A Better Path for the Chosen One

The transformation of the Black townhouse had exceeded even Sirius’s highest expectations. He could hardly recognize the place he had once considered a dark, oppressive prison. Now, it was reborn, the touch of class and sophistication woven into every room. The entrance hall, once narrow and shadowed, was now a grand space with deep slate walls, polished silver accents, and soft, warm lighting from luxurious sconces. The black-marble floors shone underfoot, setting an elegant tone as soon as one stepped inside.

The drawing room was equally striking, with walls in rich forest-green and silver trim that lent a dignified atmosphere. The original fireplace had been polished to perfection, with its silver-and-black marble detailing now highlighted as the room's focal point. The space was refined yet inviting, drawing the eye to magical heirlooms that faintly glowed, casting a quiet charm over the room.

In the kitchen, everything gleamed. Dark granite countertops and sleek silver appliances filled the space, while updated wooden cabinetry added warmth. The centrepiece—a large, polished table—was ready for meals or gatherings, subtly exuding a homely, welcoming vibe that hadn’t existed before. Every corner hinted at magic, from enchanted mirrors that adjusted lighting based on the time of day to faintly glimmering family relics.

The house was nothing short of stunning; however, the old and irritable house-elf Kreacher was another matter entirely. He glowered at Sirius, his disapproval a near-tangible presence in the beautifully reformed halls. Kreacher’s eyes burned with barely-contained fury, his expression a mutinous grimace. If looks could kill, Sirius would indeed be six feet under. The house-elf seemed one flicker of self-restraint away from voicing his discontent with the changes Sirius had brought to the ancestral home.

Sirius smirked, throwing a glance Kreacher's way. “Now, now, Kreacher,” he said in a playful tone, fully aware it would only make the elf bristle further, “try not to explode. I wouldn’t want you to ruin all this fine marble, after all.”

Kreacher’s muttering intensified, but he stomped away to attend to his duties—albeit with obvious displeasure, leaving Sirius to marvel at the sophisticated rebirth of the Black family home.

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The Black townhouse was in its finest form, emanating an air of elegance and refinement befitting the Black family’s proud history. Sirius found himself admiring the transformation more and more each day. The dining room, in particular, was a sight to behold; the ebony table with intricate silver inlay gleamed under the morning light, and the emerald-green place settings added a dignified yet lively touch to the atmosphere. Each high-backed chair, upholstered in black leather with silver embroidery, seemed to fit the room’s luxurious tone perfectly, exuding a sense of majesty that reminded him of the Black family’s standing.

As he sipped his tea, Sirius scanned the Daily Prophet, smirking at the endless speculations surrounding the upcoming trials. There were whispers about injustices in the Ministry, accusations of corruption, and growing doubts about the trustworthiness of figures like Bagnold, Dumbledore and Crouch Sr. It was vindicating, in a way—seeing their once-unquestionable authority being critiqued so publicly. He couldn’t help but feel satisfaction knowing that those who had wronged him were now under the scrutiny they so richly deserved.

The speculation section had particularly dramatic headlines: "Ministry in Turmoil: Who Can We Trust?" and "Chief Warlock Under Fire!" It seemed like every corner of Wizarding Britain was now aware of the fractures within the Ministry. The pure-blood families, political elites, and even everyday citizens were all keeping a close eye on these proceedings. The public’s faith in the Ministry was rapidly crumbling, much like Sirius’s own faith had during his unjust imprisonment.

Taking another sip of his tea, Sirius leaned back, allowing himself to savor the schadenfreude. It was the smallest recompense for all the suffering he’d endured, but he’d take it.

Sirius blinked, absolutely certain he was still half-dreaming. There, standing in the doorway, was his godson, walking with newfound confidence as he held onto Kreacher’s gnarled, bony hand. The sight was nothing short of surreal. Harry’s small hand was wrapped trustingly around Kreacher’s thin fingers, and the old elf, infamous for his disdain toward nearly everyone, was gazing down at Harry with something close to reverence.

Kreacher’s usual scowl was noticeably absent, replaced by a solemn look that bordered on devotion—an expression Sirius had only ever seen directed at Regulus. This kind of undying loyalty had been exclusive, something Kreacher never shared with anyone else. And yet, there he was, guiding Harry forward with care, his gaze softening as the young heir smiled up at him.

Sirius, still sitting at the ebony dining table, felt like he needed to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t trapped in some strange daydream. The emerald-green place settings, polished silverware, and his half-finished tea all served as silent witnesses to this bizarre turn of events.

“Good morning, Uncle Siri!” Harry’s voice, bright and cheerful, jolted Sirius back to reality.

Recovering quickly, Sirius finally managed to close his gaping mouth and leaned forward with a grin. “Well, good morning, little lord,” he replied, feeling his heart swell at the sight of Harry walking so steadily. “I see you’ve made a new friend.”

Kreacher’s gaze snapped up to meet Sirius’s. He offered a curt nod but didn’t release Harry’s hand, as if letting go would somehow break this spell. “Master Harrison is awake, and Kreacher is here to serve the young heir,” he muttered, though his tone was devoid of its usual bitterness.

