Chapter 24: Discovery

Dorea Potter née Black was not a happy woman. She wasn't unhappy either. She was conflicted as she looked at her son, flying up in the air without a care in the world.

She couldn't believe that he had stunned her. Stunned her. And, if Charlus was to be believed, and he usually was, Rick had done it with barely a flicker of hesitation. That stung more than the spell itself. On one hand, she understood. Merlin knew how many times she herself had hexed her siblings into next week when they crossed a line. Her son had simply drawn his own and defended it.

But on the other hand, he was her son, and she was his mother. That changed the rules. That was supposed to mean something. She didn't care how logical or fair the action was, he'd turned his wand on her, and it felt like a betrayal layered on top of everything else.

Charlus, maddeningly calm, agreed with her about the principle of it, but not about her reaction. She'd gone a bit too far, his words, gently spoken, but with that razor sharp edge of truth. And privately, painfully, she admitted it. She had been hysterical. Not just a little. Seeing the basilisk had cracked her nerves. Seeing her son, the child she'd carried for nine months, her baby boy, cast the Cruciatus Curse on himself like it was nothing, that had broken her. Pushed her past reason. Past control. Past everything.

Her husband had reminded her, gently but firmly, that while they shared blood, she and Rick had yet to truly become mother and son in the emotional sense. That truth cut sharper than any reprimand. She had overstepped. She knew it. And even though every stubborn Black bone in her body screamed at her to stand her ground, to not back down, to be right... She also knew she would lose him forever if she did. That possibility terrified her more than anything.

The sheer frustration of it all simmered under her skin like an overfilled cauldron. Her nerves were frayed, her patience razor thin, and she was one minor irritation away from hexing the next poor soul who looked at her sideways, including her husband. Charlus had wisely sensed the storm brewing and stepped back to give her space. Merlin blessed the man, he knew her too well.

The image of her baby boy writhing in pain on the ground haunted her like a cursed memory, vivid and unrelenting, looping through her mind with cruel consistency. Every time she blinked, it was there, etched behind her eyelids. But for one fleeting moment, the memory shattered, replaced by a new surge of panic as she watched him plummet through the air like a comet, broomstick angled toward certain disaster. Her heart clawed its way into her throat, breath caught mid gasp, and her fingers twitched toward her wand before she even realized she'd moved. She was two seconds away from blasting him out of the sky like a rogue Bludger when, with infuriating grace, he pulled up mere inches from the ground, his boots brushing the grass .

She exhaled hard, eyes squeezed shut as her muscles trembled with the aftermath of maternal terror. She tried, tried, to calm herself, to rationalize it, to remember that she had once done the same. But that didn't help. If anything, it made it worse. Because he didn't just inherit her talents. No, he had Charlus' bloody recklessness too, the same mad streak that made fools of common sense. Her son would send her to an early grave. One way or another. And it was her cursed, inevitable duty to survive it.

When she opened her eyes, Rick was standing in front of her, broom in hand, his stance relaxed but his gaze anything but. There was something quietly piercing in his expression, a subtle weighing of her soul, like he was waiting to see what kind of mother she'd decide to be in this moment. She held that gaze, not because she was ready, but because she wasn't. On principle, she didn't look away. In truth, it was a stalling tactic, one born of desperation. She needed those few seconds to gather her composure, to find words that wouldn't explode between them like another curse.

"You don't go hysterical on me and I don't go all trigger happy on you. Deal?"

"Trigger happy?"

"Muggle expression. It means I don't shoot at you at the slightest provocation. It comes from muggle weapons to which you press a trigger to fire a lethal projectile."

"...I... will try. You have to understand that... Losing you nearly killed me. Were it not for your father's support I would have burnt down the entirety of Wizarding Britain and let myself die of despair. What I saw in the pensive... The basilisk was bad enough..."

"Oh I understand. I've... I never wanted to hurt anyone nor have I hated anyone before I began studying at Hogwarts. To be more accurate, before I started making friends. Now? The simple thought of someone laying a single finger on them throws me into a murderous rage. That Slytherin student I sent to the hospital during my first quidditch game? I never told anyone but he called Lily a mudblood while we were in the air. I felt no remorse about leading him to his death. That was the plan. Unfortunately he didn't die. Most importantly I don't even feel bad at having no remorse. At the time, I wanted to eviscerate him, his whole family and the entirety of those sandwiches in Slytherin. Yet I wasn't acting angry. It just... was like that. The only reason they're all still breathing is because my friends would be disappointed in me had I done it. That and because I learned to let go of things since I was young. To not dwell and simply move forward."

"... That's the Black madness. My brand of madness to be exact."

"Black madness?" he asked out of curiosity.

