Chapter Text
The wind breathes lonely,
longing to be seen.
Sometimes, the soul has days like these.
~Angie Weiland-Crosby
Knightsbridge, London
Sunday - 25th July, 1971
Regulus
Growing up, Regulus always wished he had a brother or a sister, or even just a friend. At this point, he'll take anything. Unfortunately, once his parents birthed their heir, they didn't see any reason in having another child. Perhaps if he were a girl that would have been different; maybe Walburga and Orion Black wouldn't have been so proud and would have sprouted out kids until they had a boy.
But no, Regulus is a boy. And, unfortunately for him, he is also a Black.
Sometimes he wishes he weren't, though he could hardly say that out loud, let alone allow his thoughts to wander like that. It's dangerous living in the same house as Walburga on the best of days, with even your thoughts being limited to what you wouldn't mind her seeing. She is a skilled Legilimens, Regulus found out the hard way. He still has a large scar that stretches from his left shoulder blade and all the way down to his right hip, spreading and drawn like wild vines, to remind him. Never upset Walburga Black.
Regulus learnt Occlumency by the time he was eight. He still rarely does anything that could get him in trouble. It could be the fear of being caught and then punished, or it could be because even though his mother has never treated him the way a mother should her own child, he still cares what she thinks about him. He still wants her to be proud. Being a disappointment to yourself is normal - at least, Regulus thinks it is - but being a disappointment to one's own parents is an idea he loathes.
There is one thing Regulus likes to do. Something forbidden. Something he knows he shouldn't, but can't help himself. Regulus strives for the forbidden; it's something that has always been true about him. He hasn't found the reason for it yet. Just that it's completely addicting, like warm honey in tea and snow that crunches under your feet.
Whenever Regulus is feeling particularly lonely at home, he waits for his parents to sleep before sneaking out of his bedroom window and climbing down the unstable drainpipe down the front of his house, leading to the free world. He'll remain in the shadows for the distance of his road, but as soon as Grimmauld is out of his sight, he'll jump into the closest halo of light, beaming down from the streetlight above. He made a game of it the first time he snuck out, when he was only nine. Jumping from circle to circle, trying to avoid the darkness the shadows brought. He still plays the game whenever he sneaks out, two years later. He still has the same destination too.
The Victoria and Albert Museum.
Yes, he knows it's a Muggle museum and he should not be anywhere near anything related to Muggles... but, technically, he should not have snuck out in the first place either. So, he levels with himself, does it really matter?
Muggles are fascinating either way. There's a window with a loose catch a couple of floors up, which Regulus found the first night he snuck out. It's never been fixed; he doesn't know what he would do if it ever was. This museum is the only current solace he has in his life. He remembers how he had attempted to speak to a portrait of a woman, only for her to remain still and lifeless. Muggle paintings don't move.
He'd liked this painting the most, for the woman, even if she were motionless, was rather beautiful. She had a pointed nose, much like his own, and dark ringlet hair with matching pale skin. She looked a bit like a boy, in Regulus' opinion.
She could be a Black, had been his first thought after thoroughly examining the painting. It was beautiful and had a sense of ethereality to it. The woman looked to be a part of the garden of which she was sitting in, her dress the same emerald green as the underbrush beneath her slippered feet. He decided he liked that she couldn't move and seemed to have no consciousness, it meant he could admire the work's ornate attraction for as long as he liked without being judged by the person behind the frame.
Then, a terrible thought had struck him.
Maybe she did have a consciousness. Maybe she was stuck there - trapped. By the Muggles. Was that even possible? Muggles didn't have magic and it did seem like a mystical sort of idea.
"Are you trapped?" He questioned aloud.
No reply. Not even a flinch or a blink. Nothing.
It could just be a painting, he thought, or maybe she's trapped in there and cannot reply.
He resolved to speak to her on his way in and out of the museum every night, but did not linger. He thought, if there is a person imprisoned in a painting, there isn't much he can do to help her out and he wanted to explore further. Wanted to know more about these Muggles that people like his parents despised with such passion.
