Hogwarts – Great Hall
Morning of 1st November 1981
After a restless night haunted by nightmares, Sirius Black woke up, his face etched with exhaustion and the raw pain of losing James and Lily. Yet, for a brief moment, the sight of Harry's bright smile as he babbled happily in his cot offered him some respite.
By instinct, he cast a Tempus to check the time before reversing the transfiguration on his clothes. Taking Harry into his arms, he noticed a note stuck to the door with a Sticking Charm, inviting him to have breakfast in the Great Hall.
When he entered, carrying an uncharacteristically quiet Harry, a heavy silence immediately fell over the room. Every pair of eyes, students and professors alike, were fixed on them—or rather, on the child.
A quick glance around told Sirius the reason for this attention: a Gryffindor student was holding up a copy of the Daily Prophet, its front page clearly visible. His throat tightened, but he strode towards the High Table, meeting the gazes of the many professors present.
He recognised most of them, except for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, a notoriously unstable position. As he walked further in, the faces grew more familiar. Only Dumbledore seemed indifferent, absentmindedly poking at his fried eggs, but Sirius knew the old wizard was taking in every detail.
The expressions of Minerva McGonagall, Horace Slughorn, and Filius Flitwick made his heart clench. He knew how much those three had cared for James and Lily. He let his gaze sweep across the rest of the staff:
• Rolanda Hooch, the flying instructor and Quidditch referee, stood out with her short grey hair and sharp, hawk-like eyes. A former Quidditch champion, she had led the Holyhead Harpies to victory for a decade.
• Pomona Sprout, short and plump with greying hair, was the head of Hufflepuff and taught Herbology with great passion.
• Silvanus Kettleburn, covered in scars and prosthetics, bore a resemblance to Alastor Moody. As the Care of Magical Creatures professor, he had a pragmatic and straightforward approach.
• Sybill Trelawney, with her oversized round glasses and bohemian attire, taught Divination. Sirius regarded her bitterly—hers was the prophecy that had changed so many lives.
• Quirinus Quirrell, with short blond hair and grey-green eyes, taught Muggle Studies. Sirius vaguely remembered him from Hogwarts and had always found him pleasant.
• Bathsheda Babbling, a mature witch with dark chestnut hair and hazel eyes, taught Ancient Runes.
• Septima Vector, a young woman with long black hair and dark eyes, had been teaching Arithmancy since Sirius's seventh year.
• Aurora Sinistra, with ebony skin and chocolate-brown eyes, wore her hair in a bun under a wide-brimmed pointed hat. She had started teaching Astronomy at the same time as Septima.
• Amit Thakkar, far older than Dumbledore himself, headed the Astronomy Department with surprising energy.
• Sophronia Franklin, just as aged as Amit, taught Ancient Studies, her thick glasses framing a shrewd gaze.
Seeing so many professors gathered, Sirius realised how much the war had affected Hogwarts. Once, every major subject had two teachers, and students could take part in numerous extracurricular activities. But the conflict had decimated the staff, reducing their numbers and leaving some disciplines on the verge of extinction.
As he walked past the table, Sirius met the dark, disdainful gaze of Severus Snape, filled with contempt and resentment. He knew his old nemesis, whom he mockingly called "Snivellus," was now the Potions Master. Sniffing disdainfully—a tic ingrained in every Black—he ignored him and took a seat between Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore. A high chair appeared beside him instantly.
As soon as Harry was seated, the Great Hall erupted into a cacophony of voices. Exclamations, murmurs, and shouts echoed from all directions, under the astonished gazes of the professors and Argus Filch, who had appeared in the doorway with Mrs Norris at his feet. Unexpectedly, the usually taciturn caretaker raised his voice:
"Shut it, you lot! This isn't a bloody henhouse! Show some respect!"
Silence fell instantly. Albus Dumbledore observed Filch with understanding. He knew all about the man's tragic past: the last heir of a family of skilled defensive magic users, Argus had been cast out upon the discovery of his Squib status. At eleven, his parents had tried to dispose of him, but living in Godric's Hollow, Dumbledore had intervened just in time and ensured their imprisonment.
Filch had grown up in the Muggle world but never truly belonged there. At seventeen, he had sought work in the magical world, and Dumbledore had offered him the position of caretaker at Hogwarts. Since then, he had become a staunch defender of Squib rights and a leading voice in the Free Squibs Movement. The war had scarred him deeply, as Death Eaters had hunted down and exterminated his kind like vermin. To him, Voldemort's downfall marked the end of a nightmare.
