The dinner was not something Arcturus, Pollux, Irma, Cygnus, Druella, Lucretia, Ignatius, or even Lucius had expected. Though none of them were dressed formally — Sirius had been quite firm that everyone come dressed casually and in comfort — none of them were accustomed to a family gathering quite this chaotic, or quite this warm.
Arcturus admitted it with quiet reluctance. For decades, family occasions meant proper postures and measured distances, as if warmth were something to be rationed. He had always assumed family dinners were meant to feel like smaller Ministry galas. It was always had been for a family like theirs. Watching his great-grandchildren squabble over pudding while Xenophilius Lovegood recited theories on Nargles, he realized how wrong he had been. He will never tell Sirius that. He will never hear the end of it.
It was elating—though even that word felt too small. Beneath the noise and chaos, he felt a quiet peace. It had been years since he had felt anything like it, years spent performing what a family ought to be rather than simply being one. Noble families rarely survived their own power struggles gracefully; he had watched enough of them tear themselves apart over inheritances to know just how rare a room like this truly was.
After dinner, the family drifted back to the great hall to carry on socializing well into the evening. Lucretia and Ignatius settled onto one of the sofas near the hearth, close enough to the children to watch them without intruding on their noise. Lucretia was smiling — the soft, unguarded kind of smile she rarely let show in front of anyone but Ignatius.
Arcturus watched her a moment. He knew that she had wanted children of her own, and that the wanting had never once been answered. He did not know what to do with that knowledge tonight, watching her watch someone else's children with such open tenderness. Whether it was a kindness to let her have this small, borrowed warmth, or a cruelty that he had never once, in all these years, thought to give her more chances at it herself. Back then, he was disappointed that his daughter was unable to bring any children of her own, but he had never once stopped to ask what that failure had cost her, only what it had cost the family name.
Elsewhere, Pollux, Marius, and Cassiopeia appeared, for once, to be getting along.
Or were they? Arcturus watched a moment longer and revised the thought. There was hissing beneath the pleasantries, a few sharp glances traded when they thought no one was looking. Those three had been squabbling siblings since before he could properly remember, and age had done shockingly little to smooth it out of them. Cassiopeia and Pollux did most of the actual sniping between them. Marius, the youngest of the three and apparently no wiser for it, seemed to take a quiet, needling delight in stirring the pot between his older siblings rather than settling it
The younger generations seem to get along more. Andromeda, Sirius and surprising Narcissa seem to not possess the same level of animosity as the older generation have with each other, despite the older generations effort to do so considering Andromeda marrying a muggle, Sirius sorting to Gryffindor and rebel against the family, and Narcissa marrying Malfoy, it was still a surprised the three were able to establish a good relationship. Such a shame that Regulus could not join them. But both Arcturus and Sirius know until the time is right and for Regulus protection, the truth about his life must remain hidden.
Arcturus glanced at the children again. He overheard the children squabbling on something about Christmas?
"We should watch Christmas movies." Justin said, interrupting Rigel's thought.
"A what?" Draco asked.
"A movie," Justin said.
"What's a movie?"
"It shows stories."
"Like a book?"
"No — it's like a box with moving pictures."
"Don't pictures already move?"
"What?"
"Justin, pictures move here." Corvus said as he pointed toward several of the photos hanging on the wall, each shifting lazily within their frames.
Justin stared, visibly stunned. "Wait — pictures move here?"
Draco frowned, thoroughly confused by this cousin's confusion. "Why wouldn't they?"
Justin turned to him, "They don't move where I'm from."
"They don't? Why not?"
"I don't know. Only movies move."
"That's weird."
"It's weird you don't have a telly. Most people have one — that's where you watch movies. My favorite's The Sword in the Stone; it's a Disney one. We even have VHS. But it's Christmas, so only Christmas movies on right now. The most popular are Rudolf the red nose reindeer. And Santa Claus."
Silence.
"What's Santa?" Corvus asked carefully.
Justin's mouth fell open. "You don't know Santa?"
The two boys shook their heads.
"He's — he brings presents! For kids! Like us! He puts them under the tree, at night, when you're sleeping." Justin was talking fast now, the way kids do when they're excited to explain something they think everyone should already know. "He comes down the chimney. Every chimney, in one night, I don't know how, but he just does. And if you're good, you get presents. But if you're bad—" he lowered his voice dramatically "—you get coal. Just a lump of coal. In your stocking. Instead of toys."
Draco looked horrified. "He breaks into people's houses?"
"To leave gifts!"
"But he's a stranger. In the house. While everyone's sleeping." Draco said it slowly, like he was trying to make Justin understand just how alarming this was. "Nobody even lets him in?"
"No, he just — comes in. Through the chimney."
"What if you don't want him in your house?"
