A Rosier Legacy (HP AU M-SI)

Before I could answer, Sirius shook his head, and a faint smack echoed through the drawing room. He had slapped himself.

"No, no. I was always careful," he stated hoarsely after a moment of staring. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Patrik Evan Rosier," I introduced myself, amused. "You wrote me a letter. It was so insolent that I didn’t even feel like replying. Who would express gratitude to someone who pulled them out of hell in such a manner?"

"What do you want and how did you get in here?" he repeated the question, scowling as he downed the rest of the amber-gold liquid.

"To get to know you, of course. Our houses were allies for centuries," I shrugged while he sized me up with suspicion.

He didn’t offer me a seat. He just glowered as if I were the one who had personally locked him in Azkaban.

"How did you get in? Kreacher was ordered not to open the door to anyone," he spoke after a while, muttering something under his breath about "fucking journalists."

"I simply walked in... A lovely house-elf and your mother welcomed me," I smirked and sat down in the armchair directly opposite him.

A heavy silence settled in the room. He grew tired of staring at me without a word, so he reached out, opened a glass bottle of Firewhiskey, and poured himself a generous amount. He ignored me entirely—why did I even expect any hostly courtesy from him?

"Kreacher!" I called out into the void.

The elf materialized instantly with a deep bow. He waited for my command in silence.

"A glass," I commanded calmly. "And make sure it’s crystal clear."

He bowed deeply and disappeared with a quiet crack. I could feel Sirius’s gaze literally burning through me, but I ostentatiously ignored him. Instead, I examined the Black family tree on the wall from a distance. I saw several blackened, burned-out spots on it, and I was certain that one of them belonged to my mother.

Kreacher reappeared and placed a crystal-clear glass on the table before me. While mine was luxurious, polished, and without a single smudge, Sirius’s—though also made of expensive glass—looked neglected. It was unwashed, full of stains and dust... and that was filth that the whiskey certainly couldn't have caused.

"How is it that the little shit listens to you like that?" Sirius spoke hoarsely as soon as the elf disappeared.

The bottle of whiskey remained open on the table. I kept my hands resting calmly in my lap, fixed my eyes on it, and forced it to rise into the air between us telekinetically. With a slow, perfectly fluid motion, it tilted and poured a decent amount for me. It wasn't magically demanding, but it required absolute precision and mind control. I handled it without hesitation.

"Pff, even old Arcturus could manage that, nothing special," he scoffed disdainfully, though I could clearly see by the twitch in his facial muscles that it had internally caught him off guard.

"Hm, how is it that he listens to me?" I repeated his question, completely ignoring the comment about Arcturus. "A little genuine kindness works wonders sometimes," I smirked at him amusedly.

"I must be really out of it if it even crossed my mind that you could be my son..." he paused for a moment and then added with a biting mock: "With that moronic smirk of yours, you look like a carbon copy of Evan. Just as smug and self-satisfied."

"Your mother thought I was your son, too," I shrugged and took my first sip from the glass.

It was incredibly strong. Tears immediately welled up in my eyes and a fire ignited in my stomach. I never cared much for hard liquor, but now—for the greater good—I had to drink.

When Sirius saw my sharp reaction to the Firewhiskey, he let out a barking laugh.

"Uncle Alphard poured me one at exactly your age. I reacted the exact same way back then," he remarked, a melancholic expression settling on his face accompanied by his first truly genuine smile.

I let him get lost in his memories and remained silent. Slowly and more carefully, I took another sip. This time I handled it much better, as I already knew what I was getting into. However, this magical spirit burned much more aggressively than the Muggle Gentleman Jack I was mentally comparing it to.

A pleasant fire spread through my whole body. Truth be told, I was enjoying it. The dim light of the drawing room, alcohol after long years, absolute peace, and no rushing. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine my best friend Bran in that chair instead of Sirius. For a moment, I felt as if I had gone back in time, back to my own reality.

The silence, however, was broken by Sirius again after a while. He looked me straight in the eyes and asked coldly: "What do you actually want, Rosier?"

I shrugged. "I'd had enough of everything. Based on the stories circulating about you, I decided to come visit. I consider it a way to unwind." I raised my glass, gesturing a toast toward him, and added: "Cheers!" I downed the rest.

"What could possibly be troubling a little brat?" he asked mockingly.

"What troubled little Sirius Black when he ran away from home to the Potters?" I hit back.

I was starting to feel a bit too relaxed. The armchair was exceptionally comfortable and the world around me was beginning to blur slightly. The Firewhiskey was doing its job.

"Touché," Black nodded. He repeated my movement with his glass. "Cheers!"

