Sirius Black stood rooted in the alleyway, heart hamring, every instinct torn between disbelief and a rising, wordless dread.
The boy—no, the being—before him had just shed one identity and stepped into another as if it were a second skin.
"Hello, Godfather," the boy had said.
And now, that word Godfather clung to Sirius's ears like a curse.
The boy—Cassius, though Sirius did not yet know the na—tilted his head slightly, those too-familiar green eyes flicking down the alleyway.
"We shouldn't linger," he said quietly, his tone clipped but certain, the kind of voice that commanded without needing to raise itself. "There are still people watching the Ministry exits. So of them not… friendly."
Sirius blinked, struggling to pull himself out of the daze.
"You—how—"
"Later." The boy—Cassius—reached out and grasped Sirius's wrist with surprising strength. "Co on."
Before Sirius could argue, he was being pulled through the maze of narrow London streets, Cassius weaving between pedestrians with the unerring certainty of soone who knew exactly where he was going.
A cab appeared at the curb as if summoned.
Cassius opened the door, climbed in, and jerked his head toward the seat beside him.
Sirius hesitated for a heartbeat, then followed.
The door slamd shut behind them, sealing them off from the world.
"Where to?" asked the driver, a burly man whose eyes were glazed with the blank indifference of soone under a mild Confundus charm.
Cassius leaned forward. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."
The driver nodded, and the cab rolled forward into the pulse of London traffic.
Sirius's blood ran cold.
He hadn't heard that address spoken aloud in more than a decade.
The words themselves carried a weight, a magic, that made the hair on his arms stand on end.
He turned to stare at the boy beside him. "How—how do you even know about Grimmauld Place?"
Cassius didn't answer right away.
His gaze was fixed out the window, watching the blur of people and buildings go by.
"You'll understand soon," he said at last. "There's... sothing we need to discuss."
Sirius's jaw tightened.
He wanted to demand answers, to curse, to shout—but there was sothing in the boy's tone that made him stop.
Not arrogance.
Not manipulation.
Just quiet, steady confidence.
For the entire ride Sirius tried to figure out how this young man with her eyes, knew about the secret.
Grimauld place had since during the war been an operating place for mbers of the order, and placed under a fidelius charm, only soone knowing the secret could have told him the location, which ant the order had further traitors... or could she have told him, perhaps it was him...?
When the cab finally pulled to a stop, they stepped out into a dingy, narrow street lined with identical old row houses.
Everything was drab, grey, and lifeless—the kind of place that seed to swallow sound itself.
Sirius took a deep breath.
The air slled of rain, dust, and ghosts.
Cassius stepped between Number Eleven and Number Thirteen.
The space shimred faintly, stretching like fabric.
And then, as if exhaling, the hidden townhouse unfolded from nothingness.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Sirius stared up at it, his throat tight.
The curtains were drawn, the windows coated in gri.
The Black family crest, tarnished but still visible, glead faintly in the low light.
Cassius turned to him.
"After you, Lord Black."
Sirius swallowed, nodded once, and stepped forward.
The door creaked open at his touch.
Inside, the air was thick with decay and dust.
The sll hit him first—old wood, damp stone, and sothing tallic and faintly rotten.
The dimly lit hall stretched out before them, lined with portraits of gaunt, sneering ancestors.
Their painted eyes tracked his every movent with disapproval.
On the walls, the heads of long-dead house-elves hung like grotesque trophies, their leathery faces frozen in eternal servitude.
Sirius's stomach twisted.
"rlin," he muttered. "It's worse than I rember."
Before he could take another step, a shrill, familiar voice shrieked from the shadows.
"FILTH! BLOOD TRAITOR! YOU DARE RETURN TO THIS HOUSE—"
Sirius flinched.
"Oh, not now—"
But Cassius was already moving.
With a flick of his wand, heavy velvet curtains slamd shut over the portrait of Walburga Black.
Another quick twist silenced her voice completely, leaving only the faint vibration of her fury trapped behind the drapes.
Sirius blinked, stunned.
"I—rlin's beard. You shut her up."
Cassius shrugged.
"You'd think after all these years soone would've done it sooner."
A ghost of a smirk tugged at Sirius's lips.
"I like you already kid."
They made their way deeper into the house, the boards creaking beneath their steps.
The place felt more like a mausoleum than a ho.
Every shadow seed to whisper.
Every corner reeked of mory. dark and accursed.
On the second floor, Cassius pushed open the doors to what had once been the family library and study.
The air inside was thick with dust motes drifting through slanted light.
Shelves sagged under the weight of ancient tos and relics preserved thanks to wards and spells to protect them even after years of neglect.
Sirius sank into the nearest armchair.
It was threadbare, the leather cracked and faded, but it felt real—solid.
For a long mont, he just sat there, breathing, trying to anchor himself.
Cassius moved silently to the other chair across from him and sat down.
His eyes, green and unwavering, watched Sirius with a calm far too old for his face.
Finally, Sirius spoke.
His voice was rough, unsteady. "You're going to start talking now, kid. Who are you? How do you know ? And why—" he gestured around them "—why bring here of all places?"
Cassius leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
"My na," he said, "is Cassius."
Sirius frowned.
"Cassius what?"
"Cassius Snape," he said evenly.
Then, after a beat, "Half-twin brother to Harry Potter."
The words hit Sirius like a spell to the chest.
"What—"
"My mother was Lily Potter," Cassius continued, his tone asured, almost detached. "But my father… is Severus Snape."
The room fell silent.
Sirius's mouth opened, but no sound ca out.
The na Snape echoed in his skull like a thunderclap, dredging up every mory of bitterness and rivalry and hatred from his school days.
It made no sense.
It shouldn't have been possible.
And yet the boy sitting across from him—Lily's eyes, Severus's face—was proof enough.
But just why... no how!?
Lily was already with Jas by that point why would she return to the man who hurt her so in school?
Just what was she thinking, and yet through it all it was his own rival whose child ca to his rescue like a light in the darkness saving him from being swallowed whole.
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