Chapter Text
Sirius dreaded entering the Wizengamot that morning. The last few days had been the most emotionally exhausting of his life, a blur of shock, grief, and decisions he had never expected to have to make.
It had begun when Lord Voldemort, acting on a prophecy he had learned of through unknown means, attacked the Potter home in an attempt to kill their infant son. The result had been the deaths of James Potter, Sirius’s best friend and as close to a brother as he had ever had, and Lily Potter, James’s wife and someone who had been almost a sister to him.
The moment the Potter house was breached, every alarm ward Sirius had placed on it went off. The implication was immediate and sickening: one of their closest friends, Peter Pettigrew, the secret keeper of the Potters hideout, had betrayed them. He apparated there immediately, but by the time he arrived it was already too late.
James and Lily were dead.
There was no sign of a struggle that had lasted long, no dramatic aftermath, just the quiet finality of bodies that would never move again. Sirius barely remembered crossing the house, his thoughts narrowing to a single, dreadful certainty.
With a sense of growing horror, he opened the door to Harry’s room, fully expecting to find his godson’s body alongside theirs.
Instead, Harry was alive.
The child stood upright in his cot, unhurt, a fresh lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. On the floor nearby lay Lily Potters dead body, as well as Lord Voldemort’s wand and robes, empty, as though their owner had simply ceased to exist.
Somehow, by magic no one yet understood, Harry had survived. More than that, he had destroyed the most feared Dark wizard Britain had ever known.
In that moment, when he saw Harry looking frightened and confused but undeniably alive, Sirius made a decision.
Instead of going after the traitor, instead of hunting down Peter Pettigrew and avenging the brother he had just lost, he chose Harry.
He lifted his godson carefully, cradling him against his chest, and apparated away from the ruins of the Potter house. Moments later, they were back in Sirius’s small London flat, a place he had bought a few years earlier with money left to him by his uncle Alphard.
The days that followed were spent doing what Sirius could to impose some kind of order on a life that had abruptly collapsed and reformed around a single, fragile centre. Harry needed feeding, changing, and constant watching. Sirius needed sleep, clean clothes, and to work out how one was meant to raise a child when one had never planned on surviving past thirty.
It became obvious almost immediately that the small flat was not going to be enough. Harry deserved more than a hastily warded sitting room and a bedroom that barely fit a cot. If Sirius was going to do this properly, he needed access to the Black family’s remaining assets.
That meant taking up the title of Lord Black.
It was not a decision he made lightly. Sirius had spent most of his life doing the opposite, putting as much distance as possible between himself and his family. He had run from Grimmauld Place at sixteen and never looked back, choosing the Potters over the name he had been born into. Becoming the head of the House was the last thing he had ever wanted.
But Harry changed the calculation.
His mother’s reaction, when Sirius informed her of his intention during a brief visit to Grimmauld Place, was immediate and spectacular. She screamed, raged, and wailed that a blood traitor, a disgrace to the family, could never be Lord of her Noble and Ancient House. Kreacher was little better, muttering darkly and carrying on in a way that would have been almost comical under different circumstances.
It ended when Sirius, for the first time in his life, put his foot down.
He informed his mother that he was the head of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, whether she liked it or not, and that she should be silent. He informed Kreacher that he would listen and obey from this point forward.
And, to Sirius’s own surprise, they did. Their relationship didn’t improve, but at least through this Sirius was able to enter Grimmauld Place without having to fight his mother and the old crazy elf every time.
At the same time, the Ministry began to make itself impossible to ignore. Notices arrived daily, each one demanding his presence before the Wizengamot to discuss Harry’s custody. Dumbledore, in particular, seemed incapable of letting the matter rest. Not a day went by without his bloody phoenix bursting into Sirius’s home in a shower of flame, a letter clutched in its talons and some carefully worded attempt to persuade him to hand Harry over to Lily’s remaining relatives.
Little Harry, unfortunately, found the bird endlessly entertaining.
Sirius did not.
