"The best way out is always through." — Robert Frost
Harriet barely had time to take in the narrow street before the door was already opening.
She stepped inside—and Sirius was there.
For a fraction of a second, he looked surprised, as if he hadn't quite expected her to come so fast. Then Harriet moved without thinking and wrapped her arms around him.
Sirius froze.
Then, slowly, carefully, as if afraid she might vanish, he returned the hug.
"Bloody hell…" he muttered, voice rough. "You're really here."
Harriet pressed her face briefly against his shoulder, breathed in, then pulled back with a lazy, crooked smile.
"Yeah. Guess I survived another government-sponsored circus."
That earned a few snorts from nearby.
The Weasleys were there—Molly hovering anxiously—and scattered members of the Order filled the hallway, pretending not to stare while very obviously staring. Harriet could feel their eyes on her, weighing her, reassessing her after the courtroom incident.
Sirius noticed.
"All right, all right," he said sharply, straightening. "She just got here. If anyone wants to interrogate her, they can bloody well wait."
He looked at Harriet again, softer.
"Come on. Drop your things. I'll show you the house."
Before anyone could protest, Sirius was already moving, guiding her deeper inside Grimmauld Place.
___
The door shut behind them with a dull thud, and the noise of the Order faded slightly.
The hallway was long, narrow, and dim, the walls covered in ancient, dark wallpaper that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. A musty smell lingered—old magic, dust, and something faintly unpleasant, like resentment soaked into the stone itself.
Harriet glanced around, unimpressed.
"Charming place."
Sirius barked a laugh.
"You should've seen it before we cleaned it."
As if summoned by the comment, a loud clanking echoed from above, followed by a furious, high-pitched voice screaming about blood traitors and filth.
Harriet raised an eyebrow.
"Let me guess. Family?"
"The worst kind," Sirius replied dryly.
They passed a large cabinet with glass doors. Inside, grotesque silver objects lay neatly arranged—hand-shaped brushes, instruments with teeth, things that hummed faintly with old enchantments.
"Dark artifacts," Sirius explained. "Black family collection. We've cleared most of the really dangerous stuff, but some of it refuses to be moved."
Harriet leaned closer, eyes sharp but distant, already categorizing.
Sirius smiled faintly at that.
They moved into the drawing room. It was large but cluttered, furniture heavy and old-fashioned, curtains thick and perpetually drawn. The fireplace dominated one wall, soot-stained and cold for now. A long table was stacked with parchment, old books, and Order documents—evidence that the house was no longer just a home, but a headquarters.
"This is where we meet," Sirius said. "Plan. Argue. Pretend we know what we're doing."
Harriet glanced at the papers, then away.
"Sounds exhausting."
"Oh, it is."
They continued upward.
As they climbed the stairs, Harriet noticed the portraits lining the walls. Generations of Blacks stared down at her with open hostility, some muttering insults under their breath.
Her gaze hardened.
One portrait hissed, "Another filthy half-blood—"
Harriet didn't even slow down.
"If you keep talking, I'll see if portraits can be burned."
The portrait went silent, then hissed again.
Sirius stopped.
"If only fire could make the problem disappear."
Harriet replied, a grin fixing the tableau:
"Maybe with a Fiendfyre?"
The portrait froze.
They reached the second floor.
Sirius opened a door and gestured inside. "Guest rooms. This one's yours."
The room was surprisingly plain compared to the rest of the house. A bed, a wardrobe, a small desk near the window. Clean, recently aired out. Not warm, exactly—but neutral.
Harriet dropped her bag onto the bed and looked around.
"Not terrible."
"High praise," Sirius said.
They continued the tour.
He showed her the library—smaller than the Potter manor's, but still filled with old, valuable volumes. Then the kitchen, warm and noisy, where Molly Weasley had clearly declared war on every surface with cleaning spells and cooking charms.
Harriet paused there briefly, watching the enchanted knives chop vegetables on their own.
"Feels… alive," she admitted.
"That's Molly," Sirius said fondly. "The house never stood a chance."
They moved past the attic stairs—Sirius pointedly did not open that door—and finally stopped in front of a large, heavily locked door at the end of a corridor.
Sirius's expression darkened slightly.
"This was my parents' room," he said. "We don't use it."
Harriet didn't push.
"Fair."
They headed back down, the tour complete.
As they returned toward the hallway where the others waited, Sirius glanced at her sideways.
"So… tell me what happened at the Ministry?"
