Time to Leave Fairy Tales Behind
Sirius huffed, eyeing the book-laden shelves, the walls crammed with portraits, and the patterned rug that carried such bitter memories of his childhood. There he was again, in the library, entirely against his will.
While Remus stepped up to the first bookcase and began scanning the leather-bound spines, Sirius folded his arms and let his gaze wander across the ceiling.
It had all begun a few days earlier.
After making peace with Molly—and after the little disaster with the piano poltergeist—she’d asked him to inspect every room before Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys set foot in them.
It wasn’t a task that thrilled him, but he knew his family well enough to understand it was necessary.
So there they were in the kitchen, going over which rooms still needed decontaminating and cleaning while Remus enjoyed a cup of tea and a good read in his usual corner.
Tonks had arrived at that moment, and Sirius could still see the amused look on her face at finding them like that: no fighting, no sarcasm.
Molly stirred her pot energetically.
—Then, as I was saying, the sitting room is safe. We’ve also cleared the corridor, the bedrooms and the bathrooms on the first and second floors.
—We still have the entire third floor —Sirius nodded, rubbing his chin—. And the basement.
Molly turned to him, more serious.
—Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk about. I’ve been poking around and found a locked door down there.
Sirius narrowed his eyes, cautious.
—The library —he murmured after a beat.
Tonks, who had sat down next to Remus, lifted her head, intrigued.
—Library? Don’t tell me the Black family had their own little corner of ancestral wisdom…
—Or of hereditary poison —Sirius shot back, folding his arms.
Remus set his cup on the table.
—Why is it locked? —he asked curiously.
Sirius sighed and placed his hands on the table with a weight that suggested the answer was too obvious to waste words on.
—Because if there’s one place in this house likely to spit a curse at you for looking at a page the wrong way, it’s that one. I sealed it as soon as I came back. I don’t even know what my parents left in there. But knowing them—nothing good.
Molly frowned.
—We could use that room. It looks spacious, and if we go through its contents before the cleaning crew goes in, we’ll avoid unnecessary risks.
Sirius didn’t answer. He still wasn’t convinced.
Tonks leaned forward with her most charming smile.
—Come on, Sirius. Aren’t you even a little curious? Maybe there’s a cursed portrait that insults anyone who isn’t pure-blood… or better yet! A diary full of scandalous secrets.
—I’d rather not know —he grumbled.
—There could be dangerous objects —Remus added, more practical—. Better we check it before Fred or George wander in by accident.
—Or on purpose —Molly added with a grimace.
Sirius squinted at Remus, suspicious.
—What you really want is to rummage through the Black family’s old books.
Remus lifted his shoulders in feigned innocence.
—I won’t deny it. But that doesn’t make it any less sensible to ensure the library isn’t a death trap.
Sirius pressed his lips together, visibly frustrated. Tonks smiled sideways.
—Besides, Sirius… aren’t you the least bit curious?
Sirius wavered between exasperation and resignation. At last he huffed and raked a hand through his hair.
—Fine. But if something tries to eat us, I told you so.
Tonks threw her arms up in victory.
—That’s the spirit! Come on, cleaning brigade!
—I don’t know whether to cheer you on or offer my condolences —Sirius muttered.
—We’ll see! —she said, winking.
The memory faded with the creak of a floorboard under his feet.
Sirius forced himself to blink and focus on what—on where—he was.
The smell of dust and old ink was the same. The past, no matter how tightly you sealed it behind a door, always found a way to slip in through a crack. Or a window.
He couldn’t really complain. In the end, he’d given in to Molly’s request, encouraged by Lupin and Tonks…and if he was honest, he wanted to know what had survived of his family in that tomb of words.
He looked around again. The library was just as he remembered.
Dark wooden shelves towered overhead, crammed with leather-bound volumes, many of them dusty, their pompous titles barely visible beneath the grime. Some books pulsed with a strange, almost latent energy, as if they were waiting to be opened so their forbidden contents could unfurl.
In the center of the room, a long mahogany table reflected the flicker of the fire. And yet, not even the flames could dispel the cold that seeped from those walls. A chill that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with memory and resentment.
