"Urgh." Sirius exhaled heavily, sinking deeper into his uncle's couch.
Five years.
Five years since he vanished from Great Britain and threw himself into the ranks of the Custodians. It had been both grueling and enlightening, a relentless trial that reshaped everything he thought he knew about the wizarding world.
He had witnessed the comings and goings of international wizarding affairs, the hidden struggles beyond the borders of Britain. And now, looking back, he had to admit—everything he had endured as a child, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and even in battles against the Death Eaters seemed almost insignificant compared to the horrors other wizarding nations faced.
Sirius finally understood why so many—especially foreign nations—harbored concerns about Dumbledore. The man who had long cultivated the image of a humble yet powerful figure, someone who seemed uninterested in personal gain, had, in reality, claimed the one position that granted him immense influence over the wizarding world.
His victory against Grindelwald had cemented his authority, and in the aftermath, his influence had led to the systematic removal of what was widely considered "dark magic." The issue was that this purge had unintended consequences—many wizarding nations saw their cultural traditions, ancient artifacts, and even spells branded as forbidden, leading to tensions, conflicts, and outright defiance.
Yet people still followed him, drawn in by his influence. What was truly unsettling was the sheer intensity of their loyalty—unwavering, almost unnatural. At times, Sirius couldn't help but wonder if Dumbledore had ever wielded the Imperius Curse on them. Not that the man would ever admit it. But so far, there was no proof—only speculation, unanswered questions, and a loyalty that seemed to defy reason.
Despite his travels, Sirius never forgot Harry and Nathan. He kept feelers out, discreetly searching across different countries in case Petunia and her husband had left Great Britain. His newfound family in the Custodians helped whenever they could, lending their resources in their spare time.
They were careful, though subtle in their efforts. This wasn't ICW business, and the last thing they wanted was to attract the attention of Albus Dumbledore.
Sometimes, Sirius found himself returning to Great Britain the Muggle way. He missed his flying motorcycle, the sheer thrill of soaring through the air, the wind rushing against his face as he cut through the sky on his broom. But those days were behind him—being a Custodian meant playing by the rules, and reckless flights were no longer an option. Instead, he had grown accustomed to airplanes, though, Merlin helps him, they were slow as hell.
Of course, Sirius doesn't return to magical Britain but stays mostly with his Great Uncle (though he simply calls him uncle) – the one family member who he still have contact with: Marius Black.
Marius and Alphard Black were the only relatives Sirius had ever truly gotten along with. Uncle Alphard, despite the family's strict traditions, had been a rare source of support. When he passed away, leaving Sirius a significant inheritance, his mother was so furious that she had Alphard's name blasted off the Black family tree. Sirius suspected his parents had hoped that casting him out would break him—that forcing him to survive without the family fortune would teach him a lesson. But thanks to Uncle Alphard, he had been able to live comfortably, free from their control.
Marius Black, on the other hand, was an anomaly within the family. The brother of Cassiopeia, Dorea, and Pollux Black, he was the only Squib of his generation, something the Black family found abhorrent. Yet, despite the whispers and judgment, Marius had never been formally disowned—if he had been, he wouldn't still bear the Black name. His parents, Cygnus and Violette Black, had sent him to live in the Muggle world, but unlike most Squibs, he hadn't been abandoned. They ensured that he would thrive, providing him with the means to become successful and privileged in his new life.
Most people assumed he had been cast out entirely, given that he rarely—if ever—returned to the wizarding world. While Squibs had limited rights in magical society, Marius had chosen to stay away, carving out his own existence beyond the suffocating expectations of the Black family.
Marius had not only survived but thrived, investing in successful businesses and ventures across the world, amassing considerable wealth. His connections extended beyond the wizarding community—he had ties to Muggle nobility, largely thanks to his granddaughter, who had married into a noble family, becoming the wife of the heir to the Duke of Scotts (A/N: This name is fictional).
He had been fortunate enough to attend a prestigious boarding school, later pursuing degrees in business and politics at university. Though he was not a wizard, he remained determined to honor the Black name, just as his parents had instilled in him—not by wielding magic, but by securing influence, wealth, and a respected reputation in the Muggle world.
Marius had barely spoken to his siblings in years. Pollux was battling a severe illness, Dorea had tragically lost her life to the Dark Lord, and Cassiopeia, well—she still wrote to him occasionally.
