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Assistant: Title: How to Train Your Animagus
        Author: cherrishish cherrishish 
        Chapter: 62/79 
        Summary: An Unspeakable mishap sends thirty-year-old Hermione Granger tumbling into 1993—straight into the path of a fugitive Animagus with a grudge. She takes him in. He tries to lick her face. It's a long story.Now, armed with future knowledge and one very grumpy Sirius Black, Hermione's got a second chance to fix everything...But changing history means trusting each other—and that might be the most dangerous part.
        Contents: Chapter 62: No Bones About It
    

    


  

  
  
    
    The morning opened on a note of tedium.Sirius had spent the better part of three hours listening to a heated debate about fireplace grate standardisation—specifically whether magical soot accumulation posed a Class-B flue risk or merely a nuisance for overzealous chimney sweeps. The argument ping-ponged between two Ministry officials whose most significant area of expertise appeared to be a shared loathing of each other’s handwriting on regulatory memos. At one point, someone actually summoned soot samples.He was halfway through doodling a caricature of Vance asleep in his chair—complete with drool and a tiny, snoring Diricawl (he was starting to get really good at these, maybe he could publish a colouring book or something)—when he caught sight of Griselda Marchbanks rising from her seat at the back of the chamber.Sirius straightened. Quietly. No announcement had been made. No motion posted on the docket. But there she was, rising like a storm front.The murmuring in the chamber dwindled as she made her way to the central podium. She carried no scroll, no aide, no banner. Just her wand, a slim stack of parchment, and the sort of iron-backed presence that could make half the room sit straighter on instinct alone.Sirius had known Griselda could be formidable. He had not, until this moment, realised she could be devastating.She didn’t cast a Sonorus. She didn’t need it.“Our legacy,” she began, “isn’t forged in how we treat our peers—but in how we handle power over those who have none.”Her voice was crisp, well-enunciated, just loud enough to carry, as if she were reading to a classroom. And perhaps, in her mind, she was.“Our measure,” she said, walking slowly as she spoke, “is not in the words we proclaim about justice and nobility. It’s in what we do for our children—before they have a voice. For our pets—who depend on our care. For our familiars—who serve us without complaint.”She paused, let the silence stretch, just long enough for the room to realise what came next.“And for our house elves.”There it was.A ripple of discomfort rolled through the more conservative blocks. A few exchanged looks. One lord in the back scoffed audibly.But no one interrupted her.“We do not own lives,” Marchbanks said calmly. “We are stewards of them. You do not  deserve  the right to command if you cannot be trusted not to harm.”She lifted the parchment.“This proposal does not demand wages. It does not rewrite the laws of binding or service. What it does,” she said, voice sharp now, “is define what we already claim to stand for: dignity. Safety. The barest, most minimal recognition of personhood.”A pause. Then she read, clearly and without embellishment: “The Magical Protection and Welfare Act for Domestic Magical Servants:     — Establishes a formal definition of abusive treatment of house elves, including excessive punishments, starvation, denial of rest periods, binding under false pretences, and obstruction of health-related care.     — Imposes financial penalties on households found to repeatedly breach these standards.     — Creates a mechanism by which elves may be relocated or reassigned from dangerous homes.     — Introduces an anonymous, enchanted reporting system routed through the Department of Magical Being Welfare for the identification of abuse without fear of reprisal.” She finished, looked up, and let the echo of the words settle.“House elves are not tools. They are not heirlooms. They are not ornaments to be polished and punished at whim. They are living beings bound by ancient magics none of us would dare suffer under. And still, they serve.”The silence deepened.“To treat them with cruelty is not tradition. It is cowardice. And those who cannot offer the smallest protection to the lives they command have no business possessing such power at all.”She closed the scroll.“Ownership is a privilege,” she said quietly. “Not a right. And those who cannot honour it should not have it.”For a breathless second, nothing moved.Sirius had half-risen to stand, to second the motion—but he didn’t get the chance.Bones stood first. “Seconded.”Ogden rose next. “Seconded.”Zabini, with a slow, almost smug glance around the room: “Seconded.”The chamber erupted. Not in noise—but in movement. Lights—dozens of tiny enchanted globes—rose from the benches, golden and steady.“Order,” called Vance, banging his staff once for silence. “Motion has been presented. We will now vote on whether it is sent to committee for refinement or considered immediately, as written.”Another pause.And then, the flood.Light after light rose—soft, glowing affirmatives that shimmered across the air like fireflies at dusk. Even some of the old hardliners blinked up, uncertain—but they didn’t vote against. No one did. After a speech like that, it would be almost political suicide to do so.Vance nodded. “Majority reached. The bill passes.”Sirius sat back down slowly, hands in his lap, heart thudding with quiet disbelief.It was done.It was done. Griselda Marchbanks stepped down without a single flourish, tucking the second scroll into her satchel like it was just another Monday errand. She passed him on her way out and paused, eyeing him shrewdly.