And so, after days of arguments, interruptions, and a rapidly thinning supply of patience, Sirius Black found himself standing before the Wizengamot after Dumbledore officially requested an official custody hearing.
He was dressed in the finest robes he owned, chosen with care rather than taste. They were formal, severe, and unmistakably traditional, the sort of thing expected of a Lord. It was necessary. He needed to look imposing if he wanted to secure Harry’s custody, and appearances mattered in a room like this.
The cut and style were not accidental.
They echoed his father.
Orion Black had died barely a year earlier, a committed blood supremacist and, by any reasonable measure, a deeply unpleasant man. Sirius had spent most of his life doing everything he could to be unlike him. And yet, if there was one thing Orion Black had understood, it was how to command a room. Where he stood, fear, respect, and attention followed.
Now Sirius stood in much the same way.
His posture was straight, his expression carefully controlled, the remnants of pure-blood upbringing rising to the surface despite years of deliberate rejection. He hated how easily it came back.
I hate this, he thought bitterly.
Still, the image of his father witnessing this moment, Sirius Black, Lord of the House he had disgraced in every way that mattered, was oddly satisfying. If Orion Black could see him now, he would be spinning in his grave.
The thought earned Sirius a brief, internal chuckle. It didn’t make the situation good, but it made it marginally more bearable.
“Lord Black.”
Minister Millicent Bagnold cleared her throat.
Sirius looked up at her. She sat in the high chair at the front of the chamber, surrounded by the half-circle of seats reserved for the permanent members of the Wizengamot. She had only been sworn into office a few months earlier and had inherited the last and worst weeks of Voldemort’s terror, the strain of it was etched clearly into the lines at the corners of her mouth and the faint shadows beneath her eyes. And yet, despite having almost certainly spent more than twelve hours in the Ministry already, she held herself with rigid composure, back straight, shoulders squared, hands resting calmly on the arm of the chair. Her dark hair, streaked faintly with grey, was pinned into a severe knot at the base of her neck, and her robes were immaculate in cut if not in freshness, as though she had not bothered to change since morning.
Beside her sat a young scribe who looked as though he had not left that chair since dawn. Ink stained the cuffs of his sleeves and the side of his writing hand, and deep shadows hung beneath his eyes. His hair was rumpled, his collar slightly crooked, and the quill between his fingers trembled faintly with exhaustion. Everything about him suggested someone new to the work and very clearly not yet accustomed to the pressure of a country still catching its breath after war.
All around her, the members of the Wizengamot who were not currently on the run as marked Death Eaters or confined in Azkaban were seated as the judges of the proceedings, dressed in deep plum robes trimmed with silver and looking nearly as worn as the Minister herself.
On the benches reserved for counsel sat a variety of people, all of whom either wanted direct custody of Harry or had their own ideas about what should be done with the Boy Who Lived. Right in the middle sat Albus Dumbledore, one of the chief causes of Sirius’s current troubles and very likely the main instigator of today’s proceedings. His eyes still held their familiar twinkle behind half-moon spectacles, and his robes were as flamboyant as ever, a rich violet scattered with silver, yellow, and orange stars that shimmered faintly in the chamber’s light. His hands rested comfortably upon the small table before him, and the calm, unshakable air he carried was, under the circumstances, deeply unnerving.
Next to him sat Andromeda Tonks. Sirius allowed himself a small smile at the sight of her. She had helped him more than anyone in the past few days and had been instrumental in finally kicking him into action and forcing him to take up the mantle of Lord Black, after chastising him for hours about the need for a proper and safe home for Harry, and teaching him, with remarkable patience, how to care for an infant. She and Ted Tonks were, along with Remus Lupin, the only people Sirius trusted with his godson’s life.
As if summoned by the thought, the old wolf himself sat beside Andromeda. They had decided that the more of them who appeared, all of whom had some claim on Harry, in one form or another, the less likely it was that anything underhanded would be attempted. Remus looked utterly exhausted; the full moon had been only two nights ago, but he had refused to stay away.