Regulus thought he should give her a name, feeling a bit strange speaking to someone - even if they are an inanimate object - and not addressing them properly. On the small, golden plaque beneath her frame read: 'The Day Dream'. There had also been a recorded date and artist - apparently she had been the painter's lover.
A thought drifted through Regulus' mind, bare of his control. He wondered what it would be like to be so admired by someone that they wanted to paint you just as you are.
He decided to call her Reverie, agreeing with himself that it suited her fully.
Over the last couple of years, Regulus has explored the entirety of the museum multiple times. The portraits and paintings, created with such delicate precision and care. The pastel pieces - oil, soft, and pencil. The graphite pieces, the ink and the charcoal. Images of dances and people and nature and different places around the world. Some with a vivid cacophony of bright hues and others with duller colours. They all conveyed not only what you saw but what you felt. Each colour, each stroke, each placement was chosen meticulously.
Regulus was in awe.
The statues will always be his favourite. They're on the bottom floor of the museum, which means they take the longest to get to from where he enters. Though, if he had the freedom of a normal person - or of a generic Muggle - he would be able to walk through the front doors and the statues would be the first things to greet his eyes.
Their shadows lay unmoving against the marble floor, sometimes overlapping, their limbs flirting with each other. Some were so small that Regulus could probably hold them in his hands, whilst others were larger than him by far.
The first one he'd found had disturbed his nine year-old self. The statue itself was actually rather glorious-looking in his eyes. It looked to be a muscular man, much taller than Regulus himself, holding up a young woman in his two arms. Her face out of view from Regulus due to his petite height. He had wrongfully assumed the man was protecting her and was eager to read the rather lengthy plaque before the sculpture. Eager to hear the - what would sure to be interesting - story.
It was not.
The statue was named 'Pluto and Proserpina'. Pluto had been the king of the underworld, shot by one of Cupid's arrows (Regulus wasn't too sure who Cupid was), and then caught sight of Proserpina collecting flowers in a meadow and immediately fell in love with her. (Maybe this Cupid's arrows make people fall in love with the first person they see? ) He stole her and bed her against her will.
That had been enough of that for one night and Regulus promised himself he wouldn't go back there, even though there was more writing on the plaque. No, he wouldn't. He also did not anymore assume the symbolism behind another statue. From then on, he would read the plaque first and then examine the statue, trying to see it through the designer's eyes.
Regulus, as if he could not stop himself, did go back to the statue of Pluto and Proserpina. The very next night. His curiosity had gotten the best of him and he could not stop his feet from finding that statue first.
He's grateful he did return. He read the rest of what was etched into bronze, though he did not understand very well what it meant, he felt it in his chest. Like a gentle thrum in the very centre of his heart, calm and lovely.
'Soderini [of whom the statue had originally belonged to in the form of a fountain] described water as the soul of cities and gardens.'
It makes him feel delicate for reasons he cannot yet place. Maybe one day when he figures out the meaning behind it, he will have an answer for himself.
It was that second night when he found the statue of the bird and the man. That statue would grow to be both his favourite statue in the museum and a cruel mockery of his life. It consists of a bronze man, face down and dressed in bland clothing. His hands fall limp against the hard floor, reflective on the marble, amber-looking. However, during the middle point of his back, his clothes protrude upwards, grasped by the talons of a rather small blackbird. It's still flapping it's wings, barely holding up the sorrowful man.
The plaque reads: 'When you're feeling down "your bird" is someone who helps you to get back up on your feet.'
It's cruel that this is the statue Regulus is most attracted to, still two years later. He has never had "a bird", nor does he think he'll be able to find one. Other than his parents, the only people who have ever visited him are his cousins - Bellatrix and Narcissa - who haven't come to see him once since they were married off to other Pureblood families.
