Truths Revealed
The week away from the Dursleys had been a breath of fresh air for Harry. Sirius had taken him to places he’d never imagined visiting, like a small café hidden in the heart of the city, where the owner seemed to know him and had served him a gigantic slice of apple pie. "It’s not magic, my boy," Sirius had said as Harry stared at the plate in disbelief. "Just an old friendship and a bit of natural charm." Harry had laughed, enjoying his godfather’s company. Or that quiet park, with vast stretches of grass, where Sirius had taught him how to catch tennis balls thrown at high speed. "Great reflexes, Harry. It’s all about technique!" Sirius had said with a huge grin, as Harry caught the balls on the first try. Harry looked at him and felt happy. No one had ever taken the time to teach him something so pointless but so much fun.
During quieter moments, Sirius would tell him stories about James and Lily. They talked about their pranks at school, Lily’s laugh, and James’s courage. Each anecdote made Harry feel a little closer to the parents he had never known. "You know, your dad had a knack for getting into trouble," Sirius said one evening as they sat on a park bench. "But he always had a plan—or at least pretended to." Harry laughed, imagining a young James running through the corridors of Hogwarts, and wondered if he might ever be like him someday.
That week had passed far too quickly, and Harry felt a heavy heart as Sirius walked him back to Number 4, Privet Drive. "Remember," Sirius said, crouching down to look him in the eye. "No matter how much they try to bring you down, you’re stronger. And I’m always here." Harry nodded, trying to hold back tears.
But as soon as Harry set foot in the Dursleys’ house, everything changed. The door slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. Uncle Vernon was there, hands on his hips, with the dark look Harry had learned to recognize—it signaled trouble. "Well, Potter, you’re back," he said in a cold voice. "Thought you could shirk your responsibilities, didn’t you? After that zoo incident, you’ve made this family a laughingstock in front of the entire town. Thought there wouldn’t be consequences, did you?" Harry didn’t reply. It wasn’t worth it. Vernon wasn’t looking for answers, just an opportunity to vent his anger.
"From now on," Vernon continued, "things are going to change. Starting with a new rule: no more Sirius Black. You won’t see him, you won’t talk to him, you won’t have anything to do with him." Aunt Petunia nodded emphatically, pressing her thin lips together as if to underline her husband’s authority.
Harry felt his heart sink. Sirius was the only stable thing in his life, the one person who made him feel normal. "You can’t do this to me!" he protested, but his voice was weaker than he wanted it to be. Dudley, who was peeking from the living room doorway, smirked in satisfaction.
"Oh, yes, we can," retorted Uncle Vernon smugly. "You’ll see that staying away from that... delinquent will do you good. Now, get those suitcases upstairs. You’ve wasted enough time."
Harry trudged upstairs, his heart heavy. He wasn’t surprised; the Dursleys always found insidious ways to torment him. But banning him from seeing Sirius was too much. He glanced out the window of his room as he unpacked his suitcase. Sirius was in his garden, seemingly busy with some plants, but Harry knew he was keeping an eye on the situation. He tried to wave discreetly, but Aunt Petunia immediately called him back.
"Harry! Get down here at once! There are windows to clean."
As he descended the stairs, he felt a crushing weight on his chest. But one thought gave him strength: Sirius had promised. He would always be there for him, and Harry knew he wouldn’t give up.
Harry had barely stepped into the kitchen when Aunt Petunia handed him a bucket of water and a rag. "You’ll finish all the windows in the house before lunch," she announced acidly. "And make sure there isn’t a single smudge left, Potter. I’m not going to redo your work for you."
Uncle Vernon, seated at the head of the table with the newspaper, added, "And then you’ll deal with the lawn. And the car. Don’t forget, it’s your fault this family has become the town’s laughingstock." Harry clenched his fists. There was no point in arguing; he knew that any word would only make things worse. Anger burned inside him, but he forced himself to breathe slowly and keep his gaze low.
