“Sirius Black,” Guy said, a certain taste of disdain in his mouth. “He is young, and comes from prison it seems. Not a man I had imagined sharing my home with. If I was home, I would be with my wife and our children, not… forced to take another into my home against my better interests,” he said, that jaw still tensed. He did not consider what his choice of words had revealed, mostly because he did not often speak about himself or his own wants.
As a barrister, he’d spoken only of his clients. As a husband, he had focused mostly on his daughter and his wife, with the sons running around and taking their lessons passively from Guy’s examples. That had bent he way that Guy himself had been raised, save that there was no picture of Gellert Grindelwald on the mantelpiece and he wasn’t drunk at the fireplace yelling about how if the man had taken over their family would have been rich and happy. Guy’s money was his wife’s, he’d married her for it. And it had worked well for him. Clearly.
“It would seem that while the people here see this village as some sort of freedom, they never consider actually allowing us to make choices for ourselves. We do not pick our occupations, who we live with, or even who joins us here in this world. This is a snow globe of a prison.”