There were a couple of times (though he had been so tiny at the time, he isn't sure they had been entirely real) he remembers a pair of twins, with hair as white as the plump clouds on a midsummer's day, coming to his house for playdates. He's not sure why they ever stopped coming. Surely, if they had existed at all, he would have more memories of them, or would still know them now.
What he does remember is that there was a boy and a girl. He had gravitated closer to the girl, maybe he'd had a crush on her, he doesn't know. He just remembers she had this aura around her that he enjoyed; comforting and tranquil, like the quiet ripple where fingertips meet lake.
The boy had been just as nice, though much more shy than the girl, not that she had been very loud. More confident. The boy on the other hand had hidden behind his sister a lot, so Regulus barely remembers him.
His sanity has always relied upon his dreams, as well as this museum; so, Regulus chooses to believe the twins weren't real. Somehow, that brings him the most comfort. It would be better than if they were real, it would mean he never lost them. Not that he's ever lost anyone before, he's never known of enough people to be able to lose them. However, sometimes his mother looks at him as if she is showing him off against an invisible competitor, like he's doing better than someone that should be there or maybe was once before.
He's caught his father watching him as if he's missing someone, but it isn't Regulus. It's almost as if he is trying to find them inside Regulus; it makes him feel raw and exposed, like an open wound. He doesn't like it. The reason he doesn't like it is because every time his father cannot find what he is looking for, he always looks devastated.
Regulus hates it when his father is upset. He's the only one of his parents who has ever shown him some decency. Regulus would go as far as to say his father is a kind man, especially in contrast with Walburga who wouldn't know the meaning of the word kind even if it spat in her face.
Orion Black is a simple man, very black and white. In his prime, he'd been a highly-ranked member of the Wizengamot, and had been very good at his job. He rarely made a mistake in his job and even had the opportunity to write a book about his personal views of his profession, as well as how to reach the higher ranks of the Wizengamot.
He'd fallen ill shortly after Regulus was born and has been in and out of a sickbed ever since. Regulus has never once known his father as being fully healthy. He's sure if it were less frequent, he would be more worried about his father's health status. In truth, it's never been a big concern of his. He's just never known him any other way, therefore, it's normal to him.
Of course, Regulus fears when his father gets terribly ill that he will not make it, and every time he feels selfish for it. Yes, he will miss his father if he dies, but that is never the first thought that crosses his mind.
Don't leave me with her.
Alone.
Regulus has been alone his whole life, but when he thinks about being trapped in this musty old house with only his mother for company, he daydreams about running away.
Unfortunately, for a Black, running away is not that simple.
Today is a month exactly until he turns eleven, the age he will be when he finally gets to go to Hogwarts. Regulus has thought about the idea of leaving Grimmauld Place to go to Hogwarts an unfathomable amount of times. He simply cannot wait. It will be everything he has ever dreamed it will be and better. He knows it.
There will be kids his own age, other people, new places to explore. And best of all, no mothers. None at all. Sounds like Heaven if you ask him.
He's sitting in the drawing room on the hearth in front of the fireplace, his mother propped up, back as straight as an iron rod, on a velvet couch, whilst his father writes aimlessly away at some paperwork or other. Regulus is working on his pronunciation with Kreacher - the gammy house-elf that pretty much brought him up. Kreacher is ancient - in one word. He has charcoal-grey hair sprouting out of his wrinkled ears and a face that has fallen so desperately over the years, he fears it may one day fall off. He has beady little eyes that look as if they are capable of being cruel, but have only ever been warm towards Regulus. The tea towel he wears is clean and carries no stench, unlike some other house-elves he's heard rumours of from Kreacher. Some families don't care to look after their servants; the Blacks, however, do not disgrace their house with something filthy. So, Kreacher has the privileges of being able to clean his... garments (?), as well as having a small, boxy cupboard in the chambers of the kitchen, where he has created a little nest to sleep atop of.
