That night, sleep eluded Sirius entirely. The three of them had squeezed into Sirius's old bedroom, the faint smell of dust and faded memories clinging to the air. Sirius lay in the middle, but peace wouldn't come to him. Anxiety clawed at his mind, dragging him into restless half-dreams and vivid nightmares.
When he managed to drift off, the respite was short-lived. He woke up minutes later, screaming and drenched in sweat.
"Leave Reggie alone!" he cried out at one point, his voice cracking with pain.
Remus, who had been dozing lightly, immediately sat up and reached for Sirius. "Sirius, love, wake up. It's just a dream," he murmured, his tone steady yet soft. He brushed the damp strands of hair from Sirius's forehead.
Sirius jerked away for a moment, his eyes wild, before realizing where he was. "It's my fault," he muttered, his voice trembling. "I didn't protect him. I left him with them."
Remus shook his head firmly, pulling Sirius into his arms despite the other man's weak resistance. "No, Sirius. Don't do this to yourself. Regulus made his choices, and he was braver than any of us gave him credit for. But you—" He cupped Sirius's face, forcing him to look up. "You survived. You're here. You can honor him now. Please, stop punishing yourself like this."
Sirius closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he leaned against Remus. "I keep seeing them," he whispered. "Her face, his voice—James shouting for me, Reggie looking at me like I betrayed him."
"You didn't betray him," Remus said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. "You fought for what you believed in. And you've been fighting ever since. But you don't have to do it alone anymore, my love."
Harry, lying on the far side of the bed, stayed quiet, listening. He could hear the raw emotion in Remus's voice, the love and determination to carry Sirius through his grief. After a while, Sirius seemed to relax slightly, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep.
Remus stayed awake for a while longer, his arms still wrapped around Sirius protectively, murmuring soothing words when his lover stirred.
By 4 a.m., both Sirius and Remus had finally succumbed to exhaustion, their forms tangled together on the narrow bed. Harry, however, found no peace in the stillness.
He slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb them, and wandered the dim hallways of Grimmauld Place. The air was heavy, weighed down by years of pain and resentment, but Harry found himself drawn to Regulus's bedroom.
He hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open. The room was cold, as though it had been frozen in time, but to his surprise, it wasn't empty.
"Kreacher?" Harry whispered.
The house-elf stood in the center of the room, his hunched figure illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the cracked curtains. Harry couldn't tell if Kreacher had been awake all night or if he had never gone to sleep.
"Mistress's house is not quiet," Kreacher croaked, his voice rough but not hostile. "Master Sirius... he shouts, he disturbs. Kreacher hears."
Harry stepped further into the room, his gaze softening. "He's struggling," he said quietly. "He's been through so much. We all have."
Kreacher's large eyes turned to Harry, glinting with an unreadable emotion. "Master Regulus's room... Kreacher keeps it clean. Kreacher keeps it ready."
Harry nodded, glancing around the room. There was a strange sense of peace here, a stark contrast to the chaos in Sirius's mind. "I think Regulus would be proud of you," Harry said gently.
The elf's ears twitched, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw Kreacher's lip tremble. But the elf only bowed his head slightly, muttering, "Master Regulus was a great wizard. Kreacher serves his memory."
Harry hesitated, then placed a hand on Kreacher's bony shoulder. "You're still serving him, in your own way. And you're helping me. Thank you, Kreacher."
The elf didn't respond, but Harry thought he saw a flicker of gratitude in his expression. For a brief moment, they stood in silence, two unlikely allies in a house haunted by the past.
Harry took a deep breath, realizing this might be the only chance to uncover the truth about Regulus Black. He crouched down so he was eye-level with Kreacher, who stood stiffly, his large, expressive eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"Kreacher," Harry said softly, his voice steady but warm. "When you said that Regulus sacrificed himself, what did you mean?"
Kreacher shifted uncomfortably, his wrinkled hands wringing together. For a moment, the house-elf looked even smaller, fragile in a way Harry hadn't seen before.
"Kreacher should not say... Kreacher does not know if it is right," he muttered, his voice trembling.
Harry leaned forward, his tone gentle but firm. "Kreacher, you don't have to be afraid. Regulus was your master, but... he's my father." The words felt heavy on his tongue, but saying them gave Harry a strange sense of comfort. "If Regulus trusted you, then I trust you too. Whatever you tell me, it won't change how I feel."
Kreacher froze, his wide eyes staring into Harry's with an almost pleading look. "Master Regulus... Master Regulus loved, oh yes," he whispered. "He always wanted a family... to be loved, and to love. He would have been loved you, young master."
