Bang!
The crisp popping sound of Apparition awakened the enchanted oil lamps embedded on the walls flanking the narrow entrance hall. Fresh air rushed into the room through the opened magical barriers, restoring some much-needed vitality to the slightly stuffy old mansion that had been closed up for weeks.
A series of sharp cracks followed in quick sequence, and Kreacher, the old, greyish house-elf of the Black house appeared before them with his typical hunched posture.
"Welcome back, Master Watson, Master Sirius, Mr. Lupin... and this young lady."
Kreacher's ears, covered in milky-white fur that showed his age, wrinkled noticeably. His plump, bulging nose twitched several times as he took in the scents of the newcomers.
Then, as if smelling something particularly unpleasant, something that offended his pure-blood sensibilities, his shoulders shrank back defensively.
But under the scrutinizing gazes of both Bryan and Sirius, both of whom had worked hard to 'reform' his prejudices, he said in a deliberately muffled voice that still carried traces of reluctance:
"Kreacher does not know this young lady's name, but Kreacher welcomes her to the noble and most ancient House of Black as a guest."
The formal words came out stiffly, clearly costing him some effort.
"Oh, thank you!"
Amelia was somewhat surprised to see such an elderly, traditional house-elf here, having heard they were rare these days. She nodded politely at Kreacher, trying to be respectful. "I'm Amelia Depp. You can just call me Amelia, Kreacher."
Certain deeply ingrained notions and prejudices existed in Kreacher's head after decades of serving the most prejudiced branch of the Black family.
Having an unfamiliar witch, one he clearly suspected of impure blood, casually address him by name and speak to him as an equal made him visibly uncomfortable. His face twitched with internal conflict. But in the end, after a noticeable struggle, he restrained some of his old bad habits and impulses.
"Dinner will be ready in a while, Master Watson, Master Sirius," He said, not acknowledging Amelia's introduction.
"That's fine. We need to have a private chat before dinner. Go about your business, Kreacher," Bryan said softly.
After bowing stiffly, Kreacher disappeared before them with a final crack.
"Did he almost lose his life just then, Bryan?" Sirius said with a curl of his lip, half-joking but also somewhat serious. "I saw that look in his eyes. Twenty years ago he might have hexed her."
"Don't be too demanding of him, Sirius—" Remus said amiably, acting as the usual peacemaker. "I think Kreacher has improved considerably from where he started. It's been quite some time since I've heard him privately calling me 'filthy werewolf' or muttering about my 'contaminated presence.'"
Master Watson and Master Sirius, both titles were ordinary enough on their own, but together they seemed rather odd, contradictory even.
Amelia blinked in confusion as she observed the ancient mansion, which in many places displayed extraordinary taste and luxurious old-money style. Expensive portraits decorated the walls, antique furniture stood in seamless condition, and the air seemed musty with history.
Her mind was absolutely brimming with questions.
Since the house-elf called Bryan "master," that indicated both the elf's loyalty and the house's ownership belonged to Bryan. But wasn't he Muggle-born? And Kreacher's formal welcome had also stated that this mansion belonged to the Blacks, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. How did those facts reconcile?
"Come on—" Bryan turned his head and glanced sideways at Amelia, his expression incomprehensible. "Let's go to the dining room and discuss your situation properly."
With that, Bryan took the lead and walked forward into the house's depths, but his gloomy expression and oppressive aura, the way his magic seemed to press against the air made Amelia feel a distinct wave of apprehension striking her.
"Don't worry too much—" Sirius said with a slight, reassuring smile, noticing her tension. "From what I know of Bryan, though he looks displeased right now, he's actually not quite at the point of being truly angry. This is more... disappointed concern."
Sirius had been present that night at the World Trade Center hotel when Bryan and Amelia had recognized each other. They had spoken vaguely at the time, dancing around the truth, and Sirius respecting their privacy, hadn't followed up with direct questions.
But through what he'd overheard and subsequent detailed discussions with Remus during quiet moments, the two of them had roughly grasped the relationship between Amelia and Bryan.
"You've spent time with Bryan, Amelia—" Remus also gave Amelia a gentle, encouraging smile. "You know he's actually quite easy to get along with once you understand him. He's not harsh."
Amelia nodded stiffly, not entirely convinced, and followed behind Sirius and Remus as they moved through the entrance hall and deeper into the house.
They stopped in front of a wooden door leading underground that Bryan had just disappeared through. Remus suddenly said with careful casualness, "Sirius, if you don't mind, could you help me organize my luggage? I can never remember which trunk has what."
"Oh—"
Sirius was momentarily stunned by the clear excuse. After realizing what Remus was doing: creating privacy for the difficult conversation ahead, he glanced subtly at Amelia with sympathy.
Then he said in a deliberately light tone,
"Of course, no problem at all. Well then... Amelia, the dining room is downstairs in the basement. Just follow the staircase down. Um, the stairs are rather low, it's old building, you know, so be careful not to hit your head on the ceiling."
Amelia naturally understood they wanted to create an opportunity for her and Bryan to talk privately, without witnesses to the family discussion. She bit her lip nervously and nodded, watching as the two men made their exit upstairs with her luggage.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the half-closed wooden door.
The crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, polished clean and bright, clearly maintained by house-elf magic, emitted a steady, warm glow that illuminated the cave-like depths of the basement room reasonably well despite the lack of windows.
