Genre: General

Rating: M

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe and everything within it belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Warner Brothers, and several other entities. This work is a labor of love, and I'm making no money from it.

Dedications: To all of my Potter Peeps, especially those who have been with me through thick and thin. Love you all.

Chapter 1: The Ghost in the Attic

To those who could see it (and few people could), Number 12 Grimmauld Place looked like an ordinary townhouse in the midst of an affluent, historical neighborhood. But to Sirius Black, the dark-haired, gray-eyed boy who lived there, the house felt like a prison. Not as harsh as Azkaban-which he'd seen but once looming grey and ominous in the distance, or even as Nurmengaard, where half-bloods and muggleborns had been imprisoned long ago for what his parents assured him was "the greater good." The most accurate comparison would be to that of a reformatory: stern, cold, and intolerant; as was the couple who owned it.

On the outside, the tall, brownstone building-with its tiny front and back gardens-was surrounded by a high, black, wrought iron fence, complete with spikes and a padlocked gate. On the inside, the dark patterned wallpaper, the narrow hallways, the high ceilings, the antique furniture, and the heavy green velvet draperies (which Mrs. Black insisted remain shut at all times) made the place feel dark, gloomy, and suffocating.

Grimmauld Place was hot and stuffy in the summer; chilly and desolate in the winter, but always it retained its air of forbidding gloom. It was kept immaculate by the family's house-elf, Kreacher, who happily did anything his dear mistress asked. Anything, that is, except for taking care of the "nasty brat" (as he often called Sirius), when Master worked late and Mistress was ill, although Kreacher adored her too much to ever complain to her.

Sirius didn't know why, but he noticed that his mother usually fell ill when his father did work late. He also knew when she was getting sick even before she did, because her symptoms followed a pattern. First, she smelled funny, even nasty at times. Then she would begin to stagger and when she talked, her speech grew more and more slurred and incoherent. The things she said at this time ranged from silly to cruel, and if either he or Regulus challenged what she said in any way, she rewarded them with a slap across the face. Oddly enough, though, Sirius never saw her strike Kreacher, who would tenderly escort her to her chambers, put her to bed, then instruct the boys not to disturb her because her "illness had flared."

. Sirius also noticed that his tall, regal mother and his handsome, gregarious father behaved differently around people than they did when they were in private. Whenever they went to Diagon Alley (which wasn't often) or entertained people in their house (usually family, but sometimes important people from the Ministry of Magic), they were exceedingly polite to each other and to everyone else. But as soon as they were alone, they would belittle the very people to whom they had been so pleasant. Always, they wanted to give outsiders the impression that they were the perfect family—no problems or undercurrents—but on many occasions Sirius awoke to the sounds of his mother screeching:

"YOU FILTHY BASTARD! HOW MANY OTHER MUDBLOOD WHORES HAVE YOU FUCKED!" she would shriek. The shrieking was usually followed by a loud, shattering crash or sometimes a thump, then by a tirade from his father combined with more shrieking, and sometimes sobbing, from his mother.

Sirius didn't understand what they were saying, but was certain they were horrible insults, the type of things you didn't say to people you loved. And your parents were supposed to love one another…weren't they…Sirius wondered, wrapping his pillow around his head, trying to escape the sound of their anger… wishing, with all of his heart, that he could escape this very house…

For good!

Sirius knew there was no escaping this prison of a house. Once he had tried to run away to Uncle Alphard's, but Kreacher had apprehended him, dragging him home where his father sat waiting with the strap. But sometimes he escaped to the attic when his parents engaged in one of their nocturnal battles. He tried to persuade Regulus to come as well, but while Regulus enjoyed visiting the attic in the daytime, he vehemently refused to do so at night.

The attic was dark, cold, and crammed with furniture and other relics his family had cast aside. However, it was quiet, and Sirius was, at least, usually able to get a good night's sleep there. One night, however, his parents' fighting had been so horrific that all Sirius could do was curl up beneath the dusty comforter on the discarded trundle-bed he'd claimed for himself and shudder.

