"Did… did we get away with it?" Zabini panted, voice shaky.
"If we'd been caught, we wouldn't be standing here," Harry replied, equally breathless.
"Both of you! Shower, now! No arguments!" Anneliese's voice cut through, sharp with alarm.
"Hold on, Anneliese, I need to check the photos—" Zabini started.
"No excuses!" she snapped.
Harry and Zabini stumbled through the fireplace into Mr. Jürgen's home, drenched in sweat and grime from their Knockturn Alley escapade. Anneliese's eyes widened in shock before she herded them toward the bathroom, her fierce demeanor silencing any protest. Overwhelmed by her intensity, they obeyed like scolded children, scrubbing clean and gulping down cold tea to rehydrate.
"…So, about those photos," Zabini said later, spreading them out.
"Where were you two?" Anneliese asked, peering over their shoulders. "A bookstore? And this one's a cosmetics shop? That woman's stunning—model material. What brand is that?"
"Magical sunscreen," Harry lied smoothly.
"Really? That sounds lovely! Why didn't you grab some? I'd have given you pocket money…"
"Sorry," Harry said, exchanging a glance with Zabini. "I'll pick some up next time."
They'd told Anneliese they were photographing people for a summer homework project, a flimsy cover as they checked the developed photos for evidence. The images were crisp—incriminating proof of Knockturn Alley's illicit dealings.
"Not bad," Zabini said, impressed. "Better than Colin's shots, maybe."
Harry grinned faintly. "Yeah."
"Alright, these are yours," Zabini said, handing over the stack. "Show them to Sirius. Sorry about Daphne's dad, though."
"Got it," Harry replied, his heart heavy.
Anneliese smiled, oblivious to the weight of their actions. "I don't know much about the wizarding world, but it sounds like you boys had quite a day. Glad you enjoyed it, Zabini."
"Yeah, it was… eventful," Zabini said, shoving the photos at Harry.
Harry took the lightweight stack, its contents heavy with consequence. Looking at Zabini's bright expression, he felt this adventure couldn't be swept under the rug. He would show Sirius. The dark items they'd seen ranged from minor infractions to serious crimes, and Harry mulled over how to explain it all as he left Jürgen's house.
That evening, Sirius returned home later than usual, grumbling about tedious paperwork. According to him, a recent promotion—unwanted, he claimed—had saddled him with desk work alongside his field duties.
Complaining about a promotion? That's rich, Harry thought, though he reconsidered. Paperwork might dull Sirius's magical prowess. Feeling a twinge of guilt at the prospect of adding to his workload, Harry waited for the right moment.
"Sirius," he began, as they arranged kidney pies for dinner and Sirius finished venting about work. "Today, I went out with a friend and… got lost. Ended up in Knockturn Alley. Saw some weird stuff. Take a look."
He handed over the photos. Sirius's face darkened with anger, then softened into confusion as he studied them, glancing at Harry.
"Harry… you took these?" he asked, incredulous.
"My friend Zabini did," Harry said, silently cursing Zabini for leaving him to face the fallout.
Sirius's eyes narrowed. "Right. 'Getting lost' and 'happening to have a camera' to capture this? That's a stretch."
Harry braced for a lecture, but Sirius's expression shifted to curiosity, even admiration. "How'd you pull it off without getting caught? This is meticulous work. A miracle, really."
"Invisibility Cloak and silencing runes did the trick," Harry admitted.
Sirius's stern look softened, a spark of pride in his eyes. "Impressive nerve, Harry. Well done."
Inside, Sirius's inner child rejoiced, seeing James Potter in Harry's daring. The Invisibility Cloak, runes, and magical camera—tools James might've used. Executing such a plan unnoticed took guts, and Sirius couldn't help but admire it.
That's James's son, he thought, a pang of longing hitting him. God, I wish I could work with James again.
Unbeknownst to Sirius, his feelings ran deeper than he realized. As Harry's godfather, he'd balanced Ministry work, political maneuvering, and bowing to men like Lucius to protect his last friend's legacy. Over time, James had become a mythologized figure in Sirius's mind. Every glimpse of James in Harry stoked a desire to work alongside him, a wish tainted by guilt—guilt for actions that had robbed Harry of his father. Sirius couldn't confess that to Harry.