Silence fell in the room again. It would have been boring, but I was enjoying the alcoholic intoxication and was in the mood for some fun.

"So, how are you enjoying your freedom?" I brought up amusedly. "Any pretty women in your life?"

"James is dead, Frank is in a coma, Remus is lost, and Peter... Peter is dead," Sirius scoffed and scowled again. "And the others from school? For a whole decade, they thought I was a murderer and a traitor." He paused for a second, but under my expectant gaze, he continued: "Everything is fucked. I’m alone and drinking in a filthy house that I hate from the bottom of my soul... And pretty women? Where would I even meet them? So that’s exactly how I’m enjoying my freedom," he admitted with a hint of quiet despair. "And now I’m here drinking with a brat from the family of my former enemy... A joy to be alive," he added with pure sarcasm.

"You can always find new friends," I shrugged. "At your age, it's perfectly normal to be alone."

"How can you know anything about my age?" he laughed mockingly, but it was just a staged deflection. There was a storm in his eyes that I ignored with a smile.

"I read a lot," I laughed amusedly. "But seriously. They locked you up when you were about twenty? If we set aside that decade in Azkaban, it’s completely common to find oneself in a situation like this. During school, you have plenty of friends and acquaintances, but after school, paths diverge. Everyone has their job, people are tired and prefer to mind their own business... So only the truly strongest friendships survive. The more years pass since school, the more that circle shrinks. Add starting families to that, when people are glad they have time to raise kids... So I guarantee you that at your age, you aren't the only one who ended up like this," I finished the monologue with a broad smile.

My glass was empty, so I telekinetically forced the bottle to refill us. I hit Sirius’s glass without any problems, but mine? In that alcoholic haze, I missed a bit and spilled some whiskey on the table. I brushed it off with a smile and managed to pour it on the second attempt.

Sirius watched me, frowning. The despair had vanished from his eyes for now. He raised his glass. I did the same and, for the first time, reached out toward him. With a smirk, he accepted the challenge. The quiet clink of our glasses echoed through the drawing room and we drank at the same time.

"If you didn’t look like a kid, I might actually take you seriously," Black admitted after a moment.

"Well, you should have said that right away!" I blurted out with a laugh and stood up. "Wait a moment."

I felt his puzzled gaze on my back as I walked out of the drawing room into the hallway. Right outside the door, I pulled an emerald green potion from my pocket and downed it in one gulp. It tasted disgusting and bitter, but it worked instantly. I felt myself growing rapidly and my clothes beginning to tighten uncomfortably. Quickly, I summoned my wand.

"Verto!" I added a good dose of power to the spell to hit every piece of fabric at once and transfigured the tight clothes into a Roman toga. I don’t know why, but at that moment, it felt incredibly funny.

"Kreacher!" I called out after a moment.

The elf appeared instantly, his eyes bulging like tennis balls. "Young master?" he asked uncertainly.

"A mirror, Kreacher, now!" I commanded and took a step forward.

At that moment, however, I stepped on something that yanked the back of my head down and swept my legs out from under me. I tumbled toward the floor and only just managed to catch myself against the wall. I straightened up with a laugh and looked down in bewilderment at what I had actually tripped over.

It was wavy, dark brown hair with faint streaks of gray. It was so long it fell all the way to the ground. With an amused laugh, I realized I had also grown a massive beard—not quite as long as Dumbledore's, but it definitely had length.

Just as I was amusedly grabbing it, Kreacher reappeared with the mirror in his hands.

I took the mirror from him and began to look at myself. It was still me, but older—I looked exactly as I had in my past life. My shredded six-pack was visible through the white toga, and veins popped on my shoulders and biceps. I was ripped, tall, and honestly satisfied. Well, except for that beard and the hair falling to the floor.

I laughed at the absurd image in the mirror for a while, but then I raised my wand and set to work on adjustments.

In the end, instead of my traditional fade haircut, I kept long hair reaching down to my collarbone. I felt like looking like some sort of barbarian, which felt incredibly funny in combination with the Roman toga. I trimmed the beard down to a three-to-four-millimeter stubble, exactly as I was used to. It was interesting to see that I was turning gray somewhat prematurely in this life as well. The wavy, thick hair gave me the appearance of a lion at this length.

When I was finally satisfied with the result, I handed the mirror to Kreacher and patted him on his bald head.

"Thank you, Kreacher. You’re a great elf," I laughed.

The elf watched me with eyes so huge that if they grew another millimeter, they’d have to explode. "I hope you’re already cleaning!"

"Yes, young master, Kreacher is cleaning, oh yes!" he began to nod and bow fervently, still clutching the mirror tightly.

"Keep it up," I nodded, patted him gently on the head again, and stepped back into the drawing room.

