Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place, the shadows of the forest still clinging to his cloak. The attempt to retrieve the Horcrux had failed—worse, it had backfired spectacularly.
"Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" He punched the wall, the impact jarring his knuckles.
"Master is upset?" Kreacher appeared with a pop, looking almost concerned.
"I’m an idiot, Kreacher," Sirius slumped against the wall. "A complete, utter fool."
The house-elf tilted his head. "Master speaks truth for once?"
Despite everything, Sirius barked a laugh. "Since when did you develop a sense of humor?"
"Kreacher learns from Master," the elf replied deadpan.
Sirius smiled at the reply but the smile vanished as soon as it ca.
"I should have known." He pushed off the wall, beginning to pace. "Bellatrix would never betray Voldemort. Not after one defeat. Not after a hundred."
The mistake was so obvious in hindsight. He’d let hope override logic, jumped at Narcissa’s offer without thinking it through. So strategist he was turning out to be.
The Gryffindor in him still made reckless decisions, even now.
They were back to square one. He didn’t even know what the Horcrux had been - only that it was now hidden again, possibly more securely than ever.
But Sirius Black was not the man he once was. He wouldn’t lock himself away in self-pity. If hunting Horcruxes was a dead end, then he’d fight where he could make a difference.
"What does Master need?" Kreacher asked.
"The library," Sirius said suddenly. "Every book on combat magic. Dark, light, grey—I don’t care. If it makes stronger, I want to read it."
Kreacher’s eyes glead. "The Black Library has many such books. Kreacher will gather them."
"Good." Sirius’s jaw set. "If I can’t destroy Horcruxes, I’ll destroy Death Eaters. Let Voldemort live forever—with no one left to serve him."
And if that failed? He could always reach out to Arthur Hayes. Their brief eting had told Sirius enough: Arthur was powerful, pragmatic, and had no stake in Voldemort’s war. With the right incentive, Arthur might just step in.
So Sirius trained. And he read. He dove into the tos of the Black Library, devouring spells and rituals, disregarding their moral alignnt.
—
Between training sessions, Sirius also delved into the powers his Lordship afforded him.
As Lord Black, his powers extended far beyond what he’d ever realized. Landholdings, ancestral laws, political influence—the pureblood system was built to serve families like his.
Now he understood why the Ministry clung so tightly to tradition, and why the purebloods resisted change. They were hoarding power, even as squib births increased and magical blood thinned.
He closed one particularly old to with a grim smile. "They’d rather watch the world burn than give this up."
Fine. He would use that sa system against them.
—
Ard with this new understanding, Sirius began to move.
He began reclaiming every asset tied to the House of Black. Contracts with known Death Eater families were terminated. Loans were recalled. Properties were seized. He made it clear - support Voldemort, and the Black fortune would no longer shelter you.
And when he walked into the Wizengamot chambers, dressed in Lord Black’s regalia and smiling like a wolf among sheep, the ssage was unmistakable.
Sirius threw his support behind Alia Bones. He helped push through warti legislation that empowered Aurors, authorized lethal force in raids, and removed red tape that protected the pureblood elite. Death Eater raids beca bloodier—and shorter.
When they realized they were dying instead of escaping, the attacks stopped.
Voldemort was forced to pause. Regroup. And rethink.
—
Harry, anwhile, had begun his sixth year with sothing new: Hope.
He still had nightmares. The prophecy still hung over him. But he wasn’t alone anymore. Sirius spoke with him every day, encouraged him to train, to prepare, and most importantly, to live.
"People only know the Boy-Who-Lived," Sirius had told him. "They don’t know Harry. That’s why they turn on you so easily. You need more than two friends, pup."
So Harry did just that.
He started spending ti with students from other houses. To his surprise, they welcod him. So even apologized for believing the worst of him in earlier years. He forgave them. He was just happy to start fresh.
He grew close with Neville and Luna, reconnected with old DA mbers like Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. For the first ti, Hogwarts felt like an actual school.