The morning passed slowly and painfully. As he cleaned the windows, Dudley watched with his usual sneer. "Oh, Potter, you missed a spot there!" he said, pointing to imaginary smudges on the glass. Harry ignored the comments, focusing only on the task at hand. But when Dudley approached and "accidentally" tipped over the bucket of dirty water onto the freshly cleaned floor, Harry had to clench his teeth to keep from yelling.
When he finally finished the windows, Harry moved on to the lawn. Mowing the grass under the scorching sun was exhausting, but at least he could be outside. Every now and then, as he pushed the lawnmower back and forth, he glanced toward Sirius’s garden. He briefly saw him appear at the window, as if to check that everything was okay, and that was enough to give him a bit of strength.
Petunia, however, seemed determined not to let him have a moment’s rest. "Don’t stop now, Harry!" she shouted from the doorway. "The car is still dirty, and Vernon won’t tolerate a half-done job."
Harry spent the afternoon scrubbing the car with an old, hole-ridden sponge. Dudley, as usual, found a way to be obnoxious: he threw a handful of dirt at Harry as he passed, dirtying his hair. Harry pretended not to notice, but inside, he wondered how much longer he could endure.
That evening, as Harry lay in his room, an unnatural silence enveloped Number 4, Privet Drive. He was exhausted from the chores, his muscles aching from the effort, and the stale sandwich he had been given for dinner had done little to restore his energy. Lying on his bed, he stared at the ceiling, thinking about Sirius. He missed the laughter, the conversations, and that feeling of freedom he experienced only when they were together. He turned toward the window, scanning the dark garden, hoping to see a sign, anything.
And there it was. An owl, graceful and silent, perched on his windowsill. Harry rushed to open the window, trying not to make a sound. He carefully untied a small parchment attached to the owl’s leg. With trembling hands, he unrolled the message.
"Harry, hang in there. I have a plan. Don’t let them break your spirit. Always on your side, Sirius."
A smile broke through his tired face. Sirius hadn’t forgotten him, and that thought gave him strength. But it wasn’t over. Just as he sat on the bed with the note clutched in his hands, he heard another sound at the window: a pebble grazing the glass. Harry moved closer and spotted a familiar figure in the adjacent garden.
Sirius was there, bathed in the faint glow of the moonlight, wearing his usual grin. He gestured for Harry to wait. Within seconds, Harry saw his godfather disappear into the shadows of the garden. The next thing he heard was a light tap at his bedroom door.
"Sirius?" he whispered incredulously, rushing to open it.
His godfather stood there, a finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet. "I couldn’t just leave you here without doing something," Sirius whispered as he slipped into the room with agility. "You’re strong, Harry, but I’m not the kind of person to sit idly by while those... Dursleys try to break you."
Harry stared at him, his eyes glistening. "How did you get in?"
Sirius shrugged. "I have my ways. A couple of spells, a bit of luck, and... well, it’s not my first time sneaking into places." Sirius’s eyes sparkled with amusement, but Harry could see the worry behind his playful facade.
"Sirius, you can’t stay. If they find you..."
"They won’t notice a thing," Sirius interrupted. He sat next to Harry on the bed and looked at him seriously. "Harry, I want you to know that all of this is temporary. The Dursleys don’t have any real power over you. Not really. You’re about to enter a world where they mean nothing, and I won’t let them make you feel like you’re less than you are."
Harry felt the lump in his throat loosen slightly. No one had ever told him things like that before. "Thank you," he murmured. "But what can I do? They... they hate everything about me."
Sirius gripped his shoulder and shook it lightly, a warmer smile on his lips. "Then you live for yourself, not for them. Every day you survive here is a victory. And when you’re out of here, when you’re free, you’ll see how strong you’ve become."
He stood up and approached the window, checking to make sure no one was around. "I can’t stay long, but know that I’m working on a plan. You’ll hear from me soon. And in the meantime..." Sirius pulled a small package wrapped in brown paper out of his pocket. "Some sweets to cheer you up."
