CHAPTER: 1 STRATEGIS IN THE SHADOWS
It stood as an unfortunate and inescapable reality, an undeniable truth that compelled one to draw unsettling parallels between the desolate walls of Azkaban and the foreboding aura that permeated every corner of 12 Grimmauld Place. To dismiss such a comparison might be tempting, deeming it overly sentimental or even bordering on the absurd. How could a dilapidated mansion, straight out of a Muggle horror film, be measured against the sinister reputation of the wizarding world's most dreaded prison? Azkaban, where few souls emerged with their sanity, let alone their lives, presented an environment of relentless despair, a place where only the shadows of the damned dared to tread.
While a prisoner within Azkaban could expect nothing more than a small, damp, grim, and joyless cell, Grimmauld Place did, at the very least, offer an illusion of space. Its three levels, though tainted by neglect and the passage of time, provided a canvas for a weary, bored dweller to explore. However, beneath the surface disparities, the similarities manifested upon closer scrutiny, revealing a shared essence of gloom and malevolence.
The available space for wandering within Grimmauld Place mirrored the oppressive atmosphere of a prison cell, adorned with dark, peeling wallpaper that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. A macabre collection of severed elf heads, a testament to the dark practices that had unfolded within its walls, stared hauntingly at those who dared to traverse the desolate corridors. The furnishings, drab and threadbare, seemed to exude a tangible sense of misery. If Azkaban housed some of the vilest creatures to ever roam the earth, Grimmauld Place boasted its own brand of malevolence—a house-elf who roamed, muttering about Blood Traitors and Mudbloods, and a painting of a deceased, embittered old woman who berated anyone not meeting her exacting standards.
In a single word: everyone.
To consider it uncharitable to think critically about his mother and the legacy of the Black family was an understatement, yet Sirius Black remained brutally honest. His life experiences, exacerbated by an extended stay in the cold embrace of Azkaban, had stripped away any inclination to make excuses for his less-than-exemplary relatives. Even before his imprisonment, he had found no refuge within the oppressive walls of Grimmauld Place. His family, while most had not been branded as Death Eaters, had harbored beliefs akin to Voldemort and his fanatical followers. Collectively, they had been as welcoming as a nest of hungry acromantulas, and almost as personable.
Regrettably, the decor in their ancestral home had mirrored their attitudes perfectly. It had not been a cheerful place to grow up, especially for someone who had never subscribed to their ideals.
As the sun descended in the west, casting the room in soft pastels—blends of yellow, orange, and pink—the old house momentarily appeared more inviting than it ever did at any other time of day. The room itself, though sizable, was a testament to faded grandeur. The furnishings, like the rest of the house, were threadbare, and the wallpaper, where it remained intact, was faded and gray, hardly inspiring more than a passing glance and shiver. Yet, this room possessed one redeeming feature—it was home to his loyal companion, Buckbeak, the hippogriff who was as sought after as Sirius himself.
Sighing, Sirius gently stroked the slumbering hippogriff's head before reclining in his chair. He had always disliked this house, and he couldn't recollect spending more than fleeting moments in his mother's room as a child. Even then, the room had been decaying, mirroring the house's slow descent into ruin, much like the proud history of his family. For over four centuries, the Blacks had lived up to their ominous name, gradually losing their power as they supported dark causes and embraced Pureblood agendas. Now, he was the last of his once-mighty family to bear the Black name. Of his three cousins, one had been disowned, and all had married into different families, carrying different surnames.
The weight of his family's legacy bore down on Sirius like the oppressive atmosphere of Grimmauld Place itself. The echoes of ancestral mistakes reverberated through the hollow corridors, serving as a haunting reminder of a past he could neither escape nor fully reconcile. The shadows of Azkaban, it seemed, lingered not only in the wizarding prison but also within the very foundations of his ancestral home.
The painful truth of centuries of inbreeding lingered like a specter, haunting Sirius with the realization that his family's downfall had been intricately woven into the fabric of their bloodline. His mother, a Black by maiden name and a cousin of his father, Orion, embodied the consequences of such unions. These matches, occurring far too frequently in the intricate branches of his family tree, had played a significant role in their decline. From a young age, Sirius had been determined to break free from the shackles of dark ideologies and intermarriage, hoping to alter the trajectory of his family's fate and offer his future children a more wholesome upbringing than he himself had endured.