Justin blinked. He had never actually considered that anyone might not want Santa in their house. "Why wouldn't you want him in your house?"
"Because he's a stranger." Draco crossed his arms. "And who is he to say I don't deserve presents? That seems mean."
"But that only happens if you were naughty. Are you naughty?"
"No, I am not!" Draco said, thoroughly offended by the very suggestion.
"Then you don't get anything to worry about."
Arcturus found himself smiling despite himself — an odd, unfamiliar sensation, twice in one evening now. There was something almost admirable in the boy's logic: suspicious of a stranger's judgment, unwilling to have his worth measured by someone who'd never bothered to know him first. Grudgingly, privately, Arcturus thought the Malfoy boy might have the right instinct about it.
He turned to Lyra and Luna, who sat together on the rugs near the hearth, murmuring to each other. Where Lyra had gotten her red holly crown, he did not particularly want to know. That girl had her father's exact personality — it was almost uncanny. He suspected she would only grow more unbearable with time, but with a medium's gift to hone alongside it, she might also become the single most terrifying member of this family, if properly trained. Arcturus was still not quite brave enough to ask her who, precisely, this man following Cassiopeia was supposed to be.
Alphard is on the floor, piling up small blocks with letters.
Then he turned his attention to Rigel.
The boy sat near the other children, but not quite among them. He had settled onto the rugs with his back against the cushions, staring into the Yuletide log with a stillness rare in a child his age. The future heir of the House of Black, quiet and composed, a complete opposite of how his father used to be.
Arcturus found something like pride settling in his chest, watching him. A boy who understood restraint without being taught it, who carried himself with a natural gravity most adults spent decades failing to learn. If the House of Black was fortunate, this was precisely what its next head would look like.
*****
Rigel stared at the log burning on the hearth, unable to look away from the sheer size of it. He hadn't known a log could be that large. Hadn't known fires could be built to hold something so massive and simply let it burn for hours instead of minutes. The Dursleys' fireplace, on the rare occasions it was lit at all, had never held anything bigger than a few broken branches from the garden, and never for him.
He remembered how cold it was. There had been snow that winter, one of the only times he could remember snow settling properly on the ground rather than melting the moment it touched pavement, and the Dursleys had locked the back door before checking whether the boys were still outside. He didn't remember how long they'd been out there. He remembered Nathan's hands, small and colorless, and how he'd pulled his brother against him because it was the only warmth either of them had. He remembered not crying, because crying used up air, and the air outside had felt hurt.
He was still shivering when Sirius's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Hey there, pup. Careful."
Rigel blinked. He hadn't realized he'd leaned so far toward the fire that the heat had started to sting.
Sirius noticed how stiff he'd gone. "Are you alright?"
"Y-yes," Rigel said.
Sirius dropped to his knees in front of him, rubbing his arms briskly. "You feel a little cold." He reached for his wand. "Do you want a blanket, or a warming charm?"
Rigel was used to the wand by now, and to what it could do, though some small, wary part of him still tensed at the sight of it.
"The blanket," he said.
Sirius conjured one and wrapped it around him. Warmth settled in almost at once.
"Better?"
Rigel nodded and smiled.
"Are you hungry? Do you want some treacle tart?" Sirius asked.
Rigel shook his head.
In this place, he never had to go hungry.
It was still a strange, almost overwhelming concept for Rigel to grasp. He remembered the heavy iron pans at the Dursleys'—the stinging heat on his small forearms when grease spattered, and how he and Nathan had been forced to stand on wobbly chairs to cook, smell, and serve elaborate holiday meals they were never permitted to taste. "Freaks don't deserve Christmas dinner," Aunt Petunia would sneer, pushing them back into the cupboard before Dudley dug into his feast.
But here at Blacktide Castle, food was always piled high. Platters of roasted meats, warm bread, and sweet pastries sat within reach, and no one was going to snatch them away or slap his hands for taking a bite.
Sirius smiled softly, watching the conflict play out across Rigel's small face, and gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
"Well, if you're quite full, maybe you'd like to open your presents?"
The word cut through the ambient chatter of the room like a spell.
Every head in the children's corner snapped toward Sirius in perfect unison.
"Presents?" Corvus gasped, his eyes lighting up like stars as he scrambled to his feet on the cushions.
Sirius was instantly swarmed. Corvus, Draco, and Justin descended upon him eager chatter, while Lyra grabbed Luna and tugged her towards him.
"Steady on, all of you!" Sirius laughed, raising both hands defensively as Corvus practically scrambled up his arm. "Give a man room to breathe!"
Justin suddenly stopped mid-step, his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Wait. Shouldn't we get presents after tonight? Like... in the morning?"
