It must be said that Cassandra's words were an absolute deathblow to those two.
The old couple—well, neither Snape nor Sirius could stomach the idea. From the moment they met, they'd been at each other's throats, each wishing the other would just drop dead. Sirius found the thought of being associated with Snape utterly revolting, and Snape felt the same about Sirius. Almost instinctively, they both resolved to steer clear of each other from now on, if only to avoid any more shocking pronouncements from this Malfoy girl's mouth.
Fortunately, among those present, only Lupin would occasionally tease Sirius, but the current situation was clearly not the time for it, so he kept quiet. If James were here, he'd have undoubtedly taken Cassandra's words and run with them, both to disgust "Snivellus" and to rib his best mate. Nothing in the world was more satisfying than such a perfect two-for-one.
Dumbledore didn't rush to say anything. Instead, he watched Sirius and Snape with a twinkling smile, not because he was charmed by the idea, but because he found the drama rather entertaining. When neither spoke for a while, he cleared his throat and asked, "So, can someone explain exactly what happened? Miss Grindelwald's letter only mentioned the need for Veritaserum and something about traces of Voldemort. I'm not privy to the rest."
All eyes turned to Harry. As the one directly involved, he was the best person to explain. "…That's the gist of it," Harry said, pushing up his glasses as he addressed Dumbledore. "It's clear that Voldemort has some way of linking with my mind—though I haven't the faintest idea how he's doing it."
Dumbledore looked at Harry with interest, stroking his beard thoughtfully. If this were the original third-year Harry, Dumbledore would likely be puzzling over what was happening and how to handle it. But this Harry, the one who'd somehow crossed paths with a century-old senior from Hogwarts, made things… less straightforward.
"Perhaps you should start practicing Occlumency," Dumbledore suggested. "I believe if you can shield your mind, you might block Voldemort's intrusions. He may not yet realize what's happening, but once he does, he could exploit this connection."
"To kill me?" Harry asked.
"No, to control you," Dumbledore replied after a moment's thought. "I don't know how he's doing it, but it's a possibility."
Harry felt as though something flickered in his mind, a thought that slipped away before he could grasp it. At that moment, Snape slowly turned his head, gave Harry a fleeting glance, and then quickly looked away. Seeing Snape's reaction, Sirius opened his mouth to let loose a biting remark—but then he remembered Cassandra's words. His face twisted as if he'd swallowed a fly, and he lowered his head in sullen silence.
Fine. Let Snivellus off this time.
"As for the house-elf," Dumbledore continued, lost in thought, "I believe he's likely under Tom's Imperius Curse."
"Tom?" Sirius asked curiously. "Who's Tom?"
Harry drew his wand and traced hissing letters in the air: Tom Marvolo Riddle. Then, he rearranged them to spell I am Lord Voldemort.
Sirius's mouth fell open. He never would've guessed that Tom Riddle was Voldemort. More shocking still, there wasn't a single pure-blood family named Riddle. It was as if Sirius had stumbled upon a new continent. He stomped his foot in disbelief. "Merlin's beard, Voldemort's not a pure-blood wizard?!" he exclaimed.
"Of course not," Harry said, shrugging. He recounted the "love" story of Voldemort's parents to Sirius, concluding, "If you ask me, Merope Gaunt was no saint."
"Absolutely," Sirius agreed, as if stepping into the shoes of poor Mr. Riddle, his skin crawling with goosebumps. "Scum like that deserves to die a hundred times over!"
He glanced at Snape, and though he didn't say it aloud, Snape could read the mocking words in his expression: The Voldemort you followed is this kind of filthy half-blood? But Sirius swallowed his taunts, settling for a single sentence. "I think I should tell my mother about this. Let her know exactly what kind of thing the Black family was following."
"Oh, you're wicked," Hermione said, fanning her nose. "But I agree—she should hear it. Might take some of the shine off Voldemort."
"Kreacher's very weak right now," Lupin interjected, steering the conversation back on track. "If you want to question him, you'd better let him recover first—maybe give him some potion. He's in such a state that Veritaserum could do more harm than good."
"Leave that to me and Dumbledore," Snape said in his oily tone. "Rest assured, I won't harm your precious Black family elf." He turned to Lupin, his meaning clear: You, lead the way.
Lupin gave everyone a gentle smile. "I'll take these two to check on Kreacher. You lot wait here for a bit."
"I'll sort out rooms for you," Sirius said. "Come on, follow me."
They headed upstairs. The Black family home was spacious enough that assigning each person a room was no trouble at all. "I've no objections!" called the portrait of Walburga Black. "Let Mr. Potter have the master bedroom, I don't mind!"
"Thank you, Madam," Harry said politely, nodding.
Walburga was positively delighted. Even Phineas Nigellus's ghost was given a room, and for Harry and the others, there was more than enough space—master bedroom or not.
Veratia said nothing, but her expression screamed mischief.
As they stepped out of one of the rooms, Sirius came bounding over, waving a crumpled piece of parchment. "Harry, Harry!" he said excitedly. "Look what I found—check this out!"
