"Let me see them one more time. Please… I'm willing to give everything—anything you ask.
If you ever need someone sacrificed for the greater plan, just remember me."
Sirius stared straight at Sean with burning intensity. Sean didn't understand why the man was so ready to throw his life away for a wizard he barely knew.
Unless… he was already dead inside.
Now he was little more than a ghost.
Luckily, Sean knew exactly what could set a soul on fire again.
"You still need to deal with Peter," Sean said.
"Oh, of course. But there's Lupin too, right? He works at your bookstore?"
Sirius replied.
"What about Harry?" Sean asked slowly.
"Harry… he has his aunt…" Sirius hesitated.
"Why not ask him? If you don't give him the chance to choose, then he never had one. That's not a good decision, Mr. Black."
Sean spoke gently.
"I…"
Sirius completely ran out of arguments.
"You're his godfather, aren't you?" Sean added the final weight.
"Of course… of course I am," Sirius's voice turned hoarse.
"Then do it for Harry. Once your name is cleared, he might be very happy to live with you."
Sean smiled.
Sirius stood frozen, staring at the wall. In his mind he was back at the Leaky Cauldron, in the room right next to the boy whose face he knew better than his own.
"I've seen him… His face is like his father's—so much like James's dad too.
But those eyes… they're exactly like his mother's."
Sirius murmured, then suddenly turned back to the young wizard.
"I owe him everything, sir. But I understand something even more important. If we can't stop You-Know-Who from rising again, none of this matters.
What good is fighting the most evil wizard in the world if we don't—"
Sirius's face took on a terrible, fierce determination.
"—if it's not to save innocent lives?"
Sean looked at the gaunt man who had spent over a decade in Azkaban. Despite everything, courage and goodness still burned in him like a flame that refused to be extinguished.
"I think you and I are the same," Sirius said slowly, each word heavy. "Wizards like you—like us—could've stayed out of this brutal fight. You-Know-Who couldn't have ignored someone like you.
So I can only come to one conclusion: you fight for conscience and for the weak."
Sirius finished with quiet intensity.
"Please… let me see them again, sir. Honorable sir.
If death comes for me tomorrow, I need to know whether I still have the right to face them. What if they don't want to see me? What if they hate me?"
Sirius spoke like a man begging.
Sean finally let out a soft sigh.
"Everyone makes mistakes, Mr. Black.
But I have to warn you—for some wizards, what lies beyond the veil isn't always kind."
"Even if it's a mountain of blades and a sea of fire, I don't care," Sirius said, eyes brightening.
"Then I wish you a sweet dream."
Sean said sincerely.
A moment later, a Puck jumped out from the book-shaped pendant on Sean's chest. It shot Sirius a disdainful glance, then respectfully took Sean and vanished from the room.
Sirius didn't feel insulted. Instead, a fierce wave of joy flooded through him.
He walked over to the tapestry and began clearing out the glass display cabinets.
The work demanded total focus—the objects inside didn't seem to want to leave their dusty shelves.
He needed to exhaust himself until he could barely move. Only then would sleep come easily.
—To welcome a beautiful dream, or perhaps descend into hell.
While cleaning, Sirius was viciously bitten by a silver snuffbox. Within seconds, the bitten hand hardened into an ugly crust, looking like a rough brown glove.
"Oh, it's fine, it's fine," he muttered with a goofy grin, examining the hand with interest before tapping it with his wand. The skin returned to normal.
"Must've been powdered bubotuber," he said cheerfully, tossing the snuffbox into the garbage bag.
There were still plenty of things left in the cabinets.
Like a doxy—he smacked it dead with a copy of Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy.
A heavy souvenir box that refused to open—filled with old-fashioned seals.
A dusty box containing a First Class Order of Merlin, awarded to Sirius's grandfather for "services to the Ministry."
"Meaning he bribed them with a mountain of gold," Sirius hummed as he tossed the medal into the trash bag.
There was also a music box. When he wound it, it played a faint, eerie tinkling melody. Sirius suddenly felt weak and drowsy.
Thankfully his mind was still sharp enough to pull out a trumpet. He blew it hard—then collapsed face-first onto the floor.
Mist began to swirl.
Sirius woke up in a hazy white space, groggy.
The first thing he did was punch himself hard in the arm.
"Merlin's balls, that hurts!" he shouted in delight.
He looked around excitedly and, sure enough, spotted a cat as black as the deepest night.
Its posture was exactly like the one Newt Scamander had drawn.
"Dear Mr. Black Cat… or rather, my most respected and beloved God," Sirius bowed deeply.
"Mr. Black. Good evening," the black cat replied.
It watched several clumps of mist drifting toward Sirius and leaped gracefully onto them, blocking their path. With a flick of its tail, it chased away a few more.
"I—I—what should I do? How do I…"
Sirius looked around the bright, misty realm in wonder. The fog here was different from anything he'd ever seen. It wasn't that the surroundings were shrouded in mist—the mist itself hadn't yet formed into surroundings.
The ground beneath him felt white, neither warm nor cold. Just… present. Flat and empty.
"Please give me some memories, sir," the black cat said, its fluffy ears twitching.
"What memories? Oh, I should…"
Sirius fumbled until he saw the black cat shaping a Pensieve out of mist.
"Is that… even possible?" he whispered, mouth hanging open. In this place, he felt no different from a first-year learning his very first spell.
But soon he smiled and stepped closer to the cat, who was now staring into the silver threads.
On this night he had never dared to imagine, dreams had become the secret passage back to the past.