Harry beamed, entirely oblivious to the significance of his feat or Kreacher’s softened demeanour. He turned to Kreacher and tugged his hand gently, prompting the elf to follow him to the table. The elf dutifully assisted Harry into his seat and even adjusted the silverware with surprising care.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said, giving the elf a bright smile that seemed to melt the last trace of grumpiness from Kreacher’s face.

Sirius shook his head in wonder, his heart pounding with a mixture of pride and disbelief. “Well, Harry,” he said, still marvelling, “I’d say you have quite the way with house-elves.”

Harry just giggled, glancing back at Kreacher with a look that suggested he saw nothing unusual about the scene. But Sirius knew, watching the devoted glint in Kreacher’s eyes as he tended to Harry, that something significant had shifted in the Black household. This little boy, with his uncanny charm and innocent kindness, was already beginning to change the dynamics of his once-dark family home.

~Earlier that day~

Kreacher, moving through the halls he’d tended for decades, had never felt such a mix of disdain and unexpected wonder. The noble decor, while beautiful, was a painful reminder of his Mistress’s standards and pride, now seemingly erased by Sirius’s changes. Each polished sconce, every slate-painted wall, felt like an insult to the grandeur that the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black once represented. Kreacher muttered to himself, his resentment seething quietly, “False Lord…should’ve never stayed heir…Master Regulus would’ve been worthy…never this shame…”

He continued his grumbling circuit through the townhouse until, almost by instinct, he found himself outside the nursery door. Out of habit, he paused to peek inside, and there, awake and observing, was the young half-blooded heir—Harrison. Kreacher scoffed at the sight but couldn’t tear himself away from those vivid, intelligent emerald eyes fixed on him. It was strange, unsettling. He found himself drawn inside, step by step, until he stood right by the crib, looking down upon the child as though under a spell.

Slowly, Harry—Harrison—reached out and placed his small hand over Kreacher’s, which rested on the side of the crib. A rush of magic washed over Kreacher, unlike any he’d felt in decades. It was pure, ancient, and powerful. The magic seemed to flow between them, familiar yet startlingly different, enveloping him with an undeniable strength. It reminded him of his Master Regulus’s essence, but it was somehow even more potent. Kreacher closed his eyes, unknowingly caught in the powerful, comforting magic that had stirred deeply within him. He felt, for a brief moment, the fierce devotion that his magic had been missing since Master Regulus’s passing.

When he opened his eyes, the young heir was still gazing at him, his face brightened by an innocent, respectful smile. Kreacher’s heart, hardened by years of disdain, softened slightly at the boy’s open, genuine expression.

“Hi, I am Harry…or Harrison. You are?” the young child asked, his tone warm and genuine.

Kreacher, taken aback by the politeness in Harry’s voice—so unfamiliar and yet deeply stirring—cleared his throat. “I be Kreacher, head elf to the House of Black, Heir Black.” The words left his mouth with an unusual reverence, and he found himself standing taller, if only to appear more dignified for the young master.

The smile that Harry gave him in response was gentle, free from malice or any of the mocking Kreacher had long endured. It was pure acceptance, unclouded by the prejudices of others. For Kreacher, this was transformative. In that moment, Kreacher felt something shift within him—a renewed sense of purpose. He might never willingly accept Sirius as his true Lord, but this child, with magic that seemed to echo through the very foundations of the Black line, was someone he could follow, protect, and serve.

With a resolve that felt both familiar and brand new, Kreacher bowed his head slightly. This young heir, whom he now deemed worthy of every ounce of loyalty he still harbored, would hold his allegiance. And Kreacher vowed silently that, for as long as he drew breath, he would protect and serve young Harrison with all the devotion he’d once held for Master Regulus.

Time flowed steadily within the walls of the Black townhouse as Sirius immersed himself in his responsibilities. His life had become a delicate balance between the demands of his position as Lord Black, the responsibilities of a financial guardian, and the irreplaceable role of godfather. His mornings often began in his study, where letters of invitation to those with Black blood or connections to the family name were meticulously written, each with an invitation to a family dinner—a gesture intended to rebuild ties and solidify a future for the House of Black.

The more Sirius worked with his account manager, Varglok, the clearer his financial strategy became. He had begun examining properties and account statements from Gringotts with a shrewd eye, keen on expanding his family’s influence across both the Muggle and Magical worlds. In parallel, he reviewed the Potter accounts with Griphook, carefully ensuring that these investments would bring stable returns that would one day be Harry’s inheritance. Sirius was beginning to appreciate the legacy of both families, not just as his duty but as a future for Harry.

Yet, not all his tasks were as fulfilling. He had also made it his mission to confront the sensationalist Wizarding media. Journalists and authors who sought to profit from fabricated tales about his godson found themselves facing legal challenges. Sirius took great satisfaction in silencing any attempts to brand Harry with the detested moniker of "Boy-Who-Lived," a title that glorified a tragedy and commercialized a loss. So far, he’d managed to halt most publications before they reached print, though discouraging such a phrase from becoming a fixture in Wizarding Britain was an uphill battle. In this case, even the freedom of speech grated against Sirius’s protective instincts.

