Everyone had already guessed that Helios Black is the son of the infamous Sirius Black.
Even if Helios had not said it outright, it would not have mattered. The resemblance alone made it obvious—too obvious to ignore. The same sharp features, the same dark hair, the same casual confidence that bordered on arrogance. It was not just appearance either. There was something in the way Helios carried himself, something that reminded people of a man who had never cared for rules or expectations.
And so, people assumed.
The Greengrass family was no different.
Lord Greengrass had already reached that conclusion the moment he saw Helios properly. He had known Sirius, not as a friend, but as someone who had existed within the same world. They had attended Hogwarts only two years apart, close enough to be aware of each other, far enough to never truly interact. Sirius had never been someone who blended in. He had always stood apart, louder, bolder, and far too reckless for the company he was born into.
And now, standing in this manor, Lord Greengrass could not deny that Helios carried that same presence.
But even with that understanding—
Nothing had prepared them for the reality of seeing Sirius Black himself.
Because for Lord Greengrass, the story of Sirius Black had never quite settled into certainty.
The Ministry had called him a traitor.
The right hand man of the Dark Lord.
A man who had betrayed James Potter.
And yet—
That had never fully made sense.
Not to him.
He remembered Sirius Black from their school days. He remembered the boy who had openly rejected his own family's beliefs, who had never shown even the slightest inclination toward pure-blood supremacy. The idea that such a man would willingly serve someone like Lord Voldemort had always felt… wrong.
Unbelievable.
But like many others who had doubts yet no answers, Lord Greengrass had simply moved on. The wizarding world had its own problems, its own dangers, and people did not have the luxury of questioning every inconsistency.
People changed.
That was the simplest explanation.
And so, like everyone else, he had accepted it without truly believing it.
Until now.
Because the man sitting in the Black Manor's living room, watching muggle television with casual interest, dressed in simple muggle clothing—
Was not the man the Ministry had described..
And when Sirius turned to greet them, his expression open and warm, it only made the contradiction sharper.
"Hello everyone, welcome to Black Manor."
The words were simple, spoken as though he were greeting guests rather than standing before people who had believed him to be a traitor for over a decade.
The Greengrass family stepped inside, their attention shifting almost immediately to their surroundings.
Because the manor itself—
Was just as strange as the man who owned it.
It was modern.
That was the first thought that came to mind.
There were no heavy curtains suffocating the windows, no dim torchlight casting long, ominous shadows across stone walls. Instead, the space was bright, open, and filled with unfamiliar devices. Electrical equipment lined certain areas, clearly visible and unapologetically present.
This was not the house of a pure-blood supremacist.
It did not resemble the rigid, tradition-bound estates of old wizarding families.
If anything—
It looked like the home of a wealthy muggle-born.
Or perhaps something even stranger—a place where two worlds had been blended without care for what others might think.
Lord Greengrass noticed it.
Sirius, meanwhile, seemed entirely unconcerned with their silent observations. He stretched slightly, as though shaking off the last of his idleness, before gesturing toward the corridor.
"Please, go to the dungeons," he said, his tone casual. "Mr. Hemlock had been working there for quite a while now."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"And Mr. Hemlock… well, he's not exactly a man of fun. Told me not to come down after I tried to help him a couple of times."
Helios let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like resignation.
"You weren't helping."
Sirius glanced at him innocently. "I was absolutely helping."
"You were touching his things."
"That's part of helping."
"It's really not."
There was no real argument in it, only familiarity—something easy and natural that made it clear this exchange had happened before.
They began moving toward the dungeons.
It was then that Astoria, who had been unusually quiet until now, tilted her head slightly and asked the question that had clearly been on her mind.
"Aren't you with the Dark Lord?"
The words were innocent.
Unfiltered.
And yet they carried a weight that settled instantly in the air.
Daphne stiffened.
Lord Greengrass's expression sharpened slightly.
Because that was not a question one asked so casually.
But Sirius—
Sirius only smiled.
"How can I follow a Dark Lord who has no hair," he said lightly, lifting a hand to run it through his own dark locks, "when I have these luscious ones?"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then his grin widened.
"He's called Baldymort now, I heard."
Astoria snickered before she could stop herself.
Daphne pressed her lips together, clearly fighting the urge to react.
Even Lord Greengrass felt something in his chest loosen slightly, despite himself.
Sirius shrugged, as though discussing something entirely trivial. "So when he called me over, I told him—'as long as you're bald, I'm not joining.'"
Astoria let out a quiet laugh this time.
And just like that, the tension eased.
The deeper they moved into the manor, the more its beauty revealed itself—not in grand displays of wealth, but in the careful blending of magic and modern design. Everything felt intentional, functional, and alive in a way that traditional wizarding homes rarely were.
Soon, they reached the first dungeon.
And once again, the Greengrass family found themselves surprised.
Because this was not a dungeon in the way they expected.
It was filled with electronic equipment—devices and machines that hummed quietly with purpose. This was clearly the kitchen, though not one any of them had seen before.
