Islington, London
Not far from a quiet row of Georgian-style townhouses, three figures suddenly appeared in midair, about a hundred meters above the ground. And in that same instant, a magical construct shimmered into existence beneath their feet, catching them as they landed smoothly in perfect balance.
This was supposedly the site of the Black family's primary residence—known to most as Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
In canon, little was revealed about their other properties or ancestral manors, but considering the noble House of Black was one of the most prominent names in wizarding aristocracy, it hardly made sense for their only estate to be a single hidden townhouse tucked away in the middle of London.
According to Sirius, he had indeed grown up here. But there were other properties as well—one of them being his grandfather's home, which was most likely the true ancestral manor.
"Over there," Sirius said, pointing ahead.
He looked nothing like the haggard fugitive who had escaped Azkaban days earlier. Now cleaned up and dressed properly, he wore a crisp charcoal-grey shirt, fitted trousers, and polished black boots. A sleek, all-black robe hung to his knees. If not for the hollowness still lingering in his face, he could have passed for a proper gentleman.
Maverick moved the magical construct over the neighborhood, drifting block by block until Sirius pointed to one of the houses. It didn't look much different from the others—unremarkable, plain—but magic, as always, was meant to fool the naked eye.
Maverick could already sense the powerful wards cloaking the building and gave a small nod, confirming this must indeed be the place they were looking for.
He brought them down between two buildings across the street, landed silently, and first activated his magical senses to sweep the area. It wasn't that he was worried about being spotted—he had full confidence in the true concealment extraordinary characteristic—but it didn't hurt to check for any Aurors who might be staking out the place in case a certain fugitive decided to show up.
It seemed he had thought too highly of Fudge. Not a single magical soul was in sight.
"Let's go," he said, stepping out and leading them quietly across the street toward the house numbered 13.
In the original story, a few years from now, this house would be hidden under a powerful Fidelius, courtesy of old Dumbledore. Anyone—Muggle or magical—would see only the houses up to number eleven, then jump straight to thirteen, as if number twelve had never existed at all.
Sirius personally opened the door without any resistance, and with his permission, Maverick and Ali followed him inside. The wards, recognizing the Black family magic in Sirius's blood and his authority, made no fuss and allowed them through without any issue.
"Wait a bit."
As soon as the door shut behind them, Maverick raised a hand and told Sirius to hold. The wards might have recognized them, but Maverick remembered there supposed to be many portraits here—especially one of the most racist witches to ever live, hanging on these walls.
He did not want to be met with any annoyance, so with that thought, he spread his magic and stretched out his hands, making subtle finger movements. There were no colorful flashes, but spell after spell silently flowed through the house, precisely targeting every magical portrait, whether out in the open or hidden behind walls.
The moment he finished, Maverick sensed a magical ripple from a small room nearby. Sure enough, a second later, a small creature wearing worn-out clothes Apparated into the living room and began darting around, searching for the disturbance it had just felt.
Maverick, Ali, and Sirius were still cloaked under true concealment. No matter how hard the creature looked, it wouldn't be able to find them.
"Guess I didn't have to call for it..." Sirius said with a shrug, watching the target of their visit appear on its own.
Maverick had already briefed him on what they were after. He hadn't mentioned that it was a Horcrux, only that it was a locket saturated with dangerous dark magic that needed to be destroyed.
Sirius did not question him. After the screw-up earlier today and the cold shoulder he received because of it, he decided it was best to cooperate fully.
Whatever this young man hoped to gain by handing Pettigrew over to the authorities later was not for him to question. Either way, he would get his revenge on the rat sooner or later—and after that, he would walk free. There was nothing to lose, except staying in the dark about a lot of things. He could, no, he would stomach that.
And his change didn't go unnoticed by Maverick. Sirius had made a right mess of things earlier today for sure—accusing him of sniffing around for Black family gold when all Maverick was doing was helping him. It had pissed him off a bit, certainly, but not enough to bother holding a grudge. He let it pass and hadn't made things difficult for him since.
"Who's there! Show yourself, you thieves! Breaking into the noble House of Black—how dare—"
The house-elf, Kreacher, shrieked in outrage, stretching out one hand as if ready to attack. But before he could act, his small body was suddenly yanked off the floor and flung toward the hallway, stopping mid-air as if caught in an invisible grip.
He tried to shout again, but his mouth clamped shut. Against Maverick's overpowered magic, he was helpless, like a moth caught in a sudden gust of wind.
"Can you not kill it?" Sirius asked Maverick, watching him hold Kreacher aloft like a trapped animal. He didn't particularly like the house-elf, sure—but still, it was the Black family's elf, after all.
"Who said I'm here for its life?"
Imperio!
Kreacher didn't even have time to process what was happening. One moment, he had sensed foreign magic spreading through the house and came to investigate—only to find nothing. But in the next instant, he was completely at the mercy of that very nothing.
His thoughts blurred, and his mind slipped away. The curse settled over him without the slightest resistance—or rather, whatever resistance he had was insignificant to stand against the power invading his mind. In moments, his will was no longer his own, held entirely at the mercy of another.
"Take me to the locket left by Regulus Black."