The true joy in Sirius's life, however, was his time with Harry. Their hours together were filled with laughter, storytelling, and games. Harry’s favorite activity remained his tiny toy broomstick, which he flew around the townhouse with gleeful abandon. Wherever Harry went, Kreacher followed, grumbling his disapproval but fussing over every minor bump and scrape. The transformation in the old elf was remarkable; his usual surly demeanor had softened, and he seemed more vibrant, almost rejuvenated, as though he had rediscovered his purpose. Kreacher was not simply a head-elf; he had taken on the role of Harry’s personal guardian, as fiercely protective as Sirius himself.

Whatever had inspired this newfound loyalty in Kreacher, Sirius was grateful for it. He watched with quiet satisfaction as the elf fussed over Harry, preparing every meal personally, ensuring his room was always pristine, and following him around like a faithful shadow. It was a strange sight, the once-hostile elf devoted to his young godson, and Sirius often found himself wondering about the change of heart. Whatever the reason, Kreacher’s watchful eye and unwavering attention had created a home atmosphere where Harry was both cherished and secure, leaving Sirius confident that he was surrounded by love and loyalty.

Severus found himself visiting his young godson, Harrison, with increasing frequency. He had already spent ample time with his first godson, Draco, who had recently gained an unexpected sibling. The Malfoys had blood-adopted a young girl named Maia, a Muggle-born with distant magical ancestry. This choice was nothing short of astonishing, considering Lucius’s past views on Muggles and Muggle-borns. Yet, both Lucius and Narcissa were intensely protective of Maia, and in return, she was fiercely loyal to Draco, treating him with the same devotion and care. Draco, meanwhile, seemed to think his new sister was the center of the world, idolizing her every move.

When Severus first set foot in the Black townhouse, he was taken aback. It was more refined than he had anticipated, rivaling even Malfoy Manor in its elegance. The décor was semi-gothic, dignified yet striking, and Severus felt it suited the Blacks perfectly. As he roamed the polished, shadowed corridors and took in the rich, dark furnishings, he couldn’t help but think that Regulus, though never a close friend, would have approved. There was an understated pride woven into every corner, a testament to Sirius’s newfound respect for his heritage.

Despite the newfound grandeur of the townhouse, Severus often found himself drawn to the dungeons, where Sirius had installed an impressive Potions room. He had approached Black about brewing there, and to his mild surprise, Sirius had agreed almost immediately, if only to keep the peace and foster a positive influence for Harry. They maintained a civil truce, polite and careful, with neither showing signs of slipping into old animosities. For Harry’s sake, both seemed willing to keep things steady, even if there was still tension simmering beneath the surface.

For Harry, however, Severus’s visits meant quality time with his beloved godfather in a world of bubbling cauldrons and glittering ingredients. Severus soon realized that he needn’t worry about fostering an interest in Potions—Harrison’s curiosity was natural and unbidden. As Severus worked, the little boy would sit nearby, intently watching as Severus selected each ingredient with practiced precision. His gaze was unwavering, filled with fascination and awe that put even some of Severus’s most dedicated NEWT students to shame. Harrison would occasionally point or babble questions, his emerald eyes alight with wonder, and Severus found himself explaining each ingredient and the process behind each careful stir.

While he tolerated Harry’s toy broomstick expeditions—despite a personal distaste for the tiny “death stick,” as he secretly called it—his godson’s interest in Potions felt like a reprieve, a soothing balm to the soul. Their brewing sessions were calm, almost meditative, allowing Severus to do what he did best, now in the cherished company of the child who had woven himself irrevocably into his life.

In moments like these, Severus felt a depth of attachment he had once thought lost to him, a bond as unbreakable as it was unexpected. He had known from their first meeting that he would protect Harrison with everything he had, but he was still surprised by how effortless it was to love the boy.

The Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
London, England

January 20, 1982

To Lord Lucius Malfoy and Lady Narcissa Malfoy,

It is with due respect and in the name of our shared heritage that I, Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, extend an invitation for dinner at the Black townhouse on the evening of February 25, 1982. It would be our pleasure to welcome you and your family, including your esteemed children, for an evening that both honors our alliance and celebrates the legacy we bear within our world.

As Lord Black, I anticipate the privilege of hosting you with the civility and accord befitting our Houses. Let us move forward in strengthening these bonds with renewed purpose and mutual respect.

I await your response at your convenience.

With due respect,
Sirius Orion Black
Lord of the House of Black

Lucius read the invitation again, every word measured and revealing more than it first seemed. He was thoroughly intrigued that his rebellious cousin Sirius, infamous for his disdain of tradition, had taken on the Lordship of House Black with such formality and purpose. It was no secret within pure-blood circles how Sirius had openly scorned his family’s values and rebelled against his upbringing. Lucius found it baffling that the Black family ring had accepted his claim at all. He had long thought it would have sooner burned itself to ash than bend to Sirius’s touch.

The true mystery, though, lay in the decision of the previous Lord Black to insist on maintaining Sirius’s heirship, no matter the controversies or pleas from other family members. Though the influence of this decision was outside Lucius’s control, he now regretted not looking deeper into the late Lord’s intentions. Perhaps he had underestimated Sirius—and that, Lucius admitted to himself, was a dangerous error.

Narcissa took the letter from Lucius, her curiosity piqued by her husband’s uncharacteristically pensive expression. She had never expected her wayward cousin to approach his Lordship with such composure and formality, let alone issue a written invitation to rekindle connections among the Black family’s web of alliances. Her admiration for his adherence to tradition, however begrudging, was tempered by concern.

Narcissa’s mind wandered to the position of the young Potter boy, whom Sirius had legally adopted, thus naming him Heir Black. She felt the shift in her plans as tangibly as if the ground had shifted beneath her. The title of Heir Black was something Narcissa had long believed Draco would claim. After all, the Black family line had always been patriarchal, with titles passed only to male heirs. Her son, Draco, had been born with a future that seemed certain: one day, he would stand as heir to two of the most influential pure-blood families in wizarding Britain. That future had felt immutable, until now.

The thought stirred a deep protectiveness. Her daughter Maia had changed the game as well. With both children now in her life, Narcissa’s ambitions had grown. In her vision, Draco would hold the heirship of House Black, while Maia would become heiress to the House of Malfoy—a prospect that would secure both of her children’s futures as top figures in their world. But with Sirius’s official declaration of Harry as Heir Black, this aspiration felt all the more distant.

Despite the bitterness that threatened to rise, Narcissa knew better than to let it show. The letter, though impeccably formal and polite, held a clear undertone: Sirius would tolerate no disrespect. She knew his protective instincts would extend fully to his godson, and her cousin’s wrath was not something to provoke. Narcissa had seen enough to know that a slighted Sirius could be deadly. The House of Black had power, influence, and wealth that could turn tides—and now, Sirius held its reins.

The unspoken warning was clear. For the sake of family unity, Narcissa would attend, her expressions of courtesy tempered by her sharper instincts. Whatever private disappointments or uncertainties lingered, they would remain private. The invitation from Sirius Black had sent a ripple of intrigue through the old bloodlines of Wizarding Britain. Every family receiving the missive found themselves mulling over this unexpected and, frankly, monumental gesture. For some, it was a pathway back into the Black family fold; for others, it was an opportunity to secure future alliances and strengthen their influence within society. Each household was quietly drawn to the mysterious and compelling prospect of a dinner with the newly instated Lord Black.

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Cedrella Weasley (née Black) and her husband, Septimus, were perhaps the most surprised by the invitation. Cedrella’s disownment years prior had been swift and final, with her union to a Weasley—a family that was beneath the status of House of Black—casting them out of pure-blood circles. While the Prewetts had shown them some support over the years, the Weasleys’ standing had been irrevocably damaged by their estranged son, Arthur, casting further aspersions on the family’s traditionalist reputation. But now, the opportunity to reconnect with the House of Black offered Cedrella and Septimus hope for their family’s future. Their young grandson, William, was the focus of this hope—an inquisitive, intelligent boy with a promising magical talent who deserved the best chances life could offer. Cedrella found herself harboring a quiet optimism; this could be a turn in fate, a chance for young William’s future to expand beyond the shadow of estrangement.

Meanwhile, Lucretia (née Black) and her husband, Ignatius Prewett, were cautiously optimistic. Childless themselves, they had taken up the role of guardianship for their nephews, Fred and George, after the tragic loss of Ignatius’s brother and sister-in-law. The twin boys were lively, clever, and full of youthful ingenuity that had already sparked a series of rather inventive, if sometimes chaotic, pranks. Lucretia and Ignatius, however, saw great potential in their mischievous young charges. They were certain that Hogwarts would see them as natural Slytherins, too cunning by half for any other house. Receiving the invitation from Sirius had been a surprise to Lucretia. She recalled her brother’s vehement opposition to Sirius’s rebellious ways, which had culminated in his being blasted from the family tapestry. Yet now, Sirius held the Lordship and had extended a hand to reconnect with all those previously scorned by the family’s rigid standards. Lucretia was intrigued by the man he had become and looked forward to meeting him as Lord Black, to see what changes he envisioned for their powerful family.

The greatest surprise, however, lay with Marius Black. Disowned from birth for his lack of magical ability, Marius had spent his life outside of the magical world, carving out a life among Muggles. The letter felt surreal in his hands, a connection to a family that had cast him out before he could even understand why. Yet the letter’s tone and the underlying sense of invitation, not rejection, piqued his curiosity. Marius had made peace with his life beyond magic, but Sirius’s outreach stirred something long buried—a sense of belonging that had never quite left him. He wondered what kind of man Sirius was, to acknowledge a Squib as part of the family, even after decades of silence.

Cassiopeia Black felt a shift within herself, a mix of pride and resolve, as she reviewed the formal invitation from her nephew, Sirius, the new Lord Black. Though she had already spent that transformative week with him in November, witnessing his evolution from rebellious youth to a determined leader, the letter confirmed that Sirius was serious in his intentions to restore the House of Black’s prominence. It pushed her final decision: she would indeed move to London, placing herself in a position to guide and influence not only Sirius but also young Harry, the heir to her beloved House. She was determined to see that the House of Black’s legacy would flourish under Sirius’s leadership, and she believed her experience and wisdom would be invaluable in ensuring that the family values and traditions were honored—even if in a way that allowed for Sirius’s more progressive views.

