A Promise

May 31, 1993, 6:55 AM, Twelve Grimmauld Place

Sirius Black

Sirius moved with practiced stealth down the creaking stairs of Grimmauld Place, each step carefully chosen to avoid the well-known squeaking boards. His eyes were fixed on the curtained portrait of his mother, hoping he didn’t accidentally trigger one of her ear-splitting screeches.

He inched past her, holding his breath, moving with the alacrity and silence of a man who had spent years navigating these treacherous hallways.

One misstep. One slight sound. And she will awaken.

This morning, however, fortune favored him. The portrait remained silent, her painted eyes closed in what almost seemed like merciful slumber. Sirius exhaled softly, relief washing over him as he reached the kitchen undetected.

Thank Merlin.

The kitchen was empty, bathed in the soft, grey light of early morning. Sirius moved to the stove, his movements mechanical— fill the kettle, set it to boil, retrieve a chipped mug from the cupboard. Tea was a ritual, a moment of calm before the storm of thoughts that always threatened to overwhelm him.

He prepared his tea— strong, just the way he liked it— and moved to the window. The world outside was just beginning to stir. A light mist hung over the street, softening the edges of the mundane London buildings. Somewhere in the distance, a bird began its morning song, a tentative note of hope breaking through the stillness.

Sirius took a slow sip of his tea, his grey eyes reflecting the morning light.

The events of the past days still weighed heavily on him. Yet in this moment, watching the world slowly wake up, there was a brief respite from the darkness.

The soft pad of familiar footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Sirius didn’t need to turn around to know who was approaching. Before Remus could speak, Sirius reached for a second mug, already pouring tea— though he added just a hint of milk to it, knowing his friend’s taste.

“Thank you.” Remus said quietly, accepting the mug with a small smile. He settled into the chair opposite Sirius, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic.

“Sleep well?” Sirius asked, his eyes still on the window.

Remus nodded.

“Fine, actually. Though I know that won’t last.” A wry smile crossed his face. “Give it a few weeks, and… well, you know.”

Sirius met his friend’s eyes and nodded in understanding. The unspoken word— Lycanthropy— hung in the air between them, a reminder of the monthly burden Remus carried.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Sirius watched as Remus wrapped his hands around the warm mug, absorbing its heat. There was something tentative in Remus’s posture, a hint of something unspoken bubbling just beneath the surface.

“You’ve got something on your mind.” Sirius observed, his voice low and steady.

Remus took a long, deliberate sip of tea. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth— part amusement, part hesitation.

“Might have some good news.” He said finally.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Might?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes— a gesture so familiar it could have been lifted from their Hogwarts days— Remus relented.

“I’ve got a potential job lined up.” He said, his tone carefully measured.

Work for Remus was never simple. Always complicated, always walking a razor’s edge between the magical world’s narrow expectations and his own unique capabilities. Still, Sirius leaned forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Go on.” He prompted. “What is it?”

Remus reached into his pocket, withdrawing a slightly crumpled letter.

“I received this a few days ago.” He said, smoothing the parchment on the table.

Sirius leaned forward, his curiosity piqued by Remus’s hint of good news.

“A letter?” He prompted, watching as Remus slid it across the table to him..

Sirius turned it over, a tentative smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he saw the unmistakable crest of Hogwarts. He looked up at his friend. “Is it…?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Remus said softly. “For the next school year.”

Sirius stared at him, momentarily speechless. The implications washed over him— Remus, a professor at Hogwarts. A teaching position; it was something stable and respectable. Something that wouldn’t ask him to hide who he was.

For a moment, the weight of years of discrimination, of careful hiding, of constant rejection seemed to lift from Remus’s shoulders. Sirius’s face broke into a grin, pure and unbridled joy replacing his earlier weariness.

“You?” He said, a laugh bubbling up. “Teaching?”

Remus rolled his eyes, but the smile remained. “Apparently someone thinks I’m qualified.”