Harriet stopped, and with a grin, she told him everything.
Sirius smiled, clearly impressed—but there was something proud in it, something fierce.
"You remind me of James," he said quietly. "And Lily. In different ways. I'm proud of you."
Harriet didn't answer. She just nodded once, then esquisse a small, quiet smile.
As they stepped back into the main room, the noise rose again—Order members turning toward them, questions already forming.
Somewhere out there, Dumbledore still hadn't returned.
And for the first time since the trial, Harriet felt it clearly:
This house wasn't safe.
This war wasn't distant.
And she was no longer a piece on the board—though only she knew it.
When Harriet and Sirius returned to the living room, the atmosphere subtly shifted.
The conversations didn't stop outright, but they slowed, as if everyone suddenly recalculated their posture. Some looked at her openly; others pretended not to. She noticed all of it — without giving it any particular importance.
Tonks was sprawled near Ginny and Ron, casually changing the color of her hair to make them laugh. She made her nose grow a little too long, then snapped it back into place under Ginny's muffled giggles.
Harriet watched them for a second, amused, then looked away.
She took a few more steps into the room, swept her gaze across the gathering, and let out a quiet sigh.
"So," she said calmly, "either I missed a group invitation, or someone here really enjoys organizing surprise meetings."
Her voice was light.
Too light.
No one laughed.
Arthur Weasley exchanged a glance with Molly. Kingsley straightened slightly. Lupin's brow barely furrowed.
They all took the remark at face value.
Sirius, on the other hand, smirked — he knew that tone.
"You didn't know?" Molly asked gently.
Harriet blinked slowly.
"Know what?"
Remus answered carefully.
"That the Order meets here. For your safety. And for the others'."
Silence followed.
Harriet, of course pretending she didn't know beforehand, nodded as if she had just confirmed a perfectly mundane piece of information.
"Oh. The Order."
She turned to Sirius.
"So I assume this isn't an improvised sleepover."
Once again, no one caught the sarcasm.
Arthur cleared his throat.
"We thought Dumbledore would have told you."
"He didn't," Harriet replied simply
She sat down without waiting for an invitation, crossing one leg over the other, completely at ease in a room full of people supposedly there to 'protect' her.
"But if Sirius is fine with you being here, then that's fine with me."
That complete lack of emotion unsettled more than a few people.
Tonks tilted her head, intrigued.
"You're taking this pretty… well."
Harriet shrugged.
"I've dealt with worse."
Remus stepped forward slightly.
"I'm glad you arrived safely."
She turned her head toward him.
Her gaze wasn't hostile.
It wasn't warm either.
"Yeah," she said. "Me too."
She didn't add anything.
Remus didn't push.
Harriet had never really liked Remus. To her, he was the biggest disappointment she had ever experienced. Even Sirius, with all those years in Azkaban and on the run, tried to look out for her in his own way, even taking the risk of going to the bank to leave her the entire Black fortune. Remus, on the other hand, acted as if he cared, yet continued to avoid her, cowardly and inconsistent—neither distant nor close. If you're not going to be there to actually help, you might as well stay away. But it wasn't possible—Remus was loyal to Dumbledore, and to no one else after all.
Harriet then looked at the younger ones
"And them?" she asked. "I understand why I'm a target. But them?"
Molly answered immediately, tense.
"They're connected to you. To Dumbledore. And… they won't stay neutral."
"We're not that close. I get along with the twins and Ginny, but it's like everyone else." Harriet murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.
She straightened slightly.
"So," she continued, "you're all here for security. Mine. Theirs. And, incidentally, to make sure I don't do anything too… creative."
Moody grunted.
"We call that being cautious."
"I call it a lack of imagination," she replied, without aggression.
Someone — Ron — finally asked,
"And… um… the hearing?"
Harriet raised an eyebrow.
"What hearing?"
"At the Ministry."
She sighed.
"They got the wrong person, that's all. I just left once it became clear."
"It wasn't that serious, anyway," Arthur said, shrugging lightly. "Just a little slip, nothing to make a fuss over." He had no idea what really happened.
"They couldn't even manage to accuse me properly."
A heavy silence fell.
Moody stared at her for a long moment.
"You left before it ended."
"Yes."
"That's not normal."
Harriet gave a lazy smile.
"Neither is the Ministry."
Before the conversation could go any further, the front door burst open.
A cold draft swept through the room.
Albus Dumbledore entered.
His gaze swept across the room.
Harriet was there. Sitting.
