Blood We Choose

Chapter One-

"There's no number twelve on this street." The cabbie strained over his wheel to crane his neck up at the townhouses as they rolled by. "Look, miss, it's just odd numbers on this side. Are you sure you have the address right?"

Tempest looked out of the passenger window and grinned. "Exactly right. Thank you sir- just here is fine. How much do I owe you?"

The cabbie gave a sum, which Tempest dug out from the emergency supply she kept at the bottom of her bag. It hadn't been a long drive, though the notorious London traffic had stretched the travel time enough to make the fare substantial. Still, Tempest muttered an absentminded 'keep the change,' as she got out of the cab, Nyx's carrier under her arm and hauling her trunk out after her.

The sky had still been light when the Hogwarts Express had pulled into Kings Cross, and it was only just beginning to darken as Tempest walked down the street, past fifteen, thirteen, and… there.

Tempest stopped before the steps of number twelve and looked up, up at the battered and worn door, the dirty walls and grimy windows. Almost identical in architecture to the two townhouses that stood beside it, number twelve Grimmauld Place had clearly fallen into disrepair.

She mounted the steps, dragging her trunk up with her, and stopped before the front door. The black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox, and for the first time, Tempest felt a flicker of doubt.

What if Sirius wasn't there?

Tempest grasped the body of the serpent and gave three hard knocks.

The metal thudded against the wood dully, and Tempest waited, with an increasingly restless Nyx in her carrier. A minute passed, and Tempest knocked again, a touch louder. From behind the door, she heard a faint clatter.

"Sirius?" she called.

She heard a slightly louder clatter, sounding far closer. Then she heard a muffled bark, like an animal shut in.

Tempest realized all of a sudden and felt foolish. "It's Tempest," she said, checking quickly over her shoulder to make sure the street was empty and there was no one to hear. "I knew you first as Padfoot. If things go to plan, I'll be Buck."

Tempest heard what she thought might be a laugh, and then there were a series of loud, metallic clicks that sounded from the door, and the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open, and Tempest was seized by the front of her shirt and dragged in.

The door slammed behind Tempest's trunk, and in the dim light of the building, she looked up at her godfather.

"Hello," Tempest said, the word feeling wholly inadequate.

"Hello," replied Sirius. He ran a hand through his hair; it was growing out again, strands curling about his ears. "I wasn't expecting-"

"No, it was a spur of the moment thing," said Tempest all at once. "I was meant to go to Minnie's- it was the plan- but then I thought- I thought I can manage a few days without all my things, and here I am." She finished her short speech with a tentative smile, because now that she had slowed, she realized Sirius was just standing there, looking at her.

He was covered in dust, Tempest now noticed; he was holding his wand and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows as though he had been working at something.

Sirius seemed to see the growing expression of doubt forming on Tempest's face, and he hurried to speak. "I'm glad to see you!" he said quickly, jamming his wand through a loop in his trousers and making to hug her. Tempest stifled a sneeze at the dust that rushed up her nose as he stepped closer, and Sirius leant back immediately. "Merlin- sorry- I was cleaning up a bit- I er… as you can see-" he waved a hand about, and his fingers caught in a cobweb suspended from the dusty chandelier that hung too low above them. Sirius cursed and wiped his fingers off on his trousers. "I need to fix that," he muttered.

He was not, Tempest realized, irritated or annoyed at her sudden appearance, he was flustered.

"This place has been sitting empty since my mother died," Sirius was saying, "that would be, uh, about ten years ago… I thought I'd tidy it up a bit, but-"

"It's fine," interrupted Tempest, and stepped over to hug Sirius in turn, uncaring of the layer of dust that clung to her when they broke apart. "It's a bit grim, I'll grant you-" Tempest had just noticed what appeared to be stuffed elf heads mounted along the walls of the stairs at the end of the hall. "But you're here, and now I am, and really, that was the whole point." She hefted Nyx's carrier.

"This is Nyx, by the way, I'm not sure if she's met you as a human-"

"Just the once," said Sirius, peering at Nyx through the carrier bars. "I talked with the orange cat- Crookshanks- far more… I think Nyx was a bit cautious. Ah… I wouldn't let her out just yet, the house isn't safe, strictly speaking."

Strictly speaking, the house seemed barely habitable, the way Sirius went on about it. 12 Grimmauld Place, as she learnt, was the Black ancestral home, the home that Sirius had left when he was sixteen, when he had been disowned by his family and taken in by her own grandparents. The Blacks, pureblood as they came, had left many… precautionary safeguards against the impure of blood, should they enter the house.

The spells were so serious that Sirius had to go first into every room as he led her on a tour. With every new section of the house, Sirius had to dismantle some of the curses that hung in the air like oppressive webs. Tempest had been unaffected so far, perhaps because of her half-blood status, but Sirius remained paranoid. Sirius had brought Buckbeak to Grimmauld Place as well, and Tempest greeted him in the massive cobweb filled dining room on the first floor.

After the spells came the actual state of the house, buried between layers of dust and decay. The gas lamps were dim and flickering, and spiders scuttled away from her boots as she walked through rooms. She could see floorboards beneath the patches worn in the carpet, and the floor creaked at her step.

All of this was without mentioning the distinctly creepy aspects of the house, which included but were not limited to- the stuffed elf heads, the portraits of haughty Black ancestors that hung on the walls and were impossible to remove, items of furniture that appeared to have been crafted from the carcasses of magical creatures, and to cap it all off, Kreacher.

Kreacher was the house elf that shuffled through a doorway near Tempest and almost gave her heart failure.

She hadn't been aware there had been another living being in the house with them, and the appearance of the old, withered house elf made her yell loudly for Sirius and keep her wand trained on the creature.

Sirius crashed into the room not a second later, quite literally, as the door flew open and banged against the wall, so loud in the stillness of the house that downstairs, Tempest heard several portraits scream into life, shouting and yelling so loudly Tempest couldn't distinguish the voices from one another, only a general sense of intense vitriol.

"You all right?" said Sirius loudly, looking wildly between Tempest and the house elf.

"I panicked!" shouted Tempest over the din, "over reacted- look, what's happening downstairs?"

"My deceased relatives are a bit opinionated!" yelled Sirius in reply, and he ducked back out of the room quickly to yell several silencing and muffling charms that cut the din off abruptly. He returned to look down at the house elf with a sneer on his face. "So you're still here, muttering about. I thought you'd curled up and died somewhere."

The house elf bowed, but not deeply and not at all respectfully. His eyes gleamed with distaste as he straightened up. "I live to serve the house of Black- besmirched as it is by blood traitor filth-"

"Kreacher," announced Sirius, talking over the elf as he continued to insult Sirius, "the family house elf. He must have stayed even after my mother's death."

"-Mistress Black was a kind mistress yes, unforgiving of blood traitors and scum, scum that her ungrateful son sees fit to bring into this hallowed house-"

"Charmed," said Tempest, frowning at the elf. She wouldn't have believed that a house in such a state as 12 Grimmuald Place could possibly have an elf within it- and Kreacher was speaking with an irreverence which Tempest hadn't thought house-elves could possesses.

"Well as you're here, Kreacher," Sirius was saying, "go clean up the kitchen, and get rid of this dust hanging around. It's filthy, what have you been doing for ten years?" He spoke before Kreacher could reply; "doubtless moping about the old hag's portrait listening to whatever slime she's been telling you and little else- well? Off you go- "

He all but shunted Kreacher out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Tempest coughed at the plume of dust that rose into the air and she stared at the door. "Weren't you a bit harsh with him?" she said, "as you say, he has been in this house for ten years, surrounded by the stuffed heads of his predecessors, that can't be easy-"

"Those stuffed heads of his kin are what he aspires to achieve in his life," said Sirius dismissively, setting about vanishing the dust from the room, "perhaps I should do him a favour and mount his head on the wall a tad early…"

"Sirius!" Tempest glared at him half-heartedly. She slipped her wand back into its holster. "He's not dangerous? Is he? If I had to use magic… the trace… it wouldn't apply to me here, would it?"

"Use all the magic you like," said Sirius, "just don't bring the house down around your ears… or do. It might be an improvement. As for Kreacher… I'd have to give him some commands to make sure he doesn't interfere with you, but after that he'll be fine. He's more distasteful than anything else…" The sneer lingered on Sirius's features. It was an ugly look, and he changed the subject quickly. "Here, this cupboard-" he indicated the heavy oak item against the wall, "stuff like this you might want to be careful opening- a house with this much dark magic floating around is a magnet for all sorts of dark creatures. There are doxies in the curtains of one of the upstairs living rooms I know."

Tempest re-gripped her wand and looked at the cupboard, which had become very ominous. "So what's in this?"

"No idea," said Sirius, he pointed his wand at the doors. "Alohamora!"

The cupboard doors and drawers all flew open. In it, were piles of folded linen and dull silverware.

Tempest lowered her wand. "Come on," she said to Sirius, "let's duel with the dust bunnies."

Duel they did; though it was a significantly unheroic battle, which left the pair of them covered in dust and cobwebs. Still, they achieved some success, the gas lamps worked well enough after a bit of cleaning, and the pipes were in fine working order when they braved the bathroom. Beneath the layers of grime and disuse, the house emerged to be a fine one; far nicer than the Dursley's had ever been, and with enough silverware and odd treasures in cupboards and drawers to rival what Tempest imagined Malfoy lived with.

It was well past nightfall when Tempest and Sirius had finished exhausting themselves, and succumbed to hunger and the ache in their arms that came from excessive wand waving and the occasional need to physically shift furniture.

Sirius said he wouldn't trust the contents of the kitchen, not if he was in inch away from starvation, so the pair of them ventured out onto the dark streets of London, Sirius wearing a new disguise spelled onto his body, which made him an inch shorter, his hair transfigured auburn and much shorter, a thinner nose, and square jaw. Tempest thought his voice coming from a stranger's mouth sounded frankly ridiculous, but to join in on the fun, she turned her hair a dirty blonde colour. It was enough that she wouldn't be recognized at a first glance, and with it being central London, it was probably for the best.