“You’re speechless,” she said.“You just made my most dramatic legislative moment look like a tea invitation.”“Good,” she replied briskly. “That was the point.”He rose, falling into step beside her. “I thought I’d owe you for this. But I think you just made yourself  very  popular.”She gave a huff of laughter. “Don’t mistake them clapping for the idea with clapping for me. Most of them are going to complain the second they realise many of them are actually going to be fined.”“Still,” Sirius said, “that was… stunning. You didn’t just pass a bill. You made them  feel  something.”Marchbanks gave him a side-eye. “I taught Charms at Hogwarts during the Depression and the Grindelwald years. You learn how to make a room pay attention. You either capture their hearts or hex their shoes together.”He grinned. “Maybe both.”She didn’t smile, but she looked faintly pleased. “Don’t make a fuss about it. Although I thought we’d agreed you’d stay out of the limelight for a week. One week, Black.”Sirius blinked innocently. “Ah, but this time it’s not about politics.”She held up that morning’s copy of the  Prophet, folded to the society page, where a heavily perfumed headline read:
  “Black Wedding on the Horizon? Ione Lupin Seen Dress Shopping in Knockturn Alley”
Below, a blurry photo of Ione and Tonks outside  Hemlock & Thread was captioned with rampant speculation about venue choices, and whether the House of Black would be reinstating the ancient tradition of blood-sealed invitations.Marchbanks arched a brow. “Next time I hear the words  private estate ceremony, I expect it not to leak via milliner gossip.”“I’ll make a note,” Sirius said cheerfully. “But at least it wasn’t my fault this time.”“No,” she agreed. “But you’re still the headline. Again.”He flashed her a winning look. “What can I say? Public menace, private romantic.”She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched. “You’re lucky no one noticed you ducking into my office the other day, or they’d be speculating whether I’m officiating.”Sirius grinned. “Would you? Officiate?”She gave him a look sharp enough to shear linen. “Don’t push it.” Then, with a small, amused twitch of her mouth: “Though I do expect decent cake. And for Merlin’s sake, give them a chance to forget your last headline before your next one drops.”“Consider it a deal. No speeches. Just quiet gloating.”She waved him off with her cane. “You’re impossible.”“I’m efficient,” he called after her.But as she swept away, Sirius couldn’t help it. He allowed himself a grin. Just a small one.It wasn’t his voice they’d listened to today. It wasn’t even his bill anymore.But it was still a victory.And gods knew they could use more.The exam room at St Mungo’s was unusually quiet for a Wednesday—just the low hum of magical instruments and the soft rustle of parchment as Healer Timble reviewed Ione’s latest scan results. She sat on the examination table, her arm still in the cuff of a monitoring charm that blinked a reassuring green every few seconds.Sirius, seated nearby with his ankle crossed over one knee, had been uncharacteristically silent for most of the appointment. Not anxious—just… waiting.Timble gave a final flick of his wand, muttered something that sounded like “stabilising markers holding nicely,” and then turned toward them with a slight smile.“Well,” he said, “everything is still looking very promising. I’m happy to say we can shift your check-ups to every two weeks from now on.”Ione let out a slow breath. “That’s good.”“More than good,” Timble said. “That’s excellent. You’re nearly at the point we’d classify as magically stable. And if things continue like this, we’ll reduce the visits again in late April.”Sirius straightened, gaze sliding sidelong toward Ione. “And what about... strenuous activity?”Timble blinked. “You’ll need to be more specific.”“Physical activity,” Sirius clarified. “Rigorous. Sustained. Possibly horizontal.”Ione groaned into her hands. “Merlin’s bones, you’re the worst.”Timble, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. “Yes. Within reason. You can begin gradually increasing physical exertion—including intimacy—as long as you listen to your body. Don’t push into fatigue. Build up to things. No full-on duels just yet.”Sirius looked personally offended. “I would never be that reckless.”“You once pulled a muscle from dancing,” Ione muttered.“One time.”“Two.”Timble cleared his throat, clearly amused despite himself. “The point is: if you feel lightheaded, dizzy, or experience any chest pressure or magical static, stop immediately. And rest.”“I will,” Ione promised, more seriously now.Timble nodded. “Then you’re cleared. Just don’t make me regret this by turning up here in two days dehydrated and smug.”“We would never,” Sirius said, absolutely beaming.Timble gave them both a long-suffering look and handed over her updated regimen. “Try to keep it to less than a scandal.”No promises were made.They barely made it through the front door before Sirius pushed Ione gently but insistently against the entryway wall, the door clicking shut behind them with a thud of finality. His hands found her waist, his mouth already on hers—hungry, warm, breathless.“You realise,” she murmured against his lips, “healer said gradually.”“I’m very committed to the warm-up portion,” he replied, kissing down her neck with the focus of a man who’d spent far too long being careful.She gasped as he pressed closer, one hand threading through his hair, the other gripping the front of his jacket. The tension of weeks—months—spooled tight in her spine and snapped deliciously as his hands wandered, testing the boundaries of this new, hard-won clearance.Then—
   Pop. 