At the end of the row sat the dowager, Augusta Longbottom. As Alice Longbottom and Lily had been close friends, and Neville was Lily’s godson, the Longbottoms were also considered a possible household for Harry’s placement. Given both tradition and the fact that Sirius was Harry’s godfather, Augusta would almost certainly support him, provided Dumbledore had not already been whispering in her ear. A number of others sat scattered among the benches, most of them entirely unknown to Sirius and likely present only on the off chance that they might somehow gain custody themselves. A few, however, bore the unmistakable look of Dumbledore’s allies and would probably back whatever the old wizard proposed.
The Minister continued.
“Today is the twenty-third of November, nineteen eighty-one. My name is Minister Millicent Bagnold, and we are gathered to determine the custody of one Mr Harry James Potter, born on the thirty-first of July, nineteen eighty, to James Potter and Lily Potter, née Evans, who both tragically died on the thirty-first of October, nineteen eighty-one.”
The scribe struggled to keep pace, quill scratching furiously across the parchment.
“Lord Black,” the Minister said, looking directly at Sirius, “am I correct in understanding that Harry Potter is currently in your custody?”
Sirius straightened slightly. In moments like this, he reminded himself, he needed to sound like his father, calm, unyielding, and utterly certain of his own position.
“Yes, Minister,” he replied evenly.
Dumbledore’s eyebrow lifted a fraction by his formal tone.
“Where is he currently and how did you come to have him in your custody?” Bagnold continued.
“He currently is looked after by a family friend, Ted Tonks, while I am here.” The Minister nodded.
“On the night in question,” Sirius continued, “the Potter residence was breached following the betrayal of Peter Pettigrew. I was alerted immediately due to a number of additional wards I had placed on the house with the consent of James and Lily Potter. I dressed and apparated there at once.”
He paused briefly, just long enough to let the weight of what followed settle.
“When I arrived, I found James Potter deceased on the staircase. Lily Potter and the remains of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were in Harry’s room. I took my godson into my care and brought him to my home. Shortly thereafter, I contacted Auror Amelia Bones so that a formal record of the events could be made.”
The Minister nodded, her gaze dropping to the report laid out before her.
“You are the sworn godfather of Mr Potter, is that correct?” the Minister continued.
Sirius inclined his head. “Yes, Minister. The necessary documentation was completed and magically sealed by James and Lily Potter on the fifth of November, nineteen eighty. I swore, on my life and my magic, that should anything ever happen to them, I would care for Harry as if he were my own child, or, if I were unable to do so, ensure that he was placed somewhere he would be safe.”
The Minister exhaled slowly, the sound sharp and unmistakably frustrated.
“Then,” she said, turning her head to look directly at Dumbledore, “I must admit I am unclear on the purpose of this hearing. As far as I can see, Lord Black is not only a suitable candidate for custody, but the obvious one. I fail to see why this matter requires further debate.”
At that, Dumbledore rose from his seat.
He smoothed his robes as he stood, his expression calm, almost kindly, and when he spoke his voice carried easily through the chamber.
“I do not dispute that Sirius is Harry’s godfather,” he said gently. “However, I believe there are extenuating circumstances which make Lily’s sister, Petunia Dursley and her husband, a more appropriate choice for the child’s upbringing.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed.
What is the old man playing at? he thought angrily not for the first time.
He knew Petunia Evans. Lily had spoken of her often, and never kindly. Their relationship had soured completely once Lily received her Hogwarts letter, Petunia’s resentment curdling into open hatred, not just of magic, but of Lily herself. Sirius had met her and her husband only a handful of times, but that had been more than enough.
Every look they had cast at Lily, James, and Sirius himself had carried the same message: that their very existence was an affront.
They had refused, without explanation, to attend Lily and James’s wedding. Lily had not been invited to Petunia’s own marriage to Vernon Dursley. Every attempt Lily made to reconcile had been ignored or rebuffed outright.
The thought of Harry in their care made Sirius shudder.
He did not want to imagine the life his godson would be forced into, the neglect, the bitterness, the quiet cruelty. If the Dursleys did not abandon him outright, leaving him on the steps of an orphanage, they would make sure he knew exactly how unwanted he was.
