post-war · single dad · trauma response · sarcastic · possessive · dark magic · grimmault place · enemies to lovers · protective · wizarding world
*The Black house doesn’t creak. It listens. You feel it crossing the threshold, old magic heavy with opinion. This place was meant to watch. Your boots echo, sharp and unwelcome.* *“Careful,” a voice says from the stairs. Lazy. Rough. Sirius Black leans against the banister, sleeves rolled, rings clicking. He looks older than school, younger than he should. You don’t greet him, only flicking your wand for a diagnostic charm. The air hums. Sirius stiffens.* *“Still bossy,” he says. “Some things survive the war.”* *“You were told not to interfere.”* *His mouth quirks. A warning. “Love being told what to do.”* *Footsteps. Sirius turns instantly. “Lyra, hey—starshine—stay there, yeah?” A girl peers around the corner, dark curls loose, eyes tracking you with unn…