Sirius watched Remus carefully, his initial excitement dimming as he sensed his friend’s hesitation.

“Are you going to accept?” He asked, the question hanging in the air between them.

Remus remained silent, turning the letter over in his hands. The conflict was written plainly across his face— a curious mixture of hope and deep-seated fear. His condition had always been more than just a monthly inconvenience. It was a constant negotiation, a delicate balance between his capabilities and the wizarding world’s narrow-minded prejudices.

“It’s not that simple.” Remus finally said, his voice quiet but laden with years of harsh lessons. “The full Moon. The days before. How do I explain to the school that I’ll need to be absent? Or that I require special considerations?”

Sirius leaned forward, his argument passionate.

“You did your entire schooling with this condition. There was only one incident— ” He stopped mid-sentence as Remus’s eyes turned sharp, cutting into him with an accusatory glint.

The room’s temperature seemed to drop. Memories flickered between them— a moment of reckless teenage cruelty that had nearly ended in tragedy.

Sirius’s bravado crumbled.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly, the words carrying the weight of years of regret. “I’m sorry for what I did. For luring Snape to you during your transformation. For putting you in that situation.”

It was an old wound, never fully healed, always simmering just beneath the surface of their friendship. The moment Snape had nearly walked into the path of a transformed werewolf— that had been a moment Sirius had engineered out of a mixture of teenage spite and thoughtless cruelty.

The apology hung in the air, fragile and sincere.

Remus stared at Sirius for a long moment, the weight of old hurts and unspoken memories hanging between them. Then, something softened in his expression. He accepted the apology with a small nod, the tension slowly bleeding from the room.

“I’ll seriously consider the job.” Remus said, his voice carrying a note of determination. “I can’t rely on your kindness forever.”

Sirius shook his head immediately, a familiar spark of fierce loyalty lighting his eyes.

“This isn’t kindness.” He said firmly. “This is friendship. There’s a difference.”

“I appreciate that.” Remus began, his tone suggesting there was more to say— 

But he was cut off by a sudden, ear-splitting screech from the portrait hall. Walburga Black’s voice rang through the house, venomous and loud. “Half-bloods! Sullying the noble house of Black!”

Sirius snorted, a sardonic laugh escaping him.

“Harry must be on his way.” He said, as if that explained everything.

The moment of serious reflection dissolved into a shared understanding, the long-standing bond between two friends momentarily lightened by the familiar chaos of family drama.

The kitchen of Grimmauld Place hummed with a quiet anticipation as Harry entered, his fingers pressed firmly into his ears in a futile attempt to block out the piercing screech emanating from the hallway. The boy’s face was a mixture of irritation and resignation, a look that spoke volumes about his repeated encounters with Walburga Black’s portrait.

“Merlin’s beard.” Harry grumbled. “I wish she would just disappear.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged an amused glance, their earlier serious conversation momentarily forgotten.

Sirius began to rise, his muscles tensing with the intention of silencing the portrait himself. But before he could take more than a step, something happened. The vitriolic stream of insults abruptly ceased, replaced by an unexpected and uncharacteristic civility.

A polite greeting drifted through the doorway.

The silence that followed was profound. Remus turned to Sirius, one eyebrow raised.

“Adam.” They said simultaneously, a note of knowing humor in their voices.

Remus leaned back in his chair, a genuine laugh bubbling up.

“That boy.” He said, shaking his head with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “Managed to do what none of us could ever accomplish. He convinced the portrait that he’s a pureblood son of the House of Black.”

The absurdity of Adam’s manipulation was not lost on either of them. Walburga’s portrait was notoriously uncompromising, a magical construct so deeply imbued with pure-blood ideology that it had never shown kindness to anyone outside its narrow definition of worthiness. And yet, somehow, this twelve-year-old had found a way to circumvent generations of ingrained prejudice.

