The familiar chime of the Leaky Cauldron's entrance bell rang out just moments after the Potter party had disappeared through the brick archway to Diagon Alley. Tom looked up from wiping down glasses to see a parade of Blacks entering his establishment with the sort of collective presence that made other patrons automatically step aside and begin whispering behind their hands.
Leading the procession was Orion Black, his aristocratic features carved with the sort of classical handsomeness that spoke of centuries of careful breeding, though there was something thoroughly modern about the intelligence in his dark eyes and the wry twist of his mouth that suggested he found the world perpetually amusing in ways that others missed. His commanding presence filled the space around him like expensive cologne—noticeable without being overwhelming—though there was something slightly desperate in the way his fingers drummed against his thigh, the unconscious gesture of a father hoping against hope that this outing might provide solutions to problems he couldn't solve at home.
"Honestly, Orion," came the crystalline voice of Walburga Black, whose beautiful features were arranged in their perpetual expression of aristocratic displeasure, as if she had just detected an unpleasant odor that everyone else was too polite to mention. Her dark hair was swept back in a severe chignon that emphasized the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the calculating coldness in her grey eyes—eyes that seemed to catalog every person in the pub and find them all wanting. "I cannot fathom why we must subject ourselves to this... establishment. The very air here reeks of mediocrity and questionable parentage."
Her voice carried the sort of cutting precision that could slice through steel, each word enunciated with the care of someone who had weaponized elocution lessons. There was something almost theatrical about her disdain, as if she was performing displeasure for an audience that might not otherwise appreciate the full scope of her suffering.
"Because, my dear wife," Orion replied with the sort of strained patience that spoke of years of practice, his handsome features carefully composed despite the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that suggested he was fighting either laughter or murder, "my father specifically mentioned they would be breakfasting here before proceeding to Diagon Alley. If we wish to surprise them—and more importantly, if I wish to avoid another lecture about family duty from a man who once hexed a Minister of Magic for using the wrong fork at dinner—this is where we must come."
"I fail to see why surprising them requires us to marinate in the stench of common wizardry," Walburga continued with the sort of relentless precision that suggested she had several more paragraphs of complaint ready to deploy. "Surely a properly planned meeting at a respectable establishment would be more appropriate for introducing the children to their American relation."
"Mother," came a voice from behind them, rich with the sort of carefully controlled exasperation that suggested its owner had heard this argument before and found it no more compelling upon repetition, "Grandfather specifically chose to meet them here. Perhaps he had reasons that extend beyond your comfort level."
Sirius Black stood with the sort of casual defiance that came naturally to eleven-year-olds who had discovered that quiet rebellion was often more effective than dramatic gestures. His storm-grey eyes held depths of intelligence and mischief that promised trouble for anyone foolish enough to underestimate him, and his dark hair fell in waves that no amount of pomade could entirely tame—a physical manifestation of his refusal to be completely controlled.
Despite his youth, there was something magnetic about his presence, a natural charisma that drew attention without demanding it. He stood close enough to his father to suggest genuine affection and respect, while maintaining careful distance from his mother, as if he had learned through bitter experience that proximity to Walburga often led to lectures about blood purity that could last for hours.
"Sirius Orion Black," Walburga said with the sort of deadly sweetness that had once made a Bulgarian ambassador flee the country rather than attend another dinner party, "are you suggesting that my concerns about our family's reputation are somehow... unreasonable?"
"I'm suggesting," Sirius replied with the sort of diplomatic precision that would have made his grandfather proud, though his eyes danced with barely contained mischief, "that Grandfather's judgment in these matters has yet to steer us wrong. Remember the Malfoy incident?"
"The Malfoy incident," Walburga said with crystalline precision, "was an entirely different situation that bears no resemblance to—"
"The Malfoy incident," interrupted nine-year-old Regulus Black, his voice carrying the sort of gentle authority that somehow managed to be more effective than shouting, "involved Grandfather correctly predicting that Abraxas Malfoy would attempt to serve poisoned wine at his sister's engagement party, thereby saving the lives of half the sacred twenty-eight families."
Regulus possessed the sort of ethereal beauty that belonged in Pre-Raphaelite paintings, his features delicate enough to be almost feminine yet somehow managing to suggest strength rather than fragility. His dark eyes held the same intelligence as his brother's, though where Sirius burned with rebellious fire, Regulus glowed with quiet intensity. He had mastered the art of being invisible when necessary while somehow never seeming diminished by it.
