Vice versa (Harry Potter)

"Visitors for you, Mr. Black," the nurse said gently.

Harry entered first, staring at his godfather. On the bed lay a painfully thin man (the thought of concentration camps crossed Harry's mind). His short-cropped black hair was streaked with gray, and his sunken gray-blue eyes looked hauntingly deep.

"He's so young," Harry thought. "The same age as Snape, but he looks far worse!"

"Harry?" the man rasped suddenly. "You're… Harry?"

"Yes, sir. I'm Harry Potter," Harry replied, cautiously stepping back as the former prisoner's eyes lit up with a dangerous intensity. "I'm afraid I don't remember you, but I'm glad you're alive."

"Harry…"

"Are you afraid to approach your godfather?" Snape asked irritably as Harry bumped into him. "Don't worry; if he were truly dangerous, they'd have him tied to the bed."

"Snivellus?" Black stared at the surreal scene in disbelief. "You?!"

"Delighted to see you too," Snape drawled disdainfully.

Harry noticed the professor's expression and instinctively took his hand. Snape's fingers trembled ever so slightly.

"Maybe we should come back later?" Harry suggested, looking up at him.

"Nonsense, Potter…" Snape freed his hand and placed it on Harry's shoulder. "It's not surprising that someone fresh out of Azkaban struggles with self-control. Besides, when else would we get a chance like this? The Headmaster barely let us come as it is."

"You're right, sir," Harry agreed.

Sirius Black, speechless, watched the unbelievable interaction: James and Lily's son calmly conversing with Snape, leaning into his touch instead of recoiling, even nuzzling against the man's black robes. And his gaze… such a gaze… heavy, cold, calculating—just like Snape's. Even Harry's appearance was strikingly different from what Black had been told: no ragged runaway here, but a sturdy young man already shoulder-high to the lanky Snape.

But who was the other boy? Reddish-haired—not a Weasley, though. A relative? He seemed completely at ease… Ah, that knowing glance at Potter—definitely a friend. A classmate, perhaps? Why bring him along? Well, time would tell.

"You lost control of yourself, didn't you, sir?" Harry asked coldly.

"Probably…" Sirius sighed. Losing his godson over such nonsense was unthinkable.

"Then kindly apologize."

"I…" Sirius swallowed his pride and muttered, "Sorry… Snape. It just slipped out."

"Accepted, Black," Snape replied calmly. "Potter, ask what you came to ask, then let's go. Time is short."

"I'll be quick, sir!" Harry promised.

He approached the bed, studying Sirius's face.

"Hm," he said. "Director Black will be deeply disappointed."

"Di… Director? What about Dumbledore?!"

"Former Headmaster. Phineas Nigellus Black. I promised him I'd uncover the truth and, if you were innocent, get you out of Azkaban," Harry explained. "He's very upset about the lack of an heir to the family."

"You promised a portrait?!"

"What's so strange about that?" Harry frowned. "Mr. Black…"

"Call me Sirius."

"All right, Sirius. I'm glad you're alive and free, that the truth came to light. I'm sorry you had to spend so many years in prison for a crime you didn't commit. What I can't understand is why no one in this idiotic world thought to file an appeal!"

"File a what?" Sirius asked, bewildered.

"He's hopeless," Snape remarked from the doorway. The red-haired boy merely shook his head in dismay.

"Sir," Harry turned to the professor. "Do you know any lawyers or attorneys not affiliated with… you-know-who?"

"Sorry, Potter, that's not my area of expertise."

"I'll ask my dad," the red-haired boy chimed in. "He could check with our… well-connected friends. I bet they could find someone. The compensation alone would be enormous!"

"Compensation for what?" Black asked, baffled.

"For spending years in that hellhole for nothing," Harry explained patiently. "By the way, your finances are in shambles. Seriously, who was managing them?!"

"But Dumbledore promised…"

"The old goat," Harry said with conviction, flashing a smile so unsettling that Sirius shivered. "If it weren't for… certain good people, I'd have been penniless by adulthood. You were supposed to be my guardian after my parents died, weren't you?"

"Yes," Sirius admitted, uneasy.

