Chapter Text
“This feels incredibly dumb.” Sirius murmurs, following Harry up an overgrown path. Even under the threat of summer, frost bites at weeds and overzealous vines.
Harry hesitates, glancing over his shoulder, and he looks so damn miserable.
“What? I said I was down. I love making Black white from stress.” Sirius scoffs, waving him off, and grabs his hand with surprising force. He kisses his knuckles, “You have me.”
“Sorry—Thank you,” Harry whispers. He straights his spine.
“You’re getting better at that.”
“I have more people in my corner.” Harry squeezes his hand.
“You haven’t explained anything,” Sirius comments, but he feels like he knew already. He didn’t dream often, but his mind felt tight, claustrophobic—suffocating. Even if Sirius couldn’t understand the images, he could understand the panic brewing in Harry’s own mind before it crashed into his. Little Potter had felt so scared, which already raised every alarm bell in Sirius’ mind. He was already dragging himself into consciousness when he felt Harry’s hand on him—already on his feet and pulling on a hoodie.
He had enough sense to leave a note for James and sent a message to Hermione, because, well—Sirius Black finds her intimidating. Hermione being courted by James Potter didn’t make his life any easier.
“She said she spoke to you., Harry mutters.
Sirius gives him a cool look. “Elaborate. Many women speak to me.”
Harry appears unimpressed, voice dry, “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Jealous?” Sirius grins, kissing Harry’s nose.
Harry scowls at him, face hot. Yes, his mind ripples in response.
“You’re the only one for me, Potter.” Sirius teases, hooking his arm around Harry’s neck. “Now. Say yes, Paddy.”
“I’m not calling you Paddy.” Harry snickers.
Sirius sulks. “Please?”
“Is this a kink?” Harry squints at him.
“Is it?” Sirius asks, awed. He was somewhat flustered.
“I have an idea for a nickname.” Harry’s cheeks are pink, but his grin is wicked. “Riri.”
Sirius slaps a hand over his mouth, deadpanning, “No.”
Baby, Harry’s mind pulses in his—smug.
Sirius’ face goes hot. Oh, how the turned records—table? Whatever!
“Gotcha.” Harry giggles—giggles—and Sirius’ heart nearly leaps out of his chest.
“Fine,” Sirius sniffs, imperious. His face won’t cool down.
“Really?” Harry perks up.
As if Sirius Black could say no to Harry Potter! He doesn’t like the wild beat his heart is doing and clears his throat. “You never said who. The girl I spoke with.”
Harry stares at him, swallows, and ducks his head. “Lord Death.”
This was certainly unexpected.
Sirius inhales sharply. He glances down at the humble town they walked through, windows now bright with the growing sun and life. His gaze darts ahead to catch the edge of a dilapidated shack tucked under a broken arch of brittle, rotted trees. He nods slowly, hand still curled in Harry’s.
It feels like such a short walk, but he feels the air go thin. The smell hits next. Rank, awful magic. Goosebumps ripple up his skin in violent promise. Sirius grabs Harry’s collar before he can move closer to the shack, halting their steps.
Harry peers at him.
Sirius’ shoulders lift, drop, and he breathes, “What did Lord Death say?”
“She didn’t explain.” Harry shrugs. “Not in words—I just… felt.”
Damn gods and their nonsense. Mother Magic. Lord Death. Hell, maybe even Fate. Sirius straightens his shoulders and settles. He doesn’t know what to think, eyes scanning the shack, their surroundings, in quick, calculating motions. Sirius jumps when a hand slides onto his waist. He turns to Harry, who is watching him, eyes pinched with concern.
“I can go alone—”
Sirius forces out a breath. “You have me.”
Harry manages a smile, “I do, don’t I?”
Yes. Yes, Sirius thinks wildly, so vivid in his emotion that Harry flushes. Sirius grins. “We’ll call our designated adult if things go too crazy. Sirius. Not Regulus.”
Regulus would be murderous.
Black would at least be reasonable.
Remus, well—he’d go where Black pointed.
Sirius frowns. Black might... also be murderous.
Ah, shit, I’m going to get grounded again, he thinks suddenly. Sirius glares at Harry, wondering how this child avoids such things. He was only here because of him! Harry Potter never faced the consequences of his actions. How unfair! Sirius’ parents were also dead!
