Morning sunlight spilled through the windows of the Blake home, warm and golden, chasing away the faint chill of dawn. The barrier shimmered softly above the city — its steady hum like a heartbeat far above the clouds.
Inside, the world felt still. Peaceful.
Sirius sat at the kitchen table, his uniform jacket folded neatly beside him. For once, there were no drills, no missions, no schedules.
He didn't argue. He needed it.
From the kitchen came the faint clatter of dishes, followed by his mother's voice, soft but lively. "Dominic, please don't use the good knife for cutting bread!"
"It's a knife, Lyla," Dominic replied from somewhere behind the counter. "Bread is soft. How much damage can it—"
A sharp metallic snap.
Sirius blinked. "Did you just break the bread knife?"
There was a pause.
"...No."
Lyla sighed, walking into the room with a hand over her forehead. "Your father thinks every tool in this house is a weapon."
Dominic appeared after her, holding the remains of a broken blade with a sheepish grin. "In my defense, the crust fought back."
Lyla rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"Impossibly charming."
She swatted his arm as she passed. "You're lucky I still love you."
Sirius watched the exchange silently at first — then, unexpectedly, a sound escaped him.
A soft snort.
Then a laugh.
Then another.
Until suddenly, he couldn't stop.
It wasn't a polite chuckle or a restrained smile — it was genuine laughter, raw and uncontrollable, spilling out from somewhere deep inside that hadn't seen the light in years.
Dominic blinked, startled. "Did… did he just laugh?"
Lyla covered her mouth, her eyes glistening with a mixture of surprise and joy.
Sirius tried to speak but only managed another burst of laughter, shaking his head. "The crust— you actually— you broke the—"
Dominic grinned, pointing proudly. "See? Worth it."
Lyla laughed too, a sound soft and musical, the kind that filled the room like sunlight.
For the first time in months, maybe years, the house didn't feel like a fortress. It felt alive.
---
They sat down together for lunch not long after. The table was small but full — roasted vegetables, fresh bread (a new loaf, thankfully unbroken), and Lyla's favorite soup simmering gently in a pot.
Dominic poured tea for all three, raising his cup like a soldier making a toast. "To surviving another week."
Lyla smiled. "To peace — however brief."
Sirius lifted his cup last. "To family."
Their cups touched softly, and for a moment, silence wasn't empty — it was full.
They ate slowly, talking about nothing and everything. Lyla asked about his training; Sirius gave vague answers, careful to keep worry away from her. Dominic shared a few stories from the Crownsguard — most of them likely exaggerated.
At one point, Sirius looked up from his plate. "How did you two meet?"
Lyla blinked, surprised. "You've never asked that before."
"I guess… I never thought to."
Dominic leaned back with a grin. "Oh, this is a story of destiny, danger, and one very dramatic rescue—"
"—in the rain," Lyla interrupted, amused. "You tripped on wet cobblestone."
Dominic's grin faltered. "I was caught off guard!"
"You slipped and knocked over three guards."
"Strategic distraction."
Sirius tried to hold in his laugh — failed again.
Dominic pointed at Lyla. "For the record, I did rescue her."
Lyla raised an eyebrow. "From a falling umbrella stand."
"Fierce opponent," Dominic muttered, sipping his tea.
Sirius laughed so hard his eyes watered. "You… you fought furniture?"
Dominic smirked. "It was heavily armed."
Even Lyla laughed at that, shaking her head. "And yet somehow, this disaster of a man won my heart."
Dominic reached for her hand across the table. "It's because I made you laugh."
She squeezed his fingers gently. "That part's true."
Sirius watched them — their warmth, their ease — and something inside him steadied. The battlefield felt far away, the shadows distant.
For one perfect afternoon, he was just their son.
---
After lunch, Lyla tidied the dishes while Dominic helped Sirius patch a small tear in his training jacket.
"You're getting taller," Dominic remarked.
"Maybe you're just shrinking," Sirius replied without looking up.
Dominic paused, then grinned. "I see the humor runs in the family now."
Sirius smiled faintly. "Must've caught it from Mom."
When they finished, Dominic clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "You're doing well, Sirius. I mean it."
Sirius nodded. "I'm trying."
"I know." Dominic's tone softened. "Just… remember to live, not just fight. You don't get days like this back."
Sirius glanced toward the window where Lyla stood, sunlight catching her hair like silver. "I know," he said quietly. "That's why I won't waste them."
---
That evening, after dinner, they sat together by the hearth. Lyla hummed an old Lucian tune — one she used to sing when he was small.
Sirius leaned back on the couch, eyes half-closed, the warmth of the fire lulling him into calm. His parents' voices blended into the background — soft, familiar, home.
When sleep began to take him, he murmured, "Thank you… for today."
Lyla brushed his hair gently. "For what, love?"
"For being here."
Dominic smiled from his chair. "Always, son. Always."
Sirius' breathing slowed, his body relaxing completely for the first time in a long while. Within minutes, he was asleep.
---
The room stayed quiet for a while, lit only by the flicker of the hearth.
Dominic looked at his wife. "He laughed today."
Lyla smiled faintly, eyes on their sleeping son. "I know."
"I thought…" Dominic hesitated, his voice low. "I thought he'd forgotten how."
She reached for his hand, fingers lacing through his. "He hasn't. He just needed to remember."
Dominic looked at Sirius — the white hair, the faint scar on his temple, the boy who carried too much and still found time to smile.
"I was wrong," he said quietly. "He hasn't changed."
Lyla rested her head against his shoulder. "And he always will be our son."
They sat together in silence — the good kind — while outside, the rain began to fall again, soft and rhythmic against the glass.
Inside the small home, warmth lingered.
For one night, the world beyond the barrier didn't matter.
For one night, the Blakes were just a family — whole, alive, and laughing in the light.