Harry took the parchment. It was a handwritten letter, the script delicate and elegant:
Dear Padfoot,
Thank you, thank you for Harry's birthday gift! It's his favorite toy. He's only one and already zooming around on that toy broom—you should see how happy he is. I've attached a photo for you. You know the broom only hovers two feet off the ground, but Harry nearly killed the cat and almost smashed an ugly vase Petunia gave me for Christmas (not that I'm complaining). Of course, James thinks it's hilarious and says Harry's destined to be the next Quidditch star, but we've had to pack away all the decorations and keep a close eye on him when he's flying.
We had a quiet little birthday tea, just old Bathilda with us. She's always been so kind and absolutely dotes on Harry. It's such a shame you couldn't come, but the Order comes first, and Harry's too young to understand birthdays anyway. Being cooped up here is getting to James—he tries not to show it, but I can tell. The Invisibility Cloak is still with Dumbledore, so there's no chance for a break. He'd be so thrilled if you could visit. Wormtail came by last weekend, but he seemed down. Probably the news about the McKinnons—I cried all night when I heard.
Bathilda drops by often. She's a fascinating old witch and has told us so many stories about Dumbledore—I can hardly believe them. I'm not sure he'd be pleased to hear them himself! Honestly, I don't know how much to believe. It's hard to imagine Dumbledore…
Lily
Harry felt as if he'd been struck by a Bludger. He'd never imagined he'd hold a letter written by his mother. Aside from memories in the Pensieve, this was the closest he'd ever felt to her. He read it again, the words alone enough to fill his heart.
"What are you looking at?" Veratia leaned in, pressing against Harry's back, her warm breath grazing his neck. But Harry barely noticed the closeness; his eyes were fixed on his mother's handwriting.
"Oh, it's Lily's letter," Veratia said, ruffling Harry's hair gently. She didn't say more, just stood behind him, reading the letter with him.
Sirius, hearing Veratia call his mother by her first name, took a deep breath. This naturally wicked Slytherin girl! he thought. Calling Lily by her name like that… He resolved then and there to find the Resurrection Stone. He had to show Lily just what kind of woman Harry had chosen—this devious Slytherin!
"It's my mum's handwriting," Harry said after a long pause, rubbing his eyes. "I've never seen anything she wrote before. The closest I've come is seeing her in a Pensieve…"
"You saw her in a Pensieve?" Sirius asked, puzzled, then realization dawned. "Oh, I get it—that time by the Black Lake, right? When me and Prongs strung up old Snivellus to show off his grubby pants. Merlin, you should've seen him—total humiliation. That was also when he and Lily fell out for good…"
"I remember he went to the Gryffindor common room looking for her afterward, but she gave him a proper telling-off—" Sirius continued.
"Lily wasn't like that, Mr. Black," Veratia said with a smile. "You're exaggerating. She just politely made it clear to Professor Snape that they were done."
"How do you know that?" Sirius asked, leaning back dramatically.
Veratia, still hugging Harry from behind, rested her chin on his left shoulder and gave Sirius a playful smirk. "Guess."
Even if you beat Sirius to death, he'd never guess that Lily herself had told Veratia.
"They had a cat," Harry sighed, turning to Veratia. "Did you see? It says I nearly killed it riding my broom… I wonder where that cat went. I didn't see it in Voldemort's memories. Maybe it ran away?"
"It's possible," Sirius said. "But that cat—ran off or not, I didn't like it. Even though Lily was so good to it, it still hissed at her. Nearly scratched her once."
"If it were my cat, it'd probably be with Death by now," Veratia said with a huff.
"With Death?" Harry tilted his head.
"Don't you get it?" Sirius boomed. "A wicked Slytherin like her would've hit that poor cat with an Avada Kedavra!"
"What else?" Veratia replied, smiling as she nuzzled Harry's cheek. "Avada Kedavra doesn't cause pain to its target. Isn't that humane?"
Sirius choked on her words. She's got a point, he thought, momentarily speechless.
"That spell is evil!" he said, scrambling to recover. "You have to mean to kill to cast it…"
"What, you expect love and peace instead?" Veratia shot him a puzzled look. "You're a Black, aren't you? Do I really need to explain this to you?"
Sirius took a deep breath, at a loss.
"Wormtail?" Harry interrupted their bickering, pointing to the letter. "That's the traitor, right? Peter Pettigrew… I saw in Mum's memories that she called him Wormtail and you Padfoot."
Sirius's expression softened. "Yeah, that's right," he said, nodding. "We all loved him back then… Remus was right—Lily practically raised four sons: me, James, you, and that wretched traitor…"
"Maybe he'd already betrayed my parents by then," Harry said, sighing. "He looked down when I saw him in Mum's memory. Probably scared she'd figure out he'd joined the Dark Lord, right?"
"Even before you were born, that traitor had already gone over to the Dark Lord," Sirius growled. "But none of us suspected he'd betray James and Lily! He was never in any danger! We never let him fight… we knew he was a coward…"
The mention of Peter Pettigrew set Sirius off. He cursed under his breath, punched the wall, and stormed toward his bedroom, clearly intent on erasing every trace of the traitor.
Veratia, meanwhile, paid Sirius no mind. Her thoughts were entirely on planning a late-night "ambush" to spice up Cassandra and Harry's Occlumency practice. She grinned mischievously at the idea.
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