“Let’s call Jay first.” Harry laughs, light filling his eyes.
“Mm—” Sirius must not panic. “No. We’ll, uh, bother Ron. Maybe Fred. Think of the fury. Mione has rubbed off on Prongs too much.”
Sirius never thought he’d see the day James became levelheaded—reasonable. Hermione just made him worse. Questioning. Critical. But hadn’t James Potter always been critical? Ah, perhaps less permissive. Hermione wanted Sirius’ reasoning, like Alice would; James just wanted Sirius safe, even if it meant he’d become some pseudo father figure. Sirius didn’t need a father figure, however. He was now the youngest sibling.
Sirius had enough older men in his life to make him reconsider his life choices and want to make them bald. Being the youngest was such a strange place to be in.
But he loved James.
And James loved Sirius.
He loved Harry as well—with all the manic energy that came with a single child gaining a sibling.
Sirius startles when cold fingertips brush across his jaw. He hadn’t even noticed the temperature changing now that they were closer. The hair on the back of his neck rises. Harry nudges him gently, voice coming out soft, “Hey. You’re spiraling. It’s a positive one, at least.”
Am I? I am; Sirius swallows hard. He won’t apologize—Harry wouldn’t expect it either. He shakes himself out and says, “I’m here.”
The words resettled something in Harry’s expression. He presses their foreheads together. “You’re with me. You promised.”
“Til the end and after.” Sirius promises.
It lingers, but tastes like a vow.
“I’m scared.” Harry chuckles nervously.
Sirius wonders how often Harry allows himself such weakness outside of him. He says, “Me too.”
Harry looks at him, “You move forward.”
“I’m a Black,” Sirius shrugs. “Even I can’t outrun my roots. You’re a Potter. Fuck the sun!”
Harry studies him quietly, eyes flickering with a distant emotion Sirius can’t understand. He inhales. His shoulders slump. Harry exhales, “I used to be more brave.”
Sirius blinks. “Are you not now?”
This feels blasphemous considering how many times Harry Potter has called Sirius out directly. Very few had such balls! Very few lived to tell the tale.
Harry shakes his head, fingers bruising along Sirius’. “I… I? Recalculating. I want you safe. But I don’t want to do this alone.”
His mouth twists. “I want to be strong enough to stand beside you. Beside James. Hermione is marvelous. Great. So is Ron. I want them safe. Distant, even if they won’t agree.”
Hermione was going to strangle them both when they returned.
“I almost hate that you came with me,” Harry whispers. “Without question. Just cause I asked.”
“Harry—”
“When will I learn to stand on my own?” Harry continues as though Sirius never spoke, eyes going dull and distant. “I don’t want another Cedric.”
Sirius cups the back of his neck, hard, too hard, but he doesn’t care.
Harry meets his gaze, silent.
“You’re being an idiot.” Sirius states, blunt. “You grew up an orphan, I understand that. But this? This. You’re too trusting. If someone doesn’t want to stand beside you, they wouldn’t. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t. You think too much of the world. Ah, but you know that already, don’t you?”
Harry’s mouth thins and trembles. “Does it annoy you? That I—”
“Nope.” Sirius barks out a laugh. “I have a badass I’m going to marry.”
“O-Oh?” Harry whispers—scandalized—but grinning.
Sirius lists things on his fingers. “A parsletongue. Triwizard champion. Lord Potter. Quidditch captain—oh, on that topic. You have James bullying Flint.”
Harry blinks. “He should. Man is a menace, and he’s not even good—”
“Hazza,” Sirius chastises.
Harry shrugs, unrepentant. “Keep telling me how much you like me.”
How bold! Sirius could probably write a book—how insane! He grins. “You can’t feel it, Potter?”
Sirius wouldn’t curse anyone to feel his feelings or mind, but he would do all these things to Harry. They could’ve closed off after the whole Voldemort fiasco. Sirius brought it up once—Harry appeared so offended that Sirius about swooned.
Harry inhales shakily. His face goes red. He nods, “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Oh, baby, I know that,” Sirius says.
Harry laughs as well. “I love you.”
Sirius’ mind screeches to a halt.
Me?
Oh.
Oh.
The spiral building in Sirius’ mind roars like spontaneous combustion.
