Chapter 5

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Tonks walked through the streets of London, trying to sort out her thoughts. She kept a cautious distance from Rookwood, who blended into the crowd a few steps ahead.
Disguised as a middle-aged woman with soft features, she never took her eyes off him.

That day’s surveillance had once again proven frustrating.
She had joined Moody hoping to intercept some suspicious movement, but after hours and hours of patience, all they’d been left with was monotony and boredom.
Tonks had imagined a more tense, more thrilling operation; something to awaken her Auror instincts and make her feel the rush of adrenaline. But with each passing day, she grew more resigned to wasting her time.

Rookwood wasn’t behaving like a villain at all, but like any other man in the crowd.
He had left the Ministry at his usual hour, strolling leisurely through the streets with the ease of someone who had nothing to hide.
Too much ease, as Sirius had put it. It was as if every step he took was carefully designed to look unremarkable.

Finally, Moody called it a day.
«That bastard knows we’re tailing him. We won’t get lucky today,» he muttered before vanishing into the swarm of Muggles.

But Tonks decided to follow her target a little longer.
Not because she expected to find anything new, but because she needed time to think. And, after all, wandering aimlessly through the streets was better than going home with her head full of noise.

It was then — just as she was considering heading home — that something changed.
Just a small shift from his usual route, but enough to set her instincts alight.
It wasn’t random. She knew it instantly.
That tiny break in routine had a purpose.

She slipped behind a corner, heart beating faster. Without wasting time, she changed her appearance again with a quick blink: she darkened her hair, sharpened her features, and in seconds she was someone else entirely.

Moving in the shadows, she kept her distance, silent and watchful, while Rookwood continued forward with the same outward calm as always… though now, his gaze occasionally flicked over his shoulder, making sure no one was following him.

She watched him cross into the edge of Knockturn Alley and stop before a dark warehouse.
The façade was run-down, the wood swollen with damp, and a corroded copper plaque barely revealed any lettering. From the way he slipped inside — a single smooth, precise movement — Tonks knew it wasn’t his first time there.

Biting her lip, she crept towards one of the side windows, one of the few not boarded up. She crouched low, melting into the darkness until she was almost invisible. The night chill seeped into her knees, but she didn’t move.

Rookwood wasn’t alone.
He was speaking with a man she didn’t recognise.
Both were tense, leaning towards one another. Their voices were so low she couldn’t make out the words, but Rookwood’s body language said enough: the rigid set of his shoulders, the restrained posture… he looked on the verge of aggression.

Tonks frowned, inching slightly to try and find a better angle to hear them.

Then, a shiver ran down her spine.
She wasn’t alone, either.
She felt the faintest shift in the air behind her . A barely perceptible crunch of gravel.

Her instincts reacted first. Her wand was in her hand before her mind had even processed the danger.
Still, she forced herself not to whirl around. She had to keep calm.

«Alright, Nymphadora.»

Tonks clenched her teeth. She recognised the tone instantly and let out a frustrated sigh.

She turned slowly, and under the milky glow of a streetlamp emerged the unmistakable silhouette of Alastor Moody. His magical eye rotated lazily in its socket, as if it had all the time in the world.

The Auror crossed her arms.
«It’s Tonks!» she huffed, not bothering to hide her irritation. «And I bet you’ve been standing there for ages just to scare me to death.»

Moody let out a satisfied chuckle.
«You’re finally learning to move quietly,» he murmured. «But you forgot…»

«Constant vigilance,» she finished, rolling her eyes.

He nodded gravely, swept the area with a quick glance, and crouched beside her. She tried to keep her indignation, but a smile still tugged at her lips.
Alright. Her mentor was right. As always.

«You understand what I did, don’t you?« he asked in a low voice, both of them turning their gaze back to the window.

Tonks thought for a moment, then it clicked.
«You did it on purpose,» she murmured. «When we split up earlier, you made sure Rookwood saw you. He thought you were the only one tailing him… and that you’d given up. So he dropped his guard.»

«And you kept following,» Moody said, pleased.

«Because you knew I would.»

Moody nodded.
«Rookwood has no idea that this time, he didn’t manage to shake all his ghosts.»

Tonks rolled her eyes again. Moody knew her well — well enough to know she wouldn’t give up that easily.

The Auror drew his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm over them both. Tonks felt the air around her grow heavier, as though an invisible fog had settled over them.

