Harry POV*
The study in Grimmauld Place smelled faintly of polish and old wood.
Sirius lounged in an armchair with his boots propped on the desk, a deliberate insult to the room's grim ancestral portraits(Sirius loved it.).
Remus, as ever, looked like he was suppressing the urge to sigh, have some slack bruh.
I sat opposite them, notebook in hand. grinning.
"So, what's first, Padfoot? Do I learn how to sneer at peasants or sip tea with my pinky out?"
Sirius gave him a look. "Don't tempt me. I swore never to become my mother, but apparently fate wants me to lecture about etiquette."
"You're already doing it," Remus said mildly, folding his hands.
Sirius groaned and raked a hand through his hair. "Fine. Lesson one, I: when you're a Black or a Potter, you don't bow your head unless you intend to start a duel. The Purebloods love their bows, it's all peacocks in silk robes. Too low and you look weak, too high and you look arrogant. Just… tilt your head like you're about to hex them but can't be bothered."
I mimicked him a lazy tilt, half amused, half annoyed. "Like this? Giving off 'try me, bish' vibes?"
Remus covered his mouth to hide a laugh. Sirius pointed. "Exactly that. You'll scandalize half the Wizengamot."
I scribbled a note. 'Try me, bish' head tilt.
Black family approved.
"Now," Sirius continued, "as for responsibilities, Potters are old money, old loyalty. Gryffindors to the bone. They're expected to defend the innocent, throw gold at causes, and get themselves killed doing something stupidly noble. Blame your dad."
Remus' lips quirked. "He means: James had a habit of leaping before looking."
Sirius huffed. "Yes, well, the Blacks are the opposite. Cunning, ruthless, manipulative. They collect favors like chocolate frogs. You, pup, are both. Congratulations, you'll be expected to bankrupt yourself saving orphans and outmaneuver snakes in the Ministry."
I snorted. "So basically: Gryffindor wallet, Slytherin brain?"
"Perfect summary," Remus said dryly. "And we'll train you to survive both worlds."
By evening, Sirius was restless. "Enough lecturing. If you're going to learn politics, you need to meet family. The tolerable ones."
Remus raised a brow. "You mean Andromeda."
"Exactly. Grab your cloak, Harry. We're going to dinner."
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Andromeda Tonks' home was the polar opposite of Grimmauld Place, bright, warm, cluttered with books and Muggle photographs.
A woman with sharp cheekbones and warm brown eyes opened the door.
"Sirius," she said coolly. "You're late."
Sirius grinned like a schoolboy. "Andromeda, you look stunning as ever. Is that a new hex prepared behind your back?"
Her lips twitched. "Only for you."
I had to bite down a snicker.
This woman radiated the same quiet steel as Professor McGonagall, but with more warmth.
Typical mommy.
Inside, Ted Tonks shook I's hand firmly. "Ted. Solicitor. Occasional Muggle gadget repairman when the neighbors get nosy." His eyes twinkled. "So this is the famous Harry. You eat like a teenager, I hope?"
Before I could answer, a crash came from the kitchen.
"Wotcher!" Nymphadora Tonks stumbled in, tripping over a chair leg. Her hair was bubblegum pink tonight, and she wore a grin that was both sheepish and mischievous.
I blinked. His heart did a weird skip. Ohh damn.
She's cute.
"Harry, meet my daughter," Andromeda said, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Just Tonks," Nymphadora said quickly, shooting me a wink. "Only my mum calls me Nymphadora, and only when she's about to kill me."
I smirked. "Noted. Tonks it is. And… nice hair. Very subtle."
She laughed, her hair instantly turning bright yellow in response. what a cheatcode.
The table groaned under the weight of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and something Ted swore was a "Muggle casserole experiment" that smelled suspiciously like curry.
I had barely sat down when Tonks nearly tipped her glass over. "Merlin's pan—sorry, clumsy again." She grinned sheepishly, flicking her wand to mop the spill.
