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Sirius glanced at the sinister-looking hall clock: ten thirty.

Late enough.

He trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen, snatched the half bottle of firewhiskey off the counter, and flung himself hard into the nearest chair. Hm, this was the last of it. He’d have to send Dung out for some more.

Too listless to summon a glass, he threw his head back and poured some of the smoking liquid down his throat. Didn’t even burn anymore. Just warm, almost soothing, like butterbeer used to be....

He sighed and slammed the bottle down. What a Bloody Miserable Excuse for a Life. He'd been here, what, almost a year now? Trapped in this loathsome house, with nothing but a rotten house elf and the ghosts of his past for company most days. In Azkaban he'd warded off the demons by turning into a dog. Here, he preferred getting firebombed out of his mind.

At least some of the Order were coming over for dinner later. Otherwise the only person he'd seen these past few days was Snivellus, who had swept in, dropped off a message for Fawkes, and swept back out without a word. This was his new way of taunting Sirius — acting too busy and self-important to stop and taunt him properly.

As usual, the sight of Snivelly made Sirius's wand hand itch badly. One hex, one harmless little bat bogey hex, would've done wonders for his mood. But Harry’s voice had cut in: he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because — well, just because you said you were bored.

Well, provoking Snape drunk would've been a bad idea anyway....

Sirius tilted his chair back on two legs out of habit and stared at the fireplace. When Harry’s agitated head had Floo’d in a few weeks earlier, he'd half hoped it was there to complain about Snivelly — give him something to do, go set the greasy git straight. He’d been caught totally unawares when his godson complained instead about how James used to mess with Snivelly at school. The kid had looked so bloody crestfallen, and Sirius knew how much he hated Snape. Clearly James had just fallen from grace in his son's eyes, and nothing either he or Moony could say seemed to change that.

It wasn't fair. If only Harry could've known James, could've seen for himself what a great man his father was....

The boy had a good heart though. Lily would've been proud.

Sighing heavily, Sirius downed some more firewhiskey. He'd been hitting the bottle so hard lately it wouldn't surprise him if he could drink Hagrid under the table. There was really no point in staying sober now — but he promised himself he'd stop when Harry got back for the summer.

That was still a month off at least, though Harry must've been sitting one of his final O.W.L.s this very moment. Despite several heated arguments — heated on Sirius's part at least — Dumbledore had insisted the boy spend time at his Aunt and Uncle's house before returning to Grimmauld Place. Sirius hoped, rather viciously, that wherever the Headmaster was now, he was getting a taste of what it felt like to be trapped and isolated.

He hated the thought of sending Harry back to those people. What they did to him, Sirius didn't know, but it must've been bad to make Harry so desperate to leave. He'd tried to wrangle details from Arthur Weasley, but Molly had shut her husband up with a glare that plainly said he'll do something stupid if you tell him. Which in itself had been a pretty big clue that old horse-faced Petunia Evans — or Durbsey or whatever she was now — was as foul as he remembered her.

Sirius sighed again and took another swig from his bottle. He knew too well what it was like growing up in a house where no one loved you. It killed him — really killed him inside — that he hadn't been there to do for Harry what Harry's grandparents had done for him. It was thanks to them that he had any normal, happy childhood memories at all.

He'd met James — they must've been about five — at some wedding, he couldn't remember whose. James had helped him catch a toad and slip it in his cousin Cissy's dress robe pocket. Instant friends. And boy did she scream. So earsplitting... so satisfying....

Sirius folded his hands behind his head and smirked at the kitchen ceiling. It had been the start of a long and highly distinguished career in mischief-making.

Lucky for him, James had been an only child whose parents worried about him getting lonely, and they used to invite Sirius over all the time. Lucky too that in those days his own mother never suspected them of blood treachery, and was delighted to get her boisterous little son out of the house whenever possible.

Sirius rocked back and forth in his precariously balanced chair, still grinning. His happiest memories were of tearing around the sunlit grounds at the Potters' house with James. Riding toy brooms, playing pirates, wrestling in the mud. They'd dare each other to jump from tall trees or eat fat grubby worms. Then Mrs. Potter would catch them and scold them, and brew up potions to heal their bleeding knees or soothe their upset tummies. After dinner they'd go out with Mr. Potter and throw the Quaffle around until it got too dark to see. Or, if they'd been good all day — in other words, if they hadn't been caught red-handed — they would all Floo to Diagon Alley for ice cream.

He tried to picture his own father playing outside with him and Reg when they were little, or Mother brewing them potions, and snorted loudly. He'd only ever seen Father when summoned to his study for a lecture, which was rare, and Mother when he was to be spanked, which was less rare. Otherwise, the surly tutors and scowling house elves had minded young Masters Sirius and Regulus, day in and day out.

Regulus.

Sirius let his chair fall forward with a loud thud. The blood and alcohol were rushing to his brain now, pounding around inside his skull. He closed his eyes and pressed his eyelids.

Oh Reg.... Why? Why did you do it? You were better than that, better than them....

Struck by a sudden need to make some toast Sirius stood up, swaying slightly. Month after lonely month he'd heard his little brother's laughter echoing through the cold dark halls of Grimmauld Place. Sometimes he would turn around, half expecting to find Reg at his heels again... grinning back at him impishly, like a little mirror....

He stumbled into the pantry, taking great care not to hit the door frame. This house was full of miserable memories of course, but he could handle those. Dementors outside his door day and night for twelve years. He was used to it. He was used to finding James and Lily's bodies, to standing in that road splattered with Muggle carnage. Used to picking through the ruins of Uncle Alphard's house, and used to hugging Andromeda to his chest, her tears soaking his robes as she told him Reggie was gone, dead. Dead in the service of the Dark Lord.

Where the hell was that bread? Tonks brought him groceries just last week, it had to be here somewhere....

No, he was too used to his miserable memories to despair in them anymore. Those wounds had bled dry. But the house had other memories too — ones he'd buried so deep, so long ago — that broke his heart in whole new ways.

There it was. He grabbed the bread from the lowest shelf and made his unsteady way back to the kitchen. Got the toast going, put the kettle on.

It was in this very kitchen that Bella had set house elves on fire for his amusement. And he had — he had laughed.

He gripped the counter, knuckles turning white as he remembered the panicked squeaks that had sounded funny to his eight-year-old ears. He hadn't known any better, hadn't understood they were living creatures who felt pain. No, he'd thought Andi a great spoilsport when she had found them and screamed red-faced at Bella. Bella, of course, had just smiled lazily and rolled her eyes.

Sirius collected his breakfast things and sat back down, gulping his tea and brooding on his eldest cousin. Bella had broken out too, hadn't she? Her and nine other Death Eaters. The news hadn't surprised him one bit, except that she'd taken this long to do it....

Well at least he beat her. By two years. Without the Dementors on his side.

He gazed unfocusedly at his tea, then spiked it with a healthy dose of whiskey. Before starting Hogwarts, he used to like Bella. Look up to her, his cool older cousin. She'd been no more fussed about avoiding trouble or acting ladylike than he was. And for a while, she'd been the only Black who paid him attention, didn't find him annoying.

She used to tell him of the excited whispers heard late nights in the Slytherin common room. Whispers of coming war, of a new Dark Lord who would lead some crusade to take back something or other.

"We're one of the most feared and respected pureblood families, Sirius." A favorite saying of Mother's, but coming from Bella it had sounded like some great secret. "You and me, we'll be on the front lines of this war. The Dark Lord will like us best."

She had taught him to duel too, trained him to be a warrior. He'd once told Harry that Snivelly knew more curses coming into Hogwarts than half the seventh years. What he'd neglected to mention was, so had he.

For two summers they had snuck up to the stuffy attic and practiced for hours each day. She would laugh and duck his curses, teasing him in that mocking baby voice, "come on, you can do better than that!" His face would screw up in concentration as he fired off a stream of spells. Then finally one would hit her and it was his turn to gloat.

And that was how he got really good, really fast.

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Reviews are better than chocolate!

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Sirius had been one of the best fighters in the original Order of the Phoenix, and had even coached many of the others himself. Which also meant he used to get picked for the best assignments. Like tailing suspected Death Eaters to shadowy hideouts. Or rescuing hapless victims before Voldemort's thugs raided their homes... especially when said victims were pretty young witches who'd be overcome with gratitude....

Sirius bit off a piece of toast. Damn he missed it. Being out there in the field, senses heightened, adrenaline coursing through his veins....

But the creaking of footsteps upstairs interrupted these thoughts. Sirius stopped chewing, confused; he wasn't expecting anyone for hours. He held still and listened, mouth full of toast, as the intruder — who was being anything but stealthy — thumped down the stairs and burst into the kitchen.

"Wotcher," said Tonks brightly, swinging a backpack off her shoulder. She dropped it by the door and started towards him, but caught her foot on the strap and went flying into the table.

Sirius swallowed quickly and smirked at his niece. "All right, Nym?"

"Just fine," she grumbled, picking herself up. He held a chair out for her but she sat on the edge of the table. Her hair, which was spikey and turquoise today, cut nicely through the cold gloom of the kitchen. "Kingsley been by yet?" she asked, lifting his firewhiskey and examining the label.