There's a sudden scratching sound at the window and Regulus' head jolts to the side. He's been waiting all summer and has a feeling the time has come. His mother scolds him for moving so suddenly, saying it's improper and unbecoming. He apologises swiftly, putting some feeling into it, but not really meaning it. Then, he goes over to the window to allow the unfamiliar owl in and unties the letter from it's twig-like leg.
He thanks it and quickly searches his pocket for some food. When he finds none, he apologises and scratches under it's beak instead. It hoots in understanding - if a bird can do that - and flies away. Regulus closes the window and goes to make his way back over to where Kreacher is still sitting cross-legged on the hearth, when his mother lifts her skirt away from the spot on the couch beside her. An open gesture that he must sit there now.
Regulus moves gracefully over to perch next to his mother, the letter still firmly in his tiny hands. He looks down and reads his name in spindly cursive. A rush of excitement bursts in his chest. He holds his future in his hands.
He looks up at his mother for confirmation and she nods. Next, he glances over to his father, who is still sitting behind his desk, and is smiling softly at him from beneath his greying beard.
Regulus turns the envelope over in his hands and unseals it, then he pulls out the letter carefully, savouring the moment. Wanting to burn it into the back of his retinas and keep it forever.
This is it, he is going to Hogwarts.
***
Port Isaac, Cornwall
Tuesday - 10th August, 1971
Sirius
Sirius loves the sea; honestly, he thinks it may even be his best friend. Port Isaac is small, well known for it's fishing, meaning there's a harbour on the left side of the village where the sea cuts into the land and fisher boats come from far and wide. It's one of Sirius' favourite things to do; each Saturday at the crack of dawn, the boats merge in, bringing with them exotic sea-life, some of which are still new to Sirius to this day, even though he's lived here all his life. He always makes sure to wake early and scamper down to the docks where Mo - Cornwall's main piscator - unloads the newly arrived fish into crates that are sent to mainland's cold storage depot.
Mo doesn't ever complain about Sirius' intrusions, instead encouraging the young boy. He was always saying things on the lines of, "If you plan on sticking around here for long, boy, you'd do well to learn the ways of a fisherman." He's quite an old man - or at least, Sirius thinks he is. By the way his beard is almost fully grey and reaches down to his collarbones, rounding much like Santa Claus' does in Christmas colouring books. His face isn't too wrinkled, the only evidence of age there are the deep indents on the outskirts of his eyes and the frown lines on his forehead.
Most of the time, Sirius will catch the man with one of those outdated smoking pipes. He doesn't personally know anyone in his life who smokes - other than Mo, of course - but he has caught the occasional tourist smoking on the island, usually with a cigarette box in hand.
Sirius tends to spend his days doing a numeral of different things - his favourite always being swimming. His father taught him how to swim before he ever learnt how to walk, it's a part of him. Sometimes, he compares himself to the fish surrounding Port Isaac, free to swim and live and just... be. However, he obviously has the benefit of not being caught in a net and taken to the harbour to be sold as food.
Whenever he isn't in the sea, he's playing different games on the beach, like Volleyball or football or - his all-time favourite - crab-football, which is when you play regular football but you have to crawl around on your hands and feet with your belly in the air. He doesn't mind who he plays with, tourists or locals, anyone who will let him. He's known widely by the people of Port Isaac because his parents weren't originally from around here, which makes them curious.
When he was little, Sirius loved to hear the stories about how they met at a school for wizards and witches. His mother had been in the enemy house - the one everyone seemed to dislike - whilst his father had been in the house of the honest and kind. He doesn't really understand how houses can determine whether you are good or bad or smart or brave, bully or a friend. The concept is utter rubbish in his mind. Besides, he loves his mother with his whole heart; she's generous and cool and so good, which to him means that houses do not determine one's truest nature.