"No one would've given him to you, Potter," Snape interjected. "A young, single wizard with a reckless temperament, a dangerous profession, and a dark family history—even if estranged? Besides, he had no stable home, bouncing between your father, other friends, and his uncle. Hardly fit for guardianship."

"True," Harry sighed. "They wouldn't have, and rightly so. You'd have ruined me…"

Black gritted his teeth.

"And you think they'd have given him to you, Snape?" he hissed.

"I, at least, had a roof over my head and a steady income," Snape replied calmly.

"Oh yeah? From your Dark Lord's handouts? Did you show Harry your arm? Explain what that means?!"

"I did, and I explained," Harry answered for him. "We've discussed it at length, Sirius, and I'm not here to quarrel. I'll visit again when you're feeling better. And don't worry about me—I was fine with my aunt and uncle, I have a loyal friend"—he nodded at the red-haired boy, who smiled—"and while I don't want to be at Hogwarts, I put up with it. For Professor Snape's classes, I'll endure a lot. You don't need to save me, Sirius. Just focus on recovering, or your ancestor will… chew me out."

"Harry…" Sirius whispered, watching as Harry took Snape's hand again, the other boy joining his side. "Harry…"

"See you, Sirius! And don't try escaping the hospital!" Harry called cheerfully, glancing back briefly.

"My house is your house," Sirius murmured, lost.

"Thank you," Harry replied seriously before the door closed behind him.

*

"Harry, my boy, a lemon drop?" the headmaster greeted him as usual.

"No, thank you, sir," Harry declined just as habitually, struggling to pull a grapefruit out of his pocket. Terry had given it to him as a parting gift with the words, "I want to see you eat this whole thing, so better practice!" He eyed it skeptically before taking a bite.

"Harry, have you met your godfather?"

"Mhm," Harry responded, swallowing the sour juice with effort and silently vowing to smack Terry next time.

"Did you like him?"

"Can't say for sure yet," Harry admitted honestly. "He's... well, a bit out of it, which is understandable! And we barely know each other. I think once we get closer, it'll be better—he really wants that." He looked at the headmaster with earnest eyes. "Sir, could I visit him again? After all, he's the last of my father's friends..."

Harry remembered Lupin but wanted to gauge Dumbledore's reaction. The headmaster gave a sour smile but didn't object.

"I think we can arrange that," he replied. "But I'm afraid Professor Snape won't be able to accompany you; he's quite busy."

"Well, I'll ask Madam Sprout!" Harry said cheerfully. "I'm sure she won't refuse, right? Or maybe Professor McGonagall! Or you could accompany me yourself..."

"My boy, I'm swamped with work..." the headmaster shook his head. Harry caught Sirius Black's eye on a portrait and winked as if to say, We need to talk.

"But I believe Professor McGonagall could accompany you. Now, off you go, Harry—you need your rest..."

*

"On one hand, it's good to hear that the last Black is free," said Phineas Nigellus Black grimly, pacing his dark portrait. "On the other, he's completely out of control! And you're right, young man—he doesn't understand a thing about life and has all the wrong priorities. Squandering the family fortune! If I were alive, I'd hit him with a couple of Unforgivables to teach him a lesson!"

"So, sir, you agree to meet him?" Harry interjected carefully, crouched by the wall of a dusty corridor. Mrs. Norris was keeping watch by the exit, ready to report an intruder, and Shen was lurking nearby, maintaining a sort of uneasy truce.

"Of course! Otherwise, he'll wreak havoc that will make his past escapades look like mere pranks. Have you figured out how to get my portrait into his ward?"

"Oh, absolutely," Harry replied. "I'll just cut out the canvas from this frame, and that's it. I'll stick it to the wall in his room with tape. That won't offend you too much, will it?"

"Well, as far as I can see, there's no other way," Phineas sighed. "That'll do."

"How should I signal that it's time? You're usually in the headmaster's office..."

"Just cut the canvas, you fiend, and stop stalling! I'll be in my place. Once you bring the portrait to the ward, knock it like this..." Phineas demonstrated a complex rhythm. "But it's better if you warn me in advance—I need to explain to the boy exactly how deeply he's mistaken!"