Harry swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the words. The image of Regulus, not just as a name on a tapestry but as someone who longed for love and acceptance, struck a deep chord in him. "Tell me, Kreacher," he said gently. "What happened to him?"
Kreacher hesitated for a long moment, then let out a shaky sigh. "Master Regulus was... a servant of the Dark Lord, but not by choice," he began, his voice filled with regret. "At first, it was an obligation. It was supposed to be Master Sirius's duty. But when the eldest son left... when Master Sirius abandoned the family, the burden fell to Master Regulus."
Harry's jaw tightened, anger bubbling in his chest. The Black family's twisted sense of duty and loyalty was a poison that had seeped into every corner of their lives.
"The Dark Lord demanded loyalty from the House of Black," Kreacher continued, his voice growing quieter. "Master and Mistress Black wanted Sirius to serve the Dark Lord, to prove the family's worth. But when Master Sirius ran away, they turned to Regulus. They would have dragged Master Sirius back... forced him to bow to the Dark Lord. Regulus did not want that. He offered himself instead."
Harry felt a cold chill run down his spine. "He sacrificed his freedom for Sirius?"
Kreacher nodded, his large ears twitching. "Master Regulus gave himself to protect his brother. But when he was sixteen, he began to see... he began to doubt. The Dark Lord, the family, all of it. He told Kreacher things he never told anyone else. Kreacher was his only confidant."
Harry noticed a faint tremor in Kreacher's voice, a crack in the façade. The elf's loyalty to Regulus was unshakable, even now.
"What changed?" Harry asked, leaning in closer.
Kreacher's lips quivered as he spoke. "At first, Master Regulus was happier. He smiled more. He laughed. He went outside, to places where he did not feel the weight of his family's expectations. He stopped caring so much about the duties of the House of Black I don't know why,but I was so happy to see him like that . But then... in November of 1979..."
Harry felt his stomach twist. "What happened?"
Kreacher's voice dropped to a whisper. "The Dark Lord gave Kreacher a task. A terrible task. Master Regulus found out, and..."
The elf's voice cracked, and he looked away, his hands clutching his sides as if he were trying to hold himself together.
Harry's mind raced. Voldemort. It had to be Voldemort. His chest tightened with anger and sorrow as he imagined Regulus, only a boy, standing against the most dangerous wizard of all time.
"What was the task?" Harry asked, his voice low but insistent.
Kreacher's eyes darted back to him, filled with a mix of fear and pain. "Kreacher... Kreacher will tell you everything. But not yet. Not all at once. It is too much," he whispered.
Harry sat back, his heart pounding. He didn't want to push Kreacher too hard, but every detail felt crucial, a puzzle piece connecting him to the father he never knew.
"All right, Kreacher," Harry said after a moment. "We'll take it one step at a time. But I need to know, eventually."
Kreacher nodded stiffly. "Kreacher will tell Master Harry... because Master Regulus would want it."
As Harry sat in the dim light of the room, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the revelation settling over him. Regulus had been so much more than a name in the shadows. He was brave. He was selfless. And Harry was determined to uncover the full truth of his father's story, no matter what it took.
Kreacher looked at Harry with tired eyes, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of his memories was too much to bear. He shook his head slightly before murmuring in a raspy voice:
"Master Harry... Kreacher is exhausted. Kreacher will tell you the truth another day, but not tonight."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, the words forming on his lips, but something in the elf's trembling stance stopped him. Kreacher's gaze drifted to the window, as if searching for something far beyond the walls of Grimmauld Place. His voice softened, heavy with emotion.
"Master Regulus... he was finally happy. For a time, he smiled more. He laughed. Kreacher had never seen him like that before. But then... the happiness left him. It broke his heart... and it still breaks Kreacher's heart to remember."
Harry felt a pang of sympathy, his curiosity battling with his growing understanding of the elf's pain. He wanted to know, wanted to piece together Regulus's story, but Kreacher's trembling hands and sorrow-filled expression made him hesitate.
"All right," Harry said gently, his voice kind. "Take your time, Kreacher. When you're ready."
The elf gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his wrinkled face drawn tight with unspoken grief. Without another word, Kreacher turned and shuffled out of the room, leaving Harry standing alone, watching him go.
Harry sighed, a mixture of frustration and empathy swirling within him. He's been through so much, he thought, glancing around the dimly lit room. As much as he wanted answers, he knew Kreacher needed space to heal his internal wounds. For now, he would wait.