"Exactly," Sirius said with triumph, his entire face lighting up with the sort of gleeful satisfaction that suggested he had been saving that particular piece of family history for just such an occasion. "Grandfather's instincts about people and places are legendary. If he chose the Leaky Cauldron, it's because he had good reasons."
"Perhaps," said Walburga with the sort of aristocratic reservation that suggested she was not entirely convinced but was unwilling to argue with documented evidence of her father-in-law's strategic brilliance, "though I maintain that a more suitable venue could have been selected."
Following closely behind came Cygnus Black with his own family in tow, and where Orion carried himself with the sort of military precision that suggested years of managing impossible situations with inadequate resources, Cygnus had the easier confidence of a man whose wife was considerably more reasonable than his sister-in-law, and whose children were generally sources of pride rather than constant diplomatic crises.
His handsome features were lit with genuine excitement, and there was something boyish about his enthusiasm that suggested he approached family gatherings with the same strategic joy that other men brought to particularly challenging games of chess.
"I do hope we haven't missed them entirely," said Druella Black, moving beside her husband with the sort of natural grace that made other women automatically check their own posture and find it wanting. Her elegant features radiated maternal warmth, and her brown eyes sparkled with genuine excitement that made everyone around her feel more optimistic about the world. There was intelligence in her expression that suggested she was far more formidable than her gentle demeanor implied, but it was the sort of intelligence that preferred to achieve its goals through charm rather than intimidation.
"I've been so looking forward to finally meeting Hadrian," she continued, her musical voice carrying clearly over the ambient noise of the pub. "Lord Arcturus's letters make him sound absolutely remarkable—such a brilliant mind, and apparently blessed with the sort of natural leadership that emerges only once in a generation."
"He is remarkable!" came a chorus of three eleven-year-old voices, as the Black triplets chimed in with the sort of synchronized enthusiasm that only siblings could manage, their timing so perfect it seemed rehearsed.
Bellatrix Black practically bounced as she walked, her curly black hair flowing around her shoulders in wild spirals that perfectly matched her exuberant personality. She possessed the sort of natural beauty that would have been devastating if it hadn't been so thoroughly overshadowed by her explosive enthusiasm for everything around her. Her dark eyes were bright with barely contained excitement, and there was something magnificently uninhibited about her presence that suggested she approached the world with the sort of passionate intensity that made quieter people feel simultaneously exhausted and envious.
"Grandfather says Hadrian is the most brilliant boy he's ever met!" she declared with the sort of passionate conviction that only eleven-year-olds could manage, her entire body practically vibrating with excitement. "And he's been living in America, which must be absolutely fascinating! Do you think he has an American accent? Do you think he knows cowboys? Do you think he's seen a real Indian? Do you think—"
"Bella," interrupted Narcissa with the sort of superior tone that suggested she considered herself the most mature of the three, though her platinum blonde hair and delicate features made her look like a porcelain doll rather than a voice of reason. Her blue eyes were bright with curiosity despite her attempts to appear worldly and sophisticated. "Don't be absurd. Grandfather would never allow his godson to associate with... cowboys. Though I suppose American wizards might have interesting customs that differ from our own traditions."
There was something fascinating about Narcissa's attempts at maturity—she had clearly studied the mannerisms of older pure-blood ladies and was doing her best to emulate them, but her natural curiosity kept breaking through her composed facade like sunlight through clouds.
"I think it would be absolutely wonderful if he knew cowboys," said Andromeda thoughtfully, her brunette hair catching the morning light as she considered the possibilities with genuine intellectual curiosity. Her warm brown eyes sparkled with the sort of intelligence that found the world endlessly fascinating, and there was something graceful about the way she moved that suggested natural elegance rather than studied behavior.
"Think of all the stories he could tell us about different magical communities! The American magical world must be so different from ours—different creatures, different customs, different ways of doing magic. Wouldn't it be marvelous to learn about such things firsthand?"
"Girls," Druella said with fond exasperation, her maternal warmth making even gentle correction sound loving, "perhaps we should focus on making a good first impression rather than interrogating the poor boy about American wildlife the moment we meet him."