Then Moody leaned towards the window and whispered:
«Now let’s focus on what those two are up to…»

A flash of light cut briefly across the inside of the warehouse, illuminating the stranger’s face.
It was fleeting, but enough.

«Do you know him?« she asked, not taking her eyes off the window.

Moody narrowed his eyes, his magical eye whirring silently as it analysed every detail.
«No,» he said after a moment. «But I don’t like him. Remember his face. We’ll dig into it later.»

Tonks nodded, forcing herself to memorise every detail of the mysterious man: the way he moved, the tilt of his head when he listened, even the nervous gesture with which he adjusted the sleeve of his robe.

Then she saw it — a metallic glint caught her eye.
He wore a ring.
It wasn’t ostentatious, but it stood out. As if it wasn’t meant to be seen… yet meant to be remembered.

What struck her most was that the moment the stranger showed it to Rookwood, his expression changed.
His posture became more receptive. As if the ring meant something. As if it were a silent password. A guarantee.

The two Aurors remained silent as Rookwood and his companion moved deeper into the warehouse shadows, forcing Tonks to squint to keep them in sight.

«They’re not telling bedtime stories in there, that much I can promise you,» Moody growled.

A tingle of excitement ran down Tonks’ arms. Her wand slid back into her fingers, ready for action.

«Shall we?« she asked quietly, barely containing her impatience.

Moody shook his head slightly, his magical eye fixed on the warehouse door.

«Not this time. We’d draw too much attention,» he said quietly. «If they catch us now, Rookwood will know we’re onto him, and that’ll make him more careful. Charging in would be a mistake.»

Tonks clicked her tongue but knew he was right.
«Stealth it is, then…» she muttered with a hint of resignation.

«Exactly.»

Tonks holstered her wand.

«Alright, boss. Whatever you say.»

A few minutes later, the stranger pulled out a folder and handed it to Rookwood.
Tonks narrowed her eyes further, straining to make out the emblem After the exchange, the two men parted without a word.

They heard Rookwood leave the same way he’d entered, muttering something under his breath as he strode away without looking back. His footsteps echoed on the dark cobblestones of Knockturn Alley as he disappeared into the night.on the cover. It was blurry, but she caught the general shape: a circular figure, with what looked like stylised lettering around it.

Moody and Tonks waited a little longer, just to be safe. They stayed silent, alert to any sound, any presence. Only when everything fell still again did they rise cautiously to their feet.

«Do you think that conversation was important?» Tonks whispered as she discreetly stretched and brushed the dirt from her knees.

«We’ll find out soon enough,» Moody replied in a low voice, casting one last look at the warehouse before starting to walk away. «What matters is tying up loose ends. At least now we’ve got somewhere to start.»

Then, after a brief pause, his tone shifted — still grave, but with a spark of irony:

«Speaking of loose ends… care to explain how you managed to spill that coffee thermos all over the Auror meeting this morning?»

Tonks let out a low laugh and shook her head.

«Thermoses shouldn’t have false bottoms. Tables shouldn’t wobble. And you shouldn’t move my chair when I’m pouring a hot drink.»

Moody grumbled something under his breath and pulled a face — which, on his weathered features, was as close as he came to a smile.

«You’re a menace, Nymphadora. Lucky no one was wearing expensive robes.»

«I’ll admit it wasn’t my finest hour,» she replied with a careless shrug, as if everything had gone exactly according to plan. «But at least Scrimgeour didn’t throw me out of the department.»

«Scrimgeour’s more forgiving than I would be,» Moody growled in that dry tone Tonks knew all too well.

«Oh, come on! It was an accident… well, partly,» she added with a mischievous grin.

Moody gave her a look that would have made most recruits quake. Tonks held his gaze with her usual cheek.

«Partly?»

She shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief.

«Let’s just say I wanted to cause a distraction… just not with a waterfall of boiling coffee. And maybe — just maybe — to annoy Dawlish a little.»

She stuck her tongue out, amused by the mix of disbelief and resignation on Moody’s face. He studied her in silence for a long moment, as if weighing whether to scold her or surrender once and for all.

At last, he let out a huff that almost sounded like a laugh.

«You know, Nymphadora… one day you’re going to land yourself in trouble so deep even I won’t be able to pull you out.»