“Do Mistress and Master have preferences for—oh for the love of Salazar—”Kreacher stood in the corridor holding a battered notebook, his ears flaring pink, his gaze very pointedly fixed on the opposite wall.Sirius didn’t even glance up. “Not now, Kreacher.”There was a muttered something that sounded suspiciously like  “So much for Mistress’s virtue, again,”  followed by another pop —and Kreacher vanished, leaving behind only a slightly scorched smell of indignation.Ione huffed out a laugh, but Sirius was already kissing her again. “We’re ignoring that.”“Very much so.”He scooped her into his arms without warning—“Sirius!”—and started up the stairs at a pace that was only technically safe.“Don’t faint on me,” he teased. “I will carry you the rest of the way, and then probably have a heart attack.”“You’d die happy,” she muttered, clutching him tightly.“Obviously.”They crashed into the first-floor bedroom with the grace of a drunken waltz. Ione tugged at his shirt. Sirius got distracted halfway through unbuttoning hers. Their laughter turned breathless, clothes falling like soft thuds onto the rug.By the time she was down to her underthings, Sirius just stood there for a second—looking.Not lustful. Not urgent. Just... reverent.“You’re sure?” he asked, voice rough now. “Tell me to stop and I will. I mean it.”Ione reached for him, fingers curling into his collar. “You heard the healer. I can start moving again. And I want you to be the first thing I move toward.”His mouth found hers again, fierce and full of promise, as they tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of need, silk, and months of patience finally catching fire.Sirius’s hands were everywhere—familiar and reverent, tracing the edges of her ribs like he was mapping a star chart. Ione arched under his touch, mouth parting around a breathless sound that wasn’t quite a moan, but close.His lips found the underside of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, the place behind her ear that still made her shiver. “Merlin, I missed this,” he murmured into her skin, voice low and shaking with restraint.“You had me in bed for weeks,” she teased, eyes lidded.He nipped gently at her collarbone. “Not like this.”Sirius’s shirt had vanished somewhere near the doorway with a careless fling of her arm, and she was working on his trousers with impatient fingers when he stilled, eyes locked on hers.“Wait,” he murmured, raising a hand. His wand flicked once, clean and practised. A soft blue glow shimmered around them for a heartbeat before vanishing.“Contraception charm,” he said quietly. “I know you’re not cleared for… that yet.”Ione cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. “Thank you.”He kissed her again—this time slower, deeper, the kind that made her toes curl and her breath catch. His hands slid down her sides, lingering at her hips, thumbs drawing small, grounding circles into her skin.Then his mouth followed—down her throat, across her sternum, lower. Reverent. Hungry. Intent.By the time he slipped a hand between her thighs, she was already slick, already arching into him. He growled low at the sensation—something like awe and desperation wound together—and eased her legs apart, settling between them with a reverence that nearly undid her.“Sirius—” she gasped as his mouth replaced his hand, tongue stroking over her with maddening precision.“Just lie back,” he murmured, voice thick with heat and promise. “I’ve got you.”She did.And he did.Every flick of his tongue, every slow, deliberate suck had her spiralling tighter. He held her hips firm as she writhed, responding to every sound she made like it was a melody he already knew by heart.When she came, it was with a breathless cry, her fingers buried in his hair, back arched, eyes fluttering shut as the world narrowed to Sirius and the heat blooming behind her ribs.He pressed kisses along her thighs as she trembled, crawling back up to kiss her mouth like a reward. She tasted herself on his lips and didn’t care.“Still the best thing I’ve ever done,” he whispered, forehead resting against hers.“You’re not done yet,” she said, voice wrecked and smiling.“Ione—” His brow furrowed, desire still simmering just beneath the surface, but tempered by concern.“I know,” she said softly, tracing his collarbone. “I know I’m not cleared for everything. But let me take care of you. Let me do something.”She flipped them with a grace that was half memory, half instinct, straddling his hips and nudging his trousers lower. His breath caught. His hands found her thighs.“Slow,” he murmured.“Always,” she promised.She straddled him slowly, with deliberate care.Sirius’s breath hitched the moment her thighs settled around his hips, the soft drag of skin against skin making his fingers flex where they rested against her legs. Ione looked down at him—flushed, pupils blown wide, but watching her like she was something between holy and devastating.