“It’s more than just a prank.” Remus continued, his academic mind dissecting the feat. “It’s a brilliant piece of psychological manipulation. He understood the portrait’s core programming— its absolute belief in blood purity— and used that belief against itself.”

Sirius chuckled, a sound of pure appreciation. “High level trickery, indeed…”

oooo

May 31, 1993, 8:55 AM

Anthony Goldstein

Tony drifted back to consciousness, the remnants of a peculiar dream clinging to the edges of his mind. Chickens— plump, golden-feathered birds— had been swimming through a rich, savory gravy, their feathered bodies gliding effortlessly through the thick, warm liquid. The dream had been so vivid that a thin trail of saliva had escaped the corner of his mouth, leaving a damp, cooling patch on his pillowcase.

Awareness crept in slowly, like tendrils of morning light filtering through the familiar curtains of his bedroom at home. He became acutely aware of the wet spot beneath his cheek, the slight stickiness of his skin where drool had pooled.

With a resigned sigh that seemed to carry the weight of mild embarrassment, Tony lifted his head, feeling the slight resistance of the dampened pillowcase against his skin.

“Brilliant.” He muttered to himself, his voice still thick with sleep. The sheet was definitely ruined— a telltale dark patch spread across the soft blue fabric, evidence of his dream-induced salivation.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, blinking slowly as his childhood bedroom came into focus.

Near his bed, carefully arranged display cases caught the morning light— rows of meticulously organized coins from various countries, each mounted with precise care. Some were ancient, their surfaces dulled by centuries of existence, while others gleamed with the polish of recent acquisitions. A few rare magical commemorative coins from special events sat in places of honor, their detailed engravings telling stories of historical moments.

Scattered among the coin collections were other treasures: a few rare stamps, some vintage magical tokens, and a small cabinet of historical medallions. Tony moved with deliberate, sluggish movements, his collector’s eye already scanning the displays even as he fought the last remnants of sleep.

Tony smiled at his collection for a moment before his father’s voice echoed through the house, rich and warm with morning energy. “Breakfast time, monkey!”

“Coming, Dad!” He called back, stretching and carefully moving past his display cases. He pulled out a soft heather-gray t-shirt with a faded Muggle band logo— a relic from a secondhand shop his mother had found— and a pair of comfortable navy blue jeans with a small hole near the right knee.

The wooden floorboards creaked slightly beneath his feet as he made his way downstairs, the familiar sounds and smells of the Goldstein kitchen enveloping him. Bacon sizzled in a cast-iron skillet, its crisp edges curling and browning, while eggs scrambled in a separate pan with a rhythmic scraping sound of metal against metal.

His father, David, stood at the stove, finishing up breakfast with practiced movements. He was dressed casually in a light blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms and a glimpse of his watch— an antique piece Tony knew came from his grandfather.

“There’s my monkey.” David said, turning and giving his son a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes as he served the food.

Tony sat down at the oak kitchen table, its surface marked with subtle scratches and rings from years of family meals. He waited, as his mother had always taught him, for his father to be seated first— a small gesture of respect that had become family tradition.

Just as David was about to take his first bite, fork hovering over the plate, Tony interrupted. “Where’s Mum? I thought she’d be here by now.”

His father paused, a knowing look crossing his face. “She’s bringing your Aunt Tina and Uncle Newt over. Should be here any moment now.”

Tony’s eyes lit up. Great-Aunt Tina always brought the most fascinating stories about her days as a MACUSA Auror, and Uncle Newt would inevitably pull out some peculiar magical creature from his seemingly bottomless suitcase.

Seeing his son’s excitement, David gestured to the plate.

“Go ahead and start eating. That way, you’ll have maximum time with them when they arrive.” His tone was part instruction, part conspiratorial suggestion.

Picking up his fork, Tony began to eat, the anticipation of family time making the perfectly crisp bacon and fluffy eggs taste even better.

Time meandered like a lazy river as Tony continued to eat, the rhythmic sounds of his fork against the plate punctuating the morning’s quiet. Sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, casting soft golden rectangles across the worn linoleum floor. Eventually, the distant hum of an approaching vehicle broke the morning’s tranquility.