Silence drips between them, Harry hunkering into his jacket, cheeks hot with embarrassment, Sirius unable to look anywhere but at him—his elation shrieking between them. Harry stammers for a response, an excuse, but it’s swallowed up in Sirius’ mouth, down his throat, and simmers deep in his gut like liberation. Sirius melts against him, thoughts a terrible, desperate frenzy. He feels Harry tumble into his own. Their emotions tangle together like fiendfyre—all blistering heat and consuming.
“Will you say it back?” Harry asks quietly.
Isn’t it obvious, Sirius thinks—it echoes between them.
“No,” Harry murmurs. “I want to hear you say it.”
“If you leave me, I’ll kill you.” Sirius kisses Harry once more, hard.
What a proposal, Harry laughs deep in his mind. His joy feels incredible.
Sirius almost becomes goo, even amongst the rotted waste and stale air.
Harry pulls away, clearing his throat, and the moment between them stiffens like something that will be picked up later. He pushes further up the hill, Sirius’ hand tight in his own. The closer they get, the more Harry’s jaw clenches, no matter how subtle. Sirius struggles against his unease, thumb moving in soothing motions over Harry’s knuckles. Harry merely clutches his fingers tightly.
The shack watches them, almost sentiently, wood softly creaking despite neither of them stepping a foot inside yet. Sirius wrinkles his nose at the worsening smell. Rot, stagnant water, and death. It makes his teeth ache and the black veins in his arm sings in agony. When Sirius staggers to a stop, Harry turns back, green eyes concerned.
“I’m fine.” Sirius manages even as magic visibly ripples along his skin.
“We can turn-”
“I’m fine.” Sirius snaps. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m fine.”
Harry merely watches him, his mind reaching into Sirius’ like a pleasant, fall breeze.
Sirius forces out a breath and nods, firm.
A door hangs off its hinges, and the darkness lurking inside lies as still and dull as the rest of this decrepit place. Sirius’ teeth ache the closer they go, air going thick around them like wading through shallow, frigid water.
Harry steps through first and Sirius follows, would always follow. He doesn’t take in their surroundings, gaze solely focused on Harry’s slowly rising shoulders. The muscles in his back pinch. His head shifts, sharp profile shining so bright against the forest’s dulled backdrop. Harry Potter was so beautiful; beyond James and Lily. The slope of his nose, how his mouth shapes, hair wild despite the slight curl. Perfect.
Perfect.
PerfectPerfectPerfect-
“I can hear you.” Harry faces him, smile strained but genuine.
Sirius straightens stiffly. “Sorry—”
“I didn’t ask for your apologies, Black.”
Sirius resists a shiver, blurting out, “Can I suck you off?”
“You are just a boy, aren’t you?” Harry bursts into laughter. He appears embarrassed. “Did I say that right?”
“I should be asking you! Actually, ask Fred, don’t ask me.” Sirius snorts. “I don’t know shit about muggle—”
A plank drops from the ceiling, spooking them both. Ah, shit, we’re doing dumb shit, Sirius thinks wildly, as if the moment has finally calcified. He doesn’t let Harry’s hand go even as they journey to the center of the room. His eyes dart quickly around their surroundings: the wilted bedrooms and the rotting, meager kitchen. Despite what this place possibly held, there were no dark curses or traps or anything. It makes Sirius even more nervous.
His skin crawls.
When Harry reaches for a loose floorboard, Sirius squeezes his hand.
Harry peers at him. “I need to do this.”
Sirius grits his teeth. He still doesn’t let go.
Harry’s fingers squeeze back. “You trust me, yeah?”
“You know it’s not that-”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yeah.” Sirius forces his shoulders down. His upper lip curls, “But you are too trusting.”
“I trust her,” Harry says simply. “Don’t you?”
Sirius bristles. “That’s not—”
“I heard your conversation, Pads.” Harry whispers. “She showed me.” His eyes shift, “Sorry-”
“It doesn’t matter.” Sirius cuts him off despite the struggle of fury coursing through him. He hadn’t meant to hide this from Harry, but he… he just didn’t know how to frame any of this without sounding insane. Sirius roughly rubs his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you?” Harry counters.
“Because I don’t understand what’s happening!” Sirius forces out, teeth bared. Magic ripples under his skin, yet he slumps. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. I just want you safe. You know it goes both way.”