Harry, unable to help himself, followed Kreacher down the creaking stairs to the dimly lit kitchen. The flickering light of the candles cast dancing shadows across the darkened room as Kreacher busied himself preparing food, muttering under his breath.
Harry hesitated at the door for a moment before stepping inside. "Do you need any help?" he asked cautiously.
Kreacher turned to him with a look of disdain, his lips curling as if Harry had just insulted him. "Help? Kreacher does not need help from master's son. Kreacher has been cooking for the noble Black family long before Master Harry was even born."
Harry held up his hands in mock surrender, backing off to sit at the old wooden table. "Alright, alright. I'll stay out of your way. I just thought I'd offer."
Kreacher grumbled something unintelligible, returning to his work. Harry watched him in silence for a few moments before finally speaking again. "Kreacher," he began softly, "what were Sirius and Regulus like when they were kids? Before everything happened?"
The elf paused, his gnarled hands resting on the counter. He glanced at Harry briefly before continuing his task, his voice low and heavy with emotion. "Master Sirius and Master Regulus were very different as boys. Master Sirius, as a young child, was… loyal to Mistress Walburga. Always following her, clinging to her robes, eager to please. Mistress was kinder then, before… before her loyalty to the cause consumed her."
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Kinder? How?"
Kreacher hesitated, his expression conflicted. "Mistress Walburga was once a mother who cared for her sons. She would sing to them when they cried, hold them when they were frightened. She would tell them stories about the great Black family, stories filled with pride but also warmth."
Harry blinked in surprise. "That doesn't sound like the Walburga I've heard about."
Kreacher's voice grew quieter. "The Mistress you know was different. As the years went on, her loyalty to the family's legacy became greater than her love for her children. She began to see them not as boys, but as tools for the Black name. Master Sirius… he felt the shift first. He began to rebel, to push against her expectations. But young Master Regulus… he remained. He tried to be what Mistress wanted, to keep the peace."
Harry frowned. "And Orion? What about him?"
Kreacher snorted softly, shaking his head. "Master Orion was distant. He left the raising of the boys to Mistress. His loyalty was to the family name as well, but he did not involve himself in their lives unless necessary. It was Mistress who shaped them, for better or worse."
The room fell silent for a moment, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the quiet clinking of Kreacher's preparations. Then, Kreacher added, almost to himself, "Master Sirius… he was once a boy who loved his mother. And Mistress loved him. But that love was buried under years of anger and disappointment. It is… a tragedy."
Harry's heart ached at the thought. "And Regulus?" he asked softly.
Kreacher paused again, his back still turned to Harry. "Master Regulus was… different. He wanted to make everyone happy. He stayed close to Mistress, but he also tried to protect Master Sirius in his own way. He wanted peace, but he never truly found it. He… deserved better."
Harry didn't press further. He could see the pain etched into Kreacher's small frame, the weight of years of grief and loyalty to a broken family. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, watching as the elf continued his work in silence, each movement heavy with memories.
Harry, curious about the bond between the two brothers, leaned forward. "Did Sirius and Regulus play together often?" he asked Kreacher. "I mean, they were only a year apart. That's not much of a difference."
Before Kreacher could answer, a familiar voice cut through the room. "We did," Sirius said, leaning against the doorway.
Harry turned, startled. He hadn't even noticed Sirius there. Sirius stepped into the kitchen, his expression a mixture of nostalgia and regret. "Before Hogwarts," he began, "Regulus and I were inseparable. We did everything together."
Sirius moved closer, sitting down across from Harry. "Regulus always preferred reading. He loved books—stories, history, anything he could get his hands on. But he'd still come along when I wanted to play adventure games. He'd humor me, pretending to be a brave knight or a daring pirate. He always went along with my wild ideas, even when he clearly thought they were ridiculous."
Sirius chuckled softly, but the sound was tinged with sadness. "But after Hogwarts…" He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the table.
Harry waited, and Sirius eventually continued, his voice quieter now. "After I was sorted into Gryffindor, everything changed. My family was furious, especially my mother. Being a Black meant you were destined for Slytherin—it wasn't just a house to them, it was a symbol of loyalty to the family. To the legacy. Me being a Gryffindor was… a betrayal in their eyes."
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "I started pulling away from Regulus. I didn't want anything to do with the Black family anymore, and that included him. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted to sever every tie to that house, to that name, to everything they stood for."
He sighed, his voice breaking slightly. "And then, a year later, Regulus was sorted into Slytherin. To my young, stupid, black-and-white mind, that was proof he'd chosen their side. Proof that he was just like the rest of them. I was so naïve back then… so full of anger and pride. I didn't see what was really happening. I didn't see him."
Harry watched as Sirius stared down at his hands, lost in thought. The room was heavy with unspoken emotions. "Do you regret it?" Harry asked gently.
Sirius looked up, his grey eyes filled with pain. "Every single day," he said simply.
Kreacher finished preparing the breakfast, placing the last of the plates on the table. Sirius stood up, calling for Remus to come and join them. As Sirius left the room, Harry took a deep breath, deciding to ask Kreacher something he had been thinking about.
"Kreacher," Harry began, his voice careful, "do you mind if this house becomes something else? Something different?"
Kreacher paused for a moment, his eyes flicking up to Harry. The old elf said nothing, but there was a certain stiffness in his posture. Harry pressed on, trying to explain.
"I was thinking... this house has been a symbol of shame for so long. I want to change that. I want to turn it into an orphanage. A place for children who need help, who need love. Something that means something good."
Kreacher's expression remained neutral. He didn't say a word, and Harry felt a knot tighten in his stomach as the silence stretched on. After a long moment, Kreacher turned away from Harry and, without a word, started heading toward the kitchen.
Harry watched him go, but Kreacher didn't acknowledge him further. He moved with a quiet, rigid determination, his steps stiff, and as he passed through the door, he said nothing at all.
Harry stood there, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness. He had hoped Kreacher might at least understand his desire to turn the house into something better, but the elf's silence felt like a rejection of everything Harry was trying to do.
As Sirius returned with Remus, the three of them sat down to breakfast together. Harry, trying to make light of the situation, asked, "Sirius, does spending the night here help at all?" though he knew the answer would probably be no.
Sirius grimaced, clearly uncomfortable, before replying, "I'd rather not come back. It's better if I focus on something else." He glanced toward Remus as if looking for a change of subject.
Remus, ever the calming presence, added with a soft smile, "I'm sure Hestia can think of something else for you. You were brave to even come here for one night."
The two adults exchanged a brief, tender glance, and Harry couldn't help but smile at their obvious affection.
After a moment, Harry teasingly asked, "So, when are you going to tell me that you two are a couple?"
Both Sirius and Remus froze, their eyes widening in surprise. They had clearly not realized Harry had noticed. Sirius was the first to speak, his voice slightly strained as he asked, "How did you know?"
Harry's smile widened as he replied, "I saw you two kiss... at New Year's."
The air between them shifted, and Sirius and Remus exchanged another look, this one a little more bashful than the last.
Remus, his expression softening, hesitated before asking, "Are you bothered by it, Harry? Considering how things started between us... I know it wasn't exactly the easiest of beginnings."
Harry let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "No, not at all," he replied with a smile. "You two look really cute together, and more importantly, you seem happy. That's all that matters to me."
Remus and Sirius shared a quiet, contented smile as they held hands, the simple act of it bringing them a sense of peace. They had feared this moment—the uncertainty of how Harry would react to their relationship. Their little "pup," as they often affectionately called him, had always been their biggest concern. They had worried that he might not accept them, that the bond they shared might be something he couldn't understand, especially given the complicated history they had all faced.
But now, seeing Harry's warm smile and hearing his words of acceptance, a weight seemed to lift from their shoulders. Remus squeezed Sirius's hand, his heart swelling with gratitude. Sirius, usually the one with the guarded emotions, looked over at Harry with a soft expression, grateful for the unspoken trust their had placed in them.
Harry had not only accepted their relationship but seemed to genuinely support it, and that was all they had ever wanted.
As soon as they finished breakfast, Sirius and Remus went upstairs to gather their things. Harry, still sitting at the table, turned to them with a curious smile.
"Hey, do you two want to go to the Potter Manor?" Harry asked, looking from one to the other. "My grandparents would love to see you, Sirius. They always wanted to meet you, their second child... the one who's not by blood." His words were filled with warmth and a hint of playfulness, as if inviting them into a family that had long been waiting for this reunion.
Sirius froze for a moment, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of surprise and joy. He hadn't expected Harry to offer such a thing, but the idea was more than welcome. His true parents—the ones who had always loved him, even when the Black family had turned their back on him—he missed them deeply. Though, he knew that they weren't alive anymore, their portraits still hung in the Manor, offering a kind of connection he deeply cherished.
"I... I'd love to go, Harry," Sirius said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's been too long since I've seen them. And... I know they'll be glad to see me, too. Thank you."