A bitter snort escaped Sirius's lips, drawing a reproachful glance from his faithful companion, Buckbeak, before the hippogriff settled back into a peaceful slumber. Sirius's gaze remained fixed on the walls of the room, a solitary tear tracing a silent path down his cheek as he confronted the regrettable course his life had taken. There had once been so much promise, so much to anticipate, but it had all crumbled into ashes.
He found himself reminiscing about the dreams of a group of teenage boys, dreams that now seemed impossibly distant. Their sons, destined to be the first-born heirs of the Marauders, were meant to forge lasting friendships, storm Hogwarts together, and uphold their fathers' legacy of pranks, mischief, and spirited rivalries with the despised Slytherins. Their families were supposed to grow closer, forming a powerful force in the wizarding world, championing change and equality, and making the world a better place.
Yet, reality painted a starkly different picture. Pettigrew, a traitor who had betrayed Sirius's best friend to their most hated enemy; Remus, prematurely aged by his condition and the harsh life he had led; Sirius, condemned for most of his adult life for another's crimes; and James, gone for fourteen long years—all lost, their dreams reduced to nothing more than ashes.
James—how Sirius missed him! The Marauders had been an inseparable trio in their mischief and adventures, although Peter had always been somewhat of an outsider. Sirius and James had been as close as brothers, a bond stronger than any Sirius had experienced with his own flesh and blood.
A rare smile graced Sirius's face as he fondly recalled the day he first crossed paths with James. At eleven years old, Sirius had been anxious about venturing into the wider world yet terrified of remaining in the decrepit old house that had been his family's home. With limited knowledge beyond his parents' restrictive world and the few playmates from his parents' circle of friends, young Sirius held one certainty: the venomous Pureblood doctrines incessantly spewed by his mother had never resonated with him, even though his life experiences had been confined to the boundaries of his home.
Enter James Potter, an immediate political adversary of his family. Sirius couldn't help but be captivated by his new friend's self-assuredness and charismatic charm. Even at such a tender age, James possessed an undeniable presence, a trait he would later see mirrored in James's son, Harry. Their friendship ignited instantly on that train to Hogwarts, and by the time they entered the venerable halls of the ancient school, Sirius knew precisely what had been missing from his life amid the scheming and hatred that filled his family's abode.
The Sorting Hat, that ancient arbiter of fate, had undoubtedly detected Sirius's defining trait, a trait that would soon unfold before him. It required a formidable amount of bravery to stand in defiance of Lady Walburga Black, after all. Sirius had become the sole exception within the Black family, apart from Aunt Andromeda, to be sorted into a house other than Slytherin. Notably, even his great-aunt Dorea, who had defied her parents by marrying a Potter, had been sorted into Slytherin. Yet, Sirius had dared to tread into the despised territory of Gryffindor, aligning himself with the Potters, Blood Traitors, and those considered enemies of the Black family for generations.
News of his sorting had ignited a storm within his family, particularly with his mother. Howlers, vitriolic letters, and communications to the Headmaster flooded in, each one insisting that a grave error had been made. His parents even made a tumultuous Floo journey to Hogwarts, demanding the Headmaster redo the Sorting to place their eldest son back among what they deemed "proper Pureblood wizards." Dumbledore, however, stood firm, asserting that the Sorting Hat's decision was final unless a student's placement within a house became untenable, which was not the case here.
His mother, proclaiming him a betrayer of the family, had to retreat from the school in defeat. However, not before delivering a venomous and resounding declaration that he was not welcome to return home for Christmas.
"You may stay with the traitors and cowards if it means so much to you, but in my house, you are not wanted."
Sirius vividly recalled the exact words of her denunciation, the madness in her eyes, the spittle that flew from her foaming lips, and his father's icy, disapproving gaze that remained unwavering.
He chuckled bitterly, reflecting on how his mother had always been the family's spokesperson, while his father had often stood by silently in disapproval. His father, a grim, gaunt figure, rarely, in Sirius's memory, spoke up or distinguished himself in any way. Sirius couldn't be sure if this was by choice or necessity, but he suspected that his father was a stark example of the consequences of inbreeding—nothing remarkable or memorable about him.
Detached from his family, Sirius would have been adrift were it not for his newfound friendship with James Potter. Quick to identify the problem, James had sent a message to his father, receiving an invitation for Sirius to join the Potter family for Christmas. From that point forward, they became inseparable, forging a bond that mirrored that of soul-brothers. James's father, Lord Potter, had been somewhat reserved and challenging to get to know, understandable given his lifelong enmity with the Black family. However, once Sirius had the chance to become acquainted with the man, he almost became a surrogate father to a young boy in need of a role model. In a way, James's father was as responsible for shaping the man Sirius had become as James himself—certainly more so than his own father or any other family members.
