Chapter 4
Harry opened his eyes slowly, the dim light filtering through the window of Grimmauld Place illuminating the room in dull, gray tones. He descended the stairs in silence, each step echoing through the dark corridors. Arriving in the kitchen, he paused for a moment in the doorway, watching the scene before him.
Sirius, seated on one of the dark wooden chairs, was calmly sipping a cup of coffee, his gaze thoughtful and his back hunched, as if trying to escape the weight of a life that no longer belonged to him. The morning light reflected off his perpetually disheveled black hair, and the aura surrounding him seemed to vibrate with a restless, vibrant energy—a freedom freshly won.
His aura was a red glow streaked with golden patches, deep and warm, like a dancing flame that brushed against the darkness without ever consuming it entirely.
«Good morning, Harry. You never sleep too much, do you?»
He smiled from behind his cup, offering a small nod of greeting as he approached the table.
It had been one evening a few weeks ago—a night when he found himself wandering aimlessly. He had been walking among silent houses that seemed to stare at him like stone eyes when, suddenly, he sensed the presence of something.
A swift movement in the half-light—a figure emerging from the darkness with the agility of a predator: a black dog.
«Sirius Black.» he said, not at all surprised.
The black dog slipped away from the shadows, its body elongating and transforming with the sound of bones realigning. In a few seconds, before him stood Sirius—in his familiar human form, but with an unmistakable shadow of weariness in his features and eyes that, for a moment, appeared older than they should be.
Harry, who had already raised his hand—tracing a circle in the air that left a trail of dark energy—did not lower his gaze. His aura had expanded around him, forming a black bubble that encased them both.
He sat down on the floor, legs crossed, his green eyes shining with an intense light as they fixed on Sirius without wavering.
«Give me reasons why I shouldn't kill you.» he said in a firm voice, a tone that brooked no argument.
There was no hatred in his eyes, only a glacial calm—a detachment that made it clear that the man before him would live or die solely based on what he had to say.
Sirius did not move. He made no effort to defend himself, nor did he try to retreat. He simply held Harry’s gaze, letting the silence speak for him. Then, after a deep breath, he began.
«I wasn’t the one who betrayed them.» his voice was low but resolute.
«I would never have done it.»
The boy tilted his head ever so slightly, offering no interruption.
«And it wasn’t even Peter’s fault that I ended up in Azkaban.»
Sirius lowered his gaze for a moment, as if searching for the right words.
«I was deceived, Harry. Dumbledore... he sent me to Azkaban. He knew I was beginning to understand too much. He couldn’t allow me to interfere.»
«Understand what?»
Sirius shook his head. «That there was something strange about the way things unfolded that night. That everything had been... orchestrated.»
Harry remained motionless, his breathing slow and controlled.
«You mean Dumbledore... had you arrested?»
«Not directly. But he did nothing to stop it from happening.»
Harry fell silent. His mind raced, connecting fragments of information gathered over the years.
«What can you tell me about the horcruxes?»
«Horcruxes...» he repeated, almost savoring the weight of the word.
«They’re not exactly something one discusses openly, not even among dark wizards.»
Harry remained impassive, waiting for him to continue.
«It is said that they are objects containing fragments of a soul, created through one of the most terrible acts of dark magic.» he paused, his gaze darkening further.
«To create one... you must kill.»
There was no surprise in the boy’s eyes—only the clear awareness that a long-held suspicion had been confirmed. Harry stayed silent for a moment, weighing the information. Then, with a slight nod, he changed the subject.
«You have a library, don’t you? At Grimmauld Place.»
Black raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. «Yes, though I doubt you’ll find information on that subject so easily.»
It had been a few weeks since he had begun living there. Grimmauld Place was a house that exuded ancient magic, shrouded in a sense of heaviness and buried secrets. The corridors were long and narrow, the walls draped with tapestries darkened by time, and every corner seemed to watch anyone who passed by. In that house, he had everything he needed: tranquility, resources, and the opportunity to delve deeper into his research.
He spent his days in the Black family library—a vast room with walls lined with dusty shelves, filled with leather-bound books and yellowed parchments. Many of those volumes contained forbidden spells, ancient rites, and lost knowledge. And Harry studied them all with the same dedication that Hermione once immersed herself in her schoolbooks.
Sirius observed him without ever interrupting. There was something in the way the boy flipped through the pages, in his penetrating, attentive gaze, that reminded Sirius of someone. James, perhaps? No. There was something colder, more calculating.
One evening, while seated on a worn sofa with a book open on his lap, Black approached with two glasses in hand and offered him a butterbeer.
«Find anything useful?» he asked in a relaxed tone as he sat down beside him.
Harry accepted the glass without taking his eyes off the pages. «Some details. Clues.»
Sirius took a sip, watching him intently. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Harry tilted his head slightly.
«I’d like to enter your mind.»
The man remained motionless for an instant, the glass still half-raised. His gaze darkened a little, and a shadow of hesitation crossed his expression.
«My mind?» he repeated slowly, as if to make sure he had heard correctly.
The dark-haired one nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Sirius’s eyes. «I need to examine some memories.»
Sirius set his glass down on the nearby table, then ran a hand through his unruly black hair, further disheveling it. He seemed conflicted, uncertain whether to laugh at such an absurd request or to be concerned that someone could speak so naturally about something so invasive.
«You've never practiced Legilimency, have you?»
Harry merely raised an eyebrow. «Not with someone who consents.»
At that, Sirius blinked in surprise at his frankness, then let out a soft exhale—as if he had expected that answer.
«Alright then.» he finally conceded, settling his back against the chair’s support.
An instant later, the world around them shattered.
Harry found himself immersed in the man’s memories, floating in his mind like a silent observer. Faded images took shape before him—fragments of Sirius Black’s life.
Soft lights. Muffled laughter. A young Sirius running through the corridors of Grimmauld Place, his back straight in defiance, while his mother’s shrill voice echoed in the air like poison.
But when he tried to push further, to delve deeper, he sensed something was wrong.
Sirius’s memories did not flow smoothly. There were blurred patches, like ink stains spreading on parchment. Some images were confused, as if they had been reworked or… altered.
He concentrated, focusing on one precise point: his childhood.
He wanted to see the moment he had seen him for the first time after his parents’ death.
The image appeared before him.
Sirius was kneeling among the ruins of the house, his breath ragged, his eyes widened in horror. James and Lily lay motionless on the ground. And then, in the basket beside the cradle, Harry—small, fragile, with a fresh wound on his forehead.
Sirius moved toward him, but just as he was about to reach out... the memory shattered.
Harry felt a tremor ripple through his mind.
Something was wrong.
He took a metaphorical step back, trying to rewind the memory, but he couldn’t. It was as if it had been torn away—intentionally removed.
His expression grew more serious as he continued to explore. He moved on to other memories: his childhood, moments when Sirius should have seen him, known him. Each time, the same effect.
Gaps. Dark patches.
As if someone had deliberately erased or rewritten parts of his memory.
He abruptly pulled himself away, his breathing slightly accelerated. His green eyes—cold and calculating—met the confused gaze of the man before him.
Sirius appeared dazed, as if he had just experienced something he couldn’t fully comprehend.
«What the hell happened?» he muttered, running a hand over his face.
He remained silent for a moment, then spoke in a low, controlled voice.
«Your memories have been altered.» he saw Sirius’s eyes widen in shock.