𝘋𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘐𝘌𝘋/𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 (English version)

Chapter 84

The snow drifted down slowly, silently, against the misted panes of Grimmauld Place.
For once, the house felt like a true refuge for those who sought shelter.
No longer a dwelling of ghosts, but of voices, of lives.
From the kitchen rose a tangle of scents: cinnamon, cloves, and the faint trace of something burnt, betraying Tonks's ever-enthusiastic, never-quite-skilled hand at cooking.

Sarah lay sprawled across the bed, hands folded behind her head, gaze lost in the ceiling. Beside her, Sirius mirrored her pose, legs crossed, his expression unexpectedly calm. For him, peace was a rare thing, but it softened him, made him seem almost younger.

They had not spoken for half an hour, and they didn't need to.
For that night, for that fleeting moment, they were only father and daughter.

"Dad?" she whispered.

"Mm?" he answered, eyes still closed.

"Do you ever think about when all of this will end?"

Sirius was still for a breath, then exhaled slowly.
"Yes. Often. But every time, the answer changes."

Sarah's lips curved into a faint smile. "I've already decided. When it's all over... I want a house by the sea. Small, simple. With the windows thrown wide and the wind rushing through."

Sirius let out a low chuckle. "A Black choosing the sea over a dusty old family home? I like it." He paused, then added softly, "I could come with you, you know."

"Really?" she asked, the smile widening.

"Of course. With a new motorbike, maybe. I'll ride without a map, wind in my hair... and drive the neighbors mad with loud music."

Sarah laughed. "And Remus telling you every two minutes to turn it down."

"I'd do it just for that."

Silence wrapped around them again, but not an empty silence this time. It was full: of dreams, of futures not yet written.

Sirius's gaze lingered on the ceiling. When he spoke again, his voice was slower, almost fragile.
"Whatever happens... I want to be there. When it truly ends, I want to be there, with you."

Sarah held her breath, then turned gently, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Me too, Dad... we both deserve that. And I'm sure it will be beautiful."

⸻

Sarah Black, or Settimini, as they still called her in Naples, was seventeen years old when the Second Wizarding War came to its end.

And in those seventeen years, she had lived two lives.

One as a child, the other as a witch.
One among the narrow streets of Naples, the other in the corridors of Hogwarts.
One with a mother who taught her how to fold napkins just so, the other with a father who had never quite found enough time to hold her close.
One built of small, ordinary gestures; the other of choices far too heavy for her age.

No one should live so much in so little time.
And yet, she did.
And she did not break.

Her first life was blue.
The bright, untroubled blue of a seaside city.
She was called Settimini, and she believed the world ended there: basil leaves drying in the sun on balconies, evenings spent reading aloud, scraped knees, a bicycle that felt like a winged horse as it flew through the alleys.

She had a sister who couldn't sleep without a whispered story under her pillow, a brother who made the clumsiest braids but never said no to her.
Two parents who knew no spells, but could weave magic with their hands.

That life was simple.
And in its simplicity, her kindness was born.

Then came the second life.
It did not knock. It simply walked in.
With parchment letters, secrets long buried, castles that spoke, and doors that yielded only to those who truly needed them.

And with a name that was new, or perhaps only forgotten: Black.
Like the lineage she carried.
Like the shadow that awaited her.

Sarah did not seek the war, but when it came, she stood ready.
To lead. To comfort. To endure.
To love while she could, and to lose whom she never wished to.
To cry, yes, but silently.
For sometimes strength is not a choice, it is the only road forward.

At seventeen, Sarah had already lost more than many will in a lifetime:
She had watched her father, Sirius, fall, too soon.
She had bid farewell to Remus, too late.
She had heard Fred's last laugh.
She had clasped trembling hands.
She had gathered bodies that would never rise again.

She had fought at Neville's side.
She had felt Bellatrix's blood on her skin.
She had killed.
And still, she never forgot the girl she once was.
The child with the blue bicycle.
The sister of whispered bedtime tales.
The daughter raised in Naples, who spoke with the sky and believed in kindness.

Sarah Black never let Sarah Settimini fade, and that, more than anything, saved her.

At seventeen, she already knew the whole truth.
About where she came from.
About love.
About friendship.
About fear.
About betrayal.
About loss.

She had seen lives collapse.
She had lifted them up.
She had embraced.
She had screamed.
She had kept silent.
She had buried.
She had rebuilt.

And through it all, she was never only one thing.
For seventeen years, she had lived two lives.
One as Settimini.
One as Black.

And now, for the first time, she no longer had to choose.
Not anymore.
Because she was both: the girl raised in Naples, with her dreams scribbled between the pages of a book, and the witch who had fought, and survived, the last great war of her generation.

She no longer needed to run.
Not from who she had been, nor from what she had endured.

Her steps were lighter now.
Not because the burden had vanished, but because she had learned to bear it, the way one carries the most precious things: close to the heart.

She did not know what awaited her beyond.
But she knew this:
She would not forget.
Not the salt of Naples,
nor the fire of Hogwarts.
Not her own voice, nor those of the ones she had loved.

And perhaps it was for this very reason that Sarah Black lived.
Truly.
At last.

——

We're nearing the end now, and I'd like to take a moment to speak with you.
I began this story a year ago, with doubt in my heart and uncertainty in my hands. I didn't know if it would become what I had imagined, and I'll admit, the fear is still there.

Sarah is me. She is us, those of us who often escape into these worlds to breathe, to dream beyond everyday life.
Hogwarts and Harry Potter will forever remain among the dearest things to me, for raising me in hope and in magic.

I confess, I don't want to close this story. I confess, I'm almost afraid to. But I think Sarah and Tom deserve their rest now, hahahah.

I cannot wait to share more of them with you in these final few chapters.
And I want to thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart, because even a single comment, a single little star, means the world to me. Knowing that people have lived and felt with passion through my words fills my heart with joy.

I love you all,
Ale