POV: Arcturus Black
Arcturus couldn't help but marvel at the transformation of the Potions classroom. The ancient stone walls, perpetually damp and unwelcoming, seemed to pulse with a newfound vitality.
Serena Prince's arrival as the Potions Mistress had ushered in more than just a shift in decor; it was a statement.
Gone were the dusty shelves and haphazardly organized ingredients. In their place stood neatly labeled vials, glimmering under soft, enchanted lights. The air no longer reeked of stale potions but carried a faint, intoxicating aroma of rare herbs and magical essence.
Serena Prince, standing at the head of the room, was a vision of poise and authority. Her dark robes clung elegantly to her frame, and her piercing eyes swept over the students with a mixture of curiosity and veiled disdain.
She was nothing like the dreary ghost of a professor Arcturus had read about in his past life's books. No, this woman was formidable, calculating, and utterly magnetic. Yet there was something else—something unsettling.
Arcturus found himself wondering: What happened to Snape?
His thoughts drifted as Serena began her lecture, her voice smooth and commanding. "Potions is not merely a matter of mixing ingredients," she intoned. "It is an art, a discipline that requires precision, creativity, and above all, respect for the craft. Those who fail to demonstrate these qualities will find themselves unwelcome in my class."
Arcturus snapped back to attention as she locked eyes with him for a brief moment. There was a flicker of recognition in her gaze, as though she saw something in him that others overlooked. It was both thrilling and unnerving.
Midway through the class, as the students carefully diced and simmered ingredients, Arcturus allowed his mind to wander. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. His diary. It wasn't like him to bring it to class, but today felt different. Perhaps it was the weight of Serena's presence, or the unsettling parallels between her and the memories he'd recently revisited.
He flipped to a page he'd written two years earlier :
Dear Diary,
A lot has happened this year!
First off, I completed my education. Not that it means much when you're nine years old. Despite my achievements, I can't legally work or earn money directly—not without trusting someone else to handle my ideas, and that's not happening anytime soon. Still, I've been keeping busy, dabbling in projects and studying magic further. Martial arts have also been part of my routine. It's humbling to train under someone else's watchful eye, but progress feels rewarding.
Now, onto the big news: my family came looking for me. Well, what's left of my family. That means my great-grandmother Eliana Black, since the rest are either dead, imprisoned, or married off. When half the wizarding world has ties to your bloodline, "family" becomes a relative term.
Great-grandmother Eliana is...complicated. She's strict, but kind to me, probably because I'm a boy. And, yes, that's a thing. The wizarding world is matriarchal, after all.
Don't believe me? Let me break it down:
Alba Dumbledore, the greatest witch alive, is a woman.Voldemort? A woman.Even Hogwarts' founders—all women, including Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor.
In this world, witches hold the power. There are two witches for every wizard, and they tend to be stronger magically. This imbalance creates complications, especially for families like mine, desperate to preserve their bloodlines. Pureblood witches claim the strongest wizards for themselves, leaving others to either share partners or settle for less "desirable" matches. House Black, naturally, does not "settle." That's why one of my aunts was disinherited for marrying beneath her station.
Which brings me to my shocking discovery: Sirius Black—my rebellious, trouble-making uncle—is now Aunt Sirius (or more like aunt Alya). And she's not alone. Her friends James, Remus, and Peter are also women. Oh, and Harry Potter? A girl.
Yes, you read that right. If you're as blindsided as I was, take a moment. It's a lot to process. (And if you somehow skipped over the title of the story you're in, consider this your wake-up call.)
What was I saying? Oh, right. Merlin. He's still a man. Allegedly. Though if you ask me, cutting off his, uh, "little brother" to protect himself from his master's friend (Gryffindor) sounds like a dramatic overreaction. For the record, Slytherin was his teacher and Head of House. So no, Merlin doesn't have descendants.
And that, dear diary, is the chaotic whirlwind of revelations I've lived through this year.
Arcturus shut the diary with a soft thud. The memories stirred by the entry left him feeling both grounded and adrift. There was so much he still didn't understand about his place in this strange, matriarchal world, let alone the enigmatic Professor Prince. What secrets did she hold? And why did she seem so familiar, yet so alien?
"Mr. Black," Serena's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. "If you're quite finished daydreaming, perhaps you'd care to share with the class why powdered moonstone is added at precisely this stage of the potion?"
Arcturus felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He straightened in his seat, the weight of her scrutiny pressing down on him. "To stabilize the fluxweed infusion and enhance its binding properties," he answered, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.
Serena's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Correct. Perhaps next time, you'll focus on the lesson at hand."
As she turned back to the cauldron at the front of the room, Arcturus exhaled, his grip on the diary tightening. One thing was certain: this year was shaping up to be anything but ordinary.
She then didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Today, we will brew the Draught of Living Death," she announced, her voice a blend of authority and challenge. "Follow the instructions precisely. Any deviation will be... unfortunate."
Arcturus took his seat and scanned the recipe. He had memorized it years ago during his self-imposed training. As the other students scrambled to decipher the complex instructions, Arcturus worked methodically, his movements precise and confident.
Midway through the brewing process, Serena moved between the tables, her sharp tongue slicing through the room. When she stopped by Arcturus, she leaned closer, scrutinizing his work. "Impressive," she said, her tone devoid of sarcasm for once. "You've managed to achieve a near-perfect sopophorous bean juice consistency. Few manage that on their first attempt."
As the class continued, Serena issued a sudden challenge. "Black," she said, addressing him directly. "If you're as competent as your work suggests, you should have no trouble finishing the potion five minutes ahead of schedule. Care to prove me right?"
Arcturus smirked, his pride stoked by the challenge. "Of course, Professor," he replied. With swift, deliberate movements, he adjusted the flame, added the powdered root of valerian, and stirred counterclockwise exactly seven times. By the time the bell rang, his potion was done, the deep, velvet-black liquid glistening ominously in his cauldron.
Serena examined it closely. "Exceeds expectations," she finally said, her voice grudging but genuine. "You may have some potential after all, Black."
As the students filed out of the classroom, Arcturus lingered behind. Serena caught his eye and nodded, as if acknowledging an unspoken understanding. He left the room, his mind already shifting gears.
In the Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall was demonstrating how to turn a hedgehog into a pincushion. "Concentration and intent are key," she said, her sharp eyes scanning the rows of students. "Magic responds to clarity of purpose."
Arcturus, sitting near the front, barely needed to focus. His wand moved fluidly, and the hedgehog in front of him transformed effortlessly into a perfectly round pincushion. McGonagall raised an eyebrow as she passed by his desk. "Impressive, Mr. Black," she remarked. "Your technique is flawless."
The praise didn't faze him. Arcturus had spent years honing his magical skills, well beyond what was expected for his age. While others struggled to manage basic transfigurations, he found himself bored, longing for something more challenging. His mind wandered as McGonagall continued her lecture
'I don't think I will particularly enjoy my classes if I'm this advanced. So this is what being a genius is ? An infinite boredom until you hurt yourself against something you aren't able to resolve and then you realize that all your genius didn't amount to a lot in the end ? Ok, I certainly don't want to finish that way…'
His wandering thoughts faded as McGonagall called on him to demonstrate a more advanced spell. Arcturus stood, his wand steady, and effortlessly transfigured a quill into a flock of doves. The class murmured in awe as the birds flew gracefully around the room.
"Excellent work," McGonagall said, her voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. "You've set the standard, Mr. Black."
Arcturus returned to his seat, a faint smirk on his lips. He might not have been interested in the Golden Trio's heroics, but he was determined to make his own mark on the wizarding world—one quiet triumph at a time.