To Sirius, this library wasn’t just another room.
It was a cell.
He remembered, with a bitter clarity, the endless afternoons when his mother, Walburga Black, forced him and his younger brother, Regulus, to memorize the names and traditions of every pure-blood family. Walburga’s voice was a whip, sharp and merciless, lashing them whenever Sirius—almost always on purpose—got something wrong.
And not only that.
His cousin Andromeda also came to mind, seated at that same table, a quill between her fingers and a frown of feigned concentration. Sometimes she’d huff and tip her head back, exasperated. Even as a child, Sirius had recognized in those sighs the seed of rebellion. Perhaps that was why, years later, he wasn’t surprised that Andromeda was the only one of the three Black sisters to walk away from the family’s strict rules.
—Hi.
A familiar voice cut through the library’s silence, and Sirius looked up.
Leaning against the doorframe with casual ease stood Tonks. Her mischievous smile clashed with the solemnity of the place.
—Well, I thought you were going to wriggle out of this —Sirius remarked with a half-smile.
She arched an eyebrow in mock outrage.
—And miss the crown jewel of the house? How could I do that to myself?
Sirius let out a dry laugh and shook his head.
—All right, Nymphadora—since you insisted on opening the library, get to work.
Tonks caught the rag mid-air with a grimace.
—Tsk, that sounded like a punishment.
—It is.
From a corner, Remus watched the scene unfold with a smile. The lightness between the newly reunited cousins amused him. Tonks shot him a quick, conspiratorial glance before stepping into the room.
Without further preamble, the three of them began to go through the library.
It wasn’t easy: many volumes were enchanted, and more than once a hidden shelf revealed a nest of doxies that forced them to draw their wands to keep the pests at bay. Dust swirled in the air with every shake of a page, and the creak of wood as they shifted old books filled the room with a sound like whispering.
Sirius bent to a low shelf and pulled out a worn volume. The moment he held it, something slipped from between its pages and landed softly on the rug.
He frowned and crouched to pick it up.
It was an old photograph.
—Well… —he murmured, straightening, his expression unreadable. Without taking his eyes off the image, he held it out to Remus and Tonks.
The auror took the photograph with curiosity. Her eyes widened as she recognized the faces captured on the paper.
—Wow.
The image moved with the ethereal cadence of magical photos, showing three young women in their prime.
Bellatrix, the eldest, radiated a dark, dazzling beauty, with sharp cheekbones, an imperious gaze and long lashes casting elegant shadows over her pale skin.
In the center was Andromeda—her mother—her brown hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, as lovely as her elder sister but with a kinder, more approachable expression.
And on the right, Narcissa, the youngest, with straight, fair hair framing a porcelain face, her blue eyes shining with a distant intensity.
Tonks blinked, the photograph still in her hands.
—Funny… —she murmured, hesitating a little.
Remus and Sirius watched her quietly, waiting.
—I’m a bit embarrassed to admit it, but… when I was little, I loved looking through one of my mum’s old photo albums. Many of those pictures were taken here, in this house.
Sirius nodded slightly; he’d heard her mention them once.
Tonks went on, eyes fixed on the image.
—I loved sitting with my mother and asking her to tell me stories about each picture. I’d spend hours looking at photos of the three sisters: Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa. They were my favourite.
She smiled, a little shy.
—I’m an only child, so… I suppose, in a way, I missed having sisters. I imagined what it would have been like to play with them, fight, make up, share secrets… A world I made up, yes, but mine. I suppose when you don’t get answers, you invent them.
Sirius tilted his head toward her. Lupin, seated in an armchair, listened in silence.
Tonks’s fingers stroked the photograph softly. Then, realizing how much she’d just shared, she let out a nervous laugh and shook her head.
—I don’t know why I’m telling you all this —she said, handing the photo back to Sirius with a careless gesture.
He didn’t take it at once.
—Because you want to. Besides, it’s part of the immersive cleaning-brigade experience: purifying the house… and the soul, cousin.
Tonks smiled, shaking her head at the nonsense, and looked at Remus.
