"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."
Faced with Mr. Holmes's offer of a ride, Harry didn't decline but readily agreed.
On one hand, there was really no need to be polite with good friends.
Being too polite would be treating good friends as outsiders.
On the other hand, he didn't want to see a gentle, kind woman become sad.
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge always liked to tell Harry "you know me," but in reality, Harry didn't know him at all.
The people Harry truly understood were the Holmes and Weasley family.
He knew very well that if he refused in this situation, Mrs. Holmes would definitely be upset.
Sure enough, seeing Harry readily agree, Mrs. Holmes's regret over Harry not being able to visit them this holiday was somewhat alleviated.
As a pure-blood wizard, Sirius was different from Mr. Weasley, who was also pure-blood.
Mr. Weasley would get excited seeing Muggle cars, and after getting in would touch this, look at that, and ask many questions.
After getting in the car, however, Sirius appeared elegant, calm, and composed.
Sitting in the passenger seat, he'd originally planned to give Mr. Holmes directions, but unexpectedly, Mr. Holmes knew the location of Grimmauld Place even better than he did, and directly chose a shortcut he didn't even know about to get there.
This area was located in northwest London, in a Muggle neighborhood.
It was only about a twenty-minute walk from King's Cross Station, even closer than Sherlock's home. In the London area, it was prime real estate.
Because of this, if there were no traffic, it should only take five or six minutes by car.
Unfortunately, it was impossible not to have traffic in central London.
So, by the time they reached their destination, ten minutes had already passed.
When Mr. Holmes parked the car, all five people got out.
Sirius pointed at the row of townhouses before them and said to the Holmes family of three:
"This is it, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, this house has been vacant for a long time and isn't suitable for receiving guests yet, so I won't invite you in."
Hearing Sirius's explanation, Mrs. Holmes nodded: "Not at all, Mr. Black and Harry have been reunited after so long, you should certainly spend quality time together."
Mr. Holmes glanced at the row of townhouses again and paused slightly.
However, this surprise flashed by in an instant, and apart from Sherlock, no one else noticed.
Sherlock observed his father's expression, then studied the surrounding crowd for a moment, and immediately understood.
"Violet is right, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future. We don't live far from here, we can come over anytime."
Mr. Holmes said.
Mrs. Holmes also turned to Harry: "Harry, you can come over anytime. You know how to get to our house."
Harry nodded emphatically. At this moment, he once again deeply felt the kindness the Holmes couple showed him.
He'd already decided that once he got this place cleaned up, he'd have Sirius invite all his friends over for a party.
When Dudley used to do this, he'd been so envious.
Unfortunately, back then he had neither friends nor a home.
Now that he had such conditions, he definitely had to try it.
As for the house not being cleaned, that wasn't a problem for him at all.
During his years with the Dursleys, he hadn't learned much else, but he'd certainly done plenty of cleaning and scrubbing.
Though this house before him did indeed look very large and spacious, given a week, ten days at most he could definitely get it spick and span.
Just then, Sirius's words interrupted his thoughts.
"Harry, your good friend's parents are really kind to you!"
"Yes, they've really treated me like another son."
Hearing Harry's words, Sirius smiled.
"That reminds me of something from the past. When I was sixteen, I left here and moved in with your father."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise.
"That was such a happy time, the Potters treated me like a second son, just like your friend's parents treat you."
Hearing this, Harry couldn't help but puff out his chest with pride.
The similar experience made him feel the distance between himself and his godfather had closed considerably.
"Speaking of which, not only are they very good to you, that father is quite a remarkable Muggle!"
Sirius said with considerable emotion, "Especially compared to your other Muggle-born friend Hermione, he's much more perceptive than that dentist."
Hearing Sirius say this, Harry wasn't surprised at all.
Although Sherlock always emphasized that with proper training, others could do what he did.
However, Harry knew in his heart that having natural talent and not having it made a difference.
