Grimmauld Place had always been a house that creaked, whispered, and breathed its history in cold drafts.
But tonight, the old home felt strangely awake—as if it recognized the witch Sirius carried through its threshold.
Stellatrix—newborn in mind, reborn in purpose—rested lightly against his chest, weightless with unconsciousness.
Her hair, once a wild halo of madness, fell softer now.
Her expression unknotted.
Her breathing gentle.
Bellatrix would never have looked this peaceful, Sirius thought, not unless she were in the arms of the dark lord himself.
He swallowed around the knot in his throat as he carried her up the stairs.
Past the screaming portrait of Walburga Black—mercifully muffled under thick drapes.
Past Kreacher's muttering in the shadows.
Into a small guest room he had never used.
He laid her down carefully, as though she were glass.
For a long moment he simply stared.
She looked younger.
Not physically—but in the absence of hatred twisting her features.
Cassius did this, Sirius thought, stepping back.
He sat in the chair by her bedside.
He did not move for a long time.
~
Memory magic, Sirius knew, was dangerous.
Erasing was simple.
Extracting was methodical.
But rewriting…?
That was something only a master Legilimens could even dream of attempting.
He rubbed his face with a trembling hand.
How old is he? Thirteen? Fourteen?
And yet he had reached into Bellatrix's mind—into one of the most fortified, damaged minds in the world—and sculpted something new.
Something whole.
Something that hopefully wasn't a monster.
Sirius exhaled shakily.
"I hope you knew what you were doing, pup," he murmured.
But even as he said it, part of him—quiet and honest—believed Cassius did.
~
As hours passed and Stellatrix slept, Sirius remained vigilant.
But even still Kreacher eventually entered the room bearing a letter for his master.
Accepting the letter and tearing open its seal, Sirius's tired eyes scanned the page contained within.
"You need an explanation if Dumbledore checks. We stated you were injured and went to St. Mungo. Sorry but, its required."
Sirius groaned knowing he had little to no choice.
Taking one final look at Stella in her bed, before leaving the room and going to the training room.
Encountering Kreacher on the way, and commanding the elf to tend to Stella upstairs but not to harm her or let her leave before he returns.
Once alone, Sirius took his want out and using a few simple severing charms he caused deep lacerations to appear on his other arm, before pointing the wand at his feet and launching a bombarda launching himself across the room, only to land with a thud.
"Bloody hell…"
Pain flared.
Blood welled.
wrapping one arm across his torso, hunching over to deal with the pain he now found himself in, he apparated to St. Mungo's, and let the Healers fuss over him—retelling the lie that received these wound while fighting with death eaters.
Two hours later he returned.
He climbed the stairs.
He pushed open the door.
And froze.
Stellatrix was awake.
Sitting upright.
Blanket clutched to her chest.
Eyes wide and confused—but not wild.
Not manic.
Not murderous.
Just… lost.
She stared around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
Which, in a sense, she was.
Her gaze landed on Sirius.
She stiffened.
"Sirius…?" she whispered.
Not snarled.
Not spat.
Not with the venom Bellatrix once wielded like a blade.
Soft.
Uncertain.
Almost hopeful.
Sirius's breath caught.
"…Yeah," he said, voice cracking on the edges. "It's me."
She looked down at her hands, then back up at him—searching his face, searching her own memories for context that no longer existed.
Her brow furrowed.
"Where… am I?"
"Grimmauld Place," he answered gently. "the black family home."
She blinked slowly.
"Why?"
His fingers tightened around the armrest of the chair.
Cassius's warning echoed quietly: Don't tell her everything. Let her understand the world she wakes into on her own terms.
Sirius inhaled.
"You were hurt," he said carefully. "I brought you somewhere safe."
She absorbed that.
Her hand trembled slightly as she touched her temple, wincing.
"There's so much fog," she murmured. "Everything feels… jumbled. Like I'm trying to remember a dream I wasn't awake for."
Sirius stood slowly.
"Do you remember anything?"
She hesitated.
"…I remember… spells. Training. Pressure. Expectations." Her eyes squeezed shut. "And a mirror. Cracked. I think I broke it? No—someone broke it for me. I was angry. Or frightened."
Her breathing hitched. "And then… nothing."
She looked at him, panic beginning to rise.
"Sirius… what's wrong with me?"
He went still.
Then he crossed the room and knelt beside her bed.
"Nothing," he said firmly. "Nothing is wrong with you. You're safe. You're home. And I'll explain everything when you're ready."
Her gaze softened—trust flickering in her eyes.
Trust.
Not devotion.
Not obsession.
Not madness.
Just the tentative trust of someone scared and searching for something solid.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"…Thank you."
Sirius swallowed hard.
"You're welcome, Stella."
She blinked.
"Stella?"
He hesitated only a second before nodding.
"That's… what you go by now."
She touched her chest lightly, the name sinking into her with surprising ease.
"Stella," she repeated softly. "I… like it."
Sirius's heart cramped.
Good.
That's good.
That gives her something to anchor to.
She lifted her eyes to him again.
"…Will you stay?"
The question was fragile.
Childlike.
Sirius didn't hesitate.
"Of course. I'm not leaving."
A small, hesitant smile touched her lips.
She eased back into the pillows, still visibly overwhelmed but calmer with him nearby.
Sirius dragged the chair closer.
Sat down again.
And watched over her as she drifted into a more natural sleep.
His thoughts churned.
Cassius… what exactly did you make her into?
And what will happen when Dumbledore finds out Bellatrix Lestrange is no longer dead… just reborn?
But those were problems for later.
Right now—
Stellatrix—his cousin—needed him.
And Sirius Black, who had lost too many family members to war and madness, would not lose her again.
Not this time.
Not if he had to stand alone between her and the world.