He had lain awake for hours when he heard a voice in the darkness. "I used to come here, too, once upon a time."

Sirius jolted. Before him stood the translucent figure of a boy about his age. His short, black hair was neatly combed, although a few unruly locks curled loosely around the forehead of his ashen, eerily angelic face. His gray-eyes, resting on high cheekbones, were very much like Sirius' own. He had a straight, finely cut nose, and his lips were full and curled. He wore a black, old-fashioned suit, complete with a ruffled collar, matching ruffled sleeves, and knee-length pants, although his calves and feet were bare. For some reason, the boy seemed vaguely familiar to Sirius, although he couldn't remember for the life of him where he had seen him.

"Who are you?" Sirius asked, unafraid, yet clearly startled. "What's your name?"

The other boy giggled, his childish laughter ringing through the cramped attic like that of a small glass bell. It was a pleasant sound, yet the hair on the back of Sirius' neck prickled as the child flitted about like a bird freed from his cage. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

"What's yours?" he asked seriously.

Then, as suddenly as he appeared, the child vanished, leaving Sirius lying wide awake, puzzled, in the attic's darkness.

Sirius knew he had seen a ghost. He'd heard about them many times, and unlike most muggle children felt no fear of them. He also knew what they were. Spirits of people, wizards specifically, who had chosen, for one reason or another, to remain behind after they died.

This troubled Sirius, although he couldn't find the words to explain why, even to himself. He wondered who the child was. Why had he died so young, and why was he here at Grimmauld Place? Why had he chosen to stay behind when death, at least according to Uncle Alphard, was the greatest adventure of all?

"Naughty little Frankie has broken three of his father's most important rules," the pompous man in the portrait trilled. "As punishment, his father whips him with the strap: once for every year that he is old, and three times for every infraction. If Frankie is eight years old, how many times… Master Sirius! Are you paying attention?"

Sirius jolted upright in the small wooden desk, looking at the bearded portrait in front of him.

"Forgive me, Grandfather Phineas. I…didn't sleep well last night!" he said, by way of explanation.

"I didn't sleep well last night," Professor Phineas Nigellus Black sneered. "That certainly isn't any excuse to fall asleep in my class! Why, when I was Headmaster of Hogwarts, it was the thumbscrews for any student with the audacity to snooze during a lecture! And if your parents send you to Durmstrang, you will be lashed!"

Sirius, having heard these words often, mouthed silently along with Grandfather Phineas as he spoke them. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Regulus, sitting in the desk next to him, biting his lip and turning red in the face.

Phineas suddenly stopped pontificating and glared at the elder of his two young descendants. "Dare you mock me, boy?" he snapped.

Sirius met the eyes of his ancestor, widening his own in feigned innocence. "Would I do that?" he asked, as Regulus stifled a giggle.

"And you!" Phineas said, rounding on Regulus. "Exactly what do you find so amusing?"

"N-n-nothing!" Regulus stammered, looking down at the marred desktop.

Sirius didn't understand why Regulus was so easily intimidated by the portrait. After all, it was only a portrait. It wasn't as though Grandfather Phineas could actually step through the frame and mete out the punishments he repeatedly advocated…

But then again, he could speak to their parents, and Sirius certainly didn't relish the thought of facing their punishments. His father wasn't so bad because his punishment was at least predictable; same, in fact, to those of the fictitious Little Frankie's. But he never hit his sons hard enough to leave a mark, and said nothing more about the incident unless it was repeated.

His mother, however, would lash out at them in wild, unbridled anger, sometimes striking them about the head with The Daily Prophet, at other times striking them across the face, sometimes cutting their cheeks with the heavy rings that she wore when she backhanded them. It was usually he, not Regulus, who was the object of her wrath. "WHAT A HORRIBLE, UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SNOT YOU ARE!" she would screech, ranting of all of his faults and previous transgressions, sometimes shaking him until his teeth rattled. Always, she ended the tirade with the same sentence: "YOU'RE JUST LIKE YOUR GODDAMMED FATHER!"

