December 23, 2008, Black Castle

The winter sun hung low in the sky, casting long, theatrical shadows across the snow-covered lawn of Black Castle.

The ancient fortress, hidden on a secret island somewhere off the Irish coast, looked like something torn from the pages of a fairytale. Its towers pierced the low-hanging clouds while enchanted lights danced and flickered in every window, casting warm golden glows against the gathering twilight.

On the sprawling front lawn, a small group had already assembled.

Sirius Black stood with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored robes, looking far more distinguished than the gaunt Azkaban fugitive he had once been. Beside him stood his wife Amelia, the Minister for Magic, who had somehow managed to leave the crushing weight of her office back in London.

Harry Potter, his hair as messy as ever despite being a Hogwarts Professor and father of three, was currently trying to stop his eldest son from turning a garden gnome into a projectile.

“James Sirius Potter!” Susan Potter, Head of the DMLE and possessing a voice that could stop a fleeing suspect at fifty paces, called out. She had her one-year-old son, Edmund Potter, perched on her hip. “Put. The gnome. Down.”

“But Mum, he bit me first!” nine-year-old James protested, though he immediately loosened his grip on the squirming, grumbling creature.

“He probably sensed your intentions,” Sirius offered with a grin that belonged on someone at least three decades younger. He tilted his head toward his own son. “Regulus, you should’ve backed him up. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Ten-year-old Regulus Black, composed and poised in a way that unmistakably mirrored his mother, gave an eloquent eye roll. “I’m not getting detention before school even starts again, Dad.”

“Boring,” Sirius muttered, but his eyes sparkled.

“They’re late,” seven-year-old Eleanor Black announced imperiously, checking a pocket watch that was both suspiciously elegant and outrageously inappropriate for a child. “Uncle Arthur is never late.”

“He must have his reasons—” Harry began, diplomatic as ever, but stopped mid-sentence as his daughter Lily suddenly popped to her feet.

“They’re coming! I can see the golden sparks!” the six-year-old announced, pointing excitedly at empty air that suddenly wasn’t so empty anymore.

A heartbeat later, reality split open like golden silk being parted by invisible hands. A shimmering portal materialized on the lawn, its edges crackling with amber light. Through it stepped Arthur Hayes, carrying young Tristan perched on his shoulders, followed in quick succession by Eileen, Elena, Wanda, Pietro, Ariadne, and a blonde woman none of the assembled group recognized.

“ATTACK!” James’s battle cry shattered the moment of arrival.

What followed wasn’t so much a greeting as it was a coordinated assault. The Potter and Black children crashed into the Hayes arrivals in a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter, momentum carrying them all forward in a tumbling mass. Even Pietro, with all his enhanced reflexes, found himself buried under the enthusiastic assault.

Arthur surveyed the writhing pile of children now obstructing his path, sighed with theatrical exasperation, and snapped his fingers.

The entire cluster of squealing children levitated three feet to the right, hovered for a heartbeat, and then dropped gently into the snow.

The collective groan that followed was dramatically loud, but entirely insincere.

“Dad!” Elena shouted, springing upright and pointing accusingly at the snowy spot where she’d landed. “You can’t just throw us around like luggage!”

Arthur arched an eyebrow, his expression the picture of innocence. “Correction: I placed you gently and precisely on soft, cushioning snow. And perhaps next time, you’ll choose a battlefield that isn’t directly blocking my walking path.”

“Show off,” Sirius called out.

“Sirius,” Arthur greeted, stepping forward to clasp his friend’s hand firmly. “Thanks for hosting again. The castle looks magnificent.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sirius replied, already looking past Arthur to the unfamiliar blonde lingering just behind Ariadne like a silent shadow. “And who might this lovely addition be?”

“Yelena Belova,” Ariadne said smoothly, resting a hand briefly on the young woman’s shoulder. “One of my best operatives. I decided she could use some exposure to… normalcy.”

“Normal?” Harry snorted, gesturing toward the magical castle, the drifting decorations, and Kreacher chasing an enchanted turkey that was aggressively trying to escape its festive destiny. “This is what you call normal?”

