Voldemort wasn't easy to track down. The entirety of America was vast, and if Voldemort was truly determined to stay hidden, no one could find him.
As Death had said, the priority now was to revive Poppy as quickly as possible.
Mr. Flamel's spell was, for the time being, merely a backup option. After all, it didn't exactly sound like white magic.
Who ever heard of white magic requiring a father's bone, a servant's flesh, and an enemy's blood?
What, were they trying to handcraft the Heart of Azeroth?
Besides those three ingredients, they also needed to gather some herbs to brew a potion to catalyze the resurrection.
Brewing the potion would take time. Mr. Flamel had all the necessary materials in his collection, but it would still take nearly half a year before they could be properly used.
So, for now, they had no choice but to leave and wait for Mr. Flamel to finish brewing the potion.
Death didn't stay at Hogwarts. She had her own matters to attend to, only returning occasionally.
Lately, the tension between Assistant Professor Sirius Black and Professor Snape had been escalating. The two could barely stand the sight of each other, and it seemed like they were on the verge of hurling curses at one another's faces.
Sirius, considering himself the mature one, hadn't made the first move—though mentally, he was barely in his early twenties.
As for Snape… Snape was cunning. He was waiting for Sirius to strike first, giving him a justifiable reason to "teach him a lesson."
And so, the two remained at a stalemate, much to the disappointment of the students hoping for some drama.
Come on, just fight already! Staring daggers at each other won't kill anyone!
But as adults, Snape and Sirius wouldn't brawl in front of the students.
It would be far too inappropriate, to say the least.
In the blink of an eye, December arrived.
This year's winter wasn't particularly cold—at least, it was much milder than the previous year.
By early December, the school was buzzing with activity. Professor Flitwick was still tasked with decorating the Great Hall, weaving through it with his wand to set up the festive adornments. Hagrid, as always, was in charge of bringing in Christmas trees to add to the holiday spirit.
"I've never understood why wizards celebrate Christmas," Harry remarked, gazing at the festively decorated Great Hall as he spoke to Cassandra sitting beside him.
A hundred years ago, Christmas had only recently become a tradition at Hogwarts—barely a decade old, by Harry's estimate.
He'd heard about it in passing but hadn't delved into the details.
With Veratia absent from Hogwarts, reportedly busy with her graduation defense, Harry had seized the opportunity.
Whenever he had a chance, he'd find an excuse to call Cassandra out for a chat.
Cassandra, naturally, didn't refuse Harry's invitations. In fact, she was quite pleased, especially since Harry had given her a pair of white gloves.
"You should know, Potter," Cassandra said, idly toying with her fingers, "wizards don't actually celebrate Christmas. It only started a few years ago—before you enrolled—to accommodate students from the Muggle world. After you left, Headmaster Black even tried to cancel the holiday."
"Looks like he didn't succeed," Harry replied.
"Oh, not unless he wanted to risk students ambushing him with hexes," Cassandra said, raising an eyebrow. "But it doesn't make much difference. I mean, he's still the most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history."
"Same family name, but I think Sirius is far more likable," Harry said.
Cassandra lowered her hand and gave him a look that was hard to decipher.
What did you just say?
"You think your dogfather is more likable than him?" Cassandra sighed. "Potter, you're really… never mind."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, puzzled. He didn't want any tension between Cassandra and his godfather.
"Nothing," Cassandra said, shaking her head. "You're right. Your dogfather is indeed much better than Headmaster Black."
As she spoke, Cassandra recalled the time Sirius had barked at her and Veratia.
Hmph…
The Blacks were all cut from the same cloth.
But for Potter's sake, Cassandra decided not to hold it against that black dog.
Harry gave Cassandra a skeptical look. Something about her tone felt off, like she was holding something back.
But he let the "dogfather" comment slide. Cassandra's sharp tongue was nothing new, and he'd grown used to it.
If Cassandra ever said something soft or gentle, that would feel strange.
At the staff table, Sirius was glaring at Harry, who was sitting with "that Slytherin woman." He was practically chewing on the tablecloth, his expression one of pure torment.
Prongs!
I've let you down!
Snape, sitting nearby, noticed Sirius's distress. He pretended to focus on his food, but his ears were perked, catching every hint of movement.
"You should let it go," Lupin said calmly, slicing his food with a knife and fork. "He's your godson, but you shouldn't meddle too much in his romantic choices. Even parents who interfere too much end up alienating their children. You don't want that…"
"I just feel like I've failed Prongs!" Sirius growled through the tablecloth. "Merlin's beard, Harry's tangled up with a Slytherin woman…"
He paused.
"Two of them!" he spat, grinding his teeth.
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly.
Oh?
So, the black dog's greatest grievance was his godson getting involved with Slytherin women.
Hmm…
A predatory smile crept across Snape's face.
"You should be proud," Lupin said, trying to console Sirius. "Think of it this way, Padfoot. Isn't it a testament to your godson's charm that he's won over two Slytherin girls?"
Well, when you put it like that…
Looking at it from a different angle did make it easier to justify.
"If you frame it that way…" Sirius's anger turned to a grin. "Then I've got something to tell Prongs when we meet in the afterlife—at least we didn't ruin Harry…"
No.
