Chapter 151
At the Black Family Residence
Sirius opened the door of the family home after having been away for more than a decade.
It had been such a long time since he last set foot there that he couldn't help but feel a surge of joy at finally returning.
As he and Albert stepped into the salon, the old house-elf Kreacher appeared, glaring at Sirius with visible disdain.
"Welcome, Master Albert… and also, Master Sirius," Kreacher said, his tone dripping with bitterness.
Sirius simply gave him a faint smile and walked past as if he weren't even there.
Albert noticed the way his father treated Kreacher.
Though it wasn't exactly kind, Albert understood.
Back when the Black family still stood united, Sirius's parents and his younger brother Regulus had embraced dark ideals.
They were obsessed with notions of blood purity, believing that only pure-blood wizards deserved to live while half-bloods and Muggle-borns were worthless fit only for scorn or death. In the end, the Blacks had become fervent supporters of Voldemort during the First Wizarding War.
As a result, Kreacher, who had served the Black family faithfully for many years, had those same beliefs carved deep into his mind: that pure-bloods were superior, while others deserved nothing but contempt or death.
When Sirius realized that he was expected to inherit the Black legacy and pass down those twisted ideals to his son Albert he had fled with his wife and child. Voldemort already counted on the support of the Black family, and Sirius feared what that could mean.
The family, however, saw his refusal as betrayal. They feared Voldemort would destroy them all if Sirius openly rejected their creed.
So Sirius left, taking Albert and his wife far away.
It was a choice he regretted deeply for it meant abandoning them in their darkest hour. His wife and son had needed him most then. To this day, he still blamed himself for her death.
Meanwhile, Kreacher had grown to despise Sirius, convinced he had betrayed the noble family line. Voldemort's ideology was the foundation the Blacks had built upon, and to Kreacher, Sirius's rejection was unforgivable.
Albert stepped closer to the house-elf, gently placing a hand on his head.
"Kreacher, did you miss me? Did you receive all my letters?" Albert asked warmly.
Kreacher's face softened at once. For the first time in years, he felt seen. Every master before had treated him like a worthless slave, but Albert had given him dignity. Each letter had filled the old elf with joy, and he had waited eagerly for the day his young master would return.
"Yes, Master Albert!" Kreacher replied. "I have always waited for your safe return."
Albert smiled at his words.
Kreacher quickly added, "You must be tired from the journey. Please, rest upstairs. Dinner will be ready in the family hall soon."
Albert headed toward his room on the upper floor.
Meanwhile, Sirius had wandered into the chamber where the Black family tree was carved upon the wall.
He traced his fingers over the tapestry, stopping at his own name and that of his brother.
Though he had never forgiven Regulus for following the Death Eaters, he could not silence the ache in his heart. Family was family, and Regulus was still his younger brother. The mistakes had been grave, but emotion does not yield to reason so easily.
And in truth, because of Regulus, Albert had managed to survive.
Sirius noticed both his and Regulus's portraits had been scorched away from the tapestry.
He knew why his face had been burned his rebellion and escape had marked him as a traitor.
But Regulus? Why had his been destroyed?
Sirius let the mystery linger and stepped into another room his wife's chamber.
There, a photograph caught his eye: his wife cradling baby Albert, both smiling brightly.
Tears threatened to fall, but Sirius's pride held them back.
---
At the Ministry of Magic
Peter Pettigrew knelt in the Minister's office, shackled, his face drenched in sweat. He was accompanied by Cornelius Fudge and Viktor Salke, head of the Azkaban prison service.
Fudge opened a folder and withdrew a sheet of parchment.
"On the seventeenth of this month five days from now your trial will take place in the Wizengamot," Fudge declared.
Peter trembled violently. Falling to his knees, he pleaded, his voice breaking.
"Please, Minister! I didn't do it of my own will I was forced! I beg you, have mercy!"
Fudge's temper flared. He slammed the parchment down and barked:
"Viktor! Get this wretch out of my sight at once! Throw him into solitary confinement until the day of his trial!"
"At once, Minister," Viktor replied, seizing Peter by the shoulders.
And Pettigrew was dragged away.
To be continued…