Harry didn't hesitate for a second. "Alright, let Sirius be the Secret-Keeper."
Sirius's hands trembled, a strained smile pulling at his lips. Lupin rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Douglas fixed Sirius with a steady gaze. "You know the rules, Sirius. Being Secret-Keeper isn't just about hiding a place—it's about staying alive. War could break out again, and this house might be Harry's last safe haven. No matter what happens, you have to put your own safety first. Don't rush into danger. You carry a heavy responsibility now…"
A thunderclap seemed to go off in Sirius's mind. Was this how James had felt, all those years ago?
The Fidelius Charm was a spell of rare power and complexity—a secret locked inside a single soul, be it an address, a name, or anything you wished to hide from the world.
Without hesitation, Douglas dispelled all the old postwar protective enchantments in the yard. He pulled up the weathered wooden sign and handed it to Harry.
"In a moment, you'll plant this sign next to the statue in the square."
The group gathered at the threshold. Sirius stepped forward, halting Douglas with a grim look. "Let me do it. I was the one who cast the spell, back then."
Raising his wand toward the battered house, Sirius began to chant. Strange, shimmering threads of magic shot from his wand, weaving through the air. Douglas, quietly casting Eye of Detection, could just make out the tangled web of cause and effect as the magic took hold.
As the spell deepened, Douglas felt the house before him begin to fade from memory. It was as if the ruins had never stood there at all—he knew, somewhere in his mind, that a house existed, but he simply couldn't find it.
Harry fared even worse. He blinked, then blurted out, "Wait, what are we doing here? Oh—oh, right, the Fidelius Charm. Is it working?"
Just then, a frail, elderly voice drifted over: "What are you lot doing there? That place is… what was it again…"
Everyone but Sirius turned to see a tiny, stooped old woman shuffling closer.
Harry whispered, "She can see us? Is she a witch too?"
He studied her carefully. If not for the protective magic concealing their presence from Muggles, he'd never have guessed she was a witch. She looked bewildered, bundled in a headscarf, with less life in her eyes than any old wizard he'd seen in Knockturn Alley.
Lupin frowned. "Bathilda Bagshot. Lily mentioned her—they were neighbors. She was already quite confused, even back then."
Douglas had guessed her identity the moment she appeared. The Fidelius Charm must have unsettled her, drawing her out to investigate.
Harry muttered, "Bathilda Bagshot? That name sounds so familiar…"
Catching Douglas's glance, Harry quickly added, "Oh, right! She wrote our History of Magic textbook. She's still alive?"
Lupin nodded. "Of course. She and your mum were close. On your first birthday, James and Lily threw a tea party for you. Sirius and I were both away on missions, so only Bathilda came to celebrate."
Harry hesitated, wondering if he should go over and ask about his parents' life here. But Bathilda, mumbling to herself, turned and wandered off before he could decide.
Douglas shrugged. "Looks like she really is lost in her own world. Muggles call it dementia."
Harry asked, curious, "Do wizards get dementia too?"
"Time's fair to everyone," Douglas replied. "Dumbledore's practically her grandson's age—what do you think?"
Grimmauld Place.
Harry was hunched over, gripping an old lamppost, retching violently.
Douglas rubbed his nose, scanning the surroundings. They were in a Muggle district of London, just a twenty-minute walk from King's Cross Station. He'd been here years before, but the Black family home was so well protected that neither Muggles nor most wizards could see it.
Sirius patted Harry's back, trying to comfort him. Lupin shot Douglas a wry smile. "So, you were experimenting with group teleportation the whole time, weren't you? I wondered why you never explained how we'd get back. I thought your array could bring us home."
Douglas coughed awkwardly. "Ahem, well… It will, eventually."
He fished a small porcelain vial from his pocket, shook out a round pill, and called, "Harry, look up and open your mouth."
Harry turned, mouth open in confusion, just in time for something to fly straight in.
"Mmmph—"
Almost instantly, the nausea and dizziness faded. Douglas watched Harry's reaction with exaggerated concern. "How do you feel? That pill's for Apparition beginners. I've only ever tested it on dogs before…"
Sirius stiffened, glaring at Douglas, then anxiously slapped Harry's back. "Spit it out! Don't trust anything he gives you!"
Harry was a bit startled to be used as a test subject, but remembering Douglas's "hangover cure" for Hagrid, he decided the man was probably trustworthy.
Sirius, meanwhile, was thinking about the time Dobby found him. Maybe that wasn't an accident after all—maybe Douglas had been experimenting on dogs for ages…
Sirius led them between Number 11 and Number 13 Grimmauld Place. Suddenly, a shabby door materialized out of thin air, followed by grimy, mottled walls and sinister windows. It was as if an extra house had swelled into existence, pushing the neighboring homes aside.
Harry stared in open-mouthed amazement. Even at the Potter house, he hadn't been this shocked. When Sirius had revealed the address as Secret-Keeper, a house had appeared before his eyes—but this was different. This was a Muggle street, and yet none of the passing Muggles reacted. Even the owners of Number 11 and Number 13 didn't poke their heads out, as Aunt Petunia might have, to see what was happening. It was as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
Sirius regarded the house with unconcealed loathing. "My father layered every known magical protection on this place. Only those with Black family blood can see it. Anyone else has to be led here by a Black—otherwise, the house doesn't exist for them."
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