Translated Chapter

Wade blinked, then said, “I saw the Black family library yesterday—it’s absolutely breathtaking. Just don’t be too heartbroken when I borrow all the books.”

Sirius Black grinned. “You can take them all. I’d be glad to get rid of them.”

He paused, then didn’t let the moment slip into jest. Instead, he returned to the earlier topic, his voice quiet. “Leaving Azkaban… finding Regulus… preparing the funeral… finally giving my frenzied mother some peace…” He let out a wry smile. “No matter the reason, you’ve done so much for me. The books you’ve given me? They’re worth far less than even a fraction of what you’ve already given. Wade… what can I do for you?”

Wade paused, then asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Sirius raised his beer bottle with a casual, effortless motion.

“Why did you break ties with your parents? Why fight Voldemort?” Wade continued. “I’ve looked into the records. At the height of Voldemort’s power, most believed he was unbeatable. Only a handful dared risk their lives against him.”

When Sirius frowned, Wade didn’t look away. “If you hadn’t fought, you could’ve inherited the Black family fortune. With your status and strength, Voldemort would’ve welcomed you. In that situation, that would’ve been the… smart choice.”

“Really?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You think it needs explaining? It was about doing what’s right. Saving innocent lives.”

Wade smiled. “So when you save someone, do you expect them to repay you?”

Sirius froze. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head. He raised his bottle again, silent.

He’d remember the debt. But there was no need to keep bringing it up.

Still, the feeling of being recognized for his own choices—rather than just being labeled as someone’s friend, or a student Remus Lupin admired, or someone he owed a great debt to—was different.

Now, for the first time, Sirius saw Wade Gray beyond the labels.

…

The funeral was coming. For five days, the group cleaned the house, disinfected every surface, replaced or repaired furniture, and decorated the garden. Scourgify and Reparo spells weren’t enough. Old, magically-infused stains resisted even the most powerful cleaning charms.

Percy was forced to ask his mother for help. Mrs. Weasley, a woman with decades of experience managing a large household, recommended several affordable, highly effective magical cleaning agents—and shared a few clever tips for cleaning.

Sirius, too, pulled himself together. He wrote invitations by hand, one by one.

The funeral for Regulus Black was awkward. He was a known Death Eater—yet died fighting Voldemort. Though the Dark Lord’s true fate remained unknown, even among Death Eaters, Regulus was seen as a coward who had fled at the last moment, executed for betrayal.

He belonged nowhere.

Sirius thought carefully. He didn’t know if Regulus had ever had friends like he and James Potter had. The ones who used to read with him? Most were in Azkaban—or dead.

He didn’t want to invite those who didn’t even know what Regulus looked like. Nor did he want to invite those who would mock him—former comrades, yes, but still.

So few remained.

After long consideration, Sirius finally sent an invitation to the Malfoys.

His favorite cousin was Andromeda. He’d been close to Narcissa as a child. Most importantly, Regulus had looked up to Narcissa—she was the one among his sisters he listened to most.

And Narcissa herself wasn’t a Death Eater. The man who had joined was her vile, contemptible husband—Lucius Malfoy.

That was the last justification he needed.

He was a man of impulse. Even after eleven years in prison, that hadn’t changed. But for the first time in his life, Sirius Black had taken care, restraint, and thought—considering someone else’s feelings, not just his own.

The young wizards who came to help made all the difference.

Without them, Sirius didn’t know how he’d manage. He might’ve had to rely on Remus Lupin from start to finish—only to disappoint everyone in the end.

But the children did so well.

Sirius felt he couldn’t afford to be reckless. If he ruined it, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

Owls flew out in all directions, braving the cold wind and snow, carrying invitations across the land.

…

When he had time, Wade stayed in the study.

The Black family was ancient and wealthy—its collection of books was staggering, some even surpassing those in Hogwarts’ Restricted Section.

These books had been treasured by Mrs. Black before her madness. Kreacher had maintained them with devotion. Dust was the only thing on the covers—no moth holes, no decay.

Each book had once been protected by powerful magic. Non-Black family members who tried to read them risked losing a hand, suffering permanent eye damage, or even dying from curses.

But Sirius, as the current head of the family, had removed most of the harmful magic. The ones he couldn’t fix, he threw into the basement box.

Kreacher wept.

He’d recently begun to accept Sirius as his master—obeying orders, working diligently. But after this, he quietly retrieved the books from the basement, cleaned them, sprinkled them with insect-repellent powder, and muttered curses under his breath: Spendthrift.

Yet Kreacher blamed only the strange behavior of Sirius—never Wade.

He’d learned from Remus Lupin what Wade had done. He respected the boy deeply. Whenever Wade read, Kreacher brought hot tea or pastries to the study.

Mrs. Black didn’t know. But she’d been silent lately. The curtain over her portrait had never been drawn aside.

While sorting through the fifth floor, they sometimes heard faint, distant cries from Regulus’s room.

On the third day, an Italian wizard painter arrived. Using old photographs, he painted a portrait of Regulus—no longer the pale, ghastly figure of a corpse, but the proud, spirited sixteen-year-old he once was.

From that day on, Mrs. Black fell completely silent.