Yet, corresponding with Cassiopeia was an ordeal in itself. She had a peculiar habit of stirring conflict and chaos, even among family. Her letters were often rambling and cryptic, filled with such incoherent musings that Marius sometimes questioned whether she had been in her right mind when writing them. If she had been, she likely wouldn't have sent them at all.
Cassiopeia had never married, instead dedicating her life to arcane research—rumors suggested her studies revolved largely around the Dark Arts. She embodied the infamous "Black Madness," a hereditary affliction that had plagued generations of the family. While signs of it existed among the men, it was far more pronounced in the women—especially in Walburga and Bellatrix.
"Sirius?" Marius looked at his great-nephew, concern etched across his face. No matter how much time passed, he would always see him as the boy he once was.
Sirius had seemed especially down these past few weeks. He visited Marius every year when his duties as a Custodian allowed, but lately, something felt different. Marius knew Sirius was considering retirement, thinking about settling in Great Britain for good, and had even contemplated offering him one of his businesses to manage—something to keep him occupied, get him out of the house on his off days.
"You've been stuck inside for days," Marius said, his tone weighted with worry. "Come with me and Ophelia to this business dinner. It'll do you good to get out, even just for one evening."
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm fine, Uncle Marius. Maybe I should just stay here. I don't think I slept well last night."
Marius gave him a knowing look. "I don't think you've slept well in years, Sirius." He shook his head, his voice softer now. "I know finding those boys is important to you, but that doesn't mean you should forget to live."
He paused before adding, "When was the last time you went out? Had a proper date? You used to be quite the playboy, you know. Your Aunt Cassie never let me hear the end of it—always worried that the House of Black might end up with an illegitimate heir."
That sentence made Sirius laugh. It was true—he had earned quite the reputation as a playboy, and he wasn't ashamed of it. He had urges, and he indulged them. The number of women—and a few men—he had shared nights with was countless, though only one relationship had ever come close to something lasting: Marlene McKinnon.
The McKinnons had been wiped out during the First Wizarding War, torn apart by Death Eaters. Another pureblood family erased, despite Voldemort's supposed devotion to blood purity—hypocritical, really, how easily he discarded those he deemed expendable. The number of ancient wizarding lines was dwindling, and the McKinnons had been just another name struck from history.
Sirius and Marlene had broken things off before she died, but that didn't make the loss any easier. Her brother had been murdered by Death Eaters, and in her grief, she had turned her anger on Sirius, blaming his family for everything—even though Sirius had been estranged from them for years. But blood was blood, and in the end, he was still a Black.
Still, her death had devastated him.
"Dear, we're here," Ophelia called from the foyer.
"Yes, love," Marius replied, before turning back to Sirius. "All right, but at least meet my niece—correction, my niece-in-law. And you didn't hear this from me, but Ophelia has been trying to set you up with her."
He sighed. "I don't know why she insists. Frankly, I don't think you'll like her—nor will she like you."
Sirius chuckled, leaning back. "And why, exactly, do you think that?"
Marius gave him a look—half disbelief, half amusement. "Did you forget which family my wife comes from?"
Sirius frowned, the confusion flickering across his face—until it clicked. Ah. Of course. Ophelia Black, née Malfoy.
*****
Ophelia was the sister of Abraxas Malfoy, the current paterfamilias of the Malfoy family. Yet, despite their blood ties, the two had barely known each other. The moment her Hogwarts letter never came, her parents sent her away, severing any chance of building a real relationship with her brother. Decades passed without contact, their worlds utterly separate.
As a daughter in a patrilineal house, Ophelia had always been secondary—her parents' focus lay solely on their heir. Unlike Marius, she had no powerful family backing her departure from the wizarding world. The only security she had was a small inheritance left by another relative, one thing her parents couldn't take away. She wasn't completely penniless when she was cast out, but for an eleven-year-old girl, alone in a world she barely understood, survival was still a struggle.
Despite this distance, Ophelia had managed to establish connections within her family—particularly with Esmeralda Malfoy, or Esme, as she preferred to be called. Ophelia had been on good terms with Abraxas' wife, Clarisse Malfoy, a pure-blood French witch from a prestigious lineage in France. Few people remembered that Abraxas had more children than just Lucius—his eldest and only son—for there were also Esmeralda and Pandora, his younger daughters.