Dumbledore stood up and cast a sidelong glance at Sirius, who was still shaken, while Harry played gleefully with his cereal, spilling more than he ate.
"Thank you, Mr Filch, for your intervention," he said calmly. "I understand your reaction to Miss Skeeter's article and forgive you… just this once. However, I must ask you to keep your composure. Though Voldemort's defeat is a relief to many, it came at a great cost."
A Ravenclaw girl timidly stood up.
"Headmaster, is it true? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is really gone?"
"Indeed, Miss Parson," Dumbledore confirmed. "For once, this article tells the truth. There will be a Ministry press conference today, which will be broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless Network for further details."
"So… the war is over?" asked a Muggle-born Hufflepuff.
"Not yet," Dumbledore replied gravely. "Though Voldemort is defeated, his followers remain at large. But without their master, they are disorganised, and I assure you, they will be caught soon enough."
A Gryffindor student dared to ask:
"How was he defeated?"
"The details will be revealed by the Minister," Dumbledore deflected. "For now, enjoy your breakfast."
He sat back down, signalling the end of the discussion. The murmurs resumed, but more subdued.
"Thank you, Professor," Sirius whispered. "I wouldn't have known how to handle that."
"Think nothing of it, my boy," Dumbledore replied with a smile, offering him a lemon sherbet.
Sirius accepted it with a smile. The sweet-sour taste instantly reminded him of the headmaster, whom he had never seen without a bag of those treats.
"How are you, Sirius?" Minerva asked gently. "I know last night was difficult. Please know that I will always be here for you and Harry."
"I'm trying to accept reality, but it's hard," he admitted, voice tight. "James and Lily won't come back… and I wonder if Harry understands."
"At his age, he probably doesn't fully realise it yet," replied Minerva gently. "But you will be a wonderful father figure to him."
A timid smile stretched Sirius's lips as he watched Harry scattering milk everywhere. Sensing his gaze, the baby looked up, revealing his striking green eyes, and offered him a radiant smile.
Just then, Minnie the cat jumped onto the high chair, rubbing against the child. Delighted, Harry petted it while babbling:
"Mi'nie!"
The feline purred with contentment. However, Sirius paled slightly upon hearing the nickname, which also belonged to Minerva McGonagall. The latter pressed her lips together, her gaze darkening dangerously, promising severe retribution.
"It was James who chose the name, not me!" Sirius hastily defended himself, raising his hands in surrender.
"If I ever find out that isn't true..." Minerva threatened in an icy tone, leaving her sentence hanging.
Sirius laughed nervously and nodded quickly. Around them, the professors exchanged amused smiles, this light-hearted moment offering a brief respite from the underlying tension. The rest of the meal passed without further incident, aside from the admiring glances that students kept casting at Harry.
Hogwarts – Staff Room
Morning of 1st November 1981
An hour later, the staff room hosted an unusual gathering. A sanctuary for professors, its panelled walls pulsed with countless memories, while the worn armchairs provided welcome comfort. The entrance was guarded by two stone gargoyles, eternally whispering, nostalgically recalling the names of past students.
Sirius Black, his godson nestled against him, stood at the centre of the room. Each professor approached to offer their condolences. Even Severus Snape, whose effort was palpable, muttered a few words of comfort to his old enemy.
A true heir to the noble House of Black, Sirius kept a protective arm around Harry, who dozed peacefully, the cat curled up beside him. As they were about to follow Dumbledore to his office to discuss Sirius's future, Horace Slughorn suddenly stepped forward.
"Albus, forgive my interruption, but I have made my decision," he announced, his voice tinged with emotion.
"Your decision, Horace?" Dumbledore inquired curiously.
"Yes. With the war nearly over, it is time for me to retire. The loss of Lily, a student so dear to my heart, made me realise that I should cherish the years I have left."
"Come now, Horace, you have many good years ahead!" Dumbledore exclaimed with a smile. "After all, you are only seventy-one."
Hearing this, Sirius marvelled at the impressive longevity of wizards. He recalled Barry Wee Willie Winkle, the old wizard born in 1236 who, at 745, seemed almost younger than Dumbledore when they had met at the Ministry.
"I know, Albus," Slughorn replied wearily. "But I feel tired. I have dedicated half a century to teaching; it is time I stepped back. I want to see my former students again, find out what has become of them. Don't I deserve a little peace?"
"I understand, my old friend," Dumbledore conceded with a hint of melancholy. "But then, who will take your place as Potions Master?"
Slughorn smiled as he turned his gaze towards Severus Snape, who had remained silent until now.
"Young Severus, of course!"
