CHAPTER – 6 BLACK FAMILY MANOR
"Welcome to my neighborhood."
Sirius's enthusiastic proclamation was met with a bewildered expression from his godson and a pair of crows that took off, cawing loudly, seemingly startled by his sudden and boisterous voice.
Harry surveyed the scene before him. Thanks to the Dursleys' obsession with cleanliness and normality, he had never set foot in a place that could be described as cluttered. Whatever one might say about Petunia Dursley, she had been a fanatic about cleanliness and had tried to instill the same values in him. Her method of teaching—usually involving a frying pan to the head—left much to be desired.
The neighborhood appeared to be in a state of transformation. Many buildings were under renovation, while others remained half-finished. Tarp, drywall, and lumber were scattered about in various states of construction. And right in the middle of it all stood a massive structure of grime and weathered stone, sticking out like a sore thumb. Knowing wizards and their unconventional tastes, Harry had little doubt which of these buildings belonged to his godfather.
"That," he pointed a finger at the chaotic amalgamation of dust, grime, and decay in the center, "is your home?"
His words were delivered with an air of neutrality, but he hoped the incredulity in his tone was not lost on Sirius.
"Yup. Number 12, Grimmauld Place."
"Oh, it's grim and old, all right," Harry replied with a deadpan expression.
"I know she's a bit dusty," Sirius said, his smile tinged with nostalgia, "but she's the one. Except for the sixth-year summer I spent at the Potters' with your dad, this has been my home since I was a child."
"That's not just dusty," Harry wrinkled his nose. "That's a giant bag of diseases waiting to explode. Have you seen this place? How can..." He gestured around at the neighboring houses. "How has nobody done anything about it?"
Sirius chuckled. "That's thanks to the Mind Fog around it."
"The what now?"
"Mind Fog," Sirius repeated. "It's a ward, or more accurately, a curse on a ward. I'm not entirely clear on the details, but the gist of it is that anyone who isn't a guest of this building will find it extremely difficult to remember anything about this place, even if they're standing right in front of it."
Harry attempted to wrap his head around that piece of information. "So it's like a giant Notice-Me-Not Charm?"
"Sort of," his godfather laughed. "A Notice-Me-Not Charm can be dispelled with a strong Finite, or if the caster isn't paying attention or is weakened. This? This is a curse, always active as long as the wardstone, which is inside the house, remains intact."
Harry blinked.
"Don't worry about the details," Sirius said with a chuckle, still gazing at the building. "It's a bit of a wreck on the inside too, but between the two of us, we can do some cleaning and make it habitable again."
Harry nodded. Cleaning was something he had ample experience with. Besides, at this point in his life, cleaning a wizarding house might be the most normal thing he'd ever do. However, one question continued to nag at him.
"What about Professor Lupin?"
"What about him?" Sirius replied, his tone unexpectedly nonchalant. Sirius and Remus Lupin were supposed to be best friends. "Nothing, I just thought—"
"That because he's a Marauder and my friend, I'd invite him to live with me?"
"...yeah?"
The cheerful expression on Sirius's face faded, replaced by a strained smile. "My feelings about Remus are complicated, Harry. The truth is, I don't trust him anymore."
"What?" Harry's eyes widened. "Why?"
"Because he was my friend. No, my brother-in-arms. We were the Marauders. Peter might have been the one to betray us, but Remus's indifference hurt me even more." Sirius crouched down and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, locking eyes with him. "James, Peter, and I—we became Animagi at the age of fifteen, taking enormous risks just to make things easier for him. Hell, Lily and James even tried to set him up with businesses repeatedly after we left school. And do you know what that friend did in return?"
Sirius's expression grew even darker, his voice tinged with agitation. "He left his only remaining friend to rot in Azkaban. Ten years of friendship, and he let it all go down the drain, as if it meant nothing. Not once did he come to visit me. I would've understood if he blamed me. Hell, I blame myself. It was my idiotic decision to choose Peter as the Secret Keeper. I failed you. I failed your parents. If Remus had even attempted to curse me or, better yet, kill me in righteous anger, I would've welcomed it. I would've known that you would have someone to look after you where I couldn't. But you know what? He didn't."
