From the moment Severus Snape came to find Dumbledore, his stance never wavered again.
Even after Lily was killed by Voldemort, Snape, who had been immersed in grief, rallied once more because of something Dumbledore said.
That sentence was. "Your mission is not yet complete. She left behind her son Harry, whom she protected with her life. His eyes are exactly like Lily's."
After Snape confirmed this with his own eyes, he began to protect Harry—the person Lily had given her life to save.
Until today.
From this perspective, Snape's love for Lily was genuine.
Of course, it was also an undeniable fact that Snape had initially told Voldemort about the prophecy, which led to James and Lily's deaths.
So whether Harry chose to forgive Snape or not, whether he stood on the scale of reason or the waves of emotion, it was perfectly normal for such conflicts to exist.
As for his attitude toward Peter Pettigrew, that was much simpler.
Harry couldn't understand why such a person had been sorted into Gryffindor.
From what was currently known, he had never shown even a trace of courage.
He was like a piece of rotten wood hollowed out by the darkness Voldemort brought, a complete and utter traitor who had no right to be mentioned in the same breath as Snape. He deserved to have his soul devoured.
For such a person, Harry had no sympathy at all.
Traitors are often more despised than the enemy themselves—there's nothing to debate about that.
"That's right, it was Peter!"
Even though it had been a long time since these events occurred, when Harry mentioned this name, Sirius still clenched his fists, his eyes burning with fury.
"Now that I think about it, the McKinnons' deaths must have been related to him!
He had already started providing information to Voldemort back then!
Dumbledore always suspected someone close to James was feeding information to Voldemort, but we never imagined it could be him!
Poor Lily even thought he was feeling down at the time and tried to comfort him, that bastard!"
At this moment, he looked exactly like Hagrid.
When Sirius himself had been wrongly accused by the entire wizarding world, Hagrid had spoken of Sirius in the same tone.
"You know what I did? I comforted that murdering traitor!"
The tables had truly turned.
"It's all in the past."
Harry patted Sirius on the shoulder. He now knew how to comfort others in such situations.
"Peter got what he deserved. We've already avenged them."
"Yes... it's all in the past."
Sirius let out a long breath, his gaze falling on Harry's face with a mixture of confusion and tenderness, as if his old friend had returned to his side. "Harry, you really look exactly like your father..."
"Except for the eyes. My eyes are like my mother's," Harry added himself.
Sherlock and Sirius both laughed when they heard this.
The room was suddenly filled with a cheerful atmosphere.
Besides this letter and photograph, Sherlock had another suggestion.
He proposed that Sirius transfer command authority over the Black family house-elf Kreacher to Harry.
For Sirius, this was incredibly easy.
"Kreacher doesn't want to, Kreacher doesn't want to, Kreacher doesn't want to!"
However, when Sirius announced this decision, Kreacher stamped his long, wrinkled feet and pulled at his large ears, shrieking loudly.
"Kreacher belongs to the nasty Master, Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, Kreacher belongs to Miss Narcissa!"
He suddenly stopped screaming, and a gleam of fanaticism flashed in his cloudy eyes.
"Oh, yes! Kreacher belongs to someone from the House of Black!
Kreacher doesn't want to belong to that Potter boy!
Kreacher doesn't want to, doesn't want to, doesn't want to—"
"Interesting."
Sherlock raised his voice slightly, drowning out Kreacher's incessant shouts of "doesn't want to, doesn't want to, doesn't want to."
He looked Kreacher up and down with interest. "It seems he's not too willing to belong to Harry."
Harry watched Kreacher's desperate resistance and couldn't help but hesitate. He scratched his head and muttered quietly.
"Maybe we should just forget about it? Actually, I don't really want him either..."
"Hmph, that's not up to it."
Sirius's eyes became sharp in an instant. He stared at Kreacher and said word by word.
"Kreacher, from now on, you must unconditionally obey all of Harry Potter's commands without defiance."
