A loud, heartbroken cry echoed through the grand parlor.
Sirius sat on the edge of the plush velvet sofa back at Blacktide, cradling Corvus tightly in his arms. His son was in full, fat-teared waterworks, burying his damp face into Sirius's robes.
"You are never allowed to leave forever again!" Corvus sobbed out, his small fists clutching the lapels of Sirius's robes.
"Corvus, sweetheart, it wasn't forever—" Sirius attempted gently.
"And you have to take me with you whenever you go! Always!" Corvus wailed, cutting him off completely.
"Alright, alright, I promise," Sirius murmured, rubbing soft, comforting circles into his son's back.
Sirius pressed his lips tightly together, fighting with every fiber of his being not to laugh. He knew all too well that if even a single chuckle slipped out, Corvus's dramatic heartbreak would multiply tenfold.
He glanced across the room at Esme. Rigel sat snugly beside her on the armchair, while Alphard rested on her lap, his metamorphmagus abilities flickering softly as he clung to his mother's dress. Meanwhile, Lyra was tucked into the corner of the sofa, fast asleep with her head resting on Melania's lap, drained from the long, taxing journey and the heavy magical ordeal in the States.
Standing behind the armchair was his grandfather, Arcturus, watching Sirius's struggle with quiet amusement. Esme caught Sirius's eye as well, her lips twitching as she gave him a look that clearly said, Good luck handling that one.
Neither of them had expected Corvus to take their absence this hard. He had always been such a mild-mannered, sweet-tempered boy; even at five years old, he usually carried himself with a calm, gentle composure. But a week-long separation was a lifetime in the mind of a five-year-old, and it had clearly shattered his patience. Yet despite their son's distress, neither Sirius nor Esme could help the fond warmth blooming in their chests. Seeing their usually quiet boy cling so fiercely was undeniably adorable.
"Thank you for watching them, Grandfather, Grandmother," Sirius said, looking up with genuine gratitude.
"You are most welcome, Sirius. The boys have been an absolute delight," Melania replied with a gentle smile, lightly stroking Lyra's sleeping head.
Arcturus stepped forward slightly, his sharp eyes assessing his grandson. "I hear you had quite the ordeal in the States."
Sirius's smile faded into a heavy frown. "Yes. We did."
"I am sure you will fill me in on the details later," Arcturus noted, his tone cool but attentive.
"Yes, Grandfather," Sirius agreed softly, looking down at the crying boy in his arms. "For now, I just want to spend a little time with the children."
"Hmm," Arcturus hummed, giving a single, knowing nod.
*****
A few days later, Sirius sat in his office across from Arcturus and Regulus. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, casting long, shifting shadows across the dark oak walls.
Sirius, swirling a glass of firewhisky in his hand, recounted everything that had transpired in the States, from Odalie's rogue faction to the terrifying realities of mediumship laid bare by Marie Delacroix.
When Sirius reached the part about young mediums being made to sit before decaying corpses to learn the difference between the living and the dead, Regulus actually set his crystal tumbler down, looking genuinely appalled. Arcturus's jaw tightened into a rigid line, his dark brows drawing together in quiet horror.
For a family raised in the cold formality of the Black estates and the unyielding decorum of British high society, the gruesome, unfiltered reality of a medium's existence was utterly repulsive.
"Exposed to corpses?" Regulus echoed, his voice laced with disbelief and disgust. "They bring children before rotting dead bodies? That is barbaric, Sirius."
"It's survival, Reg," Sirius said quietly, his tone grave. "If she can't tell a corpse from a living soul, or if she accidentally steps into the Veil while sleeping, she could go mad. Or worse, be possessed permanently."
Arcturus leaned forward, his heavy hands resting on his walking stick, his sharp gray eyes piercing. "And what are our countermeasures? We do not hand a daughter of the House of Black over to bayou witches, nor do we leave her defenseless."
"We aren't handing her over," Sirius assured his grandfather. "Marie Delacroix understands the boundaries. She offered us practical protections instead. Lyra will be wearing a specialized warding armband every day, especially whenever she leaves castle grounds."
Sirius paused, taking a sip of his drink. "We chose an armband because, unlike a necklace, ring, or pair of earrings, it won't easily slip off or be pulled away during play."
Arcturus gave a slow, approving nod. "Prudent."
"The Delacroix are also sending their own ritualists to help us cast Le Cercle de l'Ombre across Blacktide," Sirius said. "Apparently, they hadn't accounted for the size of the place, and the permissions to enter Great Britain will take time to process. Madam Delacroix also agreed to personally recharge and recalibrate Lyra's armband every year as her power grows, at least until she is old enough for permanent wards."
Regulus raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his armchair. "Permanent wards? You mean a tattoo?"
Sirius shrugged. "What's wrong with a tattoo?"
"It is utterly ghastly," Regulus sniffed, adjusting his cuffs with an air of aristocratic disdain. "Especially on a young lady. Though... considering the alternative of her mind being shattered by spirits, I suppose I understand why in this case."
"Hey!" Sirius scoffed, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother. "I have tattoos!"
Regulus shot him a dry, unimpressed look. "And I remain thoroughly surprised that your wife ever agreed to sleep with you with all that ink."
"Hey! Mind you!" Sirius declared proudly, puffing out his chest. "In Esme's eyes, I look like a bloody pirate prince!"
"A bloody pirate prince?" Regulus repeated, one eyebrow climbing.