—If you want to go on, we’re listening —he said simply, with a slight smile.
She looked at them a moment longer, then released a small sigh. She took the photo Sirius offered and continued:
—As a girl, I never dared insist too much. I could tell my mother avoided the subject. Whenever I said something cheerful about those photos, she went quiet. Sometimes she tried to smile, but there was always something sad in her expression. So I ended up building my own version of their story… A very pretty version, if I’m honest.
Her fingers drummed absently on the table, and for a moment her gaze held her mother’s melancholy—the one Sirius knew so well.
—I clearly idealized all three. The Black family, my mother’s escape, her marriage to my dad, everything. I thought it was romantic, heroic. I pictured her running toward love… not fleeing toward freedom.
She clicked her tongue.
—Anyway, now I know it was something else. More human, harsher. But also more real. And I think I prefer that. Maybe… it was about time to leave fairy tales behind, wasn’t it?
She let out a light laugh, as if to scatter the darker thoughts.
—That’s families for you, I suppose.
Sirius gave a sarcastic snort and dropped into the nearest chair, taking the photo from Tonks.
—Lovely, isn’t it? Three pretty little girls with their futures perfectly mapped out. One ended up mad, another disowned, and the third married to the biggest idiot in the wizarding world.
Tonks stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. Remus, leafing through a dusty book from a nearby armchair, raised an eyebrow.
—No one can deny Bellatrix is unhinged, but Narcissa… well, in her way she got what she wanted, didn’t she? —he asked, looking at Sirius.
—Yes— a life of luxury and a clothes-hanger for a husband —Sirius grumbled—. But hey, everyone’s got their priorities.
Tonks burst out laughing, letting go of some of the tension.
—And you, Sirius? What do you think would have become of you if you’d never run away? —she asked, amused.
Sirius pretended to think, leaning forward on his elbow and tapping the photo lightly against the wood.
—Hmm… given my rebellious streak and irresistible charm, they’d have tried to marry me off to some high-born witch to correct my character —he air-quoted with his fingers—, and I’d have ruined the wedding in the most scandalous way possible. Probably blown up the cake before riding off on my bike.
Tonks laughed heartily, and Remus smiled, shaking his head.
—The worst part is I can picture it perfectly —he said simply, closing the book in his hands—. You’d have pushed Walburga to the brink of a nervous collapse.
Sirius shrugged, satisfied.
—That would have been my crowning achievement.
Tonks took the photo back and looked at her mother, captured in her youth, with a smile that now seemed full of longings she was just beginning to understand.
—Keep it —Sirius said suddenly.
Tonks looked up, surprised.
—Are you sure?
Sirius lifted a shoulder, but his tone was softer.
—What would I want it for? It means more to you.
Tonks hesitated a moment, then nodded and tucked the photograph carefully into her coat.
—Thanks.
—Right, let’s keep going —Sirius said lightly, his energy renewed—. We’ve still got loads to do. Who knows—maybe we’ll find another Black family gem. Perhaps a portrait of Aunt Elladora with her collection of house-elf heads. Or who knows—maybe the cursed spirit of Kreacher’s great-great-grandfather will attack us.
Tonks pulled an exaggeratedly horrified face. Lupin shook his head and took the lead, as if resigned to whatever would come next.
—I hope not—but just in case… keep your wands ready —he murmured with a smile, before walking into the shadowed stacks.
Tonks’s and Sirius’s laughter echoed through the room, waking a faint, almost warm reply from the cold walls of the Grimmauld Place library.
As she walked behind them, Tonks glanced back for a moment. She had the feeling eyes were following her.
She saw it.
A faded painting, wedged between two rickety shelves, showed a black horse with long mane.
There was something strange in its gaze. Too human.
Tonks frowned.
She blinked… and wasn’t quite sure she’d been looked at at all.
She shook her head, as if to dislodge a foolish thought.
And hurried after her companions, smiling.
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The dais looked higher than she remembered.
And the lights, brighter.
The silence, heavier.
Or maybe it was the weight of all those eyes.
