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Chapter 24 (Memories of the Past), Chapter 25 (Harry's Wrath), Chapter 26 (A Sword and A Star), Chapter 27 (A Night to Remember), Chapter 28 (The Mark of Sacrifice), and Chapter 29 (Happiness and Joy) are already available for Patrons.
"Lily and James," he cries out with a voice that trembles, each word laced with sorrow and incredulity, "Sirius! How could you? Betray me - Peter Pettigrew - and our sacred bond as the closest of mates?"
Without warning, the world erupts in a cataclysmic explosion, sending shockwaves of chaos and destruction rippling through the air. In the blink of an eye, his instincts kick in, prompting him to summon an impenetrable shield with a mere flick of his wrist. The shield materializes just in time, barely managing to withstand the overwhelming force unleashed by the explosion.
As the deafening blast subsides, Sirius finds himself momentarily disoriented, his vision blurred by the remnants of the blinding white light. Slowly, like a wary traveler navigating through unfamiliar terrain, his sight begins to return to him gradually.
To his disbelief, Sirius discovers he now stands amidst a smoldering crater, a once bustling street reduced to a desolate wasteland of twisted metal and charred debris. The morning, which had begun so promisingly, now lies shattered and fragmented like a broken dream. The air hangs heavy with the acrid scent of destruction while lifeless bodies litter the ground.
In the midst of this apocalyptic scene, Sirius catches a glimpse of a familiar figure, Wormtail, vanishing into the depths of the sewage system. A surge of conflicting emotions washes over Sirius, and all he can do is surrender to the sheer absurdity of the situation. A hysterical laughter escapes his lips, echoing through the desolate landscape, as he contemplates the irony.
.
In the wretched depths of Azkaban, Sirius Black found himself engulfed in a relentless symphony of agony, the excruciating pain coursing through every fiber of his being. The damp, oppressive air clung to his skin like a malevolent specter, intensifying the torment that seemed to emanate from within the very walls of his cell.
As his senses were assailed by the anguished cries of his fellow prisoners, each piercing wail a haunting reminder of their shared suffering, Sirius could not help but feel an icy grip tightening around his heart, as if the frigid despair of Azkaban had seeped into his very soul. Lying on the stone floor, he shivered not only from the biting cold that permeated the prison but also from the bone-chilling realization that this place held him captive in its clutches, both physically and mentally.
Sirius wasn't sure which one was worse, Azkaban or the Crucio Curse. As the shadows enveloped him, obscuring his vision, Sirius strained to catch even the faintest glimpse of his surroundings. Yet, amidst the suffocating darkness, there was no sight to be found, only the cacophony of anguished cries echoing through the chilling air. Among the chorus of tormented voices, one stood out, piercing through the abyss with an unrivaled intensity - the unmistakable shrieks of Bellatrix Lestrange, her voice a symphony of delirium and sadism that reverberated through the very core of Sirius's existence. In that wretched place, she reigned as the most vocal and malevolent presence.
Bellatrix's piercing screams echoed through the prison, her voice filled with an unhinged fervor as she relentlessly screamed how they all would die. Each word that tumbled from her lips, like venomous serpents, carried the chilling weight of her unwavering devotion to the dark lord, Lord Voldemort.
Sirius found himself wearied by the relentless repetition of her apocalyptic chants. It seemed as though an eternity had passed since the second time she had bellowed her dire warnings, yet here she stood, her voice cracking with each repetition.
As Sirius drew in a deep breath, the frigid air flooded his lungs, enveloping him within the confines of his icy prison cell. Each inhales felt like shards of frozen glass slicing through the delicate flesh of his neck, sending shivers of discomfort coursing down his spine. The garments that clung to his body were mere remnants of their former selves, deteriorating with every passing moment. No longer deserving of the title "clothes," they clung to him with an unwelcome embrace, tormenting him further in this desolate and unforgiving environment.
In the midst of relentless suffering and despair, Sirius found solace in a single thought that consumed his weary mind. As the icy tendrils of the frigid prison wrapped around him, he mustered the strength to whisper, barely audible, "James, Lily, Harry, please forgive me," With each word, his breath materialized, a tangible testament to the bitter coldness that permeated his desolate cell, where regrets echoed endlessly in the void.