Abraxas and Clarisse's marriage had been an arranged one, and an unhappy one at that. The pure-blood traditions demanded loyalty, yet Clarisse had never been a willing participant. While divorce in the magical world was rare and heavily frowned upon, it wasn't illegal—so instead of formally dissolving their union, they separated, their lives effectively divided. Taking control of her own fate, Clarisse left for France, bringing Esme with her, where her daughter grew up and eventually studied at Beauxbatons, far removed from the family name that bound her.
Pandora had married Xenophilius Lovegood and was promptly disowned. From what Ophelia understood, her relationship with Abraxas had soured years earlier—ever since she had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Still, that alone wasn't enough to cast her out; the Malfoys tolerated Ravenclaw as a respectable second choice after Slytherin. Her true downfall came when she eloped with Xenophilius, defying her marriage contract with the Lestranges. She had been intended for Rabastan Lestrange, now rotting away in Azkaban, alongside his brother and sister-in-law.
Esmeralda—Esme, as she preferred—had never built much of a relationship with her father. It wasn't that Abraxas had deemed her unsuitable; rather, the two had never truly acknowledged each other's existence. Their estrangement was so profound that when Clarisse Malfoy left, taking Esme with her, Abraxas made no effort to challenge custody or interfere. Whatever arrangement had been made, nobody knew, and Abraxas had seemed content to simply let his wife and daughter slip away.
Perhaps because of her mother's own experience, Esme had never been forced into a contractual marriage. Still, doubts lingered in her mind—why had her mother taken only her? Had she been the product of an affair? Yet, any speculation on her parentage always led back to the obvious—Esme embodied the Malfoy heritage in every way: long, straight, ice-blonde hair, pale skin, and piercing light blue eyes. And if appearances weren't enough, even Gringotts' genealogical records had confirmed her place within the Malfoy bloodline.
Esme had carved out her own path, earning a reputation as a renowned healer and potioneer. Yet, few knew the extent of her accomplishments—including her father. After Clarisse's death, Abraxas received nothing more than a letter informing him of her passing. He hadn't attended the funeral. And Esme? She had left Europe, determined to throw herself into her research, free from the weight of her family name.
She had long abandoned "Malfoy", choosing instead to go by Esme Clarisse, a name that allowed her to move through the world without the constant scrutiny of her lineage.
But now, after years of keeping her distance, Esme had returned to Europe. Her best friend had died, and Esme—as godmother of his best friend's children—was left to care for the two children she loved as if they were her own. The cause had been a blood malediction, a cruel, inherited affliction, and to her horror, signs of the same curse had begun to surface in her godchildren.
Devastated, Esme had locked herself away, consumed by her desperate search for a cure. Weeks passed, her work taking priority over everything—including her own well-being. Ophelia, ever perceptive, had taken notice. Worried for her niece's health, she insisted Esme step outside, reminding her that she couldn't fight this battle without taking care of herself.
And Esme knew her aunt. She knew exactly what she was doing. Ophelia was setting her up with someone. Always eager to push Esme into social interactions, perhaps even toward a potential husband. But Esme had never cared much for relationships—never truly understood the fascination with them.
She had tried in the past—with men and women, wizarding folk, magical creatures, even Muggles—but none of it had ever lasted. The only enduring bond in her life, aside from her mother, had been with her best friend—a relationship built on trust and loyalty, but entirely platonic.
"Oh, Sirius, there you are. Come meet my great-niece, Esmeralda Malfoy," the short woman called out, her blonde hair neatly tied in a bun.
The tall man turned, black hair slightly tousled, grey eyes sharp yet holding that effortless, carelessly handsome look.
"Esme, this is my husband's great-nephew, Sirius Black."
Esme's small smile faltered. She had always known her aunt had married into the Black family, and she was familiar enough with their notorious reputation, but she hadn't expected her uncle to maintain any ties to them—not when he was a Squib. The Blacks had always been merciless toward Squibs, treating them as stains upon their bloodline.
Still, Esme didn't share the old-world prejudices against Squibs or Muggles. If she had, she wouldn't have had a relationship with her aunt at all.
She composed herself quickly, offering a polite nod. "Good evening, Mr. Black," she greeted, her voice smooth but measured.
Sirius returned the gesture, his tone just as formal. "Good evening, Ms. Malfoy."