"No," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Was he supposed to?"

She took a playful sip, made a face, and set the bottle down. "Merlin, forgot this stuff's too vile for daylight."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Daylight? You see any daylight in here?"

Ignoring this, Tonks grabbed his cup of now-tepid tea and took a big gulp, presumably to chase the booze. She stuck out her tongue and made another face.

Sirius offered her a piece of toast, which she took, but not before raising a judgmental eyebrow at him. "He said he wanted to stop by on his lunch and pick your brain."

"About what?"

"Probably the hunt for Sirius Black," she shrugged, nibbling on her toast.

He grinned and leaned back again. "How is that coming along these days?"

"Dunno, haven't been keeping up. I got reassigned to the hunt for Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" said Sirius, pouting. "Why's he getting more Aurors? He's not nearly as fearsome as Black!"

Tonk groaned. "He is if you're Fudge. I actually tried to get on the Bellatrix Lestrange case, but no go. Seems neither you or Auntie Bella are expected to nip into Fudge's office by night, tip him from his chair, and sit in it yourselves. Which makes you lower priority at the moment."

"They don't have the faintest idea where she is, do they?"

"The Aurors don't, no. Mum suspects she's 'well-hidden' like you."

He nodded; he'd been thinking the same thing. "With Cissy playing Secret Keeper?"

"Yep," said Tonks grimly, wiping the crumbs from her mouth.

Sirius sighed and reached for his bottle, but he'd just brought it to his lips when Tonks leaned in and seized it. "I think you've had enough fun for one morning, don't you?"

He started to open his mouth, then stiffened slightly. There was something different about her scent. Something very familiar, something... wolfish.

"I think I'm not the only one who's been having some fun this morning," he said quietly, looking her straight in the eyes. It worked. She too opened her mouth then closed it again, blushing furiously. Sirius broke into a knowing smirk. "So he got back early then, did he?"

"That," she exclaimed, reaching over to hit him, "is — none — of — your — business — you — insufferable — git!"

Sirius blocked her blows, laughing and trying to look innocent at the same time. "What d'you mean? I just wanted to know if he was coming to din—OW!" He'd grabbed his bottle back, allowing her to land one on the side of his head.

She straightened up, still looking exasperated as he tipped his chair back and swallowed a few more mouthfuls of firewhiskey.

"Yeah, he's coming," she said warily. He set the bottle down. "And so's Mad-Eye."

"Mad-Eye?" Sirius raised a mocking eyebrow, tipping his chair back again. "My, you have had an interesting morn—AARRRRGGHH!" He went toppling to the ground with a fantastic clatter that reverberated around the kitchen.

Really should've seen that one coming, he thought, blinking dazedly at the ceiling.

"You miserable hellhound," came Tonks's voice from somewhere above. She sounded not the slightest bit sorry for kicking his chair. "You're lucky I'm not tying you up to hand to Dawlish right now."

Sirius disentangled himself from the chair, righted it, and sat back down, throwing her a wounded look.

"Oh, speaking of Dawlish," she whispered suddenly, "you haven't heard about Minerva, have you?"

Sirius shook his head, noticing that Tonks looked angry for real now.

"She's in Mungo's! That ***** Umbridge went to sack Hagrid last night, you see. She wasn't about to go alone obviously, since he's a dangerous half-breed, so she rounded up a couple Aurors and some other Ministry goons and they all went around midnight."

Sirius frowned. "Why midnight?"

"That's the thing," said Tonks darkly, "I think she was trying to provoke him — get him to react violently so they'd have an excuse to throw him in Azkaban." Sirius swore loudly. "The rest of the Auror Office didn't even know until this morning, or I would've tried to warn him," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"So what happened?" Sirius prompted.

"It worked, sort of. He did get violent when they tried to take him by force, but they hadn't counted on his giant blood repelling their Stunners. He managed to knock most of them cold." She paused. "Dawlish had his head in bandages this morning," she added, smiling grimly.

"But where does Minerva come into this?" said Sirius impatiently.

"Getting to that. So she must've heard the racket from the castle because she rushed out to Hagrid's defense. Four Stunners, straight to the chest."

Sirius stared at her. "You're joking," he said slowly, though he knew perfectly well she wasn't.

"They took her to the infirmary, but there was little Poppy could do. She was transferred to St. Mungo's early this morning."

"Will she be alright?"

"They don't know. The Healers are hoping she'll make a full recovery, but she's not exactly young, is she?"

"She's a tough old bird though," said Sirius, reassuring himself as much as Tonks. "She'll pull through, I'm sure. But what happened to Hagrid?"

"Luckily he escaped. Fled the school grounds, according to Dolores's memo."

"Hm, probably gone up to the mountains," Sirius mused, remembering where he'd stayed to be near Harry last year. "He'd be safe up there for a while. Rough terrain, take them forever to search it."

"The Auror Office is stretched too thin to mount a proper search anyway," said Tonks. "We've got Dumbledore, the escaped Death Eaters, you. And a bunch of us are stationed at Azkaban now too. But that's still very hush-hush, as Fudge isn't publicly admitting the desertions yet...."

The thought of roving bands of unemployed Dementors made Sirius slightly sick, but something more important was struggling to break through his mental fog. "Wait, so who's left up at the school?" he asked slowly. "Who's watching Harry right now?"

There was a moment of silence. "Snape," Tonks muttered, not looking him in the eye.

"WHAT?" He shot up, slamming his fist on the table and causing his dishes and niece to jump.

"You know as well as I do, Sirius," Tonks began helplessly, "he's in the Order, Dumbledore trusts him...."

"He's a Death Eater!" Sirius snarled.

"Was a Death Eater," she corrected, but without any real conviction. He ignored her and started pacing feverishly around the room.

Was Voldemort still breaking into Harry's mind? Had Harry's Occlumency improved any? Actually, had Remus even managed to knock some sense into Snape before leaving? Or was Snivellus still hanging his godson out to dry just for watching a stupid pantsing memory? A memory that made Harry feel sorry for him, at that....

"Sirius?"

But what if Snivelly never wanted Harry to learn Occlumency in the first place? How could Dumbledore be so sure he'd switched sides? What if he hadn't? What if he'd already informed his Master that all the Order were gone from the school? Voldemort would jump on the chance of course. He needed Harry, needed that Prophecy....

Sirius ground to a halt, shoved his hand in his pocket, and pulled out his two-way mirror. "Harry Potter," he said quickly. It glowed faintly blue for a moment, but Harry's face didn't appear. Only the same black nothingness he'd gotten all term. He chucked the damn thing at the far wall in frustration, where it shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

"Sirius?" Tonks had come up behind him and was gently touching his arm. He looked down, somewhat surprised to see her there; he'd forgotten she was still in the room. "Sirius, he can't go anywhere. He's at school, he has exams... he can't even Apparate yet...."

"Believe me, Nym, if he thought he needed to go, he'd find a way."

"How? Dolores is watching all the Floos...."

"He used one to talk to me, didn't he?" said Sirius angrily.

He had to get up to the school, had to warn Harry.... Umbridge didn't know his Animagus form, he could go as Snuffles, sneak in through the gates again....

"Don't you dare," said Tonks sharply, reading his mind. She fixed him with warning look that reminded him forcibly of her mother.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he yelled. "Just sit here while Voldemort tries to lure my—"

"Yes," she said firmly, steering him back to his chair. "How would Harry feel if you got tossed back in Azkaban trying to talk to him? Snape is on our side. Dumbledore trusts him, and so do I. Harry isn't going anywhere," she said emphatically, though not looking nearly as confident as she sounded.

Sirius slumped back into the chair and ran a dejected hand over his stubbly face. "You don't know that, Nym...."

"Look," she sighed, checking her watch. "How 'bout I pop up to the school and see if I can't have a word with Snape? Tell him to put Harry on his guard. I'll have to hurry though, I'm due back at the office in half an hour. Now promise me," she said, planting a hand by each of his shoulders and looking him pointedly in the eyes, "promise me you won't set foot out of this house. Or I'm not going."

Sirius stared back defiantly, but after a few moments looked away and mumbled, "fine."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he said dully.

"Marauder's Oath?"

"What?" His eyes snapped back to her. "You can't—"

"Remus said I can proxy for him when he's not around." The corners of her mouth twitched in a faint smile.

Sirius rolled his eyes and sighed resignedly. "Fine, Marauder's Oath."

"Good," she said, bounding over to the door and picking up her bag. "Oh, I almost forgot... Mum sent something for you...." She rummaged around in the bag and pulled out a letter and a package wrapped in brown paper. "Now you behave yourself, and I'll see you tonight, okay?" she said, handing them over and kissing him lightly on the cheek, like she used to when she was little.

She made for the door, throwing one last reassuring smile over her shoulder on the way out. Sirius listened to the sound of her hurrying up the creaky steps; then she was gone and a stifling silence descended on the kitchen once more.

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Sirius sniffed Andromeda's gift (ginger biscuits with pumpkin icing), tossed it on the table, and closed his eyes, wondering what he'd just agreed to. His head, he was suddenly aware, was throbbing painfully from its recent encounter with the kitchen floor.