Tonks straightened without realizing it, shoulders squared and chin steady, though inside she felt that old fizz of nerves. The place had a solemn, intimidating air, as if the walls remembered every name that had passed through and were quietly judging the new ones.
The Ministry of Magic’s great ceremonial hall brimmed with expectation.
New cadets, wrapped in official uniforms—garnet, new, and freshly pressed—waited upon the central platform, elevated above the rest of the hall.
In front of them, seated in perfectly aligned rows, the active Aurors watched with sober faces, a wall of experience and scars. They wore the same color, yes, but each coat carried its own story.
This morning was the graduation ceremony.
The moment when it would be announced who would officially join the Auror Office… and who would not. Only those who had passed the final assessment would be accepted. For them, Scrimgeour already had teams prepared.
The tension in the air was palpable; everyone seemed on the verge of snapping.
Tonks, beside Kingsley and Moody—also in their official coats—observed the candidates in silence.
It hadn’t been that long since she’d stood among a similar group herself. She remembered vividly how hard that day had been: standing there with a brand-new coat, boots squeaking on the wooden stage, her heart hammering at an impossible rhythm.
She adjusted the buckles of her garnet coat. Hers was no longer new or crisply pressed, but it had gained a different kind of presence: more worn, yes, but more imposing too.
She glanced sideways at Booth and Dawsey, standing with Dawlish. From their focused expressions, they seemed to share the same thought: how quickly time passes once you’re no longer the rookie.
Becoming an Auror wasn’t easy.
First, candidates had to have earned at least five N E W T s with top marks in key subjects like Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Herbology.
After that stringent academic filter came a three-year specialized training, learning to face real dangers, handle high-risk situations and master advanced disciplines such as magical duelling, tracking, infiltration and interrogation techniques.
Once that stage was cleared, candidates were assigned to a team within the Auror Office.
That was when their real career began.
Each one received a mentor —usually the head of the team they were joining— and a direct supervisor: an experienced Auror who became their guide, evaluator, and primary reference during their first years.
That close support was essential: the leap from theory to the field could be brutal, and not everyone made it. Tonks remembered how vertiginous it had been at first… It still felt incredible to her that Moody had chosen her as an apprentice and that Kingsley was her supervisor.
The Auror tipped her head slightly, studying her mentor.
As always, his expression looked bored, but his magical eye spun restlessly, scanning the candidates. Some had already noticed. One, brown-haired and broad-shouldered, swallowed visibly. Another dropped his gaze when the eye fixed on him. Tonks would swear one lad’s knee had buckled from nerves. She couldn’t help but smile. She knew that feeling—she’d felt it more times than she liked to admit.
Moody, in theory, was retired.
He had officially hung up his Auror badge years ago, but no one at the Ministry dared treat him like a pensioner. Much less show him the door. He still led operations, signed reports, handed out missions… and kept his office as if nothing had changed.
The truth was they were short-staffed.
Scrimgeour, the Head of the Office, knew it, and although he didn’t always see eye to eye with Alastor, there was something stronger between them: respect.
They had trained together.
They knew each other well.
Tonks suspected they didn’t particularly like one another, but both knew the other was essential. So Scrimgeour simply let him be. He allowed him a small team —just Kingsley and Tonks— and looked the other way on administrative formalities. As long as he delivered and didn’t cause trouble.
Well —he didn’t follow the rules to the letter. Tonks was convinced Moody was an absolute headache for Scrimgeour: always doing things his way, always grumbling, always arguing. But clearly, Moody solved more problems than he caused.
The other teams were much larger.
Dawlish commanded the main team —the biggest— where most cadets ended up. Protection, surveillance, searches, Ministry and field patrols. The Office’s executing arm; the primary operational unit.
Hector Radcliffe’s team was more discreet, with a different focus. British, pure-blood, methodical and tough but loyal. Speciality: interrogation and intelligence-gathering; since he’d begun working with international departments, his team took cases with diplomatic ramifications.
Viola Grint led a quieter, almost invisible group. Half-blood, expert tracker and Occlumens; preferred undercover work, and her people reflected that. Tonks suspected Hestia Jones worked with her.
