"More bitter, that's all?" Sirius Black said incredulously. "That sounds like a slug swallowing an elephant whole—I'm talking about a slug, not a flobberworm, Harry. You can't zap me again."
The memory of that tingling, full-body shock still made Sirius shudder. How did this kid turn out like this?
Who zaps someone just because they're losing an argument?
At least this didn't feel very Ravenclaw. It finally had a bit of Gryffindor flair.
"You both need to let it go," Harry said, shaking his head. "Snape's wish has been fulfilled, and you—you need to move on with your life. Maybe find a nice wife, have a kid or something."
"My God, Harry, you sound just like my dad," Sirius groaned. "How did we jump to me getting married? I'm still young, no rush—wait, hold on. What wish of Snape's? Why is his wish fulfilled?"
"No, no, no," Sirius's mind raced, piecing it together. "Lily's soul! Merlin's socks, Harry! You let your mother's soul go see Snape?"
Sirius's thoughts drifted to himself and James.
"You really need to work on how you talk, Sirius," Harry said, exasperated. "That's my mother's soul, not my pet. She's free to do what she wants—and clearly, in her mind, Snape was always a good friend."
Sirius fell silent.
Faced with Lily's own wishes, he found himself at a loss for any argument to dissuade Harry.
"But—but James and Lily—er, I mean—something's not right here," Sirius stammered.
"Nothing's wrong," Harry replied. "Just take your potion. And don't pick a fight with Snape, or I will zap you." It was a simple threat.
Harry wasn't sure how to parent, but he figured a kid needed discipline when they messed up.
Sirius went quiet.
The thought of groveling before Snivellus, enduring his greasy mockery while choking down a potion likely spiked with something foul… it made Sirius want to die.
But he couldn't. He was out of Azkaban now. He had to fulfill his duties as Harry's godfather.
"…Fine," Sirius muttered, the word dripping with reluctance. In his heart, he swore to himself he'd endure.
"Speaking of which," Harry said, his tone turning serious, "was Peter Pettigrew an Animagus? Was his form a rat?"
"How'd you know?" Sirius asked, surprised. "That was supposed to be a secret. We didn't even tell Dumbledore."
"I can tell you with certainty that Dumbledore probably knew," Harry replied. "So, all four of you were Animagi? What about my mother?"
"Lily wasn't. Remus wasn't either… he had his own little secret, so he didn't need that kind of magic," Sirius said easily. "Peter's Animagus form was a rat. James was a majestic stag, and me—well, I'm an even more dashing big black dog!"
The topic lit Sirius up. He leapt from his chair, diving toward an open space. In less than two seconds, mid-pounce, he transformed into a massive black dog.
His eyes gleamed as he stared at Harry, his long tail wagging like a fan.
Just like a real dog—completely unlike McGonagall's prim, human-like cat.
"Well? Pretty cool, right?" Sirius was back to human form in no time, eagerly awaiting Harry's reaction.
Harry glanced behind him, half-expecting to see a tail still wagging.
"Congrats, you just earned yourself a one-way ticket back to Azkaban. Illegal Animagus carries a hefty sentence," Harry teased, and Sirius's face fell.
"…But it is pretty cool," Harry added, softening the blow. "Can you teach me?"
"Teach you? Animagus?" Sirius's enthusiasm returned instantly, his posture straightening as he tried to look more mature, more reliable. "Of course, Harry!"
"Don't let my looks fool you. We were top of the class back in the day… well, at least in Transfiguration. You can't master something this dangerous otherwise," Sirius said proudly.
"I know," Harry nodded. "Animagus is risky magic. One wrong move, and a wizard could be stuck as an animal forever."
"Sounds like you've done your homework," Sirius said knowingly. "Makes sense. James told me a lot about you—said your magical skills are incredible… even a Hogwarts professor already."
"When do we start?" Sirius asked, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
McGonagall's repeated warnings about the dangers of attempting Animagus magic privately seemed nonexistent to Sirius. He wanted to do it, so he did.
"Let's start today," Harry decided. "Animagus is more like a ritual spell. It takes preparation and a bit of luck. I think my Transfiguration skills are solid enough to begin."
"No objections here," Sirius said cheerfully. "Gotta say, Harry, you've found a shortcut. Mastering Animagus gave us a real edge in Transfiguration. We could pull off transformations we couldn't before."
"No surprise there," Harry said. "Animagus involves human transfiguration, which is already advanced."
"Exactly. It's settled then."
Harry couldn't stay at the Potter estate too long—it wasn't the holidays. Dumbledore had granted him a week's leave, but after sorting out these piled-up matters, he had to return to Hogwarts.