Most of Tempest's time in London had been centered around Diagon Alley and Kings Cross, and the sleepier nature of Islington had her walking beside Sirius at a sedate pace, striding through pools of light cast by streetlamps and shadows by trees and postboxes. The occasional car would purr by the pair of them as they chatted. After a term at Hogwarts, it was always a bit jarring to be reintroduced to the muggle world, with their cars and electric lights…

Minnie's cottage and Grimmauld Place couldn't be called muggle in any sense of the word, the candles, gas and oil lamps that spread flickering light were far removed from the steady fluorescent glare coming from the ceiling of the chippy they walked into.

There was quite a line, and Tempest looked at Sirius.

"You do have some muggle money on you, right?"

They had to walk back to Grimmauld Place so Tempest could fetch her wallet, and they left the brownstone again, laughing.

"We should pay a visit to Gringotts tomorrow," said Sirius, "how's your emergency stash doing?"

"Not too badly," said Tempest, "but it would be good to shore up the resources. I'm living with a convicted mass-murderer after all. You never know, we might have to scarper at a moment's notice."

"We?"

Tempest gave Sirius a concerned look. "Well, yes. You're not thinking of leaving me behind, are you?"

"It's just… its rough going," Sirius said slowly. "I'd never want that for you."

"And I wish you'd never had to do it either," said Tempest dryly, "but if it has to happen, it's better with two. " She changed topics abruptly. "We should also come up with some fake names as well if we're going to be in disguise."

"Lord Charles Eastermont," said Sirius immediately.

Tempest laughed out loud. "Put much thought into it?"

"My brother and I used to play lords," shrugged Sirius, "Lord Eastermont rode a dragon into battle, and had a moat."

"Your brother..."

"Reg," said Sirius, "he's dead. Died the same year my father did, right when the war was starting. He was a death eater."

"I'm sorry," said Tempest quietly.

"Ah well," sighed Sirius, his resignation only slightly too rehearsed.

They walked in a heavy silence for a while, until Tempest added, "I'd be Constance Potts, Lord Charles Eastermont's niece. As a child, my hobbies included horse riding and pranking the butler."

"Inspired," grinned Sirius.

"Oh, and I am an actual dragon rider," added Tempest, "I'm sure Constance's dear uncle harbors some buried resentment over that."

"Not that buried," snarked Sirius.

They ordered fish and chips and while they stood waiting, they people-watched pedistrians. There was a homeless man with a puppy in his bag, a self-important businessman who strode by purposefully, a street-walker and a group of chavs who stood on the other side of the road, hooting at the former.

Order done, they walked back to Grimmauld Place, holding the burning parcels close to their chests to ward off the chill of the night that had begun to set in. They ate in the dining room, spreading out the greasy papers on the rich table ("three hundred years old, if you believe my mother," said Sirius.) and digging into the chips with their fingers.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of rustling paper and enthusiastic chewing, along with quiet exclamations of pain when the heat of the food burnt their mouths.

"I haven't had decent chips in an age," said Sirius eventually, squeezing lemon over his fish and licking the juice from his fingers.

"Neither," said Tempest, polishing off the rest of her chips. "There's a great shop up in Crovie, where Minnie lives. Narrow opening hours, but worth it." She cleared her throat, choking slightly on an especially salt and vinegar doused chip. "When I go to pick up my stuff, you should come. I'll show you my favorite swimming spots- we'll make a day of it."

"Sounds good," said Sirius, "about that… Minnie does know you're here, doesn't she? That you're not abducted or lost in the space between spaces?"

Tempest laughed, "Yeah, I sent her a note with the portkey I was meant to take to her place. I'm sure she's relieved to have me out of her hair… I realize now you have no idea what I'm like to live with. If Minnie was writing me a reference- be assured she wouldn't be writing me one."

Sirius looked utterly unfazed. "We've both survived our uncommonly shitty lives so far," he said. "I'm sure we'll manage this."

That night, Tempest lay on her back on a sofa-transfigured-mattress, surrounded by cushions-transfigured-pillows and looking up at the dim ceiling of the living room. A short distance away, she could hear Sirius's rumbling snores. Initially, Tempest had been tempted to get up and nudge him over onto his side, but after a while, Tempest grew used to the sound.

There were strange mutterings that she could hear from the portraits in the hallway beyond, and further than that, Tempest thought she could hear Kreacher moving about in the kitchen. The bedrooms weren't cleared yet, so there they were, on the floor in the space in front of the gutted fireplace.

Tempest was wearing her old nightclothes from her trunk, and Nyx was snoozing in a nest of blankets Tempest had made for her.

It wasn't ideal; dinner sat greasy and heavy in her stomach, the house-elf hated her, and the very house was filled with dark magic. But as Tempest shifted around to find a comfortable spot on her mattress, the sound of Sirius's snoring a constant sound in the background, she found herself content.