Invisible Strings of the Heart — Part 1/2
"Kreacher, stop uncovering that damned curtain that keeps that woman hidden! Bloody elf bastard!" shouted Sirius furiously as he struggled with the heavy drapery to close it again and seal the portrait. Every morning was the same hell: the elf always found a way to uncover the portrait of his late and very unloved mother.
The elf watched him with a mix of disdain and satisfaction before nodding in feigned obedience. Sirius knew that look well. They had had this argument dozens of times, and he knew perfectly well it would happen again the next day. Kreacher was bound by an ancient magical contract, one his mother had created to ensure he would never stop "honoring" her even after death.
It was the perfect legacy of a woman who had made sure to keep tormenting her son for all eternity.
Sirius could have moved to another mansion or even destroyed Grimmauld Place entirely, but his mother had thought of everything. If he wanted to retain control over the Black enterprises, the family vaults, and all inherited assets, he had to live in that house. The contract demanded it; it had been her final victory.
He had considered transferring all authority to his cousin Andromeda, but she had fled from his mother long before he did. She would never agree to have anything to do with the family again. So the burden fell on Sirius, while Andromeda enjoyed a peaceful life with her husband, proudly watching her daughter become an Auror.
"I should hang you next to the other elves above the fireplace," Sirius growled, his wand trembling in his hand.
The remark only seemed to amuse Kreacher, who twisted his mouth into a crooked, almost eager grin, which infuriated the wizard even more.
Such were the days in the Black Mansion: insults, curses, and a constant domestic war with a servant who hated him more than anyone else in the world. Fortunately, living there didn't mean he had to stay all the time. Sirius spent most days away, but every morning, without fail, he had to wake up to the sweet sound of his mother's screams echoing through the walls.
A red flash suddenly appeared in the living room, right behind him.
Sirius, whose reflexes were as sharp as his wit, reacted instinctively to the magical presence. He didn't hesitate for even a second—his first reaction was to flee.
"Godfather, it's me!"
Harry's voice stopped him cold.
Sirius, who had already half-jumped toward the fireplace, froze. He turned slowly, and when he saw his godson, he smiled awkwardly, trying to look relaxed, as if he hadn't just been attempting to escape from an invisible attacker.
Harry watched him with a dry expression, eyes narrowed, saying nothing.
"Harry... it's good to see you," Sirius began, forcing a cheerful tone. "I thought you'd be at Hogwarts. Let me guess... you snuck out, didn't you? You can't deny James's blood runs through your veins. Don't worry, I won't tell your mother. Your father and I used to do it all the time."
He tried to laugh to ease the tension, but the sound only made his voice come out more nervous.
Harry sighed calmly, walked toward the sofa, and dropped into one of the seats, his gaze drifting toward the back of the room, where Kreacher still stood watching.
The elf vanished instantly with a snap and, seconds later, reappeared with a tray of snacks and juice. He placed it carefully on the table before disappearing again without saying a word.
As insolent as he could be toward his master, Kreacher didn't dare show the slightest disrespect to that boy. He had learned that lesson the hard way. Once, after calling him an "insolent brat," he'd been beaten so fast he never even saw his attacker's shadow. Since then, the trauma alone prevented him from looking at Harry without shivering. He wasn't even that afraid of his own master.
Sirius dropped into the armchair across from Harry, wearing his usual carefree smile, though for the first time in a long while, it didn't seem entirely fake. His instincts told him his godson hadn't come just for a casual visit.
"What's going on?" he asked in a softer tone.
Harry didn't answer right away. His eyes fell on the glass of juice on the table. There was always juice in Sirius's house—every flavor imaginable. Curiously, the man couldn't stand anything sweet, and Harry knew why.
An old wound.
Sirius had hated sweets for years, a distaste born from resentment toward an old man he considered a traitor. That was why there were never any sweets in Grimmauld Place... except when Harry or one of his friends came by. Then, the house transformed: snacks, juices, freshly baked bread. It was a silent way of saying he was glad to see them.
Even if he didn't admit it, Sirius was always prepared for his arrival.
Harry finally broke the silence, still staring at the glass without touching it.
"I don't think I ever asked you directly... mostly because you always liked to tell it without anyone asking." He paused before raising his eyes. "What were you and my father like in school?"
Sirius blinked, surprised. It was a simple question, yet he hadn't expected to hear it in that tone. For years, he'd told stories of his adventures with James Potter with pride—sometimes with too much joy—never stopping to think how they might sound to a boy who never met his father.
And every time he did, he noticed something in Harry: a subtle expression, a faint unease.
