The steam curls around me in the Moroccan hammam, the warm air carrying the scent of exotic spices and clean sweat. I've been waiting for nearly an hour, watching Eliot prepare for this meeting with Sirius. My godfather finally escaped Azkaban two weeks ago, and this is the first time he'll meet the man who's been raising me for the past four years.

Eliot stands across the room, a study in controlled intensity even in this relaxed setting. His auburn hair is damp, and he wears simple local clothing that can't quite disguise the muscles beneath. He nods at me once, his eyes saying what he doesn't need to verbalize: I'm here if you need me.

The door swings open, and Sirius enters, looking slightly disoriented. He's lost weight since the last time I saw him in that grim cell at Hogwarts, but there's new life in his eyes. When he spots me, his face lights up briefly before his gaze flicks to Eliot and hardens with distrust.

The tension is palpable as Sirius approaches, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. "Harry," he says, voice catching slightly. Then he turns to Eliot, his posture defensive. "So you're the muggle who's been keeping my godson from his heritage."

Eliot doesn't rise to the provocation, merely extending a hand. "Eliot Spencer. We've got a lot to discuss."

I feel caught between two worlds, two fathers, two versions of myself. Sirius represents my past, my magic, my parents' legacy. Eliot represents my present, my freedom, the life I've built beyond the wizarding world.

The seconds stretch as they size each other up, and I know my next words will set the tone for everything that follows.