Meanwhile, Rabastan Lestrange was also evaluating the invitation with careful consideration. The trials looming over the House of Lestrange had left him with little hope for the futures of his brother, Rodolphus, and sister-in-law, Bellatrix. Their brutal loyalty to the Dark Lord had sealed their fates, and Rabastan felt certain they would receive the harshest of sentences, perhaps even a permanent stay in Azkaban or something worse. But while the world around him crumbled, Rabastan’s thoughts centered on Heiress Lyra Lestrange, his young niece and now his official daughter by magical and familial guardianship. A Black by blood and heritage, Lyra’s future was of paramount importance. This family dinner was not just an invitation; it was an opportunity. Securing an alliance for Lyra within the extended Black family would solidify her standing and ensure she was recognized as part of one of the most powerful legacies in magical Britain. With that in mind, Rabastan looked forward to the dinner, determined to make the most of the gathering.

Andromeda (née Black) and Aiden Avery, too, found themselves at a crossroads upon receiving the invite. Andromeda had always held a fondness for her cousin Sirius. They had shared a kinship in spirit, both bucking against certain rigid traditions while retaining their familial pride. Though her marriage to Aiden Avery aligned her with a traditionally pure-blood family, she had never fully embraced the more extreme Black family values, much to her family’s chagrin. Sirius’s transformation and his role as guardian to Harry Potter, intrigued her. The two children were part of the next generation of influential figures, and she hoped they might foster a healthy bond. She looked forward to seeing Sirius as the man and Lord he had become.

Aiden Avery, on the other hand, approached the invitation with calculated caution. Though he had once viewed Sirius with condescension, seeing him as a hotheaded rebel with little potential, he now recognized Sirius’s importance as Lord Black, a position not easily ignored. This dinner presented both an opportunity and a potential alliance, yet Aiden understood it also came with risks. Associating closely with Sirius could bring unexpected complications, particularly as the Black family’s new direction remained to be seen. Nonetheless, he was prepared to see where aligning with the House of Black could lead, knowing that whatever path Sirius took would likely have ramifications throughout the magical world.

For each of these family members, the invitation marked a turning point. They prepared to attend the dinner with a mixture of anticipation, curiosity, and careful intent, each with a stake in the legacy of the House of Black and a desire to see it endure—perhaps even thrive—in the hands of its new Lord. The reunion promised to be more than just a family gathering; it was an opportunity for alliances, introspection, and the careful reweaving of bonds long thought severed.

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Sirius ran a hand through his hair, steeling himself as he thought about the collection of strong-willed family members, each harboring deep-seated grudges and enough pride to make even the grandest Hippogriff bow. He was already beginning to wonder if he had overestimated his capacity for diplomacy—or rather, his patience. The idea of back-to-back formal dinners to accommodate each family’s visit had seemed unbearable. In comparison, gathering them all together for a single evening felt like ripping off a particularly stubborn bandage: swift, potentially painful, but efficient. He could only hope it wouldn’t end in an outright disaster.

As he made his way to check on the preparations, he marveled at the frantic energy of the house-elves, who were treating this dinner as though it were an event of national importance. The elves had taken Sirius’s invitation as a call to arms, insisting that no corner of the newly restored townhouse go unpolished. Kreacher, especially, had reached a state of near-bliss in his role as taskmaster. Now that he had subordinates under his command, he seemed revitalized, directing them with imperious authority. His raspy voice could be heard echoing down the halls as he barked orders about silver polish and seating arrangements.

“Mustn’t forget the finest linen, not with Mistress Cissa coming to dinner,” Kreacher muttered, half to himself and half to his fellow elves. “And the young heirs... Oh, they must see the best of the House of Black, indeed!”

Sirius couldn’t help a small, ironic smile as he watched Kreacher’s excitement bubble over. The elf, who had once harbored nothing but disdain for Sirius, now seemed fiercely invested in the success of this gathering. There was something almost comforting in Kreacher’s newfound loyalty—albeit begrudging—as he prepared the house for a family reunion the likes of which had not been seen in decades.

The house had taken on an impressive atmosphere, poised between elegance and authority. The dining hall had been set with the finest silverware, gleaming under the soft candlelight that cast shadows against the dark, polished walls. Richly upholstered chairs surrounded the grand ebony table, each place setting accented with the green and silver of the Black family colors. Kreacher had even arranged a collection of heirloom goblets, each engraved with the crest of a different branch of the family, for each guest to use.

Sirius took a deep breath. It would be, without question, a night to remember—for better or worse.

On the 25th of February, the Black townhouse gleamed with a pristine, almost enchanted radiance, each corner meticulously prepared for the evening ahead. As the sun dipped, casting long shadows through the arched windows, Sirius prepared himself and Harry for what was sure to be a memorable gathering. He dressed them both in grand, dark robes embroidered with the Black family crest, the silver threads catching the light and glimmering with an understated elegance. The intricate designs that wound through the fabric symbolized centuries of tradition and power, and Sirius felt the weight of his title settle on his shoulders.

Harry, on the other hand, was a vision—a young prince, his robes tailored to fit him perfectly. The high collar and delicate silver trim emphasized his aristocratic features, a testament to his heritage. His dark, unruly hair was only slightly tamed, giving him a mischievous look that softened the solemnity of his attire. Sirius chuckled to himself, picturing James laughing at the sight of his son so formally dressed, undoubtedly making some quip about Harry looking like a miniature noble. Lily, he imagined, would look on with that warm, proud smile of hers, her eyes glimmering with love.