But Phineas Nigellus only sighed. "Whatever am I to do with you two scamps! As members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, you two will be expected to stand head and shoulders above your peers once you begin attending Hogwarts! How," he said, looking directly at Sirius, "do you expect to do that when you're constantly falling asleep during your lessons?"

"But Sir," Sirius argued. "We already know more than most boys our age."

Sirius spoke the truth. He was nine, and Regulus was almost eight, but both brothers were already well versed in core curriculum classes such as reading, writing, and arithmetic. They also knew a bit of Latin, the language upon which magic was based. Sirius already knew the basics of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes—two courses that weren't even offered at Hogwarts until a student reached their third year—and Regulus, too, had recently been introduced to their concepts. Although students were forbidden to practice magic outside of school, their father had charmed the house so the Ministry of Magic, the organization for which their father worked, was unable to detect any spells that were cast within its walls. Consequently, at Phineas' urging, both boys already knew simple transfiguration spells.

These accomplishments were the result of long hours in the makeshift classroom—a long, narrow chamber with yellow-flowered wallpaper that had, years ago, belonged to their great-great aunt Isla (she had, as Grandfather Phineas mentioned many times, been disowned by the family for marrying a "filthy muggle" named Bob Hitchens). Often, they were forced to sit in the classroom for eight, sometimes ten, hours every day, since their parents were both against allowing them to squander their youths engaging in frivolous activities. Sometimes, the boys were allotted free time on Saturdays and Sundays, but only if they had behaved themselves and not broken any rules the previous week. And try as he might, Sirius often fell short of this prerequisite.

Sirius heard the door open behind him. He turned his head and saw Kreacher enter. The house elf shut the door softly behind him, remaining silent until Grandfather Phineas addressed him.

"Mistress tells me to call the young masters down to dinner now," he replied, leaving as silently as he appeared.

Phineas drew a gold watch from his pocket and sighed. "Yes, I do suppose it is time. But be back in an hour, boys, and not one second later."

Sometimes, their mother would eat her noonday meal in the dining room, where she required Sirius and Regulus to join her. On such occasions, she expected the boys to sit straight in their chairs and use their very best table manners. But today, she requested to be served in her chambers, so Sirius and Regulus ate in the kitchen, which Sirius definitely preferred.

The two brothers sat side by side on the bench of the gray, weather-beaten table while Kreacher served them their meal, which consisted of split pea soup, prawn and egg sandwiches, unsweetened hot tea, and an orange for dessert.

Regulus looked disappointed, but he picked up his spoon and began to eat without complaining. Sirius, however, pulled his worst face. "Split pea soup? Again?" he groaned.

"Nasty brat!" Kreacher hissed in his direction. "Always complaining of the food that poor Kreacher so painstakingly prepares!"

"But we had this yesterday! And the day before, and the day before that!" Sirius argued.

"Mistress adores split-pea soup," Kreacher replied patiently, although his voice had taken on a malicious edge. "Tis her favorite!"

"But…wouldn't it be nice to have tomato bisque, or chicken noodle, or vegetable beef?" Sirius asked. "Just for a change?"

"If Mistress requests Kreacher to serve something different, then Kreacher will happily do so," the house elf replied. "Perhaps Young Master would like to ask this of her?"

"Um…no," Sirius replied. Judging from the tirade his mother had given his father last night, she would probably slap him and scream at him for complaining about the food.

"Very well, then," Kreacher muttered, then bowed and disappeared. Disgusted, but ravenously hungry from having missed breakfast, Sirius tucked into his soup.

After they finished dinner, Regulus followed Sirius as he climbed upstairs to the study and cracked the shudders. He was disappointed to find that it was still raining, but not overtly so, since he and Regulus were rarely allowed to go further than the tiny back garden. The flowery, cobblestone courtyard offered little in the way of running space, although it was the perfect place for his cousins, Bellatrix and Narcissa, to hold their tea parties.