“I want this,” she murmured, brushing her hand through his hair, letting her fingertips graze the stubble along his jaw. “I’m ready.”His hands found her hips. “The second anything doesn’t feel right—”“I’ll say,” she promised.And then she reached down, guiding him to her entrance with quiet confidence. Her breath hitched as she sank onto him—slow, unhurried, her body adjusting with practiced care. He groaned softly, head tipping back, hands gripping her just tight enough to ground them both.Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she seated herself fully, a slow exhale leaving her lips like the release of a long-held breath.“Okay?” Sirius asked, voice rough.She nodded, rolling her hips once—gentle, controlled, more a test than a rhythm. “Yeah,” she breathed. “More than okay.”She moved like a tide—steady, fluid, waves of motion that left both of them gasping. Her hands found his chest for balance, fingers splayed wide, and she rocked her hips in slow, gliding circles that made Sirius’s head spin.“Merlin—” he choked, every muscle in his abdomen tensing. “You’re going to kill me.”She smiled, lips parted and hair clinging to her temple, and leaned down to kiss him—deep and slow, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.Every rise and fall was measured, each movement filled with intent. Ione wasn’t in a hurry. She wanted to feel everything. And Sirius—Sirius let her.He let her take him apart with nothing but her body and her warmth and the way she looked at him like she’d waited lifetimes to be here again. He gripped her hips, grounding her, matching her pace when he could manage it, but never taking over. Not this time.She shuddered as his thumb slid over the swell of her hip, the motion sending sparks up her spine. Her rhythm faltered—just a little—and he sat up, arms wrapping around her back to pull her against his chest as she moved in shorter, needier strokes.They stayed like that—pressed chest to chest, foreheads touching, breath mingling—until pleasure crested again, sharp and undeniable. She gasped against his shoulder, clenching around him as her release tore through her, trembling in his arms.It was all he needed.With a few last stuttered thrusts, Sirius followed her over the edge, groaning low against her throat, every part of him seizing in the kind of bliss that left no room for anything else.They stayed wrapped around each other, panting, trembling, a tangle of limbs and sweat and something that felt dangerously like peace.After a while, Sirius kissed the corner of her mouth. “You still okay?”She nodded against his collarbone. “Yeah. Really okay.”He smiled, hands tracing idle circles along her back. “Next time, I get to start.”“You’d better,” she murmured, letting her weight settle fully against him.They lay back together, tangled and quiet. And for the first time in a long time, there were no questions, no caveats—just the warm, slow burn of right now.The bedroom was still warm with the soft haze of spent magic and slower breaths. The sheets tangled loosely around their legs, the air humming with the kind of silence that only followed something deeply, devastatingly good.Ione lay draped over Sirius’s chest, her ear pressed to the steady thrum of his heart. His fingers traced idle patterns along the bare curve of her back—lazy, reverent, too content to stop.After a long, golden stretch of quiet, Sirius broke it with a satisfied hum and a smirk in his voice. “We should definitely write this scene into  Velvet Chains. Big finale. Page-turning, thoroughly scandalous. Guaranteed to win us the Witch Weekly Literary Prize for Lusty Dramatic Literature. Or at least scandalise the shortlist.”Ione snorted without lifting her head. “Don’t you dare.”“Oh, come on,” he said, mock-wounded. “It was tasteful. Emotional. Light on metaphors. I only said ‘tide’ once.”She lifted her head just enough to level a look at him. “Sirius, if you so much as fictionalise this, I will hex your quill hand off.”“You’re stifling my creative process,” he whispered dramatically.“I’m preserving our dignity.”“Speak for yourself,” he muttered. “I lost mine back in ’78 during a Quidditch afterparty and a very unfortunate incident involving warming charms and—”“Stop talking immediately.”Sirius grinned, all teeth and contentment, and pulled her back down against him, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Fine. I’ll save it for the banned edition.”“Not funny.”“Bit funny.”“You’re impossible.”