A few years ago…
Orion, Vishaka, Abarax, and Meera were young—barely seventeen, freshly out of Hogwarts, carrying the reckless confidence of boys who had never truly lost.
Everything they had touched until now had turned to victory. Duels, academics, magic—Orion and Abarax in particular had grown used to success as if it were their birthright. Hot-blooded, brilliant, and dangerously sure of themselves, they believed the world would bend as easily as it always had.
None of them knew that this trip would be the first crack in that perfect illusion.
They were deep within the forests of the Khasi Mountains of Meghalaya.
To the muggles of India, this forest was feared—spoken of in hushed voices, wrapped in superstition and half-remembered warnings. Endless rainfall soaked the land, feeding towering trees and waterfalls so vast and majestic they felt almost unreal. The air was thick with mist and magic, the kind that pressed against the skin and sank into the bones.
For witches and wizards, the forest was something else entirely.
Ancient herbs grew here—plants long thought extinct. Raw, untamed magic saturated the soil, humming softly beneath every footstep. It was dangerous, yes—but also irresistible. That was why they had come.
They walked through a meadow hidden within the forest, an open stretch of emerald grass ringed by towering trees and silver streams. The sound of water echoed softly in the distance, mingling with birdsong and the low murmur of unseen life.
The clearing was breathtaking—emerald grass glistening with rain, wildflowers bending beneath droplets of water, sunlight struggling through the thick canopy above. Orion was in an excellent mood. He had his lover beside him, Meera keeping Abarax distracted, and for once, no expectations, no family pressures, no shadows of lineage hanging over him.
And Vishaka—Merlin, she was radiant. The forest only seemed to make her more so.
"Orion," Vishaka began quietly.
He turned toward her at once, already smiling. His arm was wrapped loosely around her waist, his attention split between listening to her and searching for a place where they could sit—perhaps lay out a picnic, maybe even take a dip in the nearby stream.
"Yes, love?" he asked, his voice warm.
Vishaka glanced around, her expression cautious despite the beauty surrounding them. "This forest is sacred," she said. "There are rishis here—ancient sages. Some perform their tapas in solitude… some even take animal forms. We must be careful not to disturb them. If their meditation is broken, their anger—"
Before she could finish, Orion gently interrupted her, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Got it, darling," he said lightly. "I'll be careful. I won't leave your sight."
Abarax, walking a few steps behind with Meera, grinned and added, "Right, sister. We'll behave. No angering holy sages, no curses, no divine retribution."
Meera shot him a look that said don't tempt fate.
The forest, ancient and watchful, remained silent.
********
Orion was pulled from his memories when a house-elf popped into existence beside him with a soft crack.
"Master Black," the elf squeaked, bowing low. "Lord Malfoy has arrived."
"I'll be there shortly," Orion replied, his voice steady despite the heaviness pressing against his chest. "See that he's looked after."
The elf nodded eagerly and vanished.
Orion rose from the couch, rolling his shoulders as though to shake off the lingering haze—but memories were not so easily dismissed. Nor was the curse. Whatever had latched onto him in that forest years ago still clung tight, dragging him deeper whenever his guard slipped. A hollow weight sat in his chest, an emptiness that felt almost peaceful in its numbness.
He knew the truth, even if he never said it aloud.
He had been the one directly struck.
And whatever it was, it had never truly let him go.
In the drawing room, Abarax Malfoy stood alone, his pale fingers loosely clasped behind his back as his sharp eyes took in the Black family mansion. This was his first time here in France. Whenever the families met, it had always been at the Malfoy estate with Orion and Vishaka visiting. Never this way around.
The room itself spoke of old magic and older power—dark woods, ancestral tapestries, wards woven so subtly they hummed beneath the skin. It felt… guarded. Withdrawn. Much like its master.
The room itself was unmistakably Black—elegant, severe, steeped in old magic. Power lay in the walls like a held breath.
