The kitchen of Number Twelve smelled like toast, smoke, and the faint ozone crackle that came from living with too much magic in one place.
Sunlight slid through the grimy curtains, carving thin gold lines across the long table where crumbs and quills already waged an early-morning battle.
Cassian was pouring tea, Roman was buttering toast with the concentration of a duelist, and the girls were arguing—half in English, half in chaos.
"Talora, hand me that quill—no, the good one!"
"It's the same quill, Bob."
"It's about the principle," Shya said, snatching it anyway.
A sudden rush of wings cut her off. Six owls dived through the window in perfect formation, parchment trailing like ribbons.
Roman ducked. "Incoming!"
A letter thudded into the marmalade. Another landed squarely in Shya's hair.
Cassian caught his mid-air with a neat flick of his wrist.
Sirius, leaning in the doorway with a mug of coffee, watched them with the faintest smile—the kind that lived somewhere between disbelief and pride.
"Ah, Hogwarts post," he said. "That smell of parchment and panic. Nothing like it."
"'Smell of panic' is accurate," Roman muttered, prying an envelope off his sleeve.
Talora slid hers open with a practiced motion. "Third-year electives," she announced, scanning the parchment. "We get four options. Runes, Divination, Arithmancy, Magical Art, Beginners' Healing, and Magical Debate & Politics."
"Only four?" Shya asked, wiping jam from her letter. "Cowards."
"Most people take two or three," Cassian said, already reading. "The maximum's four."
"Lazy," Shya decided. "The world doesn't change itself."
Sirius laughed into his mug. "Remind me never to argue with you about ambition."
The kitchen settled into a comfortable buzz—the sound of spoons, paper, and plans.
Shya perched on the table, legs swinging, eyes bright.
"I'm taking Ancient Runes. No question."
Sirius's head lifted at that. "Good choice. Do you know where they came from?"
She nodded eagerly, already in storytelling mode. "From the Norse pantheon. Odin hung himself from Yggdrasil, the World Tree, for nine days and nights to see the runes—paid for language with his own life. They weren't invented; they were found—pulled out of reality itself."
Sirius's smile deepened, the teacher in him stirring. "Exactly. They're not numbers or equations—they're living symbols. Carve the right one, and it breathes power into what it touches. Carve the wrong one…"
He gestured to the ceiling. "Well, that's why the old Black attic is sealed."
Roman blinked. "Please tell me that's a joke."
"It's not," Cassian said dryly.
Shya looked delighted. "So it's a language of creation, not translation."
"Precisely," Sirius said. "Runes are how meaning becomes matter."
Talora, already taking notes, murmured, "Then I'm taking them too."
"Obviously," Shya said. "We'll sit together and look ominous."
Roman smirked. "You always look ominous."
"Thank you," she said sweetly.
Sirius leaned back, studying the table: four bright minds, parchment scattered, toast crumbs on prophecy-paper, and sunlight slicing through the dust.
For the first time in years, Grimmauld Place sounded like home.
Breakfast had mellowed into lazy sunlight and the clatter of spoons. The owls were gone, leaving behind the faint scent of parchment and feathers. Grimmauld Place, for once, felt almost… normal.
The table was a mess of toast crumbs and half-open envelopes. Cassian and Roman had pushed the marmalade aside to make room for their course forms, while Shya had somehow managed to spatter jam over hers and Talora's.
"Right," Shya said, wiping her fingers on a napkin that didn't deserve it. "Four electives. Not three. Four. Anything less is weakness."
Roman snorted. "Or sanity."
"Sanity is boring," she said airily. "Ancient Runes, Divination, Magical Art, and Arithmancy."
"You just listed every subject that gives people migraines," Cassian said, ticking boxes on his own sheet. "I'm doing Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Debate and Politics, and Divination."
"You're joining Divination?" Roman said.
Cassian smirked. "Somewhere to sleep and get good grades."
"Good luck," Roman muttered, finishing his. "I'll stick with Ancient Runes, Magical Debate and Politics, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. At least I'll be outdoors when everyone else loses their minds."
Talora's quill moved in calm, sure strokes. "Ancient Runes, Divination, Beginners' Healing, and Arithmancy."
Shya eyed her. "Balanced. Predictable. Classic Talora."
