Archive of Our Own

Work Text

December 18th, 1981

The white walls of the cell were blinding after the endless greys and blacks of Azkaban. Spots appeared, obscuring Sirius’ vision, the longer he stared at the wall. They reminded him this was real. This barren room with its four white walls and sad cot was the single best thing he’d seen in weeks. He wanted to make sure it wouldn’t disappear if he closed his eyes.
His mind was clear for once. No dementors meant no dark pit of misery to drown himself in. A blessing and curse. It was like a swarm of Cornish pixies had been unleashed to buzz around in his skull. A riot of emotions he couldn’t hope to untangle.

Confusion was the easiest to identify.
He hadn’t the faintest idea why he had been brought to the Ministry. The surly guards hadn’t spared him a single word, communicating through grunts and rough gestures. They disgust on their faces kept him from trying to ask. The officious law wizard that greeting him at the Ministry had been no better. He’d certainly spouted off more words, but somehow, he’d made less sense.
Crouch wasted no time shipping him off to Azkaban the first time ‘round. With the passage of time with no trial or hearing or anything, really, he’d assumed everyone was satisfied with seeing him rot next to the rest of his family. No number of pleas or demands in those first days accomplished anything, and he doubted time changed their opinions, so what was he doing here?
He didn’t want to question this miracle out loud, too scared they’d come to their senses and send him back to that frozen hell-hole. He was grateful to be away from the endless screaming and the haze of despair the dementors created. Padfoot helped him hide, not clear his head like the physical distance was doing.
The longer he sat in his cell without any kind of answer, the more frustrated he got.

Frustrated with the lack of information and his inability to do anything except stare at a wall and let his feelings consume him. He teetered between hating himself and his so-called friends who abandoned him.
When he’d asked one of the guards the date, Sirius’ first reaction had been denial. What felt like years, had scarcely been two months. Two months in Azkaban. He was going crazy. He didn’t know how he’d survive going back.

And in those weeks, not a single soul visited him. The actual Death Eaters got more visitors. All his sacrifices, the missions, the years of dedication, of friendship, and not a single Order member bothered to see him. The only brother left to him, the last of the little family he’d put together, couldn’t be bothered to come find the truth.

He and Remus were the only two left. Peter – the rat – was as good as dead. Sirius regretted hesitating when he had the chance. Sentiment wouldn’t hold him back next time.

Merlin, it should have been him.

If only he’d listened to James.

He’d thought himself so clever, and James and Lily paid for it.

Remus must not even be guessing at the truth. He couldn’t think of any other reason for his absence than that he believed Sirius really could betray James.

The lack of faith hurt more than the absence of a visit.

The veil of secrecy they’d lived in these last years took its toll on the bonds of friendship in their group. Eroded the trust he naively believed would last forever.

Instead, they were four broken men – now three – drifting in the chaos.

He needed to focus. There would be time to dwell when they inevitably returned him to that damned island. He had to make the most of this reprieve and plan. He would go willingly once he knew little Harry was being taken care of.

Sirius hoped whatever came next was positive. Perhaps he underestimated his companions. One of them mist finally come to demand an explanation and give him the chance to share his story. Sirius would gladly take any beating, yelling, or outpouring of grief if it meant hearing news of his godson.

Eventually, the door to the cell opened. Sirius sat up on the bed, squinting past the lights to the figure in the doorway. Rather than the expected auror or hoped for friend, Arcturus Black’s imposing figure filled the entry. His grandfather’s face was as impassive as ever. The stern countenance revealed nothing about his presence here.

Sirius’ heart sank.

Nothing good could come of further involvement by House Black in his life.

Grey eyes – mirror images of his own – studied him. Sirius tried not to shrink back from the searching gaze. An impossible task. His family had an ability to make him feel so small.

Several moments of silence passed before Arcturus swept fully into the room, waving the door shut behind him. He had been seventeen the last time he saw the man. His appearance was the same while Sirius’ world had irrevocably changed. His biggest worry then was how he would support himself after school. He had been seventeen, still at Hogwarts, when Uncle Alphard died. The uproar his inclusion in the will garnered was the biggest obstacle he faced.

His grandfather had been the one to settle the situation. Sirius escaped physically unscathed with one less worry for his future. He remembered being surprised then too. The Black Patriarch had largely been absent from family affairs, leaving the day-to-day management to his father.

He couldn’t fathom what made his grandfather leave his life of seclusion. He would have thought the remaining Blacks would be satisfied to see the last of him. After all, no danger of his embarrassing the family existed if all of wizarding society forgot about him locked away on Azkaban. The infamy might please them more than anything else he ever did. They would be thick enough to believe he’d seen the error of his ways and served their precious lord.

The elder didn’t bother taking a seat, not that there were any but the bed to e had. He towered over Sirius’ hunched form, the continued scrutiny chipping away at whatever pretense of calm Sirius could muster. He clung to it, refusing to make this easy, lounging back against the wall with an expectant look.

Call him petty, but he refused to give the man any satisfaction. If Arcturus came to gloat, let him. Sirius didn’t owe him anything.

Despite his resolve, the tension crept into his body the longer the standoff went. He could feel the scowl begin to form on his face before the old bastard deigned to say anything, his grandfather breaking the silence as if it never existed.

“The trial is set for the end of the week. Suitable robes will be arranged. Lamentably, the tailor will not have sufficient time for a visit.”

Another up and down scan. A single eyebrow rose on that aristocratic face, judgement clear.

“A few cleaning charms and grooming spells would not be amiss either. It is as presentable as we will manage with the time the Ministry has so… benevolently granted us.”

Sirius struggled to digest his grandfather’s words. The familiar numbness stole any words Sirius might have. He couldn’t even muster indignance. A disconnect existed between Arcturus’ and Sirius’ realities.

A trial. He was to have a trial. His grandfather, of all people, secured him a trial.

A chance to prove his innocence and reclaim the shreds of his life and it came at the hands of his grandfather. A man he had not directly spoken to since he was fifteen. In his wildest fantasies, he pictured Dumbledore, either at Remus’ behest or of his own volition, arguing for his release.

Moody at a stretch. The grizzled auror had some level of influence in the department, and he’d been partial to Sirius after he proved himself on a number of Order missions. Never had he dreamt his family would fight for him.

The only aspect of this whole situation that made any sense was the clear disdain in Arcturus’ voice. Only a Black could be so galled at the idea of the Ministry dictating to them. It brought an element of reality to the moment, giving him something to center himself with.

Still, Arcturus cared little for family or wizarding politics the last few years. He did not intervene when Sirius ran away. He did not stop Andy’s disownment. He did not prevent Orion and Uncle Cygnus from pushing the family closer into Voldemort’s service. But he was here now as if it wasn’t anything special. Like Sirius was still a young child in need of direction.

The ever-present anger at his family came boiling to the surface, breaking through the shock.

A bitter laugh escaped him. Words failed to capture the sheer incredulousness.

What world had he stepped into that night? What strange magic took over the night James left him?

Somehow shy, cowardly Peter outwitted them all. His closest friends believed Sirius capable of betraying his brother. And now, Arcturus Black was playing white knight.

When had reality began to unravel? He must have been born under a cursed star, his life one long cosmic joke.

“I fail to see what you find humorous, Sirius Orion.”

His grandfather’s curtness sobered him quickly. Sirius sat silent, heavy eyes trained on the Black Patriarch.

“I’m the disowned son of the Black family. Surely I’m not worthy of your attention?”

“Don’t be absurd. Your trial will be in three days’ time before the Wizengamot. After Bellatrix’s disgraceful display three weeks ago, House Black will be hard pressed to find willing allies without you being purposely difficult.”

Sirius noted the way the tightness of his grandfather’s lips. Bellatrix must have outdone her normal level of crazy to rattle his grandfather into such a display. He had not even realized the Ministry caught her. The must have jailed her in a different section of the prison. He would have recognized her distinctive voice from the rest of the death eaters in the neighboring cells.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she did. The pureblood circled offered a lot of leeway to members of the noble and most ancient houses. There could hardly be a lord or lady of the Wizengamot that did not have at least one family member or distant cousin dead or in Azkaban for supporting Voldemort. If they’d laid low, Bellatrix and her slimy husband easily could have paid their way back into the wizarding world’s good graces. No doubt other scions of the pureblood families took advantage of the confusion following that fateful night to slide back into polite society with nary a pause.

Of course, Bellatrix was too insane and too vicious to do what was logical. He had to thank her inability for rational thought for her very deserved incarceration. He felt sorry for whatever wreckage she left in her wake, but she got hers. She didn’t get to continue living her wealthy and pampered life when James and Lily no longer breathed.

A public scandal did explain his grandfather’s intervention. The Black family was dropping quickly, dead or incarcerated. Grandfather couldn’t risk the entire future of the family.

As his thoughts continued to spin, his grandfather’s voice droned in the background.

“The case will rely entirely on your testimony and ability to convince the body of your innocence. We have requested, and you will submit, to Veritaserum.”

“What?”

The underlying assumption in his grandfather’s words startled him enough the interjection slipped out unconsciously.

Grandfather may have been out of politics for years, but he knew better than anyone how the game was played. He would not risk Veritaserum unless he was certain Sirius had nothing damaging or embarrassing to reveal.

How ironic. The Black family names caused suspicion to constantly dog his steps no matter how he denied it. His family name was the ever-present shadow he couldn’t leave behind no matter where or how far he ran. He knew members of the Order doubted his loyalty because his family fought under masks. No matter how loudly he disavowed them, no matter how many dangerous missions he volunteered for, uneasy eyes and quiet whispers followed him. And now it was the Blacks expressing faith in his character and loyalty to James. Not his friends. Not the family he claimed and the people he fought and bled beside.

He no longer knew what to think.

“Was there something about my words that were unclear? I thought it fairly straightforward.”

Sirius scowled.

Years without contact, a lack of support when he needed it, and now they came to him. He resented the implication he was still theirs to do their bidding and follow their orders.

“I don’t see how my situation is of any concern to House Black.”

“I thought Azkaban might have cured you of your obstinance. You are in no position to refuse assistance.”

“My friends—”

“Have not bothered to speak on your behalf.”

The smug bastard. How easily he gave voice to his own doubts and insecurities. Sirius couldn’t even bring himself to argue as he only said what Sirius himself was too afraid to admit.

“I can have you returned to Azkaban if you prefer. The Ministry will no doubt be pleased to expedite the withdrawal of my demand for trial proceedings. The choice is yours.”

Which was no choice really. Sirius was backed into a corner, and the old man knew it. Arcturus knew he had not other option just as Sirius knew his grandfather would want him to verbally submit to his maneuvering. An admission of defeat to remind him who had the power.

Self-preservation and ingrained instincts kicked in as he swallowed down a bitter retort. Above all he had to remember Harry. His last tie to James. He vowed to do anything for the beautiful little boy, and now he had to prove it.

If he had to follow this course of action, do what he swore he would never do again, and submit to the authority of House Black, then he did not want to look at the triumphant light in his grandfather’s eyes as he did so. Yet, he couldn’t even help that, eyes flickering back his grandfather as he pushed down his pride and voiced his acceptance in a low, tight tone.

“That will not be necessary grandfather. I welcome your assistance.”

He clenched his teeth in an effort not to lash out as he watched Arcturus’ graciously nod. If what his grandfather said was true, and some part of him knew it would all work out in the man’s favor, then he could not afford to anger him. The Black family would be his ticket to his godson.

With the loss of Regulus and the men of his mother’s generation, the old hag would expect him to take his place in the family. They may expect a subdued Sirius in the wake of his freedom.

He would delight in disappointing.

“Let us continue. I do have other matters to attend to today.”

Sirius tried to focus, tried to contain his frustrated energy as his grandfather spoke.

“The family solicitor will be by the day of the trial. Higgs will have your robes and will assist you with trial preparation. He will review the list of questions that will be asked to ensure everything is appropriate. Once the trial concludes, we will immediately file a complaint for unlawful imprisonment and defamation of a member of a noble and most ancient house.”

Ah, the truth revealed. More wealth to fill the coffers of House Black and a way to stick it to the pompous Ministry officials. Another reason he did not owe them anything.

“Until the trial, you shall remain in Ministry custody. Any other concerns you may address with Higgs.”

With no other goodbye, his grandfather left the room as suddenly as he entered it. He was alone with his thoughts, his regrets. Impotent to change his circumstances and forced to rely on his family.

His priority needed to be gaining his freedom and securing Harry. Anything else – any personal or family drama – could wait. Needed to wait. He could not lose his head or lose sight of what mattered again. His rashness and grief landed him here, and he could not make the same mistakes. He had so little left to lose this time.

In a few days, he would be before the Wizengamot. In a few days, he may have his freedom. He doubted he would be completely successful in not dwelling on negative thoughts until then. Even planning a future for his godson was enough to send him cycling back into his grief and pain. To the reason Sirius was the one planning Harry’s life and not James. Not Lily.

Sirius slumped back onto the bed, releasing all the tension that had built up in his body with an explosive sigh.

Only a few days to go.
A rush of family magic greeted Arcturus as he floo-ed into the manor. It was a welcome sensation after his morning. Trust Sirius to constantly try his nerves and make him wish for a head-ache reliever.

Although his errands today had gone as planned, Arcturus regretted they were necessary at all. If he had kept a tighter rein on the management of the family, certain events might not have come to pass at all. He had been too indifferent, too confident in the invincibility of House Black, and his son had driven the House to near extinction.

He and Pollux were the only male members of the House not deceased or incarcerated. Married daughters of House Black there were plenty, all under the sway of their husbands’ families. Considering House Black was the oldest and wealthiest of the noble families, they should have had primacy in any family matters. They all turned blind eyes instead.

Arcturus had had two years to plan a way to bring House Black to the glory of his youth.

Bringing Sirius back into the fold was key. His grandson was exceptional, though impulsive and rash. He had suffered under the domineering nature of his parents and their beliefs. Hate the Blacks he might, but the boy had all the markings of a member of their family.

He had been pleased with Sirius’ comportment at the Ministry. Glad the weeks in Azkaban had not broken his spirit. The family would have need of a bold and fearless Lord to lead them in the tumultuous times ahead.

How any person could believe the utter falsehoods the papers wrote about Sirius was beyond him. Everything worked in absolutes with his grandson. James Potter and his band of merrymakers had had Sirius’ absolute loyalty since the day he had fled Grimmauld Place.

Dumbledore was a fool to disregard Sirius. His grandson would not be so quick to forget the disservice done to him, which would only benefit Arcturus. Whether or not the old man believed his grandson was moot point. Arcturus was positive the headmaster had plans of his own, and he would make him regret the day he considered his grandson disposable for the greater good.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

December 21st, 1981

Sirius came to hate the Ministry holding cell almost as much as Azkaban. Granted, there were no dementors in the Ministry. The increased interaction with human guards made up for their absence. They reminded Sirius why his family was so reclusive.