Damn her and her Auror negotiation skills, he thought, massaging it delicately with his fingers. Really! "Marauder's Oath." He made a mental note to hit Moony next time the ugly git showed his face.

But maybe, just maybe, Nym was right. She had a good head on her shoulders, and Sirius trusted her judgement as much as he trusted anyone's. If she was more worried about him racing off to Harry than Harry racing off to Voldemort... maybe he was getting worked up over nothing....

He stopped massaging his head, which only hurt more now, and rested it gingerly on the table.

Nym had grown so much while he was in Azkaban. She'd been, what, seven when he was locked up? And back then she'd thought him the Most Exciting Person in the World because he had a motorbike; a flying motorbike (okay, it was hard to argue with that). One time Ted gave her permission to ride along, and it had so obviously been the happiest moment of her young life... well worth the wrath they'd had to endure from Andromeda later, after Nym had been sent to bed....

Sirius hiccuped and absentmindedly traced a finger over the deep gouge marks in the table, not lifting his head. Now Nym was dating Moony. That idea had taken some getting used to. But it turned out she was a good influence on him, really good. He needed it, too, because he'd gone a bit... stodgy over the years, without Padfoot and Prongs around to set him straight.... And it really hurt Sirius to see an old friend so demoralized he could discuss Snivelly confiscating the Map from Harry without even cracking a smile. (Sirius loved that story; he'd roared with laughter and had a bounce in his step for days after hearing it.)

With Nym in his life though, Moony had finally started acting like Moony again, and Sirius no longer needed to mockingly call him "Professor Lupin" all the time.

He'd even managed to cajole the happy werewolf into going out on a full moon (though only after a great deal of whining about how his situation in Grimmauld Place was just like when Remus had to transform in the Shrieking Shack all alone). The two of them had quietly Apparated to the mountains around Hogsmeade at dusk; unfortunately, even with the hills perfectly devoid of human life, Moony had insisted on taking Wolfsbane beforehand....

Sirius snorted at the table. What kind of werewolf just curled up in a cave and went to sleep round midnight? Only Remus Lupin.... Well, he'd seen to it Lupin awoke under a pile of decapitated rat carcasses, each missing a toe, and an onslaught of petulant demands that he help carry them back for Buckbeak.

The whole incident had hit Sirius pretty hard though, throwing him into "fits of the sullens" so deep that even having Kreacher throw blood-crusted rats at Mother's portrait hardly cheered him. He desperately missed having an accomplice who really shared his lust for adventure (or, as Andromeda once called it, his "penchant for thrill-seeking behavior"); without Prongs, it was like some giant part of him was missing.

That's why he'd also been hit so hard when Harry shot down a simple plan to meet him in Hogsmeade, because it was a tad risky. He'd even felt miserable enough to give Harry the cold shoulder, though Molly nagged him about it incessantly (thankfully Ron left the reason why Sirius was mad out of his letter). He just couldn't stand the thought of the last surviving Potter lecturing him about responsibility instead of offering him a hand out of this forsaken place.

Sirius hiccuped again and decided to try lifting his head — an imprudent move that only made him wince. He wondered if there was any pain potion in the house. Probably not, but it didn't matter because it would've been ten years old... and most likely poisoned by Kreacher... not to mention, pain potions didn't go well with alcohol....

As he set his head back down on the table, his eyes landed on Andromeda's letter. Lacking the drive to reach out and get it, he sat there and contemplated it for a while instead.

Andi hadn't always liked him. She used to keep her distance back when he was Bella's protégé, not that Sirius could blame her in the least. He knew how it must have looked when he and Reg played at being Muggles, pulling funny faces and grunting like trolls, or when they dissolved in laughter at Bella's stories of "putting Muggles in their place." But he'd never even seen a Muggle before starting school, not knowingly anyway. They were just the stupid bad guys in story books, and he'd sort of imagined them looking more like goblins or house elves than proper wizards. So at the time, he figured Andi was just cold and grouchy for no reason. And she, like everyone else, must've thought him just a perfectly normal Black kid.

All that changed, of course, the day he got sorted. He could still remember it vividly: striding confidently to the stool, seeing Bella scoot over to make room for him at the Slytherin table just as the hat slipped over his head....

"Hello there."

Hi. You have to put James in Slytherin too.

"Who's that?"

James. James Potter. He's my best friend and he's standing in line. You have to put him in Slytherin too.

"What makes you so sure you're going in Slytherin?"

Cause Bella said so. And Mother. And Father.

"And you believe them?"

Yeah.

"But they don't get to decide. That's my job."

Uh, okay...

"Let me see, you certainly are clever, and you don't set much store by the rules. Your bloodlines are pure as they come."

Right.

"You're also very proud, and you care little for those you believe to be beneath you."

Huh?

"But I also see a lot of loyalty and bravery here... yes, you're not the sort who saves his own neck first...."

What's that supposed to mean?

"You would find more of your own kind in Gryffindor."

WHAT?

"It's true."

Are you INSANE? You know my family, they'd KILL me!

"It will be difficult, I won't deny, but you are remarkably strong."

You can't! You wouldn't!

"I'm sorry, but it's where you belong."

Wait, you don't get it! They'll actually KILL me!

"You'll thank me one day."

Yeah right!

"Trust me, you're a... GRYFFINDOR!"

Great. My blood's on your hands, Hat.

Most of his family had reacted quite predictably — his parents, for example, racing up to the school to insist there'd been a mistake and demand he be moved — but Andromeda's behavior had left Sirius utterly perplexed. She took to slipping him sweets from Honeydukes and loudly telling her sisters it was embarrassing enough to have a blood traitor in the family, could they please not remind the whole school by constantly hexing him in the halls. Equally perplexing had been how sixth year Ravenclaw and perfect stranger Ted Tonks had decided, seemingly out of the blue, to appoint himself Sirius's personal bodyguard.

Sirius smiled weakly. The ache in his head had grown duller, and he willed himself to sit up a little. He unfolded Andi's letter while helping himself to a ginger biscuit.

------
Sirius, Darling,

Nymphadora tells me you're not doing so well. She and Remus don't want to alienate you by bringing it up, but they're very worried about you. And please don't get angry at them for telling me, because we all care about you very, very much. All we want is for you to be happy, and healthy, and safe.

Obviously she can't speak the name of the place, nor can I find it until Albus Dumbledore returns, but I have an excellent idea where you are, and believe me, I more than anyone know how hard this must be for you. But chin up, Darling, you've got to stay positive, because we will sort all this out, and things will get better. Soon.

I won't spell it out and risk angering you further, but you know what I mean when I say: please don't do this to yourself. There are too many people who love you and can't afford to lose you again. Not just me and Ted, and Remus and Nymphadora, but also Harry Potter. You're the closest thing to a parent he's ever known, Sirius, and if nothing else, you need to stay strong for him.

So please just hang in there a little longer, Sweetheart, alright?

Loads of Love,
Andi
------

Sirius reread the letter twice before crushing it in his fist. Then, face stinging hot, he groped for his bottle, and drained it out of spite.

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A/N--Someone's being a bit of a brat, I know, but Andromeda anticipated as much and suspects her message will still sink in.

You know you wanna leave a review! Really, where else is your opinion this highly valued? :p

He hated it, hated the concerned whispers behind his back, the looks of deepest pity, the pleas to please think of Harry and not do anything... "reckless."

Sirius treated the empty kitchen to a bitter laugh.

How long did they imagine he'd've stayed here, shut up alone in this blasted house, if it hadn't been for Harry? He'd've been out there fighting whether bloody Dumbledore liked it or not. But he wasn't. He was perfectly capable of seeing that his godson needed him to be there, so there he stayed. He wasn't about to forget it either, and did not appreciate being beat over the head with anxious reminders all the time.

Sirius glowered at the fireplace for a while, forgetting the empty bottle in his hand until it slipped from his fingers and rolled down the table. He'd just started to wonder if draining it so fast had been the best idea, when he heard some creaking and shuffling coming from the direction of the boiler room.

"Master is alone," Kreacher announced. "Where have all his filthy friends gone, Kreacher wonders?" Sirius grit his teeth; his blood was starting to boil, but unfortunately his stomach was also starting to complain.

"Why they do not visit him anymore?" the elf continued to mutter as he crossed the kitchen slowly. "Have they grown tired of Master, nasty, useless drunk that he is?" Kreacher paused by the doorway, but didn't look back. "My poor Mistress. She always knew this one would turn out rotten. Oh, how she used to say to Kreacher—"

If Sirius had still been holding the bottle, he would've thrown it at the elf, hard. As it was, he could only manage a rancorous croak of, "shut it, Kreacher."

The elf started in mock surprise, turned, and bowed, leering malevolently all the while.

Sirius looked away. His eyelids had started to droop, and the sounds of Kreacher leaving the room sounded oddly distant to him. He wondered vaguely why, in so many millennia of magical history, no one had invented a good sobriety spell yet....

******

How much time passed, he couldn't say, but when the footsteps came overhead again, Sirius was ready for them. Tonks had said Kingsley was coming over. But when the door opened, it was Moony and not Kingsley who walked in. Tonks had not said Moony was coming over.

