The Silverthorne Manor was unusually quiet for a late summer evening.
Not the comfortable quiet of a home at rest—but the careful, deliberate silence that settled when important decisions hovered unspoken in the air.
Rain tapped softly against the tall arched windows of the manor's east sitting room, the sound steady and patient. Firelight flickered low in the hearth, casting warm amber across shelves filled with spell tomes, creature registries, and artifacts from half a dozen magical traditions. The room smelled faintly of old parchment, polished wood, and the clean sharpness of mountain herbs.
Sirius Black stood near the window, arms crossed, staring out into the rain as though it might offer answers.
Behind him, Alaric Silverthorne sat in one of the high-backed chairs, silver-white hair pulled loose from its usual tie, pale blue eyes thoughtful but unwavering. Across from him, Elarisse Silverthorne rested with composed grace, black hair braided over one shoulder, green eyes sharp with quiet intensity. Remus Lupin stood near the hearth, hands folded behind his back, his posture careful—balanced between restraint and resolve.
The silence stretched.
Sirius broke it first.
"I don't want it," he said bluntly, without turning around. "The title. The house. Any of it."
Remus closed his eyes briefly, as if he'd expected that answer.
Alaric did not flinch. "That isn't what we asked," he replied calmly.
Sirius finally turned, dark eyes flashing. "It's exactly what you asked. You want me to become Lord Black."
"We want you to consider it," Elarisse corrected, her voice even but firm. "For Mavis."
At the sound of her name, something in Sirius's expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. The defiance dulled, replaced by something rawer.
"She's eight," Sirius said quietly. "She shouldn't be the reason anyone takes on a cursed legacy."
"No," Remus said gently. "But she is the reason the world is already watching her."
That earned a sharp look from Sirius.
"Mavis is powerful," Alaric said, not unkindly. "More than most adults. And more vulnerable because of it. Power attracts predators."
Sirius scoffed. "She lives in a fortified manor guarded by wards older than the Ministry and has more magical creatures bonded to her than some reserves."
"And yet," Elarisse said softly, "there are still laws. Titles. Political protections. Ones she does not yet have."
Rain streaked harder against the glass.
Sirius dragged a hand through his hair. "You're asking me to chain myself to the Black name again."
"We're asking you to reclaim it," Remus said. "There's a difference."
Before Sirius could respond, the door to the sitting room opened without a knock.
Severus Snape stepped inside.
His black robes were damp at the hem, his hair pulled back more neatly than usual, but his presence instantly shifted the air in the room—like a blade laid quietly on a table. He took in the scene with one sharp glance: Sirius at the window, the Silverthornes seated, Remus near the fire.
"So," Snape drawled, "you've finally told him."
Sirius whirled. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Snape ignored the question. His dark eyes fixed on Sirius with a cold intensity that brooked no nonsense.
"You should take the title," Snape said flatly.
Remus blinked. Elarisse raised an eyebrow. Alaric leaned back slightly, observing.
Sirius let out a harsh laugh. "That's rich. Since when do you care what happens to House Black?"
Snape's lip curled faintly. "Since a child you care about became a target."
The laughter died instantly.
"You think I don't already protect her?" Sirius snapped.
"I think," Snape replied coolly, "that protection without authority is temporary."
Silence fell again—this time heavier.
Snape stepped further into the room. "You believe rejecting the title is rebellion. Noble. Dramatic. Very you."
Sirius bristled. "Careful."
"But the world does not care about your principles," Snape continued. "It cares about names, bloodlines, seats on the Wizengamot. You know this. You've seen it."
Remus's voice was quiet. "Severus—"
"No," Snape interrupted. "He needs to hear it plainly."
Snape turned fully to Sirius now. "If you do not claim Lord Black, the title will eventually pass to someone else. A cousin. A distant relation. Someone with no loyalty to Mavis whatsoever."
Sirius's jaw tightened.
"And when that happens," Snape went on, "House Black's protections—its wards, its legal reach, its ancient binding oaths—will no longer extend to her."
Alaric spoke then, voice low but firm. "Mavis carries a double name now. Potter-Silverthorne. But Potter alone offers no shield in this world. And Silverthorne protection, while strong, is external."
"She needs internal protections too," Elarisse added. "From the old families who understand how these games are played."
Sirius exhaled sharply. "You're talking about turning me into something I despise."
Snape's eyes flicked briefly—just briefly—to the far hallway, where faint laughter echoed. A child's laughter.
"Mavis despises injustice," Snape said quietly. "Not responsibility."
That landed harder than any accusation.
Sirius turned away again, staring at the rain. His voice dropped. "Do you have any idea what it was like growing up under that name?"
"Yes," Snape said without hesitation.
Sirius froze.
"I do," Snape continued, voice colder now, edged with old bitterness. "Because I watched what it made you. And what it nearly destroyed."
Remus's expression softened painfully.
Snape's tone shifted—less cutting, more precise. "You survived House Black. That means you are the one person who can reshape it."
Alaric nodded. "Titles change meaning when the right people wear them."
"And Mavis?" Sirius asked hoarsely. "What does this do to her?"
Elarisse's gaze softened. "It tells the world she is not alone."
Remus stepped forward slightly. "It gives her an anchor. A guardian recognized by law, magic, and tradition."
"And it gives you," Snape added, "the authority to destroy anyone who comes for her."
That, finally, made Sirius turn fully back around.
The fire crackled.
"You don't have to live in Grimmauld Place," Alaric said. "You don't have to resurrect its rot. You can dismantle it."
"Burn it down," Sirius muttered.
Elarisse smiled faintly. "Or rebuild it into something better."
Silence followed—long, thoughtful, heavy with memory.
Somewhere deeper in the manor, Mavis laughed again—bright, fearless, alive. The sound carried like a promise.
Sirius closed his eyes.
"When did you all decide this?" he asked quietly.
Alaric answered honestly. "The first time someone looked at Mavis and saw a weapon instead of a child."
Remus swallowed.
Snape's voice was final. "Take the title, Black. Or leave her exposed."
Sirius opened his eyes slowly.
He looked older than he had moments before.
"...If I do this," he said, "I do it my way."
Alaric inclined his head. "We would expect nothing less."
"And if the House resists?" Sirius asked.
Snape's mouth curved into something sharp. "Then let it learn fear."
A thunderclap rolled outside.
Sirius exhaled, long and unsteady.
"For her," he said quietly. "I'll do it."
The fire flared—just once—as if the manor itself acknowledged the choice.
And somewhere down the hall, an eight-year-old girl named Mavis Potter-Silverthorne played safely, unaware that the shape of her future had just shifted forever.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZUdU372xUA
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