Remus, standing next to Sirius, gave him a warm smile, one of understanding and quiet affection. "We can go, if you'd like, Sirius. I think it'll be good for both of us."
Harry smiled at their responses and then, noticing that they were preparing to leave, excused himself. He had something else he needed to do—he had to check on Kreacher.
Sirius and Remus disappeared upstairs, and Harry quickly made his way down the hall to the room that had been Regulus's. He knocked lightly on the door before entering, finding the elf as usual, perched near the bed, looking like he had been there for hours.
"Kreacher?" Harry called softly. "Are you alright?"
The elf's large, sad eyes looked up at him, but he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he muttered something under his breath and went about tidying up, his movements slow and hesitant.
"I've been meaning to ask you," Harry continued, not wanting to push but needing to know. "did you think about what I said to you? ,to turning this place into an orphanage?"
Kreacher looked at him briefly, a look of bitterness passing over his wrinkled face, before he turned away to busy himself with more tasks.
"You don't want to know what an elf like me thinks," Kreacher finally muttered, barely audible.
Harry frowned but didn't push him too hard. He had a feeling the elf was conflicted, and it was clear the idea had troubled him.
"I only want to make this place better," Harry said softly, trying his best to understand the elf's feelings. "I want to turn it into something good, something that can help others."
Kreacher didn't respond right away. Instead, he busied himself with more cleaning, clearly avoiding the topic. Harry stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for a response, but the elf seemed unwilling to talk further.
Harry, understanding that now wasn't the time, sighed quietly. He turned and left the room, feeling a mixture of disappointment and concern. Kreacher was obviously struggling with the idea, but Harry couldn't help feeling that there was something more to the elf's silence—a deeper pain, perhaps, rooted in the past.
As Harry stepped out of Regulus's old room, he called for Chhavi, his house-elf. It had been some time since they last spoke, and Harry could feel a warmth in his chest as he heard the familiar sound of Chhavi's voice responding with joy.
"Master Harry! Master Harry!" Chhavi exclaimed, appearing before him with a wide smile. "It has been so long! The house is as clean as you left it, and I have missed you, Master. Fleamont and Euphemia have missed you too, Master Harry. The house has not been the same without you."
Harry smiled warmly at Chhavi's greeting, feeling a mix of nostalgia and comfort at being back in the familiar surroundings of the Potter home. "I'm glad to hear that, Chhavi," he replied, his voice filled with affection. "And it's good to know the house is still in order. Actually, I called for you because I was hoping you could take me and some guests to the Manor. I think it'll be nice for them to see it."
Chhavi's eyes brightened at the mention of guests. "Who are these guests, Master Harry?" the elf asked, his curiosity piqued.
Before Harry could answer, Sirius and Remus appeared at the top of the stairs, ready to leave. As soon as Chhavi saw them, his face lit up with recognition and delight.
"Ah, Masters Sirius and Remus!" Chhavi exclaimed, bowing low to them both. "It is an honor to see you again. I remember you both well from when Master James and Mistress Lily were here. The house has always been brighter with you two in it."
Sirius grinned, his heart swelling at the sight of the familiar elf. "It's good to see you again, Chhavi," he said warmly. "It's been too long. You've been keeping things in order here, haven't you?"
Remus, smiling softly beside Sirius, nodded. "It's a pleasure to see you, Chhavi. You were always so kind to us when we were here before."
Chhavi gave a small, proud smile at their compliments, his voice filled with joy. "Of course, Masters! I do my best. It is always a pleasure to serve the Potter family, and to see you both happy again, I am honored."
Harry chuckled softly, watching the interaction with fondness. He could feel how much this home—these memories—meant to Sirius and Remus. It was nice to see them so happy, even in such small moments.
"Alright, Chhavi," Harry said, turning to the elf with a grin, "Could you please lead us to the Manor? We'll take good care of everything, but it would be nice to have you with us."
Chhavi nodded with enthusiasm, clearly excited. "Of course, Master Harry. Right away!" he said, leading the way with a lively energy.
Chhavi, with a swift movement and a practiced wave of his hand, transplotted the three men directly inside the Potter Manor. The familiar warmth of the manor greeted them immediately, and Harry could feel the comfort of the house surrounding them. However, as soon as they appeared within the manor's walls, Sirius and Remus were momentarily taken aback, their eyes scanning the space in awe.
"Wait, how...?" Sirius started, his voice filled with surprise. "How are we inside? I thought the protections on the Manor wouldn't let anyone in unless they're a Potter or a Potter's elf?"
