[Halloween Special] Sweet, Sweet Revenge
This story took place only a few days after Sirius had scared the children.
That morning, Sirius woke up with a faint smile. Just remembering the look of panic on the children's faces was enough to lift his spirits. Of course, he had installed hidden cameras all around the haunted house the kids had explored the week before. He even had photographs of their terrified expressions, carefully framed in a large picture hanging in his living room.
In the moving image, Draco, Harry, Daphne, and Hermione could be seen running for their lives, chased by a horde of zombie-like creatures. The scene ended with them bursting out through the main door and falling in a heap right in front of him.
No matter how bad his day was, coming home and looking at that picture always gave Sirius a reason to smile. It was as if, somehow, he had managed to avenge all those times when the parents of those brats—or the brats themselves—had mocked him.
He walked down the stairs at an easy pace, reminding himself to close the curtain that covered his mother's portrait. That loud, shrieking witch was the first thing Kreacher made sure to uncover every morning, just so Sirius would hear the yells of his "beloved" mother. He had tried everything to keep her quiet: direct orders to the house-elf, sealing charms, even reinforced silencing spells. Nothing worked. The old witch had protected her portraits with so many enchantments that not even a wizard as skilled as Sirius could undo them.
And, of course, asking for help wasn't an option. Not because he didn't know who to turn to, but because his pride wouldn't allow it. Especially knowing that the only one capable of removing those spells with ease would be Wanda—and it was unlikely she'd bother with something so trivial.
Sirius sighed, glanced at the portrait of his godson and the others, and smiled in amusement. That was when he noticed something in the corner of the room: a small pile of gifts, stacked neatly and wrapped in black paper with spooky ribbons.
"And what's this?" he murmured curiously, stepping closer.
"Kreacher," he called out loud, expecting the grumpy house-elf to appear.
Several seconds passed, and silence was his only answer. Sirius frowned slightly. The elf should have appeared instantly upon a direct order—unless someone else was summoning him. Maybe one of his cousins had borrowed him. With that thought in mind, Sirius approached the boxes.
He examined them suspiciously. The first one had a card attached to it, written in a familiar hand. He studied it for a moment before opening it.
From inside sprang a clown's head on a spring, one of those joke boxes, accompanied by a mechanical screech. Sirius didn't even flinch as he read the sender's name.
"Selene Greengrass."
"That woman always tries to act like a high-society lady, yet she's still as childish as ever," he said mockingly. Anyone listening—especially the women in the group—would have rolled their eyes. There was no one more childish than him.
He continued checking the gifts, convinced they were from the children's parents seeking a little revenge for the haunted-house prank. That only made him laugh more.
The next package was from the Lovegoods: a box filled with candies and small animal figurines, probably homemade.
"Obviously, they don't even understand what this is about," he remarked with a crooked smile, though deep down he found it rather endearing.
He was about to open the Grangers' gift when he noticed one of the larger boxes had a huge hole in its side. The wrapping was torn apart, as if something had burst out—or forced its way in. Sirius raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, searching for a sender's tag. There was none.
"Hmm… could Hagrid have tried to send something?" he muttered, considering the possibility with a hint of resignation.
It wouldn't have been the first time the half-giant sent one of his creatures as a gift. Sirius knew Hagrid cared for them deeply, but his sense of what made a "good present" was often questionable.
Pak.
A small sound came from behind him. Sirius turned immediately, only to see that a candle had fallen from the chandelier.
"This place is falling apart. Maybe I should sell it. Although, who'd want to buy it with my dear mother and her sweet words included?" he said with an ironic smile.
As if on cue, a blood-curdling scream shook the house.
"Aaah! Ungrateful son! Traitorous bastard! What are you still doing here? Get out! Get out of our sacred home! I don't want you here!"
Sirius rolled his eyes in annoyance, lifted his wand, and flicked it. The curtain slammed shut again, covering the portrait.
The fabric began to twitch, breathing with a muffled sound, and thankfully the screams stopped.
"Kreacher… was it you again, you old grump?" he asked irritably. Normally, it was the elf who uncovered his mother's portrait just to annoy him, but this time there was no answer.
The silence that followed was different. Heavy. Almost tangible. A silence that didn't belong to a living house, but to one that was holding its breath.
Clank. Crash.
Sirius turned sharply. The vase in the corner lay shattered on the floor; water spread across the carpet, soaking the blackened flowers that used to decorate that spot.
His expression hardened. Straightening his back, he raised his wand and scanned the room with sharp, tense eyes. He could feel something. Something small, hidden, but alive.
"Kreacher, as your master I order you to come here right now," he said in a cold, commanding voice.
Then, finally, something happened.
Something Sirius had not expected at all.
Kreacher appeared in front of him—or rather, fell from the ceiling with a dull thud.
His body was covered in blood, seeping from every opening. A gag was tied around his mouth, and his wide-open eyes reflected absolute terror.
But he wasn't breathing.
"Kreacher…" said Sirius, his throat tightening as he knelt to check for a pulse. He felt nothing.
"Damn it… who's there?" he shouted, springing to his feet and casting a spell toward the corner of the room, where a shadow had leapt away with inhuman speed. It was the same figure that had thrown the elf's body.
The spell missed. Instead, a demonic laugh echoed through the room, followed by the sound of small footsteps running toward the stairs.
Sirius reacted instantly. He dashed after them, wand in hand, heart pounding. He climbed the first few steps, but there was no one there. The staircase was completely empty, bathed in the dim light filtering through the windows, and silence fell again—deep and oppressive.
"Who's there?" he called firmly, keeping his wand raised. His voice resonated in the still air. A chill ran down his spine, and he turned instinctively, just in time to see the chandelier—the same one that had lost a candle earlier—swaying like a pendulum.
The heavy metal fixture came loose and plummeted toward him. Sirius threw himself aside and rolled across the floor. The chandelier crashed against the wall, twisting completely; the steel and silver bent with a harsh screech. The candles scattered across the floor, and drops of hot wax splashed onto Sirius's hands.
"Ah…" he exhaled with a pained grunt as the burning stung, but he didn't lower his guard. His breathing slowed, controlled, while his eyes scanned every corner of the room for the source of the attack.
"Ahahahahaha…"
A shrill laugh filled the house again. This time it came from his mother's portrait, which had been uncovered once more. The curtain covering it fluttered as if someone invisible had ripped it open.
"Die! Die! Die!" screamed the woman from within the frame, her voice twisted by a mad fury. She sounded even more deranged than usual.
Sirius frowned in irritation, his focus unwavering. He knew someone had lifted that curtain again.
"Kill him! Kill him now! Die! Die! You traitor, you disgrace to our bloodline!"
A vein pulsed on Sirius's forehead. He strode to the portrait and, with a sharp motion, yanked the curtain closed again. But as the fabric fell, he noticed something. There was something clinging to it—a small, misshapen silhouette, its hands and feet nailed into the cloth.
Its head twisted completely around at an impossible angle, and a huge grin stretched across its face as it stared straight at him.
Sirius took a step back. The creature was barely half a meter tall. A grotesque abomination with bulging eyes, square perfectly aligned teeth, and greenish skin covered in stitched scars. It had only three hairs on its head and wore a tiny gardener's overall. Its vacant eyes and wide mouth sent a primitive chill down Sirius's spine—a sense of danger even an experienced wizard couldn't ignore.
"What the hell…" he began to say before the creature leapt at him from the curtain, brandishing a bloodstained knife.
Sirius raised his wand, but a sharp snapping sound filled the air, and the wand flew out of his hand.
"What…?" he exclaimed, recognizing the Disarming Charm.
He had no time to think. He caught the creature mid-air with both hands. The small being shrieked and thrashed wildly, trying to stab him with the knife while laughing with a high-pitched, deranged giggle.
"Nya, nya, nya," it repeated, moving with absurd speed.
Sirius growled and hurled it aside with all his strength. He felt a sting on his wrist—the knife had grazed him, leaving a thin red line.
He glanced at the wound with annoyance, but when he looked up, the creature was gone.
A low laugh echoed through the shadows, followed by small footsteps retreating toward the kitchen.
Sirius clenched his jaw, grabbed his wand, and moved forward in fury. He wasn't about to let something like that humiliate him in his own house.
He entered the kitchen. Everything seemed calm—too calm. The dim light gave the place a heavy atmosphere. He moved slowly, wand ready, eyes sweeping every corner where the creature might hide.
He flung open one of the cupboards and aimed inside, ready to strike. Empty.
Plank.
A metallic sound made him spin around. A saucepan had fallen from above, rolling slowly across the floor. The clatter of metal echoed against the walls, then faded into silence.
Then Sirius saw something. One of the old barrels used as decoration had its lid open.
He approached cautiously. His breathing quickened, but his gaze remained steady. He placed one hand on the lid, the other gripping his wand. In a single motion, he lifted the cover and pointed inside.
Nothing. Empty.
He frowned. His instincts screamed that something was wrong. He turned halfway around—and saw it.
The creature was perched right on top of the shelf, just inches above his head.
Sirius raised his wand and shouted,
"Glacius!"
Nothing happened. He looked down at the object in his hand, and his expression changed instantly. It wasn't his wand. It was a licorice wand. A candy.
"What the…?" he managed to say before the creature jumped onto his face, yanking at his hair and laughing with a hysterical screech.
"Ahhh!" Sirius growled, struggling as the thing clung to him like a leech.
"Hahahaha!" the creature cackled, hanging on tightly. Sirius groped around for anything—anything—until his fingers brushed against a cast-iron skillet.
Without hesitation, he swung it hard.
The impact sent the creature crashing against the metal wall of the kitchen. The sound was sharp and solid. It fell to the floor, dazed, its head wobbling clumsily.
When it looked up, Sirius was standing before it, his face streaked with sweat and fury.
The pan came down again.
Once. Then again. And again. Blood splattered across his face, the floor, and the walls. Sirius breathed heavily, eyes locked on the motionless body.
"Huff… huff…"
Then he noticed it. Amid the creature's remains, something gleamed. Wires, circuits, tiny gears. The blood was thick and had a strange smell… sweet, like syrup.
Sirius froze, panting. He slowly lowered the pan, staring at the liquid dripping from it, caught between horror and disbelief.
Still catching his breath, Sirius felt something—a familiar presence behind him. He turned slowly, his face cold and his gaze tense, and then he saw it.
Kreacher was there. Completely unharmed, no wounds, wearing his usual expression as he cleaned what appeared to be… a second Kreacher, fake and mangled on the floor.
Sirius stared in silence, not entirely understanding what he was seeing. The elf looked up at him with the same contemptuous expression Sirius knew all too well.
"Oh, my poor mistress," the elf murmured in a voice dripping with venom. "What would she say if she saw Kreacher serving you? After how she despised you, how much she suffered watching you disgrace this house. Such a disappointment, Master Sirius, and those filthy little blood traitors that surround you."
The elf's sarcastic tone was enough for everything to click in Sirius's mind.
His gaze hardened. He understood that none of this had been coincidence. Everything—from the gifts to the mechanical creature—was part of a plan. A perfectly crafted revenge.
"Those…" he growled, rubbing his face. "Damn it… if I weren't so proud of them, I'd be furious right now."
He let himself fall back onto the floor, exhausted, with a smile somewhere between amusement and resignation. The adrenaline was starting to fade. That was when a small flash of magic surprised him beside the wreckage.
Another house-elf appeared out of nowhere. Sirius flinched for a second before recognizing the face. It was Gray.
The elf standing there looked at him while holding out Sirius's wand with both hands, bowing his head slightly.
"So it was you," said Sirius, taking the wand and recalling the disarming spell that had left him defenseless minutes earlier.
"Master Harry asked me to do it," said Gray calmly. "I am very sorry for this grave offense, Mr. Black," he added politely.
Sirius regarded him for a moment before sighing. "It's fine; you can go," he replied tiredly, waving a hand.
Gray vanished with a faint flash.
Silence returned to fill the house.
Sirius stood there for a while, looking at the mess around him—the twisted chandelier, the fake blood, the scattered fragments of the mechanical creature. He couldn't help but laugh softly.
"They really got me," he admitted, smiling with a mix of annoyance and genuine admiration.
But that smile vanished the moment he looked up.
There, in the hallway before him, stood three of those same deformed creatures.
Each held a knife in its hand, their eyes gleaming with unnatural malice. They stared at him as if he were their prey, motionless but ready to pounce at any second.
Sirius's eyes widened in surprise, his breath caught for an instant.
He noticed that they were slightly different from one another: one wore a ribbon on its head, another had a torn piece of tie, and the third sported a small, clumsily knitted scarf. Almost as if each had been made by a different child.
Realization struck him all at once.
Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Daphne.
Each one had taken part.
Sirius's smile disappeared completely.
"Oh, damn it," he muttered in resignation, just before one of the little creatures took its first step toward him.
From the back of the room, Kreacher watched the scene with unsettling calm. He kept cleaning the remains of the false elf, even though there was nothing left to clean. His gaze remained fixed on his master, and a twisted, almost sadistic smile began to form on his wrinkled face.
As the sounds of falling objects and distorted laughter echoed throughout the house, the old Black mansion filled once more with screams, laughter, and chaos.
That night, the echo of "sweet revenge" was heard in every corner of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, accompanied by the satisfied cackling of an elf who savored every second of the disaster.