HP Midnight Light

- 1996 June 6 - 18 Grimmauld Place

"Sirius?" he called. "Sirius, are you here?"

Kreacher slowly appeared in the boy's line of sight, its hands were wrapped in thick gauze, but there was a trace of joy on its face.It gave Harry a furtive glance: "Harry Potter's head is on fire, and Kreacher wants to know what he's here for."

"Where's Sirius?" Harry asked again.

The house-elf chuckled: "Master is out, Harry Potter."

Harry's heart rose to his throat: "Where did he go? Where did he go? Kreacher?" He asked repeatedly, but this only got Kreacher's ugly giggle.

"I'm warning you—" Harry shouted, distraught as he realized he couldn't threaten the damned elf. "Where's Lupine? Where's Moody? Is anyone in the house?"

"There's only Kreacher here!" the elf told him cheerfully, then turned his back and walked slowly towards the door at the end of the kitchen, "Kreacher had better go to the mistress now... and tell her the news..."

"Where did Sirius go?" Harry yelled, raising his voice. "Kreacher, did he go to the Department of Mysteries?"

Kreacher stopped in his tracks, his back turned to Harry in the fireplace, and he stared at the dark corridor ahead, with a strange light dancing in his pupils.

"Master didn't tell poor Kreacher where he was," he said quietly.

"But you do!" said Harry, "don't you? You know where he is!" He wished he could reach over the fireplace and grab Kreacher by the throat to force a reassuring answer out of it.

After a moment's silence, the elf laughed the loudest laugh he'd ever seen.

"Master isn't coming back from the Department of Mysteries!" it squealed happily. "It's just Kreacher and his mistress here again!"

"and many more--"

Kreacher suddenly ran towards the end of the hallway with alarming speed, leaving the boy's terrified and worried cries behind him.

"What are you shouting about downstairs?"

Kreacher stopped abruptly and bowed deeply: "Nothing, Master." With a strange smile, it pressed its face to the ground and whispered, "Mistress will be very happy..."

Sirius ignored its muttering, he threw the blood-stained bag in his hand to Kreacher: "Throw them away." Then walked around it and went down the stairs.

"Of order, master." Kreacher held the bag of dead mice and continued to murmur, "Young master is a bad boy, he broke the mistress' heart... Oh, Miss Bella will definitely praise Kreacher..."

"Go away!"

Sirius grunted irritably as he walked into the kitchen, where the dust gathered in the corner and the moldy wooden table gave off a rotten smell.He brushed his black hair back to his shoulders indifferently, bent over and fumbled in the cabinet, and the velvet robe was spread by his feet like a huge net woven by the night.

Finally, he dug out a bottle of whiskey entangled in cobwebs that had existed here for an unknown age, and he deftly threw the cork into the fireplace, where the raging flames instantly devoured it.

He couldn't wait to find the cup, so he took a sip from the bottle, and then he choked as expected.Sirius cursed secretly and coughed to wipe off the wine stains on his lips, then resignedly grabbed a wine glass.A pale, thin, unshaven face was reflected on the wall of the cup. The blue shadows under the eyes and the creases creeping up from the corners of the eyes implied the cruelty of the years.

Soon, his eyes became blurred under the influence of alcohol.Sirius sank into the chair, stretched his body and narrowed his eyes contentedly. After a while, he reached out and took out the historic mirror from his robe pocket: "James!" After 20 years, "Harry." He called out his godson's name instead, "Are you there?"

There was no reply for a long time.

Sirius sighed disgruntled and closed the mirror resignedly.Although only a few months ago he proudly patted Harry on the shoulder and told him "it's time for you young people", now Sirius reluctantly realizes that the old "Marauder" has succeeded a few months later was replaced by the "Gryffindor Triangle".

That's fine, except that Sirius wasn't ready to be classified as "middle-aged," and he was suddenly forced to realize he was old again.

Then he thought of Harry's relationship with an unknown girl revealed in flashes of words, and Sirius couldn't help smiling.During the Christmas period, Harry occasionally lost his mind, frowned and sighed frequently, and it seemed that he was puzzled by the little emotions of his new love, but Sirius didn't point it out when he saw it.He thought it was good to be young, and to feel the sting and excitement of love.At this moment, he was shaking the empty wine glass, feeling a sense of pride in being a parent, but in the next second his smile disappeared suddenly, and several faces appeared in front of him alternately, Sirius realized for the countless times that he should stay away from alcohol , it brought him far more unhappiness than relief.