I smirked. "I was going to say it made the table look dramatic. Like a battlefield."
Her hair flashed crimson, then settled back into pink as she laughed. "You're cheeky. I like it."
"Careful, Dora," Andromeda said sharply. "You'll encourage him."
"Mum!" Tonks groaned, hiding her face.
Sirius nearly choked on his wine from laughing. "Oh, Nymphadora, I missed this."
"Don't. Call. Me. That!" Tonks shot back, pointing her fork at him.
I coughed into his sleeve, pretending not to grin. She's easy to ragebait.
As plates were passed around, Ted turned to me. "So, you're growing up in both worlds. Tell me, which is stranger: wizards who think electricity is a Dark Art, or Muggles who can split atoms but can't fix a leaky tap?"
I blinked. "Honestly? Wizards. At least Muggles admit plumbing is complicated."
Remus chuckled softly while Sirius slapped the table. "See? The boy's got sense."
Ted leaned back, satisfied. "Spoken like a future barrister."
I raised a brow. "Barrister?"
"Lawyer," Ted explained. "Defends people in court. Though in your case, Harry, I'd say you're more likely to cause the court case."
That got the whole table laughing, Sirius loudest of all.
Midway through, Sirius cleared his throat. "Right. I've been meaning to bring this up: I want Andromeda and her family reinstated into the House of Black."
Forks froze mid air.
Andromeda's eyes narrowed. "And what, exactly, does that mean, Sirius? Last I checked, your mother burned me off the tapestry for marrying Ted."
"Which was her mistake, not yours," Sirius shot back. "I'm Lord Black now. I can undo it."
"You hated the name Black," Andromeda said sharply. "Hated the traditions. And now you want me back under that banner?"
I shifted, sensing the tension. Sirius leaned forward, voice lower but firm. "Yes. Because the House of Black isn't my mother anymore. It's what we make it. You, Ted, Tonks, you're family. That matters more than some stupid blood curse."
Andromeda studied him for a long moment, unreadable. Then she turned to me. "And what do you think, Harry? You're at the center of this too."
I froze, caught midbite. Every eye turned to him. I swallowed, sat straighter. "I think Sirius is right. Blood doesn't matter half as much as loyalty. If names are supposed to mean something, then let's make them mean the right thing."
Tonks' eyes flickered toward him, curious and impressed.
Sirius looked openly proud. I think I made a mistake.
Andromeda's expression softened. "Merlin help us, you really are James' son. Fine. If you mean it, Sirius, then I accept."
Ted raised his glass. "To family, the messy, ridiculous kind."
Glasses clinked. Even Andromeda allowed herself a smile.
Dessert was treacle tart, though Tonks managed to get powdered sugar all over her robes. I teased, "That's a bold new look." She stuck her tongue out and shifted her hair color to match the sugar dusting.
She really is a meme material.
Remus watched the chaos with a faint smile. For the first time in years, Sirius looked alive, I looked at home, and Andromeda looked at peace.
It wasn't just dinner. It was the start of something larger.
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The night air was cool when I slipped out into the back garden.
Lanterns floated lazily over the flowerbeds, glowing faintly gold.
I leaned on the low stone wall, stomach pleasantly full, head buzzing with everything Sirius and Andromeda had said.
"You know," a voice said from behind, "most guests don't ditch the adults this early."
I turned. Tonks stood in the doorway, hair a soft lavender now, her arms folded. She grinned. "But then, you're not most guests, are you, Potter?"
I smirked faintly. "I thought you were the one who nearly drowned the roast in pumpkin juice."
"Oi!" She marched down the steps, mock offended. "That was barely a spill. Could've happened to anyone."
"Sure," I teased. "Anyone with two left hands."
Her hair flashed scarlet for half a second before returning to lavender.
She plopped onto the wall beside him, swinging her legs. "Careful, or I'll hex you. You wouldn't survive being turned into a teapot."
