6.42pm, 19th December 2000

Level Nine, Ministry of Magic, London

'The word's come down from the Director—you have authorisation for deadly force,' said the pale, sweaty aide, anxiously twisting his bony fingers under the scrutiny bearing down on him.

'Acknowledged.' Gawain Robards—Head of the Auror Office—turned away, already looking to the mixed squad of Aurors and Hit Wizards and Witches under his command, a heavy scowl set on his face. A veteran of two wars against Voldemort, Robards was a broad man, with a hard jaw and a shaved head, only a trio of ragged scars marring his face, running from underneath his right eye to his jawline. Raising his voice, he said, 'Roger Egelbert may have been one of us, but that just makes his betrayal all the greater. If you can stop him without killing him, then do it; if there is risk however, just take him out. He's already shown he's comfortable with killing. Do not underestimate him.' Surveying his men and women, he added in a grim voice, 'We have no idea what's down here and we won't find out—everything is dangerous—that's all you need to know.'

His wand in hand, Robards lead them to the end of the black tiled corridor, and placed his hand on the slightly ajar black door. Nodding to the squad—wands at the ready—following him, he pushed wide, shield charm on his lips and eyes darting to and fro, taking in the dark space beyond.

5.49pm, 19th December 2000

Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, London

With an exhausted sigh, Roger Egelbert, cramped in his small, square cubicle, signed the last form to be filed for today—numbering in at 351. The parchment whisked away, a charm sending it into the archives to join the others. Since his release from Azkaban, he'd been relegated to a desk job in his former department. Three years later, his position had not changed, even after he had recovered fully from the effects of the dementors. Formerly a senior Auror, Roger had the misfortune of "dirty" blood—the muggleborns involved in the Auror Office were the first to be targeted by the laws passed by the late Minister Thicknesse.

'Oi, Egelbert we got a jam—go down there and fix it will ya,' shouts his supervisor, an obnoxious wizard by the name of Derek McConickey, his pinched, sallow face at odds with his garish orange beard and chubby midriff.

Roger clambered to his feet wearily. Sometimes, the enchantments went awry from exposure to the other interwoven magic around the ministry; or often, they had simply run out of space in that section of the archives, requiring him to increase the space expansion charms. Usually, Roger enjoyed the visit to the archives—they were a much-needed break from the monotony of paperwork. Right now, however, Roger wanted to get out of the Ministry and get away from everything. Since his release, Christmas had become his most hated time of the year.

Tucking the files under his arm, Roger set off, nodding to the people heading the other way, lucky enough to knock off on time. Pacing down the hall, Roger entered the archives—row upon row of wooden filing cabinets filled to the brim with paperwork dating back to the inception of the Ministry in 1707. The smell of dry, musty paper hung in the air and the further you travelled back into the rows, the more thickly each cabinet was coated in dust. Cleaning out the archives would be a momentous job, one that the Ministry would be horrified to contemplate. Paperwork was sacred here and the possibility of damaging or misplacing paperwork several hundred years old was considered too much of a risk.

Roger meandered his way through the rows looking for the correct one—Row 594… Row 595… what was I looking for again? Ah, here it is, Row 597, he thought, turning into one of the newer rows, constructed only a few years ago. A cabinet, papers bristling at the edges of the drawers, stood there shuddering under the strain.

Taking out his wand, he attempted to start casting the normal charms that he used to find the problem. As he started the first spell however, the cabinet heaved, a great burst of air mixed with paper and dust flying from the drawers and swirling around Roger. This is bloody rubbish, Roger thought, looking at the mess of papers that surrounded him. Sighing, he bent over to start organising them again, but in doing so, a name caught his eye. His hands sweaty and his mouth dry, Roger picked up the piece of paper and started to read.

9.32pm, 19th December 2000

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London

Harry stumbled from the fireplace, green light washing over the dusty kitchen, mould encrusting every surface. His lips curled, Harry looked over the room in disgust, brushing the ash from his clothes. Pulling his trunk behind him, he moved out of the way just in time as Sirius spun through after him. Wobbling, Sirius straightened himself, mirroring Harry as he took in the room.

'Hasn't changed a bit,' Sirius said, eyeing the filthy wooden table. 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.'

'I thought you ordered Kreacher to clean it up last time we were here,' Harry said, bewildered, moving around the kitchen, poking the mould with his wand.

'If he was mad then, he's probably madder now,' Sirius replied, taking his own wand out and attempting a few cleaning spells, 'who knows what that portrait has been telling him.'