Talora smiled faintly. "Functional, Bob."
Sirius watched the four of them, leaning against the counter with his coffee and a look that was equal parts curiosity and disbelief. "You realize most students take two or three of these, right?"
Shya looked up, perfectly serious. "That's because most students lack vision."
Cassian groaned softly. "You can't keep using that as your excuse."
"I can and I will."
Sirius chuckled, setting his mug down. "Let's see them then."
He leaned over the table just as Talora signed her name. The parchment shimmered under his shadow — the ink rearranging itself, curling and flowing like water being written backward. Words twisted into elegant lines of script, and suddenly the electives were gone, replaced by a gleaming new heading:
"Third Year Curriculum — Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"
Below it, the parchment unfurled further, revealing two lists in perfect copperplate handwriting.
CORE SUBJECTS
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3 – Miranda Goshawk
Intermediate Transfiguration – Emeric Switch
A Practical Guide to Defensive Magic – Wilhelmina Tuft (noted as revised edition)
Advanced Magical Drafts and Potions – Arsenius Jigger
Intermediate Herbology – Mirabella Plumridge
Numerical Foundations of Spellcraft – Tibor Aldane
The Wizard's Guide to History, Volume III: Magical Societies of the 13th–17th Centuries – Bathilda Bagshot
ELECTIVES (as chosen)
Runes of Binding and Becoming – Edda Ragnarsdottir
Sight and Symbol: Studies in Divination – Cassandra Vane
Art and Alchemy: Visual Mediums in Spellwork – Lyra Skye
Healing for Beginners: Recognizing Spells, Scars, and Curses – Healer Corvus Preen
Magical Debate and Politics: From Wizengamot to War – Theobald Crabbe
Theories of Arithmancy and Spell Construction – Septimus Spore
Monster Book of Monsters – Edwards Lima (abridged edition)
Talora blinked. "That's… new."
Cassian grinned. "Updated system. The forms convert automatically when you finish. Sends a copy to the school and gives you your book list right away."
Shya leaned close, eyes wide. "Oh that's brilliant. Look at that— 'Runes of Binding and Becoming.' I love that already."
Roman tilted his parchment, eyebrows raised. "Wait—'Intermediate Transfiguration'? Already?"
Sirius nodded, tapping the list. "That's when it starts getting interesting. You'll be learning inanimate-to-animate transformations this year. It's all precision and intent."
Talora's eyes lit up. "That sounds incredible."
"Challenging," he said, smiling faintly. "But worth it."
Shya, meanwhile, was already planning aloud. "All right, so we'll need to restock on sketchpads, rune chisels, at least one upgraded quill for Arithmancy—"
Cassian groaned. "You have six quills."
"I have six bad quills," she corrected. "Entirely different category."
Sirius chuckled, picking up one of the shimmering parchments. "You know," he said, glancing at the detailed lists, "if Hogwarts had students like this when I was there, I might have actually studied."
Cassian looked up dryly. "Sure you would've."
Sirius grinned. "All right, maybe not. But I'd have been impressed."
The kitchen still smelled faintly of tea and toast, the morning sun slicing through the dust in soft golden stripes. The chaos of course forms had settled into idle chatter and the scratch of quills as they finalized their lists.
Roman had sprawled back in his chair, tapping his quill against his parchment. "You know what this means," he said, eyeing Cassian. "With no monsters, no cursed teachers, and no petrified students this year—"
"Don't jinx it," Cassian warned.
"—we're actually going to have training," Roman finished flatly.
Shya looked up, a grin tugging at her mouth. "Oh, right. You two only played one game last year before the school decided to reenact a Greek tragedy."
Talora smiled, primly stirring her tea. "It was a very dramatic season."
Roman groaned. "And this one's going to be brutal. Full schedule. Extra drills. Flint's already threatening to 'restore House honor' or whatever."
Cassian gave a dry laugh. "I might start sleeping on the pitch."
Sirius, who'd been quietly reading Cassian's book list, looked up with a glimmer of interest. "Wait a second," he said. "You're both on your House team?"
Cassian hesitated. "…Yeah."
"Let me guess," Sirius said, eyes narrowing playfully. "You"—he pointed his mug at Cassian—"look like a Chaser. Balance, instinct, slight recklessness."