A shiver of revolt ran through Sirius. The thought of Snape—Servillus—teaching Harry one day filled him with indignation. His face darkened with anger.
"Snape?! What do you mean, Snape?!" he exploded, his voice echoing violently through the room. "Are we talking about the one who despises every living soul and whose face seems allergic to smiling? The one who is clearly unfamiliar with soap, given the state of his hair?!"
"I certainly did not expect your approval, Black," Snape retorted venomously. "It is obvious that your limited mind cannot grasp the extent of my talent. Who, then, would be more qualified than me?"
"Anyone!" Sirius growled as Harry stirred slightly, disturbed by the rising tension. "A Squib, a hag, even a garden gnome would make a better Potions Master than you!"
"How dare you, you insufferable..." Snape began, but Sirius cut him off.
"I categorically refuse to let Harry set foot in Hogwarts if that miserable git is teaching! He would make his life hell!"
"Come now, Sirius," Dumbledore attempted to soothe the situation, "Severus will surely be exemplary and professional in his duties."
"And I refuse to let him attend James and Lily's funeral!" Sirius roared, his indignation reaching its peak. "He is not worthy of mourning them!"
"Pfah!" Snape spat back. "Good! That spares me the sight of that insufferable Potter's corpse! Seeing him once was already too much, and if his brat never sets foot here, so much the better!"
A heavy silence fell upon the room.
Minerva McGonagall widened her eyes in shock. Filius Flitwick nearly spilled his tea. Horace Slughorn opened his mouth without a sound. Even Dumbledore momentarily lost his benevolent smile.
Snape had crossed an irreparable line.
Sirius trembled with rage. The charged atmosphere threatened to explode, and only the frightened look in Harry's eyes, nestled in his arms, kept him from acting more violently. Thankfully, Minerva McGonagall reacted swiftly. With a protective gesture, she gently took the child from him, moving away from the turmoil. Minnie the cat leapt onto the table, ears flattened and eyes blazing at Severus Snape, though no one paid attention to its reaction.
"Once was enough for you?! What do you mean by that? When did you... No..." Sirius murmured, horror creeping into his thoughts. "You were there. You bastard!"
Emotion overwhelmed Sirius. An uncontrollable rage engulfed him, and without thinking, he lunged at Severus. His fist crashed brutally into the Potions Master's face, the sharp sound of breaking cartilage echoing in the room. A cry of pain escaped Snape's throat as he clutched his nose, blood already trickling down.
The professors, momentarily stunned, reacted immediately. Pomona Sprout and Hagrid rushed to restrain Sirius, while Snape, reeling from the impact, cast a pleading look at Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore, intervene! He is completely mad, like the rest of his degenerate family!"
Silence fell over the room. All eyes turned to Dumbledore. But the headmaster, usually so composed, no longer had the air of a kindly old man. His steely gaze locked onto Severus with chilling intensity.
"My boy..." His voice had darkened, almost menacing. "Were you there that night?"
Severus hesitated, his breath unsteady.
"I..."
"Severus!" The command carried a weight he could not ignore.
"Yes!" he finally admitted. "I followed... from a distance."
A low growl rumbled from Sirius's chest as he struggled against Hagrid and Sprout's grip.
"And you did nothing?! You coward! You Death Eater scum!"
"I wasn't going to risk my life for Potter!" Snape spat, his features twisted in fury and pain. "He had promised she would be spared!"
A shiver ran through the room. That single phrase, that weighty "she," froze Albus Dumbledore in place. The colour drained from his face, and his usually twinkling eyes clouded with a painful incomprehension. He briefly closed them, measuring the weight of those words.
Severus Snape... knew. He knew the attack was going to happen. He knew the target. And yet, he had said nothing.
Dumbledore opened his eyes again, and when he spoke to Severus, his voice was no more than an icy whisper.
"Severus... how could you do this again?"
"Again?" Minerva interjected, her scrutinising gaze betraying a sudden suspicion.
"Headmaster, I..." Severus attempted, his breathing quickening under the weight of a terrible premonition.
But Dumbledore gave him no escape.
"Severus is the one who reported the prophecy to Tom," he declared sharply. "After spying on me at the Hog's Head."
A collective gasp of indignation swept through the room. Minerva placed a hand on her chest, as if struggling to breathe under the shock.
"What?!" Sirius exclaimed, beside himself.
"You promised me that..." Severus began, his gaze pleading.
"I promised to help you on the condition that you did everything in your power to protect the Potters!" Dumbledore thundered, a flash of fury in his usually composed eyes.
A suffocating silence fell upon the room.