Sirius woke up with a sudden gasp, his heart racing and cold sweat rolling down his face. As he caught his breath, he looked around the dimly lit room with anxious eyes, trying to distinguish the line between his dream and reality. His hands trembled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, and his mind was still clouded with the vivid images of his nightmare. But as he gazed out the window and saw the green fields around Tonks's house, he slowly came to his senses and remembered where he was.
He took comfort in the familiar sights and smells that surrounded him. Despite the lingering fear from his dream, Sirius felt a sense of relief wash over him as he realized he was safe and sound.
As he lay on the bed, his chest heaving with each breath, he could feel his heart racing at an alarming pace as if it was trying to escape from his body. Despite his attempts to calm himself down, his mind was still racing with thoughts that refused to be silenced.
Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and trickled down his face, leaving a cold, clammy sensation in their wake. The sweat continued to stream down his cheeks, leaving a trail of moisture on the bed mattress. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing, but the sound of his heart pounding in his throat was too loud to ignore.
Breathe in and out, breathe in and out, Sirius reminded himself as his breathing was slowly going back to normal. As he slowly lifted his legs over the sturdy bed frame, his toes made contact with the frigid surface of the room's carpet, causing an involuntary shudder to course through his entire body.
As Sirius emerged from his slumber, he rose gracefully from his comfortable bed, bathed in the glow of the moonlight that cast a mesmerizing sheen upon his features. With a languid motion, he reached towards his forehead, employing the soft fabric of his sleeve to delicately erase the remnants of perspiration brought forth by the chilling grip of his unsettling dreams. His gaze wandered, drifting aimlessly as he aimlessly ambled throughout the room. And then, like a distant echo finding its way to the forefront of his consciousness, the recollection of the events that unfolded the previous night danced to the forefront of his mind.
After Sirius had explained everything to Harry about what truly happened the night his parents were killed, Harry seemed to trust him somewhat, but only slightly; Sirius couldn't help but shudder when he remembered Harry threatening him if he dared to try something against him.
Sirius couldn't help but remember when James had threatened him when Harry had shown the first signs of his Holy Magic; Sirius couldn't help but smile at the similarities between the two. Both father and son had threatened him in the same way.
With a wistful smile etched upon his face, Sirius stood outside his bedroom door, bathed in the glow of moonlight that seeped through the closed windows, casting a delicate luminescence upon the room. Mindful of the slumbering inhabitants, he gingerly turned the handle, the hinges betraying a faint creak that sent a shiver down his spine. Aware that the rest of the household likely lay immersed in dreams, Sirius allowed his gaze to momentarily drift towards the second floor, where young Harry Potter's room lay in quiet repose. A surge of paternal concern tugged at his heart, tempting him to venture forth and ensure the boy's peaceful slumber.
Sirius was acutely aware that young Harry remained apprehensive in his presence, and he couldn't fault the boy for it. However, a deep longing stirred within Sirius, an earnest desire to forge a meaningful bond with Harry, to unravel the layers of his life and uncover the intricacies of his thoughts. Oh, how he yearned for those precious moments, to sit beside Harry, talk to him about his life, his childhood, his life in Hogwarts. And above all, Sirius harbored a burning curiosity, a question that danced on the tip of his tongue, eager to escape into the air: did young 'innocent' Harry have a crush on any girl yet?
Sirius knew there was something between Tonks and Harry; he had seen the way she held his hand during the confession, and it wasn't just her wanting to support him; Sirius knew Tonks's relationship with Harry was deeper than friendship, but Sirius had heard from Tonks herself that there was probably another girl Harry liked.
Tonks often talked about a girl named Hermione. While Sirius didn't know who she was, Tonks had talked about her in a way as if she was Harry's crush or girlfriend; Sirius wasn't sure which one of the two.
Sirius couldn't help but smile with pride as he imagined Harry with two beautiful girls in his arms, having two girlfriends; Sirius could almost see James's reaction; Sirius pictured him with a big smile full of pride for his son.
Sirius, lost in thoughts, suddenly found respite from his introspection as a chilling, moisture-laden sensation grazed across his cheek. Startled, he gingerly pressed his fingertips against the now-dampened skin, only to discover that silent tears had unknowingly escaped his eyes, manifesting as tiny rivulets on his face. Swiftly, Sirius deftly whisked away the remnants of his unshed sorrow, his gaze instinctively drawn towards the ascending flight of stairs that loomed ahead, beckoning him towards the second floor, where Harry's bedroom awaited.
