Chapter Text
Time had a funny way of sliding out from under one’s feet. One moment you’re standing looking at yourself in a mirror and seeing youthful beauty, the next time you’re seeing the faint lines of age. School tests seemed to last ages, while summer slips away in the blink of an eye. The nine-to-five crowd are constantly grumbling about the drudge of work, yet when a day off comes, it’s gone before you know it.
The children in front of him illustrated the passage of time more poignantly than anything else. It seemed just yesterday that his eldest had been laid in his arms for the first time, squalling their discomfort at their new cold, bright world. Now their daughter was ten, set to get her Hogwarts letter soon. It was as if he had blinked and his baby girl had gone from fitting in one of his arms to a tall, slender girl who promised to be a radiantly-beautiful woman once she was grown.
Sirius Orion Black, the third Black to carry his given name, stared out at the sight in their back gardens with warm, loving eyes. It was spring, their trees were finally beginning to flower and the grass was already turning a lush, soft green under their feet. Jumpers were shed in favor of jackets as the world seemed to shake off the lingering chill of winter. His family was outside, enjoying the warm rays of evening sun.
His eldest, their precious daughter, raced around the back with a joyous, bell-like laugh, long ebon hair flowing in the breeze. Her brother, two and a half years younger, chased after her with his own laugh, hair glinting deeply reddish-brown in the setting sun. Both children kept Sirius and Harry on their toes with their antics, their godfathers Remus and Bill egging them on with shit-eating grins. At the moment they were a bit more discreet in their shenanigans. Harry was almost six months gone with their third child, another boy. His temper while carrying was a bit more volatile, neither man wanted it turned on them.
It was, Muriel had remarked more than once, a Prewett trait. For the most part those of the bloodline endured pregnancy with relative ease, but their tempers were a bit sharper. She always seemed to enjoy watching their antics during Harry’s times gravid with some evil pleasure. There had been a sharp learning curve with his princess, but Sirius was proud to say he learned quickly. That and he knew how to dodge hexes. They were all ensconced at the Prewett estate now, Harry had offered for Remus and Bill to stay at Rosewood. After some initial protests and a bit of flared tempers from stung pride (there were two of Prewett blood involved after all) the pair had accepted it gladly. With the war over, Hermione had moved out just after graduating from Hogwarts. Her and Harry had grown apart. It was inevitable really; Harry was eight years older than her and had different priorities.
Sirius’ fingers left the doorframe and reached up, tracing his neck unconsciously as his thoughts drifted back over the years. There was a long, thin silver scar running down his throat vertically from ear to his collarbone on the left side. A remnant that had stayed with him permanently despite the best attempts from the Healers. It didn’t worry Sirius, the scar. He knew he was still an attractive man; the scar was hardly noticeable unless under the right lighting. The only thing that he hadn’t liked about it was the guilt and lingering pain that would creep into Harry’s eyes for months afterward. Dumbledore had done a good job trying to kill him all those years ago.
The man had been sentenced to Azkaban prison, maximum security, for thirty years. After that he would be given the Dementor’s Kiss. His sentencing would have been harsher, but the Wizengamot had been shown the bit of that night with Harry’s ‘possession’ of sorts by Nimue, and her Judgement upon him. Assured that the man wouldn’t die (couldn’t, actually), they had leveled that sentence upon him. Ten years had been tacked on just for the attempted murder of a Lord of a Most Noble and Ancient House.
There had been some members of the Wizengamot who doubted what happened that night, supporters of Dumbledore to the bitter end. Their protests had died upon their lips when Harry had removed the glamour he had been wearing. The Goddess of Magic was an ethereal being, one of immense power. Though she had been gentle with him, her presence had left a physical mark on him. Directly above where his ‘curse’ scar had been, Harry’s hair had gone pure white, almost pale enough for the individual strands to be transparent. By itself it would seem a strange coincidence, if not for the mark on his throat. Where his collar bones met, at the base of his throat, was a tiny iridescent rune, one that Runic Masters had never been able to interpret before. It’s appearance on Harry’s body, after his joining with Nimue, had excited them immensely, for clearly it meant ‘magic’ itself, or ‘Nimue’.
He had seen, upon his release from the hospital, what had happened after Dumbledore had shot that Dark cutting hex at him. He was perhaps one of the only individuals that had seen so many important events via Pensieve. Harry’s past, his evidence about the Ministry, and then what had happened that fateful night of the Gala. The Gala was a bi-annual event, as Amelia had been pondering, it was a very successful gather too. They had opened it up to some members of the public and added silent auctions of rarities for Saint Mungo’s and the new orphanage’s fundraising.
The orphanage had been Harry’s idea. Not only for those of wizarding descent with no living relative, it also housed Muggleborn children with active magic whose parents had rejected them or, sadly, attempted to either abandon or kill the child. Magic wasn’t widely accepted after all, there were those that often suffered at the hands of adults. It had been something positive for Harry to do, after having his own childhood exposed during the Dursley trial.