"Can't wait to hear that," Harry muttered dreamily, pulling a pocket knife from his robes.

*

"Godfather, good afternoon! How are you feeling?" Harry radiated care and concern as he entered, alone this time, without a friend or professor in tow. He thought he saw McGonagall's lean figure in the corridor, but she was tactful enough to leave them alone.

"Better, thanks, Harry," Sirius said with a tentative smile.

"Have any old friends visited you?"

"N-no," Sirius admitted. "But there's no one left..."

"What do you mean?" Harry exclaimed. "What about Lupin? Moody? Who else... even Dumbledore! Hasn't he stopped by?"

"Well, he did, briefly... he's so busy," Sirius said slowly, realizing Harry knew a bit too much. Certainly not from Dumbledore, who rarely shared details. So where was Harry getting this? The conclusion was obvious and unsettling. What had Dumbledore been thinking, letting the boy be influenced by a Death Eater?

"That's unfortunate," Harry said, watching Sirius's expression shift.

"What can you do... So, how's school?" Sirius asked, brightening slightly.

"Boring as hell," Harry replied dismissively.

"Don't you have friends?" Sirius asked cautiously, recalling the headmaster's hints.

"Sure. Out in the big world," Harry smirked. "Here... well, I've got a girlfriend."

"Already?" Sirius laughed. "Who is she, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Luna Lovegood," Harry said seriously. "Quite the jackpot, if you know what I mean."

Sirius nodded. Lovegood? That odd fellow's daughter? Well, never mind—a girlfriend's not a wife.

"But yeah," Harry continued thoughtfully, "friends at school are tricky. The other day I decked Weasley again—he just doesn't learn, can't even dodge a basic punch. Knocked out two teeth this time." He rubbed his bruised knuckles. "Then I clocked Malfoy to shut him up—he's not grown into his arrogance yet. After that, I played table tennis with Nott. It's great for reflexes; he appreciated it. We teamed up against Crabbe and Goyle—beat them easily."

"Harry, you're in Hufflepuff," Sirius interrupted.

"So?"

"Why are you hanging out with Slytherins?"

"Why not?" Harry shrugged. "They're smart. Luna's in Ravenclaw. From Gryffindor, I can only talk football with Dean or chat a bit with Longbottom—though even he's been ruined by them. It's boring in Hufflepuff. Slytherins, though—they know stuff. Might as well learn from them. Honestly, I should've gone there."

"What?"

"The Hat suggested it," Harry smirked. "But I said no. Same with Gryffindor. Why bother?"

"I convinced it to sort me into Gryffindor," Sirius muttered through gritted teeth.

"Big mistake. You're a pure Slytherin," Harry sighed. "You'd have fit right in. Instead, you wasted time messing around."

"Did Snivellus tell you that?"

"Sir..." Harry took off his glasses and squinted. "I think I've mentioned..."

"Sorry! I meant Snape," Sirius raised his hands defensively. "It's just a school nickname that sticks!"

"Where did it even come from?" Harry asked curiously.

"Don't remember... I think we hexed him once to shut him up, and he cried a bit. James came up with it on the spot—his nicknames always stuck."

"Wow, what an honorable act—four against one," Harry scoffed.

"You're defending him?" Sirius asked, bewildered.

"Why not?" Harry squinted again. "He's never done me any real harm, even though he couldn't stand me at first. I think he's the best teacher in this bloody school, despite hating it with every fiber of his being. He's actually trying to teach me something, and I trust him more than my own Head of House or even the headmaster. What more do you need, Sirius? Sure, he might've been a nasty little git at my age—someone you'd love to smack around. But people like that grow up fast and become dangerous—they're the ones who'll have you against the wall someday. Like me, for instance," he added smugly. "And let's drop this childish nonsense, please. I don't want to choose between my teacher and my godfather because I already know who I'd pick..."

Harry paused meaningfully, letting Sirius process the words.

"Alright," Sirius finally managed. "I'll stop mentioning him."

"Great! Now, one more thing... someone wants to have a word with you about your behavior."