"Let's go play in the attic," Sirius suggested.

Regulus shook his head.

"Come on, Reg," Sirius coaxed. "There's nothing to be scared of."

"Y-yes there is!" Regulus said.

"What?"

"A-a-a ghost!"

"So…"

"He's…he's bad, Sirius! Bad!"

Sirius shrugged. "I didn't think so. He's just a ghost."

"You mean…you know about him?"

"I've seen him."

Regulus looked terrified. "You…you didn't talk to him, d-d-did you?"

"Just for a moment. Funny thing is…"

But Regulus began to cry.

"Merlin's beard!" Sirius snapped impatiently, echoing one of Uncle Alphard's favorite expressions. "What are you on about?"

"B-b-bella!"

"Bella? What's she got to do with it?"

"I…I can't tell you, Sirius! It's too…too…scary!"

"Reg," Sirius said, shaking his head, "You won't last two seconds at Hogwarts! What will you do when Sir Nicholas pulls off his head, or the Bloody Baron…"

"They don't scare me," Regulus said. "But…but he does."

"Why?"

"I…I can't…"

"Young Masters," Kreacher called from the doorway, "Professor Phineas said its time to resume your lessons now."

The rest of the afternoon was long and tiresome. Sirius and Regulus took turns reciting their lessons before the portrait of their grandfather, who scolded Regulus for not being as attentive as he usually was. Sirius knew Regulus was still worried about the ghost, but why the ghost frightened him Sirius could only guess. Once or twice he started to ask Grandfather Phineas, but Grandfather Phineas only ignored his raised hand and urged them along in their lessons.

Finally, Kreacher called the boys down for tea, ushering them into the ornate dining room where their parents sat waiting for them at opposite ends of the table. Their father drank slowly from a tall mug of ale while their mother slowly sipped a glass of red wine. "Take your seats, boys!" their father ordered, and Sirius noticed that he seemed unusually stern. "Regulus, sit up straight! Sirius, I am not going to tell you again to keep your elbows off of the table. Do you understand me?"

"Yes Father," the boys said nervously, in unison.

Sirius and Regulus sat silently throughout the meal, speaking only if spoken to, as their father firmly believed that children should be seen and not heard. They watched their manners carefully as they ate their vegetable soup, lamb chops, creamed peas, and mashed potatoes. For dessert, Kreacher served a custard tart—a favorite of their father's.

The meal, though more satisfying than dinner, was far too reserved for Sirius' liking. He wished that his parents, if only once in a while, could be persuaded to let them eat outdoors, cooking hot dogs, hamburgers, and marshmallows over an open fire like they did when he visited Uncle Alphard. But Uncle Alphard had advised him against asking. "They'll sneer and call it muggle food," he explained, laughing. "And then you'll get a lecture about how all the poor hungry wizard children in Albania would give their eye teeth for what poor Kreacher serves you every night. And that's if they're in a good mood!"

"I'd owl it to them," Sirius had replied, licking what was left of a burnt, melted marshmallow off of his finger, "If I could eat this every day!"

"Coffee, Master?" Kreacher spoke, jolting Sirius from his reverie.

Their father nodded.

"And tea for you, dear Mistress?" Kreacher asked, turning to their mother.

Their mother also nodded, adding, "Please."

Kreacher bowed and left, returning a few moments later with the coffee, tea, and the evening edition of The Daily Prophet. He served their mother first, then their father, handing him the newspaper before he disappeared. Their father took a sip of his coffee then glanced at the paper, grimacing as he read the headline.

"Orion, what is it?" their mother asked.

Their father took his wand out of his pocket, lifted the newspaper, and sent it across the table to their mother. Her gray eyes widened when she saw the headlines, "Knights of Walpurgis Raided. Eleven Held for Questioning," and seemed to grow more troubled the further they traveled down the page.

"Merlin," she whispered, setting the newspaper aside.

"You may be excused, boys," their father said shortly. "Off to bed."