“And yet,” he murmured, “here we are.”They fell back into silence, grinning into the ceiling, hearts still echoing the same rhythm.The owl arrived just after breakfast on Friday, tapping insistently at the library window with a beak that meant business. Sirius unlatched it, only to have the bird all but shove the scroll into his chest before vanishing in a flash of irritated feathers into the early March air.Ione, still in slippers and curled into her usual corner of the chaise, raised a brow. “Snape?”“Who else sends messages with the attitude of a tax audit?” Sirius muttered, unrolling the scroll.His eyes skimmed the contents, then widened slightly. “He found them.”Ione sat straighter. “The grimoires?”He nodded. “In the Room of Requirement. Claims they’re intact, but encoded. He needs your help unlocking them.”She held out her hand for the parchment and scanned it quickly, brow furrowing. “Rowena Ravenclaw wouldn’t have written anything without at least seven layers of riddles, metaphors, and cursed flourishes.”“She probably considered straightforward communication an act of intellectual laziness,” Sirius muttered.“She wasn’t wrong,” Ione said absently, already reaching for a fresh piece of parchment. “We’ll go over it Sunday. I want to be sharp for this.”“You mean you want two full days to review every known variation of pre-Goblin War encryption theory just in case?”She smiled faintly. “Well. Obviously.”She sent her reply by midday, short and precise:  Professor Snape,      I’m glad to hear you were successful. I’d prefer to discuss decoding strategies in person. Shall we reconvene on Sunday?     —I.L.  Zeus took it with grim determination, like he, too, was used to dealing with Snape. As he vanished into the sky, Sirius muttered, “Hope he doesn’t take offence.”Ione didn’t look up from her notes. “Oh, he will. But he’ll still be there.”Sirius tugged on his boots in front of the mirror, his cloak already fastened and his satchel slung casually over one shoulder. The fire in the drawing room crackled gently, and the faint sound of Ione’s quill scratching against parchment filled the silence between them.“You sure you’re not coming?” he asked, glancing over at her. “Fresh air, Hogsmeade chaos, overpriced butterbeer—it’s got everything.”Ione didn’t even look up. “Very tempting, but no. I need to prepare for tomorrow. If Snape’s found those grimoires, I want to be ready for whatever ridiculous cypher Rowena cooked up to protect her diary entries.”Sirius made a face. “You say that like it’s not going to be a three-day riddle marathon with occasional insults about your pronunciation.”“That’s why I’m studying,” she said sweetly, flipping a page with military efficiency.He walked over and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Alright, Brainiac. Anything you want me to pass on while I’m playing doting godfather?”“Yes, actually.” Ione looked up, tapping her quill lightly against her lips. “Tell Hermione that during the next Hogsmeade weekend in April, she’s due for some bridesmaid activities with Tonks and me.”Sirius straightened slightly. “Does she… know she’s a bridesmaid?”Ione blinked. “Huh. No, I suppose I haven’t told her yet.”He grinned. “So I get to spring that on her, too?”“I suppose you do,” she said with a shrug. “You’re already the wedding envoy, may as well go full courier owl.”Sirius chuckled. “I’ll try not to make her faint.”“She won’t. She’ll pretend to be baffled for ten seconds, then launch into logistical questions about her dress, the hemline, and whether the robes will be flame-resistant or environmentally sourced.”“I’ll bring biscuits for backup,” he said, heading toward the Floo. “Try not to unravel the mysteries of the universe while I’m gone.”“No promises,” she called after him.He tossed a wink over his shoulder before vanishing in a whirl of green flame.The March sun was bright but still held a winter edge as Sirius and Remus stood just outside the main thoroughfare of Hogsmeade village, partially obscured by the knobbly branches of an old, bare-limbed tree. They watched as a trio of familiar figures emerged from Honeydukes, Harry’s arms full of cauldron cakes, Ron already tearing into a chocolate frog, and Hermione scolding them both—though she had a pink bag of sugar quills in her hand that betrayed her sweet tooth.Sirius smiled, the sight strange and precious in a way he didn’t want to put words to. “They look older than they should be,” he muttered.“They are older than they should be,” Remus replied. “But they’re still just kids. Don’t forget that.”“Trying not to.”Remus nudged Sirius lightly with his elbow. “He’s coming along, you know. The Patronus.”