The silence at 12 Grimmauld Place was thick, oppressive, and stank... terribly, on top of its usual dampness.
Sirius Black was slumped on the worn-out sofa in the living room, his gaze lost in the ashes of the unlit fireplace. He picked up a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky and took a long swig straight from the neck, feeling the alcohol burn his throat and temporarily numb the constant anxiety that was devouring him from within.
He no longer knew what to do. He felt like a prisoner in his own home. The Order of the Phoenix was a bloody mess; the enemy they had to face was no longer clear. Between the threat of Grindelwald, the ever-present shadow of the current Minister of Magic, and the recent attacks, no one knew where to point their wands. And, as always, as was his wonderful habit, Dumbledore hadn't told them everything. Manipulating information to suit his own purposes, Sirius was sure the old man was moving pieces on a board the rest of them couldn't even see.
In the background, somewhere near the kitchen, Kreacher's murmurs and noises could be heard. The old house-elf was doing, well... Kreacher things. Cleaning up dirt only to replace it with more dirt, or muttering insults under his breath. Sirius snorted and took another sip. He never quite understood why his younger brother, Regulus, had been so attached to that miserable, bitter creature.
Sirius ran the back of his hand over his lips, stood up with some effort, and headed toward the stairs. Dumbledore had sent him a message that very morning, urgently asking him to find one of the Black family's oldest and darkest grimoires. According to the headmaster, that ancient magic "could help them in their coming struggle."
He climbed the wooden steps and walked down the gloomy hallway until he reached the doors leading into the family library. He placed his hand on the doorknob and opened the door.
The immense room, which in the past had housed some of the darkest, most dangerous, and most extensive knowledge in all of Britain—and possibly the world—was empty. The tall wooden bookshelves, which once creaked under the weight of thousands of volumes bound in dragon hide and worse, stood bare, covered only in dust.
Sirius's eyes widened in surprise for a second, before the weight of his own decisions came crashing down on him.
He let out a long sigh. He brought the bottle to his lips for another bitter swig, but in a sudden burst of fury, he slumped heavily until he was sitting on the floor. He looked at the bottle in his hand and, with a muffled cry of rage and frustration, smashed it with all his might against one of the empty walls. The glass shattered instantly into hundreds of pieces, splattering everything with Firewhisky.
He had been a complete fool to make that Unbreakable Vow. Yes, Sirius could admit it, sitting among the broken glass and the smell of alcohol. He had sold his family's entire legacy. But… did he have any other options at that moment?
No. Of course he hadn't. If he hadn't accepted the deal and the oath with Aurelian Gaunt that night in the Forbidden Forest, that damned boy would surely have murdered him in cold blood right there, if those two sadistic girlfriends of his, the Carrow twins, hadn't done it first—they were staring at him as if he were a piece of rotten meat. If he hadn't handed over the entire library, Aurelian would never have helped him catch that rat Peter Pettigrew and prove his innocence to the Ministry. He had traded knowledge for his life and his freedom. Good or bad, there was nothing he could do about it now.
Sirius rubbed his tired eyes with both hands, feeling the sting of guilt. What on earth was he going to tell Albus now? How did he explain that the Black library was now in Gaunt's hands?
Sirius pulled his hands away from his face and narrowed his gray eyes, a flash of clarity crossing his gaze. Of course he knew exactly why Dumbledore wanted those specific books. He wouldn't be a Black if he didn't know the kind of rituals, sacrifices, blood magic, and destruction those particular books contained. The fact that Dumbledore was willing to use that kind of magic showed just how desperate and dark everything was becoming.
"The master is a mess, a traitor to his bloodline sitting amidst his own filth… he deserves it," a voice croaked from the doorway.
Sirius looked up. Kreacher had taken the opportunity to sneak into the library, surveying the stained wall and broken glass, ready to mock his master's misfortune.
"Shut up, Kreacher," Sirius growled, in no mood to put up with it.
But the elf merely gave a twisted, malicious smile.
"At least that serpent boy, the Lord of the Gaunts, did something to cheer Kreacher's old heart when he came to ransack the house," the elf continued to mutter venomously, taking another step closer. "Yes, yes… he was a true Pure-blood. Even if he did take my poor master Regulus's last wish with him..."
Sirius, who was about to yell at him to get lost, froze upon hearing that name. The fog of alcohol cleared completely from his mind. He rose from the floor with astonishing speed for someone in his condition, and before the elf could run out of the room, Sirius blocked the doorway.
"Wait a damn second," Sirius snapped at him. "What are you talking about, Kreacher?"
The elf took a step back, cowering, his large, bloodshot eyes staring at him with deep hatred.
"Kreacher has no business telling the blood traitor anything…"
"I am your master, and this is a direct order!" roared Sirius, using the binding house magic that forced the creature to obey. "Tell me exactly what Aurelian Gaunt took that was related to my brother Regulus! Speak!"
Kreacher physically writhed. The magic of the servitude bond clashed with his loyalty to the promise he had made to his master Regulus, forcing him to open his mouth against his own will. The old elf tugged at his long ears and could only begin to curse and stammer degrading insults at Sirius, hating with all his soul his own weakness and the fact that he could hide absolutely nothing from his unworthy master.
The echo of the insults muttered by Kreacher had already faded into the dampest corners of Grimmauld Place, but his words continued to reverberate in Sirius's head.
Sitting alone in the dark, gloomy kitchen, waiting for Albus Dumbledore's imminent arrival, Sirius began to laugh silently. It was a dry laugh, devoid of humor and laden with a bitterness that tore at his throat. That damned boy… Aurelian Gaunt had played him for a fool. He had manipulated and used him to his own advantage.
