hermione said, the words a sudden, desperate certainty. "We need to see if… if…"
She couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of what they might find at that cabin, the ghosts that might be waiting… It was unbearable.
But she had to know.
"I'll grab our cloaks," Lily said, her voice a hesitant echo of her mother's fear.
As they prepared to leave, a wave of guilt washed over Hermione, a bitter reminder of her own choices, the secrets she'd kept, the paths she'd chosen. She'd tried to protect them, her children, from the darkness of this World.
And as they stepped out into the cold night air, a single, chilling question echoed in Hermione's mind.
What if it was too late?
A couple hours later, after a lot of travel by car and a lot of sideway glances from her daughter. They arrived, the old Land Rover bumping along the dirt track, its headlights cutting through the dense forest. The air was crisp, the scent of pine needles sharp and invigorating, but a chill that had nothing to do with the weather seeped into Hermione's bones.
The cabin, nestled in a clearing, was a shadow against the moonlit sky, its windows dark and lifeless. It looked… abandoned.
They parked the car and got out.
"It's… quiet," Lily whispered, her gaze scanning the surrounding woods.
Too quiet.
Hermione nodded, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach.
They walked towards the cabin, their footsteps crunching on the frost-covered grass. A thin layer of snow dusted the roof, the chimney silent, no smoke rising to greet the star-studded sky.
Hermione reached for the doorknob, her hand trembling slightly. It was cold, metallic, unforgiving. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding against her ribs, and turned the knob.
The door swung open with a creak, revealing a darkness that seemed to swallow the moonlight, a silence that echoed with the ghosts of unanswered questions.
________________________________________________________________
(Vincent's POV)
The Cerberus HQ war room. Charts, maps, and surveillance feeds glowed on the massive screens lining the walls. Vincent stood at the head of the obsidian table, his gaze sweeping over the grim faces of his inner circle. Blaise, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a tight frown, tapped a stylus against a tablet, frustration etched into every line of his face. Theo, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration, studied a holographic projection of the Parliament building, his fingers tracing the path of the explosions, the points of breach. Daphne, her face pale, her blue eyes red-rimmed, sat beside him, a silent specter of grief.
"We've analyzed every scrap of footage, every magical signature," Adrian said, his voice a clipped report. "They were meticulous. Professionals. Used a combination of Muggle explosives and advanced cloaking charms. Our wards… they didn't stand a chance."
"They also hit Van Doren Enterprises simultaneously," Blaise added, his voice tight. "Same MO. Bombs, wards disrupted, a team of wizards striking with surgical precision."
The attacks had been devastating, a calculated blow against the very heart of Vincent's carefully constructed world. And the worst part… Arthur. … It was a wound that wouldn't heal, a fire that burned with a cold, relentless fury.
Adrian, his gaze meeting Vincent's. "We think… we might have a lead."
Vincent's heart pounded, a surge of adrenaline sharpening his senses.
Adrian Pointed at the screen and a new image appeared on the screen. A young man, his dark hair tousled, his green eyes filled with a familiar defiance, a face Vincent recognized even after all these years. James Potter.
"It was James Potter's security clearance that opened the door," Adrian said, his voice a low murmur. "He's been missing since the attack."
Vincent stared at the image of James Potter, his mind reeling. Potter's son. He'd never thought much of the boy, a shadow of his father, fueled by the same misplaced righteousness, the same blind loyalty to a cause that had already crumbled. But to think…
Could he have betrayed them? Could he have aligned himself with Fenrir?
A wave of cold fury washed over him, a chilling echo of the rage he'd felt that night in the Scottish cabin, Arthur's phone glowing on the map, the cabin, the gunshots, the blood, the silence.
He flinched, He had nothing left of his son to bury to mourn over, A curse escaped his lips, a harsh, guttural sound. If only he'd been there, if he hadn't been late that day, if only…
No. He couldn't dwell on the past. Not now. He had to focus on the present. On the threat.
On James Potter.
If the boy had betrayed the Aurors, if he'd played a part in Arthur's death…
He wouldn't hesitate.
"Find him," Vincent said, his voice a low growl, each word laced with a promise of retribution. "Find him, Adrian. And bring him to me."
He'd get answers. He'd make the boy talk. And then…
James Potter would pay.
____________________________________________________________
(Hermione's POV)
The hinges groaned as the door creaked open, revealing a shadowy interior. Dust motes danced in the pale moonlight that filtered through the grimy windows. The air hung thick with the scent of damp wood and a lingering staleness that spoke of abandonment.
And then, she saw him.
James.
He sat slumped at the table, his back to them, his shoulders hunched, a bottle clutched in his hand. Empty. It was the way he held himself, the utter defeat in the set of his shoulders, that sent a wave of primal fear clawing through Hermione's gut.
"James!"
The name, a choked sob escaping her lips, shattered the silence. She rushed towards him, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs, her fears momentarily forgotten in the surge of relief that flooded her. He was alive.