Chhavi looked up at them with a knowing smile. "The protections are indeed strong, Masters. Only a Potter or a Potter elf can enter freely. However, Master Harry has explicitly given his magical consent, allowing you both to enter. It is a special permission, granted by his magic."
Harry smiled, feeling a little proud of the magical connection he shared with the manor. "Yeah, the protections are strong, but I've been able to bend the rules a bit. As long as I say it's okay, the magic allows you two to be here," Harry explained, glancing at Sirius and Remus with a soft grin. "I know how much this place means to you both, so I thought it would be nice to show you around."
Sirius, still processing the ease with which they had entered, let out a quiet chuckle. "Well, that's a relief. I was half-expecting to be thrown out the moment I stepped past the door."
Remus smiled warmly, his eyes softening as he took in the grandeur of the manor. "It's good to be here again. Feels like home, even though it's been so long."
Chhavi bowed respectfully. "Shall I show you to where Master Fleamont and Mistress Euphemia's portraits are? They would be delighted to see you, Masters Sirius and Remus."
Harry nodded, gesturing for Chhavi to lead the way. "Thanks, Chhavi. Let's go see them."
As the group made their way further into the manor, Sirius and Remus couldn't help but feel a mix of nostalgia and comfort. This place—this home—had always been full of love, and Harry's invitation felt like a gesture of healing, not just for them, but for everyone connected to the Potter legacy.
As they approached the room that Chhavi had indicated, Harry could feel a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The portraits of his grandparents were just ahead, their presence still very much alive despite their absence from the physical world. The walls of the grand salon were lined with ornate furniture, but it was the portraits that truly held the essence of the Potter family.
When they reached the room, Harry saw the familiar faces of Fleamont and Euphemia in their portrait. Euphemia was the first to acknowledge their arrival, her smile warm and welcoming as she looked directly at Harry. "Harry, my dear boy," she said, her voice soft but full of love. "How wonderful it is to see you again. You've grown into such a fine young man."
Fleamont, his expression equally affectionate, followed her lead. "Indeed, Harry. It's been far too long, but we're so proud of you." His eyes lingered on Harry, but there was a softness in his gaze that spoke volumes of the love he had for his grandson.
Harry beamed, clearly touched. "It's good to see you both again," he said, the words coming from a place of deep affection. "I've missed you."
But then, Euphemia's gaze shifted, and her eyes landed on Remus. She tilted her head slightly, her expression warm yet reflective. "Remus... You've grown so much since we last saw you," she said, her tone carrying a blend of recognition and pride. "I remember when you were just a young man, struggling so much... and now look at you."
Remus, moved by her words, gave a small, appreciative nod. "Thank you, Mrs. Potter. It means a lot to hear that."
Euphemia then turned her gaze toward Sirius. The moment her eyes landed on him, her expression softened, and there was a sadness in her features that only grew stronger as she spoke. "Oh, my son..." she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You've been so missed. I wish I could have been there for you."
As soon as those words left Euphemia's lips, Sirius could no longer hold back the flood of emotion he had been fighting for so long. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. The sight of Euphemia's portrait—of her love and grief—was too much for him to bear, and the walls he had built around his heart crumbled. His chest heaved with the intensity of his tears.
Fleamont, his expression mirroring his wife's sorrow, reached out in a helpless gesture, but of course, it was only a portrait, unable to offer the comfort they all wished they could give. "Sirius, my boy," Fleamont's voice echoed softly from the painting, filled with aching regret. "We never wanted you to hurt so much."
Remus, unable to stand by and watch, moved swiftly to Sirius's side. He knelt beside him and gently placed a hand on his back, offering what little physical comfort he could. "Sirius, it's okay," Remus murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You don't have to carry this alone. We're here for you."
Sirius's sobs only grew louder, but the gentle touch of Remus's hand seemed to ground him, even if only a little. Harry, watching from a step back, felt a deep ache in his chest, knowing how much this moment meant to Sirius. It was a reunion filled with love, but also with unbearable sadness, a reminder of what had been lost.
Euphemia and Fleamont's portraits, though unable to physically comfort their son, continued to watch over him with expressions filled with sorrow, their love for him eternal, even if they couldn't offer the solace he so desperately needed.
Sirius's voice trembled as he looked up at the portraits of Euphemia and Fleamont, his words breaking through the sobs that wracked his chest.
"I'm so sorry," he gasped, his voice thick with grief. "I couldn't... I couldn't save him. I couldn't protect him. I wasn't fast enough..." His breath hitched painfully, and he sobbed again, the weight of his words sinking deep into his heart.
