Beneath the Mountain Shadows
Sirius woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had in years. The bed beneath him, though simple, felt like the softest mattress he had ever experienced—perhaps a result of spending a week on the cold, hard floors of Azkaban. As his eyes fluttered open, his first instinct was to check on Harry, who had slept beside him through the night.
To his surprise, Harry was already awake, sitting quietly, gazing out the window at the soft glow of the rising sun. His small body was curled beneath the covers, but he made no sound—no fidgeting, no movement to alert Sirius that he had stirred. The quiet unsettled Sirius. Shouldn’t a child Harry’s age be more energetic, more vocal? He couldn’t tell if this was just Harry’s nature or if the week spent with the Dursleys had muted something within him. The thought made Sirius’s chest tighten. He didn’t want to overthink it, but the worry gnawed at him.
Sirius ruffled Harry’s messy hair with a playful grin. "Good morning, pup," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Did you sleep well?" Harry didn’t respond with words but he made a soft, happy noise, his little face brightening at Sirius’s touch. Relief washed over Sirius like a wave.
The goblin healers at Gringotts had thoroughly examined Harry and declared him physically healthy. No lasting injuries, just a bit of malnourishment, which Snape was already addressing with the nutrient potions. Yet something still felt off. There was a lingering hint of pain in Harry’s eyes, and though Sirius had checked him over more times than he could count, the source of that pain remained a mystery. Perhaps it was emotional—how could it not be, after the loss of his parents?
Sirius sighed, brushing the worry aside for the moment. Maybe Harry was just hungry. He gathered Harry up into his arms, the boy pressing quietly into his chest, and stood. "Let’s get you some breakfast, huh?"
They made their way downstairs to the Leaky Cauldron, where the pub was just starting to wake with the early morning patrons. Sirius ordered a simple breakfast from Tom: soft vegetables for Harry—peas, carrots, and sweet potatoes—and scrambled eggs with a strong coffee for himself. As he cut Harry’s food into small pieces, Sirius couldn’t help but watch him closely. The boy was so quiet, so self-contained.
Harry picked up his spoon with small, determined hands. Though he made a mess, he barely needed help—something that should have been impressive for a child so young, but it only deepened Sirius’s frown. The Dursleys. They had clearly forced him to grow up far too fast, made him fend for himself. Lily would never have allowed this. Harry should have been loved, cherished, not forced into premature independence.
A sharp pang of guilt shot through Sirius. If only he had been there, if only he had fought harder—maybe then Harry wouldn’t have had to suffer, not even for that dreadful week.
As they continued to eat, Sirius became aware of the subtle stares from the few patrons scattered around the room. The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t busy yet, but those who were there had certainly noticed him. They watched with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, their whispers just loud enough for Sirius to hear. That’s Sirius Black, isn’t it? The one who was pardoned?
Sirius clenched his jaw and forced himself to ignore them. He didn’t care what they thought. His name had been cleared; he was a free man. The Ministry had even promised a formal apology in the Daily Prophet, which he was still waiting to see. Any minute now, an owl would bring the paper, and he’d see for himself how the world was handling his exoneration.
Harry, meanwhile, continued eating quietly, his small face set in a look of determined concentration. Sirius leaned back in his chair, watching him with a fierce protectiveness. He didn’t know how to raise a child, especially one who had been through so much. But one thing was certain: he would do whatever it took to give Harry the life he deserved—a life filled with love, safety, and joy.
Just as they were finishing their meal, the soft flutter of wings drew Sirius’s attention. An owl swooped down and dropped the latest edition of the Daily Prophet onto the table. Sirius’s heart beat a little faster as he unfolded the paper, scanning the front page for his name.
Sensational Developments in the Case of Sirius Black!
By Rita Skeeter,
Reporter Extraordinaire and Investigative Journalist for the Daily Prophet
Dearest readers, hold onto your hats, because the twists in the Sirius Black saga are more mind-boggling than anyone could have imagined! Yesterday, at an emergency Wizengamot session, the fate of one of the most infamous wizards in recent history was shockingly overturned. Yes, you heard it here first—Sirius Black, long thought to be the betrayer of the Potters and a dangerous mass murderer, has been exonerated of all charges.
But wait, my dear readers, that's only the tip of the iceberg! Not only was Black found innocent, but we learned that the so-called 'traitor,' Peter Pettigrew, is very much alive and well. How, you ask? Brace yourselves for this one. It was revealed that Black, along with none other than James Potter and Pettigrew himself, became illegal, unregistered Animagi while still in their FIFTH year at Hogwarts! Yes, my loves, three mere teenagers succeeded in what most adult wizards never manage—transforming into animals. Can you even imagine? The thought of Hogwarts students secretly running around in their Animagus forms sends shivers down my spine! What was Albus Dumbledore thinking during those years?
But the drama doesn’t stop there. According to testimony (under the influence of Veritaserum, no less!), Black disclosed how Pettigrew orchestrated his own escape. After being cornered by Aurors, Pettigrew—always the sly one—cut off his own finger, transformed into his rat form, and scurried into the sewers, leaving Black to take the fall for his "murder." And just like that, twelve innocent Muggles lay dead, and Black was wrongfully imprisoned.
Sounds like something straight out of a thriller, doesn’t it? But trust me, my dear readers, I, Rita Skeeter, never deal in fabrications! I was right there when Black was questioned, and under the unyielding grip of Veritaserum, he told the truth. Every. Last. Word.
And now, there's a frantic search for Pettigrew, who—wait for it—is currently masquerading as a rat with a missing toe. Yes, my readers, you too can be a hero if you find this treacherous rodent! There’s even a hefty reward of 1,000 Galleons for anyone who brings him in. So, keep your eyes peeled for rats with suspiciously stubby feet!
But Sirius Black's troubles didn’t end with his exoneration. Due to his failure to register as an Animagus (tut-tut, Mr. Black!), he’s been slapped with a fine of a staggering 25,000 Galleons! Still, with the famously vast Black family fortune at his disposal, one can hardly feel sorry for him. I imagine he’ll be able to pay that off without so much as a blink.
In a rather heartwarming twist, the Ministry of Magic has offered an apology to Black for their mishandling of his case, with Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold, announcing a compensation of 7,000 Galleons (1,000 for each day of wrongful imprisonment). How touching! When I pressed the Minister for further comment, she assured me that "We deeply regret the unprofessional conduct during Mr. Black’s trial and hope he will accept our apology." But I must ask—can any amount of gold truly make up for time spent in Azkaban?