He turned his face a mask of shock as he saw her standing there. Then, recognition dawned, relief washing over his features, and he was on his feet, pulling her into a tight, desperate hug.
"Mom…"
The word, a muffled whisper against her shoulder, was all it took to shatter the fragile dam she'd built around her emotions. Tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as she clung to him, the feel of his arms around her, the warmth of his body against hers, a tangible proof that he was real, that he was safe.
For a moment, there was only the silence of their embrace, the shared relief, the unspoken weight of their anxieties. Then, Lily's hand on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze, pulled her back to the present.
"James, what the hell were you thinking?" Hermione pulled away, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and a desperate need for answers. "Disappearing like that! We were worried sick!"
He flinched at her words, his gaze dropping to the floor, a flicker of guilt in those green eyes that mirrored his father's. The bottle in his hand slipped, clattering to the wooden floor, the sound a sharp punctuation mark to the silence.
"It's… it's my fault," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.
Hermione's heart lurched. "Your fault? What do you mean, James? What's your fault?"
He looked up then, meeting her gaze, his eyes filled with a chilling mix of despair and a cold, calculating rage that she hadn't seen in him before.
"The attack, Mom," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "The deaths. Isabella… It's my fault. I… I let them in. That day… at the Parliament."
The words hit Hermione like a physical blow, stealing her breath, leaving her reeling. Shock, a cold wave of disbelief, washed over her.
"What are you talking about, James?" she asked, her voice a strained whisper.
He took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his confession was crushing him. "He… He contacted me. He told me that Vincent… that he'd killed Dad. And Sirius."
Hermione's blood turned to ice. "He told you that Vincent killed Harry and Sirius?"
James nodded, his eyes filled with pain. "He said they'd tried to kidnap Arthur, to use him as leverage against Vincent. But… it went wrong. Vincent… he killed them both."
A wave of nausea washed over Hermione. It all made sense now. Harry and Sirius, their fury that night, their reckless accusations… They'd gone after Arthur. Vincent had retaliated.
"Who is this 'he,' James?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Who told you this?"
"He said he understood, Mom," James continued, ignoring her question. "He said. That Vincent had taken… everything." He paused, his gaze drifting to the floor. "He said he wanted justice. Revenge. He wanted me to help him."
He told her about the meeting in the alley, about the attack, about the blinding light, the gunshots, the chaos. He didn't spare himself, his voice cracking with self-loathing as he described how he'd opened the door, how he'd led them in, how he'd been a pawn in their game.
"James, you have to tell me who this person is," Hermione pressed, her heart pounding. "Who manipulated you like this?"
James looked at her, his green eyes blazing with a fury that mirrored his father's.
And then, he said the words that shattered Hermione's world.
"He said… he said he's my brother. Your son. Brian."
Hermione stared at him, her mind a blank canvas, unable to process the enormity of what he'd just said. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't even…
Lily's voice, a strangled whisper, broke through the silence. "What the hell are you talking about?"
But Hermione couldn't answer. The truth, a monstrous, impossible truth, was clawing its way to the surface, a dark secret she'd buried deep within her soul, a betrayal she'd tried to forget.
"James, stop it," Lily said, her voice sharp. "Just stop lying. Mom and Dad only had two kids – you and me."
James shook his head, his eyes filled with a desperation that chilled Hermione to the bone. "It's not Dad, Lily. This… Brian… he's not Dad's son."
Lily stared at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Then… what are you saying? Who is he?"
"He's… he's Mom's son," James said, the words a hushed whisper that seemed to echo through the silence of the cabin.
Lily's jaw dropped. "Mom's son? But… how? That doesn't make any sense! You're saying Mom had… another kid? Before you and me?"
"He could get past the blood wards on my flat, Lily," James said, his voice a desperate plea. "Only… only family can do that. He said he has her blood… that he's my brother."
Lily's eyes widened, a dawning horror replacing the confusion. "He got past your blood wards? But… but that means…"
She turned to Hermione, her voice a strangled whisper. "Is this true, Mom?"
Hermione sat there, frozen in place, the world around her shrinking to the weight of their gazes, the unspoken question hanging in the air. A single tear, a traitorous bead of grief and regret, escaped her tightly clenched eyelids, tracing a path down her cheek.
Memories, a flood of long-suppressed emotions, crashed over her, drowning her in a sea of guilt and shame.
The day she'd found out she was pregnant. The joy, the terror, the overwhelming certainty that she couldn't keep the baby.
The last time she'd seen Vincent, his arms around her, his lips against hers, the bittersweet taste of forbidden love.
The agonizing decision to give Brian up. The heartbreak of giving him up for adoption at the Muggle orphanage. The empty ache that had settled in her heart, a constant reminder of the choice she'd made, the secret she'd carried.