"You're not Kingsley," Sirius declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Lupin's general direction.

"Well spotted, Mr. Padfoot," said Moony in his Professor Moony voice. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Placated by this, Sirius returned his head to the table. Remus walked over and sunk wearily into a chair opposite him.

Sirius had a nagging suspicion he was mad at Moony....

"Why'm I," he began, trying not to slur, "why'm I mad at you?"

"You're sozzled," Moony replied matter-of-factly.

"No'm not," he mumbled, though he knew it was a dirty lie. "Jus' cause I don' agree with you 'n Molly...."

"Molly isn't here, Sirius," said Lupin sensibly.

"Then why're you?"

"Must be the gracious hospitality. Oh, Tonks said to let you know she's left a message with — er...." Moony hesitated.

Moony was hiding something. "With...?" Sirius said impatiently.

"Kingsley," Remus replied quickly. "He can't get away from work yet. They're having an internal hearing on the so called, 'McGonagall Incident.'" He sounded bitter for some reason. "Don't worry, Fudge will make the whole thing disappear before dinnertime, I'm sure."

"Good," said Sirius, feeling reassured.

Remus frowned, apparently not reassured. "Just how much have you had already?" he demanded.

"How much what?" Sirius asked, confused.

"This," said Remus, brandishing an empty bottle in Sirius's face. "How full was it when you came in here this morning?"

Sirius thought about it. "'Bout half, I guess."

Remus groaned and vanished the bottle. "Impressive, even for you," he said dryly.

A new nagging suspicion began to tickle the back of Sirius's brain. "Why're you mad at me?" he asked, slightly worried. He didn't want Moony to be mad at him.

"I'm not mad at you, Sirius...."

"You are," Sirius insisted, growing more alarmed by the moment. "You're tired of... you — you hate me...."

Moony was doing a very good job of looking bewildered. "Of course I don't hate you. Why would I hate you?"

Sirius struggled to focus on his friend and to remember what he'd done so he could apologize. He really wanted Moony to stop being cross with him; Moony was the only old friend he had left. Unfortunately, the room around him had slowly started to spin, which was most unhelpful. He only managed to babble a few words like "nasty" and "useless."

Remus shook his head. "You're raving," he said, rising purposefully from his seat.

Something clicked in Sirius's mind. "Full moon." Remus froze, halfway out of his chair, and stared at him. "You're mad I didn' wan' you to take the Wolfsbane."

The werewolf's expression went from puzzled to curious and he slowly sat back down. "Go on," he encouraged, as though Sirius had just said something very clever in class.

"You hate transforming without it," said Sirius dolefully. "An' you don' like going out on full moon anymore, but you did it for me an' I threw rats at you!"

Remus shook his head again, looking half amazed and half amused. "Remarkable."

"What?"

"How insightful you can be when you're pie-eyed." He smiled faintly and added, "Well, I'm glad you said that, but I wasn't mad at you — not for long, anyway."

"Why not?"

"Know you too well."

Sirius considered this. "I know," he nodded sadly, "I'm horrible."

"Er — not horrible, exactly — more like difficult.... You've never been an easy friend to have, Padfoot, surely you know that?"

"Then why'd you — why d'you put up with me?"

"Good question," said Remus, appearing to contemplate the matter. He seemed to be suppressing a laugh too, but Sirius didn't see anything funny about it.

"I don' deserve... you're too good... Moony," Sirius hiccuped and tried to cling to his train of thought. "Never deserved... friends like... too good... you and Prongs...."

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius," Remus sighed, standing up. "I don't know what's got into you this morning — besides half a bottle of hard liquor, of course — but you're talking nonsense again. And I just got back from a long mission, I am too tired to listen to you carrying on like this." He walked to the pantry, then looked back over his shoulder. "And if you say one word about my morning, I'll throttle you."

••••••••••••

A/N--There's definitely more to this conversation with Lupin, so stay tuned! And please leave feedback! :D

••••••••••••

Even if he'd had something to say about Moony's morning, Sirius wouldn't have said it, and not just because he was feeling too nauseous to open his mouth at the moment....

He wasn't talking nonsense, he was admitting the truth. He was difficult, Moony had just said so.... He'd done... things — things they should never have forgiven him for; but they had, without him even asking.

Why was he ever given friends so good? Why, when all he did was fail them?

Sirius watched, head still resting on his arms, as Remus emerged from the pantry with coffee beans and set about doing something at the counter. Probably making coffee. After a few minutes he returned with two steaming mugs and set one down in front of Sirius. Yes, he had definitely made coffee.

"Don't you want to know how the mission went?" he asked, calmly sipping his.

Sirius didn't really hear him. "It's not nonsense, I —"

"I know it's not," Remus cut him off. "I know you have regrets, Sirius, we all do —" Moony wasn't letting him talk, "— but you're letting yourself get too worked up just now, and you're in no condition..."

Why wasn't Moony listening? Why couldn't he see how important it was for Sirius to say —

"I sent a werewolf after you."

Remus stopped mid-sentence, mouth open, and frowned. "Er," he said slowly, "I don't think so. I was only six at the time, and so were you."

Sirius realized his mistake. "I mean a Snape. I sent a Snape after you. You were the werewolf."

Remus stiffened and fixed Sirius with that special Look, the one like he was trying some new non-invasive form of Legilimency. Sirius had been getting that Look a lot all year, but he welcomed it this time because he wanted Moony to see in his head, see he was genuinely sorry.... He'd never said it before, he wanted to say it now, but... he was feeling entirely too warm....

"That you did," said Remus, his face impassive again. He took another sip of coffee and seemed to be waiting for Sirius to say something else: But Sirius was too busy willing himself not to get sick all over the table. "Why did you do it?" Remus finally asked, sounding like he'd just caught Sirius being naughty and was about to set him lines.

"Didn't think he'd — that he'd actually do it," Sirius managed through a hiccup. Standard answer.

"But you weren't sorry that he did." Standard reply.

His vague anxieties were now focusing into a long-forgotten, burning panic. With one tiny mistake he'd turned all his friends against him.... He would be expelled... forced to return to Grimmauld Place for good, to live with Mother....

His heart was racing.

He had no one to turn to....

And, almost reflexively, he could feel his face contorting into a contemptuous sneer. It fought back the dread some; they were all idiots. They'd soon come to their senses and realize he'd done nothing wrong.

"Don't give me that look," said Lupin coldly. "You brought it up."

Sirius was startled back to the present. He was not sixteen, they had not abandoned him — well, his friends hadn't anyway....

They were too good.

"I — I'm..." Sirius sniffled, closed his eyes, tried to concentrate. The nausea, the headache, the spinning room... he knew he had to say something... but his face was all sweaty... he had to say — he had to lie down....

He turned to his side and found a dustbin, noting dimly that Remus must have conjured it.

When he sat up two minutes later there was a glass of water waiting for him, and he gulped it down gratefully. He was already feeling cooler and more relieved, but also rather drowsy.

Remus, who had been reading a crinkled note with raised eyebrows, now folded and set it aside, and vanished the contents of the dustbin with a lazy flick of his wand. "Eat this," he said, holding out a piece of chocolate.

Sirius took it with the distinct impression they'd just been talking about something important. He looked at Moony for some sort of clue, but Moony just sat there with a look of polite, Dumbledorish expectation on his face.

Sirius closed his eyes, sniffled again, and was on the verge of conking out when it hit him....

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

••••••••••••

A/N--Sirius and I would love to hear your feedback! Don't worry, I'll tell him when he wakes up. :D

••••••••••••

Sirius sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, unable to figure out where he was or how he had got there. Sounds were swirling around in his head, sounds he recognized. The plaintive wails of a baby — Harry — receding with the thunderous roar of his bike ... a sickening crunch as he stepped on James's glasses, his own choked scream as his eyes landed on James's corpse ... whiplike cracks of Hit Wizards Apparating all around him, shouting, closing in....

It felt like drowning.

It was a full minute before a bedroom slowly started to materialize around him, and another before he realized he was just having another goddamned night terror.

He banged his head back on his headboard. His heart was thumping away in his chest at about a million miles an hour. This was what a twelve-year stint in Azkaban did to you. You could get yourself out of its walls, but your mind would never fully escape that place.

Sirius held still, catching his breath and waiting for the adrenaline surge to drain out of him, reminding himself over and over that there was nobody in the room trying to hurt him. Normally he used a bit of Soothing Serum or Oblivious Unction before bedtime to keep the night terrors at bay. How the hell had he forgotten to do that this time? He was usually pretty religious about it.

Sirius glanced absently at the night stand that housed these sweet saviors of sanity and saw resting on it a goblet filled with some reddish concoction. There was a note tucked under this.

------

Gone to run some errands, back around dinnertime. Drink this when you wake up, it should stave off the worst of the hangover.

Cheers,
RJL

P.S. — Dumbledore sends word he intends to stop by HQ later tonight for brief debriefing. Says he won't make it in time for dinner but would appreciate if we save him some dessert.