Naturally, I wasn't about to let the Minister off the hook so easily. I posed the question burning in everyone's mind: How many other prisoners were denied fair trials? Will we see justice for those unjustly imprisoned? Will we, the public, be allowed to witness these proceedings?
Minister Bagnold, clearly uncomfortable with my probing, deferred to Barty Crouch Sr., the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who looked as though he might burst into flames at any moment! After an awkward silence, the Minister finally answered, “We will consider public hearings for those wrongfully convicted, though in accordance with the decorum of the Wizengamot.”
But mark my words, my dear readers—there's more to this story than they’re letting on. I will be digging deeper, as always, and you can trust that I’ll uncover the truth. And as for Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore, who remained suspiciously tight-lipped throughout the entire affair... well, let's just say that I have my ways of getting answers.
Stay tuned, my faithful readers. The story of Sirius Black—and the dark corners of the Ministry of Magic—is far from over.
Yours in truth and scandal,
Rita Skeeter
Reporter Extraordinaire
The Daily Prophet
Sirius read through the Daily Prophet with as much composure as he could manage, though every fibre of his being longed to devour the words like a man starved. A strange mixture of amusement and disgust churned within him as he took in the article. What else had he expected from Rita Skeeter? The woman thrived on sensationalism, always inflating the truth to absurd proportions. Yet, despite her flair for exaggeration, at least this time, she had managed to convey the truth—a rare occurrence indeed.
The compensation offered by the Ministry surprised him. A tidy sum of 7,000 Galleons, supposedly as an apology for his wrongful imprisonment. Sirius almost laughed at the thought. No amount of gold could undo the damage caused by those harrowing days in Azkaban, nor could it erase the bitterness that lingered. Still, perhaps the Ministry sought to curry favour with him now that he had been declared innocent. The gold would not buy his forgiveness, but he understood the gesture for what it was: an attempt to smooth over their gross mishandling of justice.
Once he had skimmed the apology, Sirius lost interest in the rest of the article. There was no need to linger on the sordid details of Pettigrew’s betrayal or the public’s newfound knowledge of his innocence. It was enough that the world now knew the truth—his truth. Still, there was a part of him that recognised his new reality. As the newly restored Lord Black, he would be summoned to future Wizengamot sessions, called upon to play his role in the governing body of the magical world. And judging by the tone of the article, he suspected his presence would be required more often than not in the coming months.
But for now, he couldn’t be bothered. His name had been cleared, and that was all that mattered. The fine for being an unregistered Animagus—25,000 Galleons—had already been arranged. He had instructed Ragnok to transfer the sum to whichever Ministry account handled such things. One less burden to concern himself with.
Now, all that remained was to wait. Severus would be arriving soon with the nutrient potion for Harry, and Remus would be joining them shortly, packed and ready for their journey to the chalet in France. Sirius felt a wave of relief wash over him at the thought. He wanted Remus at his side when they ventured into Diagon Alley to shop for Harry and perhaps indulge in a few things for himself. After everything that had happened, the idea of quiet time in France, surrounded by those he trusted most, was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Severus had returned to Hogwarts late the previous evening, exhausted from the long day spent at Gringotts. Yet, without hesitation, he had gone straight to his personal laboratory, intent on brewing nutrient potions of the highest caliber for his newly appointed godson. The thought still unsettled him—godson. He hadn’t expected to feel anything for the boy, not after years spent building walls around his heart, keeping affection and vulnerability at bay. His life as a spy demanded such barriers; any emotional attachment was a risk, a weakness to be exploited by those who knew where to look.
And yet, Harry Potter—Lily's son—had somehow slipped past his defences. Severus had always been cautious, but with Harry, the barriers had faltered, allowing the child a space within his heart that Severus had not known remained open. He resolved, then and there, that he would protect the boy, not only for Lily’s sake but for Harry's own. The boy was not James Potter, despite the resemblance. He was Harry—a child innocent of his father’s sins.
By morning, Severus had filled enough vials of the potion to last Sirius Black a week, with additional reserves prepared just in case. He preferred to err on the side of caution, especially when it came to something as vital as the child’s well-being. Stepping lightly, he left the dungeons before dawn, hoping to avoid any unwanted encounters. He did not have the patience for conversations with the headmaster or anyone else—not this early in the morning, not when his mind was so preoccupied.
The Leaky Cauldron was quieter than usual when he arrived, though it didn’t take long to spot Black. The other patrons, sparse as they were, seemed to avoid him, giving him wide berth as if his very presence unsettled them. Severus’s lip curled slightly at the sight. Some things, it seemed, would never change.
Black was hunched over the Daily Prophet, his brow furrowed as he read the headlines. Likely something about his recently restored innocence. But it wasn’t Black who caught Severus's attention first—it was the child.
Harry sat beside his godfather, unnaturally calm for a child barely more than a year old. Severus found himself pausing. It was odd, the quiet serenity in the boy. He had seen Draco not long ago—another child of the same age—who was all wild exuberance, babbling and showing off toys, needing constant attention and exhausting his parents. But here was Harry, so quiet, so restrained. It unsettled Severus in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Could there be something more at play here?
And then there was Black. Severus recalled the man’s surprisingly sincere apology the day before, after they had read Lily's letter. Black had, to Severus's astonishment, acknowledged his past cruelties and had even accepted Severus’s presence in Harry’s life without protest. Yet despite that, Severus wasn’t sure he could ever forgive Black—or Potter, for that matter—for the torment they had put him through. Seven years of bullying and humiliation weren’t easily forgotten.
He would never allow his bitterness toward James Potter to affect Harry, of course. The boy was blameless, and Severus would ensure he never carried the weight of his father’s sins. But Black was another matter entirely. Severus wasn’t sure he could ever move beyond the hatred that had been nurtured for so long.
Still, for Harry's sake, he would try. He would maintain civility, at the very least, though any true friendship with Black—or Lupin, for that matter—was out of the question. He had enough to deal with without seeking reconciliation with people from his past.
Severus, pulled from his musings, approached the pair at the counter. He was momentarily taken aback when Harry, upon noticing him, offered a radiant smile. There was no mistaking the warmth and joy in the child’s expression, and for a brief moment, Severus felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. He had no idea why Harry, of all people, would smile at him like that, but he wasn’t about to question it. If anything, it seemed to irk Black, and that alone was worth the bemusement that followed.
"Morning, Black," Severus drawled as he came to a stop before them.
Sirius jumped, clearly startled by Severus’s sudden appearance. He scowled before quickly smoothing his expression, determined to appear unaffected. There was a certain maturity to his reaction, something uncharacteristically restrained, as though he were making a conscious effort to rise above their past. It was almost impressive.