Pointing his wand at the fireplace, Sirius lit a small fire, attempting to drive away some of the gloom from the house. The flickering light revealed grimy stone walls, crumbling wooden patterns decorating the mantel, and pots and plates sitting on shelves—which, at this point, may be entirely unnecessary because of the stiches of cobwebs holding them to the wall. With a sigh, Harry slowly began to clean the kitchen, having to cast several cleaning spells to cut through the layers of dirt.

'Just cleaning this kitchen is going to take us a while,' Harry said, his wand cutting through the air.

'Maybe we can get some help, Sirius groused, 'or even better, we could buy another house.'

Harry paused in his spellwork, peering concernedly at Sirius before replying, 'You know we don't have to stay here Sirius, we can figure something else out.'

Sirius sighed, his face taut, 'No don't worry about it, I'll get used to it. It'll take us years to get the same sort of protections on another house.'

'Hey, we can protect ourselves well enough,' Harry said, feeling worried for Sirius, 'I understand if this place is too much for you, I was the same with you know…'

Sirius watched as Harry trailed off, jaw clenched tightly. Walking over, Sirius clasped Harry's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. 'I know Harry, I know, but you were right,' Sirius said, gesturing to the walls, 'not many Blacks have been worth much of a damn, but maybe I can change that, set what's left of them on a better path.'

'Well, look at you, all grown up,' Harry grinned, Sirius dodging his attempt to ruffle his hair.

'Oi shut it you, have some respect for your elders,' Sirius said snootily, the strained atmosphere vanishing as they smiled at each other. Sirius sighed, returning his attention to the kitchen. 'What the hell has that bloody house elf been doing?'

Suddenly, a crack lanced through the kitchen. Harry spun around, pointing his wand Kreacher, a house elf with ears like bat wings, creases dividing its drooping face, and fuzzy, grey hair sprouting all over like a mossy boulder. His pinched face glared at the two intruders, a stream of insults aimed at Harry and Sirius leaving his mouth.

'It's the filthy half-breeds back again, come to torment my poor mistress, Kreacher was hoping they died, yes, but they're back again, oh my poor mistress.'

'Speak of the devil,' Sirius muttered, returning the elf's glare with equal hate.

Harry peered concernedly at the yellowed eyes and the saggy skin, thrown into sharp relief by the flickering firelight. 'He doesn't look too good Sirius,' Harry said, shifting closer to the waxy elf, his wand still at the ready.

Sirius snorted, eyeing the house elf with distaste. 'Course he isn't, I'm surprised he hasn't died from living in this filth.' Sirius' patience with the elf evidently ran out, as Kreacher's whispered imprecations were growing louder in volume. 'Shut up Kreacher!' Sirius yelled. The elf's mouth snapped shut, his eyes bulging hatefully. 'Now, tell me, what rooms are clean?'

His jaw straining, Kreacher haltingly told Sirius that only Regulus' room was clean. 'But you mustn't enter, its Master Regulus' room, not fit for filthy brats,' he wailed.

'Right, go to your room or cupboard whatever and leave us alone, we're moving in, Kreacher,' said Sirius, eager to be rid of him.

Kreacher snapped his fingers and disappeared from the room, his last insult hanging in the air.

'Well, that was cheerful,' Harry said. Sirius snorted in reply, moving to clean the pantry cupboards, mercifully clear of rotting food. 'We can't just keep him locked up in the house, we'll have to do something with him,' Harry said, not entirely sure what the elf was capable of.

'I don't care what he does but you deal with him,' Sirius said, a ferocious scowl on his face. 'If there's one thing I hated more about this house than my mother, it's that bloody elf.'

Harry feeling slightly lost, nodded anyway. Maybe he could find something—that was not Regulus—to encourage Kreacher to have an interest in, Harry thought without much hope, or maybe actual human contact, not mad portraits, will bring out his good… his slightly less crazy side.

Putting the matter aside for now, Harry devoted himself to the cleaning, letting his mind wander. It had been nearly three years since he and Sirius had been on British soil. Leaving soon after his victory over Voldemort, they had gone travelling around the world. They alternated between using the skills learnt from their years of training to work as freelance mercenaries, helping various ministries with their unusual problems; and living to excess—fast broomsticks and fast women. Sirius had proclaimed many times, usually at the bottom of a bottle, that they both had years of their lives to make up for—his years of early adulthood spent cleaning diapers, listening to tantrums, and worst of all, teaching, usually said with a theatrical shudder. Harry, on the other hand, had his childhood and teenage years to make up for, having spent his life secluded with Sirius and Remus, intermittent visits by Albus Dumbledore and other members of the Order of the Phoenix his only human contact for years. It's been a good few years, Harry thought, the kitchen beginning to look decently clean. But he wanted more. Their life, while fun, had been going nowhere. No home, no family or friends, and no future beyond the next assignment. Now that we're home again, I hope that will change, Harry thought as he flourished his wand one more time, leaving the table shining.