“Yeah?” Sirius glanced over, trying not to let too much hope creep into his voice.Remus nodded. “It’s still mist. But stable. Consistent. Every time now. That’s more than most grown wizards can manage. He’s close.”Sirius smiled, soft and a little awed. “He’s brilliant.”Remus exhaled, hands in his coat pockets. “He keeps asking if he’s doing it wrong. Says it doesn’t feel like happiness, exactly.”Sirius tilted his head. “That sounds like something Ione would have a whole speech about.”Remus quirked a brow. “Mm?”Sirius’s eyes were still fixed on Harry, who was now offering Ron a jelly slug in what appeared to be a peace offering for whatever mishap had just occurred. “She says it’s not happiness that fuels a Patronus—it’s hope. That’s what fights Dementors. Not joy. The belief that there’s something beyond the dark and the despair. That you’ll get to the other side.”Remus stood very still for a moment.Then blinked, sharply. “That’s it.”Sirius turned to him, brow furrowed. “What?”“I’ve been teaching it wrong,” Remus murmured, half to himself. “I’ve been telling them to find their happiest memory. A good one. But it’s not enough for most of them. Of course it isn’t. It has to be something with hope in it. Something that says—I’m going to make it.”Sirius tilted his head, curious. “Little late in the year for a teaching revelation, isn’t it?”Remus gave a faint, bemused smile. “Better late than never.”Sirius elbowed him gently. “You know she’s going to smirk when you tell her.”“She’ll pretend she’s being humble about it,” Remus said, already shaking his head fondly. “But she won’t be.”They watched a beat longer. Hermione vanished into Scrivenshaft’s with her usual determination, while Ron and Harry took a bench nearby—probably to sneak sweets without commentary. Ron tipped a small tin of powdered cocoa over his cup and promptly inhaled at the wrong moment. The resulting splutter left his face dusted in brown and his robes streaked.Harry howled with laughter.Sirius shook his head fondly. “Right. Time to interrupt.”They approached, Sirius keeping his hands tucked into his coat pockets as he strolled up behind the boys. “Did someone say prank gone wrong?”Harry looked up, wide-eyed and then beaming. “Sirius!”“Looking very dashing, Ron,” Sirius said, smirking. “Cocoa beard is in this season.”Ron coughed and batted at his robe with a sleeve. “Wasn’t me. The tin lied.”Hermione reappeared at that moment, holding several scrolls and looking faintly suspicious. “What’s going on?”Sirius gave her a charming smile. “Ione says you’re officially expected next Hogsmeade weekend for bridesmaid stuff.”Hermione froze. “I’m a bridesmaid?”Harry blinked. “Wait—Hermione’s a bridesmaid?”Sirius raised a brow. “You didn’t know?”Harry turned to Ron. “Did you know?”Ron shook his head, still sneezing cocoa. “Mate, I barely understand weddings.”Sirius blinked, trying to look innocent. It was fun messing with them. “I… assumed you knew.”“I do now,” she said, looking somewhere between stunned and secretly pleased. “Wait, is Tonks the other one?”“Yes.”“Oh.” A pause. “Oh no.”“She’s already picked your colour palette. Good luck.”Sirius clapped his hands. “Alright. I’m kidnapping Harry and Remus for a bit. Grown-up wedding errands. Try not to get lost in a taffeta disaster.”Hermione was still muttering something about gradients and silk charmeuse as they walked away.Gladrags was warm and filled with floating bolts of sombre fabric and enchanted tape measures that measured without asking. Sirius eyed them warily.“They have no sense of personal space,” he muttered as one whipped around his ankle.Harry stood on a low platform, twitching slightly as his shoulder width was measured for the third time. “Is this really necessary?”“Absolutely,” Sirius said gravely. “You, my boy, are in charge of the rings. Down the aisle. On a little charmed pillow.”Harry blinked. “I’m the ring bearer?”Remus leaned forward a little, bracing for teenage indignation.But Harry just nodded. “Yeah. Makes sense.”There was a pause. Then Sirius barked a laugh. Remus snorted. “You were expecting a rebellion,” he said.“I was,” Sirius admitted, still grinning. “You’re not going to object?”Harry looked confused. “Why would I?”Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again. He watched Harry hop off the platform, brushing off imaginary lint with the solemnity of a knight preparing for a duel. This boy—no, this young man—was so earnest. So open. Harry hadn’t scoffed. Hadn’t been indignant or embarrassed. He’d just accepted it, seriously and simply, because it mattered.And maybe that was what broke Sirius a little—the quiet confirmation that Harry had never been to a proper wedding. Had never watched one on telly. Had never stood in stiff shoes and cheered while someone danced in lace and laughter. The Dursleys wouldn’t have taken him to something like that. They wouldn’t have even let him watch from the kitchen.Sirius reached out and ruffled his hair, tugging him into a sudden, fierce hug.“Uhm, Sirius? What’s wrong?”“Nothing, pup,” Sirius said, holding him just a little tighter. “Nothing at all.”And he meant it.Because this time, Harry would get to be part of something good. Something joyful.Something that lasted.