"Morning, Snape," Sirius replied, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "Sleep well?" The tone was just mischievous enough to be irritating, and Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Harry, once again, turned his bright smile toward Severus, which seemed to only intensify Sirius’s internal struggle. It was clear that Sirius was trying—and failing—not to let it bother him. Why, he must have wondered, would Harry show such affection to Snape, of all people, while remaining quiet and reserved with him? It hardly seemed fair, and Severus, though inwardly amused, kept his expression carefully neutral.
Sirius, for his part, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. It didn’t make sense. Why would Harry, who barely said a word to him, be so eager to smile and engage with Snape? He sighed inwardly, trying to remind himself that he was being mature, that he was handling the situation with grace. He was better than this.
Yet, as he glanced between his godson and Severus, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of injustice gnawing at him.
Remus arrived not long after, just as Severus had finished ordering a simple breakfast for himself: a couple of boiled eggs and a glass of orange juice. The three adults exchanged brief nods in greeting, their words unnecessary in the quiet early morning atmosphere. Harry, however, immediately stretched out his arms toward Remus, making eager, grabby motions that left no room for doubt. Remus, with a warm smile, scooped Harry up from his seat and settled the boy on his lap. He ordered the same breakfast as Severus and, as was his nature, turned all his attention to his young nephew.
It filled Remus’s heart to see the trust Harry placed in him so easily. There were few people in his life who had ever looked at him with such openness and affection, and even fewer who accepted him without hesitation, given his condition. But here was Harry—innocent and untainted by the prejudices of the world—who saw him as just another person who loved him. Remus cherished that bond more than anything, and it showed in the soft way he held the boy, his gentle gaze full of adoration.
Severus and Sirius, meanwhile, observed the scene with differing emotions. Both were keenly aware of how easily Harry took to Remus, just as he had with Severus earlier. And yet, there was an undeniable tension in the air when it came to Sirius. While Harry hadn’t outright rejected his godfather, there was a certain distance that couldn’t be ignored—especially when compared to the ease with which the boy interacted with Remus and Severus.
It was starting to seem as though Harry, for reasons neither Severus nor Sirius could pinpoint, was unhappy with Sirius. That thought gnawed at the back of Sirius’s mind. Harry had known him the longest—he had always been delighted whenever 'Padfoot' visited. What had changed?
Sirius turned over the memories of the past few days in his mind, trying to make sense of it. Harry had greeted him warmly enough at Gringotts, hadn’t he? There had been no hesitation, no reluctance when Sirius had taken him into his arms. And the boy had made no fuss about spending the night with him either. So what was it? What had shifted?
Then, like a whisper in the back of his mind, Lily’s letter came to him. Her words had cut deeper than he cared to admit—her disappointment, her anger over the infamous "prank" that had nearly cost two lives. The two lives in question were sitting right beside him now, and Sirius couldn’t help but wonder if that had something to do with it.
Could it be that Lily had, somehow, passed this knowledge on to Harry? Was it even possible for a child so young to comprehend such things, let alone hold onto them? Harry was just over a year old, after all—how could he understand something so complex, so fraught with history and emotion?
But then again, Harry had already proven to be different. There was no mistaking the way he had recognized Severus yesterday, without ever having met him before. It defied logic, but the signs were there, undeniable as they were perplexing. Perhaps Harry—like his mother—was, in some mysterious way, upset with Sirius.
The thought weighed heavily on him. Could a one-year-old truly feel such disappointment? Could he sense the lingering tension between Sirius and Severus, the echoes of a past filled with mistakes and regret?
Sirius shook his head, willing the doubts away. It was a strange, irrational thought, but with Harry, it seemed as if nothing was truly impossible. Yet, in that moment, all Sirius could do was hope that whatever distance existed between him and his godson could be bridged, before it grew into something larger, something irreversible.
Sirius, seeing Remus and Harry lost in their own world, turned to Severus. "Do you have the potions for Harry?" he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to interrupt the quiet bond unfolding between his friend and godson.
Severus, returning his attention to the conversation with a measured nod, reached into his robes and retrieved a set of vials. He handed them over with his usual precision. "One dose at lunch, every day, for a month," he instructed, his voice smooth and efficient. "This brew is stronger than the standard potion, so one vial a day will suffice. I’ve packed ten vials for now, which should last you through the first week. I’ll brew more once you return from France."
Sirius nodded in understanding, carefully tucking the vials away. He appreciated Severus’s thoroughness, even if he would never openly admit it. Once the meal was finished, and the silence had stretched long enough, Sirius broke it again. "All packed, Remus?"
Remus, glancing up from where Harry was still comfortably settled in his lap, nodded. "Yes, everything’s ready."
"Great," Sirius said, leaning back slightly in his chair. "We just need to pick up a few necessities for Harry—clothes, baby care supplies, and maybe a cradle? Then we’ll decide whether to apparate or take a portkey to the chalet."
Remus had spent part of last night preparing for just this. He had even stopped at a bookshop on the way back from packing and bought a basic guide to baby care. It had been a quiet but reflective night, and as he read through the pages, his mind kept returning to Lily’s letter. Her words had struck him deeper than he had expected. She hadn’t just called him out for drifting through life—she had called him out for something more personal, more painful: for not accepting himself, for refusing to embrace who he truly was.
That truth lingered uncomfortably in his heart. For so long, he had been at war with his own nature, the curse of lycanthropy hanging over him like a dark shadow. But now, with Harry in his life, things felt different. He wanted—needed—to be a part of his nephew’s life, to be the loving, protective figure that Harry could look up to. The idea of being "Uncle Moony" brought a bittersweet smile to his face. James and Lily had left him enough to live comfortably, and Remus knew it was time to stop hiding from the world and embrace the role they had entrusted to him.
As it was the weekend, Severus, much to everyone’s surprise, had no qualms about accompanying the remaining Marauders and Harry on their errand. After paying for their breakfast, the trio left the Leaky Cauldron and stepped into the crisp morning air of Diagon Alley.
The alley was still in its early stages of waking up. Shopkeepers were just beginning to open their storefronts, and the cobblestone street was only lightly populated with the first wave of early shoppers. The quiet hum of morning activity created a sense of peace as the three men—so different, yet bound together by Harry—walked along the street.
Harry remained nestled in Remus’s arms, content and quiet as they made their way to "Starlight Sprouts," a charming baby shop filled with everything from clothing to toys. The soft chime of the bell above the door announced their entrance, and they were greeted by the sight of shelves stacked with brightly coloured fabrics, wooden and magical toys, and books filled with rhymes and lullabies.
