Chapter 489: The Heir of Black Family Manor
Sirius Black had always despised the so-called pure-blood ideology of the Home, the suffocating control of his parents, and their fanatical, frenzied thoughts. He loathed the so-called "ancient treasures" of Black Family Manor—dark magic that was evil, cruel, and deeply Violate Human Nature. The books hidden in the basement had been the focus of his parents’ relentless attempts to implant their beliefs into his mind. Even Regulus wasn’t allowed to touch them under normal circumstances, but as a child, Sirius had been forced to endure them as if they were children’s literature. Whenever he misbehaved, he was locked in the basement to “reflect.”
The Black family had hoped that, over time, the constant exposure would mold him into the ideal heir. But Sirius’s defiance and rebellious spirit were innate. The harder they pushed him to accept their traditions, the more unbearable it became. The more they demanded he study, the less he wanted to look at a single page.
In the end, at sixteen, Sirius Black made the definitive choice—he fled the Home for good, completely severing ties with Black Family Manor.
Years later, when he finally opened one of these books—Secrets of Advanced Dark Magic—he realized, with a crushing weight, what he had truly missed.
Horcrux.
The methods of creating it, its purpose, the signs it left behind—everything had already been documented in the manor’s forbidden archives. Regulus, unlike Sirius, had been obedient. After Sirius’s departure, Regulus had been made to study these texts thoroughly, as his parents demanded. He had learned about the Horcrux… and later, when investigating the cave due to Kreacher’s suffering, he discovered Voldemort’s hidden pendant box was the very object.
And so, Regulus chose self-sacrifice—determined to destroy the Horcrux, even at the cost of his own life. He was dragged into the dark, endless lake by an undead corpse.
Sirius Black felt a wave of dizziness. He steadied himself against the bookshelf, his eyes fixed on his godson.
Harry Potter bore an uncanny resemblance to James Potter—except for the eyes. They were identical to Lily Potter’s: clear, bright, fearless, and full of sincere warmth, like a pool of emerald water.
Memories surged from the pages he had just read:
> “A Horcrux grants the creator immortality. Even if the body is destroyed, the soul endures, because a fragment remains in the world, unharmed. Through a specific magical ritual, the creator may achieve resurrection.”
>
> “The magic required to create a Horcrux is deeply evil and dangerous. A wizard must murder another soul to violently tear their own soul apart, then embed a fragment into an object. The incantation is…”
>
> “Splitting the soul renders it unstable. Thus, too many Horcruxes are unwise. However, if a Horcrux is destroyed, the soul fragment within it is also annihilated.”
At the edge of the page, someone—perhaps Voldemort himself—had scribbled a small, hurried note in the margin:
> “If a living being is used as a Horcrux, a special bond forms between it and the creator. The creator can transfer their consciousness into the Horcrux, control its actions, and perceive its thoughts and emotions.”
>
> “It’s strange… as if it were my own reflection. Compared to my aged, failing body, this form is young, strong, alive—perfect, except for the fact that it is merely a serpent.”
>
> “Perhaps, in the beginning, I should have chosen a child as the vessel. Then I might have found rebirth through him.”
>
> “The only thing that troubles me: if the creature serving as the Horcrux dies from age or injury, will my soul fragment be destroyed along with it?”
>
> “If the answer is yes, then using a living creature as a Horcrux is a foolish choice. Most creatures are far too fragile compared to magical artifacts, which are both easier to conceal and protect.”
Sirius Black’s eyes burned, his vision blurring. The familiar letters seemed to twist into grinning little human figures, dancing and leaping around him, occasionally forming jagged crimson text:
> “Special connection… perceive its thoughts… rebirth…”
He had known of Horcruxes before—after the cave expedition, Dumbledore had told him the basics. But now, reading these words, he understood the true horror beneath the surface. If only he had read this book sooner… if only he had remembered…
His fingers trembled. He thought of the words he’d spoken to Dumbledore just two days ago—words he now wished he could have hurled back through time, throwing the younger, foolish version of himself straight from the top of the stairs.
“Sirius Black?”
The sharpness of the line of sight above him made Harry instinctively flinch backward, touching his scar.
“Are you okay? Is there something on my head?”
The others turned to look at Harry, then at Sirius.
“Nothing,” Sirius said, forcing a smile. “I was just worried you might touch something dangerous. There are some dangerous artifacts down here. Wade, did you find what you needed?”
“Yeah, a few useful books. I’ve copied them all.” Wade grinned. “I should head back soon. Before visiting Mr. Flamel, I need to prepare my gift.”
“Good. Then let’s go.” Sirius spoke lightly, though his voice carried a weight. “Honestly, I hate this place. I was locked down here more times than I can count as a kid.”
They climbed the stairs, and as they passed Sirius, Remus Lupin glanced at him and murmured, “You’re worried about Harry’s safety, aren’t you?”
In an instant, Sirius thought Remus had read his mind.
Then he realized—Remus was referring to Voldemort’s latest obsession with Harry. He nodded, voice low. “Yeah… we failed James and Lily once. I can’t bear to fail again…”
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself, Sirius,” Remus said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Last time, we were misled. This time, we won’t make the same mistake.”
Sirius looked down. “I hope not.”
Remus said nothing more, following the two children out of the basement.
Behind him, Sirius lifted his gaze, his dark eyes fixed on the retreating figures ahead—cold, sharp, like a serpent coiled in shadow, or a predator baring its fangs.
He couldn’t be certain—his suspicion might be wrong. Harry might not be a Horcrux at all. The connection between them, the way Harry could see through Voldemort’s eyes, might simply be a failed Killing Curse creating an accidental bond.
But no—Sirius couldn’t lie to himself.
If he had to choose between protecting Harry and destroying Voldemort… if the safety of the magical world demanded the destruction of every Horcrux…
There had to be another way. There had to be another solution.
Harry couldn’t have been meant to be a Horcrux. Perhaps the soul fragment could be moved… transferred.
He thought back—Voldemort had existed as a phantom spirit for over a decade. Harry had lived, unharmed. Voldemort had been powerless, unable to harm anyone—worse than dead, truly.
His eyes flickered with cold, dangerous light.
There must be another way.
Kreacher glanced up—just once—and immediately dropped its head, trembling with fear. But deep inside, a quiet thrill stirred.
Master, Mistress… look! The young master is finally becoming someone worthy!
(End of Chapter)
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