Under the Imperius, Kreacher did not hesitate for even a second. The moment Maverick set him back on the ground, the elf turned and began walking toward the stairs.
They passed several portraits along the wall, and Sirius gave them a puzzled look when he noticed that each one had turned completely grey. He glanced at Maverick, quietly impressed but not surprised.
They soon reached the upper floor and stopped in front of a door with a small plaque:
No Admittance Without Permission From The Owner. Regulus Arcturus Black.
"This was my brother's room." Sirius's gaze turned cold as he stood before the door of the man he once called brother. His voice held no trace of sorrow—only contempt.
Regulus Black had been a firm believer in pure-blood supremacy, like everyone else in his family. But that wasn't why Sirius hated him. It was the cruelty—the blind loyalty to the murderous lunatic Voldemort—that made his blood boil. He never mourned his brother's death, and he had never tried to hide that fact.
Of course, Maverick knew this was probably a misunderstanding. According to the original story, Regulus had realized what Voldemort truly was—just a power-obsessed lunatic, not the savior of pure-bloods he claimed to be—and died trying to destroy one of his Horcruxes.
But Maverick didn't mention that—not yet, at least. For one, he wasn't sure if the same was true in this universe, and for two, he didn't have time for all that right now. Maybe during the next Christmas holidays.
Kreacher entered the room first and headed straight to the large, ornate desk at the back. Without hesitation, he pulled open a drawer.
The moment the drawer opened, Maverick felt it—and so did Ali and Sirius. A wave of foul, cursed magic surged out from the compartment.
"Stop," Maverick commanded before Kreacher could reach inside, and the house-elf froze in place.
With a small flick of his fingers, Maverick put the elf to sleep and cast a clean, precise Obliviate to erase everything that had happened tonight from the creature's memory.
"Mr. Black, you can take it back to its room, or wherever it sleeps. I have no more use for it."
Maverick levitated the house-elf and brought it over to Sirius, who reluctantly took hold of it and nodded. He wanted to stay, and was far too curious to leave now.
"Better hurry up... if you want to see what we came here to find... and destroy." Maverick said catching the hesitation on Sirius's face and chuckling quietly to himself.
As soon as Sirius left the room, Maverick's expression hardened, and his focus returned to the matter at hand.
With sharp precision, he locked onto the drawer's contents, isolating the object that reeked of dark magic. It floated up at his command, gliding silently through the air before landing near them with a soft metallic clink.
"Lumos," Ali murmured beside him, raising his wand.
A soft glow filled the room, casting long shadows along the walls as both men turned their eyes toward the object on the floor. It was a locket—just as Maverick had expected—silver, aged, and heavy-looking, with an ornate serpentine "S" engraved across its surface. The moment the light touched it, a sickly sheen rippled across the metal, like oil floating atop dark water.
Ali's brows drew together as he stared. "It's trying to get into my head…"
Maverick didn't look his way, keeping his eyes fixed on the Horcrux. "It shouldn't be difficult for you to resist it now..."
Indeed, Ali was no ordinary wizard anymore. His recent breakthrough had boosted more than just his magic, and his mental barriers had grown considerably stronger as well. The invasive whisper faded as if it had struck a thick wall, unable to take root in his mind.
"I've come across all sorts of dark artefacts before," Ali said with a frown, "but this… has to be the most revolting one yet."
"You're right to think so, my friend," Maverick replied, lifting his hands and beginning to move his fingers in some strange, but deliberate motions. "What you're looking at is a Horcrux. A piece of Tom Riddle's soul. To create one, the soul must be torn apart by an act of pure evil… which is why the magic radiating off it feels so foul."
"How many of these things have you destroyed?"
Maverick paused in thought. "I've already gotten rid of two. Dumbledore claimed to have dealt with one himself. And now this"—he pointed at the locket—"makes four. That leaves two more… three, if you count the kid."
"Harry Potter?"
"Yes…"
Ali nodded thoughtfully. Besides Edward, he was the only one who knew most of Maverick's plans for the future, so naturally, he knew about Harry and his role in it.
Letting out a slow breath, he added, "No wonder the man went mad. I heard he used to be sharp and quite calculating in his early days. Splitting his soul so many times must have carved the sanity out of him."
"Or," Maverick also added, seemingly finished with whatever he'd been doing as he lowered his hands, "maybe he was always mad…"
Tuk tuk tuk.
And just then, footsteps pounded up the stairs, and a moment later, Sirius burst into the room, looking winded but expectant. "So?" he asked. "What's happening now?"
Maverick glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. Without answering, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers once.
Click.
Click.
It was like watching glass form out of thin air. The room folded inward, the corners stretching as if caught in a moving reflection. Shimmering panes of translucent light rose up around them, sealing the space in a dome that bent light and sound. Walls warped, the floor glimmered, and the ceiling twisted into a mirrored sky.
Sirius's jaw dropped slightly. "What in Merlin's name…?"
"We're in what's called the Mirror Dimension," Maverick said simply. "It reflects the real world, but nothing here is real. You can twist space, tear down walls, unleash even Fiendfyre... and none of the aftermath will affect the world outside."
He gave a small pause, then added with a look toward the locket. "Which means, whatever happens here... stays here."
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