"The members of the house of Black are known for mental instability. Cruelty, sadism, masochism, murderous tendencies. I was a special case. Greatly possessive and protective. It's like... My morals are instinctively pushed to the side and I can only think of destroying what annoys me. All without a care in the world of the consequences."

"Huh." he grunted, not liking how familiar it sounded. "Pretty sure it's the inbreeding. It's been proven that the more... well... Physical deformation, mental instability... Now since we're magical and magic makes us more resistant than the muggle perhaps it has an attenuating effect but if generation after generation..."

"Maybe."

"That would explain why the sandwiches at school are so pathetic magically speaking. It doesn't explain why... well... me."

"Oh that's easy. Your father and I were not related by a long shot. In fact no Black and Potter has ever married before. We need to go back nine generations to find a twice removed Black cousin marrying a Potter. Which... gives credence to your theory."

"In any case. I'm sorry for stunning you."

"You're not." she retorted.

"I am. A tiny bit. I don't like to hurt people but at the same time, I think you kind of deserved it."

"... I'll take your deal. Truce?" she proposed offering her hand.

"Truce." he replied and shook on it.

He felt her magic ripple against his skin like warm static, humming with layers of emotion too tangled to name all at once. It poured from her, raw, unshielded, and he caught everything: the sincerity so intense it bordered on painful, the trembling undercurrent of fear, the tight coil of worry just beneath the surface, and yes, a flicker of restrained anger. But above all, woven through every pulse and breath of her magic, was the fierce, aching love only a mother could feel. It wrapped around him like a lifeline, impossible to ignore, impossible to reject.

"That's... weird. I never felt another person that strongly. The more magic what I touch has, the more muted the whole thing is if they're sapient. That's why I never noticed Lily loved me. I felt the care and the love but it wasn't as refined as what I'm getting from you."

"Well... I have the same gift and I am your mother." Dorea answered with a smile.

"That doesn't explain why I felt so strongly the basilisk or the door to the scriptorium." he wondered aloud with a frown on his face.

"Dark Magic. It's... unnatural and we're rarely exposed to it that's why your reaction was so strong. It was a new experience so you felt it unfiltered."

"I see."

Dorea turned around and dragged him inside the manor. "Come, we're going shopping."

"What for?" he asked, walking behind her, still holding her hand.

"Furniture to make your room yours. Clothes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" he asked with a frown. He knew they were hands me down and second hand but they weren't that terrible. Just a bit.

"They're not proper wizarding clothes."

"I'll stop you right there. Muggle culture is part of me. I'm not letting that go."

That made her pause a bit. "If that's what you wish. I don't like it but I'll respect your choice. Still, they're horrible to look at."

"Just a bit. It's... not luxurious clothes, I know but they are comfortable. More comfortable than robes."

"I agree to disagree. Now go put your broom away and let's go."

To keep their relationship hidden, Dorea had discreetly cast a glamour on both of them before stepping into Diagon Alley. Rick, ever the practical one, had pointed out that he was well known in the area as the muggle born orphan who practically lived in Flourish & Blotts, so she'd adjusted his appearance without hesitation. With their identities masked, they moved freely among the crowds. Dorea enjoyed herself immensely, far more than she'd expected. She turned the excursion into a fashion campaign, dragging Rick into shop after shop and burying him under an avalanche of robes, jackets, jumpers, and even a few questionable hats. Rick tolerated it with the long suffering air of someone bracing for impact but too polite to argue.

The real challenge came when she tried to find decorations for his room. Dorea had envisioned shelves with charming magical trinkets, floating lanterns, maybe a poster of a famous Quidditch team to brighten things up. Rick, predictably, had other ideas. He wanted books. Only books. Stacks and stacks of them. He had wandered into Flourish & Blotts like a starving man at a feast, eyes wide and hands twitching. She was almost certain he would have tried to walk out with the entire inventory if she hadn't told him the manor's library put it to shame. And now she was starting to regret mentioning it, because he clearly saw it as a challenge.

Finally came a time when Rick had had enough of her endless critiques and sideways looks at Muggle culture, so he yanked her out of the magical bubble and dragged her to Muggle London, much to her barely concealed horror. Her protests died on her lips the moment he transfigured her witch's robe into a sleek black dress. It was, in her opinion, far too short, far too tight, and far too modern. But Rick, cheeky grin and all, argued with maddening logic that, by Muggle standards, it was downright conservative for a woman her age. Never mind that she had just turned fifty five, her appearance hadn't budged past her late thirties thanks to slow magical aging.

He had pointed out, correctly and smugly, that putting her in more traditional, age appropriate clothes would only make her stand out more, like a young woman cosplaying as her grandmother. Begrudgingly, and with all the grace of a pureblood swallowing vinegar, Dorea admitted he had a point and relented. Though she vowed silently to never let him transfigure her wardrobe again without at least consulting her first.

The first thing he did was proudly show her the small music shop where he'd be working for the week. Dorea had been genuinely fascinated by how Muggle music technology operated, vinyl records, turntables, amplifiers, it was a whole new world of charms free ingenuity. Unfortunately, her awe didn't extend to the music currently thundering from the speakers. The shop's owner had questionable taste, blaring a gritty rock and roll track that sounded like a Kneazle having a bad day. Rick wasn't thrilled either. With an apologetic grimace, he'd asked the man if he had something a little more mellow, something his mother wouldn't hex on principle. To his surprise, the owner had agreed, albeit with a bewildered look at the oddly polite teen making such an unusual request.

He moved to the racks and let his hand roam above the vinyls and after a moment pulled one of them. Quickly he put the disc on the turntable and let the music play. Even Rick who knew almost nothing about music quickly recognized the song for having sung it in elementary school.

"YesterdayAll my troubles seemed so far awayNow it looks as though they're here to stayOh, I believe in yesterdaySuddenlyI'm not half the man I used to beThere's a shadow hanging over meOh, yesterday came suddenlyWhy she had to goI don't know, she wouldn't sayI said something wrongNow I long for yesterday"

The music was so sweet and hauntingly beautiful that even Dorea, the composed pureblood matriarch, couldn't help but sway gently to the rhythm, her head tilting side to side, one foot tapping in slow sync with the melody like a reluctant surrender to its charm. When the final note faded into the air, Rick simply smiled at her, silently savoring her unguarded reaction. Dorea, catching herself, rolled her eyes with a scoff that didn't quite mask her appreciation. They left the store with a brand new turntable, the vinyl of the song they'd just shared, and a small stack of classical records, her safe zone, musically speaking, though even she couldn't deny the Beatles had left an impression.

"You shouldn't have bought this. Muggle machines don't work well with magic around if at all." she told him and he just winked at her.

They ducked into a narrow back alley, half shielded from the bustling street by crates and rusted bins. There, Rick called for Tipsy, who popped in with a quiet crack. He handed the house elf the bags filled with their purchases and gave her instructions to take everything back to the manor. With a nod and another crack, she vanished. Once they stepped back onto the sidewalk, Rick walked in silence for two blocks before halting in front of a dreary, timeworn building, his former place of residence.

"That's where I grew up." he told her and she frowned.

"It's... What a grim place."

"Yeah." he replied while looking in the building. "But it wasn't all that bad. The library is near so I was free to escape in dreams."

She wanted to ask what kind of dream had kept him afloat during those years, what stories, what hopes, what imagined lives, but refrained. Some things were sacred, even in silence. Instead, she reached out and gently took his hand. To her quiet relief, he didn't pull away. They walked on, hand in hand, and soon arrived at a modest building with glowing signs and bold letters above the entrance, a theater, vibrant and humming with life.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A movie theater. It's... Imagine a story from a book given life by actors."

"Isn't it just a theater then?"

"No." he chuckled. "It's just like the moving picture in the wizarding world but you're not limited to a simple scene and there is sound. It's been colored too since a few years ago. Let's see... Jaws? Interesting. Not sure it's something you'd like though."

"Oh? And why do you think that?"

"A proper lady of high standing liking thriller movies, with action blood and suspense? Please."

"You'd be surprised."

"Perhaps. There is only one way to find out. Want to discover what a movie is?"

At this point, Dorea didn't care about propriety, or the strange quirks of the Muggle world. Her usual resistance had melted away, replaced by a deeper, more pressing desire, to know her son, to truly bond with him, not through duty or lineage but shared experience. And if that meant stepping into unfamiliar streets and listening to strange music in strange shops, so be it. Silently, she admitted to herself that their little excursion to the music store had been... enjoyable. Enlightening, even. Maybe, just maybe, the Muggle world had more to offer than she'd ever imagined. And maybe, just maybe, she would let herself be surprised again.

"Lead the way."

He nodded and led her inside, where he confidently bought two tickets for Jaws, along with a large tub of popcorn and a pair of bottled waters. Dorea looked mildly horrified at the idea of salted, buttered corn as a snack, but Rick just smirked and told her to trust him. They didn't wait long before being ushered into the theater's largest screening room, and when the lights dimmed, Dorea braced herself for Merlin knew what.

The moment the film began, her senses were assaulted in the most astonishing way. The sound roared from all directions, and the massive screen engulfed her vision. Her jaw went slightly slack as she watched scenes shift fluidly from beaches to boats to bloodied surf, as if she were seeing real life memories instead of a play or a moving photograph. It was mesmerizing. She was utterly enthralled, far more than Rick, who occasionally glanced sideways with a grin at her reactions.