«That day’s not today, boss,» she replied with a confident smile, winking at him before skipping a few steps ahead.

Moody watched her for another moment, torn between exasperation and the genuine affection he no longer bothered to hide. Finally, he sighed and shook his head… though he couldn’t help but smile.

«A calamity,» he muttered to himself. «But at least she’s our calamity.»

And with that, the two of them vanished into the darkness of the night.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Tonks stepped into the office with a poorly concealed yawn and hair the colour of soft violet.
The morning rush was already in full swing: scrolls zipped between desks, mugs of steaming tea balanced precariously atop piles of reports, and two trainees chased after a bewitched rat someone had released as a prank.

Booth was the first to spot her.

“Merlin, you look rough,” he called from his desk as she walked past. “Late night?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Tonks replied with a crooked smile, raising her brows. “Didn’t do anything odd… just spent the night… studying spells.”

From a few desks away, Dawsey gave her a knowing nod.
“Mhm, right… studying. You’re a terrible liar, Tonks. Bet you’ve been off on some daring midnight mission.”
“Or something along those lines,” Booth added, waggling his eyebrows and giving her an uncomfortably curious look.

Tonks let out a low chuckle and carried on towards her desk.
She knew the two of them loved to speculate—whether she’d been on an undercover job, meeting a roguish lover… or both at once. Best to let them stew in their own theories.

But the mood shifted a second later.
Dawlish strode past, immaculate in a robe pressed to razor-sharp perfection. Not a crease, not a smile. Not even a coffee stain.
The moment his eyes fell on Tonks, he looked away as if she were invisible.

She kept her composure. By now, his cold shoulder barely registered.

Kingsley appeared beside them.
Silent, composed, his stride commanding. His gaze flicked briefly to Dawlish but he said nothing—the disapproval was there, clear as any spoken curse.
Then he turned to Tonks.
“Don’t forget,” he murmured, “meeting this afternoon.”
She nodded discreetly.
“I’ll be there.”

Kingsley held her gaze for a beat longer before moving on, leaving only the hum of everyday work in his wake.

Tonks let out a quiet sigh, rolled her shoulders, and headed for her desk.
She dropped into her chair with a faint creak, picked up her quill… and set about filling out reports, just like any other day.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

That afternoon, she arrived early at Grimmauld Place.
There was still plenty of time before the meeting, but she had finished her shift at the Ministry earlier than expected, so she decided to head straight to headquarters.

Crossing the threshold, she made her way down the hallway. The only sound breaking the stillness was the soft thud of her boots against the worn wooden floor.
This time, she didn’t forget the troll-leg umbrella stand, that odd piece of furniture that seemed placed there solely to trip the unwary.

She remembered the incident with Lupin and, with an exaggeratedly careful step, skirted the hazard before heading towards the kitchen.

For a moment, she worried she might run into the man himself.
But to her surprise, the place was empty.

Her eyes swept the room, searching for some trace of warmth or life amid the muted tones and shadows.
There was none.

The heavy curtains blocked out any hint of daylight.
The copper pots, dulled and gathering dust, reflected nothing but their own opacity.
Even the snake-shaped clock seemed to have stopped marking the hours.

She shifted in her chair, uneasy. That strange sense of familiarity was back—only now, something else crept in alongside it. Suffocation.

There was something oppressive about this house, something that seeped into her mood and, inexplicably, affected her in a way that felt almost personal.
In fact, it didn’t even seem like a building.
It felt like a being.
An ancient, dense presence that watched her. That recognised her. That challenged her.

She pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to feel at ease until she learned more about this place.
And so, without further thought, she rose to her feet.
She had to know why this house stirred such intrusive sensations in her.

Leaving the kitchen, she once again sidestepped the umbrella stand in the hallway and began climbing the stairs with determined steps.
The air felt heavier here, thick with the scent of old wood and years of dust. A faint draught raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
The house breathing, she thought. Then quickly forced the idea out of her mind.

Portraits of every size lined the walls, many framed in tarnished gold or ornate scrollwork, as if each competed for the right to be revered.
Their figures—stern-faced, with scrutinising gazes—seemed to follow her with a silent look of disdain.

Her eyes caught on a set of heavy, dark curtains brushing the floor.
She grimaced.
She knew what they hid: That massive portrait that had screamed at her the day she tripped over the umbrella stand.