I glanced sideways at her. "Wouldn't that break the teapot?"
Tonks snorted, then shoved him lightly with her shoulder. "Cheeky little brat. I like you."
My ears warmed, but he masked it with a grin. "You're not that much older."
"Excuse me," Tonks said dramatically, pointing to herself. "I am a proud, qualified Auror in training, thank you very much. Practically ancient."
"Ancient?" I raised a brow. "So, what, twenty?"
"Worse. Nineteen." She sighed theatrically. "Already past my prime."
I chuckled before I could stop himself. "You don't act like it."
"Good," she shot back quickly. Then her voice softened a little. "Honestly, I… it's nice. You make Sirius laugh again. Mum and Dad, too. Things feel… lighter with you around."
I blinked, caught off guard and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't really do anything. Just… show up."
"Sometimes," Tonks said, tilting her head toward him, "that's enough."
For a moment, the air hung between them, quiet but comfortable.
Then she grinned again, hair flashing bubblegum pink. "So. Tell me, Potter. You any good on a broom? Or do you just stand around looking heroic?"
I smirked. "Best Seeker in a century."
"Big words." Tonks hopped off the wall, stretching. "Guess I'll just have to race you sometime."
"You'd lose," I said confidently.
She shot him a wink over her shoulder as she headed back inside. "We'll see."
I stood there a moment longer, watching the lanterns drift.
I didn't notice Sirius at the window, watching with a faint, knowing smile before drawing the curtains.
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Next week Tonks family move Grimmauld place as they got reinstated, with Sirius and tonks here? oh boy.
Grimmauld Place had never been this loud.
The house that once breathed only dust and bitter silence now thudded with footsteps, the creak of furniture being moved, and Sirius's theatrical groaning as Andromeda supervised with all the authority of an elder sister.
"You can't just dump everything in the drawing room, Sirius," she scolded, wand flicking to levitate a battered trunk up the stairs. "Merlin, you're worse than Nymphadora when she was eight."
"Oi!" Tonks yelped, tripping over the troll-leg umbrella stand in the hallway. She hit the floor with a thud, her hair flashing bubblegum pink in irritation. "Don't drag me into this—bloody thing keeps jumping in front of me!"
"That stand hasn't moved in twenty years," Sirius said, smirking as he leaned against the wall. "You're just hopeless."
"Hopelessly talented, you mean," Tonks shot back, sticking her tongue out. She shifted her face briefly into Sirius's own and mimicked his drawl: "'I'm Sirius Black, heir to a dark and noble house, but I can't be arsed to lift a single trunk.'"
I choked a laugh, watching Sirius's expression flicker between pride and outrage. "Honestly," I said, grinning, "she's got you down pretty well."
Sirius scowled, though his lips twitched. "Traitor."
Ted Tonks walked in carrying two boxes, utterly calm amidst the chaos. "I told you, Dora," he said mildly, "you'd trip over that thing. Again."
"Thanks for the moral support, Dad," Tonks muttered, getting up and dusting herself off.
I stood in the middle of it all, letting the scene soak in.
The Tonkses weren't just guests, they were family, the kind that made Grimmauld feel more like a home.
It was noisy, messy, alive.
'I could get used to this.' I thought.
Later that evening, after the trunks had been shoved into corners and rooms claimed, Sirius pulled ,E aside with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Come on," Sirius said. "Time to show you the heart of this madhouse."
He led me up a narrow staircase to the third floor, toward a heavy double door etched with the Black crest. With a flourish, Sirius swung it open.
The library stretched out before them, two stories of towering shelves and ladders, dust motes dancing in the air.
The smell of parchment, leather, and faintly singed wards filled my nose.
Candles floated overhead, casting light on a collection that felt half like Hogwarts, half like a dragon's hoard.
"Welcome," Sirius said, sweeping his arm dramatically, "to the crown jewel of the noble and most insufferable House of Black."