No matter how much others trained, they couldn't reach the level of Sherlock and Mycroft.
To have raised sons like Mycroft and Sherlock, how could he be an ordinary person?
But he was more curious about something else.
"Godfather, how did you figure that out? Today was your first time meeting them, wasn't it?"
"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."
Hearing Harry's form of address, Sirius showed a gratified smile, then pointed forward, gesturing for Harry to look.
"This is a Muggle neighborhood, but Muggles can't see this house.
They've even grown accustomed to the ridiculous error of Number Eleven Grimmauld Place being next to Number Thirteen."
With Sirius's explanation, Harry finally realized: "So, in Muggles' eyes, there's nothing here, like the Leaky Cauldron?"
"Exactly. My mother Walburga used to be the owner here. When she lived here, she detested anyone who wasn't pure-blood setting foot in her house.
My father used all the secrecy measures known to the wizarding world, so this house can't be plotted on any map, and nearby Muggles can't possibly come calling as if anyone would want to."
Sirius said with a cold laugh:
"If it weren't for you, Harry, I never imagined I'd return here one day.
But though this place is dreadful, at least it can provide us with a place to stay.
Besides, it's very close to your good friend's house, so I suppose it's the only contribution the Black family can make to you."
Feeling the deep disgust in Sirius's tone, Harry didn't know what to say for a moment.
"But when I just mentioned Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, that Mr. Holmes's reaction was quite interesting."
Just then, Sirius changed the subject and returned to discussing Mr. Holmes.
"As a Muggle, he should have been very surprised."
"Should I have appeared more surprised, for a Muggle?"
On the drive back to Kensington-Chelsea, Mr. Holmes found what he'd just seen quite interesting:
"As far as I know, no one has ever found it strange that Number Eleven and Thirteen Grimmauld Place are right next to each other. This is clearly an unreasonable thing, yet they all seem to have gotten used to it.
Even before you entered that magic school, I'd never thought about it either.
It wasn't until Mr. Black mentioned it just now that I realized this is probably like the Leaky Cauldron, enchanted with magic to prevent us from discovering it, right?"
"Yes, there's clearly magic cast on that place. But Dad, there's no need to deliberately pretend not to know. If you've noticed, you've noticed."
"Right, I didn't notice just now that it was Number Eleven next to Thirteen, there was no Number Twelve at all."
Compared to the Holmes father and son, Mrs. Holmes sitting in the back seat was somewhat slower to respond.
Only now, hearing her husband and son discuss it, did she realize this.
The Holmes father and son couldn't help but smile simultaneously.
"Father, I think you've already identified Harry's godfather's identity, haven't you?"
"Yes, Sirius Black. The name and appearance match, the fugitive from before the school year started."
"What?"
Hearing the conversation between her husband and son, Mrs. Holmes immediately became agitated.
"How can you let a fugitive be Harry's godfather? No way! Absolutely not!
Tarquin, let's turn the car around right now and pick Harry up!"
"Calm down, Violet."
Facing his excited wife, Mr. Holmes didn't even turn his head as he skillfully began to persuade her:
"Since both Sherlock and Harry accept this Mr. Black, there must have been a misunderstanding about what happened before, I noticed his wanted poster has also been withdrawn."
"Exactly. The wizarding world misunderstood Harry's godfather, thinking he was the killer of Harry's parents."
Sherlock said briefly, "The real killer is someone else. He was wrongly accused all along."
"Just as I thought."
Mr. Holmes nodded and continued his persuasion,
"Violet, I think you could also sense that Mr. Black's love for Harry is genuine. That kind of feeling simply can't be faked."
Hearing her husband and son's explanations, Mrs. Holmes thought for a moment and finally felt relieved.
Just as her husband said, the look of love in someone's eyes couldn't be hidden.
Though their meeting had been brief, one could indeed see that Sirius's feelings for Harry were sincere and pure.
"As long as he truly cares for Harry, that's what matters."
"There's no doubt about that, Mom."
