On an afternoon in mid-August, Harry came to Adrian with a letter.
It was from Sirius Black, brief and to the point—inviting Adrian and his companions to stay at 12 Grimmauld Place for a few days.
"Should we go?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Adrian took the letter and read it carefully.
"Of course we should," He nodded. "Sirius is your godfather, after all, and despite his... colorful past, he seems to be making a genuine effort to be present in your life now. Besides," he added with a knowing smile, "you look like you could use a break from training."
Harry felt heat creep up his neck, embarrassed at being so transparent.
It was true—he desperately wanted a break.
Over the past few weeks, Adrian had intensified their training regimen to an almost punishing degree. Each day began before dawn with physical conditioning that left his muscles screaming, followed by hours of spell practice that pushed his magical reserves to their limits.
Then came the Animagus adaptation exercises, which required him to transform repeatedly until his bones ached from the constant shifting between forms, which left him feeling somewhat exhausted.
When Harry had finally worked up the courage to ask why the sudden increase in intensity, Adrian told him that Voldemort's return was imminent.
A great war was coming and he needed to be prepared not just to survive, but to protect those he cared about.
Harry had always trusted Adrian's words implicitly, so despite the harsh training, he gritted his teeth and persevered. It was all for his own safety.
But now that he had a chance to catch his breath, he naturally wouldn't pass up the opportunity.
The next day, Adrian set out for 12 Grimmauld Place with Harry and Hermione, who was staying with them—he had asked Sirius in advance, and Sirius didn't mind them bringing an extra person.
The journey to London was by Apparition, a method of travel that Harry was still growing accustomed to. Adrian's side-along Apparition was remarkably smooth compared to some he'd experienced—there was barely a moment of that horrible sensation of being squeezed through a tube before they appeared in a narrow alley between old brick buildings.
Grimmauld Square appeared in front of them. The buildings here were typical London terraced houses. Though the street was tidy, the decay of years was clearly visible—it was obviously an old residential area.
"Number 10... 11..." Adrian counted aloud as they walked, his voice echoing softly in the quiet street. "Here we are."
They stopped between houses numbered 11 and 13, facing what appeared to be empty space. To any Muggle observer, they would have looked like three people staring at nothing with intense concentration.
"But there's no—" Hermione began.
Before she could complete her sentence, reality began to shift. The empty space between the houses seemed to ripple like water, as if the air was being stretched and manipulated by invisible hands. Slowly, with the grinding sound of something heavy being moved, a house began to appear.
The exterior walls of the house were blackened and mottled, the windows were covered with dust, and the silver serpentine door knocker gleamed coldly in the sunlight.
The house seemed to exude an aura of depression and decay that was almost tangible. Even the air around it felt heavier. Hermione instinctively stepped backward, her face pale with unease, while Harry's expression darkened into a frown of concern.
"This doesn't look like somewhere people actually live," Harry muttered, staring up at it.
Just as Adrian raised his hand to use the ominous door knocker, the door swung in with a creak. A tall, lean figure appeared in the doorway, backlit by the dim interior light that made him look almost ghostly.
"Ah, you're finally here!" Sirius's voice rang out with genuine warmth and enthusiasm.
"Adrian, Harry, and—Hermione, if I'm not mistaken," He continued, his gaze settling on each of them in turn with the focused attention of someone memorizing faces. "Welcome to my humble, albeit rather gloomy, abode."
"Thank you for having us, Mr. Black," Hermione replied politely, though her eyes couldn't help but peer past him into the shadowy entrance hall. "I hope we're not imposing."
"Imposing?" Sirius laughed. "My dear girl, you're providing me with the first decent company this house has seen in over a decade. Please, come in quickly—we don't want to attract unwanted attention from the neighbors."
As they crossed the threshold, Sirius moved closer to Harry with the obvious intention of putting a arm around his godson's shoulders. But Harry, still uncomfortable with casual physical affection instinctively stepped aside, causing Sirius's smile to freeze momentarily.
As they walked down the corridor, they were hit by a musty smell mixed with the moldy scent of wooden furniture and some strange spice. The corridor walls were lined with many portraits, the largest of which contained a stern-faced woman with black hair pinned up, who stared at them intently: "&%¥%."
The portrait had been subjected to a Silencing Charm, but from her fierce lip movements, Adrian could tell she was undoubtedly saying something unspeakable.
Seeing the group constantly looking around, Sirius explained somewhat embarrassedly,
"I promise I've cleaned up as much as possible, But you know, I spent twelve years in Azkaban, and this house has been abandoned for just as long. The house-elf hasn't exactly been maintaining things to proper standards..."
As if summoned by the mention of his dereliction of duty, a hoarse voice emerged from the shadows near the kitchen entrance: "Scum... bringing more filthy half-bloods and Mudbloods into my mistress's noble house... defiling the noble Black Manor with their presence..."
A house-elf shuffled into view, and the sight of him was deeply unsettling.
Where Dobby had been eager and energetic despite his mistreatment, this creature radiated malice and decay. His skin hung in wrinkled folds like old parchment, and his tattered cloth covering was more holes than fabric.
But it was his eyes that were most disturbing, they burned with undisguised disgust and maliciousness.
"Kreacher!" Sirius's voice cracked like a whip, his entire demeanor transforming from apologetic host to furious master in an instant. His face darkened with anger. "Get back to your kitchen this instant!"
The elderly house-elf didn't argue as house-elves were magically compelled to obey direct orders but his compliance was grudging and dramatic. He shuffled away with exaggerated slowness, his muttering growing louder rather than softer as he left: "Blood traitor... disgracing the noble name... if poor mistress could see what her house has become... entertaining creatures beneath her notice..."
After Kreacher disappeared around a corner, Sirius turned back to his guests with a forced smile.
"I apologize for that. He's been with the family for decades, and his mind... well, let's just say long exposure to Dark Arts and pure-blood fanaticism hasn't done him any favors."
Harry watched Kreacher's retreating figure and couldn't help but think of Dobby.
Dobby was certainly much better than this one.
They walked for a while and came to a large tapestry embroidered with the Black family tree. There was a burned section on it, which Sirius said was his name—he had been disowned by the family. But since he was the only remaining male in the Black line, he had naturally become the heir to the house.
The living room was at least brighter than the corridor, and the sofas were clean—they finally had somewhere to sit.
While Sirius went to the dining room to make tea, Adrian observed the surroundings.
He approached a shelf filled with what appeared to be Dark Arts objects—a set of sinister silver items and several shrunken heads. He thought Sirius should have hidden these things first. What normal person would keep skulls in their living room?
"If I were you, I wouldn't touch those things carelessly, Adrian," came a familiar voice from behind him, tinged with gentle amusement. "Sirius and Remus began cataloging and neutralizing them yesterday, but the process is... ongoing."
Adrian spun around to find Dumbledore standing near the fireplace, his blue eyes twinkling. The headmaster looked remarkably at ease in the gloomy surroundings, as if ancient houses filled with Dark Arts artifacts were perfectly normal vacation destinations.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Adrian couldn't hide his surprise. "This is... unexpected. What brings you to Grimmauld Place?"
"Sirius requested my assistance in dealing with the more dangerous items the house has accumulated over the centuries," Dumbledore explained, gesturing toward the shelf. "The Black family was never known for their restraint when it came to acquiring powerful magical objects, regardless of their... moral implications. And I happen to have no plans during the summer vacation."
Though Dumbledore's explanation sounded reasonable, Adrian detected deeper purpose. The headmaster rarely did anything without multiple layers of motivation, and his presence here suggested that this gathering might be more significant than a simple social visit.
At this point, Harry and Hermione had also noticed Dumbledore's arrival, their faces reflecting the same mixture of surprise and pleasure that came from encountering a teacher in an unexpected context.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry was startled—seeing the headmaster outside of Hogwarts was always somewhat unusual. "It's good to see you."
"Harry, Hermione," Dumbledore replied with obvious pleasure. "How delightful to encounter you during the holidays. I trust your summer has been both educational and... challenging?"
Regardless of his motives, Dumbledore's presence added a sense of warmth and safety to the atmosphere of the old house.
By dinner time, the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place had been transformed into something approaching welcoming. The room was surprisingly spacious, with a long wooden table at the center and could easily accommodate a dozen people.
The air was rich with the aroma of Remus's cooking—he had apparently taken charge of the meal preparation. Savory scents of roasted meat and herbs mingled with the sweet fragrance of fresh bread, created an atmosphere of domestic comfort that was in stark contrast to the house's gloomy atmosphere.
During the meal, conversation flowed around the table, warming the gathering and creating connections between past and present.
Sirius dominated much of the discussion, and his enthusiasm for reconnecting with Harry was sometimes overwhelming in its intensity. He peppered his godson with questions about his summer, his studies, his friends—years of separation compressed into eager inquiries that left Harry feeling slightly breathless.
This enthusiastic man left Harry somewhat overwhelmed, even though he was his godfather. But Harry found he didn't mind the attention. After growing up with the Dursleys' cold indifference, having someone care enough to ask detailed questions about his life was still a novel experience.
At the other end of the table, Adrian and Remus fell into the comfortable rhythm of old colleagues discussing future plans.
Remus had recently raised quite a bit of money and was planning to lease a shop in Diagon Alley with Sirius to do some herbology business.
Hermione listened to their business discussion with rapt attention, occasionally nodding or asking insightful questions about market research and supply chains. Her mind was clearly analyzing the feasibility of their plans.
As for Dumbledore, he had taken an interest in a plate of pancakes drizzled with syrup on the table—Remus's special recipe, it was sickeningly sweet.
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