They moved to Port Isaac right after Sirius was born and have stayed ever since. His father's family visit from time to time, whenever they can really. They love seeing Sirius, and he absolutely adores his younger cousins (Miriam, 6, and Elliot, 5). They're Muggles, so Sirius isn't allowed to mention magic around the younger children, in case they reveal the secret to anyone else. His grandparents know, of course, having grown up with a Wizard for a son. So does his aunt and her husband, even though she had never shown any magical potential. A part of Sirius hopes that maybe one of his cousins will be magical too, then he would have someone around his age to share it with.
He's never met his mother's family and rarely asks about them either, knowing she doesn't like to talk about them much. There have been times over the past few years when Sirius would ask things that he thinks were left unspoken about for reasons that he does not yet know about, but he's always been curious and eager to learn more. He yearns to know more about his own history.
All he does know is that his mother ran away when she was eighteen, her family did not approve of Sirius' father at all because they were prejudice against his Muggle lineage. (Sirius laughs sourly at the thought that they would hate him, simply because he is a Halfblood.) His mother has siblings, though he doesn't know how many, nor their gender or names, but she misses them. She's admitted it to him whenever he's asked, always striving to be open and honest, saying it's the healthiest option.
"Why not visit them and see if they miss you too?" Sirius had said once when he was around the age of seven.
"It's been too long," she'd answered. "They wouldn't remember me."
At the time, Sirius hadn't been too sure if he believed her, but he'd let it go. From a young age, he'd understood how sensitive the topic of his mother's family was. He's always respected that she will only ever share as much as she is comfortable with.
When they ran away, they came straight to Cornwall. Apparently, his mother had wanted to visit for years, so they moved there instead. Far far away from her corrupted family. Away from the rotten prejudices.
Together, his parents bought the rundown building on the West side of the village and rebuilt it into their shop, 'Ted's Trinkets and Andy's Antiques'. They collect old bits and bobs and accept donations of valuable knick-knacks, shine and polish them up and then sell them. Little pieces of history, each with stories behind them. Most of the items don't come with any information, so Sirius enjoys creating his own little made-up stories about each bibelot he finds.
His absolute favourites are the snow globes.
On Sundays, the shop remains closed for most of the day, spare the afternoon. During the free time the day gives them, Sirius and his mother journey over the main hill that separates one half of the village from the other half and trek deep into the woods. There's an open patch of grass, obscured by trees, if you explore deep enough. They would take their brooms out there every Sunday morning and would play a game of Quidditch away from any possible Muggles. As far as they know, no one knows about their glade, except perhaps the elderly locals, though it would be exceedingly difficult for them to climb over the mini-mountain-sized hill and the miles of forestry, as well as ridiculously unlikely.
Only once has Sirius ever happened upon another person whilst here. It had been a Thursday in the middle of summer. Instead of it being morning time, it was almost time for the sun to set. Sirius' parents were both busy in the shop and he had just wanted to go for a quick fly through the trees to tire himself out before he went to bed. What he had not expected was to come across a boy - of whom Sirius recognised from the Muggle primary school, because he had attended it when he was much younger, due to his father's gentle insistence - with snowy-white hair that fell to his shoulders, a bit frizzy-looking. The boy always had worn strange clothes and today had not been an exception.
The boy had been dressed head-to-toe in a bright dress-looking garment. Colours of brown and orange and red blended with luminous blues, greens, and yellows, making him look a bit like a mashed up rainbow.
Sirius had quickly hopped behind a tree, keeping out of sight, not that it mattered. It seemed that the boy hadn't even noticed he'd arrived, too immersed in whatever it was he had been doing. It looked a bit like dancing, but with much less coordination or order. It seemed more to be a game of seeing how fast he could flail his limbs about. His arms and legs wiggled about like a freshly-caught fish, trying to flop back into the water. Whilst his head was bent backwards, eyes closed, as he howled up at the sky.
Sirius thinks he might have been frightened or maybe even weirded out if he hadn't been so fascinated. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.
He tried, with all his might, to remember the boy's name. Something beginning with 'V' or 'Z' or 'X'; something outrageous, more so than Sirius. On the same level as Andromeda.