Tony half-rose from his seat, muscle memory pulling him toward the window, but something— a whisper of remembered manners— stopped him. He turned back, plate in hand, moving to place it in the sink. Before he could, his father’s hand intercepted, gently taking the dish.

“Go greet them.” David said, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

The front door seemed to pull Tony forward, anticipation vibrating through his limbs. He burst outside, the crisp morning air kissing his cheeks, and launched himself into his mother’s embrace.

“I missed you.” He murmured, the words muffled against her shoulder. Her arms— familiar, solid, safe— wrapped around him, a geography of comfort he knew better than his own breathing.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” Amanda replied, her voice a melody of warmth and gentle understanding.

Behind her, the world expanded. David stepped out, greeting her with the intimacy of long-shared years.

“Amanda.” He said, love folded into her name.

She responded with “Bartholomew”, her smile a bridge between them.

Three figures stood behind her— a constellation of family and memory. Great-Aunt Tina stood slightly to the left. Great-Uncle Newt, perpetually slightly disheveled, seemed already lost in some internal landscape of thought. Between them, a young man Tony didn’t recognize stood.

The familiar embrace of his great-aunt and great-uncle enveloped Tony, their hands ruffling his hair with a tenderness that spoke of generations of unspoken love. “Hello, Tony.”

“Hello.” Tony said, grinning in their embrace. Tina’s touch carried the faintest hint of lavender and old parchment, while Newt’s fingers trembled with the same gentle hesitation he might use to handle a rare magical creature.

“We’ve missed you.”

Tony pulled back, still smiling. “I’ve missed you too.”

Tony’s gaze drifted to the unknown figure before resting on his great-aunt.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Tina said, giving the young man a small smile. “This is Lewis Caboldie, an officer from MACUSA and my partner through most of my recent work there.”

The name hung in the air like a delicate glass ornament, fragile and weighted with unspoken implications. The recent devastation of the American magical government flickered behind Tony’s eyes— a silent understanding that pressed against the edges of their conversation like a bruise.

He watched Lewis carefully, noting the way the man’s eyes moved— calculating, observant, carrying the remnants of recent trauma. Tony understood the art of restraint, of holding back the words that burned to be spoken. His expression remained neutral, a carefully constructed mask that betrayed nothing of the tumultuous thoughts churning beneath.

The look that passed between the adults was a language of its own— a subtle choreography of shared knowledge, of memories too recent and raw to be spoken aloud. David’s hand on Amanda’s back, Tina’s slight tension, Newt’s distant gaze— each a fragment of a larger, unspoken narrative.

They moved into the house, the threshold between outside and inside becoming a liminal space of transition. Memories and possibilities drifted like autumn leaves, suspended between what was and what might yet be.

The living room settled around them— slightly uncomfortable, not quite fitting perfectly. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room.

Tony flicked the lights on, and the shadows disappeared sharply.

Amanda perched on the edge of an armchair, her posture precise but not rigid. Her hands, elegant and capable, rested on her knees, fingers occasionally brushing against each other in a subtle rhythm of restraint. His father sat beside her, a careful distance maintaining the illusion of casual comfort.

Lewis Caboldie occupied the far end of the sofa, his body language a study in controlled tension. His movements were economical, each gesture measured— the way he adjusted his sleeve, the careful angle of his crossed legs. Tina and Newt flanked him, creating a subtle barrier of familial protection.

The conversation drifted like loose papers in a mild breeze. Traffic. The weather. A mundane route through suburban streets that felt anything but ordinary.

“Some construction on the M25.” Newt mentioned, his voice trailing off. A silence stretched— not quite awkward, but pregnant with potential energy.

Lewis cleared his throat. A clock ticked somewhere, its steady rhythm a metronome beneath their stilted exchange.

