The Black family sat in stunned silence, the room thick with tension after Orion's declaration about Voldemort.
"Who here is in favor of not allying with the Dark Lord?" Orion asked, his piercing gaze scanning the room.
Sirius, bristling with indignation, couldn't hold back. "Wait, don't our votes count?"
"No," Cassiopeia answered coolly, fixing Sirius and Regulus with a look that silenced them both. "You are not of legal age yet, neither by law nor by magic."
One by one, the family members raised their hands, save for Walburga, who was forced to do so under her mother Irma's glare.
"I hope this is the last time I ever see that man in our family property, let alone *at the head of the table,*" Orion said, his tone icy as he directed his words toward Walburga.
"You let him sit at the head of the table?" Dorea's voice was incredulous, her usually calm demeanor slipping.
"At the head of the table.." Arcturus repeated, his voice heavy with disdain.
The room erupted into chaos.
"I will officially send a letter barring anyone from this family from contacting or representing the Dark Lord," Orion continued sharply, his voice cutting through the noise. "Any messages he sends must be redirected to me. If anyone disobeys, let me make myself clear: I will *banish you from the family* and strip you of the Family Magic."
The warning sent a shiver through the room. Even the boldest members of the family said nothing in response.
"Now that we've settled our position regarding the so-called Dark Lord, let us move on to the family matters," Orion declared, his voice echoing across the long table.
Druella inclined her head. "There is something we must address. We have agreed for Narcissa to be wed to Heir Malfoy. If you would send an official letter of engagement, we may begin preparations for the ceremony."
Orion's eyes settled on the young blonde. "Very well. Narcissa, child—are you content with this arrangement?"
"Yes, Uncle Orion," Narcissa replied with a polite, perfectly measured smile.
"Good." His gaze swept over the room. "If anyone objects to this union, speak now."
Silence.
"As expected," he murmured. "We proceed. Now—Andromeda."
Andromeda straightened, already tense. "Yes, Uncle?"
"When do you intend to hold an official ceremony with your husband? Ted Tonks, if memory serves. As Head of this family, I expect him to request formal approval if he wishes to be acknowledged as a rightful son-in-law to the House of Black."
Andromeda swallowed. "Uncle…I—"
"I am not interested in excuses," he interrupted sharply. "If he seeks acceptance, let him stand before me."
"…Yes, Uncle," she whispered.
Orion's cold eyes scanned the table once more. "Does anyone else have business to bring forth?"
No one dared speak.
"Then this meeting is concluded. You are dismissed."
He rose, sweeping his coat behind him with polished finality. Before exiting, he turned to his sons.
"Sirius. Regulus. With me. If anyone wishes to remain, you may do so."
******
"Now then… Sirius, Regulus," Orion said quietly as they walked toward the grand fireplace in the mansion's main hall, "you may return to Hogwarts. During the Christmas holidays, I will tell you everything—about your mother. And if the heavens allow, I will be sitting beside her by then."
His voice was steady, but there was something breaking beneath the words. Determination, grief, longing—balanced on the edge of that infamous Black madness whispered about in every pure-blood household.
But this time, it wasn't madness.It was heartbreak.
Regulus slowed to a stop. He had never seen his father like this—not controlled, not composed, not calculating. Just… lost.
Before he could think better of it, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Orion.
"We'll get Mother back, Father," he murmured, voice soft but steady. "We will. I promise."
For a long moment, Orion didn't move. Then, slowly, he returned the embrace—almost fragile in the motion. When he spoke, his voice was barely more than breath, as though he were confessing to ghosts rather than his son.
"I have failed you both… so terribly." His hand trembled where it rested on Regulus's shoulder. "I was never a good father. And you—Regulus… your eyes… Merlin, those eyes." He swallowed, voice cracking. "They're exactly like hers. And I couldn't bear to look at you—not because of anger, never anger—but because it reminded me that she was gone, and I had let her slip through my fingers."