Almost all of the laws passed under Dumbledore’s time as Supreme Mugwump had ended up being thrown out entirely, or reworked to the point where they no longer resembled the original laws at all. The Wizengamot had voted to remove his Order of Merlin, First Class and burn his portrait that had been painted for Hogwarts (they hadn’t even done that to Sirius’ ancestor, regarded as the most unpopular Headmaster ever).
Furthermore, his name had been struck from the register of service in the Ministry, including the ICW. To future members of the Wizengamot, it would be as if he hadn’t been in the halls of government at all. A new ruling had gone into effect after the debacle; the person who represented Wizarding Great Britain in the ICW and Supreme Mugwump could not be the same person, nor would a Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts be allowed to simultaneously serve in the government.
Hogwarts had undergone complex restructuring and thorough cleansing. Gringotts had, for a fee, hired a team of curse-breakers and Master Warders to go through the school stone by stone and remove any Dark artifacts or curses they found. Under a floorboard in the Defense professor’s office, hidden by a rug, they had found an ornate golden mirror, shattered, with several layers of curses and preservations wards. The irony of its location had not been lost on Harry, who had hidden his school things from the Dursleys for years under a loose floorboard.
None of them had been surprised to find out, once the curse was lifted, that it was the one on the Defense position. Nor had it been a huge surprise to find that the signature on it was that of Albus too-many-names Dumbledore rather than Voldemort as perpetuated through rumor. Filius had immediately contacted Remus and offered him a permanent post in Defense. Remus had been floored, pointing out his ‘furry little problem’. Filius had told him that safety precautions were in place and the Board of Governors had been only too eager to hire him after they had gone through test results. Apparently, the year Remus had taught had yielded the highest overall scores in Defense in over ten years.
Sirius stepped outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air and shaking his head to clear his thoughts. While both he and Harry remained very active in their government and the Wizengamot, both had also been taking a well-deserved break over the last few years. For now, aside from a few sessions a year, raising their family was gladly given priority over political maneuvering.
He made his way over to the comfortable outdoor lounging area where Harry sat on a wicker loveseat, watching their children with an amused, loving smile. Deftly, Sirius slipped in behind him on the chair, cradling Harry’s frame between his legs and wrapping his arms around his beloved’s swollen waist to rest his hands gently on the swell of their unborn child. Their daughter and son ran over to him with happy yells, enthusiastically hugging him before running off again.
Amaryllis Lyra Black, ‘Amy’ to her family and friends, was their eldest child, born in early May. Quick and clever, she shared Sirius’ own rich grey eyes, which shifted towards blue when her emotions got the better of her. She was absolutely Sirius’ princess; he hadn’t been able to resist a single thing about her from the moment she was born. He was thinking Gryffindor for his girl, she was bold and adventurous, always up to try something new.
Their son, on the other hand, was likely either Ravenclaw or Slytherin bound. Clever like his sister, but a bit more cautious and he always seemed to have a plan if something didn’t work out. Emrys Regulus Black reminded Sirius much of his namesake. Prone to quiet, introspective behaviors and activities, he would have random bursts of excited activity or mischievous behavior. Remus was his favorite godparent, he would often gift the young boy a book and then on the next visit Sirius would find them, sitting on a couch, heads practically touching as they enthusiastically discussed subtle foreshadowing or important plot points. Harry had wanted to follow his family tradition of naming children for the stars, but Sirius had been less convinced. They had compromised, choosing to honor his younger brother instead.
The unborn baby boy in Harry’s womb already had a name. James Sirius Black, their third and last child. Harry was reaching the age where pregnancies were getting harder on him. Sirius was more than content enough with his three precious gifts and the potential grandchildren throughout the years. It was a far better future than he could have ever imagined as a bitter, rebellious child growing up in a less than stable family.
Introspectively, his thoughts had led him back to an earlier realization. He’d seen the date today and thought it had been familiar for some reason. Gently he reached up, grasped Harry’s chin and turned his head, so deep silver met aqua. “Do you know what today is?” he asked, musing out loud.
“The 8th of June, 2019,” Harry responded automatically. “Why, did time get away from you again? I’m not forgetting something am I?”
“No,” Sirius reassured him. “It’s just a funny little realization I had. Today’s been bugging me; the date has been stuck in my head all day. I kept thinking it was familiar, that something important was today.”
He smiled at Harry, whose breath hitched in response to the emotion in deep silver eyes. With a loving smile and awe in his voice Sirius continued, “Then it finally hit me, as I was watching you and the kids from the doorway. It was today, Harry. Today was the day you entered the Department of Mysteries and walked into the veil. Today was the day you completely changed my life as well as everyone else’s, whether they know it or not.”
Harry’s eyes widened in startled realization, a far away expression on his face. Mildly stunned he breathed quietly, almost to himself, “I didn’t remember.”
Slowly, Sirius brought Harry’s lips to his own, kissing him deeply. It was passionate and lingering, absorbing the taste of each other. Their children were distracted with their game and thus weren’t interrupting their parents as they shared a rare peaceful moment. Eventually they parted, Harry’s cheeks flushed with color, eyes sparkling. There was only one thing Sirius could think to say in that moment.
“Thank you,” he breathed softly, heart full of gratitude and love. “Thank you for everything.”