Sirius was tempted to check on Harry; Sirius knew Harry was tense around the house now. His eyes were golden instead of green, and that was all the time; Sirius didn't know much about Holy Magic, but from what James had told him, it meant Harry was keeping his guard up and ready to use his magic at any moment, ready to either defend himself or kill someone. Sirius knew it was his fault in a way; he should have done something to prepare Harry more about the meeting and not just tell him out of nowhere and just hope for the best; Sirius felt like smashing his head against the wall.
Sirius couldn't blame his godson for not feeling relaxed. A part of Sirius wanted to capture Peter as soon as possible so that he could prove his innocence and spend time with his godson. To make sure his godson felt as comfortable as possible, Sirius had given Harry his own wand, making it clear that he wasn't there to harm anyone.
Sirius had been lost in his own thoughts when a soft, ethereal sound, barely audible, whispered its way into his consciousness. The sound, a mere whisper of noise, seemed to emanate from somewhere upstairs, from Harry's bedroom.
At that moment, Sirius's instincts took control, propelling him forward with urgency. Ascending the staircase swiftly, Sirius's footsteps reverberated with a resounding clamor against each sturdy wooden step, creating an almost symphonic rhythm that echoed through the silent house.
Yet, these cacophonous notes were mere background noise to Sirius's anxious mind as he sprinted.
With a sense of urgency, he swiftly closed the distance between himself and the door, his fingers instinctively wrapping around the handle. However, as his grip tightened, a sudden, searing agony shot up his arm, causing him to recoil in shock. It was as if the handle itself possessed an infernal heat, scorching his skin.
Sirius's heart pounded in his chest as he instinctively released his grip on the scalding-hot handle, a jolt of searing pain shooting up his arm. The sensation was akin to dipping his hand into a cauldron of boiling lava, leaving him momentarily paralyzed. With trepidation, he glanced down at his throbbing palm, bracing himself for a grotesque sight—perhaps red, blistered skin or even layers of flesh sloughed off. To his bewilderment, his palm appeared unscathed, with not a trace of injury to be found. Yet, the agony coursing through his hand persisted in an insidious torment.
"Who's there?" Sirius heard Harry's voice emanating from the confines of his bedroom. Despite the searing pain that throbbed in his palm, he mustered all his strength, his determination unwavering. With a steely resolve, he cleared his throat.
"Harry, are you alright?" Sirius inquired, his voice filled with genuine concern, straining to project both authority and reassurance. His hand trembled, aching to knock on the door, yet he refrained. He didn't want to test if the entire door had a protective barrier as the handle did.
For a few moments, there was naught but silence. Sirius, his heart pounding with a mix of concern and impatience, was just about to break the stillness by calling out to Harry once more. However, before he could utter a single word, a subtle yet distinct clicking sound suddenly reverberated throughout the house.
As the heavy door swung open, revealing Harry's presence, a wave of relief washed over Sirius. Their eyes met, and Sirius couldn't help but notice the golden hue that still lingered in Harry's gaze.
"What do you want, Sirius Black?" Harry's voice pierced the air with a sharpness that mirrored the intensity of his gaze. At that moment, a peculiar mixture of emotions surged through Sirius, causing his heart to sink ever so slightly. The sound of Harry uttering his name, rather than the endearing title of 'Godfather,' tugged at Sirius' heartstrings, evoking a pang of disappointment. Yet, as quickly as the sensation washed over him, Sirius found himself swiftly overcoming it.
"I heard noises." Sirius confessed, his voice laced with concern. With a genuine desire to ensure Harry's safety, he added apologetically, "I just wanted to make sure everything is alright." As Sirius's eyes met Harry's, he found solace in the sight of his ward appearing unharmed, his golden orbs shimmering like precious gems amidst the surrounding darkness. However, Harry's piercing gaze held a hint of skepticism, as if he questioned the authenticity of Sirius's explanation.
"Well. I'm alright, Sirius. Good Night." Harry's words trailed off just as he was about to close the door; an unexpected interruption unfolded. Sirius extended his arm and seized the door, preventing it from closing completely. Caught off guard, Harry's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths, his gaze fixed upon Sirius.
With a voice filled with longing, Sirius implored his godson, "Can I talk with you, Harry?" The request hung in the air, and as Harry hesitated, Sirius pressed on, determined to bridge the gap between them. "To make this moment even more delightful," Sirius suggested, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "I will prepare hot chocolate for both of us," Harry's initial resistance wavered, a playful glint appearing in his eyes as he mockingly rolled them before finally surrendering with a slight nod. At that moment, Sirius couldn't contain his joy, a smile of anticipation spreading across his face.