As they stood in front of the large mirror, Sirius adjusted the collar of Harry’s robes one last time. Harry looked up at him, his bright green eyes filled with innocent curiosity, unaware of the full weight his name and title now carried. Sirius, feeling a pang of both pride and responsibility, gave him a reassuring smile. “You, my boy,” he said, voice full of gentle affection, “are the finest Heir this family has ever seen.”

Harry responded with a wide, delighted smile that instantly lightened Sirius’s mood, reminding him that behind all the titles and responsibilities, there was simply his godson—the most important person in his life.

Together, they were ready to face the legacy of the House of Black.

One by one, the guests began to arrive, filling the grand Black townhouse with a buzz of anticipation and whispered curiosity. The first to step through the threshold were Cedrella and Septimus Weasley, a dignified yet visibly weary couple, bearing the years of hardship with grace, though their age showed in the fine lines etched across their faces and the slight weariness in their posture. They entered the townhouse with an air of cautious respect, a reminder of their distance from Black family affairs in recent years, and perhaps of past tensions they had weathered for their choices.

Sirius, holding Harry securely in his arms, greeted them with a formality fitting the occasion, inclining his head politely. His eyes lingered on the elder Weasleys for a brief moment, noting their age and the hints of fatigue that seemed to weigh them down, unusual for wizardkind accustomed to long and resilient lives. There was a flicker of concern that crossed his mind—an unspoken acknowledgment that, perhaps, Cedrella and Septimus were not receiving the same advantages or luxuries afforded to others of their standing. This realization made Sirius resolve to keep a closer eye on the Weasley family, especially their young heir. If the need arose, Sirius was more than prepared to offer his aid, discreetly or otherwise, to ensure the well-being of the Weasley heir and his future.

With a warm yet reserved smile, Sirius extended his welcome, "Lord Weasley, Lady Weasley, welcome to the House of Black. I am honored by your presence. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Cedrella, her gaze resting on Harry with a look of unexpected fondness, nodded graciously. "Thank you, Lord Black. It is a pleasure to be here." There was an unspoken understanding between them—a recognition of shared family bonds that time and distance could never fully sever.

After Sirius introduced Harrison as his heir, Septimus inclined his head respectfully once more. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Heir Potter-Black," he said warmly, his tone carrying the measured respect befitting a member of the House of Black.

William, seated beside his grandfather, looked around the drawing room, taking in the grandeur and tasteful elegance of the space before turning his gaze back to Sirius. "Thank you for having us, Lord Black. Your home is beautiful—I've never seen anything quite like it," he complimented, his youthful curiosity shining through.

Sirius inclined his head with a gracious smile. "I appreciate the compliment, Heir Weasley. The House of Black has undergone quite the transformation. I believe it is time it reflected something...truer to the legacy we hope to carry forward." He glanced at Harry, who beamed proudly, clearly delighted by the attention and praise toward his home.

Cedrella and Septimus exchanged subtle nods, silently acknowledging the shift in Sirius—the boy who once rebelled against his family was now a man taking his responsibilities as Lord Black with utmost sincerity.

Turning his attention back to William, Sirius added, "If you're not yet at Hogwarts, I'm sure you'll be starting soon. Have you thought about which House you'd like to be in?"

William’s face lit up with a spark of excitement and he replied, "I think I’d like Gryffindor, like my grandfather, though I wouldn’t mind Ravenclaw. I enjoy my studies, and learning more about magic has always interested me."

"A wise outlook," Sirius replied with a nod of approval, clearly impressed. "Both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw would be lucky to have you. But remember, it’s not the House that makes the wizard, it’s what you make of the opportunities given to you."

As they continued their conversation, the faint chime from the front entrance indicated the arrival of the next set of guests. Sirius looked toward the hallway, bracing himself for the evening ahead, feeling a strange mixture of pride and anticipation as the night began to unfold.

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As each family arrived, Sirius and Harry maintained their courteous greetings, and Harry, with his natural charm, seemed to captivate every guest. The young heir accepted compliments with a broad smile and a childish, but surprisingly composed, "Thank you!" for each one. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, enjoying the diversity of personalities and faces—an opportunity to expand his little world of trusted adults and house-elves.

Sirius, on the other hand, found the experience less straightforward. Old alliances, grudges, and complicated histories clouded the room. The moment Lord Lestrange arrived with his young niece Lyra, Sirius felt his polite mask strain ever so slightly. Memories of the Longbottoms and their suffering at the hands of Rabastan’s family weighed heavily on him. Yet, as he looked at Rabastan's proud and attentive expression toward his niece, a glimmer of understanding softened Sirius's initial resentment. Rabastan Lestrange was not his brother or sister-in-law, and the way he seemed to care for Lyra struck a chord Sirius hadn’t expected.

“Lord Lestrange,” Sirius greeted, inclining his head in acknowledgment, his tone neutral yet respectful, “thank you for joining us this evening. And this must be young Lyra?” He turned to the girl, his tone gentler, as if separating the child from the weight of her family name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyra. I hope you find our home comfortable.”