"But Mother," Bellatrix protested with wounded dignity, her dark eyes wide with the sort of sincere confusion that suggested she genuinely didn't understand why anyone wouldn't want to discuss exotic magical creatures immediately upon meeting, "questions show interest! Grandfather always says that intelligent conversation is the foundation of good relationships, and surely discussing his experiences would demonstrate that we value his unique perspective!"
"Grandfather," Narcissa observed with the sort of worldly wisdom that only eleven-year-olds possessed, "also says that timing is everything in conversation, and that the best hosts allow their guests to settle in before beginning serious discussions. Perhaps we should let Hadrian adjust to meeting us before we begin our ethnographic studies of American magical culture."
"Ethnographic studies?" Sirius repeated with delighted astonishment, his storm-grey eyes dancing with mischief. "Cissy, where on earth did you learn such a phrase?"
"I read," Narcissa replied with dignified superiority, lifting her chin with the sort of aristocratic hauteur that would have been more impressive if she hadn't been eleven years old. "Unlike some people, I believe in expanding my vocabulary beyond practical jokes and military strategy."
"My vocabulary," Sirius said with wounded dignity, "is perfectly adequate for all necessary purposes. Besides, what good are fancy words if you can't use them to talk people into doing interesting things?"
"Interesting," Regulus observed dryly, "being Sirius's euphemism for either dangerous, explosive, or likely to result in lengthy lectures from Mother about appropriate behavior."
"I resent that characterization," Sirius replied with theatrical outrage. "My ideas are educational! They advance the boundaries of human knowledge!"
"They advance the boundaries of human stupidity," Walburga said with crystalline precision, though there was something almost fond in her exasperation, as if even she couldn't entirely disapprove of her son's creative thinking. "The house-elves are still traumatized from your last 'educational experiment.'"
"That was a completely unforeseeable accident," Sirius protested with the sort of wounded innocence that fooled absolutely no one. "How was I supposed to know that combining Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder with concentrated essence of billywig would create a cloud that not only blocked out light but also made everyone within fifty feet temporarily unable to stop giggling?"
"Perhaps," Orion suggested with paternal amusement, "the warning label that specifically mentioned potential psychoactive effects might have provided a clue."
"Details," Sirius said airily, waving his hand with aristocratic dismissal, "are for people who lack vision and the courage to push the boundaries of magical innovation."
"Innovation," Walburga repeated with the sort of dangerous sweetness that made small children hide behind furniture, "that left the entire east wing of our home uninhabitable for three weeks."
"But think of the scientific data we gathered!" Sirius said with genuine enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up with the sort of passionate intensity that suggested he had actually learned something from the experience. "We now know that billywig essence can be weaponized for crowd control, that house-elves are surprisingly resistant to psychoactive substances, and that Grandfather has an absolutely magnificent laugh when he's not trying to maintain his dignity!"
"You made Grandfather giggle?" Bellatrix asked with wonder, as if this was the most remarkable achievement she had ever heard of.
"For twenty minutes straight," Sirius confirmed with pride. "He kept trying to lecture me about responsible spell-crafting, but every time he opened his mouth, he'd start laughing again. Eventually, he just gave up and went to his study to write in his journal about 'the inherent chaos of genius.'"
"That," Druella said with genuine amusement, "sounds exactly like something Arcturus would do. He's always been fascinated by unconventional thinking, even when it causes considerable inconvenience."
"Especially when it causes considerable inconvenience," Cygnus added with fond exasperation. "Father has never met a complicated problem he didn't want to make more complicated by applying creative solutions."
"Speaking of Father," Orion said with the sort of subtle redirect that suggested years of practice managing family conversations, "perhaps we should focus on locating him and the Potter family before they finish their shopping and return home."
As they approached Tom's bar, Orion stepped forward with the sort of natural authority that commanded attention without demanding it, his aristocratic features arranged in lines of polite inquiry that somehow managed to convey both courtesy and expectation.
"Tom," he said, his voice carrying easily over the ambient noise of the pub, "I don't suppose you've seen my father this morning? Arcturus Black? He would have been traveling with the Potter family."
Tom's toothless grin widened as recognition dawned, and he gestured toward the passage to Diagon Alley with obvious satisfaction and the sort of professional pride that suggested he had been particularly impressed by his recent customers.
"Ah, Mr. Black! Just missed 'em, you did—not five minutes past, the whole party went through. Both the Lords Potter and their wives, young Master James, Professor McGonagall, and the birthday boy himself. Lovely group, very polite, very proper. Lord Arcturus and Lady Melania were with 'em, of course. Tipped well, too, which is always appreciated in this establishment."
