With Sirius…
Sirius stared at the screen—then at the chips—then back again.
"…right," he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair, "I am either incredibly foolish… or completely insane."
A pause.
"…insane sounds better."
He grabbed the bowl of chips, leaned back into the couch, and forced himself to relax—though the eerie background music did nothing to help.
"Who in the bloody hell picked this music…" he grumbled, glaring at the television like it had personally offended him. "What is this, a horror show?"
The screen flickered.
And then—
Orion Black appeared.
Sirius went still.
His father stood in the duelling arena, dust curling lazily around his feet, sunlight catching against him in a way that felt almost… intentional.
White shirt.
Black trousers.
Simple.
But Merlin—
he looked ridiculous.
Not in a bad way.
No.
In the unfair way.
"…you've got to be joking," Sirius muttered, leaning forward despite himself.
His father's hair was longer—falling slightly into his face, softer than the perfectly controlled look he had now.
No scar.
No weight.
No coldness.
Just—
ease.
And his expression?
Bored.
Completely, utterly bored.
Sirius blinked.
"…is he serious right now?"
His eyes dropped for a moment—taking in the build.
The way the shirt clung just enough to show muscle beneath.
The effortless stance.
The balance.
"…what in Merlin's name did he do to look like that," Sirius whispered, genuinely offended now. "That is illegal."
He glanced at his own arm.
Then back.
"…this is a scam."
Across from Orion stood his opponent—
a Durmstrang student.
Seventh year.
Broad.
Intimidating.
The kind that looked like he ate fights for breakfast.
"Finally," Sirius muttered. "Someone who actually looks like a challenge."
But Orion—
Orion hadn't even lifted his wand.
He just stood there.
Head tilted slightly.
Like he was deciding whether this was worth his effort.
The crowd erupted.
Cheers echoed around the arena—
loud, chaotic, electric.
Sirius frowned slightly.
"…bloody hell."
Most of it—
was for his father.
Girls leaned over the stands, shouting his name.
Laughing.
Trying to get his attention.
Even students from other schools joined in.
Sirius snorted.
"Of course," he muttered. "Of course you were popular. Why wouldn't you be?"
He gestured vaguely at the screen.
"Tall, brooding, dramatic—Merlin forbid you be normal."
But then—
he noticed something.
Orion wasn't looking at the crowd.
Not really.
His gaze shifted.
Locked.
Focused.
On someone.
Sirius followed it instinctively.
Scanning the stands—
past the chaos—
past the noise—
And then—
he saw her.
And everything in him went quiet.
"…oh."
She stood among the others—but she wasn't like them.
No shouting.
No leaning.
No desperation for attention.
Just—
calm.
Composed.
Watching.
Her dress—
flowing, elegant.
Not like the others.
Different.
Distinct.
Her eyes lined dark—
kajal, Sirius realized faintly, the word surfacing somewhere from memory.
Her hair—
long.
Thick.
Braided.
Falling over her shoulder.
A small nose ring caught the light—
subtle.
But impossible to miss.
She looked—
otherworldly.
"…that's her," Sirius whispered, more to himself than anything else.
His mother.
On the screen—
she smiled.
Soft.
Warm.
Real.
And she waved.
Orion straightened.
Instantly.
Like a switch had been flipped.
The boredom vanished—not completely, but enough.
Replaced with something sharper.
Something alive.
And then—
he winked at her.
The crowd exploded.
Even louder than before.
Sirius blinked.
Then stared.
Then leaned back slowly.
"…you did not just do that."
The girls in the stands screamed.
Some laughed.
Some looked like they were about to faint.
Sirius scoffed, grabbing another handful of chips.
"Merlin, these women are loud," he muttered, shaking his head.
But his eyes—
never left the screen.
Because for the first time—
he wasn't looking at Lord Black.
He was looking at a boy.
Sixteen.
Standing in a duelling ring—
trying, very unsuccessfully—
not to smile like an idiot because a girl in the crowd waved at him.
Sirius huffed quietly.
A strange feeling settling in his chest.
Something unfamiliar.
Something… softer.
"…so that's how it started," he murmured, almost thoughtfully.
An old man stepped into the duelling ring, leaning on a long staff instead of a wand. He looked… ancient. Not the dignified kind of old—no, he looked like someone who had somehow forgotten to die and simply kept going out of sheer stubbornness. His beard flowed down to his chest, silver and unkempt, and his tall, pointed hat looked straight out of those ridiculous muggle fairytales.
Sirius snorted from the couch, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.
"Honestly… people like you are why muggles think we have terrible fashion sense."
Still, there was something about the man—something heavy, something powerful. The kind of presence that didn't need to announce itself.
The old man raised his staff, and the murmurs across the stadium quieted.
"My lords and ladies of the noble houses," he began, his voice echoing unnaturally across the arena, "students and staff of the participating schools… we gather here today to witness the finale of this year's duelling championship."
The crowd erupted into cheers.
"…between the young scion of the most ancient and noble house of Sokolov of Russia—"
A wave of applause thundered through the stands. Sirius watched as the boy—no, the young man—straightened, pride practically radiating off him. He tried to appear composed, but the slight lift of his chin gave him away.
Sirius scoffed lightly.
"Yeah, yeah… enjoy it while it lasts, mate."
"And—" the old man continued, voice rising over the noise, "—the heir of the most ancient and noble house of Black of Britain and France."
The stadium exploded.
Flowers rained down into the arena, cheers louder than before, witches and wizards alike calling out Orion's name. It wasn't just admiration—it was devotion.
Sirius blinked.
"…bloody hell."
On the screen, Orion stood at the center of it all—unbothered. Untouched. As if the noise, the attention, the adoration… meant absolutely nothing.
Because his eyes were elsewhere.
Locked onto her.
Sirius followed his gaze again, even though he already knew who he would find.
His mother.
She stood among the crowd, calm amidst the chaos, her long braid falling over her shoulder, kajal-lined eyes steady and amused. When Orion looked at her, she only shook her head slightly, a silent refusal to join the others in throwing flowers.
Back in the arena, the old man finally managed to restore some semblance of order.
He turned toward Orion first.
"Do you swear upon your magic," he asked, voice solemn now, "that you will duel fairly and abide by the rules of this championship?"
Only then did Orion look away from her.
He didn't rush. Didn't react like someone just addressed before thousands.
He simply turned, slow and deliberate, eyes settling on the old man.
"I swear."
The words were quiet—but they carried.
A ripple of magic followed, faint but undeniable.
The same oath was taken by Sokolov, his voice firmer, sharper—almost eager.
The old man nodded once, satisfied, before stepping back and striking the ground lightly with his staff.
The wards around the arena flared to life—shimmering barriers rising high, sealing the duelling ring and protecting the spectators.
"Then," he declared, "let the duel begin."
The camera pulled back, capturing both opponents as they faced each other.
Sirius leaned forward without realizing it, the chips forgotten in his hand, his earlier sarcasm fading into something sharper.
Because now—
Now it wasn't about the crowd.
It wasn't about the flowers.
It wasn't even about his mother.
This…
This was where he would see who his father truly was.