“I’ll make sure you get a good suit,” he said instead, stepping back.Harry looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks.”And Sirius thought,  he has no idea how much I mean it.The bells above the door jingled sharply as they stepped out of Gladrags into the bright afternoon light. Harry blinked against the sun, adjusting the collar of his cloak as the breeze rolled off the hills. Sirius stretched with a contented sigh, ruffling his windswept hair into even greater disarray.“Well,” Sirius said, falling into step beside Harry as Remus lingered behind to thank the shop witch. “That was painless. Mostly.”Harry glanced down at the scroll of measurements and fabric samples in his hands. “I can’t wait to see Ron’s face when he finds out Ione chose periwinkle.”Sirius smirked. “Well, lucky for him, he’s just a guest and not in the wedding party. Otherwise, he’d be in head-to-toe periwinkle with glittery lapels.”Harry snorted. “I dare you to suggest that for the bridesmaids.”“Tempting,” Sirius said. “But I value what little peace remains in this world.”They walked a few paces in easy silence, the sounds of the village—laughter, chatter, the distant whistle of the Hogwarts Express on a test run—filling the space between them. Then Sirius glanced sideways, his voice more casual than necessary.“How’ve things been with Malfoy lately?”Harry blinked. “Draco?”Sirius gave a little nod. “Yeah.”Harry shrugged, puzzled. “I mean... weird question. He’s been mostly bearable this year, if I’m honest. Still sneering and full of himself, obviously. But not as bad as he used to be.”“Not hexing you in the corridors?”“No. Not since... well, not since Hermione slapped him.” He cracked a faint grin at the memory. “That sort of rearranged his attitude for a while.”Sirius huffed a laugh, amused. “That tracks.”“But why?” Harry asked, frowning slightly. “Why are you asking?”Sirius slowed a bit, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Because Narcissa Malfoy—Draco’s mum—is my cousin.”Harry stopped walking.His eyes went wide. “Wait. What?”“Mm.” Sirius gestured vaguely toward the sky. “My dear cousin Narcissa, who once hexed a boy for scuffing her slippers at a garden party. Same one.”Harry looked stunned. “I didn’t—she never came up in Grimmauld Place. I mean, there were portraits and things, but... the Malfoys?”“Pureblood families are a mess,” Sirius said dryly. “The Blacks, doubly so. Cissy and I haven’t exactly been close in the past. But she’s... making an effort. Wants to be closer to what’s left of the family, if you get my drift.”Harry did, slowly. “You mean—you, and Andromeda?”“And since you are my heir, you. I’m not asking you to invite him over for tea, Harry,” Sirius said gently. “Just… if Malfoy’s not going out of his way to antagonise you anymore, maybe don’t go out of your way either.”Harry frowned, still absorbing it. “He’s not exactly friendly.”“I wouldn’t expect him to be. But keeping the peace where you can? That’s sometimes the braver choice.”Harry mulled that over in silence, watching a fifth-year zip by on a broom that was definitely stolen from the Quidditch broom cupboard, robes billowing.Sirius’s voice was softer now. “I know it’s hard. When there’s history. When a feud feels like part of your identity.”Harry looked up at him. “You mean with you and Professor Snape?”Sirius’s mouth twitched, something like amusement and resignation mingling in his expression. “Exactly. And now we’re working together. Sort of. Doesn’t mean we’re best friends. But it means... we don’t let ancient grudges stop us from doing what’s necessary.”Harry gave a small, reluctant nod. “I guess that makes sense.”Sirius nudged him with his elbow. “You don’t have to like him, Harry. You just don’t have to go out of your way to hate him either.”“I’ll try,” Harry said, then grinned a little. “No promises.”“That’s fair,” Sirius replied, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “But if he tries anything, I give you full permission to let Hermione sort him again.”“Deal,” Harry said, grinning wider now.They continued down the cobbled path together, sunlight warming their backs, the breeze tugging playfully at their cloaks.And for a moment, Sirius thought—they might actually be doing alright.The grimoires were tricky. Trickier than Snape had expected.He laid them on the library table at Grimmauld Place with the kind of care usually reserved for volatile potions or bomb-rigged parcels. Ione leaned forward, eyes sharpening as she examined the cracked leather bindings and scrawled marginalia. There were five in total—none indexed, all riddled with shorthand and sigils that seemed to move if you looked at them too long.She let out a low whistle. “These weren’t just hidden. They were meant to stay buried.”Snape folded his arms. “Room of Lost Things. Took me two hours and the threat of bludgeoning a house-elf to get it to cooperate, then another three days to find them inside. But they were there.” He tapped the top volume with one finger. “Encrypted. Coded. And maddeningly self-referencing. I’ve made some headway, but the deeper layers...” He scowled. “It’s beyond me.”Ione raised a brow. “That’s unlike you.”