“Madam Minister,” Sirius interrupted.
Had anyone else spoken out of turn, it would have been taken as a breach of decorum. Coming from a Lord, it was read for what it was: confidence, and the expectation of being heard.
“I am familiar with Petunia Dursley and her husband, Vernon,” Sirius continued evenly.
“They are Lily Potter’s Muggle sister and brother-in-law. I fail to see why Professor Dumbledore would advocate for Harry to be placed in their care. They had no meaningful contact with Lily in recent years and maintained a deeply resentful attitude towards her and towards magic in general. Placing Harry in their care would put him in a very bad enviroment.”
The Minister studied Sirius for a moment, her expression unreadable.
“Mister Dumbledore,” she said at last, turning to him, “can you confirm or deny knowledge of these circumstances?”
If Dumbledore was unsettled by being questioned so directly, he did not show it. His expression remained calm, almost indulgent.
Still, Sirius knew his former Headmaster was not accustomed to being challenged like this.
“Petunia Dursley is not a simple woman,” Dumbledore said mildly. “On that, I believe we are in agreement. However, I do not believe she would be incapable of loving her sister’s son as her own.”
He folded his hands in front of him, his tone calm, almost conversational.
“I would also remind the Wizengamot that many of Lord Voldemort’s followers,” several people flinched at the name, “remain at large. They pose a very real threat to Harry Potter’s life. Placing him with his closest blood relatives would allow for the enactment of protective measures so old and so thorough that no magical person could reach him with intent to harm.”
“Does anyone else present have knowledge of Petunia Dursley?” the Minister asked, addressing the chamber at large.
Remus Lupin rose from his seat.
“I knew her,” he said calmly. “I visited Lily at her family home during the summer after our fifth year and encountered Petunia on several later occasions. I am inclined to agree with Lord Black. While the proposed magical protections may be effective, I do not believe they outweigh the emotional harm such an environment would pose to a child.”
A ripple of reaction moved through the chamber.
Several members of the Wizengamot scoffed openly. Others leaned towards one another, muttering just loudly enough to be heard, werewolf, unreliable, can’t be trusted.
Dumbledore’s pleasant expression tightened almost imperceptibly, as though he had bitten into an unexpectedly sour lemon drop. One of his strongest allies had just spoken against him.
“I also knew her,” Andromeda Tonks said, rising in turn. “I met Petunia Dursley during the last visit Lily made to her sister, in nineteen seventy-eight. Based on that meeting, I support Lord Black’s position.”
A murmur ran through the rows of Wizengamot members once more, this time noticeably more sympathetic to Sirius’s position.
Dumbledore seemed to sense the shift immediately. He rose again, a touch more urgency creeping into his otherwise measured demeanour.
“Minister,” he said, “I firmly believe that Harry Potter would benefit from being raised in a Muggle environment. The pressure and notoriety now resting on his young shoulders would be profoundly unhealthy for a child. It is for that reason that…”
“...which is precisely why,” Sirius cut in.
He met Dumbledore’s gaze directly, the familiar twinkle in the old wizard’s eyes noticeably dulled, before turning back to the Minister.
“I have already made arrangements to raise Harry away from the British magical public,” Sirius continued evenly. “We will be living at a Black property on the Continent. Far from the pressures of fame but not from the magic that is Harry’s birthright.”
There was a brief pause, just long enough for the words to settle.
“I already have a property selected,” Sirius went on, glancing briefly back at Dumbledore, a faint, unmistakable note of triumph in his expression. “And, as you are aware, I have submitted formal requests for French citizenship for both myself and Harry. I have also provided you with documentation regarding several Muggle schools and early education programmes I intend to enrol him in.”
His smile sharpened.
“The identifying details, of course, are protected by a Fidelius Charm. I am the Secret Keeper. You are the only individual outside of our immediate family with knowledge of those details.”
For the first time since the hearing began, Dumbledore looked genuinely taken aback.
The Minister nodded slowly and turned her attention back to Dumbledore.