------

Sirius groaned slightly as he finished reading the note. Hangover. That would explain the pounding headache and pronounced nausea he had begun to feel as the aftereffects of the night terror finally ebbed away. These new symptoms he had no doubt earned fair and square, though his memory was a bit fuzzy on how exactly it might have happened.

Well, hopefully Moony's restorative draught would do what Moony said it would do. Sirius gulped it down, making a face at the bitter taste and the Black family crest he noticed etched on the goblet.

Then, with a mild jolt of panic, he snatched up the note again. Dammit — he'd completely forgotten he was hosting dinner tonight!

Hoping desperately that there weren't already hungry, disgruntled Order members congregating in his kitchen, Sirius lit the room lamps with a quick flick of his wand and checked his watch. Only quarter past five. Good, he thought, breathing a sigh of relief ... still had another hour or two to go....

He managed to haul himself out of bed, yawning deeply and wondering if he would ever have lived down the mortification of failing to feed dinner guests on account of being dead drunk and passed out. Not if Snivelly found out, that was for sure.

The hangover remedy was starting to kick in. Sirius wandered groggily out of the room, onto the landing, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and feeling vaguely disgusting and disgusted with himself.

Surely there were healthier ways he could find to entertain himself indoors if he really wanted to — Dumbledore had left him a giant book of crossword puzzles he hadn't even touched, for example. So why didn't he? Why was he stuck in this miserable cycle of drinking and moping and sleeping, day after interminable day?

It was embarrassing to think how he must have looked to anyone who stopped by Grimmauld Place once in a while. Weak. Defeated. And the most frustrating part was that some small part of him still knew this wasn't the real him, wasn't who he wanted to be ... knew he was capable of so much more. He didn't break out of prison and spend two years on the run just to come undone while sitting around his parents' house.

Sirius realized that he had been leaning on the banister for several minutes now, staring vacantly at the stairs, and that what he should have been doing instead was going down to the kitchen to start dinner. He told himself he wasn't coming undone. He told himself he wasn't feeling sorry for himself. He told himself, very sternly, to ignore the fact that his whole being ached to go out and do something, anything, to prove that he was not a complete waste of space.

The gloomy lamps that lined the stairwell came to life with another flick of Sirius's wand, and he was just summoning the motivation to go downstairs when he noticed that something across the hall was wrong.

There was a door open, just a crack — a door he knew he had magically sealed nearly a year ago. The door to Regulus's old room.

Sirius could have sworn he'd ordered Kreacher not to open it. He hadn't wanted it cleaned out — had even lied to Molly and the kids last summer, telling them that he thought it was infested with Flesh-Eating Slugs and would handle it himself. He didn't know why. He'd never even been tempted to look inside, and had done a pretty good job all year of forgetting it was there.

Sirius made up his mind. Frowning, he strode purposefully to the door, determined to shut and reseal it, and not bother too much about how it had been opened. His hand hesitated on the serpent-headed doorknob though.

Close it ... just close it ... the last thing you need right now is to get all nostalgic about your stupid prat of a brother....

But he opened it anyway, and next moment felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

••••••••••••

Alright, that was kinda short. I'm trying to get back in my stride with this story. If you're still reading, please stop by the feedback thread and let me know how I'm doing.

The room was full of boxes — old wooden crates, battered trunks, most of them covered with cobwebs. Whatever Sirius had been expecting, it wasn't this.

She couldn't have ... she wouldn't have....

He walked over to the nearest box and lifted the cardboard flap tentatively. Inside were some fox fur stoles and a pair of snakeskin heels he was fairly sure Regulus would not have been caught dead in. He tried the one next to it — moth-eaten old dresses, in appallingly hideous paisley patterns that he vaguely remembered seeing on his Auntie Elladora.

Anger mounting, Sirius checked a few more boxes and trunks at random — finding a case full of shrunken heads and a huge stuffed manticore under a sheet, but nothing that might have belonged to Regulus. In fact, except for faded outlines on the peeling wallpaper where posters of Quidditch stars and rock bands and veela once hung, the room bore no signs of having ever been inhabited by the younger Black son. Just like the one across the hall had been purged of all traces of the elder Black son (as he had known it would be, even twenty years ago, when he thought he'd never see it again).

A funny ringing filled Sirius's ears. They had done a pretty thorough job cleaning the rest of the house, and had never come across any of Reggie's stuff. Which meant ... it had been thrown out....

He couldn't believe it — she had no right —

Before he even realized what he was doing, Sirius was charging down the stairs, wand in hand, determined to blast down Mother's portrait even if he had to take the whole damn wall down with it. He was almost at the ground floor when a noise from upstairs — a rather horrible noise, like a wounded hippogriff — stopped him dead in his tracks.

Confused, Sirius gripped the banister and looked up. Half of him still wanted desperately to go downstairs and do to Mother's portrait what he should have done long ago, but the other half could hear the distress in the screechy braying that echoed through the stairwell....

Buckbeak?

The thought that the hippogriff might be hurt was enough for Sirius to make up his mind. He turned and hurried back up the stairs, reminding himself bitterly that Mother's portrait was unlikely to go anywhere in the meantime; he opened the door to her old room, frowning.

"Shh," he whispered. "What's got into you?"

Buckbeak was stretched out on the floor, flapping his great wings and turning his head wildly from side to side in obvious anguish. Sirius tried to hold his beady orange eye steady while clearing the hippogriff dung from Mother's bed with a wave of his wand.

"Keep still so I can figure out what's wrong," he said gently, edging around the animal to try and make out what had happened. Then he saw the problem — one of Buckbeak's hind legs was sticking out at an odd angle. Looked like he'd fractured a bone.

"How in Godric's name did you manage to do that?" Sirius muttered, casting a quick Sedating Spell on the hippogriff and following it up with a local anesthetic on the injured leg. Buckbeak's frantic movements slowed then stopped, his head drooping slightly. Sirius stroked his feathers in a comforting way.

How was he going to fix this? They had never learned anything about broken bones in Care of Magical Creatures, as far as he could remember. After a moment's thought, he conjured up a splint and bandage to wrap Buckbeak's leg; then he dashed upstairs to the library, returning a few minutes later with a copy of the Do-It-Yourself Guide to Medical Magic.

Buckbeak had dozed off in the meantime, which at least meant he wasn't in too much pain. Sirius kicked a few rat skulls out of the way and flopped down on the floor, leaning his back on Buckbeak's flank, which was warm and sturdy.

He had grown very attached to this animal over the past two years, often the only company he'd had for months on end. They were outlaws, the both of them — both innocent, and both forced to flee from the Ministry for their lives. Sometimes Sirius felt like the hippogriff was the only living creature who really understood him, as stupid as that may have sounded. Or the only one he could really stand to be around. At least hippogriffs never told you you were irresponsible or depressed....

Sirius flipped through the Do-It-Yourself Guide, looking for anything that might be of use for Buckbeak. But the image of Reg's room came floating back to his mind before long, and when it did a fresh wave of outrage nearly propelled him up and out the door to finish off his mother's portrait.

How dare she? he thought furiously, glaring at a diagram of a wizard whose nose had been switched with one of his ears.

She was the one who'd poisoned Reg — all that, "we know you won't disappoint us like your good-for-nothing blood traitor of a brother," garbage. She'd really done a number on him those first two years Sirius had been at Hogwarts. Terrified, no doubt, of having both her sons wind up in Gryffindor. She lavished Reggie with her pathetic simulacrum of parental affection, which was even more disgusting than the cold indifference she'd displayed toward them both when they were younger. Sirius knew what real parental love looked like; he'd spent a fair bit of time at the Potters', and had seen through her act right away. But Reg just hadn't known any better, had refused to believe he was being manipulated....

Well, she'd gotten what she wanted. A proper son: one who went around with his friends tormenting defenseless Muggle children for sport, who graduated to massacring innocent families, simply for incurring the wrath of the Dark Lord. Well, maybe she hadn't wanted that last bit. Maybe Reg hadn't either. Nonetheless, there was no honor in being a deserter. Nothing for a mother to be proud of in her son running away from the fight, and getting swatted down like fly for it. In the end, Regulus had hardly been more of a credit to the Black name than Sirius himself. It probably shouldn't have been surprising that the house was cleared of his relics. A wonder he hadn't been blasted off the tapestry too.

Sirius's teeth squeaked, at which point he realized he'd been grinding them in anger. Then just outside the door a stair creaked, and he realized someone was softly calling his name.

••••••••••••

I generated some random Regulus memories for this that I didn't wind up using. I'm not sure whether to weave them into a later part of the story or just move away from that theme. If you have an opinion on this, or anything else at all, I would love to hear it on the feedback thread. :D

Sirius got to his feet, opened the door, and poked his head out into the hallway. He hadn't lost track of time again, had he? Failing to feed guests on account of tending an injured hippogriff was a bit better than being dead drunk and passed out, but still bad form in his opinion. No — he checked his watch — he still had some time, though he was cutting it close now.

Rounding the top step onto the landing was a tall black wizard with a shiny bald pate and a gold hoop in one ear. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror in charge of his case, and an all round decent fellow.

"Anything I can do to help you?" Sirius asked sociably.