The aurors guarding him went out of their way to let him know they did not believe his claim of innocence. They didn’t bother lowering their voices when discussing how the Black family strong-armed the Ministry into releasing their heir from prison.

Words weren’t enough for some. The dementors may have attacked his spirit, but he knew he was innocent and Padfoot offered him a level of protection.

There was no protection from the hexes and jinxes the crueler guards aimed his way.

Thank Merlin for the pureblooded aurors – something he didn’t think he’d ever find himself being thankful for. The ones from the old families treated him with the upmost civility even if they were wary of him. The risk of angering the Blacks by showing him such disrespect was not worth the minute satisfaction they would get from their tricks. Bidding their time to see the outcome of the trial, he figured.

Guard visits broke the monotony of his day. The days dragged by.

The novelty of a clear head faded quickly. He had too much time to think.

He had always been assured of his place in the world. As a child, he learnt his duties as heir, the rules he needed follow, and the power he had as the future Lord Black. At Hogwarts, he was James Potter’s best friend. Brothers in all but blood. He had left his place in the Black family for one by James’ side. He had taken refuge with James and identified himself with the new family they built. The Marauders, and then Lily, and later the Order.

Now James was no longer there, and the Black family was in shambles. With his freedom a tangible reality, Sirius reflected on what might await him.

A deep need for vengeance filled him. Vengeance upon those that had orchestrated and aided Voldemort’s rise. Vengeance upon Peter for breaking his family. Vengeance upon everyone who had betrayed him and his godson.

Sirius knew he was capable of great cruelty. James had long been the one to cool his ire and temper his actions. An external moral compass. He wasn’t there to stop him when it mattered.

He made a mistake going after the rat alone. He went off blindly, fire in his veins at the betrayal.

He wouldn’t be so impulsive again. Azkaban had frozen the fire in him and left cold steel in its place. Sirius nearly lost everything because of his foolishness. His relatives had bought him a second chance, and he needed to be intelligent enough not to repeat the same errors.

For once, he would sit back and do things by the book. Gather information, form a plan like Evans was always telling him too.

Even the mocking he endured from the guards aided in his newfound efforts. They wouldn’t be so eager to taunt him if they realized how much they were helping him with his ‘nefarious’ plans. In three days, he had learned much about the current state of the wizarding world. They who, in all their collective genius, decided to hail his godson the ‘boy-who-lived’.

Harry, who was only months past his first birthday. These idiots thought a one-year old toddler consciously defeated Voldemort. Sirius would be the first to praise the little boy, but he knew better. He didn’t know what ultimately did the maniac in. Some genius magic James or Lily concocted, some situational magic, some dark magic the man himself dabbled in.

An on top of such idiocy, no one had seen Harry since that night. Rumors, there were plenty.

Sirius had known from the moment he handed Harry over to Hagrid that Dumbledore would have hidden him somewhere. Safe, he’d assumed.

He wasn’t too sure now.

Someone had shared Dumbledore’s testimony on Snape’s sniveling behalf with him, taking his intervention as a sign of Sirius’ guilt since no such intervention had been made for Sirius. The ongoing trials were a frequent talking point in the halls of the Ministry.

Sirius could care less about the death eaters’ fates. He did care that Dumbledore apparently believed Snape to be innocent. Snivellus Snape, a known Death Eater, worthier of Dumbledore’s protection than Sirius, who had been an obedient soldier. The headmaster would have his reasons, he was sure. He always did. Sirius was in no mood to ponder them out or entertain any attempt at an explanation. He wouldn’t be for a while. The conversation with his grandfather hadn’t quite killed the hope his friends would come. The days that passed did.

Harry’s situation would be the deciding factor on whether he would ever be willing to trust Albus again. The failings on his behalf he could overcome if Harry were alright. His godson’s safety was of the utmost importance.

He had been too incensed at the time to question Hagrid. Too in shock and too grateful to have someone guard Harry’s safety while Sirius hunted Peter down.

He had plenty of questions now.

Had Dumbledore assumed his guilt straight away?

The alacrity with which Hagrid had fetched Harry struck him as suspicious the more he thought on it. Sirius had yet to be accused of murder when he rescued Harry. No one had given him any kind of notice of what had happened that night. No notice of the attack. No notice that Harry was being moved.

If he hadn’t had his own fears, if his own paranoia hadn’t led him to the house that night, he wasn’t sure anyone would have bothered to let him know what was going on.

He was the named guardian in the wills. He was Harry’s godfather. By magic and by right, Sirius should have been the one to make any decision regarding his godson when it became clear James and Lily could not. Only Alice Longbottom could have made a decision for Harry without consulting him, and Sirius knew she never would have. Nor had she.

His grandfather’s vague mention of Bellatrix had not prepared him for the depravity of her actions. Because of her, he had one more set of friends to mourn and avenge.

He couldn’t even appropriately grieve for them. All he could think of when they were eagerly recounting her tale was Harry. If Alice had not had Harry either, then whom had Dumbledore entrusted with the task of caring for his godson? Had Alice known where Harry was? Is that why they attacked her?

Resentment continued to build against Dumbledore and the Order. Every bit of new information justified that feeling. If Dumbledore wanted to hear the truth from Sirius, he could have convinced the DMLE to give him an audience before his trial. Moody led a task force of aurors and worked on the very floor of the Ministry where Sirius was being held, and he had not made a single attempt to speak to him either. It was telling of where Dumbledore’s thoughts did and did not lie.

Sirius clenched his eyes shut, willing his mind to clear. Going down this path did nothing. He cycled through all the tasks he needed to accomplish once he was free, releasing any pent-up emotion as he systematically went through his list.

The clang of the cell door disrupted his exercise. He took another moment to breathe before swinging himself upright, arms held before him for the shackles. The guard’s presence inside his cell meant one thing: it was time for his meeting with the family solicitor and then his trial.

Sirius could not remember being so eager to see the man before, not even when he received the inheritance from his Uncle Alphard. His presence today meant Sirius would finally be able to do something about his situation and stop feeling so helpless. One by one he would tick off the items on his list.

The march through the halls was quick. The aurors deposited him in an equally sterile interrogation room. A single occupant sat waiting in one of the two chairs.

Calum Higgs sat straight-backed, a bland expression on his face as Sirius joined him at the table. Higgs dismissed the aurors with a few curt words before returning his attention to the scrolls laid out on the table.

Sirius watched in silence as Higgs organized the piles of parchment and writing utensils. Sirius wanted to know the secret of what kept all these old men untouched by time. He too was unchanged since their last encounter. He had paid a hefty fee to utilize the man’s services. It had been a fight to keep the inheritance left to him. Ultimately, he walked away with the bulk of the bequeath despite his father’s attempt to interfere thanks to this man. Sirius always assumed his grandfather approved of his decision to leave the family. He could have easily prevented Higgs from assisting him in his endeavor regardless of how much he paid the man.

After all, Higgs had been the family solicitor since he was a child. His job was to do whatever the Black family patriarch wished of him. No price could have bought his services if grandfather had not wanted it. The Blacks retained his firm’s services for a reason. They demanded the utmost loyalty. Sirius knew better than to underestimate the man despite his unassuming demeanor.

Across the table, Higgs ignored Sirius’ scrutiny, inking a quill before finally meeting his gaze.

“The Ministry approved our request for Veritaserum. I have before me a list of the questions the DMLE would like to ask of you.”

Sirius’ eyes fell to the parchment Higgs had on top, trying to make out the words. Higgs smoothly passed it over without pausing his speech.

“We will go over the questions and submit a final copy to the Wizengamot clerk for the trial.”

An expectant pause filled the air, and Sirius looked up from the parchment to nod in acknowledgement.

“You will have few allies among the court, so it is imperative to have a solid defense. I do have a few individuals who have offered to speak on your behalf…”

Another nod from Sirius, and Higgs began to list names.

“Your cousin, Andromeda Tonks, and your late great-Aunt’s husband, Charlus Potter, wish to speak. Both will be well-received character witnesses. Lucretia Prewett has offered to speak of your involvement with her nephews during the height of the war. They were highly respected among the law enforcement crowd.”

Sirius considered the names Higgs rattled off. All of them were somehow related to him, not a surprise but a disappointment none the less. Andy’s inclusion filled him with fondness for his cousin. The two of them had bonded over leaving the family, and he was glad she continued to support him. Charlus was a pleasant surprise, though he appreciated James’ great-uncle defending his relationship to the Potter family. They had sheltered him and given him a home when the Black family could no longer.

His Aunt Lucretia was another matter. The twins took Sirius under their wing when others held him at arm’s length. Fabian and Gideon became close friends of his among the Order crowd. Until their funeral a few months ago, he did not realize his aunt knew them well. His interaction with her had been one of the few civil ones he had with any member of his family in many years. Despite her relation to him, her last name would gain support from many of the light oriented families on the Wizengamot. Had Grandfather ordered her to speak did she volunteer out of spite for her deceased brother? Either way, Sirius knew he could not turn down any support.

“All of them are welcome to speak.”

Higgs made an annotation on one of the parchments.

“The first few questions are meant to establish facts for the record. The next round will be yes or no questions about your alleged actions: the murder of Peter Pettigrew, the violation of the Statute of Secrecy, the murder of 13 muggles, and your status as a Death Eater. I anticipate no problems with these.”

Scanning the list in his hands, Sirius murmured his agreement. The Ministry really was going to blame him for the entire ruckus. He hadn’t managed to fire a single spell. Their incompetence continued to stun.

“The next set of questions are the ones we need to discuss. The trial has become a sensation in the papers. Everyone wants you to be guilty, and they need to know where to direct their outrage. If you walk me through the events of the 31st and the following days, I can amend the current questions to best frame your testimony.”

His pulse thundered in his ears. Beneath the table, his hands twitched at having to relive his greatest moment of stupidity.

At least his first time sharing the story was in private and not in front of a circus. It was of his own volition and not under the detached and forced influence of the Veritaserum. The third time he told this story, it would be entirely his decision. Not until his godson was old enough to understand. There was no one else who deserved to hear the entirety of what occurred except for him.

Sirius breathed deeply and began to speak on the exhale.

“I knew Pettigrew to be the Potter’s secret keeper. I performed the fidelius myself you see. So on the 31st, when I grew uneasy, I went to check on Pettigrew. His place was abandoned.”

Sirius paused, squeezing his eyes shut to block the images of that night.

“I flew straight to the Potter’s place. Didn’t bother to alert anyone.” His voice broke as he forced the next words out, “The house was wrecked. James – he.”

Sirius stared down at his white-knuckled hands, willing them to unclench, “They were dead.”

All Sirius could see was James’ body splayed out before the stairs, glassy eyes staring at the ceiling.

“Did anyone see you there that night?”

Higgs’ question dispelled the image. Sirius opened his eyes, blankly focusing on the parchment in front of him.

“Rubeus Hagrid.”

“The Hogwart’s groundskeeper?”

“He said Dumbledore sent him. I had taken my godson from the house, and he arrived as I was leaving. I wanted to go after Pettigrew, so I gave him Harry.”

“Was anyone else aware of Pettigrew’s role as secret-keeper, or was it only yourself and the Potters?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, the motion bordering on violent. “I don’t know who they may have told. James included something to the effect in his last will. His solicitor may have known, though sworn to secrecy.”

Higgs’ head shot up, hand hovering over the parchment.

“Albus Dumbledore sealed the Potter’s will soon after their death. He must have read the contents before doing so.” His gaze turned contemplative.

Sirius grasped the chair beneath him, tried desperately to center himself.

Why would their will need to be sealed? James may not have embraced his lordship, but he was a lord with a seat on the Wizengamot. The Potter estate was vast, and Harry was not the only inheritor. What could Dumbledore possibly be playing at?

Too many questions, and not enough answers.

“The Wizengamot will be interested in the issue of the will. But, please, continue. What happened once you encountered Mr. Pettigrew?”

“I cornered him on that street. I got too confident. Thought he’d be afraid to fight me.” He sighed, rubbing his temples at the reminder of how badly he miscalculated. “He hurled accusations of betrayal at me, and I froze.”

Sirius shrugged, a self-deprecating smile on his face as he met Higgs’ gaze. “It happened so fast. He cast a blasting curse, cut off his own finger, and transformed into a rat. The bastard waved at me before disappearing.”

“Pettigrew is an animagus? His records do not reflect that.”

“We…” Every instinct told him not to say anything. They had kept the secret for so long to protect Remus. But Harry took precedence. If he had any hope of finding the rat, the public needed to know. “We became animagi together as a dare in school. We never told anyone.”

“I see. I can make sure you avoid the fine, but it would be in your interest to register with the appropriate department when the trial ends.”

Higgs made several notes while Sirius fidgeted in his chair. Everything relied on earning his freedom.

“Anything else of concern?”

Sirius skimmed the rest of the questions. Honestly, he trusted the man to protect him, if only to protect his family. He handed over the parchment with a shake of his head.

“Not about the trial. I do want to know what will happen with my godson. Will anything affect my ability to petition his custody?”

“No legal avenue exists to deny you your rights once acquitted. Someone may choose to challenge your petition, but if you are magically bonded, few people can prevent you from assuming guardianship. Additionally, Lord Black plans to submit reparation charges. The Ministry will be inclined to be amenable to your claims to avoid angering him further.”

A noisy exhale escaped him as his limbs lost all tension.

Only a little longer, and Harry would be in his arms again.

“One last item to discuss. Headmaster Dumbledore requested a meeting upon the trial’s conclusion.”

So the headmaster spared time for the family solicitor. Not for Sirius. No word of encouragement or offer to speak for him. Just a request for a meeting. Resentment sparked anew, “Denied.”

“As you like.”

Higgs eyed his pocket watch. With a wave of his want, his belongings tidily stored themselves away in his briefcase. In the place of the piles of scrolls, a rectangular box lay on the table. The silver crest embossed on the lid gave away its origin.

Sirius trailed his fingers along the box’s edges to the corners, lifting and discarding the lid as he did. Robes of the darkest blue, almost black, nestled inside the velvet lined box. A gleaming family crest covered the left chest.

The robes were sleeveless, the silky material flowing into his lap when he pulled it out. Underneath was a quilted leather doublet, the mandarin collar embroidered with the same silver thread that ran the length of the robes. Dragon-hide. Nothing but the finest for the Blacks.

Snorting, Sirius abandoned the robes and submitted himself to Higgs’ careful ministrations.

