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"Thank you, Veratia," Harry said gratefully to Veratia Grindelwald. "If it weren't for you, my godfather might've died…"
"Oh, it's nothing." Veratia smiled softly, looking down at Harry. "So, this is how you show your gratitude? Not even a hug?"
"Is that okay?" Harry hesitated, glancing up at Veratia.
Veratia reached out and ruffled Harry's messy hair. "You just hugged your godfather, whom you've never met before. Are you really going to skimp on a hug for an old friend?"
Well… Harry thought about it, and it did seem to make sense.
Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't hugged her before when they were practicing spells together.
With that in mind, Harry opened his arms and embraced Veratia.
Soft. Warm.
"Thank you, Veratia," Harry murmured, feeling a bit intoxicated. He didn't want to leave the comforting warmth of her embrace.
"Good boy," Veratia said, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Harry's cheek.
Back in the dormitory, Harry was still thinking about that kiss.
Merlin, Veratia was just too wonderful—
If Harry hadn't been preoccupied with wanting more, he might've lost himself completely in the memory of her sweet kiss.
"You're back?" Ron said with a grin. "Blimey, look at that smile! Wait—no, you've got lipstick on your cheek!"
He pointed at Harry's face.
"Isn't it obvious?" Ginny chimed in, teasing from the side. "It's got to be Miss Grindelwald's doing, right? I remember how much she likes you—she even sat at the Gryffindor table despite being a Slytherin! Come on, spill it—how far have you two gone?"
"Don't talk nonsense," Harry said, hurriedly wiping his face. "Ahem, it was just an accident. Anyway—oh, right, I found my godfather, Sirius. He's going to be the assistant for Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Wicked!" Ron's attention was successfully diverted. He clapped his hands excitedly. "So when Professor Lupin's busy, we won't have to deal with the old bat's sneers anymore—"
Before saying this, Ron glanced around warily.
Good thing they were in the Gryffindor common room—no Snape in sight.
That would've been a disaster.
"But," Harry said to Ron, "I don't think Professor Snape's too happy about it. Sirius… well, he was really close with my dad."
"I get it!" Ron slapped his thigh. "Back when they hung Snape upside-down to show off his pants, Sirius was in on it, wasn't he? Maybe even Lupin was involved—that's why Snape's got it out for them!"
"I still don't think that was right," Harry said with a shrug.
"Why not?" Ron asked, chewing on a Licorice Wand.
"My mum's memories showed me that my dad—" Harry stopped himself there.
If it was just that, Harry wouldn't have felt so down. But the Peter incident proved one thing clearly: his dad really was as arrogant as Snape had said. Otherwise, he wouldn't have rejected Dumbledore as Secret-Keeper and chosen someone else.
"Nobody's perfect, Harry," Ron said, brushing it off. "Think about it—memories are selective, and so was your mum. You're only seeing a piece of the puzzle. Imagine this: if your son didn't know about you and You-Know-Who and saw a few memories—say, one where you're casting the Cruciatus Curse on someone, another where you're using the Killing Curse on Quirrell, and a third where you're hitting Voldemort with the Killing Curse—what would he think of you?"
Harry had to admit, Ron had a point…
"If you put it like that…" Harry's eyes brightened.
"Exactly, mate," Ron said earnestly. "So, I suggest you dig deeper. Ask the professors, ask Mr. Black, ask Lupin—your dad's closest friends. Find out who he really was. Only by checking all sides will you get the full picture."
"What're we talking about?" Hermione asked, coming down the stairs with Crookshanks in her arms, smiling at the two boys.
"Harry's dad," Ron answered honestly. "I told him not to just take Snape's word for it. He should ask Lupin or Black, Potter's best mates. What do you think, Hermione?"
"I think Ron's right, Harry," Hermione nodded. "A person's character is a circle, not a straight line with only two ends."
"Alright," Harry agreed, nodding at his friends' advice.
After spending the evening in the common room, Harry yawned, closed the book he'd borrowed from the library, and headed back to the dormitory.
He'd found nothing—no counter-curses for dark magic curses.
Not surprising, though. If it were that easy, the Defense Against the Dark Arts post wouldn't be cursed.
The next morning, Harry was rudely awakened.
Hedwig and a few other owls dropped a long package right onto his face.
"Ow!" Harry opened his eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you could aim better, Hedwig. Maybe I could get a new nose out of it!"
Hedwig hooted twice and flapped her wings.
"What's that?" Ron mumbled, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he sat up.
"A package," Harry said curtly. "It just landed on my face."
Ron immediately scrambled out of bed.
Opening gifts was a ritual not to be missed.
"Wicked, what is it?" Ron asked with a grin. "Looks like… a broomstick, doesn't it?"
"Dunno," Harry replied, tearing open the package. A sleek, gleaming broomstick rolled onto his bed.
"Brilliant!" Ron shouted, leaping off his bed to get a closer look.
He reached out with trembling hands to touch the flawless broom handle.
"I can't believe it," he croaked.
It was a Firebolt—the dream of every Quidditch-loving, flying enthusiast wizard.
To Muggle eyes, this broom was the equivalent of a Lamborghini or a Ferrari.
