Chapter 502: Burned from the Tapestry
Sirius Black's voice cut through the quiet night like a blade.
"What's the benefit in fighting the most evil wizard in the world?"
He stared hard at the young man across from him, eyes burning with something raw and desperate.
"I don't get it," Sirius went on, voice rough from years of disuse. "Voldemort. The Dark Lord who kills without blinking. Aside from the few of us still standing, the rest of the wizarding world is just cowards and fools…
Why? Please forgive the question, Seer… Why would a wizard powerful enough to rival Merlin himself choose to stand against him?
I've never met anyone like you. A wizard with talent like that. Why make an enemy of him when he probably doesn't even know you exist? No matter how this world burns, you could still live well, couldn't you?"
A pair of owls glided overhead, their wings briefly catching the glow of the streetlamps. Moonlight spilled across Diagon Alley, stirring the oak trees and setting the shop bells chiming softly in the breeze.
Sean studied the gaunt man in front of him. Sirius's hollow face was alive with intensity, those sunken eyes searching Sean's as if the answer might be written there.
"I go to Hogwarts," Sean said simply.
Sirius blinked, thrown off balance.
"Hogwarts is worth protecting," Sean added.
"Sorry…" Sirius frowned, clearly not expecting that answer.
"Don't you understand, Mr. Black?" Sean's green eyes stayed steady. "Does fighting the darkest wizard the world has ever known really need a long list of reasons?"
"Of course it does!" Sirius snapped. His gaze flicked to Regulus's pale, ravaged body lying nearby, and a storm of old grief and fresh anger crossed his face.
Sean remained silent.
"I don't often meet wizards who think like that," Sirius muttered. "Willing to stand or fall with a school. It's hard to believe Hogwarts holds that kind of power… So what's the real reason, sir?"
"Mr. Black," Sean asked quietly, "you don't live in this house anymore, do you?"
"Obviously not." Sirius hesitated, then followed the strange pull of trust he felt toward the young wizard and walked to the end of the corridor.
There, an enormous tapestry covered the wall from floor to ceiling. Woven into it was the portrait of a woman. The moment she saw Sirius, she began to shriek.
"Disgrace! Filthy half-blood! Shame of the family! Vile, ungrateful spawn!"
The tapestry was ancient, its colors long faded, with several places that looked chewed or torn. Yet the golden threads still shone. A sprawling family tree stretched back through the centuries, all the way to the Middle Ages.
At the top, bold embroidery declared:
The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black
Always Pure
"I'm not on it," Sirius said, ignoring his mother's screaming portrait. He pointed to the bottom row of the tree.
"Though I used to be."
He tapped a small, blackened circular hole burned into the fabric, the edges crisp and scorched like a cigarette burn.
"Just like Kreacher said. After I ran away, my dear mother burned my name right off the tapestry. Kreacher still loves whispering that story."
Sean listened without interrupting.
"I was about sixteen that year," Sirius continued. "I'd had enough."
"You went to the Potters'," Sean said.
"Even now I can barely believe magic like that exists…" Sirius looked at him, voice low. "Harry's grandparents were good people. I'm sure you've heard of them. They treated me like a second son.
When school let out, I stayed with them. Once I turned seventeen, I got my own place. My uncle Alphard left me a decent sum of gold—he got burned off the tapestry too, probably for helping me. After that I took care of myself. But Mr. and Mrs. Potter still had me over for dinner every Saturday.
So why are you asking?"
"What if someone tried to destroy the Potters' home?" Sean asked.
"I'd kill them," Sirius rasped.
He froze mid-breath, the realization hitting him hard.
"Harry… you and Harry… you two…"
He looked suddenly lost, hands twitching at his sides.
Only someone who saw school as home would answer that way. Someone like Harry.
The night grew very still.
Sirius couldn't read anything in those brilliant green eyes. They were calm, almost desolate, like a deep and endless sea.
"Maybe I've seen how some of these stories end," Sean said quietly. When the distant wind stirred, he tended to speak a little more. "You'd know they don't always turn out well."
"Prophecies never lie about the future…" Sirius started.
"Oh, that was the first time one did," Sean replied with a faint, gentle smile.
Sirius had never met anyone like this. It stirred something in him he hadn't felt in years—a strange, almost painful kind of faith.
"My centaur teacher once told me that fate is easy to misread," Sean said, gazing toward the mountains beyond Diagon Alley.
"Only those who've already given everything have any right to question fate, sir."
Outside the window, the mountains stood tall and silent, overlooking the crowded houses crammed into every corner of the alley. People lived in gray buildings, watching daylight fade into night, everything sinking into quiet darkness.
Then the stars came out.
They glittered overhead with an eternal light.
"I need your help," Sean said. His silhouette glowed softly under the crescent moon. "But you know how difficult this task will be."
"Naturally…" Sirius's throat worked. "I'm at your command."
There was nothing more reassuring than obeying a Seer. Nothing more stirring than standing beside a mysterious, powerful wizard to defy fate itself.
Now that he knew Sean would never become their enemy, Sirius felt a rush of fierce, long-lost joy.
And he knew that tonight, his fate had made its choice.
…
Diagon Alley welcomed another long, sunlit day.
Wizards on every corner were still talking about Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. At that moment Harry was deep inside Gringotts, emptying his vault of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts.
Once his money pouch was full again, it took real effort not to spend it all at once.
The alley buzzed with life as usual. Up ahead, his friends were already gathered and waiting.
Harry scanned the group. Everyone was there except Sean.
Sean's absence was pretty normal—about as routine as Professor Snape docking points from Gryffindor. But they waited anyway. They all knew that whenever they needed him, Sean would show up.
Harry walked past Flourish and Blotts and stopped short. The shop was packed. The line stretched back dozens of yards from the entrance.
A massive banner hung above the crowd, bright against the blue sky:
Master Scamander's Final Work – Officially on Sale!