The tears streamed down his face, each one carrying the guilt and the pain that had burdened him for so long. He pressed his hands to his face, as if trying to erase the memories of James's death, of his inability to do anything to stop it.
"I failed you," Sirius whispered, his voice barely audible between his cries. "I failed James... I couldn't protect him... I wasn't there when it mattered most... I wasn't fast enough..."
Euphemia's portrait watched him with sorrowful eyes, her features softening even further, but still, her form could not cross the boundary of the canvas. Fleamont's eyes were full of deep regret and silent understanding, but there was nothing they could do to comfort their son in his agony.
Sirius's hands shook as he clutched the edge of the rug beneath him. "I couldn't save Harry, either... I... I should've been there. I should've done more. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be better... I'm sorry..."
Each apology was like a plea, each one a painful reminder of everything he thought he should have done differently. His heart ached as the weight of his past mistakes crushed him once more. He couldn't save James, couldn't protect him, couldn't stop the curse that tore his life apart. And now, his guilt poured out in waves.
Remus, still kneeling beside him, tightened his hand on Sirius's back, grounding him in the moment. "Sirius," Remus whispered, his voice steady but full of love, "you did everything you could. You were always there for him, always trying, always fighting for what's right. Don't carry this alone."
But even Remus's words, though comforting, couldn't reach the depth of Sirius's guilt. He continued to sob, his apology to the portraits of his parents endless, the grief washing over him with no end in sight.
"I'm sorry... so sorry..." Sirius repeated, his voice breaking each time, as though he couldn't say it enough to make the pain inside go away. His heart felt as though it were being torn to pieces, knowing that no matter how many times he apologized, his regrets would always be a part of him.
Sirius's breathing grew shallow, and his chest tightened as he continued to sob uncontrollably. His hands trembled as they pressed against his chest, as though trying to hold his heart in place. Every breath seemed harder to take, as if the air itself was too thick, too heavy to fill his lungs. His vision blurred, and his head spun.
Remus's voice, soothing and steady, broke through the fog of panic. "Sirius, look at me, just focus on me," he said, gently cupping Sirius's face with both hands. Harry, who had been standing helplessly by, moved closer, his hand resting on Sirius's shoulder in an attempt to anchor him. "You're not alone, Sirius. We're here. We're not going anywhere."
But despite their attempts, Sirius's panic only seemed to escalate. His breath became more erratic, faster, as though his body was no longer in his control. His hands, now clutching his throat, were desperately trying to pull in air that wouldn't come. His eyes widened in fear, darting around the room, but he couldn't focus on anything. The suffocating weight of guilt and grief mixed with his overwhelming panic, suffusing every corner of his mind.
"Sirius, breathe, just breathe," Harry urged, trying to keep his own voice calm, though his heart was racing. He remembered everything Hestia had said to do during a panic attack—grounding, slow breathing, reassuring words—but nothing seemed to reach Sirius.
Sirius's gasps turned into frantic wheezes, and his body started to tremble violently. His legs buckled beneath him, and he dropped to the floor in a heap, still unable to catch his breath. His mouth opened wide, but the air was too thin, his lungs unable to expand, his body in full flight-or-fight mode, trapped in a spiraling panic. Every muscle in his body felt locked, every breath an impossible struggle. His skin had turned a pale shade of blue, his lips trembling with each failed attempt to suck in air.
Remus tried to kneel beside him, pressing a hand to his chest in a desperate attempt to calm him. "Sirius, stay with me," Remus said, his voice full of quiet desperation. But even his touch couldn't seem to reassure him. Sirius's body tensed, his breaths ragged and broken, unable to catch the air he so desperately needed.
In the back of his mind, Harry could hear the words Hestia had given them, but they didn't feel like enough. His own panic started to rise as he watched his godfather struggle, helpless, desperate. He kept telling himself to stay calm, to be strong for Sirius, but it was impossible to ignore the growing fear in his chest.
Harry's heart was pounding, and the shock of seeing Sirius in such distress made it hard to breathe. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him of what he had learned. He had chosen to become a Healer for a reason—he had trained for moments like this. He had to focus. He had to remember the steps.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry pushed his panic aside, forcing his thoughts to clear. He knew what he needed to do. He had been trained to handle emergencies. He needed to be calm, for Sirius, for Remus, and for himself.
"Remus, help me get him into a sitting position," Harry instructed, his voice firm but calm. His hands moved quickly, pulling Sirius's limp body into a more upright position. "It will help with his breathing. We don't want him to collapse completely, it could make things worse."