Abarax turned as he heard footsteps.
Orion descended the staircase in silence, every movement controlled, deliberate. He had always walked like that—quiet, observant—but this was different. It had started after the day he vanished.
After their wives vanished.
Two full years Orion Black had disappeared without a trace. No letters. No sightings. No magical signature strong enough to follow. And when he returned, there had been something wrong. His magic felt heavier, darker—coiled tight like a beast barely leashed.
He had locked himself away after that. In Britain at the Black Manor there, now here.
And the children… Merlin, the children.
Abarax knew that Orion had not even returned for his children.
And that terrified him.
Abarax's jaw tightened.
They were best mates. Brothers, in everything but blood. Yet even now, as Orion reached the bottom of the stairs and met his gaze, Abarax found himself unable to ask the question burning in his chest.
Where did you go?
What did you do?
And why did you come back ?
Because he was afraid—truly afraid—of what the answer might be.
Or worse… of confirming what he already suspected.
******
The Rathores.....
Rajveer sat cross-legged at the low dining table, waiting patiently as his wife served him and their daughter. The meal was simple yet rich—soft rotis and shahi paneer, his daughter Pavitra's favourite. He did not touch the food. He never did, not until he had fed his wife the first bite, and then his child. If they were absent, he would always set aside portions for them before eating himself.
It was habit, yes—but also reverence.
Rajveer Rathore was, above all else, a family man.
Janani moved with unhurried grace, placing the bowls down. Pavitra watched them quietly, chin resting in her palm. She sighed, not in boredom but longing. She often wondered if her future husband would ever look at her the way her father looked at her mother—as though Janani were both sun and moon, the axis around which his world turned. Rajveer did not merely love his wife; he existed in relation to her. If she was in the room, his eyes always found her. If he did not look at her for too long, it was as though it physically pained him.
"Jaan," Rajveer said softly.
Janani glanced up at once. "What is it, Veer?" she asked, settling beside him.
Pavitra straightened. Her father rarely spoke during meals unless it concerned the whole family—and tonight, it was only the three of them. This was not a formal gathering.
"Abarax Malfoy has contacted me," Rajveer said. "He claims that he and Orion have found a way. A lead. Something that could bring our sisters back."
Janani's hands stilled.
Her frown was immediate and sharp. She had never been fond of Orion Black or Abarax Malfoy. By Mahadeva, she despised them. They had failed—failed to protect Vishaka and Meera, failed as husbands, failed as fathers. Meera had been closer to Janani than even Vishaka, bound by shared roots from the south, shared language, shared understanding. Vishaka was her husband's sister; Meera had been her own.
And they had lost them.
Janani had been the first to insist that Sirius and Regulus be brought to India. One look into Orion's eyes when he delivered the news had told her everything—he was broken, fractured beyond repair. She had no desire to see her nephews raised by a man hollowed out by grief and darkness. Abarax, at least, tried. He had seemed capable, once. Even so, she knew he too was faltering. She had given them grace only because loss had struck them cruelly.
"You mean my uncles?" Pavitra asked quietly.
She was sixteen—young, but frighteningly sharp. Her gurudev often said she possessed one of the keenest minds he had seen in decades. Pavitra was the perfect blend of her parents: her father's discipline and presence, her mother's warmth and emotional intelligence. Janani, with her serene South Indian beauty, carried a calm that could steady even the most furious heart.
"Yes," Rajveer replied. "They are coming. They want answers about the rip."
Before Janani could respond, Rajveer tore a piece of roti, scooped up paneer, and gently fed her. Then he turned to Pavitra and did the same. She accepted it with a small smile.
It worked. It always did.
"Veer," Janani said after a moment, her voice calmer now, "I am not angry anymore. I just want them back. So we will help—whatever it takes."
She lowered her gaze to her plate, then added softly, "I will read the stars tonight."
She looked up, eyes steady. "And this time, I hope they are on our side."