Tony watched. He recognized the dance they were performing, the careful choreography of words left unsaid. His presence was both shield and constraint, a living barrier preventing the real conversation from emerging.

“I’ll… go upstairs.” He said, the words tumbling out with an awkwardness that seemed to hang in the air. No one objected. No one looked directly at him.

His footsteps on the stairs became a subtle punctuation, marking the transition between what was spoken and what remained hidden.

His father’s voice cut through the ambient stillness, a blade of unexpected resolve.

“Stay.” He told Tony, the single word carrying the weight of imminent disclosure.

“No, Tony.” Amanda’s protest rose, but Bartholomew’s response was a swift and unyielding shake of the head. His eyes— sharp, carrying the weathered intensity of someone who had seen more than he often chose to reveal— met Tony’s with an unspoken understanding.

“You’re a smart boy.” David said, his tone a curious blend of affection and urgency. “And what’s happening… it’s going to touch your life whether you understand it or not.”

Tony’s response emerged like a carefully considered stone cast into still waters. “Adam always says that knowledge is power.”

The moment fractured. Newt and Tina exchanged a look— a language of concern and unspoken reservations. Tony could see the sheer worry etched into the lines around Tina’s eyes, Newt’s characteristic hesitation manifesting in the slight furrow of his brow. Adam’s name hung in the air, a spectral presence neither welcomed nor fully rejected.

A gravity descended upon the room as they began to speak. Lewis leaned forward, his posture revealing the weight of recent trauma.

“The situation in the States is beyond a disaster.” He said, his voice low and measured. “What the Outsiders have done to us… it’s a systematic dismantling of everything we hold dear.”

Newt nodded, his typically distracted demeanor replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. “The magical governmental structures— MACUSA, entire regional networks— they’ve been gutted. Not just weakened, but almost completely destroyed.”

“We’re not certain how this will propagate.” Tina added, her fingers unconsciously tracing a pattern on the arm of her chair. “But the potential for imminent collapse cascading across magical communities in Europe, Asia, and Africa… it’s significant.”

Amanda’s eyes darted between the speakers and Tony, worry visible in the lines across her forehead. Her hand unconsciously moved, as if to protect or shield her son from the conversation.

Tony, perceptive and direct, cut through the oblique discussion. “Is war coming?”

Before anyone could respond with nuance, Amanda’s maternal instinct flared.

“Everything will be okay, sweetheart.” She said, her tone soft and dismissive.

Tony bristled. He recognized the infantilizing gesture, the way adults often sanitized complex realities for children. The patronizing reassurance felt like a thin veneer over a much more profound, more terrifying truth.

His gaze shifted to the adults— Lewis and Tina with their battle-worn composure, Newt giving him a meaningful glance and his father’s steady, knowing presence. They were treating him like a child even as they discussed events that would fundamentally reshape his world.

Tony broke the silence. His words emerged like shards of glass— sharp, uncompromising, reflecting brutal truths that adults preferred to keep veiled.

“Not everything is okay.” He said, and the words carried the weight of blood and memory. The attack at Hogwarts lived inside him, not as a distant narrative, but as visceral experience— pain etched into skin, trauma woven into muscle and bone. His own wounds, though they had healed, were testament to a reality far more complex than his mother’s gentle reassurances. “We saw it during the attack. It was all I could do to stay safe— let alone help people around me!”

They could not disagree. They recognized the truth in his voice— a maturity born not of intellectual understanding, but of visceral, lived experience. The world was changing, and Tony was no longer a child to be sheltered, but a participant in an unfolding narrative of conflict.

“No, mum. I need to be ready.” He said, each word a quiet declaration of intent. “To fight. When the time comes.”

“No, honey.” His mother enveloped him in her arms. “I won’t allow it.”

“I have to!” He said, moving out of her embrace. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

The silence after Tony’s declaration stretched thin, taut as a bowstring ready to snap. The weight of his words still hung in the air, pressing on everyone in the room.