Harry took the package, unable to suppress a smile. "Thank you, Sirius."
His godfather winked at him. "Don’t thank me, kid. It’s the least I can do. Now, try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day, and I’ll be right here, just beyond the fence, ready to remind you that the Dursleys don’t define who you are."
With one last smile, Sirius slipped silently out of the room, leaving Harry with a lighter heart and a glimmer of hope. As he lay down, clutching the package Sirius had left him, Harry realized that even in the hardest times, he wasn’t truly alone.
When the Dursleys finally loosened their grip, it was already the second week of the summer holidays. By then, they had run out of the most severe punishments. Harry, though still tasked with a long list of chores, had decided not to let it get to him. Every day, he got up early, completed his tasks without complaint, and always found a moment for himself, whether in the quiet of his room or while watching the sky from the backyard. His determination not to show any sign of suffering had an entirely unexpected effect: it infuriated the Dursleys.
Uncle Vernon frowned more often as Harry calmly mopped the kitchen floor without protest. Dudley, frustrated that his usual taunts provoked no reaction, had started ignoring him altogether. Even Aunt Petunia seemed less confident in giving orders, as though she feared Harry’s total indifference might somehow backfire on her.
But what truly made the situation bearable was knowing that Sirius was there, just beyond the hedge. Even though they couldn’t see or talk to each other, Harry knew his godfather was watching over him, ensuring everything was okay. Sometimes he found small signs of his support: a note slipped under the tool shed door or a piece of chocolate left by the kitchen window. They were simple gestures, but to Harry, they meant everything.
One afternoon, while trimming the bushes in the garden, the routine was interrupted by an unexpected sound: the thud of something falling into the letterbox. Harry stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow, and glanced toward the door. It wasn’t usual for letters to arrive at this hour, and curiosity drove him to go inside.
Aunt Petunia was already at the door, holding an envelope. She was staring at it as if it were a dangerous insect. "Mr. H. Potter," she read aloud in a trembling voice, "Bedroom 4, Privet Drive." Harry’s name on the envelope seemed to have petrified her.
"Who would send him a letter?" snapped Uncle Vernon, emerging from the living room. He snatched the letter from Petunia’s hands and examined it with the same expression of disgust he would have given a dead rat. Then, with a brusque gesture, he shoved it into the fireplace and burned it.
Harry felt a wave of anger rising inside him, but he knew that protesting would achieve nothing. He forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. Still, he wondered who might have written to him. And, most importantly, why did the Dursleys seem so terrified of that letter?
In the following days, more letters began to arrive. At first, there was one a day, but soon there were two, then three, then ten. Some appeared in the letterbox, others were slipped under the door. Once, Harry even found one on the roof of the house while fixing a gutter. Every letter bore the same address, and each time, the Dursleys did everything they could to destroy them before Harry could read them.
Vernon had become obsessed with stopping the letters. He boarded up the letterbox with planks, locked all the windows, and ordered Harry not to leave the house except for strictly necessary chores. Harry, however, found the situation almost comical. Despite Vernon’s desperate efforts, the letters kept coming.
"It’s impossible!" Vernon shouted one evening when a dozen letters suddenly fell out of the fireplace, fluttering onto the carpet like confused birds. "I’ve sealed everything! They can’t get in!" Petunia, meanwhile, frantically scrambled to gather them, as though the mere touch of those envelopes could contaminate the house.
Harry watched the scene with a mix of amusement and curiosity. As frustrating as it was not to know what the letters contained, there was something fascinating about how they defied every attempt the Dursleys made to stop them. It was as if the message was destined to reach him no matter what.
As the letters piled up, Harry found comfort in knowing that Sirius was doing his part to help him. One evening, while Vernon was hammering wooden boards onto the front door, Harry found another note under his pillow. Sirius’s handwriting was familiar and reassuring.