Careful not to touch, knock, or topple anything that might make a sound, Tonks slipped past the shrouded canvas and pressed on.

But the most disturbing thing she found—at least on the stairs—wasn’t the hidden portrait.
It was the mounted heads of house-elves displayed like hunting trophies, each crowned with a small brass plaque.

“Well, well…” Tonks murmured, a mix of revulsion and morbid fascination flickering across her face as she studied their petrified features—silent witnesses to a history of servitude, cruelty… and pride.

She paused to read each inscription, one by one, before moving on.

She resumed her climb and reached the first landing. No one seemed to be there.
From the floor above came muffled noises; she knew a house-elf lived up there, probably wishing for the day when its head might join the collection mounted on the wall.

Her steps were muted by a thick, timeworn carpet stretching along the floor.
The doors lining the hallway were either shut, except for one at the far end, which stood completely open.

The same room where she had found Remus Lupin the night she had brought him the parchments.

For a moment, she feared she might find him there again, but curiosity won out, and without thinking too much, she made her way toward it.

The room was a dusty drawing room.
Pale light filtered through tattered curtains, illuminating the motes of dust suspended in the air—golden beams that seemed to hover in a space between past and present.

Tonks glanced around, unable to keep from letting out a low whistle.

The shelves were crammed with ancient relics, each more extravagant than the last.
There were artefacts that seemed to tell stories of other eras; priceless objects that exuded an aura of mystery even as they gathered layers of grime.

Her pulse quickened for no apparent reason.
Not from fear, but from that same strange unease.

It was clear there was something about this place she already knew.
A subtle connection, still just out of reach.

Then she saw it.

To her left, an enormous tapestry covered almost the entire wall, displaying a family tree embroidered in shades of green, black, and gold.

Despite the wear of time, the fabric still displayed itself with pride, as if it were the guardian of the room, the house… and of everything that had ever happened within its walls.

She stepped closer, drawn by the beauty of the piece, by the silent gravity of its branches.

She had the feeling that somewhere among those names and connections, she would find the answer to questions she didn’t yet know how to ask.

But before she could focus on the details, a rasping sound cut through the air, followed by a sour voice.
“You…”

Tonks startled and spun around.
A creature was creeping toward her, slithering out of the shadows like a resentful specter.

The old house-elf, his skin ashen and draped in a tattered pillowcase, was pointing at her with a bony finger, his hand curling into a fist in fury.

“The blood traitor. The daughter of Andromeda Black… You should be ashamed to set foot in this place, half-blood.”

Tonks took a step back, startled by the venom in every word he spat. The daughter of Andromeda Black? How could he know that?

For a moment, she froze, unable to understand such a reaction or why this creature—whom she had never met—spoke to her in that tone of withering contempt.
His gaze seemed to pierce through her, heavy with rancid hatred and ancient poison. It was almost… as if he were giving voice to the house itself.

“Always poking around where you don’t belong…” the elf went on, shuffling closer toward her, “just like every other cast-off.”

Tonks had just opened her mouth to retort when a firm, authoritative voice rang out from the hallway, breaking the tension.

“Kreacher!”

Sirius Black was striding toward them, his dark eyes blazing with irritation. With a commanding gesture, he pointed at the elf.

“Out. Now.”

Kreacher twisted his lips into a sneer, and before vanishing back into the shadows, cast one last look of pure loathing at Tonks.

“Of course, Master Black… Kreacher will retire… to his corner full of misery, treachery, and family shame…”

Tonks stood motionless for a moment, processing what had just happened, as Sirius approached with rigid shoulders and a deep frown.

“Sorry,” he said in a low voice. “There’s not much you can do with him… he’s difficult to deal with.”

Tonks, still feeling her pulse race, raised an eyebrow with resignation.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called a ‘blood traitor.’ And frankly, I doubt it’ll be the last.”

Sirius let out a short laugh, relieved she didn’t seem too rattled.

“Kreacher’s got… rather unique opinions about just about everything,” he said, his smile softening with a touch of indulgence. “He’s not worth taking seriously.”

Tonks nodded. Truth be told, she wasn’t unsettled by the elf himself. He was simply another piece of the house, another organ in that ancient being that made her feel like an intruder.

Almost without thinking, her gaze shifted back to the family tree she had seen earlier.
Sirius was quick to break the silence with a crooked smile.