Grandfather had every detail taken care of. The outfit screamed of wealth and privilege, yet it wasn’t the stuffy traditional robes he expected the man to provide. Quality asie, the style and fit were something he’d find in his own wardrobe.

As the layers of clothing went one, Sirius stood straighter, his chin tipped up just a fraction. Slipping into the role of the Black heir was easy. Lily always did love to mock him and call him a toff. He would let the clothes and the mannerisms be his armor today.

He needed to reclaim his freedom. He would not get an opportunity like this a second time.

The trial chamber echoed with a cacophony of noise as Arcturus entered the room. The flurry of activity on the floor of the chamber, with Ministry aides rushing about, contributed the most to the volume. Clerks moved around with rolls of parchment stacked high in their hands, colorful memos flying overhead. In contrast, the senior most Ministry officials gathered at the dais in the center, bodies tense as they had a furiously whispered argument.

In a short row to the right of the dais sat the handful of witnesses for the defendant. Arcturus was both pleased and disappointed to see only family members seated there. It was a testament to the strength of his house, and the fact that Sirius had not managed to destroy all familial bonds with his youthful willfulness. The show of support would remind the boy how much he needed his family.

The lack of loyalty from his grandson’s so-called friends, however, could not be born. How useless and flighty Dumbledore’s crowd were. None of them sought an answer, satisfied with Sirius’ supposed guilt. It was unfathomable. The Ministry had been eager to mistreat his grandson, and the initial lack of allies facilitated their poor treatment of him. Several among Dumbledore’s crowd held some sway at the Ministry and used none of it on Sirius’ behalf.

Arcturus’ own peers had been quiet on the issue of the trials. Too many wanted to escape the attention and go unnoticed in the tumult. They were all biding their time, waiting to see how this particular trial would turn out. It would affect a great number of individuals.

Numerous eyes followed his progress to his seat. The trial was in the largest of the Wizengamot chambers, and the room was near capacity. Arcturus ignored the stares and settled into his chair at the front of the member’s gallery. Lords Shacklebolt and Longbottom greeted him cordially from the neighboring seats.

To the sides and behind their row, tiers of seats rose upwards filled with all of the Wizengamot members, first the hereditary lords and then the elected representatives. For as long as the council existed, the Wizengamot reserved the prime seats in the gallery for their three families, the oldest and wealthiest of those serving. Not even the recent scandals stripped him of this privilege.

Arcturus observed the rest of the lowest tier, all members of the Sacred 28. Abraxas Malfoy and Gaius Lestrange has similar looks of irritation as they whispered together at one end. He had anticipated the reaction. Their family members received trials before the Council of Magical Law while Arcturus demanded a full Wizengamot trial for his own heir. Power hungry sycophants, the two of them, aspiring to fill a vacuum left by a weakened Black family. Malfoy, with an heir cleared of charged and a grandson of Black blood, must be furious at the idea of Sirius’ freedom.

Flashes of light from the press box broke his focus on the other lords, drawing his attention back to the floor of the chamber. One of the side doors opened, a parade of aurors filtering into the chamber. Sirius strode in at the rear of the line, his flowing robes emphasizing his even steps. Arcturus allowed himself a moment of pride watching his grandson’s noble carriage.

In the dueling robes, he passed for a leader of the aurors rather than escorted prisoner. Not a hint of weakness. No sign of the two months Sirius spent at the mercy of the dementors. Sirius might deny his family, but there was no denying he was a Black. His heritage was obvious in the strong features of his face and the aristocratic demeanor no amount of purposeful slouching could hide.

The chatter in the room quieted down as the Chief Warlock, Albertus Burke, brought down his gavel. Arcturus gave thanks to Lady Magic that Lord Burke remained in charge of the Wizengamot proceedings. The elder lord had expressed wishes to retire from the position, and whispers abounded about raising Dumbledore to the position. Merlin knew what this trial would have been like then. If Arcturus would have managed to arrange one to begin with.

“The Wizengamot calls to order the trial of Sirius Orion Black, scheduled for 3 o’clock on the 21st of December 1981, the accused being present. Representing the accused is Councilor Calum Higgs. Lead interrogator is Bartemius Crouch, Sr., Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

A low murmur spread at the announcement of the interrogator. Arcturus smirked, watching Crouch’s shoulders tense down below. Crouch sent his grandson straight to Azkaban yet gave his own son a farce of a trial. That he clung on to his position of power was intolerable. Arcturus looked forward to thoroughly destroying Crouch’s reputation for the affront to his family.

“The charges against the accused are as follows: that he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of his actions commit 13 counts of murder against Muggles and 1 count of murder against a wizard on the third of November at four minutes past nine in the morning, in a Muggle-inhabited area, which constitutes an additional offence under Section 12 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy.”

Arcturus kept his eyes trained on the dais from which Lord Burke led the proceedings. Around him hissed voices carried the name Potter. Another tap of the gavel brought an angry silence.

“Each member of the Wizengamot should have reviewed the evidence presented by the DMLE. We will now proceed with testimony from the accused. Councilor Higgs requested the use of Veritaserum for his client.”

Another burst of noise filled the chamber. Arcturus looked forward to the moment they all began to regret speaking ill of a member of his family. The evidence the DMLE provided the members of the Wizengamot was minimal: incoherent statements from muggles later obliviated and reports from the ministry officials who apprehended Sirius. The Ministry’s case depended on conjecture and assumptions. He challenged anyone to call Sirius guilty upon the termination of the trial.

“Auror Blishen, please administer the potion.”

The crowd’s reactions to the questioning were of more interest to Arcturus than his grandson’s answers. Unlike most of the wizarding population, he had never doubted Sirius’ innocence. He knew exactly how the interrogation would unfold. Higgs discussed the final draft of questions with him before submitting it. The members presented a greater unknown.

He had re-assumed control of the family and reentered society at large two years ago. The climate had not allowed him to build more than a passing familiarity with everyone currently holding seats on the court. He had prioritized reconnecting with his fellow Lords. They had their own family goals to achieve. If the Black family was to grow their influence, they needed allies everywhere.

Today would be a gauge of where power would fall in the post-Voldemort era. Dumbledore might expect to gain a greater foothold within the Ministry, but Arcturus aimed to put a crack in his sterling reputation. He wished he could see the old man’s expression. Alas, Dumbledore’s seat was among those of the elected members, too high up from Arcturus to surreptitiously watch from the front of the gallery.

The whispers from the rest of the gallery slowly rose in volume as the testimony proceeded. The unease at the mention of the Potter’s sealed will necessitated a bang of the gavel from Lord Burke. Neither Longbottom nor Shacklebolt descended to such behavior.

Near the end, Harfang leaned over, “Callidora will be overjoyed. She has been inconsolable since Frank and Alice’s hospitalization. She will expect Sirius around for tea.”

Arcturus accepted the implicit statement of support with a simple nod. Harfang Longbottom had been noncommittal when Arcturus first mentioned the trial. Callidora was a beloved cousin of his, but Bellatrix had been instrumental in Frank Longbottom’s torture. The young man was the family’s heir, and the pain to recent for a pledge of support. A formal alliance between their two houses would repair much of the damage Bellatrix’s actions caused.

A commotion at the front prevented Arcturus from verbally responding. Disorder reigned, yells echoing in the chamber. The Chief Warlock berated a red-faced Crouch for impropriety. Arcturus tilted his head, eyes narrowed on the cluster of officials at the dais, Higgs among them.

“Having concluded the accused’s testimony, we will open the floor to any wishing to speak on his behalf.”

Higgs sat down seemingly satisfied with the result of the sidebar, and Crouch stomped out of the room, two of the clerks scurrying after him. He was not too concerned with missing the cause of the uproar. Whatever the issue, he hoped Lord Burke officially sanctioned Crouch. Sirius’ trial may just be the final push needed to remove the man from his position.

By the time the witnesses finished speaking, the audience was dead silent. A mixture of sympathy and appall covered the faces of the lords. One of the newer Wizengamot members, the young Lady Bones, had an expression of fierce determination. The similarities between her situation and his grandson’s had not escaped him, both having suffered the loss of a sibling and been left with a ward. He imagined the similarities in their stories had not escaped her either.

The only sour faces belonged to the lords whose families supported the most recent Dark Lord, and they could not vote against Sirius without arousing suspicions. No, the closest source of danger was Dumbledore. If only he could be privy to the old man’s thoughts. Perhaps he finally realized the mess he made with Sirius. Perhaps not. It was difficult to speculate what the headmaster may be planning.

“All those in favor of a not guilty verdict, raise your wands.”

Nearly all the wands rose.

“Those opposed.”

A glance behind him showed not a single wand went into the air.

“Those abstaining.”

Arcturus’ wand was not alone in the air. Lord Malfoy and Lord Lestrange both had theirs raised. They would likely claim to have recused themselves due to the familial connection, but their pinched expressions pointed to the real issue. Lestrange had two sons in Azkaban thanks to their own cruel foolishness and Bellatrix’s madness. Malfoy, on the other hand, would have been plotting with Druella on getting the newest Malfoy whelp declared the Black heir in the absence of a viable candidate from the main branch of the family.

“The Wizengamot declares Sirius Orion Black clear of all charges. This meeting of the Wizengamot is adjourned.”

People all around clamored for his attention. Arcturus’ pasted on a close-lipped smile and accepted his peers’ congratulations with curt nods and brief handshakes. He lingered long enough to satisfy propriety. He began to move towards the exit, citing concern for his grandson. The members parted before him.

In the corridor, Malfoy waited for him, hands clasped behind his back. Arcturus came to a stop.

“The prodigal son returns. I wonder how long he will last before he scampers off again. A suitable heir for a dying house,” Malfoy sneered.

“I thank you. He is a strong heir. One who bows to no man.”

Arcturus raised a single eyebrow, already sweeping past him, “You will do well to remember your place Malfoy, prostrated at your master’s feet.”

He left Malfoy standing in the corridor, face flooded with color. He had a grandson to corral.

The rest of the wizarding world could wait.

Free. Cleared of all charges.

He wanted to jump and dance in celebration.

A massive grin split his face. His muscles ached with the force and unfamiliarity of it.

The second the chair’s chains released him, Sirius sprung to his feet. He pumped Higgs’ hand, words of thanks spilling out. The solicitor ignored him, guiding Sirius from the chamber. Lights flashed in his face and shouts of his name coming from every direction. Higgs kept silent until the door of the chamber shut behind them on the press.

“This way.”

Sirius was too overwhelmed to care where Higgs was ushering him. None of the twists and turns registered, and suddenly they were in a small room. On the table lay a familiar length of wood. Shaking hands grasped it. He breather a soft sigh at the warmth tingling his fingers.

“Oh, Sirius!”

He flinched at the shout, spinning towards the source with his newly acquired wand raised before him, only to find himself with an armful of witch. A curly black head buried itself in his chest, slender arms wrapped tight around him. A faint flowery scent filled his nose.

Sirius nearly wept.

It felt a lifetime since the last meaningful physical contact with another human.

His own hands reached around his cousin, holding her just as tight. Dampness spread along the fabric of his shoulder. Sirius tucked his own head over hers, his own tears falling on her hair.

He wanted to live in this moment forever. To never again forget what it felt to hold a living, breathing soil. One whom he loved. New memories to erase the feel of James’ cold body in his arms.

A strong hand gripped his shoulder, breaking the maudlin train of thought before it could take him somewhere darker. He turned his head, grey eyes meeting a shining hazel. Charlus squeezed his shoulder in response.
“Thank you.”

Sirius’ voice broke, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Both of you.”

His cousin’s embrace tightened impossibly further, then she stepped back completely.

“Oh, Sirius…”

The moment her arms left his, he felt bereft.

Merlin, it’d only been a few moments and already any sense of balance he’d found was gone. He swayed as he stood. Charlus must’ve noticed because the older man placed an arm around his shoulder, pulling Sirius in.

“Sirius!”

Arcturus’ sharp tone drew his attention to his grandfather’s presence. He didn’t know how long he drifted. He hadn’t even noticed Higgs leaving. His brain was moving too slowly as if he was suffering from a permanent confundus.

Sirius straightened on reflex, chin raising a fraction as he found his voice once more, “Yes?”

“Now that Higgs has gone to take care of matter, we had best relocate to the manor. Your grandmother is waiting to begin Yule celebrations.”

Yule. Samhain had just ended when he was arrested. Now he had only a handful od days if he wanted to reunite with Harry for Christmas. Lily would hex him from the afterlife if he left her son alone for the holidays.

He needed to find Harry, not spend time playing at pureblood politeness. If his grandmother was throwing the Yule party, the whole family would descend on the manor.

“No thanks. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for your assistance. I’d just rather not spend my first night free with dear old mum.”

His aunt Lucretia snorted in the corner.

“Must everything be a fight, Sirius.”

His grandfather sighed, idly rubbing his temples. Andy pinched his side, and Charlus shifted next to him. It was a great show of emotion from his grandfather. Enough to unnerve Sirius.

“You must be tired. I cannot imagine you have any provisions at whatever muggle hovel you call home. Surely, you can play nice for one evening.”

Sirius stared at his grandfather. He couldn’t refute his reasonings.

His muggle landlord was unlikely to have held his flat after two months without rent. For all he knew, the man trashed or sold his belongings. And Merlin forbit he try going somewhere as public as Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. With all the furor of his release, he’d never get rest.

His hands flexed at his sides.

What friends remained to him? Aside from the people in this room, nobody had spoken for him.

Still. This was how it started. First, it was Yule. Then, it would be something else. Closer and closer they’d spin their web until he was caught like some poor flobberworm.

He was on the brink of a second refusal, on mere principal, when Andy interjected, “Arcturus invited Nymphadora and I as well, Sirius. She has never been introduced to Narcissa and was looking forward to seeing you again.”

Sirius made the mistake of meeting his cousin’s gaze. Naked want gleamed in her eyes.

Unlike himself, Andy did not leave the family by choice. Her parents forcefully expelled her. The younger sister she doted on was no longer permitted to contact her. Sirius knew how hurt she had been by the enforced distance. ‘Cissa would never dare to defy a family order. Her sense of duty overrode whatever desire might exist to see Andromeda after the disownment. It was the reason he and Andy had grown close. He had been the only family of Andromeda’s present at little Dora’s naming ceremony.

A pox on the Blacks and his cousin for doing this to him. Sirius nodded slowly, a small smile forming on Andy’s face.
“I suppose it’s not any worse than Azkaban.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

December 21st, 1981

Hearths whirled by in a flash of green. The fire spit Sirius out of a grand fireplace. He stumbled, arms extended to either side for balance.

Each step left a trail of ashy footprints on the white marble floor. The floo travel disoriented him than he expected, and he struggled to regain his composure.

