Chapter 1 - In the dead of the night
A black beast crept through the night. The messenger of death was on the prowl, unseen and unheard, vanishing in deep shadows between sparse artificial lights. Even with its millions of eyes, London had not noticed the scoundrel.
Its destination was a small alley, just wide enough for a one way street and a line of parked vehicles. The pavement was narrow and made anyone who used it feel trapped between the rundown stores and the iron wall of cars.
The creature slunk out between two of these like a molten shadow. For a short moment long teeth became visible. But even more unsettling than this animal's weaponry were blazing eyes, looking out of its black mass of untamed fur. They were far too intelligent for a beast, and held an expression which would cause shivers of fear and promise nightmares for twenty years to come… if they only had been seen.
A few steps led the dark omen to a door. Its right front paw fell onto the worn handle. The lock failed in its purpose, and traitorously allowed the beast's entrance. Controlled pressure made thick oak planks turn on their medieval iron hinges. Suspiciously, no creak and no squeak could be heard. Someone on the inside had prepared a path for the soft-footed intruder.
The creature crossed the main room of the pub purposefully, but without hurry, finding its way nearly without a glance. It had come to this house before. Barely anything had changed since then. The stairwell was still in its place.
A destination was reached. A paw clawed at a second wooden door.
"Come in," a hoarse voice demanded. Following the patron's wish, the door swung open slowly, revealing a dark room with unlit candles. On the far side a person sat in a wingback chair. The face and details of its figure were hidden in the gloom.
A wand swished. The door snapped shut. Candles lit themselves.
The moment when light fell on the beast it became nothing more than a dog. Under the same influence the person turned into a young woman. Her brown eyes were red from crying, and her face showed scratches from her own nails. Her mouth formed scratchy words: "We need to talk."
That was command enough for the dog to shift into a man with long, black hair. He was tall but his shoulders hunched in a show of depression. His eyes were bloodshot. "Oh, Hermione! I can´t say how -"
"Shut up, Black!" the words exploded from the brunette's lips, and for a moment she seemed ready to jump out of her armchair. Her wand was lifted threateningly. Magic crackled under her hot emotions. She seemed not just ready but also willing to curse her visitor.
Initially, Sirius Black had made half a step forward, but on facing the irate witch, he nearly stumbled in hasty retreat.
"When I said 'we need to talk,' I meant: I will talk. And you will listen!" Her voice was sharp and held no room for compromise. "Understood?"
Sirius gave a single nod.
Hermione sank wearily back into her plush chair. She took a moment to collect her thoughts. The uncomfortable silence grew, and only broke when she rasped the next word. "You were tasked with keeping Harry´s parents safe. You failed. They died." She lifted one finger.
"You could have taken care of Harry, but you decided it was more important to hunt down Peter Pettigrew. A task which you did not accomplish. You were sent to Azkaban instead of Peter." The counting continued with a second finger.
"You managed to escape from Azkaban. A feat no one had ever managed before. And once again you were hunting Peter instead of taking care of Harry!" Hermione hammered her left fist onto the armrest.
Sirius flinched. His face fell and his eyes rotated madly as he realized that he had gambled any possible future away while pursuing bloody revenge - twice! He had not even tried to find another path to follow.
Hermione was so angry she was shaking. Only the fact that her right hand was laying on the armrest made her wand somewhat steady. With a huge effort her fingers uncurled, and finally a third finger rose.
"And now Harry is dead. You promised to protect him. You failed once again." That made four lifted fingers.
Tears as thick as they could be ran down Sirius' hollow cheeks as Hermione twisted the metaphorical knife she had stabbed into his heart: "Harry was treated horrendously all his life! Starting the day he was placed on the doorstep of the Dursleys up to last Friday when he was killed by that damned dragon!" Hermione's fist connected a second time with the armrest.
Sirius swayed. But he still did not dare to speak.
Hermione had not expected him to do so. Once her temper had calmed she resumed her speech. "This is not the second time a Potter will be in your care. It is the third. This is the last chance you will ever get."
A confused Sirius Black blinked his eyes. Wrinkles formed on his forehead. His thoughts could be read without legilimency. He was sure he had missed an important detail. Hermione's words did not add up, and as far as he knew, they always did.
For the first time Hermione´s face softened. Her left hand snuck to her flat belly and she announced, "I am pregnant."
"Harry?" Sirius asked, gobsmacked. A silent nod was more answer than the man could have ever hoped for.
"I know you want the very best," Hermione said with a mix of pity and sadness. "But you are incorrigible." A heavy sigh followed this statement. "None the less I am in need of your services. And so you receive your very last chance."
"I will do anything!" Sirius assured the girl at once. He made a step forward. But her wand lifted exactly at the same time. It was pointed at his face and her magic was eager to be unleashed.
"That is part of the problem." Hermione leaned back and despite the short range of the movement it distanced her from Sirius. "Too many of your choices have been poor. If you want to make it up and do it right for once, I will give you this chance. But if you want to take it, you will have to put your signature on the contract over there. Otherwise I will erase your memory."
And finally Sirius understood why her wand was aimed at him. As his punishment, he would lose the only thought in his head that promised a future. He would be sentenced to an existence of unrelenting grief.
He could not even consider that option. There was no choice. He took the quill.
A/N: Thanks to LeighaGreene for beta-reading. She improved this story a lot and also cleared up some mistakes and typos!
Disclaimer: Dear reader, if you think this is an original work of art, I have marvelous news for you: There are actual books called Harry Potter, which you should take a look at!