Marietta Watson’s team didn’t wade into open battles as often, but their work mattered just as much: magical protection, shields, barriers, reinforcements. Security for Wizengamot events, Ministry meetings, international summits. They protected the structures while others fought in the field.
Compared to them, Moody’s team looked like an independent cell.
Three people.
But it was also the only one Scrimgeour didn’t question. Freedom to move, to choose missions, to work their way. For Tonks, a blend of honour… and pressure.
Kingsley cleared his throat —a low, steady sound that made her draw herself up a bit straighter, as if she were a student again. His presence at her side was as solid and calm as ever, with that capacity to command respect without moving at all. He seemed carved from ancient rock, seasoned by years and by a serenity that didn’t come only from experience but from something harder to acquire: temperance, composure —the kind of calm you don’t train; you either are or you aren’t.
And she… she was always rushing everywhere, tripping over things, talking too loudly, hair tousled, slightly eccentric Muggle clothes. Neither tall nor short, neither plump nor thin, neither flamboyant nor skinny. Just… normal.
A grain of sand between two granite pillars.
And precisely because Moody was so selective, Tonks couldn’t help wondering what he’d seen in her to decide to take her on.
When the ceremony ended, as always, the air among the cadets filled with wildly different emotions: jubilation, anger, held-back tears, disappointment, pure joy. Some hugged through laughter; others walked away in silence, fists clenched and eyes down. As the group dispersed, the chosen met their new teams, and the rejected left without looking back.
Kingsley folded his arms and murmured without taking his eyes off the courtyard,
—Didn’t like any of them, Alastor?
Moody grunted, and Tonks recognized at once that dry sound as a no.
Scrimgeour, from the steps, watched them. Tonks noticed his gaze rest on Moody for a second, as if waiting for some gesture.
A signal. Something.
But the old Auror didn’t even look his way. Instead, he ruffled Tonks’s hair with a rough, familiar hand.
—I’ve enough with the girl. She’s still green.
—Oh, come on, Alastor —she protested, feigning indignation.
But she smiled.
Because she knew that, underneath, it was his clumsy, gruff way of saying: I choose you.
Yes. Tonks felt part of something small, peculiar… but hers.
Her team.
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The ceremony was over, and the great hall was slowly emptying amid murmurs, handshakes and emotional hugs.
Tonks drifted toward one of the columns near the exit, shrugging off her robe with a sigh of relief. It had been a long morning.
—Look who’s back among the living! —said a familiar voice behind her.
Tonks turned just in time to receive a friendly elbow from Dawsey —tall and gangly as always, with an easy smile and messy brown hair.
Next to him was Booth, a little shorter, broader in the shoulders, with the expression of someone in a permanently good mood and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
—Hey, you two! —Tonks exclaimed, smiling and hugging Booth—. I thought you’d forgotten me since you ascended to Ministry demigods.
—Ascended? Us? Not a chance —said Booth—. We’re still as small-time as you.
—Sure, sure —Tonks laughed—. So? Did many newbies land in your teams?
Dawsey rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful.
—Well, Scrimgeour’s team is getting five. Young, but with solid potential. One has wicked aim, and another seems to have this natural resistance to Confundus. I can’t wait to put them to the test.
—There he goes with the paternal streak again —Booth muttered, giving him a gentle nudge—. Don’t let them read your motivational speeches or they’ll bolt.
Dawsey ignored him with dignity.
—And you, Booth, how’s the Dawlish squad?
—Three recruits —he replied, excited—. One very technical, another a bit clumsy but with a great attitude… and the third… well. She’s got front-page looks for the Prophet. Say no more.
Tonks snorted, folding her arms.
—Fantastic. Just what the Auror Office needs: catwalks and smiles.
—Hey, one thing doesn’t exclude the other —Booth protested with a half-smile—. If she can cast a solid Stunner, she can pull any face she wants.
—And you? —Dawsey asked, turning to Tonks—. Any rookie on Moody’s team?
Tonks shook her head with a half-smile.
—No. Still just the three of us.
Dawsey let out an amused snort.
