"Are you kidding me, James?" Sirius Black exploded, his voice laced with disbelief and frustration.
"Sirius! Please!" Lily chastised, lowering her voice with urgency. "Charles is sleeping!"
"Oh, boo-hoo! At least Charles has a bed to sleep in! Do you honestly think your sister will provide one for Harry and Nathan?"
"Watch it, Sirius! That's my sister you're talking about!" Lily snapped; her tone defensive.
Sirius Black had been absent when the wizarding world learned of the Dark Lord's demise.
The moment the news reached him, he wasted no time. He hurried back to Great Britain, desperate to reunite with his best friend and his family—only to arrive to devastation. The house where James, Lily, and their children had been hiding lay in ruins, and his aunt, Dorea Potter, was dead.
Voldemort had found the Potters.
That could mean only one thing—Peter Pettigrew was a traitor.
While the rest of the country, and even neighboring wizarding nations, erupted in celebration over Voldemort's fall, Sirius had no time for joy. He fought his way through the revelers, pushing past the crowds, determined to reach Hogwarts—to find James, Lily, and, most of all, his beloved godson, Harry.
Finally, he arrived. Relief flooded through him, his heart racing with the anticipation of reunion. But his joy was short-lived.
James and Lily had abandoned Harry and Nathan.
They had handed them over to Lily's Muggle sister, Petunia Dursley.
Why? Because the boys were squibs.
Rage unlike anything Sirius had ever known consumed him. How could James and Lily do this? Blood was blood, no matter their magic. Had they forgotten about his kindhearted Uncle Marius? The same Marius who had embraced them at their wedding, proof that lack of magic did not diminish worth?
Of all the people they could have left the boys with, they had chosen her—Lily's sister, a woman who barely tolerated her presence in the wizarding world.
An orphanage would have been a kinder fate.
Sirius saw red. And then, he snapped.
He would not let this stand.
"We have to, Sirius," James argued, his voice strained. "Harry and Nathan will never be happy in the magical world—not as squibs."
"And I want them to have a normal life," Lily added, her tone pleading. "A life with real opportunities. They won't have that here, you know how difficult it is for squibs in the wizarding world."
"And your solution is to send them to her?" Sirius spat, incredulous. "You couldn't find anyone better than your sister? You can still raise them! What about me? I'm their godfather! If you can't take them, I will!"
"I'm afraid that would not be possible, Sirius," a calm voice interrupted, slicing through the tension like a blade.
Albus Dumbledore had entered the room, his twinkling blue eyes settling on the three. "I could hear the shouting from downstairs," he remarked lightly.
They were in Dumbledore's office, mere feet away from a cradle where Charles Potter—the boy who lived—shifted restlessly, his sleep disturbed by the heated argument. Lily hurried over, gently rocking him back to sleep.
Sirius turned back to the older wizard, his fury undiminished. "Why is it not possible?" he demanded, his voice sharp with anger.
Dumbledore exhaled slowly. "I was the one who suggested that the Potters send Harry and Nathan to the Dursleys."
Sirius recoiled, disbelief flashing across his face. "And why would you do that?"
"Charles is the Boy Who Lived," Dumbledore answered, his expression grave. "The prophecy does not merely state that he will vanquish Voldemort—but that the Dark Lord will rise again. When that time comes, Charles must be ready."
"Are you kidding me, Albus?!" Sirius snapped, his voice raw with fury. "That is far too much to put on a child! And James, Lily—you could still raise Harry and Nathan, even if they're squibs! Why would you separate them? Squib or not, they're still your children!"
"Charles will need rigorous training," Dumbledore said evenly. "James and Lily will barely have time to handle one child, let alone three. Harry and Nathan will have a better chance at a stable life in the Muggle world—more opportunities, more care. Most squibs never get that."
"With love and care?" Sirius scoffed, disbelief coloring every syllable. "Are you joking? Have you met Petunia?"
"Sirius, please—" James tried, his voice edged with exhaustion.
"I can't believe this." Sirius whirled on his best friend, his breath ragged. "I know what it feels like to be abandoned by your own family. I had a squib uncle—Uncle Marius—who I loved dearly. And you're telling me tossing away your own sons is a good thing? What the hell is wrong with you?! If you can't raise them, I will! I'm their godfather!"
James hesitated, his mouth opening—but the words did not come from him.
"There are concerns about your behavior during the war," Dumbledore interjected, his tone careful.
Sirius stiffened. His stomach dropped.
"Sirius," James said, quietly now. "We know we had to use dark magic to fight the Death Eaters. But... there were concerns. Your use of it was excessive."
"Excessive?" Sirius barked a bitter laugh. "We were sanctioned to use it, James. It was war. Kill or be killed. What did you expect me to do?"
"But it was too much, Sirius," Lily said, and for the first time, her voice held wariness—hesitation. "You were far less reluctant than the rest of us. And... well, we're concerned about how that would influence the children—especially considering you're a Black."
Silence.
Sirius felt something inside him crack.
He knew how people saw him. He had spent years fighting against it—the suspicious glances, the wary tones, the distrust that clung to his name like a curse. He had seen it, even from Dumbledore.
But James? Lily?
He had never thought they would look at him like that.
He had thought James, of all people, believed in him. Not in his family name. Not in his bloodline. In him.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
Dark or light, a Black was a Black.
Sirius gritted his teeth. "Really?" His voice was sharp, brittle. "After everything I've done? After everything I've risked—for you, for the Order, for the light—you still think I'm just another Black? You think I'm just another dark wizard?"
"Sirius—"
"I don't want to hear it, James." Sirius' voice was deathly quiet now. "If this is what the light thinks of me, then tell me—what was the point in siding with you?"
Dumbledore, for once, looked surprised. "My boy-"
"Shut the hell up, you hypocrite!" Sirius roared at Dumbledore, his voice raw with fury.
The outburst shocked the older wizard. No matter how brash and unruly Sirius had always been, he had never spoken to Dumbledore with such unrestrained contempt. He had always maintained some semblance of decorum—until now.
Without another word, Sirius turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the door.
"Where are you going?" James called after him.
Sirius halted, his shoulders tense, his breathing heavy with rage.
"I'm going to find my godson and his brother," he growled, turning back to glare at them. "And I'm going to raise them in a home that actually loves and accepts them."
Dumbledore sighed, ever composed. "That is impossible, Sirius. I placed powerful wards around them for their protection. No wizard or witch will be able to locate them or break through—not even Bellatrix Lestrange."
Sirius scoffed, his glare unwavering. "Like that will stop me, Dumbledore."
He no longer addressed the man by his first name.
With a sharp BANG! Sirius slammed the door shut behind him.
After that night, no one heard from Sirius Black again.
He was classified as missing.
64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz0l1vjOsHV
and then Add to home screen.