"Hold on, my boy. Soon, we’ll figure out what these letters are trying to tell you. I won’t let them hide the truth from you. Stay strong and don’t give up. Sirius."
That note gave him renewed strength. Whatever was happening, Harry knew Sirius wouldn’t let the Dursleys win. Even though they couldn’t see each other, his presence was a constant that made even the absurdity of the situation bearable. Harry lay down on his bed, clutching the note, and for the first time in days, he felt truly hopeful.
As his eleventh birthday approached, Harry couldn’t keep a strange mix of emotions at bay. Each passing day heightened his excitement but also brought a subtle sense of fear. He had never been accustomed to thinking of birthdays as something special. The Dursleys ignored them or, worse, used the day to remind him how little he mattered to the family. But this year was different. Sirius had told him that turning eleven was a milestone, a moment when everything changed for people like them.
"Eleven is the birthday when you truly discover who you are, Harry," Sirius had told him weeks earlier, sitting in their usual spot at the park. "It’s the day the world recognizes you for what you’re destined to become. James and Lily were so excited when your birthday was approaching. They knew it would be special."
Harry clung to those words like an anchor. Since Sirius had told him everything, he had been eagerly awaiting that day, imagining what it might mean to be "recognized" by the world. But there was also a thread of fear. What really happened at eleven? What would change so much about his life? He had never dared to ask too many questions, but part of him worried he might not live up to the expectations that birthday seemed to carry.
Two days before his birthday, Harry was in the garden, mowing the lawn again. It was repetitive work, but he preferred it to chores inside the house, where the Dursleys had grown more nervous than ever. Vernon seemed constantly on the verge of exploding, while Petunia stared at him with a strange mix of fear and anger. Dudley, on the other hand, had simply taken to ignoring him entirely, spending hours in front of the TV or out with his friends. Harry suspected it all had to do with the letters, which continued to arrive in increasingly creative ways.
It was then that he heard a familiar voice coming from the driveway. "Well, well, what a depressing sight." Harry turned sharply and saw Sirius, standing with a smirk on his face and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. He seemed calm, but his eyes shone with a determination Harry knew well.
Sirius didn’t stop to greet Harry. He went straight to the front door and knocked firmly. "Open up!" he ordered, his tone authoritative. Harry, his heart pounding, moved closer, hoping to finally see what would happen.
The door opened slowly, revealing Vernon Dursley with a red face and a bulging neck. "What do you want, Black?" he hissed. "You’re not welcome here."
"Oh, I’m not here to be welcomed," Sirius replied, stepping forward and forcing Vernon to back away. "I’m here to discuss the fact that you’ve been withholding something that belongs to Harry."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about!" Vernon barked, trying to maintain control, but Sirius was not one to be intimidated.
"The letters," Sirius said, his tone growing sharper. "The ones you’ve tried to destroy, to hide. Did you really think no one would notice?"
The scene moved to the living room, where Sirius ordered the Dursleys to sit down. Petunia was trembling, and Dudley, who had never seen an adult confront his father like that, was pale and silent. Sirius placed one of the intact letters on the coffee table. "Now, Harry, open it. It’s yours, and only yours."
Harry took the letter with trembling hands. It was one of the envelopes that had been chasing him all over the house, with his name elegantly written on the front: Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive. As soon as he broke the seal, a wave of emotion washed over him. He pulled out a sheet of parchment with the crest of a school he’d never seen before: a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a serpent intertwined in a complex design. He read aloud, his voice shaking with emotion.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed, you will find a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September.
We await your owl no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry stared at the letter, his heart pounding in his chest. Magic. Hogwarts. This wasn’t a mistake or a joke. He had always known he was special, but seeing it confirmed in this way was almost too much to process.
"He’s not going," Vernon said firmly.
Sirius burst into loud laughter.
"I must have missed the part where you get to make that decision," he said, barely restraining his laughter.