"The headmaster?" Sirius asked, startled.

"Yep," Harry grinned, pulling something out of his robes. It was a rolled-up canvas and a roll of tape. He began securing the portrait to the wall opposite Sirius's bed. Knocking on the frame, Harry announced, "Ahem, sir! I think it's your turn now!"

"Good evening, descendant," came Phineas Nigellus Black's smooth voice as he emerged from the painting's dark depths. Sirius recognized him from portraits at home and shuddered involuntarily. "What a disgraceful state the last heir of our noble house has fallen into... Potter, leave us. I need to speak to my descendant alone."

"What if he tears you off the wall, sir?" Harry asked dryly.

"He won't. You have your wand, don't you? You don't know the spell yet, but I can guide you..."

"Hey!" Sirius protested. "I'll call for help!"

"Silencio," Harry said calmly. "Sir, so what am I supposed to do? I can hit him with something, but he still needs to hear and think, right?"

"Exactly. Do as I say."

"...What's going on, Potter?" McGonagall asked irritably as he stumbled out into the corridor, slipping his wand back into his sleeve. From the room came a mix of shouting: a brief cry from Sirius, who had just been freed from the silencing spell, and another voice booming loud and commanding, as if addressing a large crowd.

"Oh! One of his relatives wanted to have a chat with my godfather," Harry said with a grin, leaning against the wall. "Sorry, Professor, but it looks like it'll take a while. He's got a lot to say..."

"And they can't manage without us?"

"Nope. I have to peel my godfather off the bed and his relative off the wall afterward," Harry sighed, listening closely. "Wow, sounds like it's going to take a while... Is there somewhere to grab a coffee around here?"

"I have plenty of work to do, Potter," McGonagall replied through gritted teeth. "Accompanying you—"

"I know, Professor!" he exclaimed. "But they won't let me go anywhere alone; it's not my fault!"

"There's coffee on the first floor," McGonagall relented.

From the room, the sound of curses was now joined by what could only be described as literal thunderclaps, while Sirius's occasional whimpering was barely audible in the background.

"I think it would be wise to dampen that cacophony, so as not to disturb anyone nearby."

"Oh, Professor, show me how to do that!" Harry said enthusiastically. "Ah... uh-huh... Got it. Let's go get some coffee! I'll buy the pastries!"

"Poor boy..." Minerva McGonagall thought automatically, following Harry as he dashed off toward the elevator. "Poor? He's richer than all of us put together! And he doesn't act like a downtrodden child at all—he's always upsetting everyone else. He's a lousy student, but he's not untalented... I just can't seem to figure out how to connect with him. What a shame!"

*

«Greetings, Apple Moth!

It was a real circus! Unfortunately, I didn't catch everything, but I doubt anyone could outshout Director Black. My godfather was squeaking something, but what good is that? Later, the old man told me briefly that he had 'explained the depth of the boy's delusions.' Well, I saw my godfather after — he looked like death warmed over and kept trying to hide under the blanket while I was taking the portrait down. The old man seemed satisfied, asked me to keep an eye on things, and said to repeat the session if needed. He claims the heir isn't entirely hopeless, just got into the wrong crowd. Now he insists I meet 'the aunt' (easier to say it that way) — the one married to the Peacock. The one married to the Muggle-born is his last-resort plan. And there's another one with her husband; he wants to rescue her too, though they say she's a bit unhinged. Well, we'll give it a shot. You know how it is — family, however distant.»

*

«Hi, Lemon Eater!

Here's a whole stack of documents for you — all legal stuff. Dad really went all out. Well, actually, our toothy friends did. By the way, your aunt who's locked up has a pretty decent fortune, and so does her husband — quite a lot, actually. And did you notice? The Peacock was with them but came out fine, while they... See? He just figured out early on who to bribe and how much! And — again, Dad did some digging — he's not as rich as he pretends to be. It seems all his wealth went into bribes. But hey, he stayed free!

P.S. Try asking your professor how he avoided getting locked up. I heard his finances aren't great... Did the director help him out?»

*

«Hello, Apple Moth!