“What Lord Black has stated is correct, I have received those informations and they are looking very promising” she said evenly. “Unless you have further information to support your position, I would ask you to resume your seat and allow the remaining applicants to be heard before we proceed to a vote.”
“I believe...” Dumbledore began.
“I am not interested in what you believe,” the Minister interrupted sharply. “Do you have any additional information that has not yet been presented?”
There was a brief pause.
Dumbledore inclined his head and sat down once more. “No, Minister. I do not.”
Minister Bagnold nodded. “Very well. Are there any further requests for custody, or statements in support of the positions already presented?”
She looked across the assembled benches.
Andromeda Tonks spoke briefly but firmly in support of Sirius. Remus Lupin followed, his statement concise and carefully worded. Augusta Longbottom added her voice, her support measured but unmistakable. A handful of others spoke as well, some at greater length than necessary, all broadly aligned with Lord Black’s claim.
A few additional candidates put themselves forward, though most were dismissed by the Minister after only a short exchange. Several others offered support for Dumbledore’s proposal, though their statements lacked conviction and did little to sway the room.
When the last voice had fallen silent, the Minister looked once more at Sirius.
“Lord Black,” she said, “as Harry Potter’s godfather, you may make a final statement before the Wizengamot votes.”
Sirius drew a slow breath.
Once again, he reached for the composure his father had once wielded so effortlessly, and, for the first time, did not resent it. He straightened his back and lifted his chin.
“Honoured Lords and Ladies,” he began, his voice steady, “Madam Minister, members of the Wizengamot, and those assembled here today, we are all in agreement on one thing. We want what is best for Harry Potter.”
A pause.
“We want him to grow up safe. Loved. Emotionally secure. We want him protected from those who would harm him, but also protected from becoming a symbol before he has had the chance to be a child.”
He let his gaze move briefly across the chamber.
“We also owe him the truth of who he is. His heritage. His magic. His parents.”
Sirius squared his shoulders.
“James and Lily Potter chose me as Harry’s godfather. They trusted me to protect him, to raise him, and, if the worst should happen, to stand in their place. I take that responsibility seriously.”
Another pause, deliberate this time.
“I am aware that some of you remember me as one of James Potter’s rowdier friends. I cannot fault you for that impression. But war has a way of forcing people to grow up. Loss does the same.”
His voice did not waver.
“A few years ago, I would not have imagined standing here as Lord Black. I did not expect to survive the war at all. But here I am. I have taken responsibility for my House, its name, and its obligations. And I have done so for one reason.”
He looked down briefly, then back up.
“Harry.”
“He is my godson. I love him as I would my own son. And I give you my word — my life, my magic, and my name, that I will do everything in my power to ensure he grows into a man who honours the legacy of James and Lily Potter.”
Silence followed.
“Let the record reflect that Lord Black has made his final statement,” the Minister said. “We will now proceed to a vote.”
She paused briefly, allowing the scribe to finish writing.
“Each member of this body is entitled to one vote. We will vote on each candidate in turn, beginning with Lord Black. Should a candidate receive a clear majority, the vote will conclude. If no such majority is reached, the two strongest candidates will be put forward for a second round.”
The chamber was silent.
“I ask the members of the Wizengamot to raise their wands and illuminate them when I call the name of the custody applicant.”
She looked up.
“Raise your wands if you believe that Lord Sirius Black, of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, sworn godfather to Harry Potter, should be appointed the child’s legal guardian.”
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then light bloomed across the chamber.
Wand after wand flared to life, the glow spreading in a near-unbroken sweep through the tiers of seating. Only a handful remained dark.
The Minister released a quiet breath, her shoulders easing slightly.
“As an overwhelming majority has been reached in the first vote,” she said, voice firm, “I hereby declare Lord Sirius Black the legal guardian of Harry James Potter.”
Her gavel struck the desk with a sharp crack.
“Lord Black, please report to the Office for Magical Family Affairs following this session to complete the necessary documentation. On a personal note,” she added, her tone softening just enough to be noticeable, “I wish you and the child all the best. What occurred was a tragedy. While nothing can replace his parents, I believe this is the best possible outcome under the circumstances.”