Shya grinned. "You're good."
"I'm better than good," Sirius said without missing a beat, then turned to Roman. "And you… Keeper. Stubborn. Watches everyone else's mistakes. Pretends not to care but gets furious when people don't try hard enough."
Roman froze, blinking. "…What—how—"
"Keeper," Shya confirmed gleefully. "Nailed it."
Sirius's grin widened. "See? Some things never change. Quidditch types are easy to read. I used to fly Chaser myself."
Cassian's head shot up. "You did?"
"Of course," Sirius said, a little pride sneaking into his tone. "Played all through school. James was Seeker, naturally — arrogant to the end — and I ran plays with the Beaters. Best team in decades."
Shya leaned forward. "Was it true you once won a match in under ten minutes?"
"Under eight," Sirius said modestly. "But who's counting?"
Roman looked impressed despite himself. "You still follow it?"
"Follow it?" Sirius laughed softly. "Kid, the Blacks used to sponsor half the brooms you fly on. Randolph Spudmore himself—" he caught himself mid-thought, his grin turning mischievous—"actually still owes me a favor or two."
Cassian narrowed his eyes. "Dad, no."
Sirius ignored him completely. "I could write to him. See if he's got any of the new Firebolts ready for pre-release testing."
"Absolutely not," Cassian said, instantly.
"Absolutely yes," Shya said, just as fast.
Talora covered her smile behind her cup. "You can't stifle generosity, Cassian."
Roman nearly choked on his tea. "Firebolts? As in, the Firebolt?"
"The one," Sirius said innocently, swirling his mug. "The fastest racing broom on the market. And, incidentally, co-developed by a company your family partially owns."
Cassian groaned. "Oh, Merlin."
Shya leaned back, grinning. "I think this is what they call generational wealth."
Pando let out a soft huff from under the table, tail thumping. Haneera's head perked up as though she could sense the excitement building.
Sirius reached down absently, scratching the dark fur between Haneera's ears. "What do you think, girl? Two Firebolts? Worth it?"
Haneera's tail wagged in what could only be described as approval.
"There's our answer," Sirius said, smirking. "Unanimous vote."
Shya snapped her parchment closed with flair. "All right then. We've got our courses, our gear, and probably a small fortune in bribes. I say we reward ourselves."
"Please don't say shopping," Roman said.
"Shopping," she repeated, beaming. "Griffen's Way. Tomorrow. We need books, supplies, and clearly — upgraded robes."
"Upgraded?" Cassian repeated.
Talora nodded solemnly. "We can't be seen in last year's uniforms. It's unbecoming."
Sirius blinked. "Custom uniforms? You're sure you two aren't pure-bloods?"
"Puh-lease," Shya said, flipping her hair. "We are Fabulous in every world."
Talora raised her glass in perfect harmony. "Manifestation is a discipline, not a luxury."
Cassian laughed softly, the sound mingling with Sirius's own amused exhale. For a moment, the house didn't feel heavy. It hummed — alive with young voices, new plans, and old magic remembering how to feel warm again.
Afternoon light filtered through the high kitchen windows, washing Grimmauld Place in a sleepy golden haze. The kids had drifted into companionable silence—Talora trimming a few leaves from one of her "harmless" plants, Shya sketching broom designs on parchment, Roman reading an article about the Firebolt's prototype speeds. Cassian was halfway through stacking plates when the air shivered.
A soft pop broke the stillness.
"Master Cassian!"
They turned. A small house-elf stood in the doorway—no taller than Shya's desk chair, with honey-brown eyes too large for her narrow face and a perfectly pressed black pinafore edged in silver thread. Her ears wobbled beneath a bright pink tea-cozy hat that looked recently ironed.
"Polly!" Cassian's grin was instant. "You're back."
The elf bounced in place, her voice high and trembly with excitement. "Polly is back, sir! Mistress Andromeda said all the family estates is all scrubbed and shining, every portrait dusted, every nasty boggart chased into the drainpipe. So Polly comes home now, she does!"
Sirius had looked up from the end of the table, startled but smiling. "So you're the new caretaker I've heard about," he said lightly.
The elf froze mid-bounce, her eyes going wide. She clutched her apron with both hands, trembling. "M-Master Sirius," she whispered. "Polly knows your magic. Polly knows the heartbeat of the House. But Polly has never seen you before!"
Sirius blinked, caught off guard by her awe. "That's all right," he said, tone gentle. "I've been… away."
Polly nodded fervently, ears twitching. "Polly knows. The walls whispered. They said the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House still lives. They said the Master's blood still beats true."
Shya mouthed whoa at Talora.
Sirius smiled softly. "Well, it's good to finally meet you, Polly. I hear you've been keeping things running."
The elf's whole face lit up. "Polly does her very best, sir! Polly keeps the dust away and the portraits polite—well, except the screaming one, she never listens—but Polly tries!"
Cassian chuckled. "She's being modest. The whole house feels different since she came."
Polly turned toward the girls then, bowing so low her nose brushed the floor. "Oh! And these must be Master Cassian's friends! Polly has heard of you, oh yes—Miss Shya, Miss Talora! You are the ones who make the young master laugh again!"
Shya grinned, charmed. "That's us."
"Polly is very honored to meet you!" she squeaked. "Polly has brought treats!"
With a snap of her tiny fingers, a silver tray drifted in—stacked with buttered scones, shortbread, and steaming cups of cocoa that smelled faintly of cinnamon.
Talora's eyes went wide. "You're an angel."
"Polly tries very hard," the elf said proudly, smoothing her pinafore. Then her tone dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kreacher does not like Polly's snacks. He says they is too cheerful."
Cassian snorted. "He's been keeping to himself?"
"Oh, yes," Polly said earnestly. "Kreacher stays in the attic, muttering about traitors and good linen. Polly does not be playings with him — he is old and mean and smells like mothballs. But Polly keeps his tea warm anyway. Polly is kind."
Sirius sighed, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. "That sounds about right."
Sirius crouched beside her, curious and kind. "You've done wonderful work here, Polly. But one thing first—no one outside this room can know I'm here. Do you understand?"
Her little chest puffed out. "Polly swears it, Master Sirius. By old blood and house magic, Polly will never speak of what she sees or hears in Number Twelve unless her masters bid her so."
As she spoke, her hands glowed faintly gold—the pulse of the Black family wards answering her oath. A shimmer rippled across the stone floor and vanished.
Roman whistled softly. "That's… dramatic."
"It's tradition," Sirius said, straightening. "And it works."
"Polly likes traditions," she said brightly. "But Polly likes happy laughter even more. This house feels alive now."
Cassian bent, fixing her lopsided hat. "We missed you, Polly."
Her eyes shone. "And Polly missed you, Master Cassian! You is growing tall and kind, just like Mistress Andromeda said. And now you has friends! Good, clever, loud friends!"
"Loud?" Shya repeated. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is!" Polly insisted. "Houses like loud! Quiet makes ghosts walk about."
"Wise words," Talora said solemnly.
Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "You fit right in with this lot, Polly."
The elf's ears turned pink. "Polly tries her best, sir. Polly will make tea and polish the cauldrons and keep the doggys fed."
At the mention of dogs, Haneera's ears perked. She padded over, sniffing the elf curiously. Pando followed, tail wagging.
Polly squeaked in delight. "Oh, such clever beasties! Proper guardians, they are. They likes Master Cassian's magic."
Haneera nudged her hand gently, and Polly giggled, petting the sleek black fur.
Shya beamed. "Polly, you're officially one of us."
"Indeed," Talora added. "Commander of snacks and guardian of secrets."
Polly squealed so loudly a spoon jumped in its cup. "Oh, Polly is honored! Polly will guard and feed and keep the secrets till the stars fall down!"
Sirius raised his mug in salute. "Welcome home, Polly."
The little elf glowed at the words—literally, faint gold spilling across her fingertips—before dashing off to fetch another round of cocoa.
The kitchen fell into easy laughter again. The house creaked not with loneliness, but with life.
And somewhere deep in the old foundations, the Black family magic stirred, recognizing the shift. Its halls had seen centuries of bitterness and pride—
but tonight, they smelled faintly of cinnamon and sunlight.
