"What's the point of fighting the most evil wizard in the world?"
Sirius asked suddenly, his voice rough.
"I don't understand. You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord who kills without blinking—aside from people like us, the wizarding world is full of nothing but cowards and fools…
So why would someone like you—please forgive the test, a seer, a wizard who might one day rival Merlin—choose to stand against him?
I've never met a wizard like you, someone so extraordinarily gifted. Why make an enemy of him?
He probably doesn't even know you exist. No matter what happens to the wizarding world, you'd still live just fine, wouldn't you?"
A few owls swept through the night sky. The streetlamps flickered between their wings.
Under the moonlight, the wind moved through the oaks of Diagon Alley, making the bells over the shop doors chime softly.
Sean looked at the worn-out man before him. Fire burned in Sirius's eyes as he stared at him, as if trying to confirm something.
"I go to Hogwarts,"
Sean said.
Sirius blinked, momentarily at a loss.
"Hogwarts is a good place,"
Sean added.
"Sorry…"
Sirius frowned. He clearly hadn't expected that answer.
"Don't you understand, Mr. Black? Does fighting the darkest wizard in the world really need that many reasons?"
Sean looked straight into his eyes.
"Of course it does!"
Sirius shot a glance toward Regulus's pale corpse, his eyes full of fierce conviction.
But Sean fell silent.
"I've rarely seen wizards think that way—to live and die with a school. It's hard to believe Hogwarts has that kind of pull…"
Sirius muttered to himself.
"So why, exactly, sir?"
"Mr. Black, you didn't grow up living in this house, did you?"
Sean asked softly.
"Of course not,"
Sirius said. He was confused by the question, but driven by a strange instinctive trust, he walked to the far end of the corridor.
At the very end hung a great tapestry covering the whole wall. The moment it saw Sirius, the portrait of a woman on it began shrieking:
"Filthy degenerate! Dirty half-breed! Shame of the family! Wretched, ungrateful son—"
The tapestry looked ancient, faded with age, with several spots eaten through or torn.
But the golden thread embroidered across it still glittered brightly. They could clearly see the spreading branches of a family tree, tracing all the way back to the Middle Ages.
At the very top were the words:
THE MOST ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK
TOUJOURS PUR
"I'm not on it,"
Sirius said, ignoring his mother's screaming portrait, while glancing toward the very bottom of the tree.
"Though I used to be."
He pointed to a blackened little hole in the tapestry, like a cigarette burn.
"Just like Kreacher said—after I ran away, my dear old mother burned me off the family tree. Kreacher does enjoy muttering that story under his breath."
Sean listened quietly.
"I was about sixteen then,"
Sirius said.
"I'd had enough."
"You went to the Potters'."
Sean said.
"Even now, I can hardly believe magic like that really exists…"
Sirius looked at him and spoke in a low voice.
"Harry's grandparents were unbelievably kind. I'm sure you already know that.
They practically treated me like a second son.
Yeah, when school was out, I stayed with them for a while, and once I turned seventeen, I found a place of my own.
My uncle Alphard left me a decent amount of gold—he was blasted off this tapestry too, probably for that very reason. Anyway, from then on, I took care of myself. But Mr. and Mrs. Potter always welcomed me for dinner every Saturday.
So why are you asking?"
Sirius said.
"What if someone wanted to destroy the Potters' home?"
Sean asked.
"I'd kill him."
Sirius said hoarsely.
Then he froze. Something suddenly clicked into place.
"Harry. You and Harry. You…"
He looked completely at sea.
There was only one kind of person who would treat a school like home.
Someone like Harry.
The night went still.
Sirius couldn't read anything from those brilliant green eyes, only a kind of vast, barren calm, like a deep sea.
"Maybe I've seen how some of these stories end,"
Sean said quietly. When the wind blew across the distance, he always seemed more willing to speak.
"And those endings aren't very good."
"The future shown by prophecy never gets it wrong…"
Sirius said, startled.
"Oh, then that's the first mistake."
Sean smiled gently.
Sirius had never met anyone like this before—someone who made people feel a vague kind of faith just by standing there.
"My centaur teacher told me fate is something people misjudge very easily,"
Sean said, looking toward the distant mountains.
"The only people who have the right to question fate are those who have already given up everything, sir."
Beyond the window, far past Diagon Alley, the mountains stood tall, looking down on life, looking down on the cramped little houses packed between them.
People lived in those gray buildings, watching daylight fade and night fall, until everything sank into a dark stillness.
Then the stars came out.
They burned above their heads with an eternal light.
"I need your help. But you know how difficult our task will be."
Bathed in the crescent moonlight, the young wizard's outline glowed with a soft white radiance.
"Naturally… I'm at your command."
Sirius swallowed.
There was nothing more reassuring than following a seer. Nothing more thrilling than standing beside a mysterious, extraordinary wizard and defying fate together.
Now that he knew this boy would not become their enemy, Sirius felt a fierce joy surge through him—one he hadn't felt in years.
And he knew that tonight, fate had already made its choice.
…
Diagon Alley welcomed another long, sunlit day.
Everywhere, wizards were talking about Sirius Black's case, while Harry was down in the Gringotts vaults withdrawing Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts.
Once his money pouch was full again, it took all his self-control not to spend everything at once.
Diagon Alley was just as lively as ever that day. Up ahead, all his friends were already there waiting for him.
Harry looked more carefully and saw that everyone had come—except Sean.
Of course, Sean being absent wasn't unusual. It was about as common as Snape docking points.
But they were all willing to wait for him, because everyone knew that whenever they needed help, he would show up.
As Harry passed Flourish and Blotts, he saw that it was packed wall to wall with wizards. The end of the line stretched dozens of yards away from the shop itself.
A huge banner had been hung up overhead:
MASTER SCAMANDER'S FINAL WORK — OFFICIALLY ON SALE TODAY!
~~~
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