Chapter 1: Running late

Tonight the Ministry of Magic was silent. The only sounds were the soft crackling of the fireplaces, the 'drip, drip' of the fountain and the various snorts and grunts of the old ministers of magic as they slept in their portraits. In an hour or two the great hall would be full of wizards and witches. Hundreds of them would be pouring in through the fireplaces and the air would be full of the pops of people apparating. But until then there was only silence.

Suddenly one of the fireplaces sprang to life with a sudden whoosh. Out of the emerald flames stepped a skinny man with messy black hair and glasses. He gave an almighty yawn and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He ran his fingers though his hair, trying to tidy it up a bit. Eventually, he gave up on looking respectable and began to walk towards the golden gates at the end of the hall.

He passed the security desk where the overnight security guard was taking a nap and stepped into one of the lifts. "Level one," announced the voice of the elevator. The lift doors closed with a satisfied swish and, with a shudder, the lift began to move upwards. He glanced at his watch. Damn, he was fifteen minutes late. Mr Larle was going to kill him...

"You're late, Mr Potter," a deep voice thundered, as Harry entered the office. "I'm sorry sir," Harry began to explain, "It just I didn't get much warning and what with the kids and everything..."

Harry pulled up a chair and sat down at the large wooden desk, with clawed feet on the ends of the legs. Mr Larle's grey eyes glared at Harry like he was the piece of filth on the bottom of his shoe. Harry would have been offended if he didn't know that Mr Larle treated everyone like this. You see Mr Larle was Harry's boss, a man of very few words, a heavy smoker, and very, very scary. When Kingsley Shacklebolt was made Minister of Magic, Mr Ignatius Larle had been 'imported' from Scotland. Just looking at him confirmed he was most definitely a senior Auror. He wore an eye patch over one eye and a thin silver scar ran from the edge of the other eye to the corner of his mouth; he dressed like a soldier wearing khaki shirts and combats under his black cloak, his greying hair was slicked back in a ponytail. Mr Larle was also a stickler for tidiness and organisation. Someone, Harry was sure, that Uncle Vernon would approve of (Well apart from the whole being a wizard thing.)

There was an awkward silence in the room as Mr. Larle lit a fat cigar with the tip of his wand; he then sucked in deeply before exhaling a large cloud of indigo smoke, he then addressed Harry. "Can you tell me the exact location of Sirius Black august 1994?" He fixed Harry with a cold stare, almost daring him to lie.

"Um...err," Harry wracked his brains, trying to remember the summer before his fourth year. When he had been receiving letters from Sirius, "Somewhere tropical I think, with lots of exotic birds. Why?" Harry was confused. Why did Mr Larle want to know his dead god-fathers past whereabouts?

"Because it's the reason why you are in work at 5 o'clock in the morning," Mr Larle barked, tossing a file to Harry. Harry opened the folder and began to skim through it. It was a profile on a young girl.

"Why are you giving me this to read?" he asked quizzically.

"Carry on Mr Potter,"Larle replied cryptically.

Harry raised an eyebrow and looked back at the file. Suddenly his eyes widened with shock, "She blew up a house," He then added weakly "When she was three."

"Her first sign of magic," Mr Larle began to explain, "It happened when Voldemort was last powerful. From what we can tell two Death Eaters came to the house that she and her mother were staying at. They were either trying to recruit them or kill them. From what we heard from the Muggle neighbours her mother put up a fight, but she was overpowered and killed. Then they turned to the girl." He stubbed out his cigar on the desk, grinding the ashes into the wood. "She killed one Death Eater and left the other one with severe burns. By the time the authorities got there the house was in ruins." He leant back in his leather chair, reached for another cigar, lit it and watched Harry with eagle eyes, analysing his next move.

"So," Harry said "Do you want me to tell her she's a witch because we're both orphans or because our parents died under similar circumstances? Surely, it would be better for say a teacher to approach her. Neville Longbottom was in a similar situation..."

"MR POTTER YOU WILL NOT BECOME A SUCCESSFUL AUROR IF YOU DO NOT READ YOUR MEMOS PROPERLY!" Mr Larle yelled stabbing his meaty finger down on the file, Harry quickly read where he was pointing.

Name: Cassandra Lily Black

'No,' Harry thought, his mind racing 'no, it can't be,"

Birth: 7th April 1995

Mother: Arabella Rose Addison

Father: unknown

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. If Sirius had had a daughter...then he noticed something was scrawled beside unknown.

Sirius Black

That was impossible! Harry read it again.

Sirius Black

Harry looked up at Mr Larle, "Who? Where? How? "

Mr Larle face broke into a fishy smile "You would only need when and why and you would be able to write a perfect essay according to Ms McGonagall. You see Mr Potter, Arabella was an old flame of Sirius Blacks." He leaned towards Harry "and it just so happened that in the summer of 1994 she was staying somewhere tropical. With lots and lots of exotic birds" he gave one last puff on a cigarette, sending a cloud of smoke into Harrys face. "So you see Mr Potter, as you are a trained Auror, and Sirius Blacks godson, you're the perfect man to tell his daughter that she's a witch"

...

Far away from the Ministry of Magic another person was late to work. He hurried along a dark corridor, checking his watch. "Oh centaur's bollocks," he swore. Suddenly he took a sudden turn down a stone staircase and came to a door. He knocked, three times, and the door swung open.

The room inside was covered in scrumptious wall - hangings and ornate, antique furniture. In the middle of the room was a large high- backed chair. Only the occupants hand was visible, dabbing a paintbrush in a paint pallