Douglas Holmes put on a mock-serious smile. "Excellent question, Harry. Since you've asked, let's make that your special holiday assignment for the Charon Detective Society. Please pass the word to your fellow members, Mr. Potter—including those who've already gone home."
Harry Potter had been about to ask why the Aurors had shown up at such a convenient moment, but now he thought better of it. He worried that if he kept pressing, he'd end up leaving with a mountain of homework instead of any reward...
Watching Harry instinctively edge backward, Douglas couldn't help but laugh. He turned to Remus Lupin and said, "Let me reintroduce you: this is Remus Lupin, a close friend of your parents. Because he's a werewolf, he's spent many years wandering. I believe you already know this much."
Harry stared, surprised. "So you really are a werewolf?"
Lupin didn't shy away. He smiled warmly. "Yes, a genuine werewolf."
Douglas shot Harry a look. "Honestly, Harry, calling someone a 'werewolf' like that—where are your manners? You should call him Uncle Remus."
Harry quickly corrected himself. "Un—Uncle Remus..."
Lupin looked at the thirteen-year-old before him, so like a young James Potter. For a moment, he was lost in memory—James slinging an arm around his shoulder, teasing, "Remus, you ought to smile more. You look like an old man..." He'd shot back, "Oh, James, my dear nephew..."
But before he could drift further into nostalgia, Douglas's pointed coughs brought him back to the present.
"Remus, the boy's calling you uncle. Don't you have something for him?"
Lupin blinked, then quickly fished a pocket watch from his coat and handed it to Harry.
Harry glanced at Douglas for approval, and only after seeing him nod did he accept it.
Lupin explained, "This watch has been with me for years. It tells time, of course, but if you're ever lost and can name your destination, it'll point the way—though that feature may not work so well inside Hogwarts. It can also help you find people or things, automatically cast a Protego charm if you're attacked, and it vibrates if there are Dark creatures nearby... but you'll need to use specific spells to unlock those functions."
Harry stared at the pocket watch, overwhelmed by its many features, and wondered whether he ought to return it.
Douglas chimed in, "You can write up an instruction manual for Harry later."
Lupin smiled. "Of course. Harry, have a seat—there are no professors here today, only family..."
He emphasized "family" and shot a look at Douglas.
Harry suddenly caught on, barely suppressing a grin, and looked expectantly at Douglas. "Good afternoon, Cousin!"
Douglas rolled his eyes at Lupin, then turned to Harry with a sly smile. "I seem to remember sending you a set of practice exams over the summer. How did you do with them?"
Harry's smug look faded instantly. Not only was this his cousin, but also Hogwarts' infamous master of tests and homework. He realized he'd gotten a little too cocky just now. Was it too late to run?
Douglas, seeing Harry's expression, felt a strange mix of pride and exasperation. If Harry hadn't scored an 'O' in Defence Against the Dark Arts this term, Douglas might've given him a little extra "family care."
Douglas pointed to a large box beside his desk. "That's your Detective Society's reward for this term. How you distribute it is up to you—just take it with you when you leave."
Harry eyed the box, half-wondering if it was full of test papers.
Then he remembered something else. "Cousin, I made a bet with Draco Malfoy in Slytherin. If we solved the mystery, he'd owe us twenty Galleons. I'm worried he'll try to weasel out of it. According to our agreement, we'd hire Dobby to collect the debt from his house..."
At the mention of Galleons, Wangcai—who'd been dozing in the treasure basin—popped his head out, scanning eagerly for coins or Dobby, but found neither. Disappointed, he let out a little sigh.
Douglas scooped Wangcai from the basin and gave him a gentle squeeze. "Just talk it over with Dobby yourself. But I doubt Mr. Malfoy would dare skip out on a debt... Dobby collecting from the Malfoys—that's a stroke of genius."
As they chatted, a voice rang out from the fireplace: "Moony, is Douglas back yet? We need to—Harry!"
Sirius Black stepped out of the green flames mid-sentence, only to find Harry standing in the middle of the office, staring at him.
Harry took in the tall, striking man before him—black hair falling rakishly into his eyes, a little heavier and shaggier than the photos, but nothing like the wild, haunted figure on the wanted posters. For a moment, both were frozen, unsure what to say.
Just then, Dobby appeared in the fireplace, struggling with a long package. He didn't expect anyone to be there, and the parcel poked Sirius in the back.
Dobby squeaked, "Sorry, sir! Sorry! I didn't see you there!"
Sirius snapped out of his daze, turned to take the package, and apologized quietly, "No, it's my fault—I forgot you were behind me."
Dobby spotted Harry and was about to greet him, but Douglas called him away.
Sirius turned back to Harry. "Hi, Harry. I suppose you know—I'm—"
Harry jumped in, "You're Padfoot—oh, no, Sirius Black!"
Sirius's face broke into a wide, boyish grin. "Yes, yes! I'm Padfoot—and Sirius. You're as sharp as James... I really have to thank you for everything you did."
"Ahem!"
The tender moment was derailed by Douglas choking on his tea.
"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."
Harry guessed the cause of Douglas's mishap and said, a little embarrassed, "Actually, I'm not that smart. Hermione's much cleverer than I am—she led the whole investigation."
Sirius nodded instinctively, then caught himself—he'd just called Harry clever, after all. Hastily, he shoved the package into Harry's hands.
"This is your Christmas present from me. Go on, open it—I promise you'll love it."
The moment Harry touched the package, his heart leapt. With three years of Quidditch under his belt, he could tell instantly—this was a top-tier broomstick. Maybe even a Nimbus 2001.
Douglas piped up, "Harry, aren't you going to thank your godfather?"
Sirius waved him off. "No, no—just call me Sirius. It sounds more like family."
Harry beamed. "Thank you, Sirius!"
He set the package aside and threw his godfather into a tight, heartfelt hug.
He knew this man had suffered so much. He could never forget the first time he'd seen Sirius in his dog form—a stray, battered and alone. And now he understood: Sirius had escaped Azkaban not for revenge, but to protect him from Peter. He didn't know where Azkaban was, but he knew this man had endured more pain than anyone should.
"Thank you!"
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