He couldn't seem to place it. Instead, he had watched the boy dance (?) for a little while longer before resolving that he wouldn't be getting any extra flying in that night and leaving him to his peace.
That had been almost a year ago now and Sirius hasn't seen the boy there since.
Today is a Tuesday, which means Sirius doesn't have much to do, so he decides to go for an early morning swim. The water isn't cold this time of year, it being late summer. Though, even if it were cold, Sirius wouldn't mind. He's one of those people who could swim in the sea mid-winter and be delighted about it.
He dives into the ocean with swift and graceful motions and swims to the seabed. The sun has barely risen, but he doesn't struggle to see, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness of the sea. He glides along the sandy floor, keeping an eye out for anything interesting he may find; usually, he would take them home and give them to his mother, who keeps them safely in a display cabinet.
Sirius spots something twinkling a couple of feat away from him. He grins and smoothly sails through the water. He reaches down into the hard sand and pulls out a round, golden locket, still shiny and almost brand new. Clutching onto it, he pulls himself up towards the surface and inhales deeply when he feels the air breathe against his face, the relief of oxygen coming back to him in waves. He admires the locket and smiles to himself.
"Mum, you're going to love this." He laughs and lays back in the water, allowing himself to float across the skin of the sea. A couple of weeks ago, his Hogwarts letter arrived, so he knows he won't have very much longer to enjoy this feeling. He's going to miss it. He's going to miss all of it: the sea, running to the docks to help Mo out with the fish every Saturday morning, flying in the glade with his mother, helping out in the shop.
Most of all, he'll miss his parents. They are the only people he has ever properly known. The only people that have ever stuck, except maybe Mo, but Sirius only ever sees him once a week anyway, so he doesn't really count.
He'll also miss their house above the shop. Especially his bedroom. Connected to the shop and house part of the build is a tower, with winding stone steps that have ancient etchings in them from people who have been there before. At the top is a large, circular room - Sirius' room. It's his favourite because it's the highest room of the building and has a massive window that looks out over the vast, turquoise water and birthing horizon.
It's his very favourite place, second only behind the sea itself.
Still, Sirius can't wait for Hogwarts. He's never much minded the lack of people in his life, his parents have always been enough for him, as well as the locals and the tourists he speaks to some days - and Mo, of course. He's found company in the waves of the sea, in the wind that tickles the leaves of the forest's trees, the cobblestone streets and seaside giftshops. Solitude is something he has found himself within, found a friend in. It's separate to loneliness, because he is content. He thinks, if he were ever lonely, he would not enjoy it. It would be quiet. But to him, the world is always loud.
However, he is looking forward to meeting some more people his own age when he gets to Hogwarts. He's excited to learn more about anything he can get his hands on. He's feverish to find new places to explore and cannot wait to live in the same place where his parents first met.
Maybe he will meet his future wife there.
He shudders at that thought. Nope - too young.
"Sirius, Mon Trésor, I need to ask a favour of you," his mother calls up from the bottom of the tower. He rolls off his bed; he had been reading a book on different marine algae and where to find them around the world. He sprints down the stairs and hops off the last one, bowing dramatically to his mother. She rolls her eyes lovingly at him, but ruffles his hair and says, "Do you remember the Lovegoods?"
Sirius thinks for a moment, his lips contorting as he does. "Nope, sorry. Vast, endless, empty mind."
"Veira and Soniniqus? They have a son, Xenophillius, who you went to primary school with for a little while?"
Sirius blinks.
"Oh, come on," she chuckles softly. "They are the only family in town with proper white hair-"
"Oh!" Sirius gasps, remembering the boy from the forest. "Yep, I know who you mean. Xenopolous."
"Xenophilius," Andromeda corrects. "Anyway, the favour. Dumbledore informed me Xenophilius received an acceptance letter from Hogwarts, but since his parents are Muggles, he thought it would be a good idea for me to help integrate them into the Wizarding world. I was wondering if you could help?" She holds her hands together in a begging motion, pouting in a way that only she and Sirius can do (it works wonders on his dad). "Please? You'll be going to school together and I think it would be really lovely for Xenophilius to have at least one familiar face when he goes off to Hogwarts."