Sirius paused, offering the muggle-raised boy a thoughtful, indulgent smile. "Well, no, not really. This is Yuletide, Justin. The gifts are here whenever we decide to share them—and tonight feels like as good a time as any."
Sirius reached behind the high-backed armchair and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped parcel wrapped in deep green parchment, bound with twin silver ribbons.
"Here you go, pup," Sirius said softly, offering the box to Rigel. "First one's for you."
Rigel looked at Sirius, down at the present, and back up to Sirius again, his mind struggling to process the moment. Ever since arriving at Blacktide, he had grown accustomed to Sirius bringing him things—small treats, books, or trinkets handed over whenever Sirius returned from outside the castle grounds. But this was different. This was an actual present.
Wrapped in smooth, gleaming paper with a crisp bow, it looked just like the packages Dudley would tear open on Christmas mornings in the Surrey sitting room—only this was far prettier, catching the warm firelight in soft emerald flashes.
"Go on," Sirius urged, his tone gentle and warm.
Rigel reached out, his fingers carefully taking the weight of the box as if it were spun glass.
Satisfied, Sirius turned back to the stack behind his chair and began distributing parcels to the rest of the eager group. When he stopped in front of Dora, he held out a crisp box wrapped in sleek black paper with a gleaming gold ribbon.
"Even me?" Dora asked, her jaw dropping in genuine surprise as she looked between her cousin and the parcel.
"You may be off at Hogwarts, Dora, but under this roof, you're still one of the children," Sirius replied with a fond smirk, pressing the gift firmly into her hands.
Dora pulled the black package into her lap, her face lighting up with a bright, mischievous grin. "Well, I'm certainly not turning down a present! Thanks, Sirius!"
Around the hearth, the atmosphere softened into a warm, comfortable glow. The adults watched the scene unfold with indulgent smiles. Esme looking on with quiet pride, while the rest enjoyed the rare, uncomplicated joy filling the room.
"Go on then," Sirius encouraged, gesturing to the circle of eager faces. "Open them."
That was all the permission they needed. Paper began to rustle and tear across the rug as eager hands tugged at silver and gold ribbons. Little Alphard, eager to join in the excitement, needed a bit of guidance. His mother gently guiding his small hands as to how to open the parcel.
Rigel sat quietly on the rug, holding his parcel close as he watched his siblings and cousins set upon theirs. Torn paper, unspooling ribbons, and breathless gasps filled the hearth room.
"Whoa!" Dora gasped, untying her black-and-gold box and pulling out a heavy, shimmering garment.
She held it up, and the deep midnight velvet caught the firelight—unfolding to reveal a fabric woven with faint, flickering constellations that seemed to shift like a living night sky.
"It's... brilliant," Dora whispered, running her fingers over the smooth lining. "Look at the stars!"
Andromeda leaned forward from her seat, her brow arching in surprise as she inspected the fine stitching and enchanting spell work on the hem. "Sirius, that looks terribly expensive. Enchanted velvet of this quality costs a fortune in Diagon Alley."
"It wasn't expensive at all," Sirius replied easily, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.
"Ah, do not let him fool you," Esme chimed in, her melodic French accent adding a warm lilting charm to her words as she offered Andromeda a gentle smile. "He made it himself."
"You made that?" Andromeda asked, her voice dropping in utter astonishment.
The declaration rippled across the room. Every adult head snapped toward Sirius, and even the children paused their unwrapping to stare.
Sirius blinked, looking genuinely bewildered by the sudden wall of wide eyes fixed on him. "What? Why is everyone staring at me like I've just sprouted horns?"
"You made this?" Andromeda asked again, running a hand over the velvet lining in total disbelief.
"Come off it, Andy," Sirius scoffed, leaning back into his armchair with a casual smirk. "We're meant to handcraft gifts for Yuletide, aren't we? Naturally I made it. Why on earth is that such a shock?"
"Because—because you're you!" Andromeda gestured wildly between him and the cloak. "You, whose entire personality revolves around Muggle motorbikes, dragon-hide leather, and permanent ink, have a secret talent for high fashion? Sirius, you could give Madam Malkin a run for her Galleons with stitching like this."
"I'll have you know my charms work on textiles is exquisite," Sirius sniffed dramatically, tossing his dark hair over his shoulder. "Leather jackets require precise tailor's charms, you know. Besides, Esme did the embroidery work on the hem—I merely did the heavy lifting."
Esme gave a soft chuckle, sipping her tea. "He spent three days perfecting the starlight weave charm, Andromeda. He would not sleep until the constellations moved in real time."
Andromeda looked at her cousin in absolute shock, her eyes darting between the immaculately enchanted cloak and Sirius's thoroughly unbothered expression.
"You know, you could start a business with that kind of talent," Marius remarked, leaning in to admire the seamless weave of the starlight charms. "Shopkeepers in Diagon Alley would pay a fortune for craftsmanship like that."