"You have a tattoo too!" Sirius shot back, jabbing a finger at him. "That bloody ma—"
"That's completely different!" Regulus cut in, color rising in his face.
Arcturus let out a long, heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as if suffering from a sudden migraine.
"Boys!" Arcturus barked.
The sharp command cut through the room instantly. Both Sirius and Regulus snapped their mouths shut, falling quiet out of ingrained respect for their patriarch.
Regulus cleared his throat, leaning forward as his expression turned serious once more. "In the dark underbelly of the international market, human trafficking occurs, though it is relatively rare compared to trade in poached magical beasts, stolen artifacts, or contraband. But gifted individuals, especially children, fetch the highest price imaginable. Certain foreign ministries are secretly willing to pay astronomical sums to secure them for their own ends, despite every international law prohibiting it."
Sirius frowned, his eyes narrowing.
"That was the original reason the Ministry introduced the registry for gifted individuals," Regulus explained quietly. "It wasn't created to exploit them. The nobility actually pushed for it to ensure our children couldn't simply vanish into thin air without raising immediate, high-level alarms. But while noble houses have the power and influence to track down their heirs, gifted children born to non-noble families have no such protection. They are the ones who end up exploited."
Arcturus swirled his glass, his gray eyes brooding. "And do not think our bloodline makes us immune, Sirius. Highborn children are targeted for ransom just as often. When you were barely three years old, a syndicate attempted to snatch you right off the streets of Diagon Alley while your mother's guard was turned for a single second. It took three crushed ribs and a severed arm to retrieve you."
Sirius blinked, a chill running through him as he recalled the faint, shadowy memory of that long-forgotten day: the tight grip on his wrist, the flashes of spellfire, and the terrifying rage in his family's counter-attack.
"Beyond violent threats, there are subtler, equally insidious weapons," Arcturus continued, a faint, wry glint entering his eyes. "Now that you are the recognized Heir Black, you must guard your food and drink carefully. Do not assume your marriage protects you. Women will still attempt to slip you love potions."
Sirius stared at his grandfather, utterly bewildered. "What? No one has ever tried to slip me a love potion before!"
"That is because you were a Gryffindor parading around like a rebellious outcast," Regulus pointed out dryly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Nobody expected you to actually take over the House of Black one day. You were far more trouble than you were worth. Now? You are the future Lord Black, holding immense wealth and influence. You're a prized target."
Sirius recoiled slightly, genuine horror rising in him. The thought of someone attempting to manipulate his mind and violate his marriage was revolting enough, but then his mind flashed to his four children sleeping soundly upstairs.
The realization that his medium daughter, his young metamorphmagus son, and his twin boys would inevitably grow up in a world of political scheming, kidnap threats, illegal auctions, and subtle mind-altering poisons made his blood run cold.
"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered, running a hand through his dark hair as the burden of being a father to gifted pureblood heirs truly hit him. "It's a miracle any of us make it to adulthood."
"Which is precisely why you are going to train your children as early as possible to be vigilant," Arcturus said, his tone dropping into a deadly, uncompromising calm. "Some factions would love nothing more than to end the House of Black entirely by systematically ridding us of all our heirs."
"Or," Regulus added softly, his gray eyes utterly serious, "they will attempt to target and kill your wife so another woman can step in and take her place beside the future Lord Black."
Sirius paled, his stomach plummeting through the floorboards.
"Dear Merlin..." Sirius breathed, the reality pressing down on him like a physical weight.
He stared into his firewhisky glass, his mind racing. It was no longer just about guarding Lyra from stray spirits. It was about building an impenetrable fortress around his entire family.
Across the coffee table, both Arcturus and Regulus held their glasses close to their lips, watching Sirius with practiced, unblinking calm. The two men glanced sideways at each other, then back at Sirius, who was clearly locked in an intense, spiraling internal debate with himself.
"How long do you think it'll take before he goes completely insane over security again?" Regulus asked casually, taking a slow sip of his drink.
"Not long," Arcturus replied without missing a beat, setting his glass on the table with a delicate click. "Give him ten minutes."
Sirius snapped out of his trance, his head jerking up to glare at both of them. "What on earth are you two talking about?"
"Well, after hearing all of that, I wouldn't be surprised if you go completely obsessive over security all over again," Regulus pointed out dryly, swirling his glass. "You'll probably have ward towers built around the estate perimeter by sunrise."
"I do not go obsessive over security!" Sirius protested indignantly, sitting upright.
"You have a net-ward over the cliff," Regulus cited flatly.
"That's perfectly reasonable! The children could fall!"
"You have childproof wards even in the hallways."
"They could slip!"
"Esme already told you to remove those!" Regulus countered, rolling his eyes. "You have tracking runes stitched into all of your children's clothing."
"Which was a bloody good thing, because it helped me track down those kidnappers and save Lyra!" Sirius fired back defensively, puffing his chest out.
Regulus narrowed his eyes, a dangerous smirk tugging at his mouth. "Did you stitch tracking runes into your wife's clothes, too?"
"No," Sirius answered automatically. He paused, his expression shifting into deep, sudden contemplation as his eyes widened. "...On second thought, maybe I should."
"Esme would kill you," Regulus deadpanned.
"Slowly," Arcturus added dryly from his armchair, taking another calm sip of his drink. "And as your head of house, Sirius, I would legally have to allow her."
Sirius scoffed and sank back into the velvet cushions, though he was already mentally drafting a list of subtle, undetectable ward charms to layer over Blacktide before breakfast.