The Silverthorne Manor breathed magic the way ordinary homes breathed air. The walls hummed with ancestral enchantments, the windows shimmered faintly with lunar runes, and the gardens whispered with life that responded to emotion as if the house itself cared for the people dwelling inside it.
In the center of this living sanctuary was Sirius Black—gaunt, exhausted, still marred by Azkaban's shadows—yet steadier and more alive than he had been in over a decade.
It happened slowly.
Then suddenly.
Then completely.
Because the Silverthorne children—each strange, each powerful, each deeply scarred and deeply loving—adopted him without hesitation.
And Sirius, for the first time since he was a reckless teenage boy, let himself be adopted.
Isolde checked on him daily with a natural grace that made Sirius feel clumsy with gratitude. She always brought something—an herbal steam to ease his nightmares, a pastry she "accidentally" made too much of, a potion Elarisse approved but let Isolde brew alone.
Sirius quickly realized the truth:
Isolde fussed over him because she liked helping.
But she also understood pain more deeply than he expected. One evening, she paused while checking the glow of a stabilizing charm circling his wrist.
"Azkaban didn't break you. It just froze you. We're thawing you out." Isolde stated.
Sirius had to look away.
Nobody had said something that kind to him in years.
Caelum treated Sirius like a fragile creature whose ribs might crack if someone hugged too hard. He brought meals at regular intervals, insisted Sirius drink water, and—once he was comfortable enough—dragged him on long, grounding walks through the enchanted forest trails.
What struck Sirius most was Caelum's quiet wisdom.
During one walk, after Sirius flinched at a sudden rustle in the bushes, Caelum spoke without judgment:
"Being afraid doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're aware of danger. Strong people know when they're scared."
Sirius blinked at him.
Caelum shrugged, scratching the ear of a passing moon-hare, "I've been big my whole life. Most things can't hurt me. But people can hurt in different ways."
And somehow, Sirius didn't feel ashamed anymore.
Nyx, initially aloof and silent, warmed to Sirius in strange but genuine ways. Often Sirius would wake from a nightmare, only to find Nyx perched upside down from the canopy of his bed like a shadowed bat.
"You were having bad dreams. I stayed to keep the monsters out." Nyx explained.
It should've been unsettling.
It was oddly comforting.
Nyx offered no grand speeches or soft reassurances—just presence, unwavering and eerie and sincere.
He also developed a habit of giving Sirius rocks that "felt un-haunted."
Sirius kept every single one.
Korrin latched onto Sirius instantly. Something about Sirius's scruffy hair, slightly wild aura, and fierce loyalty screamed "pack" to him.
Within days, he was following Sirius everywhere—bounding down hallways, offering him half-chewed bones as gifts, or dragging blankets to Sirius's room in case he needed "extra nest materials."
Remus nearly broke into tears of laughter the first time he saw it.
Sirius let Korrin stick close.
It calmed both of them.
On the third week, Korrin announced:
"You're pack now. I decided."
Sirius, choked up and startled, could only reply:
"Thank you. I... always wanted a pack."
Korrin hugged him so tightly Sirius cracked his back twice.
It happened on a windy twilight, when Sirius was restless and his magic unsteady. He paced the back garden, heart hammering, panic rising for no reason he could name.
Then the instinct surged—primal, grounding, familiar.
He shifted.
One moment Sirius Black stood beneath the silverthorn trees.
The next, a great black dog shook out his fur.
A startled sound came from behind him.
Korrin froze mid-step, eyes widening with childlike wonder, "P–p–PADFOOT?! THAT'S WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE?! YOU'RE HUGE!"
He launched himself forward, tackling Padfoot with pure joy.
Caelum approached more cautiously but knelt with reverence, "You look like a guardian spirit."
Nyx circled him silently, studying every line of Padfoot's shape, then declared:
"Your soul feels calmer like this."
Isolde and Mavis simply smiled, brushing his fur.
"You look free." Isolde stated.
"Just like how I remember you." Mavis said, smiling.
Padfoot whined softly, pressing into their hands.
It was the first time Sirius had ever felt accepted in this form without fear, awe, or suspicion.
Here, he was just... himself.
It began after one particularly rough nightmare. Sirius woke gasping, drenched in cold sweat, magic crackling in unstable pulses around him.
He didn't know how long it took to steady his breathing—but when he did, he realized he wasn't alone.
Korrin was curled in wolf form at the foot of his bed.
Nyx perched silently on the canopy above, purple eyes glowing faintly.
"...How long have you both been here?" Sirius questioned.
Nyx answered without blinking, "Two hours and thirty-seven minutes."
Korrin yawned, "You smelled scared. Pack doesn't sleep alone when scared."
Sirius's throat tightened, "You—You don't have to do that."
Nyx's tone was matter-of-fact, "We know. We want to."
Korrin pressed his head against Sirius's leg, "You kept Remus safe at Hogwarts. Now we keep you safe."
That broke something in him—something old, something cracked, something Azkaban had nearly killed.
Sirius didn't shoo them out.
He let Korrin curl beside him.
He let Nyx's shadowy presence anchor him.
For the first time in years... he slept peacefully.
It was sunrise when Sirius found himself watching the siblings from the veranda—Isolde guiding Nyx through a sunlight tolerance spell, Caelum lifting a tree trunk as training, Korrin teaching a confused Draco how to "sniff danger," and Mavis laughing as her phoenix circled overhead.
Sirius leaned on the railing, overwhelmed.
This place.
This family.
These children who had lived through horrors most adults couldn't imagine.
They weren't just surviving—they were living.
And somehow, they had made space for him.
Sirius felt the moment hit him like a wave:
Azkaban hadn't broken him.
It had tried.
It had starved him, chilled him, hollowed him out.
But the part of him that loved fiercely, that protected instinctively, that believed in loyalty over everything—
That part had survived.
And the Silverthorne siblings had coaxed it back into the light.
Mavis stepped beside him, quiet and steady, "You look lighter today."
He swallowed, "I think... I think something inside me healed. Something I didn't know could."
Mavis nodded, as if she'd known this would happen all along, "That's what family does."
Sirius watched the children—his new pack, his new reason to breathe—and felt the truth settle inside him like warmth.
He wasn't alone.
He wasn't broken.
He wasn't lost.
He was home.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpQvk7ftR5R
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