Sirius nods enthusiastically. "Of course! Should we go now?"
"That's my perfect boy," she leans in to press a kiss to his forehead, making Sirius beam. "Yes, I think we should go sooner rather than later."
"Ok," Sirius agrees, following his mother through the door that attaches the tower and the shop. "Who's Dumbledore?"
It turns out that the Lovegoods only live a couple of streets down, so it takes barely any time to get there at all. Sirius is given permission to use the large, eagle-shaped door knocker, which he bangs with enthusiasm until his mother stops him, calling him cheeky. He smiles innocently up at her, as if he can do no wrong.
The door swings open only a moment later. A woman with hair that reaches her hips (and is so white it could be used as a beacon to signal a ship at out sea) stands in the entryway. Her clothes are as wild as her son's, blinding colours that are almost headache inducing.
Sirius examines the woman once more, noticing she has bare feet and a long beaded necklace around her neck that holds a shark's tooth. Then, he looks at his own mother; she's dressed in a band t-shirt (Sirius thinks it's Queen) and jeans, with her statement leather jacket on top. Her boots look just like pirate ones, Sirius thinks. His mum is so cool.
"Hello, Andromeda is it?" Mrs Lovegood's voice is unusually high, reminding Sirius of the windchimes outside his own house.
"Yes, that's right." Andromeda holds her hand out to the woman, who shakes it passionately. Sirius watches his mother recoil into herself, it's subtle, only he could notice it because he is so used to the movement after so many years. He knows his mother hates an unbearable amount of physical touch - he suspects it has something to do with her upbringing. He's never questioned her on it.
He sighs with relief when they pull their hands away from each other and he sees his mother visibly recover.
"I'm sorry, dear, I'm not sure we've met before. You are?" Mrs Lovegood's attention is suddenly on Sirius. He slaps on a winning smile, the one he knows works on anyone, but especially elderly ladies... for some reason.
"Sirius, charmed I'm sure." He smirks, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.
She giggles and turns back to Andromeda. "Quite the gentleman you've raised here."
"Arrogant is the word I would use," Andromeda jokes, tucking a lock of Sirius' hair behind his ear lovingly.
"Hey!" He mocks offence.
"I understand you've recently had a letter from Professor Dumbledore," Andromeda lowers her voice to a whisper. She smiles kindly at Mrs Lovegood, coming off as welcoming and... safe. "I think it would be best if we come inside, Viera. Just in case anyone is listening."
"Of course," Mrs Lovegood stands to the side and gestures for them to enter. She closes the door behind them and guides them through the kitchen and to the seating area. She offers them both tea, which they gracefully accept.
"Sonny!" Mrs Lovegood calls and a moment later, a man with hair almost as long as his wife's and the same shade of dazzling white comes in from the garden door. "This is Andromeda and Sirius Tonks, from the trinkets and antiques shop down the road."
"Ah, yes. Ted has sold me many things over the years. I'm a collector, you see, and I love finding little knick-knacks to add to my collection." He stands beside the chair his wife is sitting upon, the one opposite the sofa where Andromeda and Sirius are. "It's very nice to finally meet you both."
"It's lovely to meet you too, Mr Lovegood," Sirius says politely.
"Could you make us some tea, love?" Mrs Lovegood whispers to her husband, who nods before retreating into the kitchen.
"Sorry to barge in on you like this," Andromeda begins. "I understand you're both Muggles?"
"That would be correct," Mrs Lovegood smiles sweetly.
"Dumbledore has asked me to help with the integration of your son into the Wizarding world, if that is something you would like?"
