Chapter 501: Number 12, Grimmauld Place
Sirius Black fell silent. It was as if he had finally found a truth he had been
subconsciously avoiding.
"The Dark Lord... he's truly coming back?" Sirius asked, his voice like dry
parchment.
Sean nodded slowly, the silence between them heavy with the weight of that
confirmation.
"Ah..." Sirius let out a low, ragged laugh. A stray beam of sunlight managed to
pierce through the heavy curtains, illuminating his sunken eyes and dark
circles. He looked, for a moment, truly unhinged.
"If that is the answer you were looking for," Sean said calmly, "then I believe
we should discuss Mr. Regulus Black."
"What could you possibly want to know about him?" Sirius eyed the young wizard
with suspicion, running a hand through his matted, tangled hair. "I don't know
much. I hated them all. Every last one of them."
"Everything," Sean replied. "I want to know everything."
"Hmph. If you're so keen on digging up old graves, follow me."
With a sudden blur of motion, Sirius vanished, and in his place stood the
massive, shaggy black dog.
Sirius found he could no longer question Sean's motives. Though the boy's
knowledge was absurdly vast, the more Sirius turned it over in his mind, the
more it made sense. A wizard like Voldemort would always trigger a
counter-force—a hero or a scholar to rise against him.
For twelve years, the resistance had been a guttering candle. Even with
Dumbledore, hope had felt distant. But now, they had this—this boy who moved
through the world like he was reading from a script.
Sirius was the type of man who chose to trust someone and would stay loyal until
his dying breath. Right now, he chose Sean.
Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
A battered door suddenly materialized between Number 11 and Number 13. Then came
the grimy walls and the hollow, gloom-filled windows. The house seemed to swell
outward, shoving the neighboring buildings aside with a silent, magical groan.
A knock sounded on the door—not from a wizard's hand, but from the paw of a
black dog.
The dog let out a low, rumbling growl and looked back over its shoulder. Behind
it, Sean climbed the crumbling stone steps, taking in the sight of the house.
The black paint on the door was peeling, covered in a network of scratches and
gouges. The silver door knocker was fashioned in the shape of a coiled serpent.
There was no keyhole, no mail slot—just the heavy, oppressive silence of a tomb.
As the dog leaned against the wood, the door creaked open on rusted hinges.
"Come in," a voice echoed from the shadows within. "But keep close. Don't touch
a single thing."
Sean crossed the threshold into a hallway that was almost pitch black. The air
was thick with the smell of damp, dust, and a sickly-sweet scent of decay. It
felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum.
A series of old-fashioned gas lamps flickered to life along the walls, casting a
wavering, sickly yellow light over peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpets.
Above them, a cobweb-shrouded chandelier glinted feebly. Tilted portraits,
blackened by age and grime, hung along the hallway. Beside the chandelier sat a
rickety table held up by legs carved like serpents.
"This is the ancestral home of the House of Black," Sirius said, his human form
returning as he stepped into the light. "The man you asked about, Regulus
Black... he was my brother. Like my parents, he was obsessed with blood purity.
They believed being a Black made you royalty by birth."
Sirius pointed a skeletal finger at a name near the bottom of a vast,
tapestry-covered wall: Regulus Black. Below the name was a date of birth and a
date of death.
"He was younger than me," Sirius said coldly. "I was constantly reminded that he
was the better son. The golden boy. And then he died. Stupid idiot... he
actually went and joined the Death Eaters."
"You and your brother... your relationship was... complicated," Will the
Pukwudgie remarked, appearing suddenly at Sean's side.
"Look at this house, Pukwudgie," Sirius sneered. "Does it look like the kind of
place that fosters healthy family bonds? Do you have any idea what kind of
wizards my people were?"
"Were your parents... Death Eaters as well?" Will asked.
"No, no... but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea. They were
all for the 'purity of wizarding blood.' They wanted to get rid of the
Muggle-borns and put the 'proper' families in charge. They weren't alone. Before
Voldemort showed his true face, plenty of people thought he was making sense."
Sirius's grin turned bitter. "But when they saw the lengths he would go to for
power, they got cold feet. They retreated. But I expect they thought Regulus was
a brave little hero for joining up at the start. Until he died."
Sirius's laugh was sharp and jarring. "Voldemort killed him. Or had him killed.
I doubt Regulus was important enough for the Dark Lord to do the job personally.
From what I gathered after he vanished, he got in too deep, realized what he'd
signed up for, and tried to back out. You don't just hand in a resignation to
Voldemort, boy. You serve for life, or you die. That's his story. A coward's end
for a fool's errand."
"Perhaps the story you know is incomplete, Mr. Black?"
Sean's voice was soft, but it made Sirius flinch as if he'd been struck.
"What are you playing at?" Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Are you calling me a
liar?"
"I found Mr. Regulus Black in a very specific place," Sean said slowly.
He waved a hand, and a large, heavy wooden box materialized on the floor. It was
long and narrow, looking for all the world like a coffin.
Sirius hesitated, his breath hitching. He reached out and pushed the lid aside.
The sight beneath was horrific—a body, ravaged by Inferi and bloated by water,
showing the signs of a truly agonizing death. Even for a man who had survived
Azkaban, the sight hit Sirius like a physical blow to the chest. He staggered
back, unable to find his voice.
"I believe Mr. Kreacher will be able to tell us a very different version of the
tale," Sean said.
With a sharp crack, a house-elf appeared in the hallway.
He was wearing nothing but a filthy rag tied around his waist like a loincloth.
He was incredibly old, his skin sagging in folds around his tiny frame. His head
was bald, but his large, bat-like ears were filled with tufts of white hair. His
eyes were bloodshot and watery, and his nose was large and bulbous, resembling a
pig's snout.
As soon as he saw the casket, he let out a piercing shriek.
"Master Regulus!"
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