He didn't blame him. He and James had never exactly been models of humility or kindness. In hindsight, their stories might have sounded more cruel than heroic, but Sirius had never known how to tell them any other way.
The man smiled with a touch of nostalgia and leaned back in his seat, thinking where to begin. He clearly remembered the days when Harry was younger, listening to those tales with fascination—until one day, the light in his eyes faded.
When Remus returned, he had said it plainly: "It was obvious he'd pull away. Telling him those stories without giving them context... doesn't help. Harry can't stand bullies."
Sirius had never forgotten that.
"When we entered Hogwarts, the war against the Dark Lord was at its peak," began Sirius, his voice lower and graver than usual. "Outside the castle, wizards were disappearing every day, entire families were wiped off the map, and the enemy's followers were conquering territories for their master. The only truly safe place was Hogwarts, thanks to Dumbledore's presence."
The mention of the headmaster's name made Sirius's face twist into a grimace of distaste, a mix of hatred and resentment he didn't bother to hide.
"The worst part was that the children of those dark wizards—the members of the Dark Lord's inner circle—were our classmates. As you know, most of the Slytherins joined his ranks as soon as they left school. But not only them; even some of our own housemates did too. It was hard to tell who would end up being an ally or an enemy once we stepped out of those castle doors for the last time."
He paused, gazing toward the fire flickering in the hearth, and his voice lowered.
"I didn't want to be part of that ideology, or follow my family's beliefs. With the help of my uncle, I left home. I was cast out of the Black family tree, though, in truth, they only burned my portrait. They didn't completely disinherit me; I suppose they believed that sooner or later I'd realize my 'mistake' and come back begging for forgiveness."
He smiled with sarcasm, the mocking glint returning to his eyes.
"When I arrived at Hogwarts, I met your father. As you probably know, I was sorted into Gryffindor—the sworn enemy of Slytherin. Though, to be honest, the rivalry wasn't as fierce back then. I think it was our generation that lit that spark… or rather, our group."
He leaned back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other.
"From the very start, we knew we wanted to fight in the war. We saw ourselves as heroes, as saviors. That's what we called ourselves. That's why we started picking on the Slytherins with our pranks… it was our way of showing we stood with the light. Obviously, we couldn't hurt anyone inside school grounds, so we did what we could with what we had. I suppose we thought humor was its own kind of battle."
Harry raised an eyebrow, as if about to say something, but Sirius spoke first, wearing a tired smile.
"Yeah, I know what you're thinking. We were a pair of idiotic kids; there's no excuse for it. But at the time, we believed we were doing the right thing—that the ones we targeted deserved it. And, in many cases, time proved us right. That guy… Snape, for example… he spent his days harassing Muggle-borns, calling them 'mudbloods.' He tested his damned dark spells on them along with his 'great friends.'"
His tone turned bitter as he said the name.
"Besides, he became our natural enemy. Your father was completely in love with your mother, and she was friends with that man. And he… well, he hated James for it. From that moment on, we became sworn enemies. He tried every possible way to catch us doing something illegal so we'd get expelled, and we retaliated in turn. And later, for people to claim he was Dumbledore's spy, that he helped defeat the Dark Lord… bah, only fools and naïve people believe that."
Sirius spoke with disdain, but when he noticed Harry's calm, serious gaze, his tone softened.
He sighed, lowering his shoulders. "Harry, I don't know what image you have of your father after all the stories I've told you, but he wasn't a bad person. Yes, he was a bully—I won't deny that. So was I. But we weren't cruel… or at least, I want to believe we weren't. James changed a lot over time, especially after we joined the Order of the Phoenix. He was the kind of man who would give his life for his friends, for anyone who needed him. He faced the Dark Lord himself more than once."
His eyes clouded for a moment.
"And your mother… she was just as brave. An exceptional witch. She might have seemed calm on the surface, but she had the heart of a lioness. She was the one who kept James on the right path, the one who made him grow up. We always joked that she had tamed him—that she turned him into a family man. But James… James was happy that way. Truly happy."
Sirius's voice broke slightly at the end. His gaze drifted toward the floor as a tear threatened to escape. Yet he held it back with pride, taking a deep breath and straightening his back. He wasn't going to fall apart in front of his godson.
Harry listened in silence, his expression calm, but his eyes reflected a deep sadness. He lowered his head, feeling the emptiness left by those words. He had no real memories of his parents—no laughter, no voices. Only a warm sensation, a fleeting kiss on his forehead… and then, the green flash that took them away.
The silence that followed was heavy, yet not uncomfortable. It was a silence full of things neither of them dared to say.