For a fraction of a second, something cracked behind his half-moon glasses.
Not dramatically. Not with the presence of someone reclaiming control.
As he stepped into the room, he was already aware of it — that peculiar, unpleasant realization that whatever moment he had intended to guide, shape, or soften had already passed. For once, arriving with a calm smile and a few well-chosen words would not mend anything. He should have been here from the beginning. At the very least, fewer complications would have arisen.
His blue eyes swept across the room, taking in every face, every posture, every silence that lingered a fraction too long.
Then his gaze found Harriet.
"Ah, Harriet," he said warmly, with that familiar, grandfatherly tone — the kind that suggested reassurance, wisdom, and fond indulgence all at once.
"I am glad to see you here. You seem to have… settled in rather well."
Harriet looked at him lazily.
"Well, yes," she replied evenly.
"It's Sirius's place. Which makes it my place too, doesn't it?"
She didn't elaborate. She didn't smile.
Dumbledore paused — only briefly — then inclined his head.
"My dear Harriet," he continued gently, "I know that such gatherings at the Wizengamot are… uncommon, and that the manner in which you were addressed was certainly inappropriate. However, leaving as you did—"
He stopped.
Because in his mind, the scene had already concluded.
What followed at the Ministry had not harmed Harriet in the slightest.
It had harmed him.
He had been the one to rise, calm and composed, allowing a fraction of his magic to slip free — not as a threat, but as a reminder. A reminder of why his voice still carried weight.
"She is only a child," he had said, cool and unwavering.
"It is natural for children to have sudden moods. That, after all, is how one grows."
The chamber had fallen silent.
Respect had returned — to him.
Harriet, for her part, tilted her head slightly.
"I had only just woken up," she said calmly.
"I honestly thought it was a rather comedic dream. So I didn't take it very seriously."
A pause.
"Thankfully," she added, "imagine being fully awake for something like that."
Dumbledore blinked.
"I… see," he said slowly, thoughtfully.
"Indeed, upon waking, it can be difficult to tell reality from illusion."
His tone remained gentle.
But for the first time that evening, there was uncertainty beneath it.
Not because Harriet had been disrespectful.
But because she had not been afraid.
Sirius led her aside, away from the living room and the too-many voices. They went up one floor and stopped in a quieter room, cluttered with old furniture and memories no one had ever bothered to sort through.
He leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms, and studied her for a few seconds without speaking.
"So," he said at last, "how are you really doing?"
Harriet shrugged and sat on the edge of an old dresser.
"I've been worse. I've been better too."
He gave a crooked grin.
"Yeah… I know the type."
She looked at him in turn.
"And you?"
He exhaled through his nose, a humorless smile on his lips.
"I've been better," he admitted. "But I've been a lot worse too. Azkaban sets the bar pretty high, you know."
She nodded. There was no pity in her gaze. Just calm understanding.
He watched her for another moment, then asked,
"And you? What do you want, Harriet? Really."
She didn't answer right away.
"Honestly?" she said finally.
"I just want to live quietly. Without being dragged everywhere, judged, watched, protected against my will. I want to be left alone."
She lifted her eyes to his.
"I survived. Great. But that doesn't make me a national mascot."
Sirius held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"You know," he said, "James would've loved hearing you say that."
A silence settled between them, softer this time.
Harriet inhaled, then changed the subject without warning.
"I talked to the goblins."
Sirius's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh?"
"I have money. A lot of it."
She paused.
"And an idea."
She explained everything.
The bounty.
The discretion.
The fact that even a man officially dead could still attract greed.
The role of intermediaries.
Letting rumors do the work for her.
Sirius stayed silent throughout the entire explanation.
Then—
He burst out laughing.
Real laughter. Raw. Uncontrolled.
He nearly doubled over, one hand on his stomach, as if he'd just been given something he hadn't known in years.
"Merlin…" he managed between breaths.
"That… that's brilliant."
He lifted his head, eyes bright, his face transformed. He straightened, still shaking with laughter.
"We're going to disguise ourselves," he declared. "Both of us."
She blinked.
"Both of us?"
"Obviously."
He grinned, wide and almost boyish.
"Tomorrow. Together."
Harriet studied him for a few seconds, then let a lazy smile curl across her lips.
"Fine. But I choose the disguises."
His laughter started up again.
For the first time in a very long while, Sirius Black no longer looked like a fugitive.
He looked like someone who had finally found a reason to get up in the morning.