"Filius," Dumbledore finally resumed, "use the Floo network to call Bartemius Crouch. We have a criminal at Hogwarts."
Filius Flitwick, usually so cheerful and kind, left the room with cold determination.
A tense silence settled as Severus, realising the trap closing around him, reached for his wand. But as his fingers brushed the wood, a tawny blur shot through the air.
Minnie, Potter's cat, leapt at Snape with breathtaking agility, clawing his hand with sharp talons before snatching his wand away. Severus cried out in pain and stumbled back, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest.
The entire room stood frozen, stunned by the feline's audacity. Even Sirius, burning with rage, paused for a moment, taken aback by the cat's attack.
Soon, the door burst open. Bartemius Crouch entered, followed by three Aurors, their wands at the ready.
"Severus Snape," Crouch declared in an unyielding tone, "you are under arrest for aiding and abetting You-Know-Who and failing to assist those in mortal danger."
The Potions Master did not resist. He knew he had lost. His gaze slid to Dumbledore, then to Horace Slughorn, who lowered his head in palpable sorrow. He had always considered Severus one of his most brilliant pupils, and yet he had never grasped the extent of the monster he had become.
As the Aurors led Severus out of the staff room, Horace Slughorn made a decision.
"I will stay," he announced softly. "I will remain at Hogwarts."
Dumbledore and Minerva nodded, while Sirius, finally freed from the anger that had consumed him, held Harry close.
Justice would be served.
Hogwarts – Headmaster's office
early afternoon of 1st November 1981
The quiet of Dumbledore's office contrasted sharply with the morning's events. Sirius, seated near the fireplace, absentmindedly ran his fingers through Harry's hair as the boy dozed against him. Minerva and Albus watched in silence, aware that the question weighing on them could no longer be avoided.
"Where will we live?" Sirius murmured, more to himself than to his companions.
Sirius's flat was out of the question: too small, too exposed. The Potters' house in Godric's Hollow... unthinkable. The very thought of returning there made him nauseous.
"The Potter Manor?" Minerva suggested.
Sirius shook his head.
"Untraceable. James never reclaimed it after Fleamont vanished. It's not an option."
A silence stretched between them before a sound drew their attention to the window.
A majestic eagle owl, its plumage dark as night, fixed them with piercing eyes. A letter, sealed with the Black family crest, hung from its leg.
With a fluid motion, Dumbledore let the bird in, and it landed with dignity on the desk.
"Who could have sent this?" Minerva murmured, intrigued.
Sirius reached hesitantly for the letter, and upon seeing the handwriting on the envelope, felt his heart skip a beat.
"It's a letter from my grandfather..."
The owl, satisfied with its delivery, departed as swiftly as it had arrived.
Sirius, his fingers trembling slightly, broke the seal. He took a deep breath and decided to share its contents with his companions.
My dear Sirius,
I know these times are difficult and that the recent trials must have shaken you deeply. Despite our differences and the distance that has marked these past years, know that the blood of our family still runs through your veins, and that means more to me than anything.
I have heard of the tragic loss of James Potter and his wife, as well as your role as guardian to young Harry. I cannot imagine the weight of such a responsibility, but I wish to offer my help.
I know exactly what you must be thinking as you read this letter—that the Blacks sided with You-Know-Who, that despicable upstart. But that is not the case. Your parents and Bellatrix are outliers in our family, and I assure you their behaviour will not go unpunished. I expressly ordered them to remain neutral.
Black Castle, though you have seldom visited, is open to you. Few fortresses are as well-protected as ours, and it can become your refuge, as well as that of your godson. I invite you to come tomorrow morning at first light for a family meeting, where I shall make amends and set our lineage back on the right path. Bring your godson with you.
I understand if you hesitate to accept this offer, but know that it is made with the sincerity and love of a grandfather for his grandson. I hope you will find in these walls a home, rather than the shadows of the past.
With all my affection,
Arcturus III Black,
Lord of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Toujours Pur.
Silence fell over the room, heavy with reflection and restrained emotions.
Sirius stared at the letter, his eyes scanning the lines again and again, searching for a flaw, a trap. Yet, despite his instinctive mistrust of anything bearing the name Black, he couldn't ignore the flicker of hope stirring within him.
Minerva folded her arms, regarding Sirius thoughtfully.
"He seems sincere," she murmured.
"Arcturus Black has always been a pragmatic man," Dumbledore added. "He never took a public stance, but he has a keen sense of survival and lineage preservation."
Sirius sighed heavily.
"I'll go," he finally said.
Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Then be careful. And above all... stay on your guard."
Because in the House of Black, nothing ever came without a price.