Sirius rested his elbows on the wooden table and interlaced his fingers in front of his mouth. He knew the library was priceless, but what Kreacher had just revealed to him changed the whole picture. A locket? Why on earth would the brilliant heir of the Gaunts be so obsessed with taking an old and seemingly useless locket that Regulus had ordered destroyed? Sirius closed his eyes tightly, hoping that Dumbledore, with his legendary intellect, might provide a clear answer to this mystery.
The unmistakable roar of the flames in the upstairs fireplace snapped him out of his thoughts. Hearing Albus brush the ashes off himself after stepping out of the Floo Network, Sirius took a deep breath to calm his nerves and went out to meet him in the hallway.
Dumbledore smiled warmly at him when he appeared.
"Good evening, Sirius, my boy," Albus greeted him in his usual tone. "How are you?"
"Albus…" Sirius returned the greeting with a tense voice and an extremely nervous posture he couldn't hide. "Please, come in. Let's go to the living room."
They both walked toward the living room. As they sat in the armchairs in front of the unlit fireplace, Dumbledore adjusted his hat and fixed his piercing blue eyes on the Animagus. It took the headmaster no time at all to read his former student's body language.
"Sirius, are you sure everything's all right?" Dumbledore asked again, his smile fading slightly. "You seem quite tense—something's off."
Sirius leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He gestured erratically in the air, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right words to drop the bombshell without sounding like a complete, treacherous idiot.
"You see, Albus… the thing is…" Sirius stammered, scratching the back of his neck. "The grimoire you asked me for so urgently this morning… well, I don't have it anymore."
Dumbledore frowned, confused.
"What do you mean you don't have it anymore, Sirius? The Black library has very solid and completely airtight security enchantments, so…"
"No, you don't understand," Sirius interrupted, raising his voice slightly under the pressure. "It's not just that book. I don't have any books left. The entire library is empty, Albus. In fact, the only things left in the house now are my personal belongings, Harry's, and a couple of pieces of furniture."
Albus Dumbledore's facade of composure cracked. Sirius could clearly see a small, tense twitch make the elderly headmaster's right eye flutter.
"Why?" Dumbledore asked.
Sirius let out a nervous laugh. He raised both hands in the air.
"Because all the knowledge, the grimoires, the artifacts, and the secrets of my family now belong to Aurelian Gaunt," Sirius confessed, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, only to be replaced by a mountain.
Dumbledore fell silent. He brought one hand to his face and scratched it wearily. Now, truly, he didn't know what to think of Aurelian. That young man and his mysteries—all his movements were unpredictable; he had become an unfathomable enigma.
"Tell me one thing, Sirius," Albus murmured, looking at him through his fingers. "Was this exchange the real reason young Aurelian captured Peter Pettigrew and helped you prove your innocence to the Ministry?"
Sirius nodded slowly, lowering his gaze in shame, but immediately shook his head and looked back at the headmaster.
"Yes, that was the deal," Sirius admitted. "But that doesn't matter anymore, Albus. That isn't the most important thing right now."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, really? Are you telling me that handing over centuries of dark magic to Aurelian isn't what matters?"
Sirius ignored him completely. He turned his head toward the room's door and shouted.
"Kreacher! Come here at once!"
A crack announced the house-elf's arrival. Kreacher appeared, hunched over, glaring at the two wizards, but it was Sirius's intense, fierce stare that forced him to pay attention.
"Tell Dumbledore exactly what you just told me," Sirius ordered. "Everything. And don't you dare omit a single damn detail."
Kreacher began tugging at his ears in fury, cursing under his breath at his master's traitorous blood and the presence of the "Mudblood lover" in his home. However, bound by the magic of servitude, the elf obeyed. In a raspy voice, he detailed how Aurelian Gaunt had entered Grimmauld Place to collect his debt and how he had found and demanded the pure gold locket bearing the serpent's mark. Then he told them the story of his master Regulus and the locket, and his final order, which he had never been able to carry out.
When the elf finished his account and vanished from the room with another snap, Dumbledore remained frozen in his seat. All color had drained from his face.
The pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place.
He understood everything now. He now understood how Tom Riddle had not died that night in Godric's Hollow when the Killing Curse rebounded. The monster had created a Horcrux. He had fragmented his own soul. And Aurelian Gaunt... the boy had used that very locket to bring him back to life.
Dumbledore rose abruptly from the armchair. He began pacing the room while Sirius watched him from his seat with a worried look. The magical aura Albus gave off as he walked was heavy.
Suddenly, Dumbledore stopped dead in front of the fireplace. He turned toward Sirius and stared at him.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, his voice devoid of emotion, "Aurelian is Voldemort's son."
Sirius held his breath. He opened his eyes so wide they nearly popped out of their sockets.
"What… what are you saying?" whispered Sirius, unable to process the statement.
Dumbledore scratched his face again, suddenly looking a hundred years older.
"I thought you already knew, or at least had deduced it," Albus explained bitterly. "With the undeniable physical resemblance between the current Minister, Tom Gaunt, and Aurelian, the same surname, their brutal affinity and magical talent… Tom Gaunt is Lord Voldemort, Sirius. And Aurelian is his son."
The whole world seemed to stop for Sirius Black.
The man's eyes widened even further, if that was humanly possible. A dull ringing settled in his ears. He looked down at the wooden floorboards and brought both hands to his head, tugging at his long hair.
He'd screwed up, he'd screwed up big time.
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