"Sherlock, tell your mother and me this story.
I really want to know why someone like Harry's godfather would become a criminal wanted by both the wizarding world and the Muggle world.
And how you helped clear his name, I assume the person who discovered the truth was you, wasn't it?"
"Indeed, it was."
Sherlock said proudly, "It all begins from twelve years ago—"
By the time Sherlock finished explaining the whole affair to his parents, they had arrived home.
"What a twisting, dramatic story," Mr. Holmes remarked. "You did a good thing, Sherlock."
"That Peter person is truly evil!"
Compared to the calm Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes was furious.
Betraying friends, making a friend's child an orphan, and killing so many innocent people.
"How can there be such evil people in this world?"
Father and son looked at each other.
There were plenty of people even worse than that; she just hadn't encountered them.
Or rather, Mrs. Holmes had been too well protected.
Mr. Holmes comforted her for a while before Mrs. Holmes finally calmed down.
Sherlock looked around the house and said, "Mycroft hasn't been back at all during this time?"
"It's been like this ever since he started working. He spends more time away than at home, often staying out all night. Sometimes he doesn't come home even once a month."
Mrs. Holmes looked somewhat worried. "He says he can't tell us what he does."
"But he should come home and stay for a few days around Christmas."
Mr. Holmes said, "Then you two brothers will be able to see each other."
"I look forward to it very much."
Sherlock said as much.
Christmas Eve, the night before Christmas.
Kensington-Chelsea was enveloped in a soft, expectant stillness. Street lamps illuminated the sparse falling snowflakes, and every household's windows glowed with warm light.
The Holmes house was no exception.
The firewood in the fireplace crackled, the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room was fully decorated, and the dining room was filled with an enticing aroma, Mrs. Holmes's specially prepared Christmas dinner for the family.
At this moment, she was carefully checking the table settings, her eyes occasionally glancing toward the door, her face showing a mixture of joy and slight anxiety.
Mr. Holmes sat in his usual armchair reading, his expression was much calmer than his wife's.
Sherlock sat on the sofa, seemingly staring absent-mindedly at the flames in the fireplace, but was actually thinking about connecting their home fireplace to the Floo Network.
Strictly speaking, Muggle fireplaces shouldn't be connected to the network.
However, a few days ago at the station, Mr. Weasley had specifically mentioned this to him and Hermione.
He had a very useful contact in the Floo Network Management Group who could handle everything.
Speaking of the Floo Network Management Group, Sherlock couldn't help but recall a case from their first year Easter holiday.
Cho Chang's eye shadow theft case.
The criminal he'd exposed at the time was Cho Chang's then-roommate, Marietta.
Because of this incident, Marietta had become estranged from her other roommates.
But her mother, Mrs. Edgecombe, worked in the Floo Network Authority at the Department of Magical Transportation.
So, Hermione had pointed this out at the station at the time—once she learned of this matter, she might very well use the opportunity to question Mr. Weasley.
This naturally surprised Mr. Weasley somewhat, but he still patted his chest and guaranteed that this matter would be no problem.
Just then, the crisp sound of the doorbell interrupted Sherlock's contemplation.
"Thank heavens, he's here!"
Mrs. Holmes immediately put down the plate in her hand and hurried toward the entrance.
Mr. Holmes closed his book, the corner of his mouth slightly upturned.
Sherlock also raised his head, his sharp gaze directed toward the doorway.
The sound of the door opening came from the entrance along with the subtle sound of cold air rushing in, and Mrs. Holmes's joyful voice rang out:
"Mycroft! Thank God, you're finally home safely, it's cold outside, isn't it? You've come at just the right time. I've just finished preparing dinner."
"Mother, Merry Christmas, the car's heating was sufficient. It's not cold."
A deep, calm voice responded, sounding nothing like a young man in his early twenties.
Soon, the eldest son of the Holmes family, Mycroft Holmes appeared at the living room entrance together with Mrs. Holmes.
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