Dark Phoenix (Nico Di Angelo & Harry Potter)

2

A/N: Did someone say Sirius Black PoV? Because, yes. Unfortunately (or is it fortunate?), this might be the only chapter that isn't in Nico's PoV because you must know how much I enjoy writing morally grey characters with a penchant for dipping into evil if it means they can do the needful. Is Nico OOC? I don't know. Maybe. Yes, Nico is OOC 🛌 But he still likes naps.

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Harry Potter was a lot of things, but an actor he was not.

At least, to Sirius.

Sirius knew to expect teenage angst and rebellion from his godson, reminiscent of his wayward days as the easy-going adolescent who skipped after every three strides he would take.

Young. Dumb. Reckless.

Right now, Harry was none of those.

The second Sirius had entered the room, he had transfixed his gaze upon his godson's, only to find it held in steel confidence. The worst of its sort. Had it been wrought iron, Sirius wouldn't have minded careless banter, but the muted expression on Harry's face and the bewilderment on Hermione's had brought Sirius's nonchalance to a loud halt.

If the time spent in Azkaban had chose to benefit Sirius Black in one way, it would be that he could see past a shit-ton of lies and choose whether or not they were worth sliding over.

Anything concerning Harry, however, was always a priority.

And while Hermione was insisting that his godson was alright, Sirius was more alarmed by the sudden change in Harry's posture and accent.

Obviously, memory loss was a daunting task to take care of, but in this situation, it was almost as if Harry had become a different person entirely.

One box crossed. Harry wasn't acting up.

Not that it made things any better.

Possession? Grimmauld Place was no stranger to dark artifices used ornamentally and as a means of warning. Sirius pressed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder once more, as he bent down to meet the boy's line of sight. There was no reassurance in his gaze, not even worry. If anything, it was steeped in suspicion, peering past the haze that had clouded over his godson's green eyes. Instead of recognition, all Harry returned to him was an air of apprehension and pursed lips.

Understandable, if you've truly lost your memory but choose to tread with caution.

Perhaps memory loss was the issue at hand?

Sirius wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. His mother never spoke to him about the special trinkets in house as much as she did with Regulus – damn him – but he knew that she would definitely not shut up in his face if she found herself the owner of a device capable of possession. And there was no use asking the hag in the wall either, because the idea of Harry Potter being possessed might make her drunk with delight.

The best and worst idea was to get Dumbledore involved here somehow but with the hearing due soon, and the most important trinket missing, Sirius's breath was caught in his throat, and he leant forward to heave it out.

"Sirius!" Hermione's bewildered tone dragged him back to the present. "Are you alright?"

The man nearly scoffed in her face but he brought a hand up to silence the girl. "I wish I could say I was, but–" he turned to Harry, and the boy crept back in alarm. Sirirus couldn't blame him, what with the wild look in his eyes. It hurt to see his godson give him the same treatment as he did in the past. "– we have a lot of unpacking to do."