“Your version of it, at least,” Ariadne replied with a smirk.

Yelena stood quietly, clearly overwhelmed but working hard to hide it behind a mask of professional composure even as Eleanor Black grabbed her hand.

“Are you a fighter like Aunt Ari?” the seven-year-old asked with the blunt curiosity only children possessed.

“I… yes,” Yelena answered carefully.

“Cool!” came the enthusiastic chorus from the assembled children, and before she could protest, Yelena found herself being dragged away by a mob of excited youngsters eager to show off their various accomplishments.

“And where are the others?” Amelia asked warmly, embracing Eileen. “I thought Daniel and his family were joining as well?”

“Winky is running today’s transportation service,” Arthur explained with a small smile. “Ah, speak of the devil.”

A sharp pop heralded the house-elf’s arrival. Clinging to her hands were Daniel Wang, his wife Margaret, and their ten-year-old son, Leo.

“Arthur!” Daniel sputtered, complexion slightly green. “I will never get used to elf-travel. It’s like being shoved through a spinning drinking straw.”

“Stop complaining like a child every single time,” Arthur said with exaggerated patience. “Hello, Margaret. It’s good to see you.” He turned to the boy. “Leo, please keep watch on James and Elena before they accidentally blow up the greenhouse. Again.”

Margaret, a Muggleborn witch who worked as a Healer at St. Mungo’s, laughed warmly. “Go on, Leo. Just don’t let them give you any ‘sweets’ provided by Mr. Black.”

“My sweets are perfectly safe!” Sirius protested with mock offense.

“Winky will fetch Miss Aurora now!” The elf announced and popped away.

A moment later, she reappeared with a tall, poised woman with sharp eyes and an air of perpetual alertness. Aurora Thatcher, high-ranking agent of MI6 and Arthur’s former guardian, stepped onto the snow, smoothing her coat.

“Aurora,” Arthur greeted warmly. “Glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied. Her gaze slid past him—landing squarely on Ariadne. “Though I see you’ve invited some interesting guests.”

The courtyard went quiet for a beat.

On one side, the embodiment of British Intelligence and law. On the other, the ‘Ice Queen’ who effectively ruled the European criminal underworld.

“Ariadne Anderson,” Aurora said, her tone unreadable.

“Agent Thatcher,” Ariadne replied in precisely the same measured, unreadable tone.

“I must admit,” Aurora said, crossing her arms, “every time I see you, I find myself debating whether I should arrest you or thank you.”

“I’d suggest the latter,” Ariadne said smoothly, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Violent crime in London has dropped forty percent. Human trafficking routes across Eastern Europe have evaporated. The streets are clean. Quiet.”

“Perhaps,” Aurora conceded, “Though many of my colleagues in various agencies aren’t particularly happy. Their… interests are being significantly affected.”

Ariadne’s smile sharpened. “If their interests are being affected by my operations, then they weren’t good people to begin with. Give me names—I can have them removed from your back and permanently retired from this world by tomorrow morning. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“And that,” Aurora said with desert-dry humor, “is exactly why certain people want you arrested, prosecuted, and locked away forever.”

The tension stretched until Elena, oblivious to adult undercurrents, tugged on Aurora’s jacket.

“Aunt Aurora! Did you bring your gun this time? Can I see it? Please?”

Aurora’s expression softened immediately. “Not to Christmas parties, little warrior. Weapons stay at home during the holidays.”

“Boring,” Elena declared, then brightened. “Oh! Do you want to see the presents I got for everyone? I wrapped them myself and everything!”

“Elena,” Eileen interjected gently but firmly. “Not today, remember? Presents are for Christmas morning. We discussed this.”

Elena flopped in defeat. “Two. Whole. Days.”

“Yes,” Eileen said with barely concealed amusement. “A terrible, unbearable tragedy. Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

And just like that, as if someone had flipped a switch, the razor-sharp tension dissolved into the crisp winter air, leaving behind only the warmth of family, the laughter of children, and the promise of Christmas soon to come.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep