The Godfather

Before anyone realized it, the annual Christmas holiday was fast approaching. This year, not only did Harry have a home to return to for the holidays, but he had more than one option.

Six days ago, Hedwig had delivered a reply from Sirius. In his letter, Black invited Harry to spend Christmas at his place. However, since Harry had already moved back into his parents' house, he had a different idea and extended an invitation to Sirius instead.

After Hedwig made three or four trips back and forth, it was finally decided—the Christmas celebration would be held at the house Harry's parents had left him.

Now, all that was left was to wait for the holiday to arrive.

On December 20th, with only a few students remaining at Hogwarts, the vast majority boarded the Hogwarts Express bound for King's Cross Station, trunks in tow. Harry, Ron, and Hermione found an empty compartment at the rear of the train and spent the entire day enjoying each other's company.

That evening, as the train pulled into King's Cross Station, the three of them stepped onto the platform. Ron quickly joined Ginny, the Weasley twins, and Percy as they made their way toward Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who stood wrapped in thick winter coats. Hermione bid Harry farewell and was just about to leave the platform to find her parents when a thin, middle-aged man, who had just been speaking with the Weasleys, turned toward Harry with a wide, excited grin and strode toward him.

Wearing brand-new clothes and carrying a carefully selected gift from Diagon Alley, Sirius Black had arrived at Platform 9¾ an hour ahead of the Hogwarts Express. Just ten minutes later, Arthur and Molly Weasley had hurried onto the platform, slightly out of breath.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the three old friends fell into an easy conversation. For Sirius, these two members of the Order of the Phoenix were not just old comrades but cherished friends, and his tone naturally carried an abundance of warmth. Now that the truth about that fateful night had come to light, the Weasleys also welcomed their former comrade with enthusiasm.

As more parents arrived to pick up their children, it was no surprise when someone Sirius and the Weasleys loathed made an appearance.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored wizard's robe and carrying an ebony cane with elaborate carvings, Lucius Malfoy arrived with his equally well-dressed wife, Narcissa Malfoy, exuding an air of arrogance and superiority.

The Malfoys spotted Sirius and the Weasleys but had no intention of acknowledging them. They walked past without so much as a glance, as if the three of them were completely invisible.

After all, voluntarily associating with three blood traitors would only invite disdain from their peers.

At last, with a loud whistle, the Hogwarts Express came to a full stop. Students, dragging their heavy trunks, began pouring out of the train, while parents strained their necks, scanning the crowd for their children.

At the very edge of the platform, Sirius spotted Harry speaking with a brown-haired girl. For a fleeting moment, a series of images flashed through his mind, and a dozen thoughts fought to spill from his lips. But in the end, they all condensed into a single word: "Harry!"

Standing in the bustling crowd, Sirius Black was overcome with emotion, gazing in wonder at the godson he hadn't seen in twelve years. Harry, on the other hand, studied his long-lost godfather with curiosity.

Sirius wore a brand-new, well-fitted coat. He was taller and more upright than Harry had expected. Years of imprisonment had not entirely stripped him of his sharpness. His hair was much shorter than it had been in the newspapers—he had evidently gotten it cut recently—and he was clean-shaven. Though Azkaban had left him gaunt, his eyes remained bright, shimmering with the light of freedom. The gentle curve of his lips exuded warmth and hope for the future.

As for Harry, he had messy black hair and striking green eyes. He was dressed in a simple black coat and thick trousers, carrying a large trunk and a birdcage. Though he wasn't as tall as Sirius had imagined, his posture conveyed a quiet strength. His features strongly resembled his father, James, but his eyes—those unmistakable, lively green eyes—were an exact replica of his mother, Lily's. At that moment, those eyes were studying Sirius with curiosity.

"Hello, welcome back, Sirius," Harry greeted him with a smile.

"You too, Harry. Welcome home," Sirius replied, smiling warmly.

Between them, Hermione clutched the handle of her suitcase awkwardly.

If I had left a few minutes earlier, would I have avoided the awkwardness of standing between these two? The young witch regretted not being more decisive when saying goodbye to Harry earlier.

"Oh, Harry, aren't you going to introduce me?" Sirius arched a teasing eyebrow. (Not bad, kid—already got a girl by your side in second year. You're ahead of your old man on that front.)

Ignoring the implication in Sirius' raised brow, Harry introduced Hermione, "This is Hermione Jean Granger, one of my best friends at Hogwarts. She's brilliant at academics—last year, she was top of the class, far ahead of everyone else."

"Just a good friend? Nothing more?" Sirius asked with a knowing grin.

The young witch lowered her head, wondering if she should start taking longer to say goodbye to Harry in the future.

"Just a friend," Harry replied firmly.

...

As Hermione hurried away, Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Sirius, did I say something wrong just now?"

Sirius rolled his eyes at his godson.

After leaving Platform 9¾, Harry quickly shot down his godfather's reckless idea of taking the Knight Bus. Not a chance, Harry thought. That death trap of a ride? Once was more than enough.

"My house is connected to the Floo Network now," Harry said as he noticed Sirius' disappointment at missing out on the chaotic adventure of the Knight Bus. (Not that traveling by Floo powder was much better, but still...)

So instead, they took a taxi to the Leaky Cauldron and used its fireplace to travel to the three-story house in Godric's Hollow.

"Welcome home, Master—ah, I mean, Harry! And this gentleman too!"

The moment they stepped out of the fireplace, a house-elf in a vest and trousers appeared before them with a sharp "pop," greeting them in a high-pitched, excited voice.