Sirius stood only a few feet away, frozen. He didn't know whether he wanted to scoff, shout, or run. He had never seen his father bleed emotion—not like this. And though part of him ached, part of him also remembered cold hallways, silent meals, expectations that suffocated more efficiently than any curse.
Forgiveness wasn't simple.Not for him.
Regulus slowly pulled away, and Orion's gaze flickered—glassy, distant, almost feral with grief.
"She would be disappointed," Orion whispered. "Heartbroken by what I became." His eyes unfocused, voice growing softer and softer. "But she will forgive me. She must. She knows I cannot live without her. She knows. She must know."
The desperation in his tone bordered on unraveling—too raw, too vulnerable for a man who once commanded rooms with silence alone.
Regulus steadied his father with a gentle hand on his arm.
"Come home from this madness, Father," he said softly. "Not for us. For her."
Orion blinked—once, twice—as though waking from a nightmare he had built himself.
Then he straightened, though his grief still clung to him like a shadow.
"…Safe travels," he said quietly. "Both of you."
The green flames flared to life, and for a heartbeat, all three Blacks simply stood there—bound by blood, grief, and the fractures between them.
Then Sirius stepped forward first.
And the world swallowed him in emerald fire.
******
Regulus and Sirius returned to Hogwarts—but not in the way they expected.
Instead of stepping out into Dumbledore's office, the emerald fire deposited them directly into the Slytherin common room.
Sirius stumbled a half step forward, blinking at the emerald-lit chamber."What in Merlin's questionable fashion sense—" he muttered, looking around. "Since when is the Slytherin common room connected to the Floo Network? And how did we use it?"
Regulus stretched slightly, dusting nonexistent soot from his sleeve before sinking into one of the dark green couches with practiced ease.
"Maybe because we're Blacks," he replied mildly. "Perks, Sirius. Not just crushing expectations, family politics, and the occasional emotional trauma. Benefits exist too."
Sirius shot him a look with equal parts disbelief and reluctant amusement."Perks," he repeated dryly. "Right."
The Slytherin common room was a stark contrast to Gryffindor's. Where Gryffindor was warmth—firelight, chatter, worn cushions and laughter—Slytherin was quiet power. The room was submerged deep beneath Hogwarts, and the view of the Black Lake shimmered through enchanted glass windows, casting shifting shadows of kelp, fish, and the occasional tentacle.
Silent. Cool-toned. Regal in an entirely different way.
And strangely enough, Sirius found himself… appreciating it. A little.
Not one student reacted outwardly to their unexpected arrival. The first-years paused in their chess game, an older student glanced up from a book, and someone writing a letter paused for only a heartbeat. But no one gawped, stared, or questioned.
If there was shock, they masked it perfectly—like proper pure-bloods trained to betray nothing.
Sirius let out a soft breath and turned to his brother.
"Take care, Reggie." His voice softened—rare, quiet. "I'm going to my dorm. We'll talk tomorrow. Today was… a lot."
He hesitated, then pulled Regulus briefly into a hug—tight, grounding, protective.
"Don't think too much tonight," he murmured. "Let the older brother do the worrying this time."
And with that, Sirius walked toward the exit—steps steady, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. Regulus knew that look. The same one Sirius had before the night he left Grimmauld Place for good. A look that meant something was shifting—something important.
Whether that shift was dangerous or necessary, Regulus couldn't tell.
He only hoped it wouldn't break his brother.
Left alone, Regulus leaned back into the couch. His muscles felt heavy, as though every emotion from the day had settled into his bones. He stared into the fireplace—into the dancing flames casting gold and emerald shadows across the stone walls.
Fire had always soothed him. Silent, warm, mesmerizing. A place where thoughts drifted instead of pressed.
But tonight?
Tonight, even fire felt unfamiliar.
His world—everything he believed, everything he stood on—had tilted.
So he sat there—quiet, still, the flames reflecting in his eyes—trying not to think at all.
Because some nights, pretending to be unaffected was easier than admitting you were breaking.