The Third Sacrifice

Reading Time: 6 Minutes

Title: The Third Sacrifice
Author: Keira Marcos
Fandom: Harry Potter
Relationship: NA
Genre: Fantasy
Warnings: Ritual Sacrifice, Character Death
Word Count: 1,399
Author’s Note: This is the prequel to my RT Project for April 2026, most aptly called “Bone Deep”. I wrote it as part of my prep to see where I wanted to go with my zero draft, and I thought you guys might like to read it.

Summary: Sirius Black made a decision in Azkaban, and if anyone could ask him, he’d tell them he regrets nothing and fuck them for asking.

* * * *

Sirius Black sank down to his knees as the cell door slammed shut. No interview. He knew there would be no trial. Barty Crouch had made that clear when he’d been arrested. Sirius had been painted with a dark brush created by his own family. His godson was alone in the world—James and Lily Potter were gone, murdered by Voldemort.

Maybe he could escape, but no one ever had. Azkaban was a fortress on an unplottable island, guarded by disgusting creatures that had no place in the world. Dementors. He wondered if they offended Death as much as they offended him.

Sirius tried to shift into his animagus form, and his magic shuddered inside of him. The dampening spells were robust, and he didn’t know if the cell he was in was permanent or not. The words of the prophecy strummed inside of him, making his heart hurt with the galling magical truth of them.

Harry needed someone to protect him.

With a shaking hand, he started to draw runes on the stone floor of his cell. He was relieved that the spells guarding the cell didn’t recognize runic magic. They probably assumed no one in the prison was capable of such magic. The runes glowed gently with magic and his pure intent, and in his heart, an ancient power started to stir. He’d known since he’d met his animagus spirit that he had a unique potential—a connection with Death that defied genuine comprehension. Sirius had never hidden from it, but he hadn’t fully embraced it either.

Now, he had a choice to make. He could wallow in the filth of Azkaban, or he could join James and Lily in sacrifice. Sirius had felt them both die, one after another, in the defense of Harry, and as he finished the rune circle he’d created, the decision was made.

“Let me be seen as faithful,” he murmured. “Let me be known as strong.”

The runes started to glow brightly even as the hall outside of his cell darkened. The inky blackness could only be one thing, but his ritual circle kept him safe from the creatures.

“Accept my life and magic in the defense of my child, Hadrian James Potter,” he said. “Thanatos, god of death, I beg for your grace in my final moments. May Hekate accept this choice—made with a loyal and righteous heart.”

Magic heaved around him.

“You’d give your life for the boy?” a female voice questioned.

“Yes.”

“Your magic?” she prodded.

“Yes, take it all,” Sirius said hoarsely. “Take everything I am.”

“You’d have Death walk amongst the living?” A male voice questioned, tinged with amusement. “If your enemies had understood your true power, Sirius Orion Black, they would’ve killed you before giving you room to make such a choice.”

“Fuck them,” Sirius muttered.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “Fuck them. May they get exactly what they deserve.”

“Such words, sister, from the mouth of Fate could be the destroyer of entire worlds,” the male said. “Eh, c’est la vie as the French would say. Lovely people, next time around Sirius, you should be French.”

“Oi!” Sirius huffed. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Fate laughed, and her musical laughter drifted over his skin like a summer breeze. “The food is better.”

Sirius couldn’t argue that, so he took a deep breath and wondered, very briefly, when his ritual sacrifice had gone completely off the rails.

“The child is alive,” the male said. “But, I would not say that he is safe. He’s left alone in a world without a single person dedicated to his welfare.”

“We can’t get you out of this prison—we have no power to interfere on the physical plane as we currently are. Every single moment your child is unprotected is a profound risk,” Fate said.

“I know,” Sirius said. “Even if I got free, they’d never let me keep him. I’m powerless, and most everyone thinks I’m a Death Eater.” A swirl of magic appeared in front of him, then a reaper took form. Sirius wasn’t afraid of Death; he never had been. He knew his own nature very well. “The first time I saw my animagus spirit, I was relieved to finally understand myself.”

The reaper nodded.

“This life is done,” Fate said quietly. “Thanatos, you have a choice to make. Genuine personification will be short—perhaps no more than ten years. No human’s magic or life force could sustain a god for longer.”

“I need more time than that,” Thanatos said roughly. “He’ll get attached to me—it is the nature of my own existence. It could damage him further if I’m gone from his life too quickly.”

“Then you must be less, and use the magic you’re being given carefully,” she paused. “Unless you want to go the other route.”

“It would be interesting,” Thanatos said. “Been a while since I’ve had a genuine hand on this plane.”

Sirius stayed where he was, grief pressing down on him in a way that wasn’t lessening in any single way. Even the decision to give himself over to the will of Magic herself hadn’t really helped.

The reaper knelt then in the circle with Sirius, and a skeletal hand cupped his face. He was beyond fearing an essential part of him, so he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I shall take your place in this world, Sirius Black, and I will show your son’s enemies no mercy,” Thanatos said quietly. “Your love for him is now mine.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said quietly. “Give them hell.”

“Oh lad,” Thanatos said. “By the time he’s an adult, anyone getting in your son’s way will wish fondly for the sanctuary of hell.”

* * * *

In a shack in Little Hangleton, a ridiculous gold box rocked violently underneath rotting floorboards, and with a soft pop of magic, a small stone popped away from the place, leaving fiery death magic in its wake.

In a castle in Scotland, the Elder Wand vibrated briefly in the restraining magic of Albus Dumbledore’s wand holster so violently that the wizard pulled it free with alarm. It glowed brightly in his hand, then caught fire. He dropped it with a shout of shock. Dumbledore stumbled back as a wispy hand made of bones picked up the wand, and it fell to ashes.

The elderly wizard rushed into his bedroom, threw open a trunk just in time to watch the Cloak of Invisibility disappear. He sank to his knees in shock, dread settling on his bones.

In a cupboard in a terribly normal house on Privet Drive, a swirl of magic curled around the toddler that had been locked away by his aunt. Under a thin blanket, the boy relaxed and started to sleep soundly. Magic burned briefly in the scar on his forehead, and when it was gone—the skin was left perfect.

A cloak shimmered into the air and draped over the child, hiding him away from the world that meant him harm.

A stone swirled around in the air, finally free from a curse it had long held, and settled into a small hand, and little Harry Potter closed his chubby little fingers around it with a soft little sigh even as he slept.

“And this belongs to you as well,” a voice said gently as a tiny wand holster appeared on the child’s wrist, then faded away from view. “It’ll grow with you, guide you, and protect you. I’ve made it anew, so your magic will remain pure, and no one will recognize it for what it is. But don’t worry, it’s not forgotten its true purpose.

“Sleep well, child, for you are the master of death magic on this world, and you have nothing to fear.”

The End

PS-If you’re sitting there thinking, where is the rest? You didn’t read my author’s note.