"Five minutes?" Walburga said with the sort of aristocratic displeasure that suggested the universe had personally conspired against her convenience, her grey eyes flashing with irritation. "We've missed them by a mere five minutes? After all the effort required to organize this expedition?"
"Mother," Sirius said with the sort of carefully diplomatic tone that suggested he had learned to manage her moods through years of trial and error, his storm-grey eyes bright with barely contained excitement, "five minutes isn't very long at all. If we move quickly, we can easily catch up to them in Diagon Alley. It's not as if they've vanished into the ether."
"The boy's absolutely right," Cygnus said with decisive authority, his handsome features lighting up with determination and the sort of paternal strategy that suggested he had considerable experience organizing successful family operations, "They'll be starting with Gringotts, most likely, then moving on to wand selection at Ollivander's. If we move quickly and efficiently, we can intercept them at the wand shop."
"Oh, how absolutely thrilling!" Bellatrix exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm as her dark eyes sparkled with anticipation and barely contained excitement. "We're going to surprise them! Do you think they'll be pleased to see us? Do you think Hadrian will like us? Do you think James will want to be friends with Sirius? Do you think—"
"Bella," Andromeda interrupted with fond exasperation, her warm brown eyes dancing with amusement as she regarded her sister's explosive enthusiasm, "perhaps we should actually locate them before we begin planning the social dynamics of our introductions."
"But planning is absolutely crucial!" Bellatrix protested with the sort of passionate intensity that suggested proper preparation was a matter of life and death. "Grandfather always says that failing to plan is planning to fail, and I absolutely refuse to fail at making a good impression on our American cousin! What if he thinks we're boring? What if he finds English customs strange? What if—"
"What if," Narcissa interrupted with the sort of practical wisdom that came from being the most organized of the three sisters, "we stop borrowing trouble and simply focus on being ourselves? Surely that's impressive enough."
"Technically," she continued with the sort of precise correction that suggested she had inherited the Black family's attention to genealogical detail, "Hadrian isn't our cousin anyway. His mother Dorea is Grandfather's sister, which makes him our... first cousin once removed? Or is it second cousin? The exact relationship is somewhat complex."
"Does the precise terminology really matter?" Regulus asked with genuine curiosity, his dark eyes bright with interest in family genealogy but pragmatic about its practical applications. "He's family, regardless of the exact degree of relationship, and surely that's what's important."
"All family relationships matter," Walburga said with the sort of crisp authority that brooked no argument, her grey eyes sharp with the kind of focused intensity she typically reserved for discussions of blood purity and social hierarchy. "Proper understanding of family connections is essential for maintaining appropriate social relationships and ensuring that bloodlines remain properly—"
"Pure," Sirius finished with barely concealed irritation, his storm-grey eyes flashing with the sort of rebellious fire that suggested he had heard this lecture far too many times to find it compelling, "Yes, Mother dearest, we're all painfully aware of your views on bloodline maintenance. Could we perhaps discuss something else for once? Like the weather? Or the fascinating architectural features of this establishment? Or literally anything that doesn't involve genetic purity?"
The temperature around their group seemed to drop several degrees as Walburga's beautiful features hardened into lines of aristocratic displeasure, her grey eyes glittering with the sort of cold fury that had made her infamous even among other pure-blood families for her ability to freeze social gatherings with a single look.
"Sirius Orion Black," she said in the sort of crystalline voice that could cut glass and had been known to make grown wizards apologize for things they hadn't done, "you will not take that tone with me in public. The importance of blood purity is not a matter for casual dismissal—it is the foundation upon which our entire society rests, the cornerstone of magical civilization, and the—"
"Walburga," Orion interrupted with the sort of quiet authority that somehow managed to be more commanding than shouting, his dark eyes holding a warning that made even his formidable wife pause mid-lecture, "perhaps we could continue this philosophical discussion at home, in private. We are, after all, in public, and we have family to catch up with."
His voice carried the sort of steel that suggested he had reached the end of his patience with public displays of family drama, and there was something in his posture that indicated he was fully prepared to physically remove his wife from the premises if necessary.
The reminder of their location seemed to penetrate Walburga's righteous fury, though her posture remained rigid with aristocratic offense. Her grey eyes swept the pub as if suddenly remembering that other people were present and might be forming opinions about the Black family based on this exchange, and her expression shifted to the sort of icy composure that was somehow more unsettling than her open anger.