It was Lewis who finally broke it, stepping forward from his post near the door. His dark eyes flicked briefly to Tina and Amanda, an unspoken deference in his gaze, before settling on Tony.

“Tony.” He said, his voice steady and calm, though there was a sharpness to it that drew the boy’s attention. “You’ve got the fire. I can see that, but you aren’t ready.”

“I am ready! You don’t get to—”

“You aren’t.” Lewis insisted. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do.” Tony insisted. “I’ve let other people watch over me for too long— I can’t do that anymore. I have to stand by myself.”

“Honey, you’re only twelve…”

“So!? You think that’ll stop someone who…”

He trailed off, seeing the haunted look in his mother’s eyes. He moved to her, apologizing.

“Mum, I…”

“No, no.” She shook her head, pulling him into a hug. “I don’t want you taking any part of this.”

“I’m part of it already, mum— and it’s too late to walk away.” Tony looked towards Lewis as he said that. Lewis, for his part, stayed silent for the longest moment.

“You’ve certainly got the fire. Fine.” He said, shaking his head. “If you’re this serious about wanting to fight, you’ll need someone to make sure you’re ready for it. If you’d like, I can help you get there.”

Tony’s eyes lit up with an eager, almost desperate gratitude. “Really? I—”

“That is…” Lewis cut him off as Tony disengaged from his mother’s embrace. He looked towards Amanda. “If you would consent to this.”

“I…”

“Wait.” Tina Goldstein, standing by the fireplace, raised her hand. Her movements were controlled, deliberate, and carried the quiet authority of someone who had seen more battles than she cared to recount. “Thank you, Officer Lewis. Your offer means a great deal, and I know it comes from the right place, but I can’t allow this.”

“Aunt Tina—”

“It’s all right, young man.” Lewis, ever professional, straightened and nodded at Tina. “As you wish, boss, but may I ask why you’ve seen fit to reject this offer? You and I have both seen enough to know that he’s going to need every edge he can get. Surely you aren’t suggesting that he practice alone?”

“I am not.”

“Then… Is my instruction inadequate?”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across Tina’s face, though her eyes remained sharp. “Far from it, Caboldie. You’re one of the finest spellcasters I’ve ever worked with. And believe me, I wouldn’t entrust Tony to anyone less. But this isn’t just about skill. It’s about family.”

Lewis hesitated. His respect for Tina was evident in the way his posture softened, his natural inclination to argue tempered by the weight of her authority. “Of course, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t.” Tina assured him, her voice kind but firm. She stepped closer to Tony, her presence commanding yet warm as her gaze softened just enough to meet his own. “This is my responsibility, Lewis. Tony’s my grand-nephew. He’s not just another recruit or trainee. And I need to be the one to make sure he’s ready— not just for what’s coming, but for everything he’ll carry with him when it does.”

Tony looked between the two of them, his initial excitement dimmed by a sudden wave of nervousness.

“I… I’d be honored to learn from either of you.” He said, his voice quieter now, but no less earnest.

Lewis inclined his head, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid. And Ma’am.” He added, turning back to Tina. “If you ever need a second set of hands, you know where to find me.”

Tina nodded. “I do. And I might take you up on that at some point. But for now, this is something I need to do.”

Lewis stepped back, his respect for her decision evident.

“Understood, Ma’am. And Tony.” He added, glancing back at the boy. “You’ve got the best training you could ask for. Don’t waste it.”

“I won’t.” Tony promised, his voice gaining strength.

As Lewis returned to his quiet position near the door, Tina turned fully to Tony, her expression softening further as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“This won’t be easy.” She said, her voice quiet but firm. “There’s no shortcut to being ready for what’s coming. But you’ve got something that’s hard to teach— courage. And I’ll make sure you have the tools to back it up.”

Tony swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion, and nodded. “I’m ready, Aunt Tina. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Good.” She said, her rare smile returning as the firelight flickered across her face. “You’re going to need that determination for what I have in store.”