Well, in this era, there was no Koenigsegg yet, and Bugatti hadn't been revived by Volkswagen either.
Harry picked up the Firebolt, its surface gleaming like a precious gem. He could feel it trembling, as if it were eager to soar into the sky with him.
But they were in the dormitory, so he couldn't exactly ride it. He let go, and to his surprise, the Firebolt hovered in midair at the perfect height for mounting.
What a masterpiece, Harry thought, his eyes tracing the golden serial number at the top down to the sleek, streamlined tail.
"Who sent it?" Ron whispered.
"No idea," Harry shrugged.
Ron tore open the wrapping paper further.
"Oh, it's from your godfather," Ron said with a grin. "Look, there's Black's signature. I know the Blacks are one of the pure-blood families—loaded, too—but a Firebolt? That's seriously pricey…"
"It's too much…" Harry said, awestruck. "Maybe I should ask Sirius to return it…"
"No can do, Harry," Ron said regretfully. "No returns once it's sold—unless there's a performance issue, but you know that's not happening with a Firebolt."
"Still, it's such a waste of money…" Harry shook his head.
"But it's his way of showing he cares, Harry," Ron said. "You don't want to hurt your godfather's feelings, do you?"
"Yeah," Harry said, stroking the broom. He was itching to take it for a spin. "Oh, wait—since I've got a new broom, I can give you my Nimbus 2000, Ron."
Ron looked like he'd been hit with a Stunning Spell. He grabbed Harry's shoulders, shaking him. "Are you serious, Harry? Really?"
He almost couldn't believe he'd accept something so valuable—but a broomstick! A Nimbus 2000, no less…
"Of course it's real," Harry laughed. "I can't ride two brooms at once, can I?"
Ron was overwhelmed with joy, speechless for a moment. When he finally recovered, he shook his head. "Blimey, I almost feel like calling you my godfather…"
Harry burst out laughing at Ron's theatrics.
He pulled the box containing the Nimbus 2000 from under his bed and pushed it toward Ron.
"Remember, Ron," Harry said, patting the box. "This is your Christmas present early. Don't ask why I didn't get you anything when Christmas rolls around."
"Thanks, Harry," Ron said, deeply moved.
At breakfast, Harry strode into the Great Hall, Firebolt in hand.
"Blimey, Potter!" his classmates crowded around. "What kind of broom is that?"
"A Firebolt," Harry said with a grin, letting it hover beside him.
"Bloody hell!" the Weasley twins swore in unison, echoing Ron's favorite curse. "Merlin's beard, it's a Firebolt—"
Harry proudly showed off his Firebolt, while Veratia, nearby, wrinkled her nose, mentally cursing him as a spendthrift.
But…
If I'd known it would make Harry this happy, I'd have bought him a Firebolt ages ago…
Veratia thought to herself.
Then she remembered the empty vault Gellert had left behind…
Click. Her spoon snapped in her hand.
Cassandra, meanwhile, ate her breakfast calmly, but her mind drifted to the first time she'd given Harry a broomstick.
He'd been just as thrilled then, showing it off to his friends like Gareth…
Her expression softened at the memory.
Maybe during the Christmas holidays, I'll visit my vault, she thought. It's time to give Harry the gift I've been saving for him.
Harry didn't glance toward the Slytherin table. Instead, he looked up at the staff table.
Sirius, now dressed in fresh robes, sat there. Though gaunt, he still carried an air of elegant charm.
Catching Harry's gaze, Sirius gave a small smile and raised his goblet in a toast.
Harry grinned back.
At noon, after classes, Harry found Sirius and thanked him.
"It's nothing, Harry," Sirius said with a warm smile. "You're the best Quidditch player out there. I always wanted to get James a proper broom, but back then, I wasn't the one calling the shots in the Black family. Now, I finally—"
"Finally became head of the Black family?" Ron asked tentatively.
"Finally outlived them all," Sirius said gleefully. "I even told my mother's portrait about it—she was furious. The whole Black manor echoed with her outraged shrieks."
Ron leaned back, awestruck.
Filial piety at its finest!
"You know how the Blacks are, with their 'Toujours Pur' nonsense," Sirius said, turning to Hermione. "Miss Granger, right? Moony told me about you. Says you're the brightest witch he's ever met."
"Moony?" Hermione asked, curious.
"Oh, that's his nickname," Sirius said without hesitation. "We all had them. James was Prongs, I was Padfoot, and Pe—"
He stopped short at Peter's name. Everyone tactfully avoided pressing further.
"I heard you got hold of that map?" Sirius said with a grin. "The Marauder's Map, right? I heard you used it to track down that traitor."
"Yeah," Harry replied. "At first, I thought Peter was some older student. Never imagined he was Ron's rat, sleeping right next to him…"
Ron shuddered, waving his hands frantically. "Merlin, Harry, don't remind me!"
"Haha," Sirius laughed heartily. "Who'd have thought he'd hide as a rat for twelve years? But tell me, did you show the map to old Snivellus?"
"Snivellus?" Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance.
"Oh, that's what James called Snape," Sirius said, his eyes dancing with mischief. "He hated it, but we didn't care. If you showed him the map, it'd insult him—it's rigged to do that. So, want to join me and take old Snivellus down a peg?"
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