This was especially true considering that Sirius had essentially abandoned centuries of family political and philosophical ideologies. Though occasionally summoned back to his parents' home (usually in an attempt to convince him of the "errors of his ways"), Sirius spent most of his time with James's family. He was formally disowned by his family at the age of sixteen. His father passed away just a year after he completed his education at Hogwarts, and his mother followed five years later. While his mother had disowned him, it was supremely ironic that his father had never made it official, perhaps sensing that his younger son, Regulus, was not destined for a long life as a minion of the Dark Lord (a prophetic insight in retrospect).
Due to his illegal incarceration, Sirius retained his rights as Lord Black upon his father's death, regardless of his time in prison. If his father had officially disowned him, Draco Malfoy, as the nearest relation to his father, would have assumed the title of Lord Black, significantly bolstering the already prosperous, albeit relatively young, family's fortunes and prestige.
The portrait of his mother now hung in the entrance hall of the old house, a constant reminder that seemed placed there solely to torment Sirius. The first time he had ventured back into the house after his escape from Azkaban, his mother had praised him for finally "seeing the light" and betraying the Potters to his so-called rightful lord. Her malicious and contemptuous visage had fairly glowed with delight at the thought of his closest friend's demise. The echoes of her shrieks still rang in his ears from the moment he had told her, his voice dripping with disdain, that he had not betrayed his friends and considered the monster she so readily praised as the lowest form of scum. Only the memory of her outrage brought a faint smile to his lips, as he finally gave the old woman the scolding he had longed to deliver during her lifetime.
As Sirius relished the moments of provocation directed at his mother's portrait, a habitual solace in the face of his turbulent thoughts, his mind once again drifted into the realms of memory and longing. The specter of his lost friend, James, cast an ever-present melancholy over his soul, a void that felt like an open wound, even after more than thirteen years. Sirius had envisioned beginning the healing process by forming a relationship with James's son, his godson Harry, once his name had been cleared, and he could fulfill his responsibilities. Yet, fate had different plans.
Sirius cursed his own foolishness vehemently. If only he had retained Pettigrew, bound and unconscious, until he could hand him over to the proper authorities. Ensuring the rat faced the consequences for his nefarious deeds would have changed everything. With Pettigrew proven alive, Sirius believed the Wizengamot would finally be forced to grant him the long-delayed trial, and the miscarriage of justice could have been rectified with Veritaserum. Then, he could have gained custody of Harry and fulfilled the vow he had made to James as a young man: to protect and watch over his young son. The nagging doubts suggesting he hadn't been in any shape at the time to be responsible for a teenage boy were conveniently pushed aside and ignored.
No, instead, the rat had escaped, and Sirius was condemned to continue this half-life, hiding, skulking, and evading the authorities as the most hunted man in magical Britain. He yearned desperately for a way to be useful, not only to Harry but also in the fight against Voldemort. His forced exile was wearing on his nerves, already battered by years of exposure to Dementors.
The initial months of freedom had been challenging, but Sirius had persevered, driven by the need to protect his godson and bring the traitor Pettigrew to justice. Although he had failed in the latter goal, Harry's safety remained the paramount concern. Dumbledore had convinced him to find a safe haven to begin healing. His stay in the South Pacific had been restful and soothing, but his return to Britain, prompted by Harry's participation in the Triwizard Tournament, had placed him back on the run. Unable to bear being far from Harry during the tournament trials, Sirius had resumed his Animagus form and hidden in a cave in the nearby mountains. He wanted to be close to Harry in case his godson needed him, even if his mere presence could boost the boy's confidence in the wretched tournament. Between trying to support Harry and delving into James's old papers at Grimmauld Place to find a way to improve Harry's life and secretly take on his role as guardian, Sirius had managed to stay occupied enough that his own troubles had temporarily taken a backseat and been largely forgotten.
However, once those matters had been resolved, it was back to Grimmauld Place, and this time, there was no escape from the detestable old house. Even though he longed to return to the South Pacific and bask on the beach, Dumbledore had cautioned against it. Now that Voldemort had returned, despite Fudge's official denial of it, the Ministry was on high alert, looking for any signs of him leaving the country. Grimmauld had effectively become his prison, much like Azkaban before it.