She didn't flinch at the size of the shark. Please, she'd seen dragons up close and personal. But she did admit, in a low murmur, that the sense of helplessness the characters felt, alone, weaponless, with something that massive hunting them from below, was genuinely terrifying. "Without a wand," she whispered, "that would be a nightmare."

Any time she encountered something she didn't quite understand, she leaned in and whispered to Rick, who explained it with quiet, patient amusement. Thankfully, there weren't many moments of confusion, and so they mostly sat in companionable silence, thoroughly engrossed in the film together.

"Okay, that was fun." she admitted when they got out once the film was over. "The music was great, it really went well with the horror of what we were seeing."

"An experience you'd repeat?"

"... Sure. I don't see why not." she said with a shrug. Because he was holding her hand, he felt she meant it.

Since it was a bit after mid afternoon, Rick decided it was time to squeeze in one more activity before the day ended. He took her to a quiet bookshop nestled between two cafés, where the air smelled of ink and old paper. He bought a full set of beginner chemistry textbooks, determined to teach her the basics himself, but his eyes couldn't help wandering to the shelves holding more obscure volumes. One particularly dense book on industrial spray drying caught his attention, and into the basket it went, because of course he would teach her niche processes before she even knew the periodic table.

After their literary raid, they wandered through London's streets, taking in the mix of red buses, lively chatter, and the constant energy that made the city feel alive. Their walk eventually led them to St James' Park, where the chaos of the city seemed to fall away. They found a bench by the pond and sat quietly, watching ducks glide across the water and tourists pass by with cameras and ice cream. The sun dipped lower, bathing the world in gold, and for a while neither of them said anything. They didn't need to.

When the sun finally kissed the horizon, Dorea took Rick's hand and apparated them back to the Manor. The moment they stepped into the living room, they found Charlus seated with a book in hand. He looked up to greet them, and froze mid sentence when his eyes landed on his wife. His jaw went slack, his eyes wide. The book slipped slightly in his grasp, forgotten.

"It seems your husband likes what you're wearing." Rick teased.

"Is that so, Charlus? Corvus said it was the most conservative muggle clothes for ladies my age. I think it's a bit too revealing." she said looking at herself.

"I think it's perfect, dear. You're more beautiful than usual." the older man replied, his eyes still riveted on the love of his life.

Dorea let go of Rick's hand and crossed the room to kiss her husband with a rare softness in her eyes. Meanwhile, Rick tossed his father a thumbs up, half reassurance, half cheek, and disappeared to his room. Once there, he set to work immediately, rolling up his sleeves and pulling out his tools. The turntable sat before him like a challenge issued by both logic and magic.

It had been Lily's idea from the start: use ancient runic scripting to power Muggle technology through magical conduction instead of electricity. The concept had seemed absurd at first, until they got their hands on a disassembled wizarding radio. That single artifact had provided the bridge they needed, helping them decipher the symbiosis of magical and mechanical systems. From that, they drafted theoretical runic arrays capable of mimicking an electric circuit, allowing magic to substitute current.

It had taken weeks of whispered theory and parchment covered in ink stained equations. Rick trusted his own work, but more than that, he trusted Lily. She had the Arithmancy instinct he lacked, abstract precision to match his practical mastery of runes. With steady hands and a careful incantation, he etched the final rune into place, took a breath, and activated the device.

It hummed. Then it played. Perfectly.

Happy with it he picked it up, picked a few vinyls and went back to the living room. His mother was sitting next to his father on the sofa, leaning on his chest and reading her own book. When she saw Rick with the turntable in his hands and putting it on the table nearby, she thought he had broken it and wanted her or Charlus to fix it.

"I told you it wouldn't"

She stopped on the spot when Rick turned the turntable on and she heard the song she had listened to earlier in the day in the music shop.

"How?"

"Lily's idea. She did the arithmancy and I did the runes and tada!" he said proudly.

"That's brilliant." she said standing up and getting closer to have a better look.

"I'm pants at anything which doesn't require a wand but I sure like what I'm hearing." Charlus commented from his seat.

"It's the Beatles. The greatest music band worldwide. Hundreds of millions of people listened to them. Still do despite the band being disbanded. Here are the other classical music, if you want to listen to them. I'm putting them here."

With that said, Rick went back to his room to write letters to his friends and McGonagall. Meanwhile Charlus looked at his wife enjoying herself and the music and asked the questions he had wanted to ask when she had gotten home.

"Had a good time?"

"The best." she replied with a smile sitting back down next to him. "I was a bit reluctant when he wanted to go to the muggle world but... It was interesting. They... have evolved a lot in thirty years. It was a bit disorienting but alright mostly."

"Mostly?"

"He showed me where he grew up. Two blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron. Such a dreadful place, Charlus." she said with sadness. "Devoid of color, devoid of life. Dreadful." she repeated. "Otherwise, we went to see a movie."

"What's that?"

"Imagine..."