Lyra, clutching Rabastan's hand, smiled shyly, her dark curls bouncing as she dipped her head in return. She had the kind of look that reminded Sirius of Regulus—quiet, observant, and perhaps carrying burdens beyond her years.

Rabastan gave a nod of respect, his voice polite and controlled. “Thank you for inviting us, Lord Black. It is rare for family to reconnect under more… harmonious terms. I hope we can make the most of the evening.”

The words held an olive branch Sirius hadn’t anticipated.

“Yes,” Sirius replied thoughtfully, “let’s consider it a fresh start for all our families. We’ve all changed over the years.”

This tentative accord with Rabastan marked just one of the evening’s unexpected turns. As Sirius moved through the drawing room, greeting each guest and subtly assessing their reception of his renewed role, he knew tonight would be one of rediscovering old ties and seeing people he thought he knew in new lights. And if there was a touch of tension or a clever jab traded here and there? Well, Sirius thought, that was simply tradition among the Blacks.

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Aiden Avery observed the newly transformed Black townhouse with a quiet, assessing eye. He had vivid memories of its previous state—dark, somber, nearly foreboding with its heavy drapes and aged woodwork. Back then, it held an aura that seemed to echo the fierce, sometimes ruthless legacy of House Black. But now, the house was almost unrecognizable. Light pooled in from newly enchanted windows, casting a warm glow over carefully restored details that showcased elegance without compromising the family’s prestige. The atmosphere felt… alive, and Aiden couldn’t help but associate this shift with the child who was heir to the house. A sense of newfound vitality flowed through the walls, a strength now unburdened by shadows.

Andromeda, meanwhile, received one of the only genuine, warm welcomes from Sirius. A quick hug conveyed both familiarity and respect for their shared past, acknowledging a childhood long past yet not forgotten. But for Aiden, Sirius reserved a more measured response. The knowledge of Aiden’s Imperius defense, used to absolve him of any Death Eater affiliations, lingered between them, an unspoken tension neither could ignore. Sirius held his tongue, but there was a tautness to his greeting—a silent reminder that trust, once fractured, would not be freely offered again. Sirius knew the need for civility, but restraint was a hard-won task.

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Cassiopeia, though, was visibly moved. Her keen gaze traveled over the assembled family, taking in each cousin, niece, and nephew who had accepted the invitation. She had witnessed the slow scattering of the Black family over the years, each branch breaking away until they were but distant names and stories. Now, however, it felt like the family was being restored, something she had once thought impossible. The wayward Blacks, disowned or disbanded, gathered under the roof of their shared legacy. She felt a surge of pride for her great-nephew, Sirius, for having the strength and cunning to gather them together—along with the considerable curiosity she knew had drawn them all to his invitation.

The sight of Marius Black, in particular, left Cassiopeia taken aback. Marius, long disowned for his lack of magic, had vanished from their world entirely, cast out as an aberration. She could not deny her lingering misgivings about his presence, the old beliefs hard to shake. But Sirius, as Lord Black, had chosen to extend the family’s welcome, a decision Cassiopeia could not challenge if she wished to avoid another confrontation. She could feel the quiet authority radiating from Sirius, an authority she respected—even admired, despite her traditional inclinations. Tonight was a new beginning, and, for once, she would put pride aside to witness this revival of House Black under his rule.

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Marius felt a complex tangle of emotions as he stepped inside the Black townhouse. The sight of Sirius, standing with his godson, brought a faint warmth to his heart. Sirius, at least, had remembered him, reaching out with a formal yet genuine invitation to reconnect. And then there was young Harry, the famed “Boy-Who-Lived,” already so central to wizarding folklore. Marius couldn’t deny a flicker of pride in seeing the boy—part of his family—already embodying such strength, innocence, and potential.

But the warm feeling dissipated as his gaze fell upon the other guests. The faces of those who had cast him aside so ruthlessly, of cousins and kin who had never bothered to reach out, never once considered what life was like for him beyond the walls of magic. No letter, no visit, no curiosity about whether he had found happiness or was struggling alone in a world unfamiliar to him. The Blacks were meant to be fiercely loyal, bound by the blood they so often revered, yet for Marius, that bond had been a cruel illusion.

He had been cast out, condemned for something beyond his control, and left to navigate a new world on his own. It had been a lonely start, yet over the years, he had built a life of meaning and purpose in the Muggle world. Teaching mathematics at a school had become more than a career—it was his sanctuary, a place where children with eager minds and endless curiosity became the family he’d longed for but never found among his own kin. In their laughter, their questions, and their small victories, he found the comfort of belonging that the Blacks had denied him.

Books had become his solace, too. He devoured novels that transported him to places far removed from the magical world, stories woven with words instead of spells. Fiction, for him, held a magic of its own—a magic that could never be taken from him, that didn’t require a wand or an ancient bloodline.

So, while he was grateful for Sirius’s gesture, Marius held a silent, unbreakable resolve within himself. He would be polite, civil even, but he could not, and would not, forgive those who had abandoned him. His life was his own, forged with resilience and strength, and no familial dinner could bridge the years of betrayal. He would return to his world with no regret, leaving the Blacks and their legacy firmly in his past. For him, family was something one built with loyalty, love, and kindness—not just blood.

