firecracker ???

The manor was quiet when they returned—too quiet, in the way only ancient homes knew how to be. The stillness pressed down like velvet, heavy and watchful, not empty but expectant. It was nearing two in the morning, and the storm above Grimmauld Place had finally stilled, leaving a glassy hush across the night.

The main doors swung open to let them in. Lucius entered first, straight-backed and silent, his boots echoing on marble. Regulus walked just behind, his usual calm laced with a fatigue he didn't show. Elestara came in next, cloak slightly askew from the wind, a tired but content glow in her eyes. And at her side—brushing her hand every few steps like he couldn't stop himself—walked Harry.

Trailing a beat behind them was Bellatrix.

She stepped inside like a wraith returning home. Her wand was still tucked in her sleeve. Her gaze scanned the entrance like it remembered what it had once been. What she had once been. 

Narcissa and Sirius stood at the bottom of the staircase. Narcissa being the picture of elegance even in the hour between yesterday and today. Sirius wasn't smiling. Not quite. But his arms were crossed, his hair damp from where he'd probably showered and forgotten to dry it properly, and his grin—the one that lived in the corner of his mouth like an old song—flickered back to life the moment he saw her. 

"You're all late," he said, voice lazy, drawling in that familiar Black tone that always sounded halfway between amused and scolding.

Lyra rolled her eyes. "We weren't shopping."

Bellatrix's lip curled faintly as she unclasped her cloak. "No. We were breaking rules, swapping prophecy secrets, making unbreakable vows. Family things."

Harry blinked. "That's your version of small talk?"

Bellatrix turned her gaze on him, cool and curious. Not hostile. Just... assessing.

"You're braver than you look," she said. "I see why she likes you."

Harry froze.

Elestara stiffened, just slightly. "Don't start."

"Oh, I'm not starting anything," Bellatrix said, humming. "Just making observations."

Sirius barked a laugh.

"Oh, don't encourage her," Narcissa muttered, slipping past with grace only a Black sister could still manage at this hour.

The family filtered into the drawing room like migrating shadows. Regulus poured drinks. Lucius hovered near the fireplace. Narcissa settled into the high-backed velvet chair, hands folded in her lap.

Bellatrix remained standing, coiled like a spring.

Sirius didn't let her settle into silence. "You still talk like everything's a threat."

"Maybe it is."

"Maybe you don't have to be anymore."

She looked at him sharply.

"I mean it," he said, stepping closer. "You've seen the worst. Lived it. Followed him down into madness and came back."

"Came back?" she repeated. "Do you think I strolled out of Azkaban whistling?"

"I think you survived," he said, "and that's more than anyone expected. Including you."

Her jaw tightened.

Narcissa broke the tension with a light voice. "Bella. You were never like this. You used to be—"

"Louder?" Bellatrix cut in. "Happier? Girlier?"

"You used to laugh without scaring anyone," Sirius muttered.

"I still scare you."

"You scare everyone," Lyra said from her seat on the settee. "That's the point."