Lupin thought to himself, You were in Azkaban for years, and I was wandering. Harry wasn't raised by us…
"Speaking of which," Lupin continued, "Christmas is coming. From what I know, Harry doesn't want to spend it with his aunt and uncle. As his godfather, don't you think you should invite him to spend the holiday with you?"
"You're right!" Sirius realized. "I'm his godfather… But, Moony, do you think Harry would want to spend Christmas with me? You know, I was in Azkaban for so long, and we're not exactly…"
"How will you know if you don't ask?" Lupin encouraged. "Relationships are built through effort. If you don't take the first step, Harry will always feel distant."
"You're right," Sirius nodded. "It's settled then. I'll invite him later."
True to his Gryffindor nature, Sirius was a man of action. Just like when he'd chased after Peter without a second thought, despite his Slytherin lineage, his motto was to act first and think later.
Recklessness was his creed.
After lunch, Sirius found Harry on his way back to the dormitory.
Cassandra had some business and had already returned to the common room, so Harry was with Ron and Hermione.
This was exactly why Sirius chose this moment to approach. Asking Harry in front of that Slytherin woman would likely—no, definitely—end in failure.
Who knew if she'd invite Harry to the Malfoys' for the holidays?
Hah, the Malfoys…
Harry spotted Sirius and greeted him cheerfully. "Sirius, what are you doing here?"
"Harry," Sirius said, exchanging quick greetings with Ron and Hermione before turning to him. "I need to talk to you about something. Can we step aside for a moment?"
"Of course," Harry replied.
They moved to a quieter spot, and Sirius suddenly seemed awkward.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked with concern.
Sirius cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling as if it held the answers. "You know, when you were born, your mother asked me to be your godfather. Wizards don't really follow Christianity, but I liked the idea of being a godfather, so I agreed."
"I know," Harry nodded, unsure where this was going.
Sirius coughed again, his discomfort palpable. "Of course, if you want to spend Christmas with your aunt and uncle, I'd understand. But if you're up for a different kind of Christmas… a different kind of home…"
Harry understood what his godfather was getting at.
"You mean, with you?" he asked.
Sirius shrugged, his hands fidgeting nervously, fingers rubbing together. "Just a thought. If you don't want to, I'd totally understand…"
Harry smiled.
"Why wouldn't I?" he said to Sirius. "I'd love to have a different kind of home—and if it's spending Christmas with you, I'm all for it."
Sirius froze.
Then, beaming, he asked, "Really? You mean it?"
"Of course I do," Harry said, laughing. "But we should invite Veratia and Cassandra too. After all, they're…"
"I get it," Sirius said, clapping Harry on the arm. "I'm rooting for you, Harry. Go after them with confidence!"
It was clear Sirius was over the moon, maybe a bit too much, spouting nonsense about his godson pursuing two women at once.
But he was serious. He'd thought it through: if Harry was going to get involved with Slytherin women, he might as well not miss a single one. Kids make choices; adults take it all!
If Harry only had one Slytherin beauty, James might think his son had lost his mind. But two? James would probably be overjoyed.
Harry glanced at Sirius, choosing not to comment.
His godfather…
He was a bit too carefree about societal norms.
But it didn't matter. That was Harry's goal too, after all.
"The Christmas holidays are almost here," Sirius said again. "If you're up for spending it with me, we can go to the old Black family house at 12 Grimmauld Place."
He hesitated for a moment.
"What's wrong, Sirius?" Harry asked, noticing his godfather's pause.
"Nothing, just thinking of my mother," Sirius said casually. "You know about my great-grandfather, right? Headmaster Black?"
"Yeah, I know."
Harry thought to himself, I don't just know him—I'm pretty familiar with him.
"His reputation at Hogwarts…" Sirius paused, searching for a kinder word. "Wasn't great."
"That's putting it mildly," Sirius added with a blunt assessment. "The version of him you know? He's about a tenth as insufferable as my mother. She was a real piece of work."
"No way," Harry said, stunned. "There's someone out there more unbearable than Headmaster Black?"
"Trust me, there is," Sirius said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And they're almost all Blacks."
"Is it really okay to talk about your family like that?" Harry asked, giving Sirius a dubious look.
"Oh, I've been disowned by the Blacks," Sirius said nonchalantly. "My family's obsessed with pure-blood supremacy. They're fanatics, completely unhinged. You know the type—pure-blood zealots, practically lunatics."
"When they kicked me out, I had nowhere to go. James took me in, along with your grandparents. They treated me like their own son."
His eyes filled with nostalgia as he spoke.
"Those were the days," Sirius said wistfully. "But it infuriated my family, so they struck me from the family tree."
"I'm sorry, Sirius," Harry said, not expecting to stir up such painful memories.
"No need to apologize, Harry," Sirius said with a smile. "It's been years. I don't care anymore. That mad family? I couldn't stand another second with them. It would've driven me insane."
"I can see that," Harry said, sharing Sirius's sentiment. "So it's settled. I'll spend the holidays with you at 12 Grimmauld Place. Oh, maybe we could invite Hermione and Ron too. It'd be lively with everyone together. What do you think?"
"Sounds brilliant!" Sirius replied enthusiastically.
But unbeknownst to them, 12 Grimmauld Place had been occupied rent-free by Voldemort's lingering soul for nearly a year.
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