When the wind stirred the curtain, they saw her eyes closed, her face peaceful—lost in a dream from which she would never wake.

Only Remus Lupin occasionally intervened in Wade’s reading.

Most of the Black family’s books dealt with dark magic. Wade even found a passage describing Horcruxes.

Sirius believed understanding dark magic wasn’t inherently bad—just don’t study it too deeply, don’t become obsessed. They were learning defense, resistance.

He’d grown up surrounded by dark magic, yet it hadn’t corrupted him. So he believed Wade could handle it too.

Remus had a different view. But instead of stopping him, lecturing, or scolding, he’d simply appear in the study from time to time—after Wade had read something dark.

Then, at dinner or during cleaning, he’d tell a story.

A wizard who experimented with dark magic, twisted himself into a monstrous creature, and now wandered the dark forests, trapped between life and death.

A dark creature, driven mad by abuse, turned on its master and escaped.

A wizard who became consumed by dark magic, lost his mind, murdered his entire family in a single night, and caused chaos before being killed by a passing white wizard.

Stories like these.

The young wizards listened with fascination. But Michael, after each tale, would look at Wade with a half-smile.

“Which book did you read this time?” he’d whisper.

“Just a handwritten one,” Wade replied. “I’m just learning how wizards in the past approached magic. In their time, it wasn’t unusual.”

“Right,” Michael said, smirking. “For ancient people, eating humans was probably just normal, wasn’t it?”

Wade hesitated. “Even today, in some countries, cannibalism isn’t illegal.”

“Wait—what?!” Michael stared. Then quickly composed himself. “Hah! The Weasley Twins were better liars.”

Wade looked at him with quiet sympathy. “It’s true.”

Michael fell silent.

“…Really?”

“Yeah.”

“The Muggle laws?”

“To be precise—some Muggle countries don’t have laws against it. And our Ministry of Magic doesn’t either, does it?”

“Still… I mean—” Michael tried to salvage his worldview. “The law doesn’t forbid it because such things can’t happen. Only in famine. Or extreme survival situations.”

He cautiously added the patch.

But then he saw Wade’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smile.

He said nothing.

Yet everything was said.

Michael sat there, scratching his head, torn all night.

The next morning, he rose with dark circles under his eyes, bolted out of bed, and ran to the nearest Muggle library.

He returned hours later, silent for a long time.

“Frenzied Muggle,” he muttered before bed.

Wade shook his head. “You see the blood and horror in the books, so you call it cruel and insane. But in a world of survival of the fittest, ‘eating people’ happens all the time—just not in the way you think.”

He paused. “Look at Regulus. Didn’t he get eaten?”

Michael froze. His skin crawled. Goosebumps spread across his arms.

…

The day before Christmas was Regulus’s funeral.

Snow fell gently from morning. Tiny flakes settled on the ground, on rooftops, forming ice at first, then piling into a thick, white blanket. It covered the cracked walls and erased the scars of time—just as it covered the garden the young wizards had so carefully decorated.

The white silence was fitting.

Sirius Black wore black wizard robes—only black and white. Never before had they seen him so solemn. Remus Lupin stood beside him, greeting the guests.

Wade saw the Malfoy couple and Draco Malfoy.

They were strikingly alike—pale skin, golden hair, haughty expressions.

Yet when they spoke with Sirius, both kept their composure. No open conflict.

Then came a witch with light brown hair, walking with a Muggle man. She rushed forward, embraced Sirius—his face softened.

Wade now knew: this was Andromeda, the Black daughter who’d been disowned. Sirius had once shown them the family tree, pointing out his relatives.

On that massive family tree, Andromeda’s name had been burned away.

In truth, the Black family—proud Purebloods—had expelled members in nearly every generation. Sometimes more than one.

Behind them stood a striking young witch with vivid gray-green hair.

Even skilled wizards could change their hair color with Transfiguration—but such a shade was unforgettable.

Andromeda introduced her. “This is my daughter, Nymphadora Tonks.”

Sirius had met her as a child. But this woman—this young woman—was a stranger to him.

They exchanged polite handshakes.

As they spoke, Draco Malfoy stared at Tonks.

When he heard her name, his face twisted in disgust.

He said nothing.

But his silence spoke volumes.

Tonks blinked.

When the others turned to greet new arrivals, she suddenly spun toward Draco—her head transformed into the shape of a Hungarian Horntail.

“Ah!” Draco spun around—only to see a giant dragon’s head, eyes the size of walnuts, staring at him with unblinking yellow-brown eyes. He shrieked.

Everyone turned.

“She… she… what just happened?!” he stammered, pointing.

But Tonks had already changed back—calm, elegant, surprised, just like everyone else.

“Mind your manners, Draco,” Narcissa said coolly. She glanced at Tonks with disdain, then looked away.

Andromeda shot her daughter a sharp look—don’t cause trouble.

The Weasley couple arrived from abroad.

Madam Longbottom came too. Neville rushed to stand beside her.

Dumbledore arrived early.

Guests arrived steadily. By noon, the benches held thirty or more—noble names, obscure wizards, even Muggles.

They sat together.

They came to mourn Regulus Black.

(End of Chapter)

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