Evening settled slowly over Grimmauld Place. The light through the windows turned amber, then rose, then dimmed into the cozy flicker of firelight. Someone had lit candles—probably Polly, who now hummed faintly to herself in the scullery—and the table had been cleared of crumbs and replaced with parchment, lists, and a single pot of tea that refilled itself when no one was looking.
Haneera and Pando dozed near the hearth, tails twitching in shared dreams. Sirius was at the head of the table, chair tilted back, watching the organized chaos of four teenagers planning a shopping trip as if it were a military campaign.
Talora had conjured a neat chart, complete with categories and estimated costs. "We'll need robes, of course," she said briskly. "And the new textbooks. Plus optional items for electives—rune chisels, healing salves, divination journals, and sketching materials for Shya."
Shya perked up. "And new boots. I need footwear that says resilient yet fashionable."
Roman groaned. "Please tell me this is about school supplies and not your fall wardrobe."
"Those are the same thing," Shya said, utterly sincere.
Cassian, half-smiling, tapped the parchment. "We can split the list. I'll handle books and potion refills; Talora handles ingredients. Shya can—"
"Supervise," she said brightly.
"—be distracted by shiny things until we leave," Roman muttered.
"Delegation is an art," Shya replied, sipping her tea like a queen.
Sirius had been quietly taking it all in, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He'd seen maps of Azkaban less detailed than the parchment now spread before them. "You realize," he said lightly, "that most families just go to Diagon Alley, buy what they need, and go home."
"That's inefficient," Talora said.
"Also tragic," Shya added. "Have you seen the lighting in Diagon Alley? Griffen's Way has ambience."
Roman raised an eyebrow. "Ambience?"
"Charm-lit arcades, floating book displays, rune-engraving boutiques," Shya listed dreamily. "Half the clientele's rich, half's artistic, and everyone's pretentious. It's perfect."
Cassian snorted. "You make it sound like a museum."
"It's a lifestyle," she corrected.
Sirius laughed, unable to help himself. "You two sound more like Black cousins than half my actual family."
He glanced down the table at Cassian and Roman. "You two need anything beyond the books? Quidditch gloves? New broom polish?"
Roman perked up slightly. "Actually, yeah—mine got eaten by doxy dust last term."
"And I could use a new grip charm for my gloves," Cassian admitted.
Sirius nodded, already making a mental list. "I'll write ahead to a few contacts. Griffen's Way has a Spudmore outfitter—small shop, very discreet."
Roman gave a low whistle. "You really do know everyone, huh?"
Sirius smirked. "I used to."
Shya leaned over the parchment, doodling a flourish at the bottom. "Okay, so tomorrow morning, we leave early. Breakfast, then Polly can pop us there—she said she can Apparate anywhere with proper wards and secrecy clearance, right?"
"Polly can pop anywhere," came the tiny, indignant voice from the doorway. The elf appeared holding a tray of scones, eyes huge. "Polly is strong. Polly can take all of you. Polly will not drop anyone—unless Master Roman keeps wriggling."
Roman looked alarmed. "Wait, what?"
Shya grinned. "Don't worry, she's got you. Probably."
Polly puffed out her chest. "Polly never misses. Except that one time with the cauldron, but that was not Polly's fault, the cauldron was slippery."
Sirius chuckled. "We'll take that as a vote of confidence."
They fell into laughter again—easy and overlapping, like they'd been doing this for years instead of days. Cassian leaned back in his chair, watching it all with a small, unguarded smile.
Polly was still muttering to herself about safe Apparition protocols when Sirius caught Cassian's eye and grinned. "You realize," he said quietly, "you're running this like a proper household."
Cassian shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Someone has to."
Sirius's grin softened. "You're doing brilliantly, son."
Cassian blinked, not expecting that. But before he could respond, Shya called, "All right, team! Operation Griffen's Way begins at dawn!"
Roman groaned. "You're naming it now?"
Talora smiled serenely. "Everything worth doing deserves a proper title."
Sirius raised his cup in mock salute. "Then to Operation Griffen's Way."
They clinked teacups, the sound small but clear.
Outside, the London night hummed quietly. Inside, the fire flickered against the walls, painting the old Black crest in light instead of shadow.
And for the first time in a very long time, Grimmauld Place felt like it was preparing for something good.