“What an utter lack of grace. Twenty-two years old and you manage floo travel as well as a child. Disgraceful.”

Sirius swore under his breath, grey eyes snapping towards the entrance of the small anteroom. Framed in the doorway with her usual expression of displeasure was his mother.

He rolled his eyes, not moving a step closer. How was he going to last a whole evening of this? He’d rather take his chances with the wider wizarding populace.

“Merlin, woman. I haven’t been out of prison for one bloody hour. You’d think that’d earn me a pass.”

“Don’t be crass, Sirius Orion. Your ordeal is no excuse to behave in an unbecoming manner.”

Walburga mindlessly vanished the soot on his clothing and the polished floor. Sirius trained a wary eye on her as she approached him. She pressed a light kiss to each cheek as he held his breath and resisted the urge to flinch back.

Earlier he couldn’t have enough human contact. With her, he could barely hold himself in place. He felt fragile. A transfigured animal that did not belong in its own body or its settings, waiting for magic to turn everything back.

He drew the line when she began to fuss over his robes. Sirius pushed her off, crossing his arms in front of his as if it would be enough to ward her off.

“Give it a rest, will you?”

“Really now,” Walburga sniffed. “That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

Unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable.

The whole world had gone bonkers.

It was like a time-turner had burst and sent him back to his childhood. As if James had never stolen him away from this place and given him new life.

His death haunted Sirius. James irrevocably changed the course of his history both with his life and death. He would never be the same. Not him, not little Harry, and not the wizarding world. Yet, House Black wanted to pretend nothing had ever happened.

There was no Reggie to compare him to. No Orion to dole out punishment. Minor mercies.

Five years and a disownment couldn’t halt his mother’s lectures on his behavior. As if poor etiquette was a greater crime than the murder they accused him of. As if other members of this family hadn’t committed heinous crimes.

He was just the unruly son who could do no good.

It stung.

The only son she had alive spent weeks in the squalor of Azkaban, in the guard of dementors, and she couldn’t spare a kind word. Mother Magic forbid her manners extended far enough to give him a polite welcome.

He didn’t know why he expected anything different.

He hadn’t expected anything different.

It was why he wanted to avoid coming.

He hated who they made him.

Small. Insecure. Constantly trying to reach a moving line.

His thoughts drowned out the sound of his mother starting in on him. What was the point of it all if he just ended up back where he started?

His foot tapped. His eyes flickered to the fireplace every few seconds. His mother’s voice grew shriller. She never could stand being ignored. At last, a flash of green interrupted her.

Grandfather sauntered out of the fireplace, magically free of any ash. He raised an eyebrow as he regarded the two of them facing off. Sirius let his hands fall to his side. He steadily met his grandfather’s gaze. He hadn’t done anything worthy of a reprimand.

A corner of Arcturus’ mouth lifted, before his expression flattened out again. Sirius’ brow wrinkled when Arcturus address his mother first.

“Walburga, I was under the impression you meant to welcome your son home. I did not know hosting duties required keeping your guests in the vestibule.”

Her face flushed at Arcturus’s words. “Well.” She clasped her hands together, “Yes, I mean – Tilly!”

Sirius ducked his head, lips pressed together to stop the smile on his face from growing. He didn’t know why the old man was defending him. People never spoke to his mother in such a way.

A pop and a small house elf curtsied at their feet. “Madam called?”

Arcturus interjected before Walburga could speak, “Tilly, please show the young master to his room. Sirius, you’ll find everything you need to freshen up in the suite. You grandmother will want to see you before dinner.”

Part of Sirius wished to rebel. Any pleasure at seeing Walburga reprimanded turned into irritation at his grandfather managing him like a child. He swallowed down the impulse to react.

He had to think of Harry.

His grandfather could make life difficult for him. Until his godson was safe in his arms, Sirius needed to play happy family.

With a curt nod, Sirius stalked out of the room behind the elf.

The day had gone better than Arcturus hoped. The news of Sirius’ release would be all over the wizarding world by breakfast tomorrow. The public would sympathize with him. The heroic Gryffindor betrayed and suffering tragic losses. The boy-who-lived’s godfather.

People present at the trial couldn’t wait to express their sympathy. A group of lords delayed his departure from the Ministry. They caught him in the atrium, hoping to discuss the Ministry’s act of injustice against a son of a noble house.

Only days before the same lords would not meet his eyes.

Black madness, they claimed.

Deranged Bellatrix and Unhinged Mass Murder Sirius Black. The Killer Black Cousins. A fitting end to a dying house. Malfoy as simply the only one brave enough to say such a thing to his face.

How quickly they changed their tune.

They were all eager to curry his favor. None thought for themselves, shifting opinions with the changing winds. As godfather to the Boy-Who-Lived and heir to the Black family, Sirius’ freedom elevated his grandson into a position of power.

Dumbledore was the only one who could hope to wield as much influence, and his star was falling. Arcturus would guarantee it. Sirius was intelligent enough to recognize the resources the family offered. Hate them he might, but he was a Black. He would be ruthless in the defense of the last piece of James Potter he had. As was his right.

Arcturus would be more concerned about the headmaster’s gang if he did not know his grandson so well. Dumbledore’s actions alienated Sirius, pushing him into Arcturus’ sphere of influence. Sirius served as one of his soldiers in the war, but the boy was far too sentimental. He valued his loved ones above everything. He lost them at Dumbledore’s hands. Meanwhile, the Black family could provide them with a unique type of protection.

Sirius surprised him. He worried about the boy’s impulsiveness. Today he showed remarkable restraint. He was as sullen as ever. However, he managed not to start a screaming match with his mother. A younger Sirius would have stormed out of the manor the moment Walburga began to lecture him. Perhaps the fiasco with Pettigrew cured his rasher tendencies.

Arcturus gently shut the door to the family living room behind himself. The entertaining spaces of the manor where in full bustle in preparation for the evening’s celebrations. Here, the crackle of the fire was the loudest noise.

He crossed straight to the fireplace. He cupped his hands, willing his magic forward. The light formed into glowing projection of two boys running side by side. It was an embodiment of his dreams and worries for the two young men he brought under his room. Arcturus prayed to Lady Magic for a blessing and tipped the magical offering into the fire.

His family would need all the blessings Lady Magic could give if they were to thrive.

A soft voice broke his reverie.

“How is he?”

Arcturus sighed, studying the bright fire a moment longer, and then rose to his feet.

“Remarkably well for the experience. You may judge for yourself when he joins us.”

He turned, offering his wife a gentle smile. “I know you will worry until you see him, so I will not direct you otherwise.”

She gave a small laugh and patted the cushion next to her. “Come. Sit.”

Nothing could have prevented his compliance with her request.

His beloved sat by the arm of the couch, a cup of tea on the side table. A wool blanket lay across her lab, her right hand holding a book open. The light from the fire cast a warm glow to her golden hair. A more inviting sight did not exist.

Melania – brilliant, wonderful woman that she was – was his greatest source of comfort and advice. Her brush with illness some years ago had been worrisome. The spattergoit weakened her constitution, leaving her easily fatigued. Her health played a significant role in his delegation of the vast majority of the family duties to his son.

She had been the catalyst for his renewed interest in the wellbeing of their family. Her endless concern for the family she adopted as her own an example of the loyalty her Hogwarts house was known for.

His body relaxed into the plush cushions of the couch. Arcturus grasped Melania’s free hand in his, bringing it to his mouth to deposit a kiss. She hummed and squeezed his hand before returning to her book. Lulled by the atmosphere in the room, Arcturus closed his eyes and released the tension for the past days. Here, in the comfort of his home, there was no need for masks or stiff pretensions.

The completion of all the maneuvering to engineer Sirius’ trial was a relief. Politics was a young man’s game. He had never had the temperament for it. His father had held the family seat until his death, and Arcturus had passed the duties on to his own son not long after. He had been more content in his potions’ lab that in the Ministry – much to his father’s chagrin.

At the rustling from the room’s third occupant, Arcturus tilted his head to see what the matter was. The slim figure shifted restlessly on the chaise lounge, limbs squirming in every direction. A dark head of hair peeked out from under the blanket, the only body part not smothered by his wife’s knitted creation.

“How long has he been sleeping?”

“Oh, not very. The poor dear worked himself up listening to the wireless.” Melania leaned into him conspiratorially, “I had Mipsy slip a calming draught in his tea.”

Arcturus chuckled, “With any luck the effects will last all evening.”

“He is the quiet one. It’s Sirius I worry about.”

“He inherited his sense of dramatics from Walburga, I fear.”

“After the past few years, I say he has earned the right to an outburst or two.”

“You always did indulge him.”

He got a swat with the book for his observation.

“Nonsense.” She set the book aside and smoothed her hand across the blanket in her lap. “It will be lovely to have the manor full again.”

Arcturus kissed the top of her head, making a noise of assent. “We’ll not have a moment of peace.”

From the hallway, a faint yell could be heard. Footsteps thundered closer. Arcturus arched an eyebrow at his wife, a smirk twisting his lips. She huffed and took up the book again.

“He checked the tapestry.”

The ruckus woke the slumbering form across the room. Arcturus eyed him as the figure shot up, face rumpled with sleep. At the same time, the door to the living room slammed open.

Sirius froze at the door to the suite Tilly directed him to. The house elf disappeared with a crack, leaving him alone to stare at the innocuous looking door.

These were his childhood rooms.

He reached for the knob slowly, as if it was a snake about to strike.

The rooms were not completely untouched since the last time he inhabited. He surveyed the room, noting the minute changes. No trunk of games and boyhood toys between the armchairs. No dragon figurines littered the selves. No stack of muggle magazines covered the desk.

And yet.

The room reflected his thirteen-year old self. The overstuffed armchairs were the same bright red. The glass chess set his grandfather gifted him with gleamed on the table. A picture of the marauders – young and ignorant – hung pride of place on the door to the bedroom.

It him that this was his first moment of true privacy since that night.

No aurors. No dementors. No lawyers or ministry officials. No family.

He inhaled.

On the exhale, a pulse of magic ripped through the room.

Everything went flying.

Sirius collapsed on the floor, back hitting the closed door. A ragged cry joined the noise of crashing objects.

His body wrenched with the force of his sobs.

Eventually silence reigned.

Vacant eyes stared at the ceiling, weak limbs akimbo. He basked in the blank nothingness his mind descended into as his body lay motionless on the floor.

Reality crept in bit by bit. The thought of Harry inevitably lit a fire that burned the darkness away.

Harry was everything. The only person who mattered. He owed it to James and Lily to make sure his godson was alright.

There was just so much to do: locating him, settling the Potter affairs, dealing with Dumbledore…

Bath. He would start with a bath. Simple steps. He would work his way through all the complicated problems step by step. For the moment he needed a bath and his own clothes. He needed to put himself together before facing the rest of the Blacks. A prospect more daunting than acing the full Wizengamot was.

Sirius lurched to his feet. His head spun with the movement. He ignored it, lumbering towards the bathroom. He avoided the mirror, not ready to face himself. His feet carried him directly to the massive bathtub in the corner. He fiddled with the taps, fragrant water gushing into the porcelain basin.

He shed his robes and discarded them on the floor for the elves to retrieve later. The water scalded his skin as he slid into the tub. The heat soothed his muscles and chased away Azkaban’s lingering chill. Sirius allowed the water to cover every part of him from head to toe. When he ran out of air, he sat up and shut off the taps. His face was wet, and, for the life of him, he didn’t know if it was water or tears. Eventually, the water grew chill. He didn’t know how long he lay in the bath, leeching every last bit of warmth from it.

Sirius emptied the tub before refilling it once more. This time he took care to wash the layers of grime off the way freshening charms never could. A folded bathrobe awaited him on the marble counters. He wrapped himself in it and passed into the bedroom.

Time touched even less of this room than the sitting room. All his personal items remained from his last visit. Granted, he’d not decorated these walls as liberally as he had his room in Grimmauld Place. Still, there were the stacks of schoolbooks, an old broom, the guitar he’d promised his grandmother he’d learn to play to avoid piano lessons.

He wondered if the heavy oak wardrobe was full of clothing too small to fit. The violently red color scheme transported him to a time he’d been so determined to show how much of a Gryffindor he was.

Garments laid out across the bed. The work of his grandmother, he assumed. The robes were a thick velvet material in a deep maroon color. Sirius would prefer to wear a muggle suit instead of such old-fashioned robes. The idea of transfiguring or tailoring something exhausted him though. He was short on options unless he planned to go starkers.

Once dressed, Sirius had to appreciate the perfect fit. His grandmother was scarily efficient.

He didn’t linger, exiting the suite after gathering his meager belongings from the abandoned robes. Sirius wandered the hallways with no clear destination. Few portraits decorated the walls in the family wing. He loved that about this house compared to the townhome. He hated the snide comments he got walking the hallways there. Instead, paintings of myths and creatures adorned the walls.

As a child his favorite painting had been Bellerophon astride the great Pegasus. He had longed for adventure. For quests of honor and glory like the ones Bellerophon embarked on. He too had paid a price for his arrogance.

An open door further down the hallway called to him. Towering shelves covered the high walls, each lined with book after book. A few tables and seats spanned the middle of the room. The far wall interested him more than anything. It was the real reason he bothered entering the dim room.

Between two narrow floor-to-ceiling windows spread a massive tapestry. A skylight above shone the dying light of the day directly on the fabric. He spent hours sneaking in to stare at the tapestry when he was little. At night, the starlight would catch on the threads and glow, constellations and runes sparkling among the tree branches and hundreds of names. They were too small to make out without getting close the tapestry. He’d been creative about climbing up to read the highest branches.

The tapestry at the townhouse was insignificant compared to this one.

This wall held centuries of Black family history with none of his family’s lovely additions marring the work. It was tied to the family magics and the lord of the family, updating automatically. The runic magic involved prevented any errors or intentional changes. It was a fascinating piece of work and had sparked his interest in runes.

Sirius moved closer to the wall, searching the branch of the tree he was most familiar with. A few more names had joined the hundreds of others in a shimmering grey rather than the glowing white of the living. He found his own name under his father’s grey one. He reached out to touch it, but the sight of the name next to his halted his motion.

Like the Marauder’s map, the tapestry did not lie. It where he’d gotten the inspiration from. It did not lie, yet, he refused to believe it.

He’d heard the stories. He had been so sure.

James got him proper drunk one night. He’d mourned then refused to talk about it ever again. Yet.

Yet.

Arcturus must know. With the tapestry, there was no way he didn’t.

So where was he? Where had he been this whole time?

“Tilly!”

He waited for the distinctive pop to question the elf, “Where is my grandfather?”

“Master and Missus be in the blue room, young master.”

Sirius stormed out of the room before she finished speaking.

