Perhaps it was the distance from Hogwarts and Peter that did it, but Sirius finally stopped obsessing over revenge.
He'd bought Harry a Christmas gift and even made a quick trip home—though by his account, it was anything but pleasant.
According to him, the moment that foolish house-elf saw him, its first reaction had been disappointment, as if it were a shame Sirius hadn't been killed by the Dementors.
"If it sells me out to the Dementors one day, I honestly wouldn't be surprised," Sirius said. "Kreacher's been too deeply influenced by my mother—he's convinced I'm the disgrace of the Black family."
"Don't be ridiculous. You know house-elves can't betray their masters, no matter how much they hate them."
"Exactly. That's the only reason I dared go back there." Sirius's voice was low. "But even that's not absolute. Who knows—maybe Kreacher will turn out to be the exception."
"Then you'd better be ready to find a new place to live," Harold replied.
"Gladly. I never wanted to stay in that grim old house anyway," Sirius muttered before shifting into his dog form and leaping out the open window to lie in the sun near the end of the alley.
At Azkaban, sunshine—like chocolate—had been a rare luxury. Since escaping, Sirius had developed a fondness for both. But dogs can't eat chocolate, and neither can Animagi in canine form. So that left sunshine.
It was one of the few things that still brought him peace.
Watching the open window, Harold continued mulling over their earlier conversation.
An outlier among house-elves… That reminded him of last year's well-meaning, utterly chaotic little elf—Dobby.
Because of certain events, Lucius Malfoy had never gone to Dumbledore, so Dobby hadn't made it to Hogwarts, nor had he received that fateful sock from Harry.
Which meant Dobby was probably still stuck at Malfoy Manor.
It might be worth trying to free him.
Harold didn't particularly need a house-elf's help around the house, but he was deeply curious about their magical system.
House-elves could use magic—without wands, without incantations. Their magic operated on entirely different principles than that of wizards, and Harold had always found that fascinating.
Plus, Garrick wasn't getting any younger. Though in wizarding terms he was still "in his prime," his physical agility had undeniably declined. If Garrick ever ventured back into a magical forest, having a house-elf along might give Harold some peace of mind.
This wouldn't be too difficult—Lucius Malfoy didn't seem to care much about Dobby, and Dobby himself was desperate for freedom. It could be a perfect arrangement.
The only issue was finding the opportunity to meet Lucius Malfoy.
…
Evidently, the Malfoys didn't have a habit of spending Christmas strolling through Diagon Alley. At least, they hadn't shown up this year.
Harold and Sirius had kept an eye on the main street, but there hadn't been a single sighting.
"Told you," Sirius said disdainfully. "They spend Christmas throwing those dull, pompous balls at home."
Then, narrowing his eyes, he asked, "Why do you want to find them anyway? That family's trouble—calculating, insincere, nothing genuine about them."
"It's not that important," Harold said casually. "And honestly, I'm not exactly full of sincerity myself when it comes to the Malfoys."
"Good," Sirius replied, giving Harold a sidelong glance. "I should've known. Their kid's at Hogwarts too, right? What was his name again... Oh, Draco. What an awful name."
"You spend five minutes with a Malfoy and you'll know what they're made of. And from what I hear, that Draco Malfoy's been giving Harry a hard time, hasn't he?"
"You planning to teach him a lesson?" Harold asked, raising a brow.
"Of course not," Sirius said meaningfully. "But I am an escaped Death Eater out for revenge, aren't I?
"Avenging my master while dodging Dementors—doesn't it seem fitting that I'd punish a traitor to the Dark Lord?"
"Do what you want," Harold said offhandedly. "Just remember to steer clear of Dumbledore. Draco Malfoy is still a student at Hogwarts—he's under the Headmaster's protection. If you go too far, you'll have more than Dementors to worry about."
Sirius shuddered at the mere thought of Dumbledore facing him with wand drawn, though he tried to hide it with Harold nearby.
"Of course… I'm a grown wizard. I wouldn't stoop to a third-year's level," he said stiffly. "And I believe in Harry. He's James and Lily's son—he won't let that brat push him around."
"Instead of worrying about Harry and Malfoy, maybe you should start thinking about how you're going to explain yourself." Harold gave him a pointed look. "We're going back to Hogwarts soon. Ready to face Harry's hatred again?"
The grin on Sirius's face froze. Without a word, he transformed back into a dog and turned away, tail drooping.
"Look away all you want, but term's starting soon," Harold said coolly. "You'd better be ready."
…
That night, Sirius couldn't sleep.
He tossed and turned, haunted by the image of the hatred and anger he'd seen in Harry's face.
Eventually, he just got up and left the wand shop, lying down at the mouth of a wider alley and staring at the overcast sky until dawn.
The next morning, Harold was up early.
Tomorrow, Hogwarts would resume for the spring term, and today they had to return by train.
Normally, the post-Christmas term was more relaxed than the September start. Students who could afford it often bypassed the train by traveling straight to Hogsmeade by alternative magical means.
Many had done so in previous years—it was quicker than the train, after all.
But not this year.
The Ministry of Magic had issued a temporary decree: all returning students must take the Hogwarts Express. Portkeys, Floo travel, and Apparition were all forbidden routes, even through Hogsmeade.
Not that many would've dared go that way anyway.
These days, Hogsmeade was practically a Dementor stronghold. Those floating horrors hovered everywhere along the streets. Most students would rather take the slower train than walk past them even once.
…
(End of Chapter)