Triad

The Unholy Trinity

Regulus stared at his hands with an almost childlike fascination. Muscles and pale skin stretched over the bones, prominent bluish veins snaking near his knuckles. It was strange to have a body again, but not just that. The ability to feel his own touch also struck him as odd, and as unusual as that thought might be, he didn't scold himself for having it.

Existing inside the locket was like living in a fever dream, vivid but still far from reality. Its replicas didn't do justice to the original product.

The flames in the fireplace seemed hotter, the lights inside the apartment brighter. Black couldn't stop looking around, marveling at the dazzling hue of the colors on the walls and the texture of the furniture, even though the apartment was technically the same one he'd spent the last nineteen years.

Even the clammy sensation the spell had left on his skin felt different. But at the same time, nothing has ever been this intense. The old life he'd given up without a second thought seemed like a bad joke in comparison.

Regulus had been neck-deep in PTSD and clinical depression when he killed himself in that cave. Now his traumas seemed distant, like they belonged to someone else.

And all thanks to her.

Harry was... There wasn't a word that could explain Harry.

Under normal circumstances, Black would never have been interested in her. He has always preferred sophisticated and manipulative women, always liked mind games and worthy opponents, like Tom.

The girl sitting in his living room with the dirt-smeared face couldn't be further from it. There's nothing refined about the battered jeans with a gash above the knee she wears. Her lips are chapped. She's biting her nails, and her hair is pulled back in a messy braid plastered with dried blood. However, despite her deplorable appearance, her presence seems unreal because Regulus knew her before he actually did.

He was sixteen when he saw her for the first time.

At the time, Aunt Cassiopeia's claims about Black's having prophetic visions struck him as unbelievable and a little presumptuous, even by the family's standards. Yet, hours after receiving the Dark Mark and getting drunk with Barty and Rabastan to celebrate, Regulus saw her.

The Lestranges' living room disappeared in a flash of smoke, and suddenly, the boy caught himself in a wizarding neighborhood. There was a woman before him. Her hair was like a dark veil over her narrow shoulders, she had the most remarkable set of eyes he had seen, and blood was running from her nose.

'' You're just like him. I hate you both ''. The woman said with a firm voice, but despite her defiant stance, she looked absolutely defeated.

Regulus spent endless afternoons in the same neighborhood because he had this desperate urge to find her. He looked for that face in and out of his social circles. Something deep inside of him knew that it hadn't been a dream.

He searched for Harry until he died in that cave.

He was nineteen years early.

While looking for her, he didn't relate that exhausted face to James Potter or her grief-filled eyes to Lily Evan's vibrant green ones. Regulus didn't recognize Harry when he saw her in the locket, not even in the following weeks, where he worked to earn her trust.

Black only remembered the girl when she discovered his secret and said those exact words to him.

The second and last vision he had about Harriet Potter came later, a few months before Voldemort took Kreacher to the cave.

In Regulus's vision, Tom was discoursing to a crowd that drank his every word with devotion. Once, he thought this was Voldemort, but now he knew better. The same girl was on Riddle's left, but when she looked at him this time, there was no hatred or sadness on her face. She smiled with a hint of malice, eyes filled with affection.