Harry slumped over the now clean table, the pine wood table gleaming in the light of the bowl-like lamps floating above them. Sirius sat across from him, face rigid, tension thick in his frame, his eyes drifting around the kitchen.

Harry, wanting Sirius to stop thinking about his memories of his childhood home, asked, 'Should we go and visit Tonks and Teddy tomorrow?' Harry was beginning to feel rather nervous about the prospect. They had not seen Tonks and Teddy since they had left Britain. There had been hundreds of letters exchanged, Tonks filling hers with stories of Teddy and her mother Andromeda, Sirius and Harry writing their adventures and loading the owls with expensive presents from around the world for Teddy. Harry had been named as his godfather, something that had surprised Harry when he'd first been told, believing Sirius to be the likely recipient. Afterwards, he had guessed that Remus and Tonks were hoping to lift his spirits and show their confidence in him in preparation for the final battle; rather than name Sirius who would be there no matter what, just like Remus had been there for Harry. The last time they had seen Teddy, he'd been barely more than a drooling, babbling blob. Now, he'd be walking and talking, and from Tonks' letters, a right little terror.

'Yeah, I guess we should,' Sirius said, looking as nervous as Harry felt. 'Don't need to give Tonks more reasons to scream at us.'

'You think she'll be angry,' Harry said, his throat getting a little dry, 'She was the one who told us we should get away.'

'I wouldn't put it past her, she never said for two and a half years,' Sirius replied morosely, before his face lit up. 'Remember when she burst into our safehouse, screaming for Remus to come back or she'd drag him back by his ears.'

Harry's lips twitched, casting his own mind back. 'She was pregnant then,' he pointed out, 'but yes, I remember. Her hair turned so red I was worried she was actually on fire.'

They chuckled together, the reminiscing relaxing them. Loss had dominated both of their lives; to cope with it, they had formed a habit to remember together, finding solace in their shared memories. Since Harry was old enough to talk, they had spent many evenings—Harry, Sirius, and Remus—gathered around a table, laughing and crying for hours, telling stories until the sun begins its ascension and they drop off sleep bent over in their chairs.

Sirius sobered after a moment, gazing at Harry with fondness bursting in his expression. 'It's good to be home.'

And Harry, like a firewhisky shot, felt warm happiness bubble up in him, replied, 'Yeah it really is.'

11.38am, 20th December 2000

Willbury Lane, Chipping Camden, Gloucestershire

Sirius and Harry trudged up the lane, dunes of snow to either side of them. Powdered white oaks lined the drive, bereft of leaves. Ahead of them, rising out of the brown and white landscape, was a two-story house as colourful as Tonks herself. Bricks of many different colours, and adhering to no pattern apparent to Harry, decorated the country home. On the side, a purple chimney puffed a lazy wisp of smoke over the snow-covered roof.

'Are they… flashing,' said Harry in befuddlement, pointing to some of the bricks around the light blue door, adorned only with an explosive Christmas wreath.

'Merlin's beard, she's gone wonky,' Sirius said, spying the flashing bricks for himself.

'Sirius Black!'

Harry and Sirius both flinched as the door burst open. In the doorway stood Nymphadora Tonks, arms crossed, purple hair falling to her waist, and wearing a wide grin. Opening her arms up, she gestured them over. 'Get over here and give me a hug, cousin.'

Beaming, Sirius bounced over, gathering her up in a crushing hug. 'Tonksy! It's been far too long.'

'Well, whose fault is that? And put me down, you mangy dog,' Tonks laughed, swatting Sirius over the back of the head.

He relented, setting her stumbling on the doorstep. Harry watched on, a grin stretching his face, ridiculously happy to see Tonks. During the war, their contact had been limited, but after years of her letters and dozens of stories told by Sirius, he felt closer to her than anyone other than Sirius. Tonks straightened, still laughing, her cheeks flushed from the cold and Sirius' antics before eyeing Harry, her lips curled mischievously.