"I will come downstairs," Harry said as he closed the door; Sirius punched the empty air in celebration, happy to have an opportunity to talk with him.
As Sirius made his way downstairs, He navigated through the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. As he entered the spacious kitchen, he was greeted by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of cinnamon candles.
With a determined stride, Sirius headed towards the well-stocked pantry, his eyes scanning the neatly organized shelves in search of the perfect ingredients for his indulgent treat. His fingertips lightly brushed against the smooth surface of two crystal-clear glasses, their delicate design reflecting the soft glow of the kitchen lights.
However, as he reached for the jar of cocoa powder, a hint of wistfulness tugged at his heart. In a moment like this, Sirius couldn't help but wish he still had his wand. With a flick and a swish, the hot chocolate would have materialized effortlessly before him, steam rising from the velvety liquid in a mesmerizing dance.
But now, left without his magical companion, Sirius had to rely on the power of his own hands to create the perfect cup of hot chocolate. With deft movements, he measured out the precise amount of cocoa powder, the rich brown substance cascading into the waiting glasses like a river of liquid chocolate.
He then reached for the milk, pouring it slowly, the milky whiteness mingling with the darkness of the cocoa, creating a mesmerizing swirl. As the mixture began to heat on the stovetop, Sirius couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of the process.
After several unsuccessful attempts, Sirius's determination and perseverance paid off as he triumphantly succeeded in concocting a heavenly brew of hot chocolate, meticulously pouring it into two elegantly crafted glasses. The kitchen soon became a sanctuary of delightful aromas as the rich, creamy scent of cocoa enveloped the air. Sirius saw the sight of wisps of steam gracefully dancing from the heart of the glass. The enchantment of the moment was amplified by the gentle symphony of snowflakes cascading outside, their ethereal descent harmonizing with the indulgent pleasure that awaited Sirius and Harry.
As Sirius stood in the dimly lit room, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the grand staircase. He turned his gaze upward just as Harry emerged from the staircase's winding path. Sirius couldn't help but notice his eyes; his eyes fixated on the radiant golden hue that still adorned Harry's gaze.
With a warm and inviting smile stretching across his face, Sirius extended his arm towards the table, the glasses of steaming hot chocolate glistening under the soft glow of the ambient light. "Take which one you want, Harry," he offered, his voice laced with genuine friendliness and a touch of mischief. Harry, his golden eyes brimming with a mix of curiosity and discernment, locked gazes with Sirius. Slowly, his gaze descended upon the pair of glasses, their contents emanating an irresistible aroma that danced tantalizingly in the air, enticing his senses.
His golden eyes looked at each one for a few seconds, almost like he was searching for something; Sirius wondered what it was when, with a swift motion, Harry reached out and claimed the glass on the left, its warmth embracing his hand. Sirius watched as Harry reached one of the plush couches.
As Harry wearily sank into the plush cushions of the couch, he positioned himself with his back comfortably nestled against the regal headrest. Directly before him, an expansive closed window stood like a grand portal, framing a breathtaking tableau of the outside world. Bathed in the ethereal radiance of the moonlight, the surroundings were imbued with a captivating blue glow while gentle snowflakes cascaded from the heavens, transforming the landscape into a mesmerizing winter wonderland.
Entranced by the scene, Harry's eyes traced the delicate descent of each snowflake until they witnessed a remarkable sight. A graceful white owl, its feathers shimmering in the moonlight, gracefully swooped down and, with silent precision, snatched a small creature concealed beneath the pristine white blanket. With a triumphant flutter, the owl soared away.
As Harry cradled the warm mug of hot chocolate in his hands, he gently brought it to his lips and took a small, tantalizing sip. The velvety liquid caressed his taste buds, enveloping his palate in a symphony of flavors. The sweetness was just perfect, not overpowering, but enough to bring a contented smile to his face.
As the steam rose, its comforting warmth spread through his body, thawing away the chill of the winter night. At that moment, the taste of the hot chocolate transported Harry to a distant memory. He found himself whisked away to a time when he was just a mischievous child.
In his mind's eye, Harry could vividly recall the day he pilfered a slice of cake from Dursley's extravagant birthday celebration. It was a forbidden act, a daring escapade that filled him with both excitement and guilt. As he devoured that stolen morsel of sweetness, he relished every crumb, savoring the sensation of pure bliss that coursed through his veins.