“Interested in the furniture?” he asked in a teasing tone. “Careful—stick around long enough and you might end up like Kreacher, wishing you were part of it.”

The joke made her laugh, though a little awkwardly as she realized she’d just been caught snooping without permission.

“Sorry…” she blurted quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

Sirius shook his head, more amused than annoyed.

“It’s fine, I get it,” he said simply. “I thought the other day you seemed a bit… taken with this house.”

Tonks relaxed, realizing he didn’t mind her little investigation. She glanced around for a moment, as if unsure what to say next. Perhaps it was the intoxicating presence of Sirius, the easy confidence in his posture, or the way his eyes held no judgment, but she found herself speaking.

“It’s more than curiosity… it makes me uneasy,” she admitted. “It’s like it’s watching me from every corner. From every portrait. Like it’s breathing close to me.”

She paused, weighing the impulse that had made her say it aloud.

“I’ve got the feeling that… somehow, this house knows me.”

She pressed her lips together, bracing for him to laugh or call her paranoid.

But Sirius didn’t. He only closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, his expression had grown more serious.

“Yeah… I suppose it’s normal you feel that way. I used to feel it too. That sense of… oppression,” he said, looking at her intently. “Although I’ve grown so used to it, I hardly notice anymore. But you… you grew up far away from all this. Except for whatever stories your mother might have told you.”

Tonks frowned in confusion.
“My mother?”

Sirius took another step forward.

“This isn’t just any house,” he said quietly. “It’s the house of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. The house your mother grew up in. You’re the daughter of Andromeda Tonks—once known as Andromeda Black… aren’t you?”

Tonks opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Then, as if a veil had been pulled away from her memory, the pieces clicked into place.

“Merlin…” she whispered. “Of course it feels familiar! Even though I’ve never been here… I’ve seen it in photos! So many of the pictures my mum keeps were taken in this house…”

Her voice faded as she slowly turned on the spot, her eyes roaming the room with a new gaze—one of astonishment, disbelief… and recognition.

The towering grandfather clock, its frame overloaded with ornate carvings and elaborate gold filigree.

The massive, slightly dulled marble fireplace dominating the far wall.

And above all, the great family crest crowning the room.

“I knew my mother had been raised in a wizarding house in London,” she went on, more to herself than to Sirius, “but I never knew where it was. I never imagined it could be… this.”

Sirius watched her with a knowing half-smile.

“This place is part of your history, Tonks,” he said at last, with a faint smile. “Even if you didn’t know it until now.”

Tonks closed her eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the revelation settle in her mind.

Slowly, she walked toward the family crest—the same one she’d seen at the front door, the one she had overlooked days ago without realizing its true meaning.

Her fingers stretched toward it, almost brushing the surface worn by time.

Despite the years, the intricate lines could still be made out, and at the base, the motto she had read so many times in photographs.

Toujours pur.

“‘Always pure,’” Sirius translated behind her.

Then he rolled his eyes, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips before adding:

“Welcome to your family legacy. Although, to be honest, I don’t think this house has ever been what anyone would call a home.”

Tonks turned toward him, expecting an explanation.

Sirius laced his fingers together and began to speak, his voice low but steady.

“The Blacks were one of the few pure-blood families left in England,” he began. “And in the main line… they prided themselves on one thing above all: an immaculate family tree—no half-bloods, hybrids, Muggle-borns, or Squibs. That was all that mattered. Blood purity. Lineage.”

He paused, his gaze wandering to some distant corner of the tapestry.

“And along with that came an endless list of family values. Traditions. Duties. All wrapped up in nobility and honor, of course… but in reality, they were chains. Rules designed not to shape, but to control. They didn’t reward people with character. Quite the opposite—those of us who thought for ourselves, who asked questions, who had our own personalities… we were the problem.”

Sirius took a step closer. For a moment, his eyes softened.

“Your mother, Andromeda Black, was my favorite cousin,” he said with fondness, a smile tinged with nostalgia playing on his lips. “And I was her favorite cousin, of course. We were both… the black sheep of the family.”

Tonks looked up, her thoughts spinning rapidly.

Sirius studied her for a moment before continuing, as if trying to gauge how much she already knew about the Black family history.

“I suppose you know your mother…”

He hesitated.

Tonks nodded slowly.

“I know she ran away to marry my father,” she said firmly, though her expression was starting to show her irritation. “A Muggle-born. I suppose the family didn’t take well to their relationship. And they’d take even less kindly to their offspring.”

