The next afternoon, Argus followed Lupin and Sirius to Grimmauld Place. With the Quidditch World Cup looming, the Ministry was pulling Aurors to keep order, which had eased the hunt for Sirius. For the first time in over a decade, he could return home—and bring Argus along.
"Isn't this a Muggle neighborhood?" Argus asked, feigning ignorance. "Why here?"
Sirius and Lupin shared a wry glance and chuckled. "Never thought there'd be something Mr. Grindelwald didn't know," Sirius teased. "That's a first."
"I'm no Merlin," Argus replied with a helpless smile. "Even he couldn't know everything—and that's why he's just history now."
"True enough," Sirius said, his voice thick with nostalgia as they approached the old haunt.
They led Argus to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It had been a couple of years since Argus's last visit, but the place looked unchanged on the surface. The moment Sirius crossed the wards, though, his face darkened.
"What's wrong, Padfoot?" Lupin asked, concern sharpening his tone.
"Someone's been here," Sirius growled. "The protections—they've been tampered with."
"Regulus?" Lupin ventured. "Or the Ministry?"
"Not Regulus. He knew the family's magic; he wouldn't bungle it like this." Sirius's jaw tightened. "And the Ministry? Breaking into a pure-blood ancestral home? They'd never cross that line, even if the whole line vanished.
Argus stayed composed, his face impassive as they debated. Even a younger version of himself wouldn't have left traces. The Polyjuice Potion, plus Kreacher as the only witness—vanished without a clue. Not even Dumbledore could pin it on him.
Clearing Regulus's name? Pointless. Proving him a hero against Voldemort wouldn't erase the past. It'd just guilt-trip Sirius or hand the Blacks to someone else on a silver platter. No thanks—too much effort for zero gain.
Sirius stormed inside, the air thick with dust. The place screamed neglect; no one's touched a broom in ages.
"Lazy git, Kreacher!" Sirius muttered, cheeks flushing as embarrassment hit. Yelling to cover it, he bellowed, "Kreacher! Front and center, now!"
No answer. He called again, louder. Still nothing.
Then, from the wall, Mrs. Black's portrait erupted in a tirade of curses. "You ungrateful wretch! How dare you slink back!"
"You filthy blood traitor!"
"And what have you dragged in? A werewolf! A mongrel beast!"
"Defiling the House of Black!"
"Out! All of you!"
"Shut it!" Sirius snarled, glaring daggers at the painting. His lips curled in disgust.
Lupin, beside him, flushed red and stared at the floor. He'd endured this venom before—too many times.
Argus stepped forward calmly, offering the portrait a slight bow. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Black. A pleasure to meet you."
The old woman's fury softened at his polished demeanor and fine robes. "And who might you be, young man?"
"Argus Grindelwald.
"Grindelwald..." She, who'd lived through that turbulent era, hesitated. "Related to Mr. Gellert Grindelwald?"
"My father," Argus confirmed.
A rare smile cracked her stern face. "Well, come in, dear boy! The Blacks welcome you."
She whipped toward Sirius, eyes blazing anew. "You worthless spawn—fetch some tea! How did we birth a lout like you? And where's that house-elf? Kreacher!"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're the dead one here, Mother—all because of your rotten choices!"
"Malfoy whelp came in and finished him off!"
"The Malfoys? Lucius—that slimy Death Eater!" Sirius's fists clenched. His mother wouldn't lie about this. "I knew he was still simpering after You-Know-Who!"
"Not Lucius, you fool—his boy, Draco Malfoy!" Mrs. Black spat. "Two years back, he waltzed in using Narcissa's name, murdered Kreacher, and snatched that locket from his neck!"
"No decent bone in that family's body!" Sirius roared, slamming his foot into the wall. Plaster cracked.
"Sirius, easy," Argus said evenly—he'd seen this coming. "Think it through. Two years ago, Draco was a first-year. How's a kid breaking Black wards? Killing a house-elf?"
"Exactly," Lupin added. "I've met the boy. Slytherin through and through, but not his father's schemer. He's friends with Harry—no way he'd pull this."
Sirius paused, doubt flickering. "Not him? Then who...?"
"Plenty of ways to fake an appearance," Argus said. "Polyjuice Potion, Transfiguration spells. You can't trust a face alone."
"Spot on," Lupin agreed. "Every pure-blood house stocks Polyjuice. Snagging Draco's hair at a dinner party's child's play."
Sirius's mind reeled—he wasn't the sharpest, after all. Blasting off to Azkaban out of guilt proved that. He yanked at his hair in frustration. "So what now? We can't let this slide!"
Mrs. Black cackled from the wall. "Useless mudblood-lover! If Regulus were here, he'd handle it without your tantrums. Can't even safeguard the family—what good are you?"
Sirius seethed but bit his tongue, unwilling to bicker in front of guests. In a huff, he yanked the curtain over her frame, muffling the shrieks.
"Forget her," he grumbled to Argus. "I'll show you around. The Black library's legendary—bloodline only for outsiders. Stick close; it's a maze."
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