Uncle Vernon turned purple, his mustache trembling with rage. "That’s the problem! You’ve never let us discipline him properly! If you hadn’t interfered, I would have sorted that boy out years ago. I’d have made sure all this nonsense was stamped out of his head!"
"Discipline him?" Sirius repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "You know, Vernon, if it weren’t for me, Harry would already be far away from you and this hellhole. Are you really so blind that you don’t see you’ve never had any control over him? Or that you never really did?"
Vernon recoiled but didn’t back down. "We never wanted that stuff in this house!" he shouted. "When we took him in, we swore we’d put an end to all this rubbish! That we’d drum it out of him, one way or another. Magic! As if!"
Harry looked from Vernon to Sirius, confused. He could sense there was something important being kept from him, something that involved him. "You knew?" he asked, his voice breaking with emotion. "You knew I was a wizard?"
"Of course we knew!" screeched Aunt Petunia, almost as if she had been waiting years for this moment. "How could you escape it, given what kind of person my sister was? She got a letter just like yours and disappeared, swallowed up by that... that school… and every time she came home for the holidays, her pockets were full of frog spawn, and she’d turn teacups into rats! I was the only one who saw her for what she really was: a freak! But my parents? Oh, no! Lily this, Lily that! They were proud to have a witch in the family!"
She stopped to catch her breath, but her eyes burned with years of repressed anger. She continued, spitting out the words like venom. "Then at school, she met that Potter. They ran off together, got married, and had you! Of course, I knew you’d be just like them, just as strange, just as... freakish! And then, as if that wasn’t enough, they went and got themselves blown up, and there you were, dumped on our doorstep!"
Harry turned to her, his face pale, incredulous. "Blown up? And you... you never told me? Why? Why not tell me the truth?"
Sirius stiffened. Before he could respond, Petunia shrieked in a tone dripping with disdain: "Blown up, yes! And how could we tell you? It would have been even worse! It was better you believed the car crash story! At least that way you wouldn’t ask questions… wouldn’t try to learn more about those… those people!"
Harry stood frozen, unable to speak. Her words had hit him like a punch to the stomach. "It was better?" he asked in a thin voice. "It was better to lie to me? To let me grow up knowing nothing about them?"
"You wouldn’t have cared!" Petunia shrieked, but her voice was trembling. "It was the only way to give you a normal life. A decent life, without all that madness... all that magic. But your godfather had to ruin it all!"
Sirius stood up sharply, fury flashing in his eyes. "Normal? Decent?" he roared, stepping toward Petunia, who instinctively recoiled. "There’s nothing normal or decent about how you’ve treated Harry! And don’t you dare try to justify it. You know exactly why you chose to lie to him!"
Petunia pressed her lips together, trying to maintain control, but Sirius didn’t let up. "You hated Lily," he continued, his tone sharp but calm. "You hated her because she was everything you never were: brilliant, kind, loved. You were nothing more than a jealous child, and you’ve never gotten over it. And you know the truth? Compared to her, you’re nothing, Petunia. Nothing."
His words struck Petunia like a whip. "How dare you!" she screeched, her voice breaking. "You have no right to talk about me like that!"
"Oh, I have every right," Sirius replied, stepping even closer. "Because no matter what you’ve said or done, you can never erase who Lily was. She was ten times the woman you’ll ever be."
Petunia stared at him, trembling. Then, in an unexpected gesture, she spun around and ran out of the living room, with Dudley trailing after her. From the kitchen came the sound of her muffled sobs. For a moment, the room fell into surreal silence.
Harry looked at Sirius, confused and overwhelmed. He had never seen Aunt Petunia so vulnerable. Despite everything she had put him through, seeing her cry like that made him feel strangely uncomfortable.
Vernon, who had been sitting silently up to that point, slowly rose. His face was red, and his hands were shaking with rage. But when Sirius turned toward him with a defiant glare, Vernon froze. As much as he hated Sirius, he feared what the man might do. He simply pointed a trembling finger at him, his voice hoarse. "You… you… you’ve ruined this family!"