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Lucius felt an unwelcome surge of envy as he stepped through the imposing threshold of the Black townhouse. He had expected to scoff at the place he remembered as stiflingly dreary, but what lay before him now was a stunning transformation—one that made him pause, almost betraying the polished Malfoy decorum he had perfected over the years. The interiors exuded elegance, every detail bespoke and refined, elevating the home beyond anything Lucius could have anticipated. It took all his training to mask the faint flicker of jealousy as he realized how Sirius had not only reclaimed the Black name but seemingly perfected its image in ways that rivaled the grandeur of Malfoy Manor itself.

But Sirius was the most striking element in the room. Gone was the reckless boy who had rebelled against every rule and expectation; here was a man who bore himself with the undeniable weight of his station—a true Lord Black. Power radiated from him with an unspoken command, an aura of assured authority that filled the room. Lucius couldn't deny it: Sirius had transformed, wielding his position with a sense of gravitas and self-assurance that left an impression even on him. For years, Lucius had looked down on his cousin, dismissing him as careless, driven more by reckless defiance than actual purpose. Yet standing in Sirius’s presence now, he realized that something profound had changed. Whatever experiences Sirius had faced since the Potters’ deaths had clearly carved this new figure—a man entirely comfortable in his power, one who knew he held a unique standing above them all.

Narcissa, meanwhile, allowed herself a moment to truly take in her surroundings. The townhouse was a work of art, a testament to the centuries of Black wealth and influence, yet the decor managed to be both formidable and welcoming, an elegant balance. Each element spoke of refined taste, a world away from the heavy-handed bleakness of Walburga's design. Her gaze shifted to the boy in Sirius’s arms. Harrison Potter-Black was, indeed, an intriguing child. His hair, wild and untamed, hinted at the Potter line, yet his facial features were distinctly Black, aristocratic and severe. But it was his eyes that captured Narcissa’s attention most of all—an intense green, like his mother’s yet deeper, holding a glint of something ancient, something almost timeless. She found herself captivated by the mystery in his gaze, an odd intuition that there was more within him than mere childhood innocence. She would need to keep her focus on this child tonight, more than she had initially planned.

Draco and Maia, meanwhile, clutched each other’s hands, whispering in quiet admiration. The townhouse was magnificent, unlike anything they had seen before, but the true pull of their curiosity lay in the boy in Sirius’s arms. He looked young, much like themselves, but there was an unexplainable allure, an angelic charm in his delicate features that seemed to draw them in. They glanced at each other, their unspoken wish clear—they wanted to befriend this new cousin. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were fun, of course, but there was something special about Harry, a presence that felt like more than just family.

As they exchanged shy glances with Harry, they sensed an almost magnetic pull toward him, the beginning of a new connection. Both Draco and Maia shared a small nod—they would introduce themselves with all the dignity expected of Malfoys, but deep down, they knew they wanted to be more than just distant family members; they wanted a true friend.

Sirius fought an internal battle as he greeted the Malfoys, keeping his distaste well-masked behind an air of formal politeness. Narcissa, his brother's adored cousin, had never been close to him, and Lucius—a man Sirius had often deemed pompous and cold—was even less to his liking. Tonight, though, he resolved to rise above his personal feelings. Whatever old grudges he held, they could not be allowed to sour this gathering. But it wasn’t easy, not when Lucius maintained that same haughty composure, barely concealing his own condescension. Still, Sirius held his ground, his mask of civility unwavering.

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Luckily, the arrival of the last guests lightened the air almost instantly. Lucretia Prewett, his beloved aunt and the one member of his family he had genuinely admired, entered with her husband, Ignatius, and their young charges—the infamous Prewett twins. Lucretia, the very essence of quiet defiance against old traditions, had always been a figure of inspiration. Her advocacy for equal standing between witches and wizards was one of the few things Sirius respected within his family’s history. Ignatius, too, surprised him with his warmth and agreeable nature; Sirius instantly sensed that they might actually find a mutual rapport.

Yet it was the twins, Fred and George, who truly brought Sirius joy. They radiated an unmistakable energy, that glint of pure mischief he recognized all too well—an expression he had shared with James during their Marauder days. Sirius barely had to look twice to know these boys were cut from the same cloth. They practically buzzed with the anticipation of inevitable chaos, their gaze darting to every corner of the room, undoubtedly scouting for the perfect setup for some prank.

Harry, sensing the twins' energy, looked positively enchanted. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and he giggled as they exchanged grins, forming an unspoken alliance even before a word was spoken. The image of Harry teaming up with Fred and George filled Sirius with hope for a future that included a new generation of Marauders—and perhaps, just perhaps, a little mayhem of his own making.

Now, the scene was set. The tensions among the family members, the restrained power plays, and the subtle jabs exchanged across the room all pointed to one thing: it was a true Black family dinner, an event that traditionally thrived on the perfect mix of elegance, underlying conflict, and a pinch of inevitable discord. Sirius felt an unusual anticipation bubble up within him; tonight promised to be a memorable blend of old rivalries, subtle alliances, and maybe a few pranks along the way.

This would be one for the books, he could feel it.