A refrigerator stood against the wall, its steady hum almost soothing.
Helios walked over without hesitation and opened it, retrieving a few metallic tins.
"Here," he said, handing one to Astoria.
She took it, turning it over in her hands with a puzzled expression. "What do I do with it?"
Helios reached over and flicked the top open with a sharp hiss.
She flinched slightly, then blinked.
"Oh."
"Drink," he said simply.
She took a cautious sip.
Her eyes widened.
"It's really good."
Helios allowed himself a small smirk before handing one each to Daphne and Lord Greengrass.
They accepted, more cautiously.
But both found themselves equally surprised.
Still, they did not linger.
Because the second dungeon awaited.
And that—
That was where the true purpose lay.
The deepest part of the Black Manor was vast, far larger than the upper levels would suggest. The walls were thick, reinforced both physically and magically. Rooms lined the sides, each secured with massive locks, their presence hinting at things stored within that were not meant to be accessed lightly.
There were areas where ward stones were placed, arranged with care and precision, alongside other structures whose purpose was not immediately clear.
But what stood out the most—
Was the light.
Electric.
There were no torches here.
This was not a place bound by old traditions.
This was a place built for purpose.
When Helios reached the door at the far end, he did not hesitate.
He opened it.
And inside—
They saw him.
An old man stood at the center of the chamber, bent slightly as he worked on an intricate ritual circle carved into the floor. The design was complex beyond immediate understanding, layered with symbols and patterns that spoke of something ancient and powerful.
Potions rested at the edges of the circle, each placed with exact precision.
He did not look up immediately when they entered.
Only when their footsteps echoed fully through the chamber did he pause and lift his gaze.
His eyes were sharp.
"I have been waiting for a little time now," he said calmly.
He straightened slightly, studying them briefly before giving a small nod.
"Everything will be prepared in a couple of minutes."
He gestured toward a section of the room without ceremony.
"You can sit there and watch."
His tone made it clear—
They were observers.
Nothing more.
The chamber fell into a strange, expectant silence as Albert Hemlock continued his work.
The faint scratching of chalk against stone echoed softly through the wide ritual hall, each stroke deliberate, precise, as though even the smallest mistake would carry consequences.
Glass vials clinked gently as he adjusted their positions, the liquid inside them catching the electric light and reflecting it in dull, shifting colors. The air itself felt heavy, thick with magic not yet released but waiting—coiled, restrained, patient.
Even breathing seemed too loud.
It was as if the world itself had paused, holding its breath in quiet anticipation of what was about to unfold.
In that silence, Lord Greengrass finally turned toward his younger daughter.
"Astoria."
His voice was softer than she had ever heard it.
Astoria looked up at him, confusion flickering across her face at the tone alone. "Yes?"
He hesitated.
Only for a moment.
But that moment carried years within it.
Because what he was about to say—he had never truly been able to say before. Not in words. Not in certainty.
"We didn't bring you here just to visit an old friend."
Astoria blinked, her brows knitting together slightly. "What?"
Daphne's gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers tightening faintly at her sides. Helios remained silent, standing just outside the ritual circle, his attention seemingly fixed ahead—trying not to intrude.
And slowly—
Lord Greengrass stepped closer, his posture straightening as his hesitation faded. When he spoke again, his voice was steady.
"We are here to cure you."
The words settled into the chamber like something fragile.
Astoria stared at him, her body going still as if she had forgotten how to move, how to breathe.
"…what?"
The whisper barely left her lips, trembling with disbelief.
"We found a way," he continued, his tone unwavering. "A real way. A cure."
Her eyes widened instantly, tears forming almost at once.
"No…"
Her head shook faintly, instinctively rejecting the possibility. "That's not possible."
Her voice broke as the memories surfaced. "We've tried… we've been everywhere. Every healer, every specialist, every rumored cure—every time someone said they knew something…"
Her breath hitched painfully.
"And nothing—" she swallowed hard, her voice cracking, "nothing worked."
Lord Greengrass nodded slowly, his expression tightening just slightly.
"I know."
A pause followed, heavier than before.
"But this time…" his gaze shifted briefly toward Helios, "…this is real."
Astoria's eyes followed his.
They landed on Helios.
Pleading.
Needing something solid to hold onto.
"Are you sure?" she asked quietly.
Helios met her gaze without hesitation.
There was no doubt in his expression.
"Yes."
That was all he said.
Because something in his voice—something in the quiet certainty of it—cut through years of disappointment and broken hope.
Astoria's lips trembled.
And then—
She began to cry.
Albert Hemlock straightened at last, holding two small vials in his hands.
They were dark.
Unpleasant even to look at.
"Drink these."
He extended one toward Astoria.
The other toward Daphne.
Daphne blinked, startled. "I'm not the one who need the cure."
Hemlock's gaze shifted to her immediately, sharp and unyielding.
"Bloodline curse."
He spoke the words like something absolute, something that allowed no misunderstanding.
"If she is cured… and you are not… it will pass through you."
The chamber fell silent again.
Daphne looked down at the vial in her hand, her fingers tightening around the glass.