Sirius let out a cold laugh. "Ruined this family? Vernon, this family was already rotten long before I came along."
Vernon clenched his fists but did nothing. He sank back onto the couch, muttering under his breath.
Harry turned to Sirius, still shaken. "Sirius... is it true? What you said about my mum?"
Sirius’s demeanor softened instantly. He knelt beside Harry, looking him in the eyes. "Yes, Harry. Your mum was extraordinary. She was kind, strong, and she loved you more than anything in the world. Don’t ever let anyone, not even them," he gestured toward the Dursleys, "make you think otherwise."
Harry nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. He still felt the confusion and pain from everything he had just learned, but there was also a spark of pride. For the first time, he felt a real connection to his parents.
Sirius sat next to Harry, his expression serious but determined. "Oh, Harry, I’ve waited too long, and I regret that... but it’s time you knew. You can’t go to Hogwarts without knowing the truth."
He shot a dark look at the Dursleys, who had returned to the living room and huddled on the couch like trapped mice. "Well, it’s better you hear everything I can tell you. It’s not an easy story, but you need to know."
He settled into the armchair, glancing around the living room in silence for a moment. Then he turned his gaze back to Harry.
"It all started with a man. An evil man, the worst our world has ever known. And what shocks me most is that you don’t even know his name... but everyone else does, Harry."
“Who?” Harry asked in a faint voice.
“Voldemort,” Sirius replied without hesitation. The word echoed in the room, cold and definitive.
The Dursleys flinched at the sound of the name, while Harry felt a chill run through him. “Voldemort,” Sirius repeated. “He was a powerful and ruthless wizard. He wanted to conquer our world, to control it through terror. He killed anyone who opposed him: wizards, witches, even entire families. Your parents were among the few who openly defied him. They were members of the Order of the Phoenix, a group that fought against him. They were brave, Harry, the bravest people I’ve ever known.”
Sirius paused, looking Harry in the eye. “Ten years ago, Voldemort found your parents. He knew where they lived, thanks to a traitor. He showed up at your home on Halloween. You were just one year old.”
Harry stared at him, frozen. He could hear Uncle Vernon’s labored breathing behind him, but he didn’t care. “And what happened?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“He killed them,” Sirius said, his voice breaking. “Lily and James. They didn’t show fear, not for a second. Lily stood in front of you, Harry. There was no reason—she couldn’t stop him—but she... she chose to sacrifice herself to protect you.”
Harry felt as if the ground beneath him was crumbling. He had always thought his parents had died in ordinary circumstances. An accident, Aunt Petunia had said. But this...
“And then?” he whispered.
“Then Voldemort tried to kill you, too,” Sirius continued, his voice steadier. “But he couldn’t. No one knows how or why. The curse he cast turned back on him. He was destroyed—or so it was thought. You, Harry, survived. You’re the only one who has ever defeated Voldemort. That’s why you’re famous.”
Harry felt a sharp pain in his forehead, right where his scar was. And suddenly, like a flash, he remembered something: a blinding green light and a cold, cruel laugh. He clutched his head in his hands, trying to push the memory away.
The Dursleys were silent, but the tension in the room was palpable. Finally, Vernon found the courage to speak. “Utter nonsense!” he exclaimed, standing up. “Now listen here, boy. It’s clear you’ve always been a bit strange, though nothing that couldn’t have been sorted out with a good smack... But as for all these stories about your parents... Well, yes, they were odd, no denying it, and frankly, the world’s better off without them. What happened to them was their own doing, meddling with all that magic... Just as I predicted. I always knew they’d come to a bad end.”
That was too much. Sirius shot to his feet, furious. “What did you say?” he growled, his face contorted with rage.