She gestured to herself with theatrical flair, though it failed to completely mask the bitterness rising in her throat.

“Exactly,” he said, matching her dramatic tone. “You weren’t welcome here… until now.”

Tonks let out a short, almost automatic laugh.

“What an honor,” she muttered.

Sirius, keeping his humor, winked at her.

“Oh yes. You’re now standing in the headquarters of the Black hierarchy. Congratulations.”

Tonks smiled, though the weight pressing on her chest hadn’t lifted.

Sirius looked at her again.
And in his silence, she sensed that the worst had yet to be said.
Or seen.

At last, he spoke again.

“Come. I want to show you something.”

He motioned her toward the great tapestry. Tonks’ eyes finally took in the details.
Names, drawn in elegant calligraphy and tangled in fine golden lines, spread out like a map of generations, weaving a web of kinship and alliances that spanned centuries of history.

But not everything in that design was harmony: here and there, dark scars broke the family’s continuity. She looked at Sirius, uncomprehending.

“Here, beneath these scorch marks, were our names,” he said, pointing to two dark gaps. “Andromeda’s and mine. But you see, we were nothing to them. Everything we stood for was outside the Black canon.”

Tonks tilted her head, following the marks with her eyes. Her stomach tightened. That empty space where Andromeda Black’s name should have been felt more imposing than all the names embroidered around it.
It was as if she had never existed. As if the blood running through her veins had not been enough to keep her in that place. In that family.

“And who decided that?” she asked, her voice breaking.

Sirius let out a dry laugh before pointing to a name above his own.

“Walburga Black. My mother,” he announced without the slightest emotion.

Tonks leaned closer to get a better look at the portrait.

A witch with haughty features and an implacable gaze, rendered in magical threads that seemed to capture not just her face but her very essence, followed her with her eyes.

Instinctively, Tonks ran her hand over the black mark, tracing the lines that connected those names to stories and secrets she had known nothing about until this day.

Sirius watched her silently.

“I suppose you thought your mother ran away to marry your father, didn’t you? That maybe, one day, there was an argument with the family and she left.”

He paused. Then, with two fingers, he brushed the scar on the tapestry.

“And yes. In part, that’s true,” he conceded. “But it was also much more than that.”

Sirius stopped for a moment, as if searching for the right words.

“Andromeda had been repressed for years before that happened. Years pretending to be someone else, someone who would fit the family’s mold. Her opinions, her thoughts, her voice… even her Metamorphmagus abilities were affected. Loving your father wasn’t the beginning of her freedom—it was the end of her captivity. The final straw.”

He paused again, this time longer.

“But she didn’t leave, Tonks. She was cast out. It’s not that she wanted to go… it’s that she could no longer stay.”

Tonks felt her heart turn to ice.

There, in that dusty, cold house, with portraits that whispered insults and corridors full of shadows, Sirius’ voice shattered all her theories about her mother’s past—
like a mirror breaking into a thousand pieces.

“I suppose you didn’t imagine the truth would be so harsh, did you?”

Tonks shook her head, her eyes fixed on the black scar.

Sirius stepped back slightly, giving her space, aware that this family history always left a bitter taste for anyone who learned it. After a minute’s silence, he went on.

“But it’s not all bad.”

Sirius moved closer to the tapestry again and pointed at another erased name—his own.

“When she left all this behind, she taught me there was another way to live. And later, I ran away too.”

Tonks turned to him.

She remembered how her mother had spoken of Sirius with quiet pride, describing him as the only Black who’d had the courage to rebel against the family’s absurd traditions.

“At first, it was hard, of course,” Sirius went on, crossing his arms. “You wonder what you did wrong, why you can’t be what they want you to be. They’re your family, after all, aren’t they?”

He let out a short, bitter laugh.

“But then… it was freeing. I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I didn’t have to try to fit into a place that was never meant for me.”

He shrugged and met her gaze.

“Your mother was my role model—and a great support. She was braver than I was at her age. She taught me there was life beyond these four walls. That I could aspire to be whoever I wanted.”

Sirius closed his eyes, as if searching within himself for something he could not find in the tapestry. Or perhaps as if mourning the loss of something that could never be again.

When he spoke once more, his voice had softened, and a nostalgic smile appeared, faint as a flame in the dark.