'And just who is this dashing young man,' Tonks said dramatically, holding her hand to her heart. 'Surely not little Harry Potter… no, no, he's skinnier than a bowtruckle and sadder than a dementor, its surely not him.'

Mock scowling, Harry grabbed her, swinging her around amidst her and Sirius guffaws. 'You're a riot, you are,' he grumbled half-heartedly, too elated to be sore with them. Setting her down, Tonks just smiled at them both, eyes bright.

'Wotcher,' she said, setting off their laughter again as she ushered them into the house. The hall was cluttered; boots, big and tiny, sat crowding the doorway and a mess of coats and toys lay strewn on the carpeted floor. On the walls, straight pictures waved at them, full of cheery faces, while the crooked pictures desperately waved for their attention, straining to remain upright in their frames. Following Tonks down the hall, they came into a warm kitchen, windows looking out onto a backyard filled with naked trees and clumps of snow.

'Just take a seat here,' Tonks said, pointing to a small wooden table, 'And I'll make us some tea.'

'Thanks Tonks,' Harry said, echoed by Sirius, already feeling at home amongst the cluttered home.

'You were lucky you found anyone here,' she said as she busied herself at the stove, 'Mum has Teddy out shopping today, and normally I would have gone with them, but Teddy was absolutely adamant to find me a present by himself.'

Wand waving, Tonks walked over to the table, the cracked ceramic teapot and three mugs following closely behind. 'There you two go, serve yourselves,' she said, still unable to keep the smile off her face.

After pouring himself one, Sirius took a cautious sip, his eyes going wide at the taste. 'It wasn't too long ago when you couldn't have made toast without burning it and would have spilled every last drop bringing the tea over here,' Sirius ribbed, 'I think you've gone and turned yourself into a proper mum, Tonksy.'

'Oi, shut up Black, you weren't any better,' Tonks replied, her tone teasing. 'I'm wagering the reason young Potter over here isn't skin and bones anymore is because he got out of your house and away from your cooking.'

For hours, the trio talked, sharing stories and teasing each other, and for Harry, it was bliss, like he was back before the war, before Remus was lost. Remus had left a gaping hole when he died, turning their misfit family of three into two. Tonks may have been very different from Remus, but she understood. And that was enough. The light filtering through the clouds was beginning to dim before Tonks decided to call an end to the day.

She gazed at them both, eyes solemn and mouth creased, and for the first time that day, the mood turned less than joyful. 'I want you two to be a part of Teddy's life… and I need to know know…is it…are you back for good?' Tonks leaned forward hopefully at the question.

'Yes, this is… well, we've decided we need to start moving forward,' Harry rushed, looking to Sirius for his agreement.

'Harry is right… we've decided it's time to come back to the real world.'

Tonks collapsed back in her chair, eyes shut tightly. 'That's good to hear,' Tonks breathed, 'That's really good to hear.'

Shaking her head, surreptitiously wiping her eyes as Sirius and Harry did the same, she looked at them again, looking much happier. 'Well, how about you come back tomorrow so you can meet him. He'll be a grumpy little bloke after shopping for so long and he's been waiting to meet his "uncles" for a long time,' Tonks said.

'That sounds great,' Sirius said, beaming, while Harry settled for nodding, scared that his voice might break should he speak.

As they stood, Tonks stood with them, walking them to the door. Outside, the bricks shone brightly in the darkening evening, flashing colours playing on the snow. As Sirius hugged her in farewell, he remarked, 'And maybe we can help you fix your decorations as well,' pointing cheekily to the flashing bricks.

Tonks gasped, eyes widening at the insult. 'Don't you dare Sirius Black,' Tonks rebuked, wagging a finger in his face. 'Teddy and I spent an entire day making our house beautiful. You and Mum can go decorate Grimmauld Place and have your Christmas there.' Sirius recoiled, hands held high in surrender, backing away quickly from Tonks while he chuckled to himself.

Laughing, Harry leaned in to hug her goodbye. Tonks' hands wrapped firmly around his back, pulling him in close so she could tiptoe and whisper in his ear. For him alone to hear, Tonks said, 'I'm glad you're here, Harry, and… well… that you're so happy. I hope that Teddy, and Andi, and I can become family to you, the same way Sirius and Remus are.'

Choked up, Harry only squeezed her tighter before letting go and smiling brightly in response. 'Thanks Tonks,' Harry replied, feeling like he was sitting next to a blazing fire, and not out in the cold. Waving goodbye with a brilliant smile, Tonks disappeared back into the house, and with two cracks, one after the other, Harry and Sirius disappeared from the lane.