"So both of you," Hemlock continued calmly. "No exceptions."
Neither of them argued further.
The potions smelled foul.
Bitter.
Heavy with magic that seemed almost suffocating.
Daphne grimaced slightly, her nose wrinkling.
Astoria hesitated only for a heartbeat longer.
Then—
They both drank.
The ritual began soon after.
Daphne stepped forward.
"I'll go first."
Astoria turned to her immediately. "No—"
But Daphne shook her head, firm.
"I want you to see," she said quietly, meeting her sister's eyes. "That there's nothing to be afraid of."
Her voice did not waver.
But Helios noticed the tension in her shoulders.
The tightness in her breath.
She was afraid.
She simply chose to step forward anyway.
For her sister.
Hemlock gestured to a position within the ritual circle. "Lie there."
Daphne obeyed without hesitation, lowering herself onto the cold stone. The surface beneath her was unforgiving, the faint glow of the carved symbols surrounding her beginning to pulse softly.
Then—
Hemlock began chanting.
The words rolled through the chamber in Latin, unfamiliar and heavy, carrying a weight that pressed against the air itself. Each syllable seemed to resonate with the magic embedded in the circle, awakening it piece by piece.
Hemlock pricked his finger.
Three drops of blood fell onto the circle.
And everything changed.
The ingredients placed along the edges ignited—not with fire, but with thick, white smoke. It rose slowly at first, then faster, swirling into the air like something alive.
Moving.
And then—
It converged.
All of it.
Toward Daphne.
The smoke rushed into her in a single, violent motion—through her mouth, her nose, her very breath.
Her body arched violently.
A scream tore from her throat.
Her hands clenched, her entire body shaking uncontrollably as the magic forced its way through her.
"Daphne!"
Astoria moved instinctively—
But Helios stopped her instantly, his grip firm.
"Don't."
His voice left no room for argument.
"This is part of it."
Astoria froze, her body trembling as tears filled her eyes once more.
Because watching this—
Watching her sister suffer—
Was unbearable.
The shaking grew worse.
Daphne's screams echoed through the chamber, raw and unrestrained, filled with pain that could not be hidden.
But Hemlock did not stop.
His chanting continued.
The white smoke within Daphne darkened.
Turning into something black and thick, like ink spreading through water.
And just as slowly—
It began to leave her.
The dark smoke poured from her mouth, her nose, her very breath, drawn outward by Hemlock's will. It moved through the air, dragged toward a glass jar placed carefully at the edge of the circle.
The moment the last trace entered—
Hemlock sealed it with a sharp motion.
The jar vibrated violently once.
Then stilled.
Daphne's body went limp.
The shaking stopped.
The screams ended.
A moment later—
Her eyes opened.
Slowly.
"…it's over?" she whispered weakly.
Helios stepped forward, helping her sit up carefully. "Yes."
Daphne blinked, her breathing uneven as she placed a hand over her chest.
"I… it's gone."
She couldn't explain how she knew.
But she did.
Something deep within her—
Had been removed.
Helios guided her gently to sit beside Astoria, who immediately took her hand, gripping it tightly.
"You're okay," Astoria whispered.
Daphne gave a faint, tired smile. "I told you."
But Hemlock was already moving again.
Resetting.
Astoria lay down next, her heart racing, her thoughts chaotic.
But now—
She had seen.
And hope had replaced fear.
The ritual began again.
The same chants.
The same smoke.
The same pain.
But this time—
She endured it.
Because she knew what waited on the other side.
When it ended—
Everything felt different.
Her breathing was deeper.
Her body lighter.
Even through exhaustion—
She felt alive.
Truly alive.
She sat up slowly, staring at her hands, as though seeing them for the first time.
"I…" her voice broke, tears forming again. "I feel…"
She looked at her father.
"…normal."
Lord Greengrass's composure finally cracked.
His shoulders sagged, relief washing over him in a way he had not allowed himself to feel in years.
Because his daughter—
Was no longer dying.
He stepped forward and placed a heavy pouch into Hemlock's hand.
A Gringotts Wizarding Bank pouch.
Hemlock accepted it without comment.
The chamber felt lighter.
As if something dark had truly been removed.
Helios turned to Lord Greengrass. "They need rest. Upstairs. Rooms are ready."
Lord Greengrass nodded immediately. "Of course."
Later—
After the sisters had been settled—
Lord Greengrass approached Helios once more, holding another pouch.
"This is for you."
Helios didn't take it.
"I don't want money."
That gave him pause.
"Then what do you want?"
Helios met his gaze calmly.
"A trial."
Lord Greengrass frowned slightly.
"For my father."
"He was imprisoned in Azkaban without a trial."
"…without a trial?" he asked quietly.
Helios nodded.
Lord Greengrass's expression hardened.
"I didn't know."
Helios said nothing.
Lord Greengrass straightened.
"You have my word. I will bring this before the Wizengamot."
A pause.
"And I will see that he gets a proper trial."
Helios nodded once.
"That's all I need."
Author's Note:
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