"A house-elf?" Sirius' eyes widened as he stared at the small creature before him. "Harry, why do you have a house-elf?"

"First of all, it's not a 'what,' it's a who," Harry corrected him, before proceeding with introductions. "Sirius, this is Dobby. Dobby, this is Sirius."

When Harry had hired Dobby, he had specifically told him not to call him 'Master'—just 'Harry' would do. However, hearing the elf instinctively blurt out 'Master' just now made Harry sigh deeply.

Leaving Sirius to Dobby's care, Harry stepped out to pay the next year's electricity, water, and telephone bills.

When he returned, he found that his house-elf count had mysteriously increased by one.

Unlike Dobby, this new arrival radiated an air of decay and antiquity—the unmistakable stench of a pure-blood wizard's legacy.

The house-elf wore nothing but a filthy, tattered cloth wrapped around his waist. He looked ancient, with sagging skin that seemed far too loose for his frail frame. Though his head was as bald as any other house-elf's, tufts of white hair sprouted wildly from his large, bat-like ears. Like Dobby, this house-elf had bulging eyes, but his were bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion. His nose was large and fleshy, giving him an almost comical appearance.

"Harry, is that you back?" came Sirius's voice from the second floor.

"It's me, Sirius. Did you bring this house-elf here?" Harry called upstairs.

"His name is Kreacher. He's the house-elf from my family home. He's here to deliver a gift I prepared for you." Sirius descended the staircase. "I had originally planned for Kreacher to help with the cleaning these past few days, but it seems you already have a house-elf, and he's doing a rather impressive job."

Hearing the compliment, Dobby, who was busy preparing dinner, puffed out his small chest proudly. "Dobby is the best house-elf!"

As for Kreacher, he paid no attention to Harry or anyone else.

Hunched over, dragging his feet, he slowly shuffled toward the kitchen, carrying a small stack of plates and cutlery. He mumbled incessantly in a hoarse, croaking voice, barely audible but filled with bitterness.

"Smells like filthy mudbloods," Kreacher muttered under his breath. "A Muggle's house, and they make me clean it. And to serve a disgrace of a house-elf, no less. Oh, if Mistress knew, how heartbroken she would be..."

"Don't insult the house my friend left behind!" Sirius stormed down the stairs, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at Kreacher. "As for my mother, she hasn't had a heart in a long time. She's been dead for years—just a raving portrait now!"

At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher immediately bent into an exaggerated bow, so deep that his bulbous nose pressed comically against the floor.

"Stand up," Sirius said impatiently. "Where's the gift I sent you to deliver?"

"Kreacher placed it on the table in the sitting room," the elf murmured, still bowing. "Kreacher serves the noble House of Black for life—"

"And that house grows darker by the day," Sirius remarked. "It's filthy."

"Master does love his little jokes," Kreacher muttered, bowing again. Then, in a hushed whisper, he continued his grumbling. "Master is a vile, ungrateful wretch who broke his poor mother's heart—"

Sirius waved a hand in disgust, cutting him off. "Enough. Go back to that lightless house of yours..."

"Wait, Sirius." Harry watched Kreacher, an unexpected thought flashing through his mind. "I think he should stay here for a few days."

"Suit yourself, Harry." Sirius shrugged and then turned to Kreacher. "Kreacher, this is Harry Potter. From now on, his orders carry the same weight as mine. Understood?"

Kreacher continued muttering to himself, his bloodshot eyes staring blankly at Harry.

"Is it true? Truly Harry Potter? Kreacher sees the scar—yes, it must be. The boy who stopped the Dark Lord. Kreacher does not know how he did it—"

"That's enough, Kreacher. Go help Dobby," Sirius said dismissively, waving him away before pulling Harry toward the sitting room, where a long, wrapped package rested on the table.

Kreacher seemed reluctant to disobey a direct order. However, as he dragged his feet toward the kitchen, Harry caught sight of the look he shot at Sirius—a gaze filled with pure, undying hatred. And even as he left the room, his muttering continued.

"...Back from Azkaban and ordering Kreacher around... Oh, my poor Mistress, if only she could see what has become of the noble House of Black. She swore never to acknowledge him as her son, and yet here he is again, the so-called murderer..."

"One more word, and I really might kill you!" Sirius snapped irritably, grabbing the elf by the scruff of his neck and tossing him into the kitchen.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," Harry remarked, watching Kreacher's small, hunched figure retreat into the kitchen.

"He's been alone too long," Sirius said. "Taking orders from my mother's mad portrait, talking to himself... Though honestly, he's always been a nasty little—"

Harry shook his head. "Maybe things aren't as simple as you think. We'll find out soon enough."

"Enough of that unpleasant business!" Sirius grabbed the package off the table and handed it to Harry. "Come on, open it!"

Harry unwrapped the parcel with a puzzled expression. Inside was a brand-new racing broom. Even though he knew little about broomsticks, he had to admit—it was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship.

He picked it up. The broom gleamed under the light, and as he let go, it hovered in the air at the perfect height for him to mount.

"Well? I went through quite a bit of trouble to get this," Sirius said proudly, rubbing his nose. "It's not even supposed to hit the market until next May! Surprised? Excited? With the flying talent you inherited from James, this broom will make you an unstoppable force on the Hogwarts Quidditch field!"

"Surprised, yes. Excited..." Harry turned to look at his godfather. "Sirius, you do know I don't like Quidditch, right?"

"...What?"

------

more advance and fast update chapters on

pat reon . com/yuuwand