Harry was feeling more than a little worn out, especially when Sirius Black kept coming up with his wild ideas. At times like these, Harry couldn't help but feel like he was the godfather, while Sirius was acting more like his godson.
How had it come to this? Returning to this world was one thing, but not only was he mentoring apprentices, now he was practically raising a child… If Jaina Proudmoore could see him now, she'd probably be laughing her head off.
Sirius had drunk far too much the night before—so much that he completely missed the Daily Prophet the next day, which carried Rita Skeeter's articles restoring his reputation.
After the official verdict had cleared his name, and knowing she was reporting the truth, Rita Skeeter had gone all out, painting Sirius as a guilt-ridden lone hero on a path of redemption. She even took a swipe at the Ministry of Magic, declaring that even in the darkest times, one should never abandon the light in their heart. The Ministry's busy schedule and "special circumstances" were no excuse for letting an innocent man suffer.
As for Crouch's punishment, it was glossed over, with the focus instead on the shocking revelation that Peter Pettigrew, the traitor everyone thought was dead, was still alive.
The Ministry had officially issued a warrant for Pettigrew's arrest. Unsurprisingly, today's witches and wizards were likely buzzing about the fact that a man presumed dead was still out there.
As the Daily Prophet's star reporter, Rita had observed the entire trial. Thanks to Harry's influence, she hadn't exaggerated the events but had reported them faithfully.
Though he hadn't known Sirius long, Harry was certain that with Sirius's flamboyant personality, he'd be strutting around with his tail in the air once he read Rita's glowing praise.
It wasn't until nearly noon on the third day that Sirius finally stirred. When he dragged his aching body downstairs, Harry was already eating lunch.
Alfred, quick on his feet, prepared a plate for Sirius.
"How're you feeling?" Harry asked, setting down his book to study Sirius. "I gave you some potions. Any lingering discomfort?"
"Potions…" Sirius smacked his lips with a strange expression. "No wonder I had a nightmare… ugh, and my mouth tastes bitter."
"Your body's been through too much," Harry said, glancing back at the book beside his plate. "Azkaban's taken a toll on you. A couple of potions won't fix everything—you need proper care, for both your body and your mind."
After a long pause with no response, Harry looked up to find Sirius staring at him in disbelief. Then, staggering back two steps, Sirius started banging his forehead against the doorframe, muttering to himself.
"…I'm sorry, James… it's all my fault. I haven't been a good role model for Harry… Merlin's beard, look at him! He's reading while eating!"
"If I didn't know you were a Gryffindor, I'd swear you were some Ravenclaw bookworm!"
True Gryffindors often looked down on Ravenclaws, who they thought were rigid and stuffed with bookish nonsense.
"Wait, hold on," Sirius suddenly realized something was off. He strode over from the doorway, snatching the book beside Harry. "What's this? Secrets of the Blood? This—this is a Dark Magic book, isn't it?"
Feeling the book's slick cover, like touching some viscous liquid that didn't stick to his fingers, and sensing its malevolent magical aura, Sirius was ninety-nine percent certain that if anyone showed this book to an Auror, they'd earn a one-way ticket to a decade in Azkaban's deepest cells.
Compared to the Ravenclaw-like behavior of reading at the table, the fact that his godson—the savior of the wizarding world—was reading such an evil Dark Magic book was far more shocking to Sirius.
"Don't make a fuss," Harry said irritably, snatching the book back. "I know what I'm doing. It's just magical research."
"But, Harry," Sirius sat down beside him, hesitating, "every wizard who's gone down the path of Dark Magic starts by saying they're 'just researching.' That kind of magic is evil—it erodes your mind, makes you cold, ruthless."
"You know about this?" Harry glanced at Sirius, surprised. "I thought you only cared about eating, drinking, and having fun."
"I'm not joking, Harry," Sirius said helplessly. "I come from the Black family—a vile pure-blood family—so I know these things. You have to listen to me."
"Don't worry, Sirius. Dumbledore knows I'm reading these books," Harry said, invoking Dumbledore's name for emphasis. "If we don't understand Dark Magic, how can we fight it? Even Dumbledore has studied it extensively."
"Has he?" Sirius sounded uncertain. "Dumbledore… well, Dumbledore…"
"Forget that for now. You've got bigger things to deal with," Harry said, sliding a letter across the table to Sirius.
"Hey, studying Dark Magic isn't a small matter—wait, what's this?" Sirius grumbled.
"A letter from Cygnus Black," Harry replied. He'd already checked the letter for safety and skimmed its contents.
"Cygnus Black?" Sirius's face twisted as if he'd tasted something foul. "Why would he write to me?"
"You two don't get along?" Harry asked. "Who is he to you? The letter seemed sincere."
"Sincere? Hah!" Sirius let out a bitter laugh. "Let's just say we'd both rather see the other dead."