“I said that—” But Vernon never finished his sentence. Sirius grabbed a photo frame of Dudley from the coffee table and used it to strike Vernon over the head. The first blow made Vernon stagger, but Sirius didn’t stop. He hit him again, and again, and again. The frame cracked under the force of the blows, and Vernon collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
“Stop!” Harry shouted, running toward Sirius. He grabbed his godfather’s arm, pulling him back. “Please, stop!”
Sirius froze, his breathing heavy. He looked at Vernon, sprawled on the floor, then at the cracked photo frame in his hand. “He...” he began, but couldn’t finish. He dropped the frame, looking horrified at what he’d done.
Harry, though shocked, wasn’t angry with Sirius. He had seen the pent-up anger in his godfather finally explode, and he understood why. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Take me away.”
Sirius nodded, and together they left Number 4, Privet Drive.
Not long after taking refuge at Sirius’s house, they heard the wail of an ambulance siren. Sirius’s house was silent, wrapped in an atmosphere of unreal calm, a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind at Number 4. Harry sat on the old sofa in the living room, his hands clenched on his knees as he stared at the floor. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts: his parents, Voldemort, magic... and, of course, the ambulance sirens he had heard just before leaving with Sirius.
“Sirius,” he began, looking at his godfather, who was leaning against the fireplace with a tired expression. “What’s going to happen now? The police... Vernon...”
Sirius rubbed his temples, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked incredibly drained, as if the weight of the world had just collapsed on him. Then he sat beside Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I went too far,” he admitted, his voice low and full of remorse. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that. Not in front of you. I’m sorry, Harry.”
Harry looked at him, confused but not angry. “But you froze them,” he said. “You said things I’ve always wanted to say myself. And for the first time... I saw them scared. Not for me, but for what they were doing.”
Sirius gave him a faint smile, but there was still a shadow in his eyes. “That’s no excuse, my boy. Vernon and Petunia deserved to be confronted, but Vernon didn’t deserve a concussion. I let my anger take over, and that’s not fair to you. I’m truly sorry.”
Harry lowered his gaze. He wanted to say it didn’t matter, that Sirius had done what he never could have done on his own. But before he could speak, Sirius gave him a brief hug, then stood up.
“Don’t worry about Vernon,” Sirius said, his tone regaining its confidence. “The Dursleys won’t remember much about today. Someone I know will take care of it. I can’t afford more outbursts like this, but I’d say today was justified.”
Harry looked at him, surprised. “Is it really possible to make them forget everything?”
Sirius smiled, this time with a hint of mischief. “Oh, absolutely. We can’t erase their horrible personalities, but we can ensure this incident becomes... a muddled memory. Let’s say they’ll think Vernon fell down the stairs.”
For a moment, Harry stayed silent, trying to sort through his thoughts. Now he knew the truth about his parents. He understood what had taken them from him but also what had made them extraordinary. And, for the first time, he knew he belonged to a world where he could be accepted.
“Sirius,” he began hesitantly, “thank you for telling me everything. Even if... it hurts.”
Sirius paused, looking at him with a gentle expression. “It’s normal for it to hurt. The truth is a hard beast to face, but I’d rather you know who you are and where you come from than live in ignorance. You’re much stronger than you think, Harry. And I’m proud of you. Now, don’t dwell on it too much. In two days, we’ve got a very special day ahead.”
Harry felt his cheeks flush but said nothing. He glanced at the large clock on the wall. In just a few hours, it would be his eleventh birthday. He found himself thinking about Hogwarts, about the world waiting for him. And for the first time in his life, he felt genuinely excited for the future.
As Sirius moved toward the kitchen, likely to prepare something warm, Harry lay back on the couch. His mind was still buzzing with questions, but there was one feeling he couldn’t ignore: for the first time, he felt less alone.
Now he knew he had a place where he belonged. Hogwarts wasn’t just a school; it was a chance to have friends, to be accepted for who he truly was.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting that thought comfort him. Whatever awaited him, he wouldn’t be facing it alone. With Sirius by his side and a new world to discover, Harry felt that anything was finally possible.