When he stood up abruptly, he accidentally knocked down the wine bottle and glass, and the glass crackled and shattered on the ground.Sirius stared at the mess, his temples throbbing.

"Kreacher," he yelled, annoyedly kicking a piece of broken glass away from his foot, "get these things out of here."

The house-elf with evil intentions sneaked into the dining room through the crack of the wall without a sound, raised his big bloodshot eyes and stared at the master he served.

Sirius Black staggered around the broken glass and walked out of the dining room. He remembered the youthful face he saw in Hogsmeade village on Halloween two years ago, followed by the story Remus told him intermittently, and finally wearing Hyacinth or—Mrs. Parkinson?

For a moment, he saw the Boggart hiding in the cupboard again.It became James' dead body, Harry's dead body, Hyacinth's dead body, James', Harry's, Hyacinth's, his best friend's, his godson's, his lover's... , corpse, corpse, they all abandoned him in various ways.

He staggered down the dark corridor toward the stairs and suddenly burst out with a cry like a wounded animal.Maybe he was just drunk, maybe he was driven crazy by the haunting vision——

The black robe finally disappeared around the corner of the stairs, and the "Black-style" madness finally appeared on the once handsome but now haggard face.If a Black is crazy, it is not surprising at all. The crazy gene is hidden in the blood and is passed down from generation to generation through inbreeding caused by fanatical bloodism. Therefore, Black is always the noblest, the purest, and the oldest.

Kreacher straightened his back and watched his hated master leave. He didn't know that this was the last time their master and servant would meet, and he didn't know that the story of the Black family it had witnessed would end.

-June 6th - Parkinson Manor

"I don't understand what you want, Mr. Fudge."

"You know what I want!" Fudge almost grimaced. "You've got too many secrets in your heart, Parkinson. Tell me all—tell me all about the Dark Lord!"

Edmund rolled up the sleeve of his left arm calmly: "I am not a Death Eater, Mr. Minister."

Fudge finally lost his patience and kicked the armchair fiercely: "Stop circling around, Parkinson, I didn't come here today to beg you!"

The newly arrived "Daily Prophet" had a bold bold headline - "The Mysterious Man Returns!", and the Minister of Magic in front of him seemed to be on the verge of collapse.After a little thought, Edmund understood what Fudge wanted:

"After Signus went to prison, I completely distanced myself from the Death Eaters."

"That's a lie!" Fudge approached Edmund without hesitation and showed his last hole card, "The Ministry of Magic hides some information about the mysterious fire at Rozier Manor, Parkinson, believe me, your name was once in the It's been mentioned over and over again."

"Your method of threatening me doesn't seem to be progressing, and just like you said before: no one's file in this world can withstand scrutiny." Edmond reminded "friendlyly", "You are the same."

Fudge slumped dramatically in his chair like a punctured balloon.

"If you want to know what the Dark Lord has been up to lately, you're probably looking for the wrong person."

Fudge buried his cheeks in his palms for a while before raising his head again: "He will come to you like last time—to all the pure-blood families."

"I don't think so," Edmund replied, "The Dark Lord should have learned some lessons from his failure, and he will definitely trust his old subordinates more."

"Yeah, at least we've done one thing: get rid of Rozier." Fudge sneered mockingly, Edmund didn't answer, he went on, "You can swear you didn't receive any special news , Parkinson?"

"Indeed not." Edmund looked at Fudge carefully, and made a bold guess in his heart, "With all due respect, Minister, you may have encountered some troubles, right?"

Fudge raised his eyes and glanced at him with an inexplicable look: "That's right." He replied calmly, "The Minister of Magic is going to be replaced."

Edmund was not in the least surprised by this.

"You must be relieved, Parkinson. From then on, no one in the world can threaten you again." Fudge laughed at himself, "We have kept each other in check and fought openly and covertly for several years, but in fact, we were only afraid that our secrets would be revealed. One step has been said."

Edmund looked at him: "What happened?"

"Black is dead." Fudge stared at him closely, and said every word, "It happened last night."

The living room suddenly fell silent.Edmund remained silent for a long time, and Fudge looked at this face that was always good at hiding, trying to read his heart.

"What did you say?" Edmund asked softly.

"Siris Black died in a battle with Death Eaters last night." Fudge looked at Edmund mockingly, and repeated the sentence indifferently, "The last Black in the world, Harry Potter Your godfather, the wronged warrior, the love rival you've been trying to get rid of all your life, is dead."