“Arcturus! Arcturus, you bastard!”

The door at the end of the hallway blasted open as he approached. The next shout died in his throat.

Sitting up on a chaise looking as disoriented as he felt was a young man, dark hair in disarray and eyes wide as they stared at each other.

Sirius slumped against the doorway.

“Reggie?”

His brother winced. Pale hands, slenderer than his own, fiddled with the blanket strewn across his body.

“Sirius.”

“How – how is this possible?”

Regulus’ eyes slid across the room. Sirius followed his gaze, eyes narrowing at the sight of his grandparents. He strode into the room and hands wildly waving.

“You!”

Arcturus’ face remained unmoved. His grandmother made to stand but he held her back.

“Let the boy speak, Mel.”

Sirius froze in the middle of the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Use your brain, boy. Why else would I have hidden him in the manor for two years? For his protection.”

They’d told him Regulus dies a coward’s death. Bellatrix loved to call them the weak Blacks. They’d said he ran scared from his duties like a fool. But this didn’t explain why the wizarding world still believed he was dead.

“From what? Voldemort’s dead.”

“No.”

Sirius whirled around at the low rasp.

“No, he is not.” His brother wrung his hands together, head lowered.

“He’s dead,” Sirius said firmly. “I saw Godric’s Hollow. He’s gone.”

He stared down at his not-dead brother, willing him to meet his eyes. Regulus raised his head and met his glare.

“No, he is not. He created horcruxes.”

A thundering noise filled his ears, and he stumbled back.

“What?”

“Horcruxes. He dabbled in soul magic. I know you know what they are.”

Horcruxes. Bloody horcruxes.

Why? How?

It was filthy magic to tear one’s soul. His own magic rebelled at the mere thought.

Had it all been in vain? Had they been fighting a war they’d already lost? Was James dead for nothing more than a worthless prophecy?

Sirius pointed an accusing finger at his brother, “How do you even know? If he really did make any, I doubt he went about telling all his followers!”

“I—”

“Sit down, Sirius.” His grandmother’s closeness startled him. “If I have to hear this dreadful tale again, we’ll need tea.”

A fresh pot of tea appeared on the center table. Sirius readied a protest, but his grandmother forcibly sat him down in the love seat. Cups of tea floated around the room as she returned to the couch. It was a surreal moment. He had a cup of tea insistently nudging his fingers while his grandparents held hands and his not-dead brother wrapped himself in a blanket to discuss some of the darkest magic possible.

Sirius grabbed the cup, knowing from experience it would spill the contents on his lap if he ignored it any longer.

Voldemort wasn’t dead.

Did Dumbledore know? He who knew more about their enemy than any other. Did he suspect? The headmaster sent James and Lily into hiding over a prophecy about Voldemort’s defeat. Did he even believe it?

Because apparently dark lords didn’t know when to die. His friends were gone, and the rest of the world only had a reprieve from the terror.

“How do you know?”

For a minute, no response was forthcoming. The silence tempted Sirius to start shouting demands for answers again. He kept his mouth shut when he noticed how tightly Regulus was holding himself.

Dreadful story, his grandmother said. Somehow he didn’t think she was talking about the horcruxes.

What had the little fool done?

“I found one.”

The words were practically inaudible. They forced Sirius to rethink everything he’d ever thought about Regulus.

“He… the Dark Lord… he asked for assistance. He wanted a house elf.” Regulus turned wide, pleading eyes on Sirius. “Bella – she urged me. So I… I offered Kreacher.”

Sirius didn’t understand what that blasted elf had to do with this. He didn’t understand anything really. Regulus had never been verbose, but he seemed to be on a mission to use as little words as possible. Sirius would shake him to make him speak if he wasn’t sure his grandmother would eviscerate him first.

“He was all wrong when he came home.” Regulus shrugged, eyes once more trained on his lap. “I got curious.”

Sirius groaned. He’d thought Reggie an annoyance in their youth. Constantly underfoot. He’d never grown out of it apparently.

“Kreacher described a cave and a locket. Inferi. When the Dark Lord spoke about his invincibility… that he’d gone to unknown lengths to secure victory…I started figuring it out. So I –”

He flushed and a pit formed in Sirius’ stomach.

His grandfather finished the story when it was clear Regulus wasn’t going to continue. “He decided to destroy the horcrux on his own, without informing anyone. He thought he would go to his death with the family none the wise.”

Regulus curled into himself, smaller and smaller with each word his grandfather spoke.

“Mipsy monitors all the family elves. She brought Kreacher’s odd behavior to my attention. The stupid boy was being dragged into a lake by the time I retrieved him.”

Dragged into a lake of inferi.

“You idiot, Reggie! Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I… I did not think you believe me.”

That shut him up quick.

He’d been so arrogant. So convinced his brother was too soft to ever leave and painted him with the same brush as the rest of the family. Sirius managed to stand up to his parent’s backwards views on his own, and he told himself Regulus could do the same if he really wanted to.

And he had.

But now he was realizing he shouldn’t have had to.

Sirius had had the Potters. The Marauders. Later the Order.

His brother had the old family elf.

Vital information could have been lost forever if not for the way his grandfather managed his household. His brother could have been lost forever.

And the terrible thing was, Regulus was right.

Sirius would have been suspicious. Would have suspected Regulus of trying to trick him.

He’d been fooled by a traitorous friend, and he’d distrusted his blood brother.

Such arrogance. Convinced of his own infallibility. The past few months, the past few days had been turned his world upside down.

He called Regulus an idiot, but, in truth, he was the idiot. He’d gotten himself imprisoned while one brother lost his life and the other risked his to bring Voldemort down.

While Sirius ran around playing at hero, Regulus single-handedly did more to defeat Voldemort than the entire Order.

He had found a piece of Voldemort’s soul.

No one spoke.

The fire crackled in the background. His forgotten tea was lukewarm, but the action of drinking centered him. He turned the story over and over in his head.

“Horcruxes. You said horcruxes plural.”

He prayed not. Lady Magic, Merlin, Godric, Salazar, anyone listening.

If Voldemort had multiple horcruxes, it could be near impossible to find them all. Harry would be in danger until they were all found.

“Something Bella said. ‘The Dark Lord honored her with his trust.’ Malfoy too. She was so proud our family was valued by him.”

She would be, the crazy bitch.

“You don’t know for sure?”

“Well, yes. I do.” Regulus finally met his gaze. “Grandfather helped me research. We found information on his youth… It seems promising. Then there’s…” He trailed off, looking away again. “Godric’s Hollow lacked a body. If I destroyed the only one, his body should have been there. What else explains what happened?”

Forget the dementors. Sirius felt as if he’d gone a few rounds with the Whomping Willow or a nesting dragon. THe kind of endless beating that bruises so deep they became a part of you.

Years of fighting and it wasn’t over. There was no waking up from this nightmare.

For Harry’s sake, he had to find them all. All of the horcruxes that potentially existed.

Sirius may believe Dumbledore’s prophecy to be a load of rubbish, but Voldemort clearly believed it.

“Have you found any others?”

“No, but—”

“Do you have any leads?”

“It’s a tad difficult to go traipsing about Britain as a dead man!”

“Boys!”

Both settled back into their seats at the reprimand from their grandmother.

“That is enough. Today is Yule. Let us enjoy the celebration, and you three can continue this discussion at a more appropriate time.”

Yule. What did Yule matter when his godson was who where and Voldemort was still out there? He opened his mouth to protest only to be preempted by his grandmother.

“No, Sirius. You can ask your questions another day. Nothing can be done tonight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, can Reggie still not leave his hide-hole?”

Grandfather pinched his nose. Tea sloshed from the rim of his grandmother’s cup as she forcefully set it down.

“Tonight is the first time both my grandson are home in nine years. You will forgive me if I want one evening free from talk of death and fighting.”

She stood, nostrils flaring, and smoothed down her dress.

“If you will excuse me, I must see to the dinner preparations.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

“Well done, Sirius. Not even a half-hour. Must be a new record for you.”

“Oh, shut up, Reggie.”

Sirius tipped his head back, eyes closed to the world.

He couldn’t keep lashing out. He’d never forgive himself if he let his hot head affect Harry’s well-being.

“What do you plan to do, Grandfather? Regulus can’t hide in the manor forever.”

“No, he cannot. The worst of the trials are over. With your imprisonment scandal, the public will be more inclined to believe his innocence. He was only eighteen when he disappeared. No actual crimes were attributed to him.”

Eighteen. Regulus had risked his life at eighteen for a psychopath his parents threw him out. Harry had been eighteen months old when he supposedly killed the same psychopath. War did not care for age. It spared no one.

How was it the youngest had done the most? Sirius would dedicate himself to making sure as little of this touched his godson as possible.

“Grandfather plans to reintroduce me to society during the Yule season. I do have leads I need to follow now it is safe to do.”

One more item to add to his list. A big item.

With every passing hour putting his life together became a more insurmountable task.

“Let me know what you learn. I need to talk to the goblins and get my job back. I’ll have access to information that could help in the search.”

“Thank you.”

His brother disentangled himself from his blanket and planted his feet on the floor. He hesitated, and Sirius cracked.

He was kneeling on the floor across the room before he even registered moving.

Sirius reached out and grasped his brother by the neck, fingers tangling in silky strands as he pulled him close. Their foreheads rested together for a long moment. Regulus separated himself first, one side of his mouth quirked up. Sirius mirrored the gesture and released his hold. Another beat passed before Regulus got to his feet.

“I will see you at dinner.”

He remained on his knees, blankly staring at the door Regulus vanished through.

“Breathe, Sirius.”

A hand landed on his shoulder. He gasped, desperately ducking in air.

He hadn’t realized he had stopped breathing. The whole evening was turning into a blur.

He didn’t move from the floor, unsure his legs would support him if he attempted to stand.

His grandfather pressed a teacup into his hands. They shook badly, forcing the older man to guide his clumsy hands towards his mouth. He drank on reflex. As he swallowed the liquid, his muscles relaxed. A pleasant haze made his thoughts syrupy.

“Calming draught?”

He should be more bothered by the action, he thought, but could not muster the indignance necessary. His grandfather merely hummed, tipping the cup up further. A satisfied gleam entered his eyes when Sirius drained the cup. Grandfather manhandled him onto the chaise and draped Regulus’ abandoned blanket around his shoulders.

“Rest. Humor your grandmother. Tomorrow we can handle business.”

Sirius snorted. Business. What a polite way to phrase the clusterfuck that had become his life.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

December 22nd, 1981

A pale, rose-tinted light streamed through the windows. The soft crinkling of newspaper pages accompanied the birdsong filtering in from the gardens. A picture of Sirius in the Wizengamot chambers dominated the front page. The corresponding article ranted about the injustices heaped on the brave, young war hero. It amused him considering the same journalists had spent the past month shouting about the hereditary nature of Black madness.

Grandfather would be pleased. He was almost positive Grandfather had this very headline in mind when he dressed Sirius in those robes. He cut a dashing figure, striding across the front page as if going into battle. And he had, just not with his wand.

But the headlines were not what Regulus dwelt on.

For those who paid attention, the society pages were more useful for tracking people’s movements than any front-page article. Hidden among gossip columns and consigned to small blocks of space, valuable information existed if one knew how to connect the dots.

”Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy Family, spotted dining at the Silver Fairy with Adolphus Carter, member of the Wizarding Administration...”

That single sentence gave away more about Malfoys’ plan than Narcissa the entire night before.

Regulus could understand why Grandfather wanted to be aware of the Malfoy family’s activities. If events had unfolded differently, Regulus would have expected the Malfoys to lay low for a while and set the groundwork for Lucius to come out prominently in a few years when everyone mostly forgot he’d been associated with the Dark Lord.

The rest of the pureblood families would have little interest in challenging Lucius, or no power to do so. The Malfoys could easily regain their prior influence and gain additional prestige, stepping into a void created by the multitude of deaths and incarcerations among the nobles of their generation. Sirius’ release and Regulus’ upcoming reintroduction to society complicated matters for them.

Instead, the Black family, with an older history and deeper coffers than the Malfoys, stood to gain the most in the Dark Lord’s aftermath. The Black name demanded respect, and now they would have the wizarding world’s sympathy. Only days ago, the public thought the Black family would die in infamy. Good riddance, they said. Today, the public hailed Sirius a war hero.

Lord Malfoy and Lucius could not stand idly by as the Black family rose to preeminence in the wizarding world. There was a reason Lord Malfoy sought a Black bride for his heir. They had always aspired to climb higher on the social ladder. Voldemort was meant to lead them to the top.

Grandfather was right to worry about what they might resort to.

Dishes clattering distracted Regulus from his thoughts.

Sirius plonked down across from him in a way that jostled the table. He tore into the breakfast spread with all the grace of a troll. Regulus wrinkled his nose and pointedly raised The Prophet higher.

His brother had received the same etiquette lessons he had. He’d seen him effortlessly charm ladies and nimbly navigate hallway duels. He knew him to be capable of dining manners. One need only remember the night before. Grandmother would not have hesitated to send a stinging hex or twist their ears if she witnessed such boorish behavior at her Yule celebration. Proof Sirius had some survival instinct.

Evidently his own presence did not inspire such weariness. The opposite really. Sirius presumably doubled his efforts to irritate him. The sound of loud chewing permeated the space.

He had not considered how Sirius’ presence would affect the minutia of his life.

Many years had passed since they last cohabitated. Regulus normally spent his morning in solitude. His grandparents rose late in the morning and preferred to break their fast in the privacy of their own rooms. His way of living these past two years was about to radically change. Last night’s Yule celebration with the extended Black family was only the beginning of the steady stream of visitors the manor would host from now on.

It frightened him to think the best home he had known might have its peace permanently disturbed.

He loved his brother – more than he cared to admit – but he was a catalyst of change. His moods mercurial, never still. As a child, he had thought his brother the most clever and exciting person. Now, he feared the disorder he would bring to the quiet life he managed to find.

Across the table, the racket finally quieted down. Regulus finished the paper, folding it neatly and setting it down on the edge of the table. Sirius reclined in his chair, arms crossed as he stared out the wall of windows. Regardless of the years gone by, he recognized the gleam in his eyes.

It never boded well for the recipient.

His fellow Slytherins had been on the receiving end of Sirius’ vindictive nature one too many times during their time at Hogwarts.

“What are you planning?”

Sirius smirked, carelessly tossing two letters that sat by his plate at Regulus.

“I’m getting my godson back.”

Regulus furrowed his brow. He had known retrieving the Potter child would be one of Sirius’ first actions. He had not expected him to act so quickly, but then, there were no lengths Sirius would not go to when set on a course. He thought whoever the current guardian was would pass on the child once the Sirius filed the proper paperwork. The expression in Sirius’ eyes was too angry for something meant to be so simple.