"Of course," she said with crystalline precision, each word carefully enunciated as if she was speaking to someone of questionable intelligence, "we mustn't keep your father waiting. I'm certain he has important matters to discuss."
"Right then," Tom said with the sort of cheerful obliviousness that suggested he had learned to ignore family drama in favor of focusing on practical matters and maintaining customer satisfaction, "you'll be wanting the passage to Diagon Alley. Just tap the brick three up and two across from the rubbish bin—but you know that already, I'm sure."
"Indeed we do," Cygnus replied with diplomatic warmth, clearly trying to restore some semblance of family harmony while simultaneously moving everyone toward their destination, "Thank you, Tom. Your assistance is always appreciated. Come along, everyone. Let's see if we can catch up with Father and the Potters before they finish their shopping."
As they made their way through the crowded pub, Druella fell into step beside Walburga with the sort of careful diplomacy that suggested years of practice managing her sister-in-law's volatile moods and strong opinions.
"I'm absolutely thrilled to finally meet Hadrian," she said with genuine warmth, her brown eyes bright with maternal anticipation and curiosity, "Lord Arcturus's letters make him sound utterly remarkable—such intelligence, such natural leadership qualities, such sophisticated understanding of complex magical theory for someone so young. I think our children will benefit enormously from his friendship and influence."
"Assuming," Walburga replied with the sort of aristocratic reservation that suggested she was withholding judgment pending further evidence, "that his American upbringing hasn't corrupted his understanding of proper pure-blood values and social expectations. Foreign influences can be... problematic, particularly when they involve exposure to inferior magical communities."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Sirius muttered under his breath, his storm-grey eyes rolling with theatrical exasperation that suggested he had reached his absolute limit for pure-blood rhetoric before ten o'clock in the morning.
"What was that, dear?" Walburga asked with the sort of sweetly dangerous tone that suggested she had heard every word and was providing him with a generous opportunity to explain himself before she escalated to more serious consequences.
"Nothing, Mother," Sirius replied with the sort of carefully neutral tone that suggested he had learned diplomatic survival skills through bitter experience and considerable practice, "I was simply... clearing my throat. Perhaps I'm developing a cold."
"How convenient," Walburga observed with crystalline precision, "that your 'cold' only manifests when we discuss matters of family importance."
Bellatrix, who had been listening to this exchange with the sort of wide-eyed fascination that suggested she found family drama endlessly entertaining and educational, suddenly grabbed Narcissa's arm with explosive enthusiasm.
"Oh! Oh! Do you think Hadrian and James will want to be friends with Sirius?" she asked with the sort of innocent curiosity that suggested she genuinely didn't understand the undercurrents of tension swirling around them, "We're all the same age, and Grandfather always says that proper friendships are built on shared interests and mutual respect rather than social obligation!"
"I hope so," Druella replied with genuine warmth, her maternal instincts clearly extending to her nephew despite his complicated relationship with his mother, "Sirius is a bright, charming boy with a wonderful sense of humor who deserves friends who appreciate his many qualities."
The compliment made Sirius's entire posture straighten with surprised pleasure, his storm-grey eyes lighting up with the sort of hopeful excitement that suggested he rarely received such unconditional support from adults in his immediate family.
"Do you really think so, Aunt Druella?" he asked with carefully contained eagerness, his aristocratic composure cracking just enough to reveal the eleven-year-old boy beneath who desperately wanted to be liked and accepted for who he was rather than who others wanted him to become.
"I know so," Druella replied with maternal certainty, her warm brown eyes sparkling with genuine affection and absolute conviction, "Any boy who can match wits with your grandfather, make him laugh until his sides hurt, and then convince him to write three-page letters about 'the inherent chaos of genius' is clearly someone worth knowing."
"Grandfather really writes about me?" Sirius asked with wonder, as if this was the most remarkable news he had heard in months.
"Constantly," Cygnus confirmed with fond amusement, his handsome features warming as he regarded his nephew with genuine affection and pride, "Your letters are the absolute highlight of his week. He reads them aloud to your aunt and me whenever we join him and mother for breakfast, and we all end up laughing until we can barely breathe. Last week we nearly choked on the eggs when he read your analysis of why Dungbombs represent the future of strategic warfare."