Sirius had already visited his uncle. Harry didn't ask what they discussed, only knowing that Cygnus, upon seeing Sirius, seemed to have no regrets left and passed away in St. Mungo's.
As the last male heir of the Black family, Sirius inherited everything when Cygnus died—despite his deep disdain for the family and its values.
As godson, Harry accompanied Sirius to oversee Cygnus's funeral. Perhaps due to Sirius's notoriety, or because Cygnus was a staunch pure-blood advocate, few guests attended.
When the final shovelful of dirt fell on the grave, Sirius stood staring at the tombstone in silence.
No matter how much he badmouthed the family, Harry sensed Sirius still held some attachment to the place where he grew up. After the funeral, Sirius's mood darkened noticeably. Back home, he drowned himself in a bottle of liquor and passed out.
In his drunken stupor, Sirius mumbled fragmented thoughts—how he didn't want to marry or have kids, how everything in the Black family would go to Harry and his future children. Harry pretended not to hear.
Sirius still had growing up to do. He was far too immature.
Still, considering Sirius's health needed time to recover, Harry, with Dumbledore's permission, brought him to Hogwarts. He stayed just outside the castle, in Harry's office.
Madam Pomfrey, the school's skilled healer, tended to him, and Snape ensured the potions he brewed were promptly administered to Sirius.
The totem-like architecture of Hogwarts fascinated Sirius, who acted like a kid again. He even climbed to the top of a giant windmill structure, reveling in the thrill.
After catching up on recent issues of The Daily Prophet, Sirius became something of a… child king among the students.
He was wildly popular, occasionally teaching the kids prank spells he'd invented in his youth, which only boosted his fame.
Harry, preparing to become an Animagus, held a single mandrake leaf in his mouth. He had to keep it there for a full month, from one full moon to the next, without swallowing or removing it. This was the first step of the Animagus ritual.
The spell clearly drew on ambient magical energy, a hallmark of ritual magic. Harry had some unique theories about it, but with human transfiguration involved, he didn't dare experiment recklessly. Too many wizards had failed this spell and paid the price—he had no desire to join them.
Harry's life seemed to be on track. But elsewhere, an old man's adventure—or perhaps two old men's—was just beginning.
Far from British soil, in Austria's Alps, a solitary castle perched on a cliff's edge, surrounded by the dense, dark Black Forest.
Nurmengard.
Once built by the infamous dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald, it became his prison after Albus Dumbledore defeated him in 1945.
A prison for one.
No guards. The German Ministry of Magic's Aurors delivered food and water periodically, but per strict regulations, they never interacted with the castle's sole occupant.
Grindelwald's words were dangerously persuasive.
The castle hadn't seen visitors in ages. Unmaintained, many windows were shattered, letting cold winds howl through. Time had worn everything down.
But today, a white-bearded man in a blue robe appeared in the castle's courtyard. He navigated the familiar path with ease, heading toward the deepest part of the fortress.
Who else but Dumbledore?
He stopped at a room on the highest floor, gazing at the man inside. White-haired and bearded, dressed in a stained white prisoner's uniform, the once-tall figure was calmly watering a potted plant by the window.
The man hummed a tune, too soft to make out, as if unaware of the second presence.
"The cold winds of the Alps aren't kind to flowers," Dumbledore said suddenly.
At his voice, the man—Grindelwald—steadied the watering can, stopping the flow of clear water.
"…I thought you'd never come back," Grindelwald said, turning with a cryptic smile. "Albus."
"I thought the same… once," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head slightly. He stepped into the room, surveying the scattered objects. "Like you, I believed we'd never meet again, not until death claimed us."
"Good," Grindelwald's smile didn't waver. "Very good. So what changed your mind?"
"Funnily enough, a boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.
"A boy?" Grindelwald echoed, eyeing Dumbledore up and down. "You're in a fine mood, joking like that."
"I am," Dumbledore chuckled. "You'd never guess what new magic I've mastered. It'd shock you."
"…Ha! Hahahahaha!" Grindelwald froze, then burst into laughter, genuine and hearty, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
"You know, Albus," he said, catching his breath, "for a moment, I thought we were back in Godric's Hollow."
"Yes," Dumbledore said, gazing at the freshly watered seedling by the window. "We were so young then, chasing the mysteries of magic with such fervor."
"Exactly," Grindelwald said. "I remember it clearly. You'd come to me, boasting about some new spell you'd mastered, just like you did just now."
"And then you'd tell me you'd learned one too," Dumbledore said, shaking his head with a smile.