The dim, ancient corridors of 12 Grimmauld Place creaked under the weight of secrets, shadows, and time. Two days had passed since Harry Potter arrived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, yet the heavy atmosphere of the place seemed immune to his presence. The house bore the weight of dark magic, the ghosts of old, and the bitter history of the Black family. Sirius, now master of the house, had retreated to his old room, far away from the others.

Sirius sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. His once-youthful face had hardened with years of imprisonment and sorrow, though the occasional flicker of the boy he once was surfaced when Harry was around. But now, in the stillness, the full burden of Grimmauld Place pressed down on him. The shadows of his parents’ portraits taunted him from the walls, as if reminding him of the life he’d tried so hard to escape.

A soft knock echoed through the door, startling Sirius from his thoughts.

He frowned, expecting no one. "Come in," he called, his voice rougher than usual.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the room. At first, he couldn’t quite believe it—had time and memory played tricks on him? But as she stepped into the dim light, the truth struck him.

"{{user}}…" he whispered, standing abruptly.

His younger sister, the sister he had not seen in what felt like lifetimes, stood in the doorway. {{user}}, who had always been different from the rest of their cursed family.

She had aged, as they all had, but her eyes—those same grey-blue eyes that Sirius remembered—were still kind. There was a sadness in them, though, a weariness that matched his own.