Sirius glanced around, feeling a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. "Right," he said, "let’s see what we can find for the little man."
Remus, already scanning the store with an eye for practical purchases, couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for Harry as he imagined all the things they would need to build a life filled with love and warmth for the child. This, he thought, was the start of something important—something he hadn’t realised how much he needed until now.
The three men dispersed into different sections of the baby shop, each taking responsibility for a particular area of need for Harry.
Remus, ever practical and mindful of Harry’s comfort, headed straight for the section with enchanted baby items. He examined diapers that boasted self-cleaning charms—a blessing, he thought, for any caretaker—and then moved on to clothing enchanted with adjustable charms that resized themselves as the child grew. Some of the outfits were designed with built-in heating or cooling charms, ensuring that Harry would always be comfortable regardless of the weather. As Remus ran his fingers over the soft fabric, he felt a surge of quiet determination. He also spotted a magical high chair, charmed to gently levitate the child as needed, and made a note to purchase it before they left. This, he decided, would be his way of ensuring Harry had all the warmth and care he deserved.
Severus, with his precise and meticulous eye, focused on finding the perfect crib for Harry. He gravitated toward a sturdy model crafted from enchanted wood, its soft, calming colours a soothing contrast to the hustle of the shop. The crib came equipped with layers of safety charms, including a built-in alarm charm that would alert an adult if the baby tried to climb out. It was practical, secure, and just what Harry needed. Severus also sought out a two-way mirror—or perhaps a crystal ball-like device—that functioned as a baby monitor, capable of alerting them if Harry was in distress. He added some feeding items to his list, ensuring they had everything necessary for mealtimes.
Meanwhile, Sirius gravitated toward the toys, a grin spreading across his face as he picked up various items meant for both entertainment and development. He had already bought Harry a toy broomstick not long ago, though it was likely in pieces by now. Maybe it was time to buy another? His hand lingered over a small plush toy shaped like Padfoot—how perfect would that be? He smiled, adding it to his growing collection of purchases. He also picked up a soft wolf plushie for Remus, imagining how Harry would love to associate the wolf with "Uncle Moony." He finished by grabbing some teething toys, knowing they’d be useful soon enough. Lastly, Sirius couldn’t resist picking up a baby book for himself, determined to become more informed on how to care for his godson.
By the time the three men met back up, their arms laden with their respective finds, it was clear that together, they were preparing not just for the present, but for the future Harry deserved—one filled with love, care, and a little magic.
The group of four made their way to Gringotts once more, having completed their shopping for both Harry and Sirius. Sirius had realized partway through that he had forgotten to withdraw any gold beforehand, having been caught up in the whirlwind of the previous day’s events. As a result, he had used his Lord ring to sign a money order form at each stop. Severus had done the same, while Remus, always more prepared, seemed to have carried gold with him.
Upon reaching the bank, Sirius approached one of the tellers and requested an audience with Varglok, the Black family account manager. They were swiftly led to a private room, where Varglok awaited them behind his heavy desk, his expression characteristically stern—though not unfriendly.
"Lord Black, Lord Prince, Mr. Lupin, and young Heir Potter-Black," Varglok greeted them with a formal nod.
"Greetings, Varglok," Sirius replied, his tone light. "I trust the Black fortune has been keeping you well afloat?" he added with a cheeky grin. Varglok's lips curled into a smirk, but he said nothing.
Sirius got straight to business. "I’d like to withdraw some gold from the Black main vault. I did a bit of shopping for myself and Harry but used my Lord ring for payment. I’d also appreciate an extendable money pouch I can carry with me."
Varglok nodded, snapping his fingers. Almost instantly, a finely crafted pouch appeared on the table before them. Harry’s eyes widened in fascination, and he stretched his small arms toward the pouch, making grabby hands at the new object. Remus smiled as Sirius, his heart softening at the sight, handed the pouch over to Harry, who eagerly accepted it, clutching it like a prized possession.
That simple gesture did wonders to soothe the quiet storm of worry that had been brewing inside Sirius all morning. Harry had been unusually quiet—even during their shopping trip. While the boy had looked around with wide-eyed wonder, his reactions were restrained, leaving Sirius to wonder if something deeper was at play. But moments like this, watching Harry’s fascination, gave him hope that things would eventually return to normal.
Varglok observed the boy with a calculating look before speaking again. "If I’m not mistaken, Mrs. Potter had set aside a separate vault for the caretaker of the young heir Potter-Black. I could take you there on the way to the Black vault if you wish to withdraw funds from it."
Sirius shook his head before the goblin had even finished speaking. "No, let it stay where it is. In fact, I’d like you to combine the Black and Potter heir vaults, along with the custodian vault. It’s all for Harry—money from his parents and from me. I have more than enough to care for him on my own."
Varglok, unsurprised by Sirius's decision, merely nodded in acknowledgment and made a note to combine the vaults later that day. It was a matter of efficiency and simplicity, and Sirius wanted Harry’s future to be as secure as possible.
Remus and Severus, meanwhile, each requested an extendable money pouch of their own, asking for the amounts to be deducted from their personal vaults. Severus, ever private, was careful to keep his Prince Lordship under wraps for the moment. Aside from the people in this room, no one else knew of his ancient lineage, and he intended to keep it that way. As for Remus, he still had some savings of his own and preferred to use that before touching the wealth James and Lily had left him. The sum they had bequeathed him had been overwhelming, more than he could ever have imagined. He knew he wouldn’t need for anything in the foreseeable future.
With their requests handled, the group prepared to visit the vaults, their purpose at Gringotts almost complete. After confirming with Varglok that the London townhouse would indeed be ready for Sirius and Harry to move into in a week’s time—following a thorough cleaning, baby-proofing, and refurbishment—the men and child left Gringotts. The weight of the day’s tasks seemed lighter now, the future just a bit clearer, as they stepped into the bright streets of Diagon Alley, each carrying the quiet satisfaction that they were building a home, a sanctuary, for Harry’s new life. The future felt a little more certain with each step they took.
Severus had to return to Hogwarts. He had potions to brew for Poppy, and he intended to spend the rest of the day relaxing before the inevitable swarm of dunderheads descended upon his lab for classes the following day. When Lupin had been retrieving some gold, he had passed Harry over to Severus. Now, with his godson in his arms, Severus found himself irrationally reluctant to let him go. He knew they'd be back in a week, but somehow, even the brief goodbye felt unexpectedly painful.
Still, they were in the middle of Diagon Alley, and Severus wasn’t about to let his emotions betray him in public. He glanced down at Harry, who gazed up at him with such open innocence, his trust so unshakable, it was as if a hand had clenched around Severus’s heart. Cold and guarded as that heart had become, Harry had managed to reach a place Severus hadn’t known still existed. And in that moment, Severus swore to himself—he would beg, borrow, steal, kill, or die to make sure that trust was never lost. He would stand before any harm aimed at his godson.
In a voice so low that only Harry could hear, Severus whispered, "See you soon, little Harry. You be good, alright? I’ll come and see you the day you return."
Harry, in response, gave him a wide grin, his tiny hands framing Severus’s face with surprising tenderness. Then, in an innocent gesture, he brought their foreheads together in a childlike embrace. Severus, unused to such displays of affection, was momentarily stunned. He didn’t know how to process this—the sudden, overwhelming sense of overprotectiveness that had taken root inside him. Love, he had understood—at least he thought he had—having once felt it for Lily. Anger, hatred, fear, despair—those were emotions he knew intimately. But this? This pure affection, this deep bond—it was alien to him.
Nevertheless, he held Harry close for a brief moment, feeling the child’s warmth against him, before clearing his throat and turning to face the two other men. Sirius and Remus, wisely, were pretending not to notice the interaction, though Severus could tell by their carefully neutral expressions that they had seen far more than they let on.
Both Sirius and Remus had witnessed a side of Severus they had never expected to see. The man who had been their bitter rival during school, always quick with a snarky remark or a cutting glare, was showing more emotion in these past twenty-four hours than either of them had seen in the entire decade they had known him. They had fully expected Severus to despise Harry on sight—regardless of the child’s blood adoption altering his features to favor the Black family line, his hair remained an unmistakable remnant of James Potter, wild and unruly as ever. And yet, here was Severus, holding Harry with a tenderness that neither Sirius nor Remus could have imagined.
It was a reminder of how much things had changed—and how much, perhaps, they still had to learn about one another.
Having said his goodbyes with a distant but civil nod, Severus turned away, offering a simple, "Black. Lupin," before moving down the alley, his robes billowing softly behind him. Sirius and Remus stood in awkward silence for a few moments, still processing the unexpected display of emotion they had just witnessed. It wasn’t until Harry made soft, insistent noises in Remus’s arms that they snapped out of it, the baby’s presence pulling them back to the present.
Sirius had already decided they would use a Portkey to travel to the chalet in France. The distance was too great to risk Harry getting sick from side-along Apparition, and a Portkey, while regulated by the Ministry, would provide the added security of an official record. He had just commissioned Gringotts to make one, ensuring that both he and Harry would be accounted for, should anyone search for them in the future.
The goblins, ever efficient, had used one of his gold coins to create the Portkey with a simple "Portus." The coin glowed briefly with a soft blue light, signaling that the spell had been successfully cast.
Sirius glanced at Remus, who held Harry securely. "Ready?" he asked quietly. At Remus’s nod, Sirius whispered "Chalet" to activate the Portkey. In an instant, the three of them—Remus with Harry in his arms and Sirius burdened with all their shopping—touched the enchanted coin and disappeared from Diagon Alley without a trace, vanishing as if they had never been there.
The sight that greeted them was unlike anything Remus had ever seen. The luxurious chalet, set against the dramatic backdrop of the French Alps in Chamonix-Mont-Blanc, looked like something pulled straight from a fairytale. Designed as a private retreat for a family as prestigious as the Blacks, it was the kind of place one could only dream of seeing in a lifetime. Nestled amidst towering snow-capped peaks and evergreen trees, the chalet sat comfortably in the landscape, bathed in the crisp November air.
As they stepped inside, the splendour of the interior was even more breathtaking than the view outside. Harry, wide-eyed with awe, gurgled in delight, his tiny face lit up with wonder. The large, floor-to-ceiling windows offered sweeping, unobstructed views of the majestic Alps. The chalet’s design, a perfect blend of traditional wood and stone, radiated both sophistication and rustic charm. It was clear that this place, though private and secluded, was a testament to the elegance and grandeur befitting the House of Black.
Sirius, for his part, felt a wave of peace settle over him the moment they entered. This had always been one of the few places in his childhood where he could find comfort, even amidst the turmoil of his family. Here, the outside world felt distant, the memories of war and Azkaban fading as he was enveloped in a rare sense of calm. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.
Remus and Sirius were so taken in by the beauty of their surroundings—Harry clutched in Remus's arms—that they didn’t notice the presence of another person until a voice, rich with amusement, broke the quiet reverie.
"Well," the voice drawled, "I certainly wasn’t expecting company today."
The two men whirled around, wands drawn in an instant. Sirius’s new wand, freshly acquired from Ollivander’s during his shopping spree, pulsed in his hand. It was unlike his old one—more powerful, but also far more temperamental. The wand that had chosen him was a striking 13.75 inches of Yew wood, with a core of Thestral tail hair, slightly springy. Every time Sirius held it, he felt a rush of raw, intoxicating power surging through him, as though the very magic within him were amplified by the wand's touch.
Remus, meanwhile, eyed the woman before them warily, his brow furrowed. He didn’t know her, but the unmistakable aura of her lineage told him everything he needed to know—this woman was a Black. The sharp, well-defined features, the narrow, elegant nose, the pitch-black hair that gleamed like polished obsidian, and the pale, flawless skin were all hallmarks of their bloodline. Most striking of all were her eyes—piercing gray, intense and unyielding, as if they could see through the very fabric of your soul. She was a timeless beauty, reminiscent of Narcissa Black-Malfoy, yet there was an edge to her that made Remus uneasy.
Sirius, however, recognised her immediately. His heart nearly stopped as he took in the sight of her, his mind grappling with the impossibility of it. He had thought she was dead—long gone, another casualty of the twisted history of the Black family. Yet here she stood, as poised and lethal as ever.
Cassiopeia Black.
Sirius forced himself to remain steady, though he could feel the tension coiling in his muscles. Her grace and elegance were deceiving—he knew all too well that beneath her beauty lay a ruthless killer, a woman who embodied every dangerous virtue of the Black family. She was the epitome of their power—formidable, lethal, and always one step ahead. Cassiopeia could finish you before you even had time to think of a spell, her beauty so distracting that you'd only realise your fate when it was far too late.
"How…?" Sirius’s voice trailed off, his mind still reeling from the shock of her presence. He kept his wand steady, his eyes locked on hers, ready for whatever might come next.
Cassiopeia Black was not a woman to be underestimated.
Cassiopeia eyed their drawn wands with a raised eyebrow, her expression laced with amusement. A subtle smirk played at the corner of her lips, a mockery of their wariness. "I would think you’d have more decorum than that, Sirius," she drawled, her voice smooth and lazy, as if she had all the time in the world. "Where are your manners? I’m quite certain your mother drilled them into you."
Sirius, still grappling with the impossible reality before him, fumbled for a response. The words that escaped him were far too feeble for someone of his rank as Heir—now Lord—of the House of Black. "You’re supposed to be dead," he muttered, his disbelief rendering him momentarily inelegant.
Cassiopeia’s eyes gleamed with amusement, her posture unruffled. "As you can see," she said with a casual wave of her hand, "I am most definitely not dead." Her voice was sharp but smooth, each word dipped in the effortless superiority that only a Black could wield. "And I would appreciate it if you and your… friend," she continued, casting a pointed glance at Remus, "would kindly put your wands away. It’s quite rude to greet family with hostility, wouldn’t you agree?"
She let the question hang in the air, her gaze unwavering as she fixed Sirius with an almost playful look of disapproval. "Honestly, Sirius. I expected better from you. Not even an introduction?" She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment. "Where are your family manners?"
The way she spoke, so calm and commanding, unnerved him further. This was the same Cassiopeia Black—ruthless, dangerous, and poised—but somehow still here, standing in front of him when she should have been dead for years. And as much as her words twisted the knife of confusion, Sirius couldn't help but feel the weight of her presence, the authority she carried effortlessly.
Remus glanced between them, his hand still hovering near his wand, his wariness clear. But Sirius knew Cassiopeia well enough. If she wanted them dead, they wouldn’t have had time to draw their wands at all.
Sirius, finally snapping out of his daze, withdrew his wand and slid it back into the holster at his arm. He straightened and gave a respectful bow at the waist—lower than one would expect, considering his station was above hers, but Cassiopeia was a woman deserving of such respect. He would bow like this for no one else. "Aunt Cassiopeia," he greeted her formally, his voice steadying, "please forgive my behaviour. You took me by surprise—I wasn’t expecting anyone to be residing in the family’s holiday home. I hope you’re keeping well."
Cassiopeia’s stern expression softened slightly, her lips curving into a small smile. It pleased her to see that her great-nephew still held onto the values instilled by the Black family. Arcturus would have been proud of his heir, now finally stepping into the role of Lord Black. She knew he had claimed his title—it was the only way he could have entered the house without triggering the wards.
"I am well, thank you," she replied, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. "I’m not sure I can say the same for you, however. It seems there is much to discuss." Her sharp gaze flicked to the other man, Remus, and then settled on the child cradled in his arms—Harry, the young heir, whose presence spoke volumes.
The informal family room they entered was a seamless blend of elegance and comfort. Understated luxury oozed from every corner—rich, dark wood-panelled walls and a large stone fireplace as the centrepiece, its gentle crackling filling the quiet air. Plush sofas and oversized armchairs in deep forest greens and midnight blues, accented with silver, were arranged around the hearth. Cassiopeia claimed a high-backed armchair, her posture regal, while Sirius and Remus, with Harry nestled between them, took the sofa. Remus, ever mindful, draped a thick woollen throw over Harry in case the child felt the chill of the mountain air.
With a mere flick of her hand, Cassiopeia summoned a house-elf. Moments later, a tray of tea and biscuits appeared on the low wooden coffee table. Beside the tray lay a copy of the Daily Prophet, no doubt what Cassiopeia had referred to earlier when she said she "couldn’t say the same" about Sirius’s well-being.
Remus, meanwhile, was entirely captivated by the bookshelf that stood grandly in the far corner. His eyes roamed over the floor-to-ceiling shelves, which seemed to house an impressive collection of ancient and obscure magical texts, along with several novels by the look of them. He knew exactly how he would be spending his time here—curling up with one of those books near the fire, the enchanted lamp next to the plush reading chairs softly illuminating the pages. He could already envision a week spent by the corner window, wrapped in furs, a hot cup of chocolate in hand, watching the snow fall outside.
The only sound in the room was the steady crackling of the fire. Harry, too, was quiet, his small face turned toward the warmth, his heavy eyelids fluttering as if on the verge of sleep. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful, until Cassiopeia’s voice sliced through the stillness.
"So, you went to Azkaban?"
She spoke with such bluntness that Sirius had to resist the instinct to flinch. The question landed with all the subtlety of a curse. He cleared his throat, then offered a measured, if somewhat defensive, response. "It wasn’t my fault," he began, his tone clipped. "There was a lot happening that night. The Aurors arrived right after the rat"—he spat the word like it burned his tongue—"escaped. They found me standing there, and... well, I may have been laughing like a madman." His voice trailed off sheepishly.
Cassiopeia’s expression remained unmoved. Her lips pursed in displeasure as she regarded him with cold, unimpressed eyes. "And what of a trial?" she asked sharply. "You are a member of a Noble and Most Ancient House, Sirius. Whether or not you’ve ever valued or respected that fact, it should have meant something. To be thrown into a prison cell without so much as a hearing—it's an insult to your blood." Her tone, though restrained, was laced with the unmistakable fury of someone who valued decorum and tradition above all. Cassiopeia Black was a woman who did not allow herself the luxury of outbursts, but her anger simmered beneath the surface, sharp as a blade.
Sirius almost pouted, feeling like a schoolboy being scolded. Cassiopeia had always had this effect on him. His parents’ anger never fazed him, but his great-aunt—along with his grandfather, Arcturus—had always commanded his respect. Even as he had distanced himself from his family’s values, those two figures had loomed large in his life, people he did not want to disappoint.
"There was too much chaos in the Ministry for a proper trial," Sirius finally said, though his voice lacked conviction. "If it hadn’t been for Lily’s memory orb, I might never have had one at all." His frustration over the injustice of it all bubbled beneath his words, but it was clear even to him that the explanation fell flat.
Cassiopeia’s eyes narrowed, her expression cooling further. "And what of Dumbledore?" she asked, her voice slicing through the air with condescending disdain. "Your beloved Headmaster is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is he not? How did he let you rot in Azkaban for a week? I thought you were one of his shining examples—his beacon for ‘lost souls,’ those who had merely strayed from the light."
The mockery in her tone was so thick that Sirius had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping. There was something painfully true in her words that hit too close to home.
Remus, who had until then been silent, quietly agreed. The Headmaster had always been known for his willingness to give second chances to anyone, no matter their crimes. How had he allowed Sirius to languish in Azkaban for even a day, let alone a week? Dumbledore had known everything—how Sirius had run away from home in the middle of the night, how he had found refuge with the Potters, how much he despised the Dark Arts. More than anyone, Dumbledore knew that Sirius would rather die than betray James and Lily. And yet, he had done nothing. Remus’s heart twisted with guilt.
Sirius, still stinging from his recent conversation with Dumbledore, replied bitterly, "He said his influence in the Wizengamot wasn’t absolute." The words tasted hollow even as he said them. Cassiopeia scoffed in response, her lip curling in disdain.
Sirius felt a fresh wave of frustration. He had idolized Dumbledore for so long, had placed him on a pedestal that now seemed so precariously high. And yet, Dumbledore had left him to rot. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became of his suspicion—but he wasn’t sure he liked the conclusion he was drawing.
Cassiopeia finally addressed the unspoken question that had lingered in the room since their arrival—the child. She had her suspicions, but she wanted confirmation. "So, the child is the Potters’ boy, I presume?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral, though curiosity gleamed in her eyes.
Sirius's lips curved into an automatic smile at the mere mention of his godson. It had been more than a year since that July in 1980, when Harry had first been placed in his arms, but the love he felt for the boy had only grown since that day. To Sirius, Harry was as much his son as he was James’s. After all, James had been his brother in everything but blood. He knew he would never have children of his own—Harry was it. His son, his godson, his nephew... his. That sense of possessive love had only deepened when Lily had asked him to blood-adopt Harry, making him, in every magical and legal sense, Harry’s parent. It was the best day of his life, second only to the day Harry was born.
"Yes," Sirius replied, his voice warm, "this is Harrison James Potter-Black."
Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the addition of 'Black' to the boy’s name. She was clearly wondering why. Sensing her unspoken question, Sirius clarified, "He’s my godson, but also my blood-adopted son and, by extension, the heir to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
Cassiopeia turned her gaze back to the child, studying him more carefully now, as though reappraising the future of the Black family. This was more than she had anticipated. A godfather, she could have guessed. But blood adoption? That was surprising, especially given the Potters’ turn toward the light side as the Dark Lord had descended into madness. It was shocking, in truth, more than simply unexpected.
Sirius, reading her expression, decided to satisfy her curiosity. Blood adoption was a rare and ancient practice, one that was even rarer now with the obsession over blood purity at its height. Families guarded their bloodlines fiercely, despite the fact that blood adoption effectively rewrote a person’s lineage. "It was Lily’s idea," he said, a faint smile on his lips as he remembered. "James wasn’t fully on board at first, but he came around."
Cassiopeia found herself in a day full of revelations. A Muggle-born advocating for blood magic? The very idea would have seemed laughable if she hadn’t been staring at the evidence of it—this boy, who bore such clear Black family traits. If not for seeing it herself, she might have dismissed the notion entirely. And then, there was the matter of Lily Potter’s magical orb, which had played such a key role in clearing Sirius’s name. Cassiopeia couldn't help but think it was a pity she had never met Lily Potter in person. The woman clearly had foresight, placing measures in place to protect her son in ways few could have imagined.
"And this," Sirius gestured toward Remus, "is Remus Lupin, a friend and Harry’s other guardian. Remus, this is my aunt, Cassiopeia Black—who, until moments ago, I had no idea was even still alive." His words were directed toward Cassiopeia, his pointed tone underscoring his lingering confusion.
Remus cleared his throat, feeling the weight of the situation pressing on him. This encounter was already awkward enough, and the tension between Sirius and his aunt only made it more so. On top of that, there was the unresolved bitterness gnawing at him. He still hadn’t fully come to terms with everything—Sirius keeping the switch in Secret Keepers from him, and his own guilt over how quickly he had accepted Sirius’s supposed betrayal. But for now, he had to set all of that aside. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Black," Remus said politely, though he felt as though he were walking on glass.
Cassiopeia, for her part, found the situation quietly amusing. There was something intriguing about this man, with his scarred face and gentle demeanor. Despite the roughness of his appearance, there was a kindness in his voice, a sense of calm that radiated from him. He projected an easy acceptance that even the coldest person could warm to, making him approachable in a way that many were not. Mr. Lupin had a soothing presence, one that she suspected played an important role in keeping the child calm and reassured.
Yet, Cassiopeia could sense something else beneath that surface. Remus Lupin was a dangerous man—despite his down-to-earth demeanor and the kindness he so easily projected. There was a lingering sharpness to him, a quiet force that one could feel if they focused just enough. Cassiopeia understood instinctively that while Lupin might seem unassuming, underestimating him would be a grave mistake.
"A pleasure indeed, Mr. Lupin. Welcome to Chamonix-Mont-Blanc," Cassiopeia said, her tone warm yet measured. "I hope you enjoy your time here, however long you plan on staying."
"I’ve been alive all along, Sirius. If you had bothered to look at the family tapestry, you’d have seen I was never marked as dead," Cassiopeia replied, her lips tilting into a faint, knowing smile. "However," she continued, her tone sharpening just slightly, "nothing you’ve said so far explains what you’re doing in my home."
Sirius resisted the urge to retort with a sharp, sarcastic comment but thought better of it. Instead, he kept his tone civil. "This is the family’s holiday home. I didn’t know you had taken residence here," he explained. "I’ve commissioned the goblins at Gringotts to redecorate and refurbish the Black townhouse in London. When they told me it would take a week to check for any dangerous artifacts, the first place that came to mind was the chalet. So, here we are." He finished with a casual smile, hoping to smooth over the tension.
"There’s much you’re not telling me, I’m sure," Cassiopeia remarked sharply, her eyes narrowing. "But I’ll let it rest for now. You’re the current Lord Black, and I can only hope you’ll do right by the title." Her words were more than a challenge—they were an unspoken warning. Cassiopeia might have distanced herself from the family since the death of her brother, but that didn’t mean she had given up on her values or her loyalty to the Black name. Unmarried by choice, she had dedicated her life to building a spy network more intricate than anyone could fathom, all for the betterment and protection of the House of Black. She would be damned if she allowed her nephew to bring shame to their legacy.
Sirius held her gaze, understanding the weight of her words. He knew he hadn’t lived up to the Black family’s expectations—he had never embraced the ideals of blood supremacy that they held so dear. But what did they expect? He had seen firsthand how wrong such beliefs could be. Lily Evans Potter was proof enough that bloodline meant nothing when it came to power and greatness. In fact, Lily was likely of a higher standing than anyone in the magical world, far beyond even Wizarding Britain. That truth had only reinforced his rejection of pure-blood superiority.