It was the first time in his young life that he had tasted something so delectably sweet. The memory lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the joys and struggles that shaped his journey. Despite what happened afterward, Harry never regretted eating that piece of cake.
As Harry sat lost in his own thoughts, a faint symphony of footsteps began to crescendo behind him. Sirius settled onto the plush couch adjacent to him, his eyes twinkling with mischief and his face adorned with a knowing smile. In his right hand, he cradled a delicate glass brimming with the velvety elixir of hot chocolate.
"Thank you for the hot chocolate, Sirius. It's delicious," With a voice devoid of emotion, Harry graciously extended his gratitude to Sirius for the steaming cup of hot chocolate. As he delicately raised the mug to his lips, taking yet another sip of the delectable beverage, the rich cocoa flavor danced upon his taste buds.
Sirius smiled in delight; despite his godson not showing much emotion, he couldn't help but feel happy that his godson praised him. Sirius wondered why Harry was still awake so late at night but figured his godson didn't trust him enough to tell him, so Sirius decided to keep his mouth shut.
The only audible melody was the haunting symphony of the winter wind, echoing through the trees outside. Amidst this serene ambiance, Harry, with a steaming cup of hot chocolate clasped between his hands, savored each sip, feeling the warmth seep into his very soul. Time seemed to stand still, suspended in this ethereal moment of tranquility. However, just when the silence had reached its crescendo, a disruption cut through the air like a sharp blade.
As Sirius gazed pensively through the frost-covered window, his voice resonated with a tinge of melancholy as he uttered the words, "Your father taught me how to make it." The delicate dance of snowflakes, descending gracefully from the heavens, captivated Sirius' attention as he witnessed one of nature's frozen marvels alight on the glass pane. He observed the intricate formation melt before his eyes, transforming into a glistening droplet that gracefully cascaded down, mirroring the bittersweet emotions that swelled within him.
Curiosity gleaming in his eyes, Harry leaned forward and inquired, "He did?" His voice was laced with a tinge of intrigue and astonishment; he couldn't help but show his genuine interest.
The corners of Sirius's lips curled into a contented smile, grateful that Harry desired to delve deeper into the conversation.
"Oh, indeed he did," Sirius responded, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and amusement. With a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes, he continued, "Well, it was mainly Lily that forced both of us," A soft chuckle escaped his lips, blending both amusement and a touch of wistfulness as he reminisced about that fateful day, etched vividly in his memory as if it had unfolded just yesterday.
"How come?" Harry asked, slightly intrigued, with a hint of amusement in his voice, as he held the glass of hot chocolate in his hands.
"When your father started dating your mother, Lily was very persistent when it came to eating and preparing food the muggle way. She introduced us to different types of food like P-P-Pizz-" "Pizza," Harry finished for Sirius with a hint of amusement in his voice.
Sirius, with a confirming nod and a playful smile dancing on his lips, directed his gaze towards his beloved godson, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he recalled a humorous memory from the past. "That one," he affirmed, his voice laced with amusement. "Me and James tried to make one, but what we made at the end was an abomination," Chuckling softly, Sirius continued, his tone tinged with nostalgia.
"To make matters worse, according to Lily, our creation was an insult. She looked at us as if we just killed a puppy," A flicker of sadness passed across Sirius' expressive face as he fought against the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Summoning his strength, he inhaled deeply, determined to keep his composure and conceal the raw emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
"One day, your mother made hot chocolate for all of us when James said that he wanted more. She said we should learn how to make it ourselves. She basically forced James and me to learn." As Sirius concluded his heartfelt anecdote, a touch of sadness danced upon his lips, his gaze drifting downwards with a tinge of melancholy and sorrow. The weight of the memory hung in the air, mingling with the silence that had befallen the room. Harry, captivated by the tale, found himself lost in a whirlwind of reflections, his mind swirling with thoughts and emotions.
"Lily and James were the best people I have ever known, Harry. Never let anyone say otherwise," Sirius said firmly; Harry nodded with a look of sadness and determination. Sirius wanted to reach out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, a sign of support, but refrained himself, knowing his godson didn't trust him yet.
Harry looked pleased to hear more about his parents before looking at Sirius, his golden eyes looking back at Sirius. "Can you tell me more about them?" Harry asked with a smile of gratitude, a broad smile forming on Sirius's face before quickly nodding his head.
"I will tell as much as you want, Harry,"
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