Ordinarily, Sirius would have sighed with relief. Sometimes, their parents would make them sit at the table until they finished their tea and coffee—something both boys hated—but tonight he was disappointed. Who were these Knights of Walpurgis, why were they being questioned, and why did it upset their parents? He glanced at Regulus, who looked curious as well.

"Did you hear me, boys?" their father repeated. "I said 'off to bed!'"

"Yes father," both boys said quickly.

"Be sure to take your baths," their mother called after them.

"And brush your teeth," their father added.

"Yes, Father. Yes, Mother," the boys answered in turn. But after they closed the dining room door, Sirius knelt to the floor and pressed his ear to the keyhole.

"Sirius, come on!" Regulus hissed.

Sirius waved his younger brother away, straining to hear if his parents would discuss the matter more.

"I was there when they brought them into the Ministry today," their father finally said. "I planned to tell you after we sent the boys to bed."

Their mother was silent, then simply asked, "What do you suppose will happen?"

"They'll be released," their father replied.

"And if they're sent to Azkaban?"

"They will be freed…when the time is right."

"I hope you're right," their mother sighed. "Blood seems to count less and less with each passing day. We need people like them fighting for us if we hope to preserve…"

Sirius jumped, feeling the sting of a small switch across his shins. Turning, he saw Kreacher looking at him angrily.

"'T isn't nice for Young Master to eavesdrop!" he hissed.

"Sorry Kreacher," Sirius whispered.

"It's 'I'm sorry, Kreacher,' Young Master." Kreacher corrected him nastily.

"Sorry…I mean, I'm sorry, Kreacher," Sirius replied.

Kreacher's eyes narrowed. "Young Masters better be off to bed," he hissed again, "unless you want Kreacher to tell Master and Mistress that you were spying on them."

Sirius needed no further prodding. He and Regulus turned away the door and trudged guiltily up the stairs…

After he had bathed, Sirius lay awake in his bedroom, reveling in being away from the rest of the family. Once he had shared a room with Regulus, but after Uncle Alphard bought a house of his own, Sirius had been allowed to move into his old bedroom. Later, after their mother and Uncle Cygnus had Grandfather Pollux committed to St. Mungo's with Zauberhaft's Syndrome (his mother and Uncle Cygnus had wasted no time in that, Sirius remembered), Regulus had been given his room. Now, the room the boys had formerly shared served as a guest room when the family had overnight company.

Sirius' room was a grand room, with gray-and-silver wallpaper, red velvet draperies, and heavy oak furniture. The red-and-gold patterned carpet matched the bedspread, and his Uncle had "accidentally" (so he'd claimed, winking at Sirius) stuck his house banner on the wall with a permanent sticking charm. Uncle Alphard had been sorted into Gryffindor, not Slytherin, much to Grandfather Pollux's and Grandmother Irma's disappointment.

"There's an oddity in every generation, or so it seems," Grandfather Pollux had mused over a family dinner, shortly after Sirius' cousin Andromeda was sorted into Ravenclaw.

"In this generation, there better be only one," their father had said pointedly, glaring at both Sirius and Regulus.

But Sirius, who idolized his Uncle Alphard, secretly hoped he would be sorted into Gryffindor. Of course he'd be punished, but the benefits seemed worthwhile...

The sounds of footsteps on the floor below, and of Kreacher speaking soothingly to his mother as he led her to her bed, interrupted Sirius' thoughts. A few moments later, he heard a faint knock on the heavy oak door, followed by his brother's timid voice. "Sirius? C-c-can I come in?"

Sirius rose from the bed and cracked open the door. "What do you want, Reg?" he asked, annoyed.

"C-c-can I sleep with you tonight?" Regulus asked, shaking.

Sirius started to say no, but his younger brother looked so upset and frightened that he hadn't the heart to refuse.

"I suppose," he sighed impatiently, stepping aside.

Regulus entered the room, shaking uncontrollably. "What's wrong?" Sirius asked.

