Verus

eighteen

12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London

To say that Harry had had a ginormous breakdown would have been the understatement of the century. Kreacher had vanished from his sight as soon as he'd uttered that final understanding, which now seemingly compromised the entire Wizarding World, and had not returned no matter how much Harry had screamed and demanded it.

So, in his haste, his fear and anguish, Harry had apparated straight through the Manor's many layers of ancient wards and back into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, only to tear apart the room he knew to have once belonged to Regulus Black, uncaring of the mess he made as he fought to keep control, struggling against the wolf inside that yapped and yipped and howled. Fuelled only by rage and unceremonious terror.

It was there that his godfather soon found him, sprawled out amongst a hurricane of mess that littered Sirius's little brother's bedroom floor; a knee knocked against an overturned dresser, one of its scattered drawers propping up an elbow.

Harry's wild eyes darted up to find him, now stood in the doorway, only after the young wizard had felt the house shift around him and heard the telltale footsteps that had fumbled their way up the staircase. He supposed must have made quite the picture as Sirius silently stared back at him, face so emotionless. And it was only then that realisation dawned and Harry felt the guilt start to creep in. He quickly diverted his gaze downwards to where he'd discovered a loose floorboard sat beneath a trademark Slytherin green runner, no longer able to look at Sirius.

"You could have splinched yourself, kid. Those wards are pretty thick."

Harry swallowed at the sound of his godfather's steady voice, Sirius acting as though everything was fine, as though it was fairly normal to completely tear apart a room, and a sickly feeling soon encompassed him as he continued to stare down at the floor's contents. Inside there rested a tiny tin full of photos; a darkened quill the length of a typical wand; a Hogwarts letter of acceptance, alongside a set of impressive exam results; and a small black notebook that had almost been inconspicuous in its hiding place pressed up against the far side of the floor beam.

A snitch sat tucked away in one corner though, golden and frozen in flight, and it was that which first caught Harry's eye. Its rotational wings perfectly imitated the bird's it had since replaced in the game of Quidditch and they fluttered slightly when he carefully moved to pick it up.

They were beautiful creations, snitches, one Harry had only ever heard of through Merlin and his stories, seeing as though he hadn't lived with the founders long enough to see its invention. It was his first time baring witness to one, and to hold it within his grasp, so close that he could see every minuscule detail the ball had to offer, calmed something deep within him.

The snitches wings snapped shut soon after, as though either Harry's steady gaze or Sirius's sudden approach had washed away the intricate spell that had kept it in motion all these years. Harry's hand encased it protectively as he turned to glance back over at his godfather, who had somehow managed to crouch down beside him, uncaring for the wreck Harry had created within the room and simply tossing aside a couple of books that had been in his way.

"Think that was the last one he ever caught at Hogwarts." Sirius told him as he nodded down towards the golden ball, voice strangely quiet for a second, before he coughed to clear his throat. "I remember it, it'd been a magnificent match in truth- I'd had to stop playing after my fifth year but," He took a slight breath here and shrugged, "I still loved the game, so I went along to most matches, watched your father play his heart out on the field and sometimes Reggie was there too."

"He was a seeker then?" Harry questioned, feeling the rigid edges of the snitch press against the palm of his hand whilst his godfather merely nodded in response.