@blackinnonmicros father's day
The morning began with delicious aromas that filled the entire kitchen. The pungent scent of cinnamon intertwined with the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee, which in turn was rivaled by the aroma of homemade pastries. Sunlight, persistent like guests who had finally realized they were truly welcome, streamed through the tall, narrow kitchen windows. It slid across the ancient stonework of the walls, gilded the carved wooden panels, and played with highlights on the polished copper pots hanging above the stove.
Marlene stood by the massive cast-iron stove, gently stirring oatmeal in an enamel pot. Her movements were measured; sometimes she would dance a little, quietly humming one of her favorite songs. All the while, she was diligently pretending not to notice anything, but out of the corner of her eye, she had been watching two small silhouettes in the living room for half an hour.
Cassiopeia was only seven years old. Her blonde curls, just like her mother's, softly framed her face, and her gray, attentive eyes, inherited from her father, looked focused and businesslike. She directed the process with almost adult responsibility: carefully measuring the length of the ribbon on the gift box, smoothing every curve of the satin ribbon with her fingers, and furrowing her brow if something seemed less than perfect. In those moments, she reminded Marlene of Sirius when he was assembling his first motorcycle.
Nearby, on the soft, plush rug by the fireplace, little Alphard sat — he had just turned five. He was intently gluing bright stars, cut from colored paper, onto a homemade card. The little boy carefully applied glue, aligned the shapes, checking that the edges were straight. From time to time, he would stick out the tip of his tongue in concentration, freeze for a moment, critically examine the result, and then, with an important air, add another star — a little higher, then to the left, striving for a perfection only he understood.
"Just don't make any noise," Cassiopeia whispered to her brother, pressing a finger to her lips. She frowned so amusingly, pursing her lips and tilting her head slightly, that Marlene barely stifled a smile. "Dad's still asleep. We have to finish decorating everything nicely before he comes down."
Alphard nodded quickly, and his dark fringe fell over his eyes. He took more after the Black side: thick black hair, a slender nose, and a certain profile — this always evoked a particular tenderness in Sirius. And he usually preferred not to display his soft side. Sirius could frown sternly at strangers, make cutting jokes among friends, but the moment he saw little Alphard, his expression would instantly warm.
The card, which the children had been working on for three Sundays in a row (Marlene suspected that the first version had simply been drowned in ink by Alphard, and the second had been accidentally torn by both of them while trying to out-argue each other), looked truly magical. It depicted a large motorcycle in rich brown and black tones, and behind the handlebars — a man in a leather jacket, bearing a strong resemblance to their father.
Around him were splashes of colorful paint — blue, red, gold droplets, as if frozen mid-flight. And in the bottom right corner was a sticker in the shape of a dog's paw print: apparently Alphard's personal idea — a nod to their family joke about Dad sometimes acting like a faithful dog guarding his home, and also a reference to Black's Animagus form.
"All done," Cassiopeia exhaled, placing the box on the coffee table and leaning the card against it. "Now we wait."
Marlene moved the pot to the edge of the stove, carefully took off her apron, and, after a brief hesitation, quietly clicked the Collograph. The shot turned out beautifully: two children pressed together, their impatient, radiant faces frozen in anticipation of their beloved father, staring intently at the stairs.
Marlene deftly took another shot when hurried footsteps were heard from above. Sirius came downstairs in pajama pants with a faded pattern, still a bit sleepy, with disheveled hair and light stubble. He slowly ran a hand over his face, trying to wake up fully, and automatically reached for the cup of cooling coffee sitting on the table.
But his movement stopped halfway. His gaze swept over the "altar" — the small table by the fireplace that the children had transformed into a ceremonial display: the card with the motorcycle, the box with the ribbon, several children's drawings, and a couple of Chocolate Frogs.
From the pleasant surprise, his eyebrows immediately rose, and his gray eyes filled with such warm, deep tenderness that Marlene herself almost teared up with emotion. Sirius smirked, still standing silently, processing the surprise he saw, and then, in a slightly hoarse voice, with an unusual softness, he said:
Sirius crouched down in front of the children. Cassiopeia, with an air of deliberate solemnity, handed him the card, her fingers trembling slightly with excitement. Alphard, unable to contain the tension any longer, threw his arms around his father's neck with a joyful cry:
"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"
Sirius quickly hugged his son to his chest with one arm and gently pulled his daughter close with the other. He buried his face in their hair — in Cassiopeia's soft blonde curls and Alphard's dark fringe. His shoulders trembled slightly, and Marlene understood: he was trying to hold back the emotions that had suddenly surged with unexpected force.
She clicked the Collograph again and again, capturing every moment: how Cassiopeia carefully placed her hand on Sirius's shoulder, how Alphard laughed, beaming with happiness. The most precious shots froze in the lens: the contented head of the family and the children's faces, radiant with pride and love. Pleased that their family album would now be enriched, Marlene joined the group embrace.
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