"Oh, there you are." For a moment Kingsley looked oddly relieved, then his face broke into a grin. "You alive?"

Sirius looked down at his perfectly solid body. "Apparently."

"Safe?"

"Unfortunately."

"Excellent," said Kingsley.

"Why?"

"Nothing, I was just down in the kitchen looking for you and caught an incoming message from Snape, asking if you were alive and safe."

"Slimy git," said Sirius, scowling. "Never gets tired of rubbing it in, does he?"

Kingsley chuckled. "You want to answer him or should I?"

"Be my guest," Sirius muttered, turning back to Buckbeak's room. "No, hang on — you know anything about mending broken bones?"

"Some," Kingsley shrugged. "Part of standard Auror training in first aid. Why?"

"Come 'ere." Sirius motioned him over to the room and showed him Buckbeak's injuries.

"How'd that happen?" Kingsley asked, frowning as he bent down to inspect the hippogriff's damaged leg.

"No idea. Can you fix it though? I should really get started on dinner."

"Yeah, go on, I'm getting hungry. And answer Snape, will you? He might've had a legitimate reason for asking."

Sirius doubted this very much, but grunted an affirmative and made his way down the stairs trying to work out the nastiest possible reply in his head. Unfortunately Patronuses were inherently a positive force, which made them wholly unsuitable for saying the sorts of things he would have liked to say to Snivelly.

On reaching the ground floor, Sirius suddenly remembered Mother's portrait. His scowl deepened even further, and his hand twitched toward his wand....

Nah, blowing up the wall right now would lead to all sorts of awkward questions from Kingsley and the others. Sirius shot a death glare at the velvet curtains before continuing on to the kitchen. He'd get her later that night, after everyone had gone.

After he'd shot off a Patronus message to Snape through the fireplace (all it said was 'yes,' as he didn't have much time to be creative) Sirius hauled out the ingredients he'd set aside for tonight's dinner, summoned down a few pots and pans from the ceiling, and got to work. Tonight's menu was pheasant with roast potatoes and asparagus. Sirius prided himself on having become a pretty decent cook this past year — a complete reversal of when he lived in his old flat, eating mainly take away and whatever James's mum occasionally foisted on him in an attempt to keep him healthy.

Kingsley came into the kitchen a few minutes later, looking rather tired. "Your hippogriff's all fixed."

"Thanks."

"Anything I can do to help?" He nodded at the food.

"Nope, I've got it covered. Have a seat."

Now that he was back in the kitchen, Sirius suddenly remembered something from the morning. "Had you been meaning to stop by earlier?"

"Oh — yeah."

"What was that all about?"

Kingsley sighed. "Narcissa Malfoy. She's been to the Auror Office a couple of times, trying to look like she's cooperating with the Ministry in the hunt for her sister. Which we all know is a bunch of baloney, of course. Well, some of us know."

"Right," said Sirius, charming a knife to dice the potatoes he'd just washed.

"But I met with her. She's been trying to shift some of the attention back to you, going off that rubbish the Prophet's been printing about you being a rallying point for the escaped Death Eaters. Actually —" Kingsley grinned as though he had just remembered something, "some of the stuff she's brought in has been pretty priceless. We asked her for any old pictures of her sister...."

He dug in his pocket and pulled out something which he smoothed and held out for Sirius. "This one has got to be my favorite so far."

Sirius walked over and took it; it was a worn old black-and-white photograph of himself and Bellatrix sitting on a sofa. She must have been about nine, wearing a lacy frock, her dark hair set off by a headband with a large bow on top. She was clutching him around the middle while he — vigorously sucking his thumb, his fingers hooked over his nose — tried to wriggle out of her grasp.

"Tonks thought we ought to put an Engorgement Charm on it, hang it up in the office to remind people what we're dealing with here," a chuckling Kingsley informed him.

"Ha ha," said Sirius, thinking the better thing to do would be to burn it. He watched his two-year-old self repeatedly start to slide over the edge of the sofa towards sweet freedom before getting yanked back by a very smug-looking Bella. He couldn't quite bring himself to subject the toddler in the photo to that kind of treatment though.

"Was there a point to this?" he asked testily, handing the picture back to Kingsley.

"There was," Kingsley replied calmly. "I cast a stealth tracking charm on Mrs. Malfoy as our meeting got over yesterday, just for kicks. Guess where she Apparated to next?"

"No idea."

"About two blocks west of here."

"Wha—?" Sirius frowned. This was unsettling.

"She only stayed five minutes or so before going home, and she hasn't left her house since."

"Any idea what she was doing?" Sirius asked, walking back to check on the pheasant in the stove.

"I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on that for me," Kingsley said with a sigh. "I take it she used to visit here as a kid?"

"Yeah," said Sirius, scratching his chin. "Though even then it was Unplottable, and they used to Floo in more often than not. Still, I'm sure she has a rough idea where the place is located."

"Can you think of any other business she might have had in the area?"

Sirius gave a short bark of laughter. "In this unfashionable Muggle dump?"

Kingsley sighed again. "I was afraid you'd say that."

They pondered this suspicious turn of events in silence for a little while until Tonks showed up, looking decidedly haggard.

"Pull up a chair," said Sirius, who was starting to feel quite reenergized by the cooking and company. "What's the matter? You look awful."

"And you look — not awful enough. Remus left you one of those hangover remedies, didn't he?"

"Yep."

"I told him not to," said Tonks half-playfully, plopping down in a chair. "Told him you ought to suffer the consequences of your own actions. He said that was just the Black blood in me talking...."

"Good man," said Sirius, laughing.

"So I just spent the last five hours reading a hundred and fifty years' worth of newspaper articles on Albus Dumbledore," said Tonks with a groan. "Looking for any possible clues to where he might be hiding."

"He'll be around for dessert if you want to nab him then," said Sirius, grinning. Kingsley grinned too.

"I think she should," he said in a slow, deep voice. "I would love a chance to actually see one of his getaways. Last time I was out cold for the best part."

••••••••••••


A/N – I know that's sort of an awkward place to stop, but it just flows into the dinner conversation from here, so there really isn't a better place. Anyway, I guess this leaves two, maybe three posts tops, til the end of this story.

Remember, leaving feedback gives you lots of good karma! :D

A dull thud-clunk on the stairs outside soon signaled the imminent arrival of Mad-Eye Moody.

Moody pushed open the door a moment later, his creepy electric blue eye whirling in every direction, sweeping the kitchen for signs of anyone or anything that shouldn't have been there. Remus was waiting patiently just behind him, arms laden with grocery bags.

“Lupin here told me what happened to Minerva,� Moody muttered once he'd satisfied himself and stumped over to the table to take a seat. “I understand there was a hearing?�

“I suppose you could call it that,� said Kingsley gloomily. Remus, who had removed a delectable-looking trifle from one of the bags, went to empty the rest in the pantry, planting a kiss on the top of Tonks's head along the way.

“Am I to take it from your tone that the interests of justice were not served at this hearing?� Sirius asked, pointing his wand at the cupboard. Drawers flew open and dishes and silverware shot out, sailing over to the table and arranging themselves in five neat place settings.

“Well,� said Kingsley with a sigh, “Dolores wrote to Fudge last night and told him Minerva was obstructing Ministry officials in their attempt to apprehend a violent half-breed. She said the Stunners were a regrettable but necessary use of force.�

“I'll bet Fudge lapped that right up,� muttered Remus, emerging from the pantry to help Sirius carry the food over to the table.

“He certainly did,� said Kingsley. “He went so far as to tell us he was being generous, not pressing charges against Minerva.�

An angry murmur went around the table; Sirius and Remus sat down and everyone began to serve themselves.

“Oh, and the search for Hagrid got bumped up — it's top priority now too,� Kingsley added.

Tonks groaned. “You can't be serious. Who've we got left who's not already on a top priority case?�

“Proudfoot and Williamson got reassigned,� Kingsley told her. “I'd have volunteered myself, but there are only so many cases I can throw without Scrimgeour getting too suspicious.� He glanced at Sirius, adding, “He's impatient enough these days — keeps reminding me how much it would help with all that bad press we've been getting if we could finally capture Black.�

As the discussion of Auror Office politics continued, Sirius began to tune out, his mind drifting back to Minerva McGonagall. If his memory was serving him correctly, he'd heard the news about her that morning — she'd been hit with Stunners, she was in the hospital — and then got very angry for some reason. It took him a few minutes to remember why —

“Yes, Sirius, I did talk to Snape,� said Tonks, anticipating his question just as he'd opened his mouth to ask it. Everyone turned to look at them.

“You did?� Remus asked, looking puzzled. “Why?�

“Sirius here was worried about Harry, since Snape's now the only member of the Order left up at the school,� Tonks replied.