Severus Snape, a half-blood, had proven himself to be more trustworthy than Peter Pettigrew, a pure-blood. And if it came to it, Sirius couldn’t deny that Snape might very well win in a duel against him. The war had shown him that power wasn’t rooted in blood status but in a person’s values and inner strength.
But Sirius was a changed man now. While he still didn’t believe in everything his family had stood for during the war, he was ready to embrace his role as the new Lord Black. He wanted to be someone his godson could be proud of—someone who could give Harry a balanced, unbiased education in the ways of the Black family. And for that, Sirius had to accept his own identity. He couldn’t keep running from it. It was time to shed the naive view that all things light were good and all things dark were evil. He would learn, as the true Lord Black should, that power lay in understanding both.
Cassiopeia studied Sirius closely, her sharp eyes taking in the subtle changes in him. There was something different about him now, something that spoke of a shift in his character. Perhaps his week in Azkaban had done some good after all. He was no longer the reckless boy who blindly followed the Headmaster under the banner of championing Muggle-borns. She did not believe Sirius had suddenly embraced everything their family stood for, but she could see that he had begun to question his former path. And that was enough—for now. Cassiopeia herself had never been fanatical about blood purity like Walburga, but she had always taken immense pride in their lineage, in the power that came with being a Black.
Sensing that they had discussed enough for the time being, Cassiopeia made a decision. "Lunch will be served at noon. Make yourselves presentable by then," she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. "Twilly will show you to your rooms—and the nursery for the young heir."
With that, she stood, her robes sweeping behind her as she departed to, presumably, some part of the house known only to her. A house-elf promptly popped into the room with a sharp crack, ready to escort them.
As soon as Cassiopeia left, both Remus and Sirius released a collective sigh of relief. The conversation had felt more like an interrogation, one conducted by a seasoned Auror rather than a relative. Sirius couldn’t help but think that the Ministry could take a few pointers from his aunt when it came to questioning tactics.
Meanwhile, Harry had exhausted himself from all the traveling and was dozing quietly. Remus, ever gentle, carefully lifted him, but even that slight movement roused the child. Remus’s wolf instincts flared—equal parts adoration and protectiveness surged through him. This was his cub, and the thought of being apart from Harry made his chest tighten. Remus didn’t quite know how to balance his emotions without overwhelming the boy, but already, the looming separation weighed heavily on his mind. The thought of parting from Harry after their week at the chalet filled him with an ache he wasn’t sure how to ease.
Twilly waited patiently while the men collected themselves. She knew the one with the long hair was the Lord of her house, and she hoped he would be a good one. She was new to the chalet, but had heard from the older house-elves that he was always getting into trouble and had been quite reckless in his younger days. Still, Twilly looked forward to caring for the child—the new heir to the House of Black. She could sense the boy’s power and relished in it. For someone so young, he was very strong.
"Twilly will take Masters to their rooms now. Please be following Twilly," she said, her voice polite yet full of that characteristic house-elf humility.
The bedrooms were exactly as one would expect from a Black family property—a seamless blend of comfort, privacy, and understated sophistication. Both bedrooms were situated side by side, with a smaller room directly across the hall that would make the perfect nursery. Each bedroom was a masterpiece of design, featuring dark wood paneling and large, plush canopy beds draped with rich velvet in deep emerald green and midnight blue, accented with silver thread. The beds were layered with soft fur blankets and luxurious pillows, promising warmth and comfort during the cold alpine nights.
A large stone fireplace occupied one corner, more intimate than the one in the family room, casting a warm, flickering glow that added to the room's coziness. The wide windows offered breathtaking panoramic views of the snow-covered mountains beyond, while heavy velvet curtains, charmed to maintain the perfect temperature, hung elegantly at the sides. A small seating area, complete with comfortable chairs and a low table near the window, was ideal for quiet reading or reflection. A stack of books and magical trinkets had already been arranged nearby.
The floor was covered in thick, hand-woven rugs, soft underfoot, and the walls were adorned with antique tapestries depicting scenes from magical history and the Black family’s proud legacy. In one corner stood an ornate wardrobe, enchanted to store and preserve clothing. Nearby, a dressing table with a mirror enchanted to respond to the occupant’s mood awaited, subtly shifting its light or casting soft shadows based on the feelings of whoever stood before it.
Before settling into their own rooms, Remus and Sirius decided to set up Harry’s nursery with the new crib and toys they had bought that morning. The nursery was smaller than their rooms, but it was perfectly suited for Harry. The dark wood paneling gave the room the same sense of elegance and warmth that ran through the entire chalet, blending seamlessly with the rest of the luxurious design.
Sirius removed the shrunken items from his robes and placed the large, beautifully crafted enchanted crib in the center of the room. Made of rich wood, it featured deep green and blue bedding—a subtle nod to the Black family colors. The softest blankets were tucked inside for warmth, and Sirius carefully arranged the stuffed Padfoot and Moony plushies for Harry’s comfort. He made a mental note to get a stag for Prongs.
He was about to place a magical mobile above the crib when Twilly appeared with a snap of her fingers, arranging the mobile with stars, moons, lilies, a stag, a dog, and a wolf perfectly above the crib. The enchanted mobile gave off a gentle glow and emitted soft, soothing sounds as it twirled, designed to calm and lull Harry to sleep.
The large windows in the nursery offered the same stunning mountain view, while the floor was covered with a thick, soft rug—perfect for Harry to crawl or play on. A soft armchair and a comfortable rocking chair were positioned near the fireplace, where Remus and Sirius could sit and read or play with Harry, the warmth of the fire keeping them all cozy.
Remus busied himself placing diapers and Harry’s clothes in the wardrobe, and with a wave of his wand, he charmed the walls to display whimsical, moving paintings of magical creatures—Hippogriffs, unicorns, and phoenixes dancing across the panels. The entire room now exuded a playful, magical atmosphere, perfect for a child growing up in such a world.
With everything in place, Remus gently laid Harry in his newly crafted crib. The boy shifted slightly, then let out a soft, contented sigh before drifting back to sleep, clearly pleased with his new surroundings. Remus and Sirius exchanged a proud smile, silently congratulating themselves on their success in making Harry feel at home.
Now, all they wanted was a long, hot bath before they were expected at lunch. The week ahead promised to be eventful, and they intended to savour this brief moment of calm before the inevitable storm of family dynamics, revelations, and responsibility descended upon them.