Waves of anger radiated from Sirius.
"But you know what, Harry? Even then, I'd have forgiven him. Had he at least kept the sanctity of his friendship with James. With Lily. He could have checked on you all these years, but did he? No, he deserted you, just like he deserted me. He abandoned you to be abused by those animals for ten years!"
Sirius's voice had risen to a near-shout. His anger was palpable, radiating from him in waves.
"To hell with such traitors! The covenant is broken! The Marauders are no more!"
Harry paled, his eyes wide. He couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine. There was an unsettling intensity in Sirius's gaze, a tangible hatred that made him want to turn and run. And yet, at the same time, he felt a strong urge to face whatever was coming head-on, to confront it and crush it with his very...
Harry blinked.
The strange, overwhelming feeling was gone.
"Weird," he muttered under his breath.
"I'm sorry," Sirius said, his tone softer now. "I... I lost control. I shouldn't have—"
"It's alright," Harry interrupted, eager to change the topic. "So, Sirius, if I'm not a guest, how can I see and remember this place?"
"You're right; you're not a guest," Sirius replied, his cheerful expression returning. "You're family, Harry. And family is always welcome here."
Harry felt a warm tug at his heart at those words.
"Now, come on, let's go inside."
...
...
The ancestral home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was a nightmare of chaos and decay. The dilapidated building was steeped in darkness, with dampness, rust, and a pervasive odor of rot permeating the air. Soft hissing sounds seemed to emanate from obscure corners, and mounted heads of house-elves served as both decorations and dim sources of light. The entire place was at least four times larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, with long, gloomy hallways adorned with thick muslin carpets.
And snakes.
There were snakes everywhere.
Serpentine sculptures, engravings, and motifs adorned the house. They were on the candelabras, the railings, and even the doorknobs. The hallways themselves seemed to twist and curve in an eerie, snake-like manner.
Tom Riddle would have felt right at home.
"This... is where we're going to live?" Harry asked Sirius, his voice laced with uncertainty.
"Yes," Sirius replied, "this is my first time back in this place in fifteen years, right after I left my family to live with the Potters. I thought Kreacher, the blasted elf, would have kept things neater. Maybe he's passed away."
"You is not welcome here, Master."
Harry instinctively reached for his wand, his fingers ready to cast a blasting curse. Instead, he found himself face to face with a ragged, ancient house-elf that had emerged from the shadows. Unlike Dobby, this elf had long, white hair sprouting from its large, bat-like ears. Its eyes were bloodshot and watery, and its fleshy nose was large and snout-like.
"Kreacher," Sirius said, his grin returning. "Master, am I? Then you can either follow my orders or I'll give you clothes."
Kreacher shuffled forward, hunched and slow, his deep voice resonating like a bullfrog.
"Kreacher will stay despite the stain of dishonor who is now his master."
Harry blinked. Even with his limited knowledge of elves, he understood that they would rather die than speak ill of their masters. Dobby had mentioned ironing his hands and ears too many times for Harry to forget that tidbit.
"And you will not speak of this location or that we are here to anyone without my express permission," Sirius commanded. "You will obey only me and reveal none of my secrets. You will not speak to anyone without my express permission. Is that clear?"
"Kreacher obeys filthy blood-traitor Master who smells like a drain and is not worth the scum beneath Mistress's shoes..."
Harry cleared his throat.
"...if she knew the scum he had brought into this house. Mudbloods and traitors, poor old Kreacher, what can he do?"
It appeared that Kreacher was not listening to reason.
Harry tugged at Sirius's sleeve. "Uh, Sirius, maybe we should..."
Sirius continued, "And this is Harry Potter. He's a guest of this house until I say otherwise."
"Umm, hello Kreacher," Harry began.
The elf looked up at Harry's face with its large, bulbous eyes and froze in its tracks. It gave a pronounced start of surprise and began muttering faster and more furiously than ever.