I stepped in slowly, eyes wide. The titles alone sent shivers down my spine: Rites of Blood and Bone, Mental Walls, Eternal, Pureblood Politics and the Preservation of Power.
"Bloody hell," I whispered.
Sirius snorted. "Exactly. Bloody hell is right. Half of this is propaganda, the other half is so Dark it could make Voldemort blush."
"Knowledge is power," I murmured, tracing the spine of an ancient tome with reverence.
Remus, who had followed them in, pinched the bridge of his nose like a man already bracing for a headache. "Harry, be careful. Books like these… they bite. Literally."
"Better to know what they contain than be ignorant of it," I argued softly, turning to face them.
My green eyes gleamed, not with reckless hunger, but with sharp calculation.
Sirius grimaced. "That's the same argument half my family used before they went stark raving Dark. I'll be damned if I watch you walk that path."
Andromeda, leaning on the doorframe, tilted her head. "Understanding doesn't mean embracing, Sirius. Knowledge can be shield and sword, if wielded wisely."
I shot her a grateful look. "Exactly. I'm not saying I'll practice blood sacrifice in the cellar. But if Voldemort crawled his way back once, he'll try again. And he knows things—things I need to know if I'm going to stop him."
Tonks, perched on a ladder halfway up, swung her legs idly. "So what, we start a Dark Arts book club? I'll bring tea and biscuits."
"Don't tempt me," I said with a smirk.
Sirius groaned. "Merlin save me. First Remus, now you. Andromeda, control your daughter before she and Harry form an alliance of sarcasm."
"I approve," Tonks chirped.
Remus sighed, but his lips twitched with amusement.
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The parchment was brittle under his fingertips, but the ink still bled black and sharp.
Ritual Pathways: Binding, Strengthening, Sacrifice.
I leaned over the open tome, eyes flickering as diagrams of circles, triangles, and twisted runes stared back at him.
The margins were filled with notes from generations of Blacks, each handwriting precise, or fevered.
"Nothing is gained without balance. Power taken must be paid."
The first section was blunt about cost: ritual magic didn't run on willpower alone it demanded trade.
For strength of body: a pint of blood, willingly given, offered under moonlight.
The more blood spilled, the greater the endurance though too much risked permanent damage.
For clarity of mind: a month's worth of memories of simple joys.
The example given was "the taste of sweetmeats, the sound of a child's laughter." Burned away in flame, they sharpened focus but left the caster hollow, joyless if overused.
For protection wards: living sacrifice of vermin or predator. Rats for simple wards, foxes or wolves for stronger ones.
Humans were explicitly mentioned in darker margins, their deaths binding blood and soul to stone.
My jaw tightened as he skimmed those. expected from glorified inbreeds.
The blacks always takes the shortest road.
Still, other entries fascinated him:
Blood-binding oaths that tied families together, requiring only a few drops of blood from each member.
Sirius would scoff at it as barbaric, but I then thought about Voldemort's followers, what if a counter-ritual existed?
Rune-amplified rituals that let a single sacrifice echo for years if carved properly into stone.
The Blacks had entire diagrams for carving hidden runes into foundations.
Mind arts rituals, one particularly chilling design showed how to seal memories into crystal phials permanently, at the cost of one fingernail per memory.
Painful, bloody, but efficient. nothing a episky couldn't fix.
I copied none of this onto parchment.
I simply traced the diagrams in my mind, storing them in the vast halls of his Occlumency castle, each ritual shelved carefully, warnings attached.
I could feel the temptation woven into the words—use me, try me, claim me—but I shoved it down.
Not worth it yet. Knowledge first. There is still chamber of secrets.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "So much for magic being all waving wands and funny Latin," he muttered.
A note scribbled in the margin caught his eye, scrawled in a sharp, arrogant hand:
'To gain without sacrifice is folly. Remember this, child of Black.'
I shut the tome softly, his expression unreadable. I'll remember.
But I'll choose what to give and what to take.
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