As soon as these words left his mouth, Kreacher's screaming came to an abrupt halt, as if an invisible hand had gripped his throat.
His body froze in place, eyes wide open.
A few seconds later, he suddenly turned and bowed deeply to Harry, his voice hoarse like a rusty door hinge.
"Master, loyal Kreacher obeys your commands."
Harry looked at Kreacher like this and couldn't help but internally complain—that was a rather quick attitude change...
But before he could process this transformation, Kreacher straightened up, his face returning to that spiteful expression as he muttered.
"Although Kreacher is very unwilling to obey the Potter boy, Kreacher serves the noble House of Black for life.
The young master returned from Azkaban and started ordering Kreacher around.
I heard he's even a murderer, but Kreacher still has to hold his nose and obey his commands..."
Harry: "..."
He took back his previous thought—Kreacher was still the same; there was no attitude change at all!
"Kreacher, Harry is my godson. He is also part of the Black family!"
Sirius frowned upon hearing this and raised his voice.
"Kreacher understands. I will be as loyal to Master Potter as I am to the ungrateful Master who isn't even fit to polish the Mistress's shoes."
Kreacher said with his head hanging down.
Harry: (ー_ー)
For a moment, Harry really wanted to wave his hand and refuse to accept this duplicitous house-elf.
But he knew in his heart that if Sherlock had arranged this, there must be a reason, so he gritted his teeth and accepted.
The magical binding on house-elves was like the most solid contract, determining that they must unconditionally obey their master's orders.
Sirius, as the last heir of the Black family, was Kreacher's legal master and had absolute command authority over him.
So, when he spoke those words, no matter how much Kreacher resisted internally, the ancient magic would force him to comply.
Harry tried giving Kreacher a small command—to fetch a piece of bread from the kitchen.
The result was interesting.
Kreacher muttered "the Potter boy just knows how to boss Kreacher around" but immediately turned and rushed to the kitchen, quickly returning with a slice of whole wheat bread on a silver platter.
His mouth said no, but his body was honest.
This proved the contract had been established.
Unless Sirius personally spoke to revoke this command-granting command, Kreacher would forever have to obey Harry.
However, Sirius would definitely not do that.
So, with Sirius paying no heed to Kreacher's feelings, Harry essentially became the master of the house-elf Kreacher.
"That's a great idea. Why didn't I think of it before?"
Sirius watched this scene and clapped his hands with satisfaction.
He pondered briefly, a glint of cunning flashing in his eyes, and said.
"Since it's already like this, why not leave them to you as well?"
"Them?"
Harry showed a confused expression, his brow slightly furrowed.
Sherlock laughed. A teachable child!
Sirius looked at Harry's puzzled expression and explained with a smile.
"The Black family tradition is that the house at Grimmauld Place is passed down through generations to the next male bearing the Black name.
It has certain spells cast on it to ensure no one of impure blood can possess it."
He paused, his tone taking on a hint of mockery.
"I'm already the last heir of the Black family. If something were to happen to me..."
"Hey, don't say that!" Harry immediately interrupted him, his face full of objection.
"Harry, I'm just giving an example. Don't get so worked up!"
Sirius patted his shoulder and continued.
"If something were to happen to me and I hadn't made a will, then ownership of this house including Kreacher would go to the oldest surviving member of the Black family.
That would be my cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."
"The one Kreacher just mentioned?" Sherlock interjected.
"That's right, her."
Sirius's face instantly filled with disgust, as if mentioning this name dirtied his mouth.
"Although I don't like this house that imprisoned me for so long either, I'd rather not leave this house and Kreacher to her—even though she's still in Azkaban.
So, I've decided to give it all to you now, Harry."
Under Sirius's gaze, Harry was completely stunned. He could see Sirius wasn't joking—he was serious.
"Huh?"
After being dazed for a few seconds, he still couldn't process it and made the same confused sound again.