“Don't blame him,� Mad-Eye grunted. “I never trusted that guy, and I never got why Dumbledore does either.... Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, if you ask me.�

“Exactly,� said Sirius, nodding solemnly before turning back to Tonks. “So what'd he say, Nym?�

Tonks shrugged. “That he'd keep an eye on Harry, what else? Oh, and he wanted to know when Harry'd used a Floo to talk to you.� She raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“You told him that?� said Sirius, frowning. “Well it's none of his bleeding business —�

“Snape stopped giving Harry Occlumency lessons,� Remus cut in, changing the subject. Sirius, who had been thinking again of the memory Harry'd seen of him and James roughing up old Snivelly at school, was only too happy to join in the expressions of mistrust and annoyance that this news had prompted from the rest of the table.

******

When dinner was over and the table had been cleared, Remus pulled out a pack of cards. All heads turned as one to Mad-Eye.

“Alright, alright,� Moody grumbled, limping over to the cupboard to get a goblet. He filled it with water and dropped his magical eye in.

“Five galleon buy-in?� Sirius suggested, as Tonks conjured up a set of chips for wizard's poker. There was a general murmur of agreement; coins were produced, cards were dealt, and a lazy feeling of contentment stole over the kitchen as they all settled in to play.

“You know what I was thinking?� Sirius said after a few hands. “Minerva McGonagall mentioned to me a couple weeks ago she'd had her career consultation with Harry. She said he wants to be an Auror.�

Remus smiled. “Why am I not surprised?�

“From what I've heard, he wouldn't be half bad,� said Kingsley, pushing forward a small stack of chips. “I raise.�

“He'd be brilliant at it,� said Sirius, glancing again at his cards. The Queen of Diamonds was peering disdainfully down her nose at the Three of Clubs; she looked up at him and shook her head. He tossed the cards on the table. “Kid could fight off a hundred dementors all by himself in third year.�

“Yes, he was especially gifted at fighting dementors,� Remus agreed, a slight hint of pride in his voice.

“Well, what I was thinking,� Sirius continued, “was that we could all help him out a bit over the summer, help him build up skills that would be useful to an Auror. I don't think he's had much dueling practice — we could clear out space for that —� Anywhere but the attic, he added to himself. That was tainted with memories of Bella. “And I'm sure the current Aurors here can think of plenty of other useful areas of training,� he finished, looking hopefully around the table. “What do you guys think?�

“I don't know, Black,� said Kingsley slowly, with a faint grin. “Does this involve spending more of my off-time in your company? Because you have no idea just how sick I get of seeing your ugly mug, plastered all over my walls, day in and day out....� Sirius threw a chip at him, hard. He caught it and laughed, adding it to one of his piles.

“Maybe Sirius can wear a bag over his head whenever you come round, Kingsley,� Tonks suggested. “Either way, Sirius, it sounds like fun. Count me in, I guess.�

“Sounds like something Ron and Hermione and rest of the kids would enjoy too,� said Remus. “Of course I'll help,� he added. “It'll be nice to teach that lot again. They were a pleasure to have in class.�

“You know what else I was thinking,� Sirius went on. “Harry's never even been out of Britain. I thought it might be fun if we went on a trip, maybe for a couple of days around his birthday. It won't be too hard for me to slip out of the country, I did it last year....�

Tonks exchanged a look with Remus, who was dealing out another hand of cards. Sirius had a feeling they might object to this latest plan, and was suddenly wondering if he should have kept it to himself a bit longer.

“Sirius,� said Tonks, with a rueful smile. “As cute as you are when you're being all eager and godfatherly like this, don't you think it would be a better idea to wait till your name's cleared? Your still the focus of an international manhunt, you'll be putting Harry in danger too —�

Sirius frowned; before he could reply, however, bright green flames suddenly shot up in the fireplace, and a silvery, fox-shaped Patronus came darting into the room.

••••••••••••

A/N — Well folks, the end is nigh. I hope you'll stop by the feedback thread and share your thoughts with me and Sirius, before he has to die....

••••••••••••

The fox Patronus belonged to Snape, and, as with anything Snape-related, Sirius had a bad feeling about it.

“Hope he doesn't want an invitation to dessert,� he mumbled, watching the thing warily as it slunk up to Kingsley's chair.

“Play it out loud,� Remus suggested.

Kingsley pointed his wand at it and made a complicated waving motion; the fox dissolved into a silvery mist and Snape's voice filled the room.

“We have a problem,� it said. “Potter and several of his gang have gone missing in the last few hours. He and Granger were last seen leading Dolores Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest around sunset; I am headed there to search for them now. However, Potter was laboring under the delusion earlier that the Dark Lord was holding Black captive in the Department of Mysteries. Knowing his wont for rash and ill-conceived heroics, I suggest rounding up any available Order members and checking for him there as well. Except, of course, for Black, who can make himself useful by informing Dumbledore of these developments when he arrives. Please confirm receipt of message.�

Sirius leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair. “Voldemort!� he growled, stating the obvious. Voldemort had lured Harry to the Department of Mysteries.

He began to pace agitatedly as the others stood too, their expressions grim. This was his fault. He — he personally — should have warned Harry never to go to the Department of Mysteries, no matter what. But Dumbledore had been so sure Occlumency lessons with Snape would work....

Sirius laughed mirthlessly. That plan had been a disaster. Even if Snape was on their side — which again was looking very iffy — Dumbledore should have known his sense of duty stood no chance against his hatred of James.

Well, Sirius would have to deal with Snivelly later. Right now he had a godson to save.

“How do we get there?� he asked abruptly. “Floo? Apparate?�

“Better to Apparate,� said Mad-Eye, who was retrieving his magical eye from the goblet. “Don't want the Floo Regulatory bunch trying to trace our point of origin.�

“I'll tell Snape we've got the message and we're on our way,� said Tonks, hurrying over to the fireplace. She threw in a pinch of Floo powder and shot off a reply.

“Sirius, we will need to leave a message for Dumbledore,� said Remus quietly. “Do you have a quill and some ink?�

At least they all had the sense not to suggest he stay back, Sirius thought, scanning the kitchen anxiously. Quill and ink ... quill and ink.... His eyes landed on the door to the boiler room.

“No need,� he said. “Kreacher!�

The boiler room door opened with a creak. Kreacher shuffled out, sinking into a low bow at Sirius's feet. Sirius frowned; he'd thought the elf had been upstairs all this while.

“Master has summoned —�

“Have you been here this whole ... nevermind — listen, I need you to tell Dumbledore when he gets here that we've gone to the Department of Mysteries to look for Harry and the other kids. Got it?�

“Master's wish is Kreacher's command,� croaked the elf, a trace of amusement in his voice. “Kreacher lives to serve —�

Sirius's frown deepened. The elf was up to something. He shook his head: There was no time to worry about that now.

“What are we waiting for?� he asked, turning back. The others were gathered by the door. Tonks shrugged and led the way out.

The five of them hurried up the stairs, out the front door, and into the heavy, warm summer night air. Sirius felt like someone had lit a fire in his head — a strength and clarity of mind he hadn't known since he'd escaped from Azkaban. Snape's announcement was having the same effect on him that Wormtail's picture had.

“Hold on,� said Mad-Eye abruptly, throwing out an arm that Sirius almost ran into. The old Auror extracted a Put-Outer from one of his robe pockets, stepped up to the edge of the porch, and started clicking it, putting out the street lamps of Grimmauld Place one by one.

“Is that really necessary?� Sirius demanded. Moody ignored him. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself; every moment they stayed here was another moment Harry's life was in danger.

Finally the street was dark, and the five of them dashed across it to the vacant lot.

“Apparition point is the Ministry Atrium,� Kingsley told Sirius and Remus. “Wait here a minute, we'll make sure no one's there.� They nodded; the other three turned and Disapparated, their cracks muffled by the pounding beat of Muggle music issuing from one of the houses nearby.

“Do you think this was why Snivelly stopped giving Harry Occlumency lessons?� Sirius asked darkly, throwing Remus a significant look. “Why he waited a few hours to tell us Harry'd disappeared into the forest....�

“We can worry about that later,� said Remus, plainly skeptical.

Sirius shook his head. “I swear if anything happens to my godson....�

“We'll worry about it later,� Remus repeated firmly.

“All clear,� said Tonks, reappearing a moment later. “Aim for the fountain.�

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to remember the goofy-looking gold fountain in the Ministry Atrium; he turned and Disapparated, arriving moments later in that vast, dark, empty hallway, with Nym and Moony at his side.

The only sound that greeted them was a quiet rush of water from the statues in the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

“This way,� said Tonks, starting toward a pair of golden gates at the end of the hall. The three of them ran, their footsteps pounding off the polished, dark-wood floors and echoing around the Atrium.

Kingsley and Mad-Eye were holding a lift just beyond the gates. They all piled in, Kingsley hitting a button marked nine, and a pair of golden grilles slid smoothly shut. The lift descended slowly — too slowly in Sirius's opinion — its chains clattering and jangling loudly while its occupants stood in anxious silence.

It came to a halt one floor down. “Department of Mysteries,� said a cool female voice, and the golden grilles slid open again.

They stepped out into a dungeon corridor lined with torches, the nearest of which were flickering in the rush of air from the lift.

Sirius tried to remember everything Dumbledore had told them about the Department of Mysteries as Kingsley led them down the hallway toward a plain black door. They studied the great mysteries of the universe — time, the mind, love, death.... And they kept records of prophecies, one of which Voldemort believed would tell him how to destroy Harry.

