The Slytherin Castle had never felt this alive.
In the span of a single month, its ancient halls—once silent except for the whispers of magic and the soft footsteps of house-elves—had grown crowded with voices, laughter, and the weight of shared history. One by one, they returned.
David arrived first, looking thinner, older, but grinning like a man who had cheated death and won. Joseph followed close behind him, his arm still stiff from an injury that hadn't fully healed, but his eyes sharp and alert. Charles came next, hauling enchanted trunks that rattled faintly with the sound of metal, coin, and artifacts shifting inside them.
Then came Angela and Marcus.
Their arrival drew the most attention. They carried themselves like veterans who had walked through places most wizards only spoke of in hushed tones—ruins beneath ruins, chambers sealed by centuries of wards, corridors that had tasted blood long before any of them were born. The marks of Italy were still on them: travel-worn cloaks, faint magical residue clinging to their boots, and the unmistakable air of people who had seen something extraordinary and survived it.
By the time everyone had gathered, the living room of Slytherin Castle was overflowing.
Massive trunks lined the walls, some open just enough to reveal glimmers of gold, stacks of ancient tomes bound in cracked leather, and strange artifacts wrapped carefully in runic cloth. The fire roared brighter than usual, responding to the surge of magic and presence in the room. House-elves darted back and forth, bringing food, drink, and quietly marveling at the sheer number of masters and guests under one roof.
Harry stood near the center, listening more than he spoke.
Stories poured out around him.
David recounted the moment they'd nearly triggered a secondary collapse in one of Arcanus' hidden vaults. Joseph argued animatedly with Marcus about whether the ward they bypassed had been Roman or pre-Roman in origin. Angela spoke calmly—but vividly—about the Colosseum chamber, her words painting images of metal legions standing in silence, waiting for a master who never returned.
Laughter broke out more than once. So did grim silence.
Every tale carried the same undertone: they had been close to death—again and again—and yet they had returned richer, wiser, and bound together by something stronger than contracts or gold.
For the first time since its rebirth, Slytherin Castle felt less like a fortress…
…and more like a home.
A gathering place for those who had chosen each other.
Harry watched them all, emerald eyes thoughtful. This—this—was what he had built. Not just wealth. But a place where survivors returned, where stories were shared, and where no one stood alone after walking through darkness.
And as the fire crackled and the voices rose higher into the vaulted ceiling, one thing became clear:
The Serpent Court was no longer scattered across the world.
Marcus and Angela joined the Serpent Court with the usual magical oath, and sharing the three powers that marked them as their organisation.
As had been decided from the very beginning, the treasure of Arcanus was divided equally.
No titles took precedence.
No seniority claimed a larger share.
No one argued.
Gold, artifacts, enchanted weapons, and—most importantly—the books were laid out, catalogued, and shared. Ancient grimoires passed from hand to hand, their pages whispering of forgotten techniques and lost schools of magic. Some volumes were claimed immediately, others set aside for joint study. Even Marcus, who had seen more cursed vaults than most wizards saw classrooms, looked almost reverent as he chose his share.
Each member of the Serpent Court was given a room within Slytherin Castle.
A room of their own.
Warded, bound to the castle's ancient protections, and sealed against theft or intrusion. What they placed inside—gold, secrets, artifacts, or memories—would remain untouched unless they allowed otherwise. Gringotts might have vaults, but Slytherin Castle had loyalty, living magic, and a dragon sleeping in its forest.
Angela tested the wards herself, half out of habit, half out of disbelief. When even her most subtle probing charms slid off the castle's defenses like rain on stone, she laughed softly and shook her head.
"This place," she said quietly, "is safer than anything I've ever seen."
Marcus agreed.
They did not stay long after that.
Italy still needed them. Contacts had to be maintained, rumors monitored, and new opportunities watched carefully. From now on, they would act as the Serpent Court's eyes and ears beyond Britain—agents rather than mercenaries, bound by purpose instead of coin.
Before leaving, Angela clasped Harry's shoulder, her grip firm.
"You built something valuable," she said. "Don't lose it."
Marcus merely nodded, a rare seriousness in his expression. "If trouble rises on the continent," he added, "you'll hear from us first."