"The son of blood traitors is talking to Kreacher as though he is Kreacher's master. If Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say—"
"Enough!" Sirius snapped. "You're a terrible elf! This house has gotten filthy! You're a disgrace to elf-kind."
"Kreacher always cleans," it continued to mutter. "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black. But what can Kreacher do? Nasty ungrateful swine of a Master comes home with a spawn of blood traitors and orders Kreacher around."
'Follow my orders!" Sirius asserted coldly. "You will go prepare rooms for myself and my godson, who will be staying here. Unless I call for you, you will not show your face and must stay hidden."
"Whatever Master says," the elf bowed slightly. "Kreacher will obey Master who's not fit to wipe slime off his mother's boots."
"Now, go away!"
It seemed that Kreacher didn't dare disobey a direct order. Nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled past was filled with the deepest loathing, and he muttered all the way out of the room.
Harry turned to his godfather. "That was something."
Sirius made a sour face. "Tell me about it. That elf has had it out for me since I was a kid. I thought maybe he'd have changed by now, but he's worse than ever. Alive all these years, and he's let the house rot. Still, it should be habitable after we clean it up."
Harry swiveled his neck toward his godfather. "Cleaning it?"
Sirius nodded wistfully. "This house has done nothing but gather dust and pests since my imprisonment. You'd think that elf would take cleaning seriously, but no. Honestly, I thought he died from being alone all this while, but he didn't."
"House elves die from being alone?"
"Why, yes," his godfather replied, looking a bit too cheerful for the topic. "They need a job. They obsess over it. Those that aren't very attached to the family they serve might look elsewhere for work. But take away an elf's job, and it'll go insane in a month."
Images of a certain free elf came to mind. "Are you sure? I mean, I know an elf that likes being free."
Sirius looked at him, perplexed. "That's odd. Where did you even find such a thing?"
Harry quickly recounted everything he knew about Dobby—about his servitude to the Malfoys and how he had tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing the elf at the end of the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. By the end of it, Sirius was roaring with laughter.
"I'll—" he choked out between peals of laughter as he clapped Harry on the shoulder, "I'll make a Marauder out of you yet, kiddo."
Harry grinned.
"So, where's this elf of yours?"
"Working at Hogwarts," Harry informed him. "Something about liking work more than freedom."
Sirius frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. House elves need a master, or they just perish. Though, I'd heard tales of elves going rogue, even attacking their owners. One of my squib ancestors actually wrote a book on it."
Harry blinked at that. Twice.
"My uncle Alphard used to read to me from The Brothers Grimm when I was younger," Sirius said, his voice filled with nostalgia. "They wrote about a creature called the brownie. A small, brown-nosed faery that went around in rags, helping people in exchange for food, honey, and gruel, but would mercilessly attack if paid in human currency."
"Huh? That's weird," Harry commented.
"Not to them, it isn't. For creatures like the fae, favors are the currency. Trying to pay them in gold would be blasphemous."
"Is it the same for house-elves?"
"Well," Sirius said, picking his nose, "the little buggers definitely have Fae origins. If you look at French myths, there are references to creatures called the Farfadets, though they're commonly mistaken for Wood Elves, thanks to that Tolkien fellow."
Harry's mind blanked for a moment as he realized just how little he truly knew about the magical world. For someone whose greatest pleasure had been feeling his magic surge inside him, he had procrastinated a lot. Somewhere between taking classes, Ron, Quidditch, and the shenanigans he'd always managed to get himself into, he had forgotten the true wonder of magic.
He had forgotten the sheer awe.
He remembered feeling sad about getting worse grades than Dudley in primary school, afraid that Vernon would take his anger out on him. And the mindset hadn't changed when he transferred to Hogwarts. Despite being there for years, he never truly internalized that it was magic he was studying now.
In his mind, it was just homework.
Mundane. Dull. Uninteresting.
Just when and how had that happened?
"You know what?" Sirius said, breaking Harry out of his reverie. "Maybe we'll try our luck at catching some bluebell faeries. Catch enough of those, and you can get yourself some good luck."
"Luck?" Harry echoed.
"Luck."
"...Right." Harry's expression probably showed just how much faith he had in Sirius's words. "And how exactly do you catch them?"