The plain black door swung open as they approached. Everyone automatically slowed down, even Sirius — who gripped his wand rather tightly, registering for the first time how inexplicably eerie this place was. One by one, they filed cautiously over the threshold.

On the other side was large, circular black room: black floor, black ceiling, and a dozen or so handleless black doors set at intervals around a circular black wall. Between the doors were branches of blue-flamed candles which flickered spookily, reflecting in the polished black floor so that it looked like they were standing on dark water.

“Well?� said Sirius, turning to Mad-Eye, whose magical eye was slowly revolving in its socket, peering through each of the doors in turn.

Mad-Eye turned abruptly, pointing with two gnarled fingers. “Those two — Death Chamber — Potter, Longbottom, ten Death Eaters!�

Tonks burst through one of the doors, Sirius hot on her heels. Kingsley, Mad-Eye, and Remus came hurtling through the other. Some twenty feet below them, on a raised dais, stood Harry, surrounded by Death Eaters.

Sirius and the others were instantly raining down spells on the Death Eaters. Sirius recognized the white-blond head of Lucius Malfoy — who, it appeared, had been reaching out toward Harry to take something — just as it got hit by a Stunner. Malfoy keeled over.

“Sorry, Uncle Lucey,� Tonks muttered, as they started jumping down the stone steps.

“Nice one, Nym,� said Sirius, grinning. He ducked a jet of green light; the Death Eaters were starting to return fire.

Harry had already dived off the dais and taken cover. Sirius knew he had to find him and get him out of there as soon as possible. He jumped from stone step to stone step, aiming and dodging hexes, scanning the room for that familiar shock of untidy black hair.

He reached the floor. There was Harry, on his right ... and a masked Death Eater bearing down on him from the left....

Sirius had no choice but to engage. He ducked and parried the Death Eater's spells, throwing back a few of his own. Harry was in this goon's line of fire, he realized — he stepped up his offensive, pushing the man back. Soon they were dueling so fast their wands were blurs.

In spite of the danger, Sirius couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive. He deflected a steady stream of curses back at their caster, who nearly tripped trying to avoid them. If only he could get Harry out of there, he thought, he might even start to enjoy himself.

First he needed to turn this guy around and get a better view of Harry. Easier thought than done though, he discovered, as he began to lose ground in the attempt....

He and the Death Eater lurched past Harry. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed his godson had just felled another of these morons — and he had the prophecy.

Atta boy, Harry.

But moments later, another Death Eater was bearing down on the kid. Sirius redoubled his efforts against his current opponent, aiming a Trip Jinx at the man's legs, followed by a Stunner to the chest. The guy went down. Sirius added a Confundus Charm for good measure, leapt over him, and rammed Harry's attacker out of the way with his shoulder.

Harry was on the floor, sprawled across a pair of twitching legs, but otherwise okay it seemed. Sirius sent a string of hexes at his attacker, who turned out to be Antonin Dolohov, the man who murdered the Prewetts. Sirius ducked a curse and Dolohov drew his wand arm back, as if to make a slashing motion — 

“Petrificus Totalus!� Dolohov's arms and legs snapped together and he keeled over backward, landing with a crash on his back. Sirius turned back; Harry was on his feet again.

“Nice one!� he shouted, forcing his godson's head down as a pair of Stunning Spells flew toward them. The twitching legs, he noticed, belonged to Neville Longbottom, whose face looked very much like his mother's. “Now I want you to get out of —�

They both ducked again. A jet of green light had narrowly missed Sirius. He looked across the room to see where it had come from and saw Tonks fall from halfway up the stone steps, her limp form toppling from stone seat to stone seat. His mouth went dry. Who had she been fighting?

Then he saw the very smug-looking answer running back toward the fray — Bellatrix.

“Harry, take the prophecy, grab Neville, and run!� Sirius yelled, dashing to meet his cousin.

He fired a Trip Jinx that grazed her ankle. She caught herself and, in one fluid motion, spun back around and fired several hexes at him. Her eyes lit up with malicious pleasure when she saw who it was.

“Wittle Sirius has come out to pway!" cried Bellatrix, making an impressive leap backward onto the dais as she deflected his onslaught of offensive spells. “Here to save the bitty baby Potter brat, are you?"

“That's right,“ said Sirius, jumping up after her. As Bella made a quick mock bow, his eyes darted to the crumbling stone arch, hung with a tattered black veil, that stood in the middle of the dais. It was this, unless he was much mistaken, that gave the Death Chamber its name.

“That's too bad," said Bella with a theatrical pout, hurling several hexes at him. “He's as good as dead.“

Sirius parried her spells with ease. He knew her style, his instincts were built on them. And dueling, like riding a broom, was something you never forgot.

“Funny, last I checked he was still alive," said Sirius conversationally, knocking a few more of Bella's spells back at her. “And he had the prophecy. What's the matter, couldn't ten big bad Death Eaters get it out of him?"

Bella looked slightly disgruntled. “Well if Lucius —"

As if on cue, Malfoy came smashing into the dais. Bellatrix was momentarily distracted, but managed to throw up a Shield Charm before Sirius could land a spell.

Sirius laughed. “Don't tell me Voldemort put Lucius in charge? I thought you were his favorite, cousin dearest?"

He'd hit a nerve, he could tell by the clench in her jaw, which was even more prominent now that Azkaban had hollowed her face. Her next shots flew wide.

“Bloody shame," Sirius pressed, smirking. “All those years you spent rotting in Azkaban for him, while Lucius sat cozy at home, denying everything, not even bothering to look for his Master." He clicked his tongue. “And still Voldemort chose him over you?"

Bella's face hardened at the name; she looked furious but kept her mouth shut. The two of them had slowly begun to circle the dais, the noise around them fading to a dull background roar in Sirius's ears.

He feinted left, threw a spell from the right; Bella blocked it, returning her own. They were watching each other's every twitch, looking for that split-second advantage....

Sirius really was enjoying himself now; it almost felt like they were kids again, doing underage magic in the stuffy old attic, training for a pretend war before lunch — rather than notorious outlaws, fighting in a real battle of life and death raging deep within the Ministry.

Bella threw a jet of red light at him, but he ducked it, laughing.

“Come on, you can do better than that!“ he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. Suddenly he noticed how quiet the place had gone.

It only distracted him for a second, but that was all she needed. Her second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

Sirius hadn't even stopped laughing and suddenly he was falling.

No! he thought. He'd been standing in front of the veil. He was going to die. No, no, no.

Harry ... he couldn't die, his godson needed him....

But an icy vacuum, cold as death itself, was pulling him back towards the veil, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His body curved in a graceful arc.

There was nothing he could do to save Harry ... he didn't even get to say goodbye....

Time seemed to be slowing down around him, a rushing noise filled his ears. Then, as his head brushed the curtain, as Sirius Black lingered on the threshold of being and non-being — it happened.

Like a flash of white lightening it filled his head, a truth so stunning and beautiful he knew that it was what would kill him, for surely no human being could experience such a thing and live to tell the tale. Suspended in the moment before his death, he knew that there could be no death — only change.

And there was nothing to fear in change, because it was all he knew. What part of him hadn't been changing all his life? His body had, his mind had — so what did it matter if they changed once more in death? Because if, in an instant, they ceased to exist, this was only another type of change.

But his soul, that would be preserved, by the most powerful and ancient magic known to humankind: Love. He had loved Harry, fiercely, and that love was reflected in Harry's love for him. And so, when he disappeared bodily, a transformation would begin — a transformation that would leave an imprint of his soul on the earth — inside Harry.

A feeling of profound and deepest calm swept over him, and Sirius knew — knew that souls fused by love were immeasurably strengthened, and that this inner magical strength was the most important gift he could ever give his godson, the boy who would one day defeat Voldemort.

And that, he thought, as time began to flow again and his body slid past the ancient veil, was something worth dying for.

••••••••••••

THE END


A/N — In PoA, Dumbledore says to Harry, "You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him."

My idea is that when a wizard dies for someone they love, they can leave part of their soul earthbound in them. This is much more powerful than a lonely ghost wandering the earth forever, because souls can do a lot more when they are in bodies, and because the fusion of the dead person's soul with the living strengthens and reinforces both.

So in my story, Sirius continues to exist as something like a magical memory, hidden in Harry. It's a bit like the diary horcrux, but rather than murdering to split the soul and keep it in an object, Sirius sacrificed himself for someone he loves, and a bit of his soul is fused with and kept in Harry. And unlike Tom possessing Ginny against her will, Sirius is simply waiting to be called into Harry's service whenever Harry most has need of him. Like James manifests as a Patronus and Lily as a love-force in Harry's blood. My guess is he'll show up as a reflection in a certain two-way mirror, or a voice from beyond the veil.

With James, Lily, Sirius, and Dumbledore all having died, I believe, out of love for Harry, and having left a bit of their souls in him, I think Harry has much greater reserves of magical power than he even realizes. And I don't see how Voldemort's shattered, scattered soul can stand a chance against him in the end.

Anyway, stop by the feedback thread to pay your last respects to Mr. Black.