That was indeed pretty bad, Harry thought.
"Cygnus is my uncle," Sirius said with clear disgust. "I was disowned at sixteen for opposing the Black family's ideals. My dear mother called me the family's shame, and my uncles only bothered to send me Howlers at Christmas."
"Looks like things might be thawing," Harry said, gesturing to the letter. "He wants to see you."
"Pfft, no need to even read it," Sirius scoffed, already tearing the letter open. Two more rips, and it would be in pieces.
"He's dying and wants to see you one last time," Harry added quickly, before Sirius could toss the scraps into the fireplace.
Sirius froze.
Shaking his head, Harry tapped the torn pieces with his finger, and they reassembled into a whole letter.
Moving stiffly, like his bones were stuck, Sirius opened the letter and read it quickly.
The letter wasn't sentimental or heartfelt. Cygnus simply stated he was dying, that St. Mungo's healers said he wouldn't survive the year, and that he'd heard about Sirius's release from Azkaban. He wanted to see him one last time.
In the letter, Cygnus called Sirius the last male heir of the Black family.
"…Hah, now I'm a Black again?" Sirius forced a smile, crumpling the letter and tossing it into the fireplace, where it burned to ash instantly. "Black…"
Harry said nothing, while Sirius's expression darkened.
"Cygnus… he only has three daughters," Sirius said after a long pause. "You've already met one—Bellatrix. Andromeda, Narcissa."
"I know Narcissa too," Harry said thoughtfully. "In a way, we're sort of family now."
Lucius, his magical uncle-in-law.
"Hah, that's pure-blood families for you," Sirius said with a strained smile. "If you dig deep enough, you're related to everyone."
"So, are you going to see him? I can go with you," Harry offered kindly.
"No need—I mean, I haven't decided yet," Sirius said reflexively. "Cygnus is a rotten one. Like the rest of the Black family, he's all in on Voldemort's pure-blood supremacy nonsense. You get it, right?"
Harry nodded.
"…The Black family's only fallen in numbers, not wealth," Sirius muttered. "Hah, especially after we were all locked up in Azkaban, Cygnus probably hoarded plenty… I'm just going to see if I can get my hands on that money. At least I could use it to fight Death Eaters or something…"
Sirius kept mumbling, but Harry didn't comment, just watching him with a kind, almost parental gaze.
"It's your call," Harry said with a smile after Sirius took a deep breath, seeming to make up his mind. "But more important than the Black family fortune is your health. The potions I'm taking are too strong for you, and I'm short on ingredients for the ones I know. Since I'm still a student of wizarding potions, I've asked a master of the craft to help with your recovery."
"A master? Who?" Sirius asked, confused.
"Someone you know," Harry said with a mischievous grin. "A potions master."
A potions master I know—Sirius racked his brain, and though he hated to admit it, one name surfaced.
"No, no, no! Absolutely not!" Sirius crossed his arms in an emphatic X. "Snivellus will poison me! He will!"
On this point, Sirius was one thousand percent certain—Snape's desire to kill him was unquestionable.
It was a rare moment of self-awareness.
"And I'd rather die than drink anything brewed by Snivellus. Blech! Blech!" Sirius spat dramatically.
Watching Sirius's tantrum, Harry felt his temple throb—the feeling of dealing with a mischievous child was back.
"Quiet!" Harry snapped, glaring at Sirius. "What's with all this noise? I don't want to hear you call Snape 'Snivellus' or any other insulting names. And don't give me that nonsense about your old grudges—I know all about what happened back then."
"It's obvious why you and my dad targeted Snape: he was Lily Evans's childhood friend, and my dad fell for her at first sight. Don't use Death Eaters or Dark Magic as an excuse. I'm sure Snape wasn't the only Slytherin who admired Voldemort or dabbled in Dark Magic. So why single him out?"
Sirius was stunned. He felt a tangible authority radiating from Harry, and though he hated to admit it, it reminded him of the kind of presence his own father had exuded when he was a child.
"…It wasn't just him. We went after other Slytherins too… You don't fully understand… And the way you talk about James and Lily makes it sound so trivial, like it's none of your business…" Sirius muttered under his breath, but Harry didn't bother listening.
"Snape's my friend. He's helped me a lot with my potions studies, and I don't want to see you two fighting or cursing each other," Harry said simply.
"Potions as an art," Sirius said, staring at Harry in disbelief. "You've definitely inherited Lily's talent—she was brilliant at potions. But Harry, listen to yourself! You sound like a mini-Snivellus—ow!"
Sirius yelped as a small shock hit him. Harry's wand was quick.
"I told you to stop that," Harry said irritably. "Don't worry—Snape's put your old feud behind him and agreed to help. At worst, he'll just make your potions a bit bitter."