Thanks for the documents — I'm studying them so much my brain's about to boil over.

You know, if it's true the Peacock stayed free just because he paid off the right people, then out of sheer spite, I have to get the aunt out. My godfather keeps saying she's lost her mind, but honestly, sometimes I look at him and think he should be carted off to the asylum too! Must be a family trait. The portrait said he'd straighten out 'the girl,' but they have to meet somehow! I'm working on a plan now — I want to go to Azkaban! I mean, to visit her. My godfather will go to meet her, and I'll go with him. If they forbid it, I'll start a protest, go on a hunger strike, and maybe blow something up just to be sure.

P.S. Yeah, the director — who else?»

*

«Hi, Lemon Eater!

I want to go to Azkaban too! If you're going with you-know-who, maybe I can tag along? It'd be fascinating!

Here's some news from Dad: your aunt's husband's fortune, her brother-in-law's, and her own are all under arrest. Guess who controls it? Ta-da! The Ministry. Not the director, but to me, it's all the same. Oh, and Fatty's lucky he has a grandmother; otherwise, he'd be living worse than you. His parents are in the hospital — probably forever — and he has no close family. Get it? The Ministry folks and the director made a good profit during that war... Who's to say the Dark Lord even existed? Maybe he was just a phantom created for propaganda. What a concept!»

*

«Hello, Apple Moth!

Sorry, but there's no way you're going to Azkaban. You'd keel over from the Dementors in no time — that's one. Two, I don't want you drawing attention to yourself. And three, there'll be Aurors with us anyway, so see point two.

Yeah, your dad's pretty awesome! And that idea about the Dark Lord? Really intriguing. What if he didn't exist at all and was just a front for a secret organization? Someone played the role of the leader, they branded the followers, did all sorts of shady stuff... and voilà, a legend is born! That would be genius!

My godfather's been released. He spent a few days at home, got bored, and headed to the bank — they'd already invited him five times before. He listened to what they had to say and went berserk. Let me tell you, a furious member of that family is a sight to behold! (How do I know? I eavesdropped while he was yelling at the director in his office. Actually, screaming.) Then he practically tore his shirt open, spat fury, and swore he'd squeeze every last Knut out of the director for everything he'd squandered since the war ended. (The old man in the portrait was laughing and clapping.) In the end, they made peace, but now my godfather looks at the director like he's ready to pounce. Meanwhile, he and I are getting along better.

P.S. Luna sends her regards. She's asking if it's possible to get some big pearly beads.»

*

«Aloha, Lemon Eater!

Too bad, but I guess it's not my time to waste away just yet... But you'd better give me all the details later! How's it going? What about that guy recommended by our toothy friends?

I think it's a solid idea. Try poking around with you-know-who — maybe he'll let something slip?

Looks like your godfather isn't entirely hopeless. Let that portrait guy pester him more often! Then again... if he's living at home now, there must be plenty of portraits there, so the old man can just show up whenever he wants, haha!

P.S. Say hi to Luna for me too. Will these beads do? I got a bunch of multicolored ones — they're plastic, cheap, and I can get more, even a whole bag. I also have seed beads and tiny ones. Need any of those?»

*

«Hey, Apple Moth!

Progress is slow, but I'll push through. Big thanks to your dad and our toothy friends for the legal advice, and especially for the Lawyer. Sure, he charges a fortune, but he knows his stuff.

I'm not poking around with you-know-who too much yet. He's practically glued to the dungeons — only comes out for classes, skips meals, and clearly avoids running into the director. But why bother hiding? The director can summon him whenever he wants!

My godfather's calmed down a bit, met with the Lawyer, and is trying to figure out what actually happened to his inheritance. He writes to me every other day because he's terrible at understanding it all (I'm better at it than he is), and I don't mind replying. Oh, and he told me about this amazing thing — a map they enchanted as a group back in the day. It shows everyone in the castle and nearby areas. I've sent Shen to look for it; if he finds it, it'll be priceless!

P.S. Luna's absolutely thrilled and said she'd kiss you next time she sees you. Remember what I said? If you try to back out, I'll punch you! Also, throw in a handful of those purple beads.»