Chapter Text
Sirius Black was sitting in the attic of number 12 Grimmauld Place. Cobwebs stretched under the ceiling, boxes of old belongings lined the walls, and the air carried the smell of dust and long-held grudges. He had been rummaging through the clutter for hours, pretending to look for Kreacher. But in truth, he was running. From the house. From memories. From the feeling that freedom had once again proven to be an illusion. Twelve years in Azkaban and now another trap. Not a cell, but childhood. Walls that taught hatred. I was supposed to be there for Harry, he thought bitterly. Since Christmas no word. Every morning, Sirius checked the owl; every night, he caught himself listening for every rustle, as if a letter could arrive on its own. He knew the reason: Umbridge. Letters were dangerous. That was why he had given Harry the mirror their old way of speaking without witnesses, without paper, without a trace. Sirius pulled the mirror from his pocket. Its dark surface was silent, reflecting only the dim beams of the ceiling. “Why aren’t you using it, Harry?..” he whispered. His chest tightened unpleasantly. When footsteps clattered on the stairs, he flinched. The door burst open Remus stood there, pale and out of breath, with an expression that made Sirius understand immediately. “Sirius,” he exhaled. “Harry’s in the fireplace. Right now.” The mirror slipped from his hands and thudded against the floor. Within moments, Sirius was flying down the stairs. His heart was pounding as wildly as the day he had escaped Azkaban. The flames in the fireplace flickered sharply Sirius sensed it even before Harry’s face appeared in the fire. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, brushing the long black hair from his forehead and sitting on the floor beside the fireplace to be on the same level as Harry. Remus, equally alert, crouched down nearby. “Are you all right?” added Sirius. “Do you need help?” “No,” Harry replied quickly. “I mean… that’s not it. I wanted to talk… about my dad.” Something twisted painfully in Sirius’s chest. He and Remus exchanged a glance, but Harry gave them no time. He spoke fast. Too fast. About the Pensieve memories. About the lake. About Snape. Sirius listened silently. With every word, an old, familiar bitterness rose in him not for himself, but for James. For the boy he had been. And for what Harry had seen. When Harry fell silent, the room grew quiet. “Harry,” Remus said gently, “if I were you, I wouldn’t judge your father just from this memory. He was fifteen.” “I’m fifteen too!” Harry snapped. Sirius sighed slowly. “Listen,” he said, restraining his tone, “James and Snape hated each other from the very first meeting. It happens. Snape saw in James everything he himself never had.” “But he attacked first,” Harry argued. “Just because you were bored.” Sirius didn’t avert his gaze. “I’m not proud of it,” he said quickly. “Never was.” “He always messed up his hair too,” Harry added in a low voice. A short, unexpected laugh escaped Sirius against his will. “I forgot he did that,” he said quietly. Remus smiled faintly. “And the Snitch?” he asked. “Did he play with it too?” “Yes,” Harry muttered. “And he kept looking at the girls.” “Especially Lily,” Sirius said, shrugging. “He couldn’t help showing off around her.” “And she married him?” Harry’s voice was almost despairing. “In seventh year,” Remus said. “After James calmed down.” “And stopped hexing people for fun,” added Sirius. Harry didn’t look convinced. “Your father was a good man,” Sirius said firmly. “Many fifteen-year-old boys behave like idiots. He grew out of it.” “Just…,” Harry sighed. “I never thought I’d feel sympathy for Snape.” Then he mentioned something else. That Snape had stopped the Care of Magical Creatures lessons. Sirius sprang to his feet. “What did he do?!” “I have to talk to him,” Sirius said, stepping forward, but Remus grabbed him firmly by the shoulder. “No. I’ll do it,” he said firmly. “And you, Harry, must go to him first.” “All right,” Harry replied quickly. He was about to vanish the green flames dimming but Sirius leaned closer, his heart hammering faster. “Harry, wait.” The boy’s face appeared clearer again. “You said you were afraid to write,” Sirius began quickly, “but you could have spoken to me.” Harry frowned. “How?” “With the mirror,” Sirius blurted. “The one I gave you after Christmas.” “What mirror?” Harry asked, confused. Sirius froze. “In the package,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “You opened it, didn’t you?” Harry looked away. “No.” “You didn’t open it?” Sirius’s voice cracked. “Harry, I wouldn’t give you something just for nothing!” “I thought you wanted me to call, and you’d get into danger again!” Harry snapped. “I didn’t want you” “Don’t decide for me!” Sirius barked. “I’ve done my time!” The silence hit like a punch. “It was a two-way mirror,” he added in a low voice. “James and I used these in school. You could have said my name I would have heard you.” Harry stayed silent. “I didn’t know,” he finally whispered. “Because I didn’t explain,” Sirius said sharply. “I assumed you’d figure it out yourself.” The flames flickered again. “Harry,” he said quickly, “if anything happens… if you’re scared "call me". Right away. Don’t wait. Don’t think.” “All right,” Harry said shortly. “I’ll open the package.” “Harry, wait” “There’s someone coming!”said Harry “Remember the mirror!” Sirius managed to shout. The flames went out.