He opened the missives. Had the house elves delivered them while he ignored Sirius? Or had they arrived last night?

The top letter was thicker: two pieces of parchment folded together, each with the Ministry logo emblazoned at the top. The first page contained an approval for Sirius’ petition of guardianship for one Harry James Potter, currently residing in Little Whinging, Surrey. The letter listed a series of conditions, all suspect to inspection by a member of the appropriate Ministry office and failure of which would open the door for other petitions.

The list included providing a suitable living environment and clearance from a Ministry approved Mind healer, with an appointed co-guardian until Sirius received a clean bill of health. He only gave the second sheet a cursory glance. It was the guardianship form with blank spaces for the required information and signatures.

“Malfoy’s doing, I suppose. Must not be pleased. Who do you plan to name? Lupin?”

Regulus handed the letter back to his brother and picked up the second piece of correspondence. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be absurd. The Ministry would never go for that, and you know it. No, I’m appointing Grandfather. Those Ministry idiots can’t disapprove of him.”

“Have you asked him?”

Sirius scoffed, “Like we both don’t know this is what he wanted?”

He could not deny the fact, but Regulus had anticipated more of fight. A snap of Sirius’ fingers had Tilly popping into the room.

“Bring me a writing set, will you?”

A moment later a tray with quills, a penknife, ink, and sundries appeared on the table. Sirius dismissed Tilly with a wave of his hand, and Regulus thanked her before she popped out.

He watched as Sirius dipped one of the quills in the ink and began to fill in the form with his flowing script.

“You’ll be staying then? Grandfather thought you would want your own place back.”

“I was renting a muggle flat.”

“For what purpose? Uncle Alphard left you a tidy sum. Don’t tell me you could not have bought yourself a place.”

“Less conspicuous. I was hardly there anyway. And it’s beside the point. My flat’s been repossessed by now, and the Potter properties are a mess.”

Sirius looked up from his writing with an impish smile, “There’s house elves here, and I’ve never changed a nappy. Cissy was too well rested to have a one-year old at home.”

Regulus laughed and shot his brother a knowing look. “Andy’s horror stories got to you, did they?”

A strange emotion passed over Sirius’ face, and he responded with more sobriety.

“I was meant to be the fun godfather, not a parent.”

Words crowded his throat. Sirius returned to his writing, his letters jerky and less neat.

He forgot the Potters’ death was a fresh wound in Sirius’ mind. Theirs was an abstract death to Regulus. Another casualty of wizarding savagery. The rest of the world celebrated the fall of the Dark Lord, and Sirius mourned his friends, one of them the man who had taken Regulus’ place by his brother.

A gaping distance existed between the two of them.

Regulus averted his gaze for the lack of anything to say. He didn’t know how to bridge this gap.

He focused on the letter in his hand to give himself an excuse not to speak.

This note was much shorter. The swirling script on the slip of parchment requested a meeting. No signature adorned the bottom. It was not hard to guess who it might be from.

When he first discovered the horcruxes, he briefly considered going to Dumbledore. In the end, he had not trusted the wily old man to have his best interests at heart. He’d not even trusted his family when the time came – though Grandfather proved his fears to be unfounded. Yet, others held the headmaster in esteem.

Severus must have made some manner of deal to receive the protection Dumbledore gave him during the trials. And Sirius took orders from the man all throughout the war. If the more unpleasant Blacks did not drive Sirius away, then Dumbledore’s influence would draw him away.

The note went back on the table.

Regulus busied himself with pouring another cup of tea. He could admit to himself he’d been jealous of the camaraderie Sirius had found at school. Felt ignored and abandoned when Sirius stopped spending time with him. Recently reunited and with a host of taboo topics between them, Regulus would still prefer to have his brother helping him than the headmaster.

“Are you going?”

A hum of inattention from the other side of the table.

“Sirius.”

“What, Reggie?”

“Dumbledore. Are you going?”

Sirius set the quill down and tapped the parchment with his wand. The ink darkened, no longer glistening wet.

“Later. Harry comes first.”

How infuriatingly vague. Later. Sirius possessed a singular talent for aggravating him. He knew there was no reason to keep asking directly as Sirius would only put him off.

“Oh? Are you picking him up then? I did find the address curious. I don’t recall any Potters in that area of Surrey.”

Sirius enclosed the form within a letter and pressed the family seal into the wax. A shadow fell over his face at Regulus’ queries. His lips pressed into a tight line. Regulus tilted his head, studying Sirius’ expression with curiosity. Nothing he said should have been upsetting. If anything, Regulus expected to be told off for being so nosy.

Several beats passed in silence, and he was prepared to give up on this subject as well when Sirius finally responded.

“Lily’s muggle family resides in Surrey.”

What loaded words. The tone alone spoke volumes in a language he did not understand. He hesitated to say anything, afraid to set Sirius off on a rampage if he thought Regulus was being anti-muggle. What else about this situation bothered Sirius if not the muggles?

The best thing to do was wait. Wait for some clarity. But Sirius returned to his earlier reticence, tense lines along his entire body. Regulus waited as Sirius called for a house elf. Tilly popped in again. He thrust the letter at her and instructed her to post it to the Ministry. Regulus deliberately maintained a relaxed air, sipping his tea and watching his brother.

Patience was the best strategy to extract information from Sirius. Verbally arguing would spark his brother’s ire, but he was awful at holding his tongue when left to stew.

Inevitably, he exploded.

“The sister hates magic. James told me she called Lily a freak. Hadn’t seen her in person since graduation, and Dumbledore¬¬─ he left him there.”

Sirius’ eyes burned with a feverish intensity. One that reminded Regulus his brother had only been released from Azkaban a few days ago. He pitied the fool who crossed Sirius in this state. His brother would never acknowledge it, but he had the same cruel streak the more ruthless members of the Black family were known for.

At least this information gave him an idea of where Sirius’ unwillingness to speak of Dumbledore came from.

His brother was grappling with a crisis of faith. The only solid ground under his feet was a little toddler who remained out of his reach in unknown conditions while players on both sides removed masks to reveal faces he had never seen before. Regulus had suffered the shock of disillusion and did not envy Sirius his current situation.

“I will go with you.”

He surprised himself by blurting out the offer but did not retract it. Instead, he needlessly clarified, “When you visit them. You will need assistance with a child.”

His comment banked the fire in Sirius’ eyes. His brother laughed dryly.

“And you know about children, or muggles?”

“Yes.”

Regulus tried to project a confidence he didn’t really feel. He met Sirius’ stare without blinking.

Sirius huffed, one hand scratching at the scruff on his face.

“Fine. You’re a grown boy. This way, when something goes wrong, I’ll have you to blame.”

Sirius stood and jerked his head toward the door.

“C’mon then. Need to find him first.”

He strode through the door, vanishing into the manor. Regulus stared after him. He deflated now no one was around to see him. It began to dawn on him that this would be his first time off the manor grounds since he arrived two years ago. And he had not asked Grandfather for approval first.

Merlin. He needed to exercise more caution. Something about Sirius turned Regulus back into a child. Eager to please and making emotional decisions.

With a sigh, he polished off the rest of his tea.

Magic flowed into the pendant. Each new rune glowed as Sirius carefully inscribed them. A matching glow began to shine through the clothing covering his upper arm. Sirius paid the light show little attention, ignoring Regulus’ startled noise. He took even breaths as he focused on his task.

In. Out.

He couldn’t afford any errors. His wand was already a handicap, not the best tool for the kind of detailed rune work he was attempting. The silver coin offered limited space, and his wand was a clumsy instrument for the small runes he carved into the surface. Circumstance dictated he use what was on hand. He didn’t have time to deal with his old flat to get access to his curse-breaking kit.

Needs must. As long as he didn’t screw up.

With a final downward stroke, the runes on the coin flashed then went dark. At the same moment, his upper arm began to throb. The sensation echoed the beat of a pulsing heart.

With each beat, his body lost a little more of its tension.

Bloody hell.

He had half expected the enchantment to fail. It was exactly the kind of shit luck he’d been dealing with lately.

But it worked.

He thanked the paranoia that had been his constant companion months ago, without which the magic he performed would not have been an option. James had laughed at him when he’d told him what he wanted to do. Laughed but not stopped him.

Sirius spent weeks designing the perfect combination of runes. The pain of tattooing them on his body had been excruciating. The ink and procedure required specific magic.

All worth it.

Three lines of runes wrapped around his bicep, a reminder of the duty he accepted – a permanent tie to his godson. It was that tie that allowed the runic magic on the pendant to work. He’d drawn from many sources of inspiration for the tattoo’s creation. The dark mark had inspired the tracking portion of the runic bond. Much like the dark mark, the pendant channeled the bond to serve as a guide. If all went well, it would pull them to Harry’s location upon apparating.

“Ready?”

Regulus’ voice had a petulant tone. Sirius’ smile widened. He didn’t bother to respond.

Regulus was a curious bugger. He got snippy when people failed to answer his questions satisfactorily, and Sirius had not explained a single thing since his brother caught up to him after their breakfast conversation.

Part of it was purposeful. He’d never grown out of messing with his younger brother. It was a great relief Regulus was even around to annoy.

Another part was the fact he’d shown up when Sirius was well into his work. In fact, Sirius had almost written Regulus off when he didn’t immediately follow.

He had to give him credit. When the little twerp entered the suite, he wore clothes appropriate for a foray into the Muggle world. No sight of the traditional robes he’d had on at breakfast. He hadn’t even thought to tell Regulus to change. Sirius never bothered with robes unless the occasion called for it. He preferred his leather jacket to meters of fabric. This morning he’d transfigured an old cloak from the wardrobe into a replica of his favorite jacket. The transfiguration wouldn’t last, and the cloak was ruined, but it made him feel better.

Like messing with Regulus did.

His brother’s expression grew increasingly tighter the longer Sirius delayed in answering him. When a frown disrupted his brother’s impassive mask, Sirius smirked at him and grabbed his arm.

“Let’s go.”

He grasped Regulus’ arm and concentrated on the magic of the pendant and the steady beat from the runes on his arm.

“Wait!”

The cry came too late.

With a crack, the two Black brothers twisted into being in a plain hallway. A high-pitched wail and clanging echoed throughout the house.

The noise was coming from behind a fogged glass door at the end of the hallway. A doorway to the left opened to a sitting room and stairs on the right led up to the first floor.

No sign of Harry.

The pendant should have taken him straight to the little boy. Or at least in the same room as him.

Panic welled up, and he fought to keep calm. Harry must be in the house somewhere. Perhaps he was the source of the wailing. He’d been a happy toddler the last he saw him. He didn’t blame him for being upset. He was with strangers in a strange place.

Before he could start his search, the glass door flew open. A tall, thin woman lingered in the doorway.

“You!”

A sneer marred the woman’s features, and she straightened imperiously.

Lily’s sister then.

“You best be here to take the boy off our hands. How dare you freaks leave him on our doorstep! He’s your problem.”

The panic quickly dissipated. Sirius’ hand tightened on his wand, knuckles white with the force. The fixtures on the wall rattled with every word she spit out.

How dare she.

Merlin.

He was glad Harry was too young to understand or remember the way this screeching harpy must have treated him.

The lights flickered.

Her face twisted further, fear creeping into her expression as she backed into the room she had come from. Regulus clamped a hand on his shoulder.

Sirius attempted to reign in his temper. Hexing the bint wouldn’t help Harry.

A hand flapped in the direction of the stairs.

“Just take him and go.”

A hard nudge pushed him out of his frozen position, and he jerked his gaze away from the woman. He only got as far as the first step before an irritated noise came from her direction. Obviously, he had not done enough to scare her off.

Sirius turned his head toward her and raised a single eyebrow, wand twirling between fingers. One excuse. That’s all he needed. One more rude comment, and he’d earn his stay in Azkaban.

“Where are you going? He’s in there.”

What could she mean? In where?

Sirius stared at her incomprehensively while Regulus’ eyes widened in horror. She pointed at the stairs more emphatically.

No.

His wand hand twitched.

“Sirius – no!”

He nodded once in recognition of Regulus and opened the door under the stairs.

Inside, a dark-headed toddler inspected a pile of shoes. He babbled as he built a tower of them on the floor of the cupboard. Sirius hovered in the door, eyes hungrily watching the little boy. Behind him, he heard Regulus question Lily’s sister.

The little boy paused his game, looking up at him. He must have recognized Sirius because he broke out in excited chatter. He stood up on wobbly legs.

One step. Two.

Harry crashed into him. He gave Sirius a gummy smile and reached hands up in the air.

“Up!”

Tears rolled down his face.

Oh, this precious little boy. Sirius would do anything for him.

He bent over and swept Harry into his arms, bouncing him. Having him in his arms was such a balm to his soul.

“Hey little man, you ready to go with your Uncle Sirius?”

Harry nodded. His little hands patted Sirius’ face with a frown, smearing the wetness. Sirius’ mouth trembled. A weak smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“Da?”

Sirius gathered the tiny hands into one of his larger ones and pressed a hard kiss to the fingers.

“Just you and me buddy.”

Turning on his heel, he faced Lily’s sister. Any trace of happiness disappeared as he addressed her.

“His things?”

He didn’t know what expression was on his face. Something terrible considering the way she flinched. She wrung her hands, more subdued than she had been earlier.

“I already told the other one he had nothing. Only the letter.”

Sirius glanced over at him. Regulus lifted the piece of parchment in his possession.

Harry would have nothing to remind him of his stay in this place. And, they needn’t remain any longer. Business complete, Sirius cupped the back of Harry’s head, pressing it slightly into his chest as he spun on his heel.

Harry’s squalling greeted him the moment he landed back in the manor’s receiving room.

Sirius grimaced. He’d been hasty with his departure, but he couldn’t have stayed a second longer. He’d have done something he’d regret later. Well, maybe not. But when the Ministry hauled him up for inappropriate use of magic, he’d have regretted the loss of Harry.

While the warm weight of Harry in his arms soothed him, the ever-present anger did not vanish.

One name burned in his mind. Without reading the letter, he knew whose signature would be on it. With Harry safe in his arms, plans needed to be set into motion. He could not allow Dumbledore access to Harry. Lily’s sister may have put Harry into that cupboard, but Dumbledore started the entire chain of events that led his godson there. He guessed it was a good thing Regulus invited himself along. Who knows what might have happened?

A crack announced Regulus’ return. Thankfully, Harry did not startle. The little boy had calmed from their abrupt exit. He stared curiously at Regulus, hands clinging to Sirius’ clothes.

Sirius did not bother taking his eyes of his godson, wiping the boy’s face clean.