—Of course —an odd team for odd people. Suits you.
Tonks elbowed him lightly, raising an eyebrow.
—Odd, but effective.
Booth chuckled, then adopted a conspiratorial tone.
—Must be tough working with Moody.
Tonks was thoughtful for a second, then smiled.
—Honestly… I’m thrilled. He’s demanding, yes, and grumpier than a wet cat, but he’s brilliant. I learn something new every day. I’d find it much harder to work with Dawlish.
She pulled a face that sent Booth into instant laughter; he knew full well about the perpetual friction between her mentor and his colleague.
—Oh, come on! Dawlish is great. A little… intense, sure, but he knows what he’s doing.
—Right… —Tonks said, raising an eyebrow, unconvinced. She turned to Dawsey—. And the boss?
—I’m good with Scrimgeour —he said with a shrug—. Not so… uh, charismatic, but he’s fair. He knows how to value his people.
Booth nudged him.
—You were going to say peculiar instead of charismatic, weren’t you?
Dawsey smiled. Tonks burst out laughing.
—Always the diplomat.
The three of them set off down the carpeted corridor that led to the Ministry’s inner offices. By then, the building was already humming. At the far end, a glass door opened onto a small common room where they sometimes rested between shifts. They went in almost by habit, and Tonks dropped into one of the armchairs while Booth poured three coffees from the dispenser.
—On a more serious note —Dawsey said, lowering his voice—. Have you heard what they’ve been telling us lately? There’s a growing alert.
—An alert? —Tonks asked, taking the coffee Booth handed her.
Booth nodded, this time more serious.
—Yeah. Criminal groups posing as Death Eaters. You know… they aren’t. No Mark, no Unforgivables… but they dress the part. Black cloaks, masks, the whole costume. They hit isolated neighborhoods, sow fear, make families run… and then they loot the houses.
—Or they show up at people’s homes and threaten them into handing over gold, magical objects, rare ingredients… —Dawsey added after a sip—. Straight-up extortion. Give us this or we’ll be back tonight with the others. And who’s going to risk it?
Tonks pressed her lips together, annoyed.
—Cowards —she said—. They don’t want a war; they just want to cash in on the fear in the air.
—Exactly —Booth agreed—. They don’t follow You-Know-Who, and don’t need to. They just know that now the word Death Eater opens doors… or slams them shut. And they use it.
Dawsey added gravely,
—The worst thing is, if it spreads, it’ll get harder and harder to tell who’s a real threat and who’s just another parasite.
A dense silence settled between them.
Beyond the room, the Ministry kept up its routine of cups, heels and floating papers, as if nothing could break the rhythm of the machine.
Tonks took a long sip of coffee. Then she looked at both of them—one on each side—with a lopsided smile.
—Good thing the three of us have sharp eyes, right?
—And quick reflexes —Booth added, raising his cup in a casual toast.
—Tonks doesn’t —Dawsey teased with a half-smile.
Tonks narrowed her eyes, amused.
—We’ll see who trips first.
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Author’s note
Well, as you can see, today we dig deeper into canon —so to speak.
I wanted to poke at what canon hints about the three sisters and tell the story I read between the lines: less romance, more truth.
And Aurors —I love Aurors. There isn’t that much developed about them, so I built it myself. I didn’t really invent anything: what you read is basically med school translated into the Auror world. Tough exams, years of training, mentorships… not just a wand and done. I even considered giving them an oath —like the Hippocratic one doctors take at graduation— but it sounded a bit too Game of Thrones, and I didn’t want that. For now, it’s shelved.
Not sure if you noticed: I used the surnames of the three film leads for the names of the Auror team heads. I’m terrible at naming characters, and this felt like a neat idea —a tribute to the actors who shaped our childhoods, teen years and, let’s be honest, adult lives too. I still rewatch the films from time to time. A little hidden thank-you for anyone who wants to find it.
Emotional bonus: today is Natalia Tena’s birthday; we borrowed that date for Tonks because canon never gave her one. It felt right.
If you want to see the chapter’s illustrations and extras, I’m on Instagram and TikTok. All my links are here:
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