The next morning dawned grey and cold, a thin drizzle hanging in the air as Lupin accompanied Pleione to King's Cross Station. The Weasleys, along with Hermione and Harry, were to return to Hogwarts via the Knight Bus, but Pleione had other intentions. She was eager to see Berenice and Adrian again, to speak with them without delay.
Tilly, ever faithful, had already packed their belongings and would be travelling back with her, along with Pegasus and Nemea tucked away safely in enchanted carriers.
Dinner the previous night had been strained. Neither Sirius nor Pleione had spoken a word about the blood ritual performed in the crypt, but a tense silence clung between them. Sirius had tried to wear a smile, especially after hearing Mr Weasley had been discharged from St Mungo's, but the frown creased into his brow refused to smooth.
Pleione, on the other hand, had felt something awaken inside her. The ancient magic that now bound her to the House of Black shimmered at her fingertips, alive and alert. It was as though the fog had lifted from her mind, her thoughts clearer, her senses sharper—like breaking the surface after being too long underwater.
"Let's stop here for a moment, Nell," Lupin said, steering her gently towards the Red Old Lion—the pub where Sirius had fetched her just two weeks ago. But before they could cross the threshold, the door swung open.
Astraea Fawley stepped out, resplendent in deep blue robes that made her light skin glow. Her presence was magnetic as always.
"My darling Pleione," she said, sweeping in to kiss her daughter on both cheeks. "Thank you, Remus, for seeing her off." She took Pleione's hand with a fond squeeze as Lupin gathered up her trunk.
As they made their way towards the station, Astraea chatted animatedly.
"I'm ever so proud of you, darling. Now, tell me everything. How were your holidays?" Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"They were lovely, Mother. I revised my N.E.W.T. notes and helped Hermione Granger with her O.W.L. work. Father was surprisingly warm, and Remus has been very kind." She smiled gratefully at the werewolf beside her. "Thank you again for these robes. They're wonderful."
"Oh, think nothing of it," Astraea said breezily, waving a bejewelled hand. As they stepped onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, she turned to Lupin. "Remus, darling, would you be so kind as to see her things onto the train?"
"Of course, Astraea," he said, lifting the trunk with ease and heading towards the scarlet engine.
Alone at last, Astraea lowered her voice.
"He made you his heir, didn't he?" she murmured, her gaze fixed and sharp. "I can feel it. The air practically hums around you. Good work, Pleione. Now listen carefully—the Weasleys staying over Christmas tells me Sirius is still aligning with the Light. Foolish, when he ought to be Neutral. Politics are shifting rapidly. I'll press harder for a fair trial. Have you found anything that could help his case?"
"Yes," Pleione nodded. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione saw Peter Pettigrew two years ago—in the Shrieking Shack. He confessed everything. Framed Sirius, killed the Muggles, betrayed the Potters. He admitted to being a Death Eater. Do you think it's enough?"
Astraea considered this, her brow furrowed.
"Potter can't testify. Dumbledore guards him like a mother Hippogriff. Weasley's a risk. Granger might be our best chance. Can you get close to her?"
"She's already asked me to study with her in the coming weeks," Pleione said.
"Perfect," Astraea purred, squeezing her daughter's hand. "But why hasn't Dumbledore pushed for a trial? You'd think he'd want Sirius exonerated."
"Apparently, he needs Sirius at the London townhouse for the wards to function. They only respond to a Black."
Astraea's eyes widened. "The Order of the Phoenix, then. Dumbledore's secret rebellion… He's using Sirius to protect his base. Outrageous. He owns half a dozen properties! I won't have the Black legacy used as his personal pawn. You're the heir now, and I won't let that man interfere with our family business."
Lupin returned, brushing rain off his shoulders. Astraea turned her attention to him with a dazzling smile, easily slipping into conversation about their shared Hogwarts days. Pleione took the opportunity to slip away.
Onboard the train, she moved through the throng of students until she reached their usual compartment. Berenice and Adrian were nowhere in sight, so she sank into a seat and rummaged through her satchel until her fingers brushed against the small parcel Sirius had pressed into her hands that morning.
"Here," he'd said quietly, eyes darting towards the kitchen door. "Don't open it here. Wait until you're in your dormitory. It's safer that way."
Harry had already started tugging at the ribbon, but Sirius had stopped him with a look.
"Don't hesitate to reach out," he'd told her gently, pulling her into a tight hug. "I want to hear from you. About everything."
"I will," she'd whispered back.
Now, in the quiet of the train, she looked at the parcel.
"Oh, bollocks," she muttered. "Why not?"
Inside was a Way Mirror—a compact, handheld mirror encased in silver, delicate forget-me-nots etched around the rim. A communication mirror, impossible to intercept.
"Thank you, Father," she breathed, tucking it safely away in her bag.
She turned to the window, catching a glimpse of the platform. Lupin was gone, but Astraea stood chatting animatedly with Amelia Bones and, unmistakably, Isabeau Fonteyre.
"Oh, there you are!" Adrian called, sticking his head through the door. "Found her, Bunny!"
"Don't call me that," Berenice snapped, stepping in after him and shutting the door with a thud. "What in Merlin's name happened over the hols, Nell? Your future's been spinning like a cursed Time-Turner."
"I'm sorry," Pleione said, a little breathless. "Sirius Black acknowledged me as his heir. I'm not Eleanor Seymour anymore. I'm Pleione Black."
Berenice nodded with a small, satisfied smile. Adrian just blinked.
"He did what now?"
Pleione launched into the whole story—Grimmauld Place, Stygian House, the ritual in the Black Family Crypt.
"And now Mother's working on clearing his name," she finished. "She's furious Dumbledore hasn't done a thing. Sirius is innocent. Pettigrew's the one still out there."
"The Dark Lord grows stronger," Berenice murmured. "The future darkens with each passing week. Your mother had better hurry."
A cold shiver ran down Pleione's spine. It always did when Berenice used her Sight.
"And Snape is going to teach me Occlumency," Pleione added. "I insisted after Dumbledore arranged it for Harry."
"Good," Adrian said. "It's hard to learn, but useful. Especially after… well, everything."
They all remembered the prophecy from June.
Berenice changed the subject briskly. "Adrian, did you look over the Chaser strategy I owled you?"
"Looked good," Adrian replied. "But Malfoy's concentration is shot. Can't focus on anything but his hair. Let me deal with him first."
As the Hogwarts Express rolled northward through the countryside, the conversation slipped into familiar territory—Quidditch, coursework, old gossip. Adrian and Pleione soon began a spirited game of chess, while Berenice reclined with her head in Adrian's lap, thumbing through a worn leather-bound book.
And for a little while, everything almost felt normal again.