Harry stares at him, eyes watering dangerously. He pushes to his feet, their hands still tightly curled together, and drags Sirius to him. Their foreheads meet once more. Harry wipes under Sirius’ eyes, “I get it. Even if I didn’t, I trust you.”
“What could I have possibly done to-”
“You’ve done what you always do.” Harry chuckles. “I don’t mind it. Even when it enrages me. It… You make me feel safe. You all do.”
Sirius flounders, blinking rapidly at this earnestness. His face is so warm. He manages, “Uh?”
“Uh,” Harry deadpans.
Sirius sneers, “I hate you.”
“Liar.” Harry grins, impish, and pulls away.
“Let me help.” Sirius kneels next to the floorboard Harry was fussing with. They get it open relatively easily despite initial resistance. There is a heavy, lacquered box hidden underneath. It’s covered in crudely carved runes and a singular flightless bird.
When Harry reaches for it, something inside pulses. His fingers brush over the lid.
The pulse stops.
The shack’s groaning wood turns eerily silent.
A spark hits a corner of Harry’s mind, and Sirius feels it hook into him; then he’s falling—not down, but through. It stops just as violently. Sirius glances down at his hands, free of the several rings and black magic weaving into his veins. Pads? Harry’s voice. I’m here, Sirius responds.
White clouds puff before them when Harry breathes. He glances around; Sirius’ mind easily following. Their new surroundings resemble the Forbidden Forest, but the trees are older; there had never been this much rot.
Snow covers the ground—not fresh powder, but old, trampled, greyed with ash and withering underbrush. Thestrals stand at the edge of the clearing, their skeletal bodies holding a stiff, silent vigil. Sirius can’t even appreciate seeing them because Harry’s breath hitches.
Sirius feels it—the cold in his lungs, the ache in his chest, how wrong and ill his skeleton and organs feel under his skin. I’m here, Sirius assures him. Harry sniffles. “I can feel them. My parents. They’re… they’re here, but I don’t know why—”
He turns and Sirius watches through his eyes; a figure walking towards them with sure, measured steps. Four shadows trail behind. Sirius had never seen such a peaceful, resigned expression on Harry’s face. It feels so strange to see it through his eyes on a face that matches his own.
The other Harry pauses a few feet away and glances over his shoulder. He seems comforted by the shadows moving along the trees and continues forward. Sirius can’t make out their faces, but he knows them. The way they stand. The way they watch.
“It’s like you said,” Harry whispers, trailing after this other Harry. “You’re with me to the end. Can you see them?”
No, Sirius thinks. Can you?
“Yes.” There is a crack in Harry’s voice, followed by a trembling breath. “Why am I here?”
Ask him, Sirius suggests softly.
“He can’t hear me.” Harry continues to follow.
The other Harry walks deeper into the clearing. His steps leave no tracks in the earth, like he’s already fading from this world. The shadows at the treeline don’t follow. They linger at the edge, watching, waiting. Sirius feels Harry’s desperation—why won’t they come closer—but he already knows. It doesn’t soften the bitterness that follows.
He has to do it alone, Sirius thinks.
That’s not fair, Harry thinks back, stumbling to a stop when the other Harry hesitates at the treeline. He doesn’t look back, but Sirius knows he wants to. Whispering jeers echo through the air. Bellatrix’s high whisper follows. Other Harry moves forward.
Voldemort is waiting, just as tall and imposing as he was in Harry’s mind when they met.
Where is his wand, Sirius thinks. Where is your wand, Harry?
Harry makes a sound—trapped in his throat, in his chest, in the space between his ribs where his heart is trying to claw its way out. His shoulders drop. “Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
Sirius doesn’t understand, trying to hear what Voldemort is saying, but he can only hear his own voice screaming as the other Harry just stands there.
Where is your wand?! Sirius demands.
“I’ve chosen to die.” Harry whispers.
Sirius feels a piece inside him fracture. He doesn’t know whose grief he’s feeling, whose rage, but he’s never been so angry. Helpless.
Green has never looked so ugly as when it explodes from Voldemort’s wand. It almost felt cruel that Harry’s eyes were that almost exact shade. Sirius can’t even look away because Harry watches; watches his other self, watches how he closed his eyes and stood there. The ghost of a smile flickers across his face right before the spell crawls across his skin, like someone told him the funniest joke, and then he crumples.