When Dumbledore Apparated and arrived at Grimmauld Square, he realized that London was pouring rain. He flicked his wand and raised an invisible umbrella, watching the old house of Black engulfed by clouds through the misty rain and fog.

"Professor Dumbledore." A strange figure walked slowly through the pouring rain. Dumbledore stared at this face, but couldn't find her name from his memory. The stranger introduced himself as if seeing through his embarrassment , "I am Hyacinth, Hyacinth White."

Dumbledore was taken aback. He had heard the name from other people or read it on paper countless times, but this was the first time he saw her in person.

"Hello."

She looked at Dumbledore: "He's gone."

"How do you know—"

"There used to be a flame here." She pointed to her heart, "but last night, it suddenly went out."

Dumbledore sighed silently, and he took a step forward to block the rain for her with magic: "He left with a smile."

Hyacinth blinked vigorously, she turned her head to avoid Dumbledore's sight and looked at the old house across the street.

Though her hair was drenched and her fine clothes spattered with mud, she bore the misfortune calmly, with the invincible smile she had learned through the years, never letting bad luck have a moment. Proud opportunity.

"I want to go in and have a look." She made an unsurprising request, "Can you?"

"Personally, I think that in revisiting the past, some old scars are reopened as new scars," suggested Dumbledore veiledly.

"Dumbledore, I'm not a student who needs your protection." She looked straight ahead, her cheeks were full of water, "I came to witness my own death."

He has witnessed the tragedy of others more than once, and everyone reacts differently to the bad news.

Dumbledore wasn't entirely aware of their past, but he raised his hand: "Follow me, please."

The sound of their footsteps woke Lady Black from her long dream, and she was about to curse.

"Good day, Mrs. Black." Dumbledore looked at the sallow witch in the frame, "We just came to see."

Mrs. Black ignored her, and she scolded her eldest son who was not favored as usual: "My ancestor's old house has ended up in such a state, how dare that prodigal son—"

"The prodigal son is dead." Hyacinth interrupted her, and she smiled back at Mrs. Black when she suddenly fell silent. "You have finally got your wish. This time he will not come back."

Without waiting for her answer, she turned around and walked towards the other end of the dark corridor. The cloak drew a graceful arc in midair, carrying the damp breath of London summer rain.Mrs. Black stared at the back of this strange woman, trying to see through the indistinct connection between her and that villain.

"So," whispered Walburga Black at last after what seemed like a century, "is he really dead?"

"I'm afraid so." Dumbledore bowed slightly, "I'm sorry."

"Okay." Walburga uttered a word suddenly and clearly after being quiet for a few seconds. When Dumbledore raised his eyes in a little surprise, the curtains on both sides of the picture frame snapped shut, and Mrs. Black disappeared behind the curtains. Refusing to make an extra sound.

Dumbledore looked away.With moldy wallpaper on the walls, termite-eaten ceilings and rats happily taking up residence in the cellar, 12 Grimmauld Place is dark and dank, but they weren't like that in the first place.When the brown floors were clean and bright, and the family crests shone silver on the cutlery and cutlery, when the family tree in the empty room was still blank waiting to be painted with the prosperity and prosperity of a family that had not yet broken off a vine or been Burning black hole.

It is filled little by little, and cut off little by little.

Until finally, it returns blank.

After searching aimlessly on the desk for a while, she finally found what she was looking for: a photo trapped in an old book. Sixteen-year-old Sirius, wearing sunglasses and propping his motorcycle on one leg, frowns slightly and casts an arrogant and disdainful glance at the camera.

Also brought out was a sketch of the motorcycle - it was put together with the photo - sketched in pencil, and the only two letters on the body were painstakingly traced many times.

Hyacinth was stunned, her fingers lightly brushed the two letters, the corners of her lips trembled, she didn't know whether to cry or laugh.

It turned out that fate had given her a generous gift many years ago.

The boy in the photo didn't know that he would die 20 years later, and before his death, he would have to spend his best time in prison on trumped-up charges.

The glorious history recorded in the parchment will never be repeated, because the family doomed to suffer loneliness and paranoia has died.In the long night, there will never be such bright stars appearing again.

"Sirius, Sirius."

She smiled with tears in her eyes.

After half a lifetime of thorns and thorns, have you got the freedom, peace and eternal sunshine you want?

There were two doors running across between them, going round and round, but they still couldn't push it open.Now she finally broke through the third door, but it was too late, too late.

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