With that, they departed—back into the wider world—leaving behind trunks, memories, and loyalty.
The castle felt quieter after they were gone, but not empty.
The others lingered, still intoxicated by success. David and Joseph examined artifacts late into the night. Charles vanished into one of the upper rooms with a stack of books taller than himself. Laughter echoed down the corridors as old wounds were compared and exaggerated into legends.
Only when the noise had settled did Harry speak.
"There's one more thing," he said, his voice calm but carrying weight.
That alone was enough to draw their attention.
"We'll meet again," Harry continued. "At the hotel. Next sunday."
Jason raised an eyebrow. Cassandra straightened slightly. Sam's expression sharpened.
"We've finished one chapter," Harry said evenly. "Now we need to plan the next."
The next morning, the ringing of steel against steel echoed once more through Knockturn Alley.
Harry stood at the anvil inside Master Garrick's smithy, sleeves rolled up, sweat dampening his hair as he worked a length of heated metal into shape. It was heavy work—true metalworking, not spell-assisted nonsense—and Garrick watched him with sharp, approving eyes.
"You're rusty," the old smith said gruffly, then smirked. "But not as rusty as I expected."
Harry grinned faintly and brought the hammer down again, sparks flying.
Garrick was genuinely pleased to have him back. Everyone was. As far as the world knew, Harry James Potter had gone on a simple birthday vacation to Italy. There were photographs to prove it—ruins, fountains, awkward tourist smiles, Cassandra laughing behind the camera. No one questioned it. No one suspected that beneath those memories lay dungeons, metal legions, and an army that had knelt to him.
To the alley, he was just a boy who had taken a holiday.
As the metal cooled and Harry set it aside, he wiped his hands on a cloth and glanced outside the smithy—then froze.
Standing across the narrow street, half in shadow, was Remus Lupin.
His robes were worn, his shoulders slightly hunched, as though the weight of the world never quite left them. His eyes, however, were sharp—and fixed directly on the smithy.
On Harry.
So he really did come back, Harry thought.
He felt no fear. No panic. Just a slow tightening in his chest.
This was inevitable.
"Master Garrick," Harry said calmly, setting his tools aside. "Can I take a short break?"
Garrick followed his gaze, saw Remus, and frowned slightly—but nodded. "Go on. Don't be long."
Harry stepped out into the alley and met Remus halfway.
"Mr Lupin," Harry said politely, inclining his head just enough to be respectful but not submissive. "Would you like to talk?"
Remus looked startled—for just a second—then gave a tired smile. "I would. If you're willing."
Instead of answering, Harry turned and gestured down the alley. "There's a new place nearby. Food's decent. Quiet."
Remus hesitated, then nodded.
They walked together to the small restaurant that had opened only months ago—warm lights, clean tables, and the faint smell of fresh bread. Two year ago, such a place would never have survived in Knockturn Alley. Now it was busy, alive.
They sat across from each other.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Harry broke the silence.
"You knew my parents," he said simply.
Remus' hands tightened around his cup. "Yes."
"You were close to them."
"Yes."
Harry met his eyes, emerald to amber. "Then you might know something I don't."
Remus frowned. "About what?"
Harry leaned back slightly, his voice steady, controlled. "About my true magical guardian."
The words landed like a stone dropped into water.
Remus' face drained of color.
"You know about that?" he asked quietly.
"I know enough," Harry replied. "I know the guardian exists. I know they're in Azkaban. And I know it's not something anyone talks about willingly."
Remus looked away, staring at the table as if it held answers he didn't want to see.
"I suspected you'd ask one day," he murmured. "I just… hoped it wouldn't be so soon."
Harry didn't press. He waited.
After a long pause, Remus finally looked back at him—eyes heavy with guilt, grief, and something like fear.
"Your parents trusted very few people," he said. "Fewer still with you. And the truth about your guardian… it's complicated. Dangerous. And once you know it, you can't unlearn it."
Harry's expression didn't change.
"I've been dealing with dangerous truths for a while now," he said calmly. "If someone tied my life to a guardian in Azkaban, I deserve to know who—and why."
Remus closed his eyes briefly, as if bracing himself.
"You're more like James than I realized," he said softly.
Harry didn't smile.
He just waited.