"Really?" Sirius's voice cracked slightly with emotion, and for a moment his carefully maintained composure crumbled entirely to reveal just how much he needed to hear that someone found him genuinely entertaining rather than merely tolerable or problematic.
"Really," Andromeda confirmed with gentle certainty, her warm brown eyes bright with cousin affection and genuine admiration, "Grandfather is always quoting your observations about... well, about everything. Last week he spent fifteen minutes at dinner explaining your theory regarding the strategic applications of various joke shop products in asymmetrical warfare scenarios."
"That was a very sophisticated analysis!" Sirius protested with wounded dignity, though his eyes were dancing with mischief that suggested he was tremendously pleased that his military theories were being taken seriously by adults with actual strategic experience, "The element of surprise is absolutely crucial in any conflict situation, and conventional weapons are so... conventional."
"Indeed it is," Orion said dryly, though his tone held genuine affection for his eldest son's creative thinking and innovative problem-solving approaches, "which is why we're hoping your new friendships might channel that strategic mind toward less... aromatic applications of your considerable talents."
"Father," Sirius replied with the sort of wounded innocence that fooled absolutely no one but was somehow charming anyway, "I would never use my considerable powers for mere mischief. All my experiments serve the greater good of advancing human knowledge and understanding of magical theory."
"Of course they do," Narcissa said with the sort of superior tone that suggested she found her cousin's explanations endlessly amusing, "which is why the house-elves still refuse to clean your room without full protective gear and hazard pay."
"That was one isolated incident!" Sirius protested with theatrical outrage, his storm-grey eyes sparkling with the sort of unrepentant mischief that suggested there had been considerably more than one incident, "And technically, the lingering effects completely dissipated after only three weeks!"
"Three weeks," Regulus added with fond exasperation and the sort of precise memory that made him an excellent witness to his brother's various adventures, "during which no one could use the entire east wing of the house without risking serious respiratory distress and potential hallucinations."
"Minor details," Sirius said airily, waving his hand with aristocratic dismissal, "that pale in comparison to the groundbreaking research data we collected about the interaction between various magical substances and domestic architecture."
"Groundbreaking," Walburga observed with dangerous sweetness, "being an unfortunately literal description of what happened to the floor of your laboratory."
"The floor was structurally unsound anyway," Sirius replied with impressive confidence, "I merely identified a pre-existing weakness through innovative testing methods."
"You blew a hole through three floors," Regulus pointed out with the sort of precision that suggested he had been present for the disaster, "and into the wine cellar."
"Which improved the ventilation considerably!" Sirius said triumphantly, "Father, you said yourself that the cellar had been too stuffy for proper wine storage."
"I said that," Orion admitted with resigned amusement, "before you created a crater that required three months of repair work and a team of specialist curse-breakers to ensure the structural integrity of the entire manor."
As they reached the passage to Diagon Alley, Cygnus stepped forward to tap the appropriate bricks with practiced ease, his wand work smooth and efficient despite the distraction of family banter.
"Now then," he said with paternal authority, his handsome features bright with determination and strategic planning, "As I mentioned they would likely start with Gringotts for vault access before moving on to Ollivander's for wand selection. If we move quickly and efficiently, we should be able to intercept them at the wand shop during what promises to be a fascinating process."
"And then," Bellatrix said with explosive enthusiasm, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation and barely contained excitement, "we can finally meet the famous Hadrian Potter and see if he's truly as brilliant and remarkable as Grandfather claims, or if family pride has colored his descriptions!"
"Oh, he's brilliant," said a new voice from behind them, and they turned to see a witch in emerald robes with a distinctly amused expression, "but perhaps not quite in the way your grandfather described."
"Professor McGonagall!" Druella exclaimed with delighted surprise, "Whatever are you doing here? I thought you were with the Potter party?"
"I was," McGonagall replied with the sort of dry amusement that suggested she had just witnessed something particularly entertaining, "but I've been sent back to collect additional supplies. It seems young Hadrian's magical signature is rather more... robust than initially anticipated."
"What does that mean?" Sirius asked with immediate fascination, his strategic mind already working on the implications.
"It means," McGonagall said with a smile that promised excellent stories, "that we may need to visit every wand shop in Diagon Alley before we find something that won't explode the moment he touches it."
The Black family exchanged glances of pure delight. This was going to be even more interesting than they had hoped.
---
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