Chapter 105: Chapter 105: The Dead Man’s Moves Part – 2

The Shrieking Shack loomed before Sirius like a monument to his past. Moonlight filtered through boarded windows, casting familiar shadows across rotting floorboards.

Every creak, every groan of ancient wood pulled memories from the depths—four boys becoming Animagi in secret, Snape’s terrified face that almost-fatal night, and more recently, Peter’s sniveling confession before Harry.

This place had witnessed his greatest triumphs and deepest failures.

Footsteps on the passage stairs shattered his reverie. A moment later, Harry burst through the entrance, yanking off his invisibility cloak with desperate urgency.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat that lasted forever.

Then Harry crashed into him, arms wrapping around Sirius like he might disappear if he let go.

“You’re okay,” Harry mumbled into his shoulder, voice muffled and thick. “You’re really okay.”

“I’m here, pup.” Sirius’s own voice cracked, arms tightening around his godson. “I’m here.”

They stayed like that for long moments, neither willing to break contact first. Finally, Harry pulled back, eyes red but shining with joy.

“But how?” The words tumbled out. “I saw you fall through the Veil. Bellatrix’s curse hit you—”

“Apparently, your friend Arthur Hayes decided I wasn’t allowed to die yet.” Sirius managed a watery grin. “Pulled some kind of magic I’ve never seen. One second I’m falling, the next I’m in his manor with a very stern house-elf refusing to let me leave.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Arthur? But we’re not that close. Why would he—how did he even know?”

“Dobby went to him for help.”

“Dobby?”

As if summoned by his name, the elf appeared with a crack.

“Harry Potter calls for Dobby?” The elf’s tennis-ball eyes widened at the sight of them together.

“Dobby!” Harry dropped to his knees, pulling the startled elf into a hug. “You asked Arthur to save Sirius?”

Dobby’s ears drooped. “Dobby heard Harry Potter and friends running into danger. Dobby knows Wizard Hayes is very strong, so Dobby asked Winky for help. Dobby is sorry for acting without orders—”

“No!” Harry interrupted fiercely. “Thank you. If you hadn’t, Sirius would not be here tonight. You saved him, Dobby. You saved us both.”

The elf burst into tears of joy, which set off another round of hugging.

Sirius watched with a lump in his throat. “You’ve got a loyal friend there, Harry. My house-elf tried to get us killed while yours moved heaven and earth to save us.”

Harry’s expression darkened. “What happened to Kreacher?”

“Long story, but we’ve… reached an understanding. He’ll treat you with respect now.” Sirius’s smile turned wry. “Turns out we both have the same common purpose and bonded over it.”

“That’s good, but—” Harry’s face scrunched in confusion. “Why are you hiding? Why do you need everyone to think you’re dead?”

“Hayes’s idea, and a bloody brilliant one.” Sirius guided Harry to a dusty bench. “Think about it—no one searches for a dead man. I can move freely, investigate things, help you properly instead of being trapped in Grimmauld Place.”

Harry’s face fell. “Does that mean I still have to go back to the Dursleys tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” At Harry’s expression, Sirius quickly added, “Dumbledore will not allow me to take you away from there. But we have the mirrors now. We can talk every day. And if they give you any trouble, you let me know. A visit from the vicious, still alive mass-murderer Sirius Black should set them straight.”

That brought a small smile to Harry’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a shadow of fear. “Sirius… do you know about the prophecy?”

Sirius’s expression sobered. “I only know the basics. That it involves you and Voldemort. Dumbledore told you the details?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It says I have to kill him. Either I murder him or he murders me. No other options.” His hands trembled. “How am I supposed to fight a Dark Lord? He’s got decades of knowledge, an army of followers, and I’m just—”

“Stop.” Sirius gripped Harry’s shoulders. “You’re not alone. You have me, your friends, people who would die before letting him touch you. And we’re going to stack the deck in your favor, starting tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“First, we need to discuss your adventures. Hayes mentioned something about a diary in second year? Opening the Chamber of Secrets? Fighting a thousand year old basilisk?”