"With moonlight, of course," Sirius replied, as if it were common knowledge. "Back when we were in school, me and Prongs would collect and store moonlight whenever we got the chance. How do you think we became Animagi as fifth years without messing ourselves up?"
"Because you had luck?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"How do you not know this? Moths and flame, moonlight and bluebell faeries, brownies and honey. Don't Muggles read about all this in their stories?"
Harry gave him a half-shrug. Fantasy stories weren't exactly encouraged in the Dursley household, thanks to his unique heritage. "Somehow," he replied bemusedly, "I didn't think living with you would be like signing up for summer school."
Sirius's ears pinked at that. Azkaban had turned him rather pale, but a whole year of being on the run outside of Britain had helped with that.
"So…" Harry trailed off. "About the whole cleaning thing?"
"Oh, right," Sirius replied. "This house has been a mess for a decade. Obviously, Kreacher is useless, but I think cleaning would serve as an educational experience for you here."
Harry arched an eyebrow. This house—no, this mansion—was at least ten times larger than the Dursley house. A single bedroom in this place was easily twice the size of the master bedrooms back at Privet Drive.
And there were thirteen of them.
"Sirius, cleaning this will take ages."
"Bah, don't be ridiculous. A little each day, and we'll be done in a week."
Harry hummed noncommittally as he began rolling up his sleeves. A house this big, in a week? There was no way they'd be able to get it done by then.
"What are you doing?"
At Sirius's protest, he stopped and looked back at him.
"...What?"
"Why are you folding your sleeves?"
"To clean. If I don't, my sleeves will get dirty."
His godfather looked at him like he had grown two heads.
"...What?" he repeated.
"Harry," the man slowly asked, as if speaking to a dim-witted toddler. "How exactly do you think we're going to clean this place?"
"With mops? Brooms?"
Sirius smacked himself in the face, mumbling various obscenities under his breath.
"What?"
"Harry, Harry, Harry," the man sighed. "No, I should've been clearer. By cleaning, I meant using your wand."
Now, it was Harry's turn to look at his godfather oddly.
"...What?"
It was funny how their positions had changed so quickly.
"Student," he pointed towards himself. "Summer."
"And?"
Really, was it so hard to understand? The Improper Use of Magic Office had made itself very clear the last time he'd suffered from Dobby's care. For some reason, he'd always pictured Mafalda Hopkirk—the one in charge of that office—to be some kind of large, cartoon tomcat, waiting outside the mousehole for the little mouse to stick its nose out so she could smash it flat with one big paw.
He'd know. He'd been that mouse.
"I use magic, I get expelled."
"Nonsense," his godfather snorted. "This is the House of Black. You can fight a literal war here, and the Ministry wouldn't know a damn thing."
Surprisingly, that felt better. Harry was reminded of that cartoon cat show Dudley used to watch on television. The cat always ended up getting the short end of the stick when chasing after the mouse. Maybe the Ministry would too.
It took another moment for Sirius's words to actually sink in.
"Sirius," Harry replied with trepidation. "Does… does that mean I get to do magic while not at Hogwarts?"
The man looked at him like he was terminally stupid. "Harry, every person living in a magical community can use magic at any time of the year. As long as they don't perform it in front of a Muggle, it's completely allowed."
That made sense.
Dobby's appearance or disappearance hadn't triggered any alarms. It was the Hover Charm, cast in the presence of the Muggles that came to visit back then, that had registered with the Office and got him reprimanded.
…Wait.
"That can't be true," Harry wheezed at Sirius. "I spent an entire month with the Weasleys back in my second year. Mrs. Weasley didn't allow us to use any magic."
"Molly Weasley is an overprotective mother-hen, even by wizarding standards," Sirius jabbed. "Besides, Ottery St. Catchpole is a Muggle-ish settlement. Having seven rowdy children to look after probably drove her around the bend and made her paranoid."
The more he thought about it all, the more it made sense. He'd seen Hagrid perform multiple spells in front of his relatives. Hell, he'd seen the Weasleys visit him in a flying car on Privet Drive, right in front of his aunt and uncle.