Sirius whimpers. That’s not going to happen. It’s not! I promise—
“Pads,” Harry’s voice breaks. He roughly rubs his eyes and hiccups, even as Death Eaters shriek and cheer around them.“Pads—”
I swear on my life, Sirius pleads. You’ll never leave us! Never!
“I know.” Harry releases a quiet sob. “You’ll be with me to the end.”
The air shifts.
Not like before—the cold of the forest or the rot of the shack or, even, the green light that’s forever burned into Sirius’ cornea. Like the world itself is holding its breath. The clearing doesn’t change, but something else has joined them.
No, Sirius thinks, realizing he’s felt this presence before. We are being watched.
Harry stiffens, peering around curiously, and his breath catches. He thinks, she’s here.
Yes.
Lord Death emerges from the shadows as one who weaved them would; ethereal, grace, and an empty socket for a face that spills white lilies. Her robes remain molded to her like skin, but the ground the tail touches surges up flowers and rotted hands. She smooths a hand along her wilted, skeletal abdomen and sweeps into a deep bow.
“You have questions, I imagine,” Lord Death says. Her voice is neither cold nor warm. It echoes like rain on stone. “I request that you remain to watch. It does not pain me, nor does it bring me pleasure. This is merely the order of things.”
Harry swallows. “Lord Death—”
“I am no Lord to you, Harry Potter.” Lord Death simpers, straightening. “I enjoy change, the vibrations of life, for there is such stillness in death, but not always. I create many doors, but there is only one key.”
“I don’t understand.”
I think I do, Sirius thinks.
Lord Death laughs, more genuine this time, and sweeps her hand gently to point. The snow below her arm is collecting drips of flesh. It sizzles quietly. Harry turns to follow; Narcissa bent over the other Harry’s body, the minute nod that follows after her mouth moves. He gasps softly, head snapping back to Lord Death, but she’s gone; only a pile of withering red poppies.
“I didn’t die,” Harry whispers. “Why?”
“Let me figure that out first,” Sirius responds aloud, startling them both. The shack groaned around them — not the rot and decay of before, but something almost alive. Like it was waking up.
Sirius blinks. He was on his knees. His hand was now wrapped around Harry’s wrist.
“Did that just—”
“Yeah,” Harry whispers.
Sirius lets go and swallows, watching Harry cradle the box between careful hands. The pulsing becomes more erratic, demanding almost. There is a flicker across Harry’s eyes like he’s listening to someone. Sirius wonders if it’s Lord Death. He tries to find out, but Harry’s mind is eerily still.
“I need to put the ring on.” Harry tells him. “After.”
“There’s a ring?” Sirius blinks. “That…that’s a fucking ring? After what?”
“She said it’s a horcrux, but—”
“Absolutely not.” Sirius reaches for the box. “I’ll put it on then.”
“No.” Harry holds the box away from him. “It’s cursed.”
“So the fuck what?” Sirius holds up his hand—the one with blackened veins and a missing ring finger. “It will hold.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Harry’s eyes flicker once more. He perks up. “It’s a Peverell’s.”
Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up. He looks around the mangy place they’re in and finds himself severely unimpressed. What was up with powerful houses hiding weird shit in weird places? The Blacks clearly weren’t whimsy enough because Sirius doesn’t understand. He shrugs, a bit helplessly. “I don’t know what Sirius has done with the others.”
“Regulus has theories.” Harry pushes to his feet, box tucked under one arm. He offers his hand. “I think Bill might be involved now.”
“Who?” Sirius takes Harry’s hand and allows himself to be pulled upright.
“The oldest Weasley.” Harry levels him with an unimpressed look. “The hot one, as you said.”
Oh. Shit. Sirius had said that. He sniffs and flips his ponytail into Harry’s face, like Ginny keeps doing to him. “I already think you’re hot. Can’t imagine how fine you’ll age. A boon for me.”
“I agree." Harry nods, eyes a bit dreamy. "You really wanna marry me?"
"Say no and I'll kill you."
"I love you." Harry kisses him.
Sirius, heavens help him, blushes. "I...I'm...I never want anyone else."
Harry kisses him again, fingers sliding into Sirius' hair to curl around the base of his ponytail. "I know. I feel it. You're vibrating."
"I'm so fucking thrilled." Sirius laughs, grasping Harry's face. "Pick me. Choose me. I'll never let you go, even if I have to kill a god."