“I am good at puzzles,” Snape said shortly. “But this isn’t a puzzle. This is a labyrinth with its own agenda.”She flipped through one, mouth tightening at the slanted, looping glyphs. “It’s alchemical code. But not standard. And this shorthand—” She turned a page sideways. “No, this is structured like Arithmancy notes. Layered. Temporal shifts in symbolic priority. D@mn, it’s half a ritual language and half a logic trap.”Snape nodded once. “Exactly. The encryption resists sequential parsing. I suspect portions of it were composed under magical oath binding.”Sirius, who’d been pacing behind her, paused. “Translation, please?”“She means,” Snape said without looking at him, “that even if someone wanted to decode it, the language tries to self-obscure unless the reader already knows what they’re looking for. It’s like trying to read a book that rearranges its own sentences unless you’re already thinking the right answers.”Ione snorted, a little bitterly. “So basically, no manual and a thousand traps for the idiot curious.”She skimmed more. Then, offhandedly, “If that little potion logic puzzle you left to protect the Philosopher’s Stone is anything to go by, I’m not surprised this is beyond you.”Snape’s head snapped toward her, and for a moment, the air crackled with affront. “Those puzzles were child’s play by design. Dumbledore’s instruction.”That made her freeze.Her hands stilled on the page, and she didn’t look up.“I… suspected,” she said, voice thinner than usual. “That he’d let us go down there on purpose. That he made it solvable. But to hear it confirmed—”Sirius stepped forward sharply. “Are you f@ck@ng kidding me?”Snape raised a brow. “He didn’t expect you to get all the way. The chessboard and the troll were meant to dissuade progress. And even if you did reach the final chamber, he didn’t think Potter could retrieve the Stone. Not from the Mirror.”“And if he had failed?” Ione’s voice cracked, magic fizzing beneath her skin. “If he’d been murdered by Quirrell—?”“He didn’t think that would happen. Ancient love protection and all.”“He gambled,” she said, rising from her chair, shoulders taut, hands trembling. “With our lives. With an eleven-year-old’s life.”Sirius’s hand was suddenly on her arm, grounding. “If he weren’t already locked up,” he said coldly, “I’d hunt him down and hex him into the next century.”Snape didn’t flinch. But there was no smugness in his expression either. “Dumbledore believed in symbolic trials. That confronting adversity builds strength.”“That wasn’t a test,” Ione hissed, her hair starting to lift in the charged air around her. “It was neglect dressed up as wisdom.”The grimoires on the table rattled.Sirius stepped in front of her now, both hands cupping her face, forcing her to look at him. “Hey. Deep breath. He can’t do any more harm.”Her breath hitched. She pressed her forehead against his, trying to bring her magic back under control. It fizzed at her fingertips before sinking, slow and resentful, like steam off a kettle.“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”Snape cleared his throat. “I’ll leave the grimoires here. I suspect if anyone can break the code, it’s you.”Ione straightened slowly, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “Thank you. I’ll start tonight.”He turned toward the hearth, already tugging his cloak tighter. “I’ll return in a week.”“Snape,” she said, stopping him.He turned slightly.“Thank you,” she added. “For not lying.”He inclined his head once. “I’ve never seen much use in sparing people what they already know.”She didn’t smile, but she almost did.Snape turned and left, his cloak sweeping behind him like a closing parenthesis.When the room was quiet again, Sirius reached out and brushed his thumb over her temple. “Do you want to hex something?”She gave him a look, tired and dry. “Later. Maybe.”He kissed her forehead and pulled her into his arms, and this time, when her magic flared again—it stayed warm. Steady.Sirius turned to her, brushing a hand down her back. “You alright?”“No,” Ione said quietly. “But I will be. Once I crack this thing wide open.”And in the flickering light of the fire, her eyes gleamed with something that wasn’t quite rage, but wasn’t forgiveness either. Just focus. And fire.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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