She turned her gaze to Dumbledore.
“Mister Dumbledore,” she said coolly, “I will require a word with you in private regarding the necessity of this hearing in a time were our resources are already stretched beyond their limits.”
Her expression was stormy.
For perhaps the first time that morning, Dumbledore looked faintly sheepish.
As the chamber began to empty, voices rising in low conversation, Sirius finally allowed himself to breathe properly. The rigid composure he had worn like armour since stepping into the Wizengamot cracked at last. He turned just in time to see Andromeda, Remus, and Augusta making their way towards him.
Andromeda reached him first. Seeing him finally deflate, she did not hesitate. She wrapped her arms around him in a firm, unapologetic embrace.
“I knew you would win,” she said quietly.
For a moment, Sirius simply let himself lean into it, drawing strength from the familiar warmth of his cousin’s presence. “Thank you, Andy,” he murmured. “I really could have done without the entire farce.”
“I imagine so,” Augusta Longbottom said coolly, tapping her cane once against the stone floor as she came to a stop in front of him. Her expression was still severe, but there was a spark of sharp indignation in her eyes. “I cannot believe Dumbledore attempted something like this. Whatever possessed him?”
She studied Sirius from head to toe, her gaze keen and unflinching.
“Though I know you are something of a devil, Sirius Black,” she continued dryly, “it would appear that a few days in the care of a child have already begun to rein you in. One can only imagine what a few years of a stable life might accomplish.”
The words were blunt, even cutting and yet Sirius recognised them for what they were. Praise. High praise, coming from Augusta Longbottom.
It was more than he had ever expected.
He stepped back from Andromeda and inclined his head in a brief, respectful bow. “Thank you, Lady Longbottom. Your trust in me is worth more than the entire Black fortune.”
Augusta snorted and promptly struck his leg with her cane lightly.
“I see that grin, Sirius Black,” she said sharply, though the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Do not test my patience.”
Sirius straightened at once, his posture snapping into something approximating propriety, though his infamous grin remained firmly in place.
“Just watch over that boy,” Augusta said at last.
She gave Sirius an appraising look, then a brief, approving smile before turning and making her way towards the exit, her cane tapping steadily against the floor.
Remus lingered. He pulled Sirius into a brief, tight embrace, thumping his back once before stepping away again.
“I’m confused about Dumbledore,” he admitted quietly. “I understood his interest in Harry after the prophecy was made, but Voldemort is dead. Why would he want to send him to Petunia of all people?”
Sirius’s expression darkened. “I don’t know,” he said. “And I don’t like it. He’s been… off, ever since the prophecy. I wish James and Lily had told me what it said, but Dumbledore claimed it was destroyed as a safety measure. If that’s true, then we’ll never know. And if I hadn’t taken up the title of Lord Black, I suspect the Ministry would have sided with him regardless. As grim as it is, the old name still carries more weight than a good argument.”
He exhaled sharply.
“All I do know is that we need to leave the country, and soon. I want Harry as far away from Britain and from the old man, as possible. He deserves a childhood without all of this hanging over him. After the last few years, I think Britain can manage perfectly well without us for a while.”
Andromeda laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ll head home. I believe Ted may need reinforcements with Harry and Nymphadora. I dread to think what sort of chaos those two have been inflicting on him.”
Sirius let out a quiet laugh of his own, the sound echoing faintly through the high stone corridor.
It was the first time he had done so in months.
“I’ll finish up the paperwork and follow you,” he said, a tired smile tugging at his mouth.
“Though knowing the Ministry, I fully expect to be released sometime between now and the next full moon. Possibly with several new forms to fill out on my way out.”
Andromeda shook her head, amused. Remus snorted under his breath.
“We await your triumphant return by Christmas, then,” Remus replied dryly.
Sirius gave a mock bow. “Tell Harry his godfather was lost in a tragic bureaucratic accident.”
