The Last Protection: Harriett Potter's Legacy

Chapter 39: Letters and Legacies

The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the Black family estate, casting long streaks of golden light across the wooden floors. The faint rustling of leaves outside was the only sound, save for the occasional crackling of the fireplace. The estate, while grand and imposing, felt almost hollow in its vastness. Sirius sat alone in the study, a steaming cup of tea growing cold on the desk as he reread Harriett’s letter for the third time.

Her words were vibrant, filled with excitement about Beauxbatons, her new friends, and her classes. Yet, Sirius couldn’t help but feel the pang of her absence. The house wasn’t the same without her.

"Dear Dad,
I hope this letter finds you well. Beauxbatons is breathtaking—like something from one of those Muggle storybooks we used to read. Everything here feels magical in a way that’s different from home. It’s less strict, more... graceful. But I think you’d like it, even if the professors do insist on us maintaining perfect decorum.

I’ve made a friend—Amélie. She’s brilliant, and she reminds me a bit of you. She’s quick-witted and always has a cheeky retort ready. The classes are challenging but enjoyable, though Potions... well, let’s just say I’m no Lily Potter in that department.

Flying lessons, however, are another story. I can feel you with me when I’m up there, Dad, like I’m finally free of everything weighing me down. I miss you, though. I miss our evenings by the fire and the way you always made me laugh when I had a bad day. Please write soon.
Love, Harriett"

Sirius traced a finger along her signature, her careful script so similar to Lily’s. A soft smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He missed her fiercely.

A knock broke the silence, and he glanced up just as the door creaked open to reveal Orion Black. Sirius straightened in his chair. Despite the recent thaw in their relationship, Orion’s presence still carried an air of authority that Sirius couldn’t entirely ignore.

“Brooding again, are we?” Orion said, stepping inside with a raised brow.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Just reading Harriett’s letter.”

“Ah,” Orion replied, his tone softening. He walked over to the armchair opposite Sirius’ desk and lowered himself into it with the grace of someone who had spent decades commanding attention. “How is she?”

“She’s doing well,” Sirius said, folding the letter carefully. “Loving her classes, making friends... but she misses home.”

Orion nodded thoughtfully. “As she should. This is her first time away from everything she’s known. It’s natural.”

“She’s only eleven,” Sirius said, his voice tinged with frustration. “She’s still a child.”

“And yet, she’s already proving to be remarkably resilient,” Orion pointed out. “She’s a Black, Sirius. Strength is in her blood.”

Sirius leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “She’s also a Potter. Her strength comes from both sides.”

“Of course,” Orion said smoothly, though his lips twitched in faint amusement. “Still, she’s thriving, and that’s what matters. You should be proud.”

“I am,” Sirius admitted. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken thoughts filling the room.

“You know,” Orion began, his voice quieter, “if you’re so concerned, there’s no reason you can’t visit her.”

Sirius frowned. “I don’t want to disrupt her. She needs space to grow, to find her own footing.”

“Perhaps,” Orion said, steepling his fingers. “But a brief visit could provide reassurance—for both of you. There’s a balance to be struck between giving her independence and reminding her that you’re always there.”

Sirius considered this, but before he could respond, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable voice of Andromeda calling out.

“Anyone home?”

“In the study!” Sirius called back, his voice lighter than it had been moments ago.

Andromeda appeared a moment later, her sharp eyes immediately assessing the room. “Ah, the Black men deep in thought. Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re here to lecture me,” Sirius said, smirking.

Andromeda laughed as she settled onto the sofa near the fire. “Not today. I thought I’d check in on my favorite cousin—and my favorite uncle, of course,” she added with a teasing glance at Orion.

“Careful, Andromeda,” Orion replied dryly. “Flattery only gets you so far.”

The three of them fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about old family stories and debating the finer points of wizarding politics. For a brief moment, the weight of Harriett’s absence lifted, replaced by the comfort of family.

As the afternoon turned to evening, Andromeda left, and Orion retreated to his study, leaving Sirius alone by the fire. He stared into the flickering flames, Harriett’s letter resting on the table beside him.

Finally, he reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write.

"Dear Harriett,
It’s wonderful to hear that you’re settling in at Beauxbatons. I knew you’d thrive there, though I admit, it’s strange not having you here. The house feels... quieter without you. Even Kreacher seems to miss you, though he’d never admit it.

Don’t let Potions get you down. You’re more than capable, and I know you’ll figure it out. As for flying—I’m thrilled to hear you love it as much as I do. There’s nothing quite like the freedom of the skies, is there?

Things here are much the same. Orion is his usual stoic self, and Andromeda keeps us all on our toes. Remus stops by often—he sends his regards, by the way. I think he misses you, too.

Take care of yourself, my love, and remember: you’re never alone. I’m always just a letter away.
Love, Dad"

He sealed the letter with a flick of his wand and attached it to the waiting owl’s leg. As the bird took flight, disappearing into the night, Sirius leaned back in his chair, the weight of the day pressing on him.

He thought of Harriett, so far away yet always in his heart. He thought of her laughter, her determination, and her fierce spirit. No matter where she was, Sirius knew he would do everything in his power to support her.

And though the house felt emptier without her, it also felt full of promise—for her future and for the family they were rebuilding, one day at a time.