Lily's voice, sharp and insistent, pulled her from the abyss of memory. "Mom! Answer me! Is it true?"
Hermione took a shaky breath, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "Yes."
A strangled gasp escaped Lily's lips. "But… who? Who's the father?"
James answered, his voice a hollow echo. "Vincent Van Doren."
Lily turned to Hermione, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and disbelief. "Mom! You and Vincent? What the hell? When? How?"
"It was… a long time ago, Lily," Hermione began, her voice trembling. "Before your father and I were even together as a couple."
"It started at Hogwarts," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "We… we had a connection. He was brilliant, intense… and I was… drawn to him. It was a secret, of course. He was a Slytherin, I was a Gryffindor, My friends hated him, especially Harry."
A wry smile touched her lips. "We'd meet in the library, late at night, hidden among the stacks. it felt… forbidden. Exciting. Dangerous."
"We kept seeing each other after Hogwarts," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Stolen moments, secret rendezvous… It was… intense. Addictive. But also… wrong. He was with Daphne."
Her gaze drifted towards the fireplace, her heart aching with the memory of those stolen moments, the guilt and the passion.
"I knew it couldn't last. I tried to end it… several times. But I couldn't stay away. And then…" She swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat.
"I got pregnant."
"I found out I was pregnant… just before I started working at the Ministry," she said, her voice cracking. "I knew… I knew I couldn't keep the baby. I wasn't… ready. And I was…ashamed. Vincent was with Daphne then."
A wave of self-loathing washed over her, the bitterness of those memories as potent as ever.
"I hated myself for being the other woman," she whispered, tears welling up again. "I hated myself for not being able to… to stop it. I loved Vincent… even though I knew… I knew he didn't love me."
The decision to give Brian up, to leave him at the orphanage, had been the hardest choice she'd ever made. But she'd convinced herself it was for the best, for Brian's sake, for her own.
She finished her story, her voice hoarse, her heart aching with a familiar emptiness. She looked at her children, their faces a mix of shock, disbelief, and a dawning understanding.
Lily rose from her chair, her gaze softening. She crossed the room and pulled Hermione into a tight hug, her warmth a silent comfort.
"It's okay, Mom," Lily whispered, her voice a gentle balm against the storm of Hermione's emotions. "It's okay."
But as she clung to her daughter, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would ever be okay again. The past had a way of catching up, of casting long shadows, of twisting even the most carefully constructed truths into a tangled web of betrayal and regret.
"I can't say I understand, Mom," James said, his voice tight, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I hate Van Doren. For what he did to Dad. For… for everything."
He looked up, his eyes filled with a chilling rage. "But… Brian… he's worse. He's… he's hellbent on destroying Vincent. And he's willing to do anything to achieve that."
He described Brian's anger, his resentment, his twisted sense of justice.
"He said he felt like garbage when he found out he was adopted," James continued, his voice a low, angry murmur. "Like he'd been thrown away, like an old toy. And when he found out… about you and Vincent… he said he felt… betrayed. He said Vincent was powerful, rich… and you were a famous witch. Yet neither of you… neither of you had time for him."
I felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over her, the tears now flowing freely. "But… he doesn't understand…"
"He hates Vincent, Mom," James said, his voice a bleak certainty. "He wants him dead."
My mind was a chaotic mess. Vincent had no idea. He was guilty of many things, but not this.
"He doesn't know, James," I said, my voice a desperate plea. "Vincent… he doesn't even know Brian exists."
"It doesn't matter," James said, his voice a flat, chilling echo of Brian's. "He hates him. That's all that matters."
"Do you… do you still have a way to contact him?" Hermione asked, her voice a faint thread of hope.
James shook his head. "No. I'm not sure he would even respond."
My heart sank. To think that my firstborn, the child I'd given away… had turned out like this. A monster. Brian had become the very thing they'd all fought against – ruthless, manipulative, a bringer of chaos and death. The Fenrir attacks, the Parliament bombing, the innocent lives lost… and Arthur… her son had killed his other half-brother. A chilling truth that settled over her like a shroud. What if he tried to do the same to James and Lily?
The weight of her decision, the years of secrecy, the lies… it all came crashing down upon her. This is all my fault.
Lily sank into a chair, her face ashen. "This is… this is a lot to take in," she whispered. "I find out I have another brother… who manipulated James into helping him commit an act of terrorism… and now that brother is set on destroying his own father."
Hermione nodded, her mind racing. This was her mess. Her responsibility. She had to fix it.
"It's time I fix my mistakes," she said, her voice a sudden, fierce determination. "You two need to stay here. Stay safe. Brian… he's dangerous."
Before either of them could protest, Hermione took a deep breath, focused on a destination – Vincent. She had to find him. She had to warn him.
"I'll fix this," she whispered, the words a desperate promise to herself, to her children, to the ghost of the life she'd tried to build.
And with a familiar twist of disorientation, she was gone.