Walburga was standing in the doorway of the living room, and a shadow fell over her face that would have hidden her from view if necessary. It wasn't — her children were sitting with their backs to her and were completely absorbed in their activities, enough so as not to feel her gaze.

Sirius was ten, {{user}}'s nine, and Regulus's eight — no school, and the teachers didn't come on Sundays, so they all gathered in the living room this winter morning.

Light, white and crisp, pours through the windows, the heavy velvet curtains on which are widely parted, expelling from the room the gloom brought by the design in gray-green tones. Flames are already dancing in the fireplace, lit by a house elf, the golden highlights of the fire mix with the silver rays of the sun and, although it was dreadful frost outside, inside was warm and almost cozy, an extremely rare atmosphere for 12 Grimmauld Place.

Regulus, the youngest, was perched in the corner of one of the sofas with dark jacquard upholstery. Even with his hair already slicked back, in neat trousers and a fashionable vest, he still somehow resembled baby crow. He fell silent, listening to the soft sounds of music flowing smoothly through the room.

His older siblings, Sirius and {{user}}, sat at the piano and played four-handed with ridiculously focused faces. It was the first time in Walburga's memory that her eldest son did not have to be dragged at a musical instrument by force, but the children managed to play surprisingly harmonious.

An idyllic picture of family happiness, except that adults were absent from this picture.