The most torturous aspect of his situation was the gnawing feeling of uselessness that consumed him. He wanted—needed—to be of use to his godson. He had made a promise to James when Harry was born, and he had failed to fulfill it due to his impulsive decision to pursue Wormtail instead of caring for Harry, as was his duty. He couldn't know for sure if he would have been thrown into Azkaban without trial for betraying James and Lily, but at the very least, he would have been more coherent when the authorities arrived, rather than standing dazed amidst a warzone, shackled, and taken away before he fully grasped what was happening. He had let Harry down once, but he was determined not to repeat the mistake.
Harry—Sirius marveled at how close they had become in such a short time. The adventure at the end of Harry's third year had forged an unbreakable bond between them, one that could only have been formed under the most trying of circumstances. Despite the limited time they had spent together, their connection had only grown stronger. Looking at his godson, Sirius couldn't help but be amazed by the resemblance between Harry and his parents. He had Lily's features, most notably her eyes, which everyone commented on, but otherwise, he was the spitting image of his father. With brown eyes, Harry would have been nearly indistinguishable from James.
In temperament, though, Harry was more like his mother than his father. Lily had been introspective and studious, quiet until provoked, and then, like a storm, tempestuous in her fury but quick to calm once her anger had dissipated. Although Harry lacked the confidence of his mother, his quiet and introverted nature eerily mirrored hers. James, on the other hand, had been brash and self-assured, even at the age of eleven. He was prone to mischief, as evidenced by his later years as a Marauder, and, to be honest, something of a bully until age and experience mellowed his youthful exuberance. In other words, nothing like his quiet son, though Sirius suspected Harry's experiences with the Dursleys had played a significant role in shaping his demeanor. The mere thought of those dreadful relatives filled Sirius with rage. If he had any say in it, Harry's removal from their house at the end of the summer would be their last.
Realizing that his anger wouldn't alter the circumstances, Sirius forced himself to calm down and returned to his reflections on the past. Another pivotal figure in Lily and James's lives had been the dark and brooding potions master, Severus Snape. Sirius recognized that much of the tension between James and Snape, and the subsequent events, could be attributed to their vastly different temperaments and reactions to each other. Snape had instantly dismissed James as an arrogant Pureblood (admittedly, Sirius had to concede that there was some truth to that assessment), while James had responded by labeling Snape a "greasy git" and an antisocial loner (in this case, James had been entirely accurate).
Without a doubt, this animosity had led to an escalation in the rivalry between the two antagonists, and Snape's openly hostile and vindictive behavior toward James had been reciprocated by the Marauders. The breaking point had arrived during their sixth year when their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had made the ill-fated decision to pair them off for a dueling exercise in class. Predictably, insults had been hurled back and forth, inappropriate hexes and curses had been exchanged, and the confrontation had devolved into a full-blown battle between the two, landing both of them in the hospital wing. Dumbledore had intervened, taking both Snape and James aside and warning them sternly that their bitter feud had no place within Hogwarts. He made it clear that any further clashes between them would result in severe consequences, possibly including expulsion.
Their relationship after that point could only be described as a cold war. They avoided each other, and their professors ensured they were never paired together or left alone, especially given the volatile mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin students. This standoff continued until late in their seventh year when Snape's allegiance to the Death Eaters became evident. Sirius and Remus had discussed it and then confronted Snape one night just before curfew, without informing James or Lily of their intentions. The encounter had demonstrated the perils of crossing the Marauders, and they issued an ultimatum to Snape: stay away from Lily and James, and any attempt to contact them or harm them under Voldemort's orders would be met with lethal force. The memory of Snape, pale and trembling in the corridor where they left him, was etched into Sirius's memory almost a decade and a half later.
From that moment on, Snape had diligently avoided the Marauders. However, even though he couldn't prove it, Sirius suspected that Snape had played a role in James and Lily's betrayal. Whether he had somehow overcome their mutual animosity to recruit Peter or had provided information to Voldemort that had been crucial in targeting the Potters specifically, Sirius couldn't say for sure. But the memory of Snape on their last day of seventh year remained with him, a look of vengeful determination etched on his face. If Sirius ever discovered the truth about the events leading to his friends' deaths, not even Merlin could protect Snape from his wrath.
The sound of a chime interrupted Sirius's thoughts, prompting him to stand up and stretch. Although he had donated the old manor to the Order for use as a safe house (primarily occupied by himself and Buckbeak), it saw limited traffic aside from regular Order meetings. Sirius often found himself lost in solitary musings, so he welcomed any interruption that could break the monotony of his life.