"Oh, that would be amazing," Mrs Lovegood sighs and shrinks a bit in her chair. It is only then that Sirius realises how tense she had looked before. "We're trying, we really are, but... oh, we always knew Xeno was different. It's hard that we can't help him with this because, well, we can't show him the way."
"Don't worry," Andromeda leans forward and is the one to initiate contact first, taking Mrs Lovegood's hand in her own. "I was brought up by a magical family and Sirius here has grown up with magic his whole life too. Of course, we don't use it much anymore, only for futile things such as fixing a broken lamp or something. But if you have any questions at all, I am here to answer them for you."
"So, you're... you're a witch?" Mrs Lovegood's eyes widen to almost double their size, great blue orbs that resemble the sea.
"I am," Andromeda nods proudly. "I've brought Sirius with me because he will be attending Hogwarts for the first time this September as well and I thought it would be nice for Xenophilius to have a familiar face."
"I'll get him for you," Mr Lovegood says as he lays a tray of empty teacups and a teapot full to the brim on the coffee table in front of them.
"I have quite an astounding amount of questions, I'll admit," Mrs Lovegood flinches at her own honesty. "I feel like a terrible mother, not knowing what decision would be best for my own child." Her eyes twinkle with unshed tears.
Sirius frowns and makes his way around the table to sit beside the tearful lady. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and utters, "That's why you've got us."
She smiles at him, it's a bit wobbly, but meaningful all the same.
Xenophilius and Mr Lovegood join them a couple of minutes later. Sirius greets the boy and moves along the couch to make room for him, inviting him to sit right next to him. A friendly gesture, he hopes.
"Hello, Sirius Tonks," Xenophilius' unbroken voice rings. "Tonks," he chuckles, "wrong."
Sirius puts his hands on his hips, pretending to be offended. "Says the guy named Xenophilius."
Xenophilius laughs and adds, "That isn't what I meant at all." He doesn't elaborate. Sirius opens his mouth to ask a further question, but notices how his mother's face has paled.
"Mum?"
"Sirius, how about you go and answer any questions Xenophilius has, whilst Viera and I have a chat?" His mother's eyes signal something, though he isn't sure what. He listens and follows Xenophilius out into the garden, where the sun shines heavily down on them. He soaks it in, enjoying the way it makes his blood vibrate under his skin.
"You're a Wizard too." It isn't a question, but a statement. Xenophilius knows and Sirius has no idea how.
"Yes, as are you."
"Mmm," Xenophilius hums. "I've been reading up on that. There are some things about me that were not mentioned in the books. Things that told me I was a Wizard before my parents were ever told. I never said it to them because I didn't want them to think that I was crazy."
"What do you mean 'things'?" Sirius questions, voice laced with curiosity.
"I know things that I shouldn't. I can see things that aren't right in front of me," the other boy shrugs, bristling his shoulder-length hair. "I think I might be a seer."
Sirius gapes at him, excited. He's never met a seer before; he's read about them and thought they sounded absolutely wicked. When he was little, he wanted to be a seer. He's grown up since then and has realised the weight that would come with such a trait.
"Does that mean you could probably see what house I'm going to end up in?" Sirius asks, quirking an eyebrow.
Xenophilius grins mysteriously. "I know answers to questions about you, Sirius Tonks, that you wouldn't even think to ask."
Sirius thinks about begging for an explanation, but then decides he doesn't want to know. Well, he does, but he reasons with himself that if he doesn't have these questions yet, why should he burden himself with them now? Especially if he ends up getting answers he doesn't want.
They speak about the Wizarding World and Hogwarts for an hour longer, until their mothers find them lying in the tall, weedy grass and the base of the garden. Xenophilius seems to have an attraction to the conspiracy theories of the Wizarding World - specifically, the creatures that have been rumoured to exist.
Sirius thinks it's all complete toss, but doesn't say that out loud. Xenophilius probably knows his opinions anyway because of his special seer talents. Either way, he thinks the boy is fun and can see them getting along well at Hogwarts.
His first friend, and they're going to Hogwarts together.