"Oh, please," Lord Arcturus grunted from his high-backed armchair, his deep voice instantly commanding the hearth room. He swirl-tapped his crystal glass, a sharp scowl settling across his weathered face. "We are the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. We possess enough Galleons in Gringotts vaults to last another hundred centuries—why on earth would an heir of this house stoop to becoming a common merchant?"
"Mind you, I built a bloody empire from scratch in the Muggle world without a single Galleon from the vaults," Marius interjected smoothly, swirling his own glass as he met his cousin's glare.
"Well, you hardly had a choice, didn't you?" Pollux muttered into his drink.
"Why, you old—"
"Boys!" Melania cut in, her sharp, authoritative tone snapping through the hearth room like a cracked whip. She didn't even lift her eyes from her teacup, yet both elderly men instantly went quiet, stiffening in their armchairs like scolded schoolboys.
"Whoa!" gasped the children in unison as they lifted the lids of their respective boxes.
Inside each sat a translucent, frosted-crystal figurine, carved with exquisite detail. Each animal possessed a soft, inner glow—bright enough to chase away shadows, yet gentle enough not to disturb sleep. Rigel lifted out a prowling wolf; Corvus held a sweet, curled bunny; Lyra cradled a wise owl; Draco marveled at a sleeping lizard; little Alphard hugged a rounded cat; Luna beamed at a delicate raven; and Justin stared in wonder at a sturdy badger.
"Look!" Draco breathed, tapping the top of his crystal lizard.
With a gentle pulse, the inner light shifted from a soothing amber to a deep sapphire blue, casting a soft, ambient radiance across his hands. As Corvus tapped his bunny, tiny, floating specks of golden light—like idle fireflies—spilled from the crystal and drifted lazily around his head before fading into thin air.
"Who knew you possessed such delicate enchantment skills, Sirius?" Melania observed, offering an approving nod over her tea.
"Ah, I cannot take credit for those," Sirius admitted with a fond grin, glancing pointedly across the rug at his wife.
"They carry a subtle warming charm as well," Esme explained softly, as she watched the children experiment with the changing hues. "Place it near your bed, and it will emit a soft, soothing heat to keep your room comfortable on chilly nights."
Melania's eyes gleamed with quiet intellect as she nodded in realization. A warming charm integrated seamlessly into a soothing light source... It was a clever blend of charmwork and Healer magic. Exactly what one would expect from a mind like Esme's.
While the laughter and lively debate between the adults bubbled across the hearth room, Rigel sat quietly on the thick, woven rug, completely mesmerized by the object in his lap.
He cradled the crystal wolf in both hands. The glass felt heavy, cool, and impeccably smooth, carved into the shape of a prowling beast with its head raised, as if caught mid-howl.
He tentatively extended an index finger and tapped the crest between the wolf's ears.
Instantly, the crystal shifted. The soft silver light vanished, replaced by a deep, emerald hue that pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. A second tap turned it a warm, golden amber, and with it came a faint, pleasant surge of heat radiating directly into his palms.
It wasn't the stinging, angry heat of Aunt Petunia's grease-splattered pans, nor the dry, biting cold of the cupboard under the stairs on winter nights. It was a soft, enveloping warmth, like sitting before a crackling fire wrapped in a heavy quilt.
Rigel stared down at the small wolf, his throat tightening unexpectedly.
At Privet Drive, dark nights meant hiding under threadbare blankets, shivering quietly so Dudley wouldn't hear him and start a round of 'Cousin-Hunting.' Light and warmth were privileges he and Nathan were never allowed to have. (A/N: I made it cousin hunting instead of Harry hunting from the canon).
Yet here, his parents had spent days crafting something just for him. Not just buying a toy from a shop counter, but sitting down together shaping the glass, weaving the spells, ensuring he would never have to lie in the cold dark again.
"Well, what do you think, pup?"
Sirius's voice broke through his thoughts. He had slipped away from the adults' banter and was now sitting cross-legged on the rug right beside him, his expression soft and expectant.
Without a second thought, Rigel abandoned his usual quiet hesitation. He scrambled up onto Sirius's lap, settling against his chest and wrapping his free arm around his papa's neck. Looking up, he offered Sirius a wide, bright grin.
"I love it," Rigel whispered, looking back down at the crystal wolf cradled against his ribs as it pulsed with a warm, gentle amber glow. "I love it so much, Papa."
Sirius let out a soft laugh, wrapping his arms securely around the boy and kissing the top of his dark head. "I'm glad, pup."
He rested his jaw lightly against the crown of Rigel's head, pulling the small blanket higher over the boy's shoulders. Rigel leaned back into the solid, comforting rise and fall of his papa's chest, cradling the glowing wolf in his lap.