However, not everything was going well this year.
Hermione grew irritated with him upstaging her in Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince’s book. Her disapproval was loud and constant.
Sirius had laughed when Harry ntioned it.
"As long as you don’t cast any spell you don’t understand, I don’t care whose notes they are. Learn from them. Hermione will co around."
Ron, anwhile, was distracted with Lavender Brown. So Harry spent more ti with his new circle—and found happiness in it.
The prophecy no longer felt like a death sentence. It was a challenge. And he had support now.
The only dark cloud on the horizon was Draco Malfoy. Harry knew he was up to sothing. But Sirius had advised him to let it go.
"Dumbledore’s watching him," Sirius had said. "Focus on your own training."
—
Months bled into one another. Draco Malfoy, driven by terror, grew more desperate.
His mission to kill Dumbledore was still incomplete. The cursed necklace had failed. The poisoned ad had failed. He had only one option left: to bring Death Eaters into the castle.
But Aurors, under Sirius’s guidance, had fortified every known secret passage.
There was only one last hope left.
Draco rembered a strange tale from last year—an upper-year Slytherin who had stumbled across a magical tunnel after pacing a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor. The tunnel had supposedly exited in the Forbidden Forest. He had erged from a tree, dazed and alone. Most had laughed it off.
But Draco rembered it clearly and clinged to it as his last hope.
He searched for months. Pacing the corridors in the seventh floor of the castle, looking for the magic wall.
Eventually, he discovered the right wall and the right room: the Room of Requirent. The "Co and Go Room." A place that transford itself based on what you truly needed.
But simply wishing for a tunnel didn’t work. It took ti, trial, and error. He had to be clever with his phrasing. He learned the Room’s limits—and its secrets.
The whole mission took its ti. It was only by June that he succeeded.
He found the tunnel. It led to a hollow tree in the forest, outside the powerful Hogwarts wards. He sent word to Bellatrix. She would co and help him with the other Death Eaters on the last day of the month.
—
Harry’s year, anwhile, had been a triumph.
He led Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup. He stood tall in Slughorn’s club and had even managed to retrieve the mory Dumbledore needed—confirming that Voldemort had intended to create seven Horcruxes.
Sirius was thrilled when he learned.
"It’s madness," he said, "but knowing the number gives us a real goal."
Even Harry’s personal life was shifting. His bond with Susan had quietly deepened. Sirius teased him endlessly. "Potters and redheads, pup. It’s in the blood."
Now, on the thirtieth of June, Harry stood with Dumbledore at the base of the Astronomy Tower, ready to leave the school on a dangerous Horcrux hunt.
Sirius had argued to go with them. Dumbledore had refused.
Sirius didn’t like it—but no one won an argunt with Albus Dumbledore.
And the Headmaster had kept the mission’s location to himself. Had he shared it, Sirius could’ve told him the Horcrux might already be dealt with. But Dumbledore’s secrets remained his own.
So Sirius turned his focus to the castle.
A week ago, Harry had contacted him through the mirror, his voice tense.
"I saw Malfoy celebrating near the Room of Requirent. He looked... different. Like sothing had worked out. I think he’s done whatever he was trying to do."
That had been all Sirius needed to hear.
From that mont on, he quietly sprang into action. Over the following days, he coordinated with Alia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour. Security at Hogwarts was silently tripled. Trusted Aurors were placed on discreet alert across the castle, especially near hidden passageways.
"Dumbledore and Potter will be leaving the castle," he had told them. "When they do, expect the worst. The Death Eaters will strike that night."
He didn’t care that there was no hard evidence. He trusted Harry’s instincts. He always had. The pattern was too familiar—every year, danger found Harry. Every year, it ca from the DADA Professor. And this year had been quiet. Too quiet.
Tonight, as he ended his final mirror call with Harry before the boy left with Dumbledore, Sirius Black rose.
Let them co.
Sirius Black was waiting.
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