“I need a favor.”

His brother followed Sirius down the halls of the manor, listening to his requests. Regulus promised to do as asked. He excused himself once they arrived at Sirius’ suite.

He didn’t know all the particulars of Regulus’ not-death. Didn’t know what he’d done the past two years. But he found himself feeling grateful for his brother. For all he’d teased him earlier, Regulus hadn’t bombarded Sirius with questions he didn’t feel like or know how to answer. He’d been a quiet presence at his side.

Sirius collapsed on the couch with his godson cradled in his arms.

A few minutes of rest. He needed a few minutes of rest before he could contemplate doing anything else.

Five minutes to hold his godson tight. Of breathing in the scent of his hair. Of painfully familiar green eyes shining at him.

Five minutes to appreciate the reunion. To appreciate everything that had to fall together for them to be here.

Sirius pressed kisses into Harry’s mop of hair. He categorized every aspect of him. The new things and the same things. Harry appeared thinner, frailer in his arms. Perhaps he’d lost weight or stretched out since he’d last visited him. Or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him.

Merlin, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to deal with a child as young as Harry. The two of them would have to relearn each other. Relearn how to live without the most important people in their lives.

“You and me. It’s just you and me buddy.”

Hours later, his rooms were unrecognizable. Several trunks sat piled against one wall. On a round, colorful carpet glowing with runes, Harry played with an assortment of plush toys and blocks. A stack of baby books adorned the tea table, and a toy broomstick lay against a chest in the corner. One of the house elves continually popped in and out of the suite arranging furniture and putting away various items brought back from Godric’s Hollow.

Thanks to Regulus and the Black house elves, Sirius avoided going to the cottage. The loss was too fresh, and memories from that night haunted his dreams. Perhaps one day, when Harry was older, they would both go. For now, the elves salvaged as many of the belongings in the house as they could.

Most of James and Lily’s possessions remained unscathed: heirloom dishes, journals, knickknacks. The events of that night destroyed the nursery. Yet, a surprising number of Harry’s things survived.

During all this, Sirius reviewed what remained of his own belongings. Less than he hoped but everything he expected. The paranoia, whether the same Black madness that led his father to ward Grimmauld to the high heavens or his own war-induced brand, served its purpose again. His landlord rented out his apartment and sold his belongings, as he’d thought. However, he did not find, much less remove, Sirius’ warded safe. He didn’t particularly care how Regulus had been able to retrieve it, only that he hd.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair to watch Harry play.

He’d finally finished sorting. Piles of paper covered his worktable. Letters from Lily and James sat in one pile; they’d go into a trunk along with their personal items for Harry to have. Sirius had carefully drawn preservation runes on the lid of all the trunks. The rest of the piles had his other personal correspondence, work notes, and personal projects.

One letter sat apart.

Two neatly folded pages contained a snippet of information he’d paid no mind to the first time he’d read the thing. If he could verify the information, it’d be dead useful.

Arcturus would know how to proceed.

Honestly, Sirius was amazed his grandfather hadn’t called for him all day. He had yet to see the old man. Harry and settling in had preoccupied him so much that he hadn’t left his rooms since returning from Surrey. Harry cried and fussed when Sirius left his line of sight. It had taken a good hour for the toddler to release Sirius following the morning reunion. He’d had to do his first tasks with Harry in his arms. Even ducking into the open bedroom was too far. He probably shouldn’t encourage the separation anxiety, but it comforted him just as much to have Harry with him.

Sirius approached Harry and knelt on the floor.

“Ready for an adventure?”

Harry quickly clambered into Sirius’ outstretched arms.

Other than unintelligible babble and his fussing, Harry was remarkably quiet. Sirius remembered a rambunctious toddler, not the silent waif in his arms.

They needed time.

Hopefully a sense of safety and consistency would bring out the playful nature he recalled.

Godson and letter in hand, Sirius searched out his grandfather.

He tried the study first, pleased to hear the call to enter when he knocked. The door clicked shut behind him. His grandfather sat behind a grand mahogany desk. Time made him immune to the effect. None of the fear or hesitation his younger self felt in this room returned. He carelessly tossed the letter on top of the papers his grandfather worked on.

“You’ll want to read that second page.”

If he was hoping to stun the old man, he failed. His grandfather hummed thoughtfully as he read it and promptly handed it back. Sirius tucked it into his pocket. Harry hardly shifted in his arms throughout the exchange. Green eyes surveyed the room in silence while Sirius stroked his hair.

“I need to know if it’s true.”

“I fear Bathilda remains your best source. The Dumbledore’s lived in Godric’s Hollow, and she would be most familiar with the history. A check of the Wizengamot records may turn up evidence of any incidents.” Grandfather folded his hands together and leaned toward him. “You will need to investigate with care. If the implication is true, the parties involved will not take kindly to your revealing the information.”

“He requested a meeting.”

His grandfather reclined in his chair, hands steepled under his chin.

“You will need to move swiftly then. Or do you plan on holding your tongue?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, hands tightening on his charge. Dumbledore would not be put off for long. Despite his grandfather’s wishes, he still had influence. Sirius did not want to encourage the headmaster to meddle or resort to other means. It meant his timeline was short.

“I will go tomorrow. Perhaps Bagshot will enjoy a visit from Harry.”

The words drew his grandfather’s attention to the little boy, and Sirius fought the urge to hide Harry from his gaze.

“Ah yes, the boy-who-lived.”

“Don’t call him that!”

An amused gleam entered his grandfather’s eyes. Sirius took a breath, intentionally relaxing.

“He’s just Harry.”

“Of course. And what do you plan to do with just Harry?”

“Protect him at any cost.”

Sirius knew the elder Black had plans of his own. At the moment, they benefitted Sirius’ goals. The moment they didn’t, he wouldn’t hesitate to cut himself loose.

He swept from the room without waiting for a dismissal.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

December 24, 1981

A piercing cry broke the silence in the dark room. Sirius jerked awake, half out of bed before he reached any level of awareness. He stumbled over to the crib in the corner nearly tripping over the bare floor. The dark, intricately carved piece was a new addition to his rooms sourced from who knew where in the manor.

Harry stood in the crib, holding the railing as he cried.

He wished he could say this was the first middle of the night wake up. This incident wasn’t even the first time Harry had woken crying tonight. The late – or early, depending on how one thought about – hour meant it’d probably be the last time tonight.

The sky outside the window was lightening. The dusky blue indicated the sun would be rising soon. Perhaps Harry would get more sleep before the day truly started, but not Sirius. The pre-dawn hour would be that start of his day. Something he was quickly understanding would be his new normal. Somewhere, James was laughing at him. Revenge, he’d say, for all the times Sirius had laughed at James’ misery and sleep-deprived state when Harry had first been born.

Sirius scooped Harry up, whispering words of comfort into his hair. The little boy buried his face into Sirius’ chest. Tears dampened his night shirt. Sirius paced the room. He rubbed Harry’s back as he walked slow circles. After a few minutes, the cries quieted down to small sniffles soothed by the motions. He breathed a sigh of relief and settled back against the pillows on the bed, Harry laying on his chest.

Last night had been rough, and many similar nights awaited him. The whole ordeal broke his heart.

He felt impotent.

He didn’t know how to start making it better.
He had all sorts of ideas on how to deal with Voldemort and Dumbledore and the Ministry and anyone else who crossed him. The beginnings of plans and backup plans and even crazier plans.

What he didn’t have was any idea how to stop Harry’s nightmares.

It’d only been two days. Two days. And he was failing James and Lily.

At night, the silence carried him back to the Potter cottage. His mind spun scenario after scenario of how things could’ve gone. How events could have unfolded differently if he’d been smarter, quicker, less stupid and naive. Then Harry would start crying, and he’d wonder if that’s what he had sounded like when Voldemort killed Lily. If he even knew what was going on in that moment or if he’d thought it all a game until no one got back up.

He felt worn down and stretched thin after only two days.

Bruised and battered.

He had to make this work. He had to.

Their battles were just beginning.

Not to mention the visit to Bathilda’s the previous day had been equal parts fruitful and anxiety inducing.

Old Bathilda had welcomed Harry and he warmly. She’d been delighted to see his godson again and asked Sirius all sorts of questions he didn’t know how to answer. About potty training and muggle schooling and holiday celebrations. The type of nappies used and his sleeping schedule and what Harry was being fed. Things she’d discussed with Lily that Sirius was muddling through or hadn’t even thought of. Merlin. He thought he knew what James and Lily wanted, but Bathilda had knocked what little confidence he had back down.

On a positive note, the old bat would be a good friend to his godson. And he’d gotten what he went for without having to ask. Bathilda chatted endlessly. It was obvious the older lady missed Lily’s presence in the village. Sirius ended up promising to bring Harry back. Despite all the questions and the minor parenting crisis, she cared for his godson and was an interesting source of conversation. It was more than he could say for some of the manor’s occupants.

To be fair, Regulus hadn’t been too awful. If he was honest, he wouldn’t have accomplished as much without his brother’s help. He’d likely have landed himself back in Azkaban after the visit to Privet Drive. And other than the usual snide commentary, Regulus had been nice about it. Sirius couldn’t recall the last time they had co-existed so peacefully. Not since before he’d started at Hogwarts.

Near death experiences -- they could heal even the level of fucked up the Black family achieved.

Regardless, Sirius was rapidly approaching the end of his tether. Two days with his godson had him questioning his sanity. The nutty professor-induced anxiety attack aside, having someone else share in the caring of his godson yesterday afternoon had been a huge relief. He’d said this time would be different, and, for Harry’s sake, his actions needed to reflect that.

Pettigrew turned out to be a rat, and the people he trusted, useless, but, if nothing else, his grandfather would protect the family. He trusted that fact.
The visit with Bathilda had reminded him of one more thing: Lily’s love for the Christmas season. She’d gone along with his and James’ Yule celebrations every year, though she still decorated for Christmas with an undimmable exuberance. For her, he’d make sure Harry enjoyed every Christmas, starting with this one. Done with his wool-gathering, Sirius levered himself off the bed with a groan. Harry slept on in his arms.

The early hour gave him the best opportunity to decorate without any of his relatives interfering. Sure enough, the halls were silent and the family den empty. He placed Harry on the couch, the little boy slumbering on with hardly a noise. Sirius smiled at the sight. At least one of them was getting some rest. He tucked one of the many throw blankets his grandmother kept around over the little boy and got to work transforming the room.

By the time the sun had fully risen, Sirius was nearly finished with his project. He was working on the tree one of the elves had brought him from the grounds when his grandmother entered the room. He murmured a greeting, his focus on his spell work.

“Your transfiguration improved. I recall a young lad who ruined my best goblets with his experiments.”
“I hope I've improved, considering I was thirteen at the time,” Sirius laughed.
She hummed and moved towards the couch. “You should add candles. We have some lovely goblin-wrought candle holders.”

He glanced over, watching as she settled in next to Harry. The toddler didn’t stir when the couch dipped. “Thanks. Lily used her grandparents. I would, but they’re muggle. I wouldn’t want to ruin any more heirlooms with my magic.”

His grandmum laughed gently and called one of the elves to fetch the pieces. Sirius continued decorating, charming the candles into place once they’d been brought. As he hung the last glass bauble, he stepped back to admire the room. Shimmering tinsel, colorful ribbon, and the fresh fir scent transformed the space into something he’d like to think Lily would approve of.

He scooped Harry up in order to sit on the couch. His godson slept on peacefully. Harry’s face was sweet, his little hands gripping onto Sirius. He hoped Harry woke up excited about the tree.

“You are doing a good job.”

Sirius smoothed a hand through Harry’s hair, “Am I? I can’t stop the nightmares. I can’t stop his anxiety. I can’t get him to eat anything other than jammy toast!”

“Oh, Sirius,” his grandmother shifted closer and placed her hand on his arm, “You obviously love him. Nobody could ask for more. The rest will come with time.”

“Can’t they? I don’t know what I’m doing, and I can’t even ask my best friends, his parents. It’s just me and him.”

“Darling, you’ll make mistakes. You’ll have breakdowns. You’ll yell at each other, but I promise you, all your friends would want is for their son to be safe and cared for.”

He sighed and bent to place a kiss on the little boy’s forehead, “I hope you’re right.”

“Don’t doubt an old ladies wisdom,” she nudged him slightly. “You are not alone either.”

The words hung between them in silence.

His grandmother ran a finger down the boy’s cheek, “He’s a sweet boy.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“You can stay as long as you want you know.” Her voice was soft.

“I know.”

“Why don’t you invite the Lupin boy to celebrate tomorrow?”

It took a moment for Sirius to process what she said. He stared at her, and all she did was smile at him before turning her attention back to Harry in his lap.

“You mean that?” he asked her.

“Of course. I will even ask Augusta to bring young Neville. They should enjoy the day with their family.”

“I don’t know if he’ll come – Remus, I mean. I don’t know if I even want him to come.”

“You should try. For Harry’s sake.”

Sirius nodded, cradling the toddler closer. Harry was so big in his arms compared to before this whole mess. Between Order assignments and the delicate nature of the Potter’s situation, the last time the Marauders had all had time to be together was the past year’s Christmas. His grandmother was right. He may not know how he felt about Remus, but he couldn’t deny Harry his family. Not when he had so few left to him.

“Thanks Nana,” he paused and tilted Harry in her direction. “Do you want to hold him?”

Harry wriggled for a few seconds and then settled in her arms. “He’s beautiful.”

“Cursed with the Potter genes, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, hush you,” she said. She brushed Harry’s hair back. The motion revealed the angry red scar on his forehead. “Is that…” She rubbed her thumb over the skin. “Is he alright?”

He laid a hand on Harry’s foot, fiddling with the blanket covering him. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to bother him…” he shrugged. “I’d thought about having the goblins check him over. Especially if soul magic was involved.”

“Good. I would not wait long. In fact, I will talk to your grandfather about tomorrow. You go do what you need to do. You will feel better to have it taken care of.”

“Right now?” He said, practically whining, “It’s so early.”

“Do you want to wait until the Alley is crowded?”

“I’m going to floo directly to the bank.”

“I would be astounded if the goblins have not revoked your access.”

Sirius groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Merlin, you’re right. I can arrange a portkey.”

“And give your grandfather the time to make an excuse to accompany you?”

“Alright, alright. You win. I’m going,” he huffed as he got to his feet. His grandmother hid her smile in Harry’s hair. Sirius scowled at her playfully and picked Harry up from her arms. The little boy was getting restless in his sleep, a sign he would soon be wide awake.

“I will have the elves pack a breakfast for the dear. You go make yourself presentable.”