And those instances hadn't registered.
At all.
"So I can use magic this summer?"
"Yes."
"Freely?"
Sirius sighed. "Yes."
"With my wand? Without getting in trouble?"
"At the risk of sounding repetitive, yes."
Harry didn't wait a second longer. His wand came out with a sudden whoosh, jetting out of the brand-new holster he'd worn up his right sleeve—a gift from Sirius. He had told him to constantly practice drawing it out. Between two wizards, a faster draw could mean the difference between winning and losing in a duel.
Sirius rolled his eyes at the display. Bringing his own wand out, he summoned two butterbeer cans that came zooming in from somewhere. Harry deftly caught one with his other hand.
"Good catch!" the man praised. "Just like your dad."
Harry blushed, the compliment somehow sounding odd to his ears. All his time at Hogwarts, he'd heard the same phrase repeatedly from Snape, usually in an insulting context. The description had been used to mock him, highlight his incompetence, and his tendency for misbehavior. Every time Snape had uttered those words, it had fueled his anger.
And now, those very same words made him grin.
The fact that Sirius had switched from the formal 'father' to the informal 'dad' also made a difference.
"So, Snape," Sirius continued, a bit awkwardly. "The offer has its merits, but I'd prefer to train you myself. I was a senior Hit-Wizard before I was sent to Azkaban. I think I've got a few things under my belt worth teaching."
Harry rolled his eyes. He distinctly remembered Madam Bones mentioning how Sirius Black was perfectly capable of killing thirteen people with a single curse. Ironically, his godfather's own competence had worked against him during the accusation.
"Plus, we're in my House now. Literally and figuratively. Dark Arts are kind of the one thing this family can boast of. Well, that and psionics—more commonly known as the mind arts. It's a bit of a misnomer, since not everything in psionics has to do with the mind, per se—"
Harry coughed.
"Uh, sorry," Sirius looked embarrassed, "I got a bit carried away."
"You know, you kind of sound like Hermione."
Sirius sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I blame Lily. She made me sit down and study for an entire month during my NEWTs. She and James took notes for me while I was away gallivanting as a Hit-Wizard." He smiled fondly. "I'd have flunked my exams otherwise."
For some reason, Harry was certain the man was exaggerating.
"But anyways," Sirius clapped his hands, "enough reminiscing about the past. Let's talk about the future. Ideally, I'd want to leave all of this behind, buy a penthouse in the Bahamas, and spend the entire summer there with you."
"What?!" Harry asked incredulously. "What would I do there?"
"Have fun, what else?" Sirius asked, looking at him with a mixture of pity and incredulity. "You, my godson, have practically been walking on eggshells your whole life. You need to learn how to relax."
Right. And once he did that, he could buy himself a large green bowler hat and become Cornelius Fudge.
"I know a place where they have the best veela massage parlors, plus nice cabins by the seashore. As soon as we're done with this stupid trial of yours, we'll leave. And don't worry, we'll take separate rooms. Bro Code and all that."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"It could be fun. Though, I'd advise you not to bring your girlfriend along. Wink wink."
"Did you seriously just say 'wink wink'? And I don't have a girlfriend!"
"Oh," Sirius looked a little dumbfounded. "Well, what about Hermione?"
"She's a friend," Harry immediately went on the defensive. "That's all there is."
"Well, all the better, I suppose," he mused in a matter-of-fact tone. "Hermione seems pretty straight-laced. She'd probably throw a tantrum if you were dating and still went to a Veela parlor."
"She's not," Harry emphasized, "my girlfriend."
"Isn't that awesome? You're single and ready to mingle. Now enough chit-chat. Let's find you a room here; there's got to be someplace that's not covered in grime."
Harry just stared as Sirius strode ahead, humming a Weird Sisters tune to himself as he climbed the stairs.
Slowly, he sighed. "When in Rome..." he muttered, before quickly running after his godfather.
FOR SUPPORT AND EARLY ACCESS TO NEW CHAPTERS JOIN US ON P.A.T.R.E.O.N. PEVERELL_LEGACY