"Huh?"
"Huh what? This matter doesn't need discussion. Just listen to my arrangement."
"But I think..."
"I don't want your thoughts, I want mine."
Sirius domineeringly stopped Harry from expressing further opinions and went full autocrat mode.
Harry: "..."
Since Grimmauld Place Number 12 had ancient magic cast on it, it couldn't be directly transferred to Harry.
But this didn't stump Sirius. He immediately made a will on the spot. after his death, all his property would be inherited by Harry Potter.
As for Bellatrix and Narcissa?
Sorry, go play elsewhere!
Just like that, Harry, who already had considerable savings in Gringotts, gained another large sum of galleons in his account.
Harry was somewhat helpless about this. "There's really no need for this..."
However, Sirius was unusually stubborn about this matter.
"Just listen to me, Harry. I don't care what you think—you have to listen to me on this."
"..."
In the end, Harry could only helplessly accept reality.
When Sherlock and Harry were alone together, he keenly noticed his good mate had something on his mind.
This was obvious to him—Harry's fingers kept unconsciously rubbing his sleeve cuff, his gaze unfocused.
Facing Sherlock, Harry had nothing to hide and immediately said.
"In Professor Trelawney's first Divination class, Ron and I read each other's tea leaves. He said I would come into unexpected wealth..."
"Ha!"
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh, raising an eyebrow. "My dear Harry, are you saying you're starting to believe in divination now?"
"No, not really..." Harry shook his head, his cheeks slightly flushed. "I just happened to remember it."
"Old chap, although this is the wizarding world, you don't need to take that prediction too seriously."
Sherlock's tone became serious. He looked into Harry's green eyes and said slowly.
"Simply put, if Snape hadn't told Voldemort about that prophecy, then Voldemort wouldn't have known about it.
Not knowing about the prophecy, it wouldn't have come true and would have had no meaning.
In other words, the more he tried to prevent the prophecy from coming true, the more he pushed it toward becoming reality."
He paused and continued analyzing.
"He insisted on following Professor Trelawney's prophecy to search for boys born at the end of July, and he chose you between you and Neville.
In other words, he personally chose his own enemy."
Sherlock looked at Harry and said slowly, "If you had never heard this prophecy, would your attitude toward Voldemort change?"
Harry lowered his head, falling into deep thought.
He thought of his parents' tombstone, of Sirius's twelve years in Azkaban, of Hagrid being wrongly accused, of Myrtle's cold body...
Finally, he raised his head, shaking it firmly with determined eyes.
"No. He's a terrible villain. I'm irreconcilably opposed to him."
Sherlock smiled.
A simple, straightforward worldview—this was Harry.
"So, you see, a prophecy is just a prophecy. It doesn't dictate what you must do.
You have the right to choose your own path, the right to ignore that prophecy.
Unfortunately, Voldemort is obsessed with it."
Sherlock's tone carried a hint of mockery.
"I'd bet you a Galleon that once he returns as the second prophecy says, he'll definitely continue hunting you.
Voldemort choosing you over Neville was a coincidence.
But the series of actions after choosing you became inevitable."
Sherlock looked at Harry, his gray eyes particularly bright. "Harry, you don't want to be killed by someone like Voldemort, do you?"
This time, Harry finally understood what Sherlock meant.
Inevitability is the inevitability within coincidence; coincidence is the coincidence within inevitability.
Either he or Voldemort would ultimately kill the other, which precisely led to that prophecy's outcome.
In other words, being dragged into an arena to face a fight to the death was different from walking in with your head held high.
Of course, from a results standpoint, there wasn't much difference between the two.
However, both Sherlock and Harry knew there was a fundamental difference.
Harry felt relieved.
As long as I'm with Sherlock, I'm not afraid of anything!
Having finished this heavy topic, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and turned to ask about another matter that interested him.
"Sherlock, why did you want Kreacher to obey my commands?"
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