Harry chuckles. "You sound like Sirius."
Sirius glares at him. “Don’t compare me to that mangy—”
“Mangy?!” Black’s voice startles them both badly. The man stood in the shack’s entrance, his robes immaculate, yet his gaze wild with rage. He must’ve been doing official business or some nonsense, otherwise it’d be distressed denim and leather. His hair was even braided!
Sirius can’t appreciate any of this, however, with how his brother is marching into their space. He notices Regulus after; his expression severe despite the dark glee in his eyes. Sirius almost sulks—his face turned this way and that in calloused hands before Black does the same to Harry.
“Another one,” Harry says cheerfully, gesturing to the box.
Black pinches the bridge of his nose then ruffles their hair aggressively. He takes the box and wrinkles his nose. A vein bulges in his forehead.
“I need the ring once you’re done.” Harry swings Sirius’ hand, unbothered by the murderous rage on Black’s face.
“For what—”
“Lord Death said I need the ring.” Harry nods firmly.
Black appears ready to pass out—or maybe spit blood.
“It’s to be expected.” Regulus offers from the doorway.
A conversation drifts between the two brothers; one Sirius feels strangely absent from. As though noticing his distress, they turn to him in unison. Black cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t be fucking stupid, you miserable child.”
“Foolish.” Regulus flicks his fingers.
Sirius balks, embarrassed. “I didn’t say anything—”
Black flicks him on the forehead. “Let’s go. You’re both on my shit list.”
“Pads,” Harry sulks.
“Brother.” Sirius clutches his sleeve with big, big eyes.
Black’s cheeks go pink. He glowers at them and jabs his thumb at the door. “Out.”
“Pads—”
“Brother—”
“Oh, how darling.” Regulus pats his chest, visibly moved.
Black rears on him. “Shut up. You out too. Now.”
“Siri—”
“Padfoot—”
“Brother—”
Black throws up his hands, whisks the box somewhere using shadow magic, and grabs them both by the back of their necks. He steers them towards Regulus and bustles them all outside. Black slams the door shut behind him, then sniffs. The shack suddenly goes up in flames. He deadpans, “We gotta go.”
The drama!
Sirius is, fortunately, not grounded, but he is fussed over as is Harry. They’ve already missed their first three periods of the day, which is likely how Black sniffed them out, but do not get sent back to Hogwarts.
Harry sits beside him on Melania’s—now mended—desk while Regulus pulls on a pair of heavy gloves. Black sets the box on the stone table between them. It was visibly shaking now, but the pulses from when Harry held it stopped.
“It is a Horcrux,” Regulus comments, fingers tracing the sealed lid.
Black drums his fingers. “That would make four, but Harry destroyed one already.”
“Mm, yes,” Regulus agrees. He tilts his head, and a long roll of parchment appears beside him. His eyes lazily scan it over. “Mm. Your suggestion might have merit. We keep the locket as the base. Potter gets the ring.”
Black nods, straightening to his full height. “Fine.”
“I don’t believe this prophecy is correct,” Regulus continues. He nods to Harry. “Divination rarely is accurate. In fact, I imagine it changed due to circumstances.”
Black glances at Sirius, releasing a low noise of agreement.
“Why are you both being cryptic?” Sirius finally asks.
“If I don’t have to kill Voldemort, then what do I do?” Harry tacks on. His brow is furrowed.
“Let the adults handle it,” Black responds simply.
Sirius does not want to do that, but he also doesn’t want to be grounded! He huffs, hooking his foot around Harry’s ankle. “Well. Give me something useful.”
“A hunting party,” Regulus suggests.
Black sends him an amused look. “Finished, then?”
“Yes, brother.”
Sirius perks up. “Peter?”
“Yup.” Black pops the p. “Jay would approve. I know little Prongs wants to watch.”
“Can I help?” Harry blurts out.
“This is as much your vengeance as it is mine,” Black scoffs. “Of course, you can.”
“I’ve splinched him and grown additional bodies.” Regulus offers.
Black beams. “No fucking way. You finished it?”
“Yes,” Regulus answers simply. "As I've said, I want to watch. You both have always had... such refined methods of punishment."
Black grins, sharp.
Sirius shivers.
"So glad you both like me," Harry whispers, slipping his hand into Sirius'.