For Sirius's honor, he didn't fully grasp these emotions. He genuinely wanted Harry to grow into a Gryffindor ideal: despising dark magic, helping the weak, and challenging injustice with strength. Yet, unconsciously, he saw James in Harry's every move.
"Still," Sirius added, voice firm, "this was reckless. If you want to protect your friends, steer clear of stunts like this."
"Sorry, Sirius," Harry mumbled.
Thankfully, Sirius didn't call him James. Harry accepted his punishment—cleaning duty—and dinner passed warmly. Sirius's interest shifted to Zabini.
"Harry, you and this Zabini—any career plans?" he asked.
"Uh, I'm into magical artifact research," Harry said. "Zabini? No clue. Probably hasn't decided."
Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "From what I've heard, you two might be cut out for Auror work or cracking down on dark items, like me."
"You think?" Harry said, skeptical. "Bit biased, aren't you?"
"Not really," Sirius replied earnestly. "At your age, pulling this off? That's potential."
"You're still green, but you could surpass me one day. If you're interested, don't get caught by some lowlife and ruin it. I could have Zabini over, show him the ropes—dangerous parts and the exciting bits."
Harry crossed his arms, picturing Zabini dozing through History of Magic. "I'll mention it to him. Don't get your hopes up."
"No pressure," Sirius said, but inwardly, he felt a spark of success.
Harry leaned toward research, but OWLs were years away. Sirius hoped to pique Zabini's interest in fighting dark forces, gradually drawing Harry in too.
His plan worked better than expected. Zabini, hearing from Harry, eagerly agreed to Sirius's lessons. Harry, less enthusiastic, found himself increasingly intrigued by collecting dark items.
Before summer ended, Harry cleaned the Black family manor, wearing a Sneakoscope Ron had sent from Egypt as a birthday gift. Sirius and Marida bustled about, mending torn curtains and steadying a rickety chandelier. Harry's wandless cleaning—scrubbing corridors by hand—was punishment for his Knockturn Alley antics. The manor, crumbling with age, was neglected by its house-elf, Kreacher, who had little interest in maintaining an empty home. Cobwebs and dust greeted Harry at every turn.
As he polished Phineas Nigellus's portrait, pretending to sleep, the Sneakoscope screeched, startling the portrait awake.
"What's that?!" Phineas barked.
Harry silenced the device, scanning the room. Unlike Azrael's model, Ron's Sneakoscope was smaller but overly sensitive, blaring at dark magic or danger without volume control. It had wailed when Harry first unwrapped it.
He spotted Kreacher, the aged house-elf, muttering curses against Sirius while preparing a bucket and water for Harry's cleaning. A locket dangled from Kreacher's neck.
"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said. "Sirius ask you to do this?"
Kreacher's muttering grew bitter. "…Kreacher is but a lowly house-elf, serving the Black family. If the young mistress ensures pureblood lineage, I obey her commands…"
"Marida, huh? Say hi to her for me," Harry said.
"…Harry Potter, in Slytherin. The young mistress, too. Yet that man… why only him…" Kreacher's voice trailed off, resentful.
Kreacher's loyalty to Sirius was nonexistent, and Sirius returned the coldness, barely acknowledging him. Harry tried to be polite, noting Kreacher's recent warmth toward Marida. For Kreacher, the Black family's legacy—whether Sirius's heir would continue it—mattered deeply. Marida, a pureblood (though not of the Sacred Twenty-Eight) and Sirius's fiancée, had earned his respect by affirming the Black family's history. Kreacher stood a bit taller than when Harry first met him.
Still, Kreacher's grumbling and venomous mutterings persisted. Harry watched him shuffle away, continuing his cleaning.
Maybe things will get better, bit by bit, Harry thought. Or maybe it's too hard.
Lost in thought about Kreacher's feelings, Harry didn't dwell on why the Sneakoscope had triggered.