Giving Buckbeak a final pat on the head, which the hippogriff responded to with a soft wuff, Sirius exited the room and descended the stairs into the main ground floor hallway. His arrival triggered the portrait of his mother into fits of rage, berating him once again for his "regrettable" choices. Yet, Sirius merely grinned cheekily and saluted her before walking away, leaving the silenced portrait fuming in frustration. For once, the silence suited Sirius perfectly. Smiling to himself and relishing the opportunity to taunt his mother's portrait, Sirius entered the front sitting room, where the fireplace was located.
However, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. While it was not uncommon for Dumbledore to visit Grimmauld Place unannounced, the usual twinkle in the headmaster's eye and grandfatherly smile were conspicuously absent. Dumbledore's demeanor exuded concern and anxiety.
Dumbledore's words lingered heavily in the room as Sirius absorbed the gravity of the situation. The Ministry's refusal to acknowledge Voldemort's return and their treatment of Harry as a criminal instead of a victim were clear signs that things were spiraling out of control. The need for swift and decisive action to protect Harry and others like him weighed heavily on Sirius's mind.
The mention of Harry's destiny and the hidden knowledge he possessed only fueled Sirius's determination to help his godson. He felt an increasing responsibility not only as Harry's godfather but as someone who had a unique perspective on the situation. Having been wrongfully imprisoned for years, Sirius understood the depths of corruption that could exist within the Ministry.
"What are we going to do about this, Albus?" Sirius asked, his voice firm with resolve. "Harry deserves better than to be treated as a criminal for defending himself against Dementors."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "I share your concerns, Sirius. The first step is to ensure that Harry receives a fair hearing. I managed to convince the Wizengamot to allow him to present his side of the story, but the proceedings will be delicate. The Ministry is watching closely, and we must tread carefully to avoid escalating the situation further."
Sirius leaned forward, a steely glint in his eyes. "I won't let them railroad Harry. If they want a fight, they'll get one."
Dumbledore placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder, acknowledging the intensity of the situation. "I appreciate your loyalty, Sirius, but we need to approach this strategically. Public sentiment is fragile, and we must work within the confines of the law to ensure Harry's safety."
"Law be damned when they're blind to the real threat," Sirius muttered, his frustration evident.
"Voldemort's return is a truth we know, but convincing others is a delicate task," Dumbledore explained. "We must gather evidence, build alliances, and, most importantly, protect Harry. The Ministry's denial puts not only him but all of wizarding Britain at risk."
Sirius clenched his jaw, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The looming threat of Voldemort, coupled with the Ministry's refusal to act, presented a formidable challenge. "So, we gather evidence, build alliances, and protect Harry. Where do we start?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a hint of determination. "We start by assembling a group of trusted allies—individuals who understand the gravity of the situation. The Order of the Phoenix must rise again, Sirius. And this time, we must be prepared for the battle that lies ahead."
As Sirius rested, the weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. His conversation with Jean-Sebastian, a trusted ally made during his time on the run, had further solidified his resolve. Plans, strategies, and the urgency of taking action to protect Harry and thwart Voldemort's rise to power dominated their discussion. Sirius understood that being a passive observer was not an option; they had to play an active role in shaping the future.
Lying down to rest, Sirius felt a sense of purpose and determination coursing through him. The first steps had been taken to aid Harry and the wizarding world, and he was prepared to face the challenges ahead. The road would be arduous and perilous, but he was committed to making a difference.
Across the seas, Jean-Sebastian grappled with the weight of the decisions they were making. Recognizing the gravity of the situation and the potential consequences of their actions, he understood that Voldemort's threat extended beyond borders. While it wasn't his native country facing this menace, he acknowledged the interconnectedness of the global wizarding community, understanding that the rise of the Dark Lord posed a threat to everyone.
The personal debt he owed to Harry Potter pressed heavily on Jean-Sebastian, and he was determined to honor that debt by deploying all his resources to protect the young wizard. Aware that sacrifices would be inevitable, he readied himself and initiated the preparations necessary to assist Harry and those who would rally to their cause.
The fate of the wizarding world hung in the balance, and Sirius and Jean-Sebastian were just two individuals among many who would play a pivotal role in the impending struggle. Their actions would reverberate with far-reaching consequences, and they were resolute in their commitment to do whatever it took to ensure the defeat of Voldemort's reign of terror, once and for all. The stage was set, and the battle for the future had begun.
Step into the world of PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n! Experience where tales unfold, magic ignites, and the future takes shape.
For exclusive support and early access to upcoming chapters, join us at PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n.
Note: Get the scoop a day before anyone else! Updates release on P.a.t.r.e.o.n before they hit FanFiction. Join us for free to read ahead!