At the far end of the room was a rough stone fireplace where the house-elf they'd just met in the entrance hall was busy preparing dinner, chopping vegetables, stirring pots that stirred themselves. Bryan sat in the middle of a long wooden table positioned in the outer section of the room, gently rubbing his brow with weariness and stress.
Amelia bit her lip again. She descended the narrow stone staircase to the basement carefully, noting Sirius's warning about the low ceiling, and walked to the wooden table with restrained steps.
Snap—
Bryan snapped his fingers, and the clinking and clattering sounds from the fireplace suddenly stopped. The pots stopped their movement, spoons froze mid-stir.
He drew a long breath and looked at the somewhat nervous Amelia standing in front of him. A touch of reluctance rose in his heart as he didn't want to have this conversation. Both his expression and voice softened considerably from their earlier coldness.
"Sit down, Amelia—"
At his words, at the gentle invitation rather than harsh command, Amelia obediently pulled out a chair across from him and carefully sat down, arranging her coat.
The two looked at each other in long silence. The awkwardness threading through the oppressive atmosphere was so thick it was almost funny, and it made Bryan want to laugh despite himself.
Clearly, between the two of them, Amelia was technically the one of higher seniority, his aunt by blood, and also older by years. Yet she sat there like a child about to receive stern criticism from a parent, nervously awaiting Bryan's potential wrath with hunched shoulders.
"How did you get here?" After rubbing his brow again in a gesture of exhaustion, Bryan sighed and asked with genuine curiosity.
"Word came from the Ministry of Magic that Cornelius Fudge has ordered a strict ban on any American Magical Congress Aurors entering British territory. He's quite paranoid about it. How did you overcome that noteworthy obstacle?"
It wasn't the outpouring of anger she'd anticipated, the shouting she'd prepared herself for. Amelia secretly breathed a sigh of relief and said with feigned composure, trying to sound casual,
"I resigned from my position."
"Resigned?" Bryan couldn't help but be genuinely astonished, sitting up straighter. "But becoming an Auror was your dream, wasn't it? Your lifelong ambition? As I understand it, the MACUSA only accepts the most outstanding young witches and wizards. The competition is fierce.
Through a stroke of considerable fortune, you had such a rare opportunity after your internship. And you also participated in the vampire suppression operation, which would be excellent for your career trajectory in the Security Department—a major case, commendations, your name in official reports.
Yet you voluntarily gave it all up to come to the British magical world and wade into troubled waters?"
Like a parent worried about their child making impulsive, life-altering decisions, Bryan's tone carried a distinct hint of reproach and concern.
"Entering MACUSA to become an Auror was indeed once my dream, my goal," Amelia acknowledged.
Somehow, paradoxically, when Bryan truly expressed his dissatisfaction and worry rather than cold anger, Amelia suddenly discovered that the thread of fear in her heart had completely disappeared.
Instead, she felt filled with an unexpected warmth, like the warm current that had flowed from her wand into her body when Bryan had first touched it.
This warmth gave Amelia courage she hadn't known she possessed. She straightened her posture, lifted her chin, and said fearlessly with conviction.
"But after the Trask Graves incident, after witnessing firsthand how President Quahog deliberately distorted the truth for what politicians call 'the greater good,' I realized I might not be suited for work at the MACUSA. Not if that's what my goal leads to and means."
"If you feel you can't adapt to dirty politics and institutional compromise, you could easily find other meaningful work in the American magical world," Bryan argued, trying a different approach.
"If you're willing, I can have Remus recruit you immediately as the head of our workshop's American operations, leading the goblin teams there and advancing the construction of the Learning Machine after-sales service network. It would be important work, well-paid, influential."
Bryan's brows furrowed deeper with concern and frustration.
"You're intelligent, Amelia. You should know perfectly well that if the relationship between us were exposed, if Voldemort learned I have family, he wouldn't hesitate to send his Death Eaters to torture or kill you. You'd be a target, a vulnerability he'd exploit without mercy—"
"I know the risks involved."
For a long time, no one had dared interrupt Bryan while he was speaking. But Amelia stared at Bryan with blazing eyes, contrary to her usual cautious composure, and said loudly with passionate intensity.
"The Dark wizard whose name cannot even be spoken safely in this country—I know his danger and the harm he causes to everyone he touches. That's exactly why I came here, why I gave everything up. As your family, as your aunt, I can't let you fight alone, can I? What kind of person would that make me?"
"I'm not fighting alone, Amelia—" Bryan said, trying to be reasonable. "Besides Dumbledore, there's a group of like-minded, capable people fighting alongside me. People like Sirius and Remus, experienced fighters. Oh, none of that is really the point, Amelia."
His voice grew firmer, more insistent.
"You need to return to New York as soon as possible. Your real home is there, and your parents aren't young anymore. They're almost in their sixties. They also need you to look after them, to be there as they age—"
"They understand the entire situation."
Amelia once again interrupted Bryan's increasingly desperate rambling, cutting through his arguments. Her eyes were firm and unwavering, her neck stiff with determination as she said clearly,
"I told them everything—about you, about Voldemort, about the danger. And it was they who begged me to come here and look after you! They said you need family to care for you, whether you admit it or not!"
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