Harry flushed. “We can talk about that later—”

“No, it’s relevant. That diary wasn’t just a powerful dark artifact. It contained a piece of Voldemort’s soul.”

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. “A piece of his soul? People can do that?”

“Only the desperate and deranged. It’s called a Horcrux—splitting your soul and hiding pieces in objects. As long as even one survives, he can’t truly die.”

Understanding dawned in Harry’s eyes. “The diary was one. That’s why everything was so real and he said he could return to life using Ginny.”

“Exactly. And unfortunately, he made more than one.”

“You can split your soul many times? And how did you find it?”

Sirius did not answer the questions. The story of Regulus was still too raw to share. Instead he called out, “Kreacher!”

With a pop, the elf appeared, holding the locket with a strange reverence. Harry’s eyes widened at the transformation. Gone was the hostile creature from last summer. This Kreacher stood straight and radiated quiet dignity.

“This needs to be opened with Parseltongue before it can be destroyed,” Sirius explained, accepting the locket carefully.

“What do we destroy it with? Should I get a basilisk fang from the Chamber?”

“No need.” Sirius produced the gleaming fang Arthur had provided. “You just need to tell it to open in Parseltongue.”

Harry stared at the locket, frowning in concentration. “Open.”

The word came out in English.

“Visualize a snake,” Sirius suggested.

Harry closed his eyes, and when he spoke again, sibilant hisses filled the air. The locket sprang open with a golden flash.

A cold, insidious presence filled the room, whispering temptations into Sirius’s mind. But this was a new Sirius, one forged in loss and driven by purpose. Nothing the soul said could faze him.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he snarled at the writhing smoke. “I’ve lived through worse than your parlor tricks!”

He drove the basilisk fang down with all his strength. A terrible, human-like scream echoed through the shack, and then there was silence.

Kreacher let out a choked sob of triumph.

“Is that all of them?” Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“No. Hayes said there are more than three total.”

“We’ll find them—”

“I’ll find them.” Sirius’s tone brooked no argument. “This is adult work, Harry. Dark magic, dangerous locations, probably lethal protections. You focus on school and staying safe.”

“But I could help—”

“By staying alive and preparing for the final confrontation.” Sirius softened his voice. “Let me do this for you. Let me be the godfather I should have been all along.”

Harry nodded reluctantly. “What should I tell the others?”

“Nothing for now. A dead man can move in the shadows. Once I’ve cleared my name properly, we’ll throw the biggest party wizarding Britain has ever seen. ’The Menace Returns’—what do you think?”

That finally got a real smile. “Brilliant.”

“Good. Now, it’s late and you need to be up early for the train.” At Harry’s protest, Sirius pulled him into another hug. “Just two more years, pup. Once you’re seventeen, no one can control where you live or what you do. Until then, we have the mirrors and secret meetings.”

“Okay.” Harry’s acceptance came reluctantly but genuinely.

They parted ways—Harry sneaking back to Hogwarts, Sirius returning to Grimmauld Place with grim determination. He had work to do.

—

When Sirius Black decided to be serious, he became a force of nature.

His first move was recruiting Phineas Nigellus Black’s portrait. The former headmaster proved surprisingly willing to spy on Dumbledore—family loyalty transcending death, especially when the request came from the rightful Lord Black.

“I cannot reveal school matters,” Phineas warned haughtily. “But the old fool’s personal activities… those are fair game.”

Through Phineas, Sirius learned Dumbledore had been mysteriously absent throughout the previous year, always returning exhausted and troubled. The Headmaster was investigating something about Voldemort’s past, visiting memories and tracking down old associates.

Sirius knew immediately—Dumbledore was hunting Horcruxes. But the old man’s secretive nature meant he’d never share information freely.