And for the first time since arriving in Knockturn Alley, Remus Lupin understood something clearly:
This was no longer a child asking questions.
This was someone who would not stop until he had the truth.
The shock did not fade when Remus Lupin left.
It only deepened.
Harry didn't return to Master Garrick's smithy. He didn't even realize his feet had carried him away from it. One moment he was standing in Knockturn Alley, the echo of Lupin's voice still ringing in his ears, and the next he was inside the hotel, shutting the door of his room behind him as if the world outside no longer existed.
He sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving.
A godfather.
The word felt foreign. Heavy.
Sirius Black.
The story alone carried weight in the wizarding world—betrayer, murderer, Dark Lord's right hand, the man who sold James and Lily Potter to Voldemort and laughed while doing it. A Black, born into one of the darkest pure-blood families in history. That part hadn't surprised Harry at all. A Black being dangerous was almost expected.
And yet…
From what Remus had told him—hesitant, pained, clearly torn—Sirius Black had never wanted to be a Dark wizard. He had hated his family's ideology. Fought against it. Chosen Gryffindor out of sheer defiance. Chosen James. Chosen Griffindor.
Chosen Harry.
And still, somehow, everything had gone wrong.
Accused not only of betraying his parents but of murdering thirteen people in broad daylight—Peter Pettigrew included, or so the story went—Sirius Black had been sent to Azkaban for life.
Harry pressed his palms into his eyes.
He had come to Remus with a clear goal.
The quest.
[Quest Title: Chains of Blood and Law]
Type: Major Quest
Difficulty: Unknown
Time Limit: None
Objective:
Discover the identity of your true magical guardian
Learn the reason for their imprisonment
Decide the fate of the magical guardianship bond
Rewards:
???
???
Failure Condition:
None
Status: Active
He had expected a name. A confirmation. A checkmark.
He had not expected this.
He had not expected to feel… shaken.
Harry lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Sirius Black had been his magical guardian.
A man rotting in Azkaban..
And now Harry was forced to confront a question he hadn't planned for at all:
What if the story was wrong?
Or worse—
What if it was right?
Either way, the truth was no longer something he could ignore.
This wasn't just a quest anymore.
This was personal.
Harry was still staring at the ceiling when it happened.
A familiar sensation washed over his vision—soft blue light, faint runes forming in the air, reality pausing just enough for something else to intrude.
A notification.
[Major Quest Update: Chains of Blood and Law]
Objective Completed:
Discover the identity of your true magical guardian
Learn the reason for their imprisonment
Rewards Gained:
+250 EXP
+250 EXP
Current Status:
Final Objective Uncompleted
Decide the fate of the magical guardianship bond
The light faded.
Harry slowly lowered his hands from his face.
So that was it.
The system had decided that what Remus Lupin told him was enough. Enough truth. Enough confirmation. Enough weight to mark two objectives as complete.
The system did not lie.
But it also did not judge.
That part—the decision—was still his.
Harry sat up, his expression unreadable.
Two objectives completed. Five hundred experience gained. And yet, there was no sense of triumph. No satisfaction. Only a heaviness in his chest that no potion or stat increase could ease.
The final objective pulsed faintly in his mind.
Decide the fate of the magical guardianship bond.
Accept it.
Sever it.
Or leave it unresolved.
The system did not explain what each choice meant. It never did. It only waited.
Harry let out a slow breath.
"I won't decide yet," he muttered to the empty room.
He had never met Sirius Black.
He had never heard the man's voice, never looked him in the eye, never felt his presence the way he had felt Cassandra's steady protection or Sam's quiet loyalty. He knew only stories—stories from the Ministry of Magic, an institution he trusted about as far as he could throw Gringotts.
An institution that imprisoned people without evidence.
That erased inconvenient truths.
That branded monsters and called it justice.
Harry clenched his fist.
"I won't judge a man I've never spoken to."
If Sirius Black was truly his guardian, then Harry owed him at least one thing.
The truth—from his own mouth.
Until then, the final objective would remain exactly where it was.
Uncompleted.
If you enjoy my work and would like to support me, you can now do so on . Every bit of encouragement means a lot and helps me keep creating more content.
Support me here: (Patre)on – AbinKydd