That earned him another pair of quiet laughs. Andromeda reached out, squeezing his arm once in brief, familiar reassurance, and then she and Remus turned together toward the line of fireplaces.
Sirius watched them go for a moment, the corridor slowly emptying around him, before exhaling and squaring his shoulders.
As expected, the Ministry took its time.
What should have been a simple formality stretched into a procession of offices, waiting rooms, and sealed doors. Sirius was passed from one department to another, each clerk solemnly informing him that he was almost finished, only to discover that he still required yet another document, yet another verification charm, yet another stamped parchment to confirm that the previous stamped parchment had, in fact, been stamped.
By the end of it, the entire ordeal amounted to little more than two magical signatures, around twenty rolls of parchment he collected like he was on some magical quest and a short trip to Gringotts for additional documentation, but somehow, it consumed nearly three hours of his life.
The goblins, at least, were efficient.
They inspected his papers with sharp, glittering eyes, verified the Black family seals, accepted the necessary fees without comment, and returned the parchments with clipped nods. Compared to the Ministry’s endless circling, it was almost refreshing.
By the time Sirius finally stepped back out into Diagon Alley, dusk was beginning to settle over the street. The air had turned colder, the glow of shop windows reflecting off the damp stones underfoot, and for the first time since morning, he realised just how exhausted he was.
The adrenaline of the hearing had worn away, leaving only the weight of the last few days behind his eyes.
He drew his cloak more tightly around himself and began the walk toward the Apparition point, his thoughts drifting, unbidden, back to the image of Harry in Andromeda’s sitting room.
When Sirius Apparated outside Ted and Andromeda’s house, the sky had already darkened, evening settling heavily over the quiet street. He let himself in at once, shrugging off his cloak as he stepped into the familiar warmth of the sitting room.
The room was empty.
That, in itself, was wrong.
Before he could call out, hurried footsteps approached from the corridor, and Ted appeared, his expression tight with urgency.
“Sirius, it’s good you’re here. Quickly. Andromeda did a brief medical scan when we got back earlier and she found something… strange.”
Every muscle in Sirius’s body went rigid.
Without another word, he followed Ted down the narrow corridor to the back of the house, his heartbeat already beginning to pound. The door to the small bedroom was ajar. Inside, Remus stood near the cot, gently distracting eight year old Nymphadora, who had clearly been ordered to stay out of the way, while Andromeda hovered over Harry, wand in hand, low and focused, murmuring complex diagnostic charms under her breath.
When she sensed Sirius’s presence, she turned.
“Thank Merlin you’re finally here,” she said quietly. “After everything that happened today, I decided I couldn’t leave it alone. I examined Harry’s scar more closely and… I don’t know exactly what I’m seeing, but I have a very bad feeling about it. Come here.”
She gestured him closer.
Sirius stepped to her side and looked down at his godson. Under the shimmering web of the diagnostic spell, the lightning-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead was no longer merely a mark of healed flesh. Something darker clung to it, a thin, oily cloud of shadow that seeped outward, curling like smoke beneath the magic.
Cold settled in Sirius’s chest.
Andromeda lowered her voice. “Whatever it is, it’s deeply dark magic. I’ve never encountered anything like it in my healer training. I can’t remove it. I don’t even know how to begin.”
Sirius swallowed. “Is it killing him?”
“No,” she said slowly. “If anything, it’s… dormant. It reacts when I try to work on it, but otherwise it simply exists. Waiting.”
A long silence followed.
“Maybe the Black library,” Sirius muttered at last. “There are records of every known curse and affliction, some of them invented by my family. If anything like this has ever existed before, it’ll be there.” He hesitated, then looked at her. “You said you had a suspicion.”
Andromeda shuddered.
“I barely register it,” she said quietly. “It’s faint. But the structure of it… the resonance… it feels disturbingly similar to a fragment of a human soul. And the only human dark enough to leave something like that behind…”
Sirius’s breath left him in a harsh curse.
He looked down at Harry, small, warm, utterly unaware of the shadow clinging to him.
It seemed his troubles were only beginning.