Breakfast. Right, that was a thing they both needed to eat. Sirius’ brain was still five steps behind in their conversation. Somehow, in the span of a half-hour, his grandmum convinced him to invite Remus, host a Christmas gathering, and go off to Gringotts.

Gringotts with its impassive goblin guards and towering white columns was a much more welcoming sight to Sirius than the entirety of the alley. He’d been stared at since the moment he entered Diagon. The hour was quite early and despite that there were enough of the gossipy sort around who were brave enough to approach him when they noticed the toddler. He swore he’d seen the flash of camera go off as well. He’d be in the society pages by the evening’s edition of the Prophet, if not the front page.

On the other hand, the goblins could care less who he or his godson were. Once in the bank, the attendant directed him straight to Karnuk’s office upon identification. The goblin knocked and entered while Sirius waited outside. A moment later, he came back out, waving Sirius in as he left.

Inside the office, an old goblin sat behind a large desk. Karnuk was one of the oldest managers in the bank, part of the acquisitions division in the bank and a familiar face to Sirius. He'd been the one to hire Sirius straight out of Hogwarts and kept him on payroll until his arrest.
“Heir Black.”

“Karnuk.” Sirius dipped his head in a slight bow, “I would like my job back.”

“We have a recent opening for a team lead in Cambodia,” he said, giving Sirius a toothy grin.

“In England. You won’t have replaced me so quick as your artifacts dealer, we both know it.” The gobbledegook came easily to him, even after the lack of recent practice.

To Karnuk’s credit, the goblin didn’t even react. He merely pulled a roll of parchment out of a drawer and made to hand it over. Sirius placed Harry in one of the chairs and sat in the other. His godson hardly moved, big eyes stuck on the goblin. The first he must have seen in his young life. Sirius prayed time and comfort would draw more of his curiosity out. For now, his meek behavior made excursions like this one easier for Sirius.

The parchment turned out to be a replica of his old contract. He had negotiated it just last year. While field work had been everything he wanted, the escalation of the war in Britain meant he'd needed to seek a more local position. A prestigious one in the end, even though he'd only been with the bank a handful of years. It grated on him, but his career at Gringotts was one more thing he owed the Black name. Sure, his NEWTs guaranteed he snagged a spot as a curse breaker, and he'd been sent abroad like all the other rookies. His advancement after the first assignment though had been a mix of his own ability and his name. Everyone knew the Princes were renowned potioneers, the McKinnons the best diviners, the Smiths detailed charm workers. It just so happened the Blacks were abnormally talented with cursed objects. Something even the goblins respected. His skills on the job had certainly proved it.

The contract was a reflection of that. It was more than fair, would allow him the time he needed with Harry. Originally a flexibility of his schedule he'd desired for the war effort and would now be used to get his life together. Sirius didn’t hesitate to sign. Karnuk created a copy which Sirius promptly stored away. The goblin looked ready to dismiss him when Sirius stopped him.

“I need to see the Potter account manager. And a goblin healer.”

Karnuk grunted, pressing a rune on the desk that brought another goblin rushing into the room.

“Lead Heir Black to Manager Garf.” To Sirius he said, “I expect you to return to your duties on the 1st.”

Sirius acknowledged his statement and followed after the other goblin, Harry once more in his arms. The goblin ushered them into a similar office, though this one was closer to the Bank’s atrium. Sirius performed a traditional greeting. The goblin, Garf he assumed, stood and bowed in return.

“Heir Black, I was expecting you sooner.” Garf gestured at the chair in front of the enormous desk. Sirius did as suggested, holding Harry in his lap.

“As guardian of the current Potter Heir, I request to view the account ledgers. To my understanding, the previous Potter Heir hired Gringotts as his solicitors. I would request a public reading of the will.”

Without answering, Garf moved to the right wall. Its entirety was covered by a massive wall to wall bookshelf. The manager grabbed a deep red tome from one of the higher shelves. The thick volume made a thudding noise when placed before him. “This is your copy of the ledger. It reflects the current state of the accounts. James Potter left the management of the family assets to the bank upon his father’s demise. I assume you will wish to take personal control.”

Sirius grimaced but nodded all the same. Unlike James, he had had to endure numerous lessons on estate management. As large as this ledger was, the Black accounts could not be contained in a single volume. “Correct. However, the arrangement may continue for the time being.” He’d need time to familiarize himself with the Potter holdings before doing anything with them.

“Understood. As you know, the Potters named you the estate administrator and representative for the main beneficiary, Harry James Potter. The bank will organize a public will reading on your behalf and contact any other beneficiaries.”

“Thank you. Please owl me the details.”

“Is there anything else we can assist you with?”

“I’d like to arrange for the warding of the Potter cottage in Godric’s Hollow. The fees can be drawn from the main Potter vault. Any additional fees for an expedited request will be paid from my personal vault.”

“What level of warding are you interested in?”

“The highest level of anti-theft and anti-intruder wards on the grounds. A perception ward on the house itself.”

As Garf wrote down his requests, a knock came at the door. An older goblin entered the room and addressed Sirius, “A ritual chamber has been prepared. Senior Farnog awaits you.”

“Is our business here concluded?” he asked Garf. The account manager confirmed the details for the warding team and dismissed them from the office. Sirius appreciated how efficient the goblins were. None of the bureaucracy and politics of the Ministry. His blunt nature served him well working for the bank as he found most goblins preferred no bullshit.

He followed the older goblin deeper into the bank through twisting hallways into the part of the bank few wizards ever saw. The chamber they came to had tall ceilings, the floor covered in runic markings he could barely decipher. The goblins were incredibly secretive of their runic language, and he’d only picked up bits and pieces in his time at the bank. He trusted the goblin’s expertise in matters of obscure curses and rituals even if he didn't understand all of their work. They’d amassed an interesting collection of information in their years of conflicts with wizards and through their expeditions of old wizarding ruins.

They were exactly what he needed to soothe his fears.

Not to mention Sirius personally knew Senior Farnog. It was impossible not to come before him when working as a curse breaker. Inevitably, one made a mistake and ran afoul of weird magic necessitating treatment. Most wizards preferred to be sent to wizarding hospitals. Sirius was smart enough not to dismiss the goblin's healing magic. His reckless abandon landed him in rooms like this one a handful of times before as a result.

It didn’t take long before Senior Farnog joined them in the chamber. He brought a bag of tools with him, which he set down on the outer edge of the floor markings. He peered up at Sirius and Harry in his arms. “What brings you to me, Heir Black?”

“Harry needs to be checked over for the lingering effects of any ritual magic.”

“Set him down.”

Sirius put him on the ground, the toddler clutching his robes as he leaned into Sirius’ legs. Farnog scrutinized Harry and pulled ward stones out of his bag.
“Do you have particular concerns?” the goblin asked him.

“Horcruxes. Other soul magic. I have no idea what happened that night. I assume some kind of ritual or ancient magick must be involved. Probably unintentional.” He shrugged helplessly. “He’s got that scar, and something about it doesn’t sit well with me. I just want to make sure he’ll be okay.”

“Horcruxes? A very specific type of soul magic to mention.”

“A hunch.”

“Curious.” Farnog arranged the ward stones along the floor markings. When he placed the last stone, he gestured for Harry. “The boy goes in the center.”

Sirius led Harry to the middle of the chamber. “Hey buddy, you want to see some magic?”

“Siri magic.”

“Yeah buddy, magic. You’ve got to stand right there, alright? If you move, you won’t be able see the magic.” Harry nodded very seriously, and Sirius fought the urge to laugh. “I’m going to be right over here okay?”

Slowly, Sirius backed out. Harry stared at him and stumbled forward a small step. Sirius held his hand out, “Stay right there. Just a moment okay?” Harry stopped and he was able to back all the way out of the ritual space.

Farnog quickly began activating the ward stones and specific runes along the edge. The lightshow was enough to ensure Harry stayed put. The longer the process went on, the more concerned he grew. Harry behaved admirably for his age, but Sirius knew something must have reacted for the ward stones to be reacting in such a manner. He’d never be one to say goblins were expressive beings, yet Farnog appeared unsettled.

They couldn’t catch a break.

One thing after another determined to break their spirits. He’d wanted to be overreacting. He’d wanted the scar to be a scar.

Sirius slumped against the wall. He hardly noticed when he ended up on the floor. When Farnog indicated he was done, Sirius held his arms out. Harry ran over to him, slightly unsteady with his steps, hands out to his sides. Sirius caught him and drew him into an embrace.

“What is it?”

Farnog rummaged through his bag, “Why did you suggest horcruxes?”

“Because I know Voldemort made one, and it’s unstable magic at best.”

“You’re not wrong,” the goblin finally faced Sirius. In his hands he had a silver band. “The boy has a powerful blood protection on him. I do not know the source, but my guess is the boy’s parents. As for the scar…” Farnog scowled.

“It’s a horcrux.” Sirius stunned himself by saying those words out loud, but he knew they were true. He’d thought some kind of lingering magic, a side effect of the killing curse. Horcrux made terrifying sense. Farnog verbally confirmed his fear. Merlin, a human horcrux. Who knew what that had been doing to Harry? He was grateful his grandmother urged him into coming to Gringotts today. They were up against an unknown timeline.

The goblin traced runes into the metal, imbuing his own brand of magic into the band. Sirius didn’t recognize a single rune he marked. Farnog handed it over once he finished. “It will protect the boy from any taint.”

“And his magic?”

“In theory, the runes will prevent the soul piece from siphoning his magic. Impossible to say what any affects may be, but you need not worry about it growing stronger or leeching on him.” Sirius sighed in relief. “It will not destroy it.”

“But it will buy time.”

“Yes. He must not remove it.”

Sirius opened the band, clasping it to Harry’s wrist. The silver melded back into one piece with no sign of a seam. “What options does he have?”

Farnog shook his head, “I have theories only. You may be able to transfer the piece to another vessel.”

“Will I be able to search the archives?” Centuries of knowledge hoarded away. The goblins were as selfish and greedy over knowledge discovered as wizards could be. Very few had unfettered access to their caches of information.

“I make no promises. I will bring your case before Chieftain Irongrip. He will want assurances.”

He knew exactly what kind of assurances he meant. The goblins were always battling with the Ministry for their rights. If he were to assume the family lordship, he might be able to advocate for some of the goblin issues. Anything that would curry more favor with the goblins. At this point, they and the family library were his best bet for finding a solution to this situation. The band would not be a permanent fix and who knew what the effects of being a human horcrux were?

Damn, Dumbledore. Damn him for shipping his godson off to the muggle world without bothering to check on him. Damn him for not having Harry checked over after he was obviously caught in some kind of magical backlash. Damn him for all the stupid games he was playing.

Sirius would do whatever it took to protect Harry. If Dumbledore would not use all of his power and connections to do something, Sirius would. His grandfather would be eager for a chance to neuter Dumbledore, and Sirius had the perfect information to make a clean break. Without his father around and with his grandfather’s support, Sirius may be able to turn the Black family into something he could be proud to claim.

“I shall do my best. For now, this is all that is in my power to do.”

“I understand. I thank you for your service Senior Farnog. As a token of appreciation, please accept Capella Black’s tiara.” His grandfather would be upset at the move, but the tiara had not left the vaults in decades. It was one of the oldest pieces of goblin-wrought jewelry within the Black vaults. Out of all the artifacts the family hoarded away, it was the most valuable among those that wouldn’t get him actually disowned for giving back to the goblin nation. Hopefully the goblins accepted it for the sign of his good faith it was meant to be.

“With glee.”

Arcturus hid in his potion’s lab. His wife had been on a mission all morning. The Christmas décor he thought to limit to the living room had expanded into the entire manor. She’d had the elves bustling to transform the parlor and receiving hall. Why did having both grandsons in residence have to be so exhausting? At least his wife enjoyed it.

He was content to hide away in his lab until his presence was demanded. Arcturus knew opportunities to brew undisturbed would greatly diminish in the future with the manor's newest inhabitants.

The door to the lab slammed open as the draught reached its final stages. Arcturus extinguished the flame, allowing the potion to stew while he dealt with his grandson. Sirius was sans godson for the first time since he’d brought the boy home. He looked incensed.

“I want the Black seat on the Wizengamot.”

Sirius constantly surprised him. Arcturus had planned to give Sirius control of the Black seat; however, he anticipated the decision to come after much coaxing on his part. Something must have gone very wrong indeed if Sirius was volunteering for hours of responsibilities he spent his whole youth spurning. “What brought about this desire?”

“I’m meeting with Dumbledore two days from now. I plan to inform him his interference is no longer welcome. The Wizengamot seat will ensure I can combat any moves he makes to do so. It will also benefit my relationship with goblins.”

Arcturus did not know what part of Sirius’ declaration to address first, the goblins or Dumbledore. The break with Dumbledore he predicted after the letter Sirius shared. He had been very vocal with his dissatisfaction at his godson’s treatment. He did not understand how Dumbledore related to the goblin nation. “Why do you need clout with the goblins? Did they not grant you your position back?”

“They did. They also created the artifact keeping Voldemort’s soul from feeding on Harry.”

“He’s a horcrux.”

Sirius sat on one of the worktops and buried his face in his hands. “He is.”

“Can it be removed?”

“That’s what I need the clout for.”

Arcturus frowned, moving to stand before his grandson. “Are you prepared to do all the work the position requires? To satisfy the goblins, you will need to convince a majority to support you.”

Sirius raised his head. Those gray eyes burned into his own.

“I can do it.”

“If you are determined, I will not deter you. I cannot say I will miss the experience.”

“I bet.”

Arcturus paced the room, contemplating the situation. “Burke is retiring.”

“Old man Burke? You want me to run for Chief Warlock?”

“It needs to be you or someone neutral you trust. Dumbledore will be a candidate. None of the more traditional families will vote for him, but he can win the elected votes and the younger crowd. Even with the will debacle, people will vote for him. If you run, you can sway some of his votes. You make up the difference with the votes from the traditional families. Even Lestrange will prefer you to Dumbledore. He would be a fool to dismiss you.”

“Oh Merlin, you’re serious.” Sirius jumped to his feet, mouth gaping. “You actually want me to run.”

“I thought you were willing to do anything for that godson of yours. What better platform do you need?”

His grandson spun in circles. Arcturus watched amused, glad he was the one to surprise him this time around. Sirius came to a stop and dragged his hands through his hair, “Do you think I can really do it?”

“Yes,” he stated firmly. “Besides, your grandmother will be thrilled for the excuse to host gatherings in the manor again.”

Sirius gave a wet laugh, “I’m sure.” He straightened up, a new confidence in his stance. “Thank you.” Before Arcturus could respond, Sirius threw his arms around him in a hug. He did not know what kind of expression on his face, but his grandson found it humorous since he laughed again and grinned widely on his way out.