“Luckily, I think neither of us was ever truly alone. Your mother always had your father… and you. And from what I know now, she’s incredibly happy.”

Tonks smiled back, unable to stop those words from sinking deeper than she’d expected.

Sirius stepped away and walked toward the center of the drawing room at an unhurried pace.

“I had a family too,” he added, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Three great friends who supported me unconditionally.”

A lopsided, almost mischievous smile curved his lips, as if he were trying to steer away from melancholy, and he dropped easily into a sagging sofa, sinking into its cushions.

He patted the space beside him, inviting Tonks to join him. She approached and sat without hesitation, surprised at how natural it felt to be near him.

“When I ran away from this house, I went straight to the Potters’,” Sirius said, looking ahead but with a faint smile, as if those memories might carry him back to another time. “They were like a second family to me.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow.

“Harry Potter’s father?” she asked with interest. Harry Potter was an intriguing figure to her. She had read everything published about him recently, but hadn’t yet formed an opinion. She hadn’t met him. Not yet.

Sirius leaned in, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

“James was like a brother. Arrogant to the core, but with a huge heart. Always had some crazy idea in his head… and, let’s be honest, so did I. Once we tried to…”

He broke off with a half-snort, as if recalling a youthful adventure too good not to share.

Then, with enthusiasm, he told Tonks about one of his pranks with James—an incident involving a broomstick, a botched potion, and a common room full of pink smoke. Tonks burst out laughing, picturing it vividly, almost as if she’d been there.

Sirius laughed with her, but his tone soon turned more reflective.

“It wasn’t just James and me,” he went on, a shadow of melancholy in his gaze. “There was also Wormtail… and Moony.”

Tonks felt a shiver at the first name.

She’d heard it before—in the story Moody had told her about the night Voldemort regained his body. The Dark Lord’s most loyal servant, the traitor who brewed the potion that restored him.

She chose not to darken the mood by bringing up that revelation.

She thought about the other name… that one she didn’t recognize.

“Moony?” she repeated with a playful smile, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius couldn’t help but let out a bark-like laugh, his face lighting up with an almost boyish spark, as if he were still seeing his old friends before him.

“You know him as Remus Lupin. He was always the most sensible of us—though with a changeable mood. That’s why we called him Moony. You could have him dead serious, giving us a proper lecture, and the next moment he’d be lying on the floor laughing like an idiot. He was the perfect balance of judgment and mischief.”

Tonks arched a skeptical brow. The words clashed with her own experience. She knew Remus, of course—but what he had shown her most was indifference. She couldn’t imagine that reserved, brooding man doing something as simple as laughing without reason.

“Remus Lupin? Funny? I don’t think so.”

Sirius gave her a knowing smile, as if he was well acquainted with that reaction.

“That’s because he’s wary of new faces,” he explained with a hint of indulgence, as if he knew something Tonks didn’t quite grasp yet. “But give him time. He’ll surprise you.”

He glanced at the clock in the corner of the room and stood up.

“Come on. Let’s not be late for the meeting.”

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I know, I know—long and intense chapter this time. I have to say, it was a real challenge to write. I’m sorry if there are a few repeated words or micro-expressions here and there; I tried to keep them to a minimum.

But… FINALLY!

One of my favorite subplots—the Black family!! Honestly, this story is pure gold in the original books and was never truly explored. Lies, secrets, betrayals, tears, grief, resignation, servitude… this bloodline has it all, and I promise we’ll push it to the limit.

Andromeda and her tragic backstory is a character arc I absolutely love. You’ll have to tell me if my version of events convinced you. I’ve tried to avoid turning it into an over-the-top soap opera drama, but I also didn’t want it to feel shallow or rushed. I hope I’ve managed to get the tone just right.

And then there’s the setting—Grimmauld Place. A gloomy house, full of objects forgotten by generations, dust hanging in the air, and secrets whispered behind closed doors… too evocative to pass up. In a place like this, any story almost writes itself.
In fact, I kept thinking of the animated film Monster House—yes, I wanted to give the house that kind of “personality,” as if it were alive. Not just a backdrop, but a part of the story itself. The gothic atmosphere, the scent of old wax, the worn carpets… it speaks for itself, really. I think we’ll have a lot of fun with it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and can be patient with me! I promise the Weasleys will turn this house upside down soon enough!