"What the fuck is this?!" Sirius immediately burst into a barking laugh as soon as he saw me in the doorway.

"You wanted an older me, so here he is!" I smirked at him confidently. "The Emperor of Mankind, Patrik Rosier, at your service."

"Emperor?" he smirked amusedly, sizing up my new, adult figure.

"Of course," I threw myself back into the armchair and pulled my glass toward me. "And anyone who questions it is a heretic!" I grinned at him. "So, back to the topic. What about those women? Personally, I definitely wouldn’t last a decade without sex!"

"How can you know what you’d last?" he smirked at me. "And besides... it’s hard to meet someone," he shrugged and took another sip.

"What do you mean 'it’s fucking hard to meet someone'? You live in London and there are a million bars around you!" my eyes widened.

"You mean... meeting Muggles?" he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Sure. I thought you had nothing against them," this time I raised an eyebrow, but only the left one.

"I don't, no," he reacted quickly. "James and I went to a Muggle bar a few times... but I’ve never slept with a woman without magic."

"Why not? A pussy is a pussy, Sirius. It’s not like a witch’s feels any more magical down there," I laughed amusedly. "After all, a woman doesn't need a wand to be enchanting," I smirked after a moment and took another drink.

Sirius just shrugged vaguely, so I decided to push harder.

"Surely we aren't going to sit here drinking all sad and depressed? You need to catch up on lost time and I, as your Emperor, will personally see to it! Get up!" I downed my glass in one go. Sirius, however, made no move to leave; he just watched me curiously from his chair. So I walked over to him, grabbed him firmly under the arm, and uncompromisingly hauled him to his feet.

Sirius watched me with a scowl, but I didn't care at all. I immediately pointed my wand at him and, with a quick Verto spell, transfigured his clothes into a Roman toga identical to mine.

I burst out laughing. However, when I started dragging him out of the drawing room, he didn’t protest at all—which I considered an absolute victory in my mind.

I pulled him through the hallway past the portrait of Walburga. She watched us with a scowl but didn’t utter a single sound, to which I gave her a provocative grin over my shoulder. It was already getting dark outside. It seemed I had spent quite a bit of time in the House of Black. The perfect moment for nightlife.

As soon as we hit the street, I felt the air outside had cooled down significantly, and Roman togas weren't exactly the best protection against the London chill. I ignored it completely, though. A potential cold would be sober Patrik’s problem; at the moment, the Emperor was reliably warmed by Firewhiskey.

The moment we were in front of the house, a flash of wild excitement appeared in Sirius’s eyes. Or at least it seemed that way, as my vision was already a bit blurred from the alcohol.

"Where are we actually going?" he asked while my eyes scanned the street for a ride.

Bingo. A black taxi was just passing by, and I promptly hailed it.

"Get in the back, I’m going in the front," I barked at Sirius and immediately squeezed into the passenger seat.

"Where to, gentlemen?" the taxi driver asked. Based on his tone, it was clear he was smiling amusedly under his mustache.

"To the street with the most fun!" I ordered him and pulled a fifty-pound note straight from the pocket of my toga.

"Soho it is, then," he announced with a grin and stepped on the gas.

It didn’t even take ten minutes before we found ourselves right in the epicenter of London's nightlife. All around, the neon signs of bars and clubs were glowing, their wild atmosphere immediately catching the eye. The streets were packed with people, and I clearly noticed nearly everyone turning to look at us.

And why wouldn't they? Two well-built, drunk madmen in Roman togas in the middle of nighttime London were bound to attract attention.

Honestly, when it comes to alcohol, I'm a total lightweight. While Sirius was already ahead of him, it didn't take much for our MC—given he's in a 12-year-old body—to catch a buzz.

As that buzz builds up, he makes a calculated move to drag Sirius out of the house. It's a win-win: the MC gets to unwind, Sirius gets to have some fun (and maybe even pick someone up), and their bond grows stronger in the process.

Let's see how two Romans in togas handle the night streets of London! :D

The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.

Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter

Upcoming Chapters – Already Written(16):

74. Two Romans Walk into a Bar…

75. Tactical Retreats

76. The Twelve-Year-Old Dark Lord

77. Poking the Snake

78. Of False Heroes and Tethered Minds

79. The Casual Intruder

80. The Silent Partner

81. The Black Inheritance

82. The Frequency of Intent

83. Of Blood and Thorns

84. Thorns, Wards, and Sly Foxes

85. As Peaceful and Civilized as Always

86. The Twin in the Shadows

87. Their Addiction, Our Profit

88. Fake Smiles and Sharp Instincts

89. The Path to Invincibility

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