Remus looked up at him, wide-eyed, but quickly nodded and helped Harry shift Sirius's body into a half-sitting position, propping him up against his chest. Harry gently guided Sirius's head back to open his airways, feeling the tension in his godfather's body, but not letting it overwhelm him.
"Remus, grab his wrists, apply gentle pressure to keep him calm," Harry directed, his voice unwavering. "We need to stabilize his pulse. I'm going to focus on his breathing. Keep your hand on his chest, steady, and let me know if it changes."
"You're okay, Sirius," Harry said softly, brushing the hair from his godfather's forehead . "We've got you."
Harry took a moment to assess the situation Sirius was still pale, his breath coming in shallow bursts, and Harry needed to use all of the techniques he had learned to help him through the aftermath of the crisis.
Sirius's eyes were slightly unfocused, still distant, but Harry needed to bring him back to the present, away from the overwhelming emotions that had caused his panic.
"Alright, Sirius," Harry said, keeping his voice calm and steady, his hands hovering near his godfather's shoulders. "I'm going to help you get through this. I know you're feeling overwhelmed, but I need you to stay with me, okay?"
Sirius gave a small nod, still shaky, but Harry could see that he was trying.
One of the techniques Harry had learned during his time at the Muggle hospital was called grounding, specifically designed for moments when someone was struggling to stay present during a panic attack or extreme anxiety. It was a simple yet effective technique that helped individuals focus on their surroundings and bring themselves back to reality.
"Listen to me, Sirius," Harry said softly, his voice a gentle anchor in the storm. "I want you to take a deep breath in and tell me—what do you see around you? Look at the details, really focus on them. What's in the room?"
Sirius's gaze wavered for a moment, then he took in the room, looking past Harry's face, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings of the Potter Manor's living room.
"I... I see the fire," Sirius whispered, his voice hoarse. "The flames flickering, dancing in the hearth... And the carpet... the one James and I always used to sit on. I can see it clearly."
"Good, Sirius," Harry encouraged. "Now, focus on what you hear. What sounds can you hear right now?"
Sirius paused, his breathing still shallow, but he was beginning to calm a little, his mind slowly returning to the present moment.
"I hear the crackling of the fire," he murmured. "The ticking of a clock in the corner... And the sound of... your voice. I can hear your voice clearly, Harry."
"Great job," Harry said with a soft smile. "Now, I want you to focus on what you can feel. Can you feel the couch beneath you? Your feet on the floor? Touch your hand to something nearby, anything you can feel."
Sirius's hand moved slightly, reaching for the arm of the couch. His fingers brushed it lightly, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if grounding himself further.
"I feel the cushion... soft, but firm. It's... it's comforting. And the air—there's a slight breeze coming in from the window... I feel it on my face."
Harry nodded, his heart beginning to settle as he saw the tension leave Sirius's body, little by little. This grounding exercise was helping. It was slowing Sirius's racing thoughts, bringing him back into the moment.
"Good, Sirius," Harry said, his voice still calm and steady. "Now, I want you to think about what you can smell. Take a deep breath. What do you smell?"
Sirius inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "The fire... and something else... lavender. There's lavender, I think, from the vase by the window."
"Perfect," Harry said. "Now, last thing—what can you taste? Is there anything in your mouth?"
Sirius paused, his brow furrowing, and then he licked his lips gently. "A little... I can taste the tea we had earlier. The faint bitterness of it."
"Excellent, Sirius," Harry said, giving him a warm smile. "You've done great. You're back with me now, okay? The panic is fading, and you're here, in the present."
Harry could see that Sirius's breathing was beginning to normalize, the signs of the panic attack slowly fading as he continued the grounding exercise. It was taking time, but Harry could feel his godfather's anxiety easing, just a little bit at a time.
"Just focus on the here and now, Sirius," Harry said softly. "You're safe here. You're with people who care about you. Everything is okay."
Sirius's chest rose and fell in a more regular pattern now, and he managed a small smile, his eyes still wet but his expression less frantic. "Thank you, Harry. I—" He stopped, swallowing thickly, "I don't know what I would do without you."
Harry smiled back, his voice gentle but confident. "You're not alone, Sirius. We're all here for you. Always."
Remus, who had been quietly watching from the side, approached the couch and gently placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "You did great, Padfoot. We're all here, just like Harry said. You're going to be okay."
Sirius looked between Harry and Remus, his heart full of gratitude and a renewed sense of calm. It wasn't over yet, but for the first time in a while, he felt like he might just be able to get through it.