With no leads to follow, Sirius focused on preparation. The Department of Mysteries battle had shown him how far he’d fallen from his Auror-trained prime. Azkaban had stolen more than years—it had stolen his edge.

He threw himself into training with single-minded focus. Physical conditioning every morning. Dueling practice against conjured opponents. Studying advanced texts he’d ignored in his reckless youth. If he couldn’t hunt Horcruxes yet, he’d ensure he was ready when opportunity arose.

He told no one of his survival—not even Remus. His oldest friend had abandoned Harry for years, choosing self-pity over responsibility. Even after reappearing, he did not try to help Harry much. He had no excuses now. Their friendship might survive, but Sirius would never trust him with Harry’s safety again.

—

Days passed and news of the attack on Amelia Bones reached him through Phineas. Death Eaters and Voldemort himself assaulting the Minister hopeful—only to be driven off by an eighteen-year-old wizard.

“Arthur Hayes,” Sirius murmured, shaking his head in amazement. “What are you?”

Whatever the answer, he was grateful Hayes fought for their side.

That night, Dumbledore appeared in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen without warning.

“Hello, Sirius,” the Headmaster said mildly, as if dropping by for tea.

Sirius didn’t bother pretending surprise. “Your timing’s impeccable as always.”

“I have my ways.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, but concern lurked beneath. “I must confess curiosity about your miraculous survival.”

“Sorry, that’s between me and my mysterious benefactor.”

“Mr. Hayes, I presume?” At Sirius’s poker face, Dumbledore sighed. “What are your plans?”

“Training. Preparing. I promised Harry I’d survive this war—I intend to keep that promise.”

“And Harry?”

“Stays where you put him.” The words tasted bitter. “For now.”

They danced around topics for an hour—Dumbledore fishing for information about Arthur, Sirius probing about the Headmaster’s secret mission. Neither gave ground.

“The Order could use Grimmauld Place as headquarters again,” Dumbledore suggested before leaving.

“No.” Sirius’s refusal was flat. “This is my home now. Find somewhere else for your secrets.”

—

A few more days later, Phineas brought disturbing news. Dumbledore had returned from another secret outing grievously injured—his wand hand blackened and withered.

Sirius snuck into Hogwarts, watching from a distance as the Headmaster moved through corridors. The curse was vicious, dark beyond anything he’d seen. Only one explanation fit—Dumbledore had triggered a Horcrux’s defenses.

“A year,” Sirius muttered, recognizing the curse’s pattern. “Maybe less.”

The country’s most powerful wizard and the wizard Voldemort feared was dying. Time had become their enemy.

This also showed Sirius that he could not go Horcrux hunting alone. If traps were so deadly and powerful, he would need help on the hunt.

He would need allies. Dumbledore topped the list but proved impossible to work with. That left option two—Amelia Bones.

After letting the dust settle from her election, Sirius sent a formal request for meeting through Kreacher. The new Minister, with her dedication to justice, agreed.

Their meeting was tense but productive. Sirius laid out everything—Peter’s betrayal, the Fidelius switch, his innocence. Amelia listened, questioned, then spoke with Harry through the mirror for confirmation.

“I’ll see what can be done,” she promised. “Posthumous exoneration might be easier than overturning a conviction. But Sirius… there’s more you’re not telling me.”

He kept silent about the Horcruxes. He was not sure if there would be any risk. Too many variables, too many chances for leaks. Voldemort couldn’t know they were hunting his anchors.

—

So Sirius waited, trained, and talked with Harry every evening through the mirrors. Their conversations ranged from magical theory to Marauder stories, from Quidditch analysis to coping with grief. Slowly, carefully, he became the mentor Harry needed.

Then, on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday, Kreacher appeared with a soft pop, his expression one of utter confusion.

“Master Sirius,” the elf croaked. “There is a visitor at the door.”

“Who is it?” Sirius asked, annoyed.

“It is the Lady Narcissa Malfoy.”

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