"N-n-nothing," Regulus replied.

Sirius wasn't convinced. "Yes there is. Hey, I know…I'll read "The Warlock and His Hairy…"

"Nooooooo," Regulus wailed, starting to cry.

"Reg, you love that story," Sirius said, taken aback.

"N-n-not no m-m-more!" Regulus sobbed uncontrollably. "H-hate it now!"

Sirius shook his head. "Reg, what's the matter? Earlier today you didn't want to go up to the attic with me, now you don't want to hear your favorite story…"

"I…I…I just don't want…"

"You just don't want what? Common, Reg, tell me!"

"I…I…I don't wanna die!" Regulus wailed, throwing his arms around his older brother's neck. "And I don't want you to die, either."

Sirius stiffened. "Crikey!" he said, echoing one of Uncle Alphard's favorite expressions. "Who said anything about dying?"

"Buh-buh-bella!" Regulus wailed again.

Sirius was quiet for a moment. "Bella? You know she lies all the time, Reg! Don't you remember the time she told us…"

"T-t-this is different!" Regulus sobbed. "You talked to the…the…the ghost!"

"And?"

"And now you're gonna die, and I will too if I ever talk to him!"

"What are you on about…"

"It's true, Sirius. Bella says that she and Talitha went up there one day…"

"Who's Talitha?"

"Bella's big sister!"

"Bella doesn't have a big sister!"

"Not no more…she died before we were born, 'cause of the ghost!"

Regulus stood there crying. Sirius waited for him to calm down. "Okay, Reg. If it's true, why didn't Bella die too?"

"Cause she didn't talk to the ghost. Talitha did. You only die if you talk to the ghost, and since you did…" Regulus started to sob again!

Sirius hated to admit it, but he felt a little unnerved. True, Bellatrix was a liar, but what if…just what if…she was actually telling the truth this time? He thought of who they might ask. Their mother and father always seemed so unapproachable; and he didn't like asking Kreacher about anything. Uncle Alphard might know, but usually took several weeks to write back. The sooner Regulus (and he himself, he had to admit) knew, the better they both would feel.

Then Sirius thought of someone…someone who seemed to know all the answers, about everything. "Come on!" he said resolutely, grabbing his younger brother's arm.

"W-w-where are we going?" Regulus hiccupped.

"To Grandfather Phineas. He'll know the truth. And if it is true, which I know it isn't, he'll know what to do!"

Regulus sniffed and followed his brother down the stairs to the schoolroom, but once they arrived, Grandfather Phineas had already left the portrait. And he didn't return, no matter how much the boys pleaded.

"He's probably at Hogwarts," Sirius reasoned. "Never mind. We'll ask him about this tomorrow."

The boys turned and started back to Sirius' bedroom. But before they reached the stairs, they bumped into their father, who looked at both boys suspiciously.

"Where do the two of you think you're going?" he demanded.

"J-just to the toilet," Sirius stammered, smelling the ale on his father's breath.

Their father looked first at Sirius, then at Regulus. Sirius knew his father wasn't convinced by the look in his eye.

"The two of you have a perfectly good toilet on the fourth floor," he said simply. "Have you forgotten where it's located?"

"I…" Sirius said, then shrugged.

"I want both of you in bed!" their father said simply. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes Father," the boys answered quickly.

"And I mean to your own rooms!" their father added, glaring heavily at Regulus. "I'll not have you turn into a sniveling, spineless coward who is afraid to sleep by himself!"

Regulus swallowed. "Yes father," he said meekly.

Sirius lay awake in the darkness, thinking about the story Bellatrix had told Regulus. The clock downstairs chimed eleven times, and then he heard his father's footsteps on the floor below, followed by the opening and shutting of his door. A few minutes later, he heard a faint knock.

Sirius had expected it. He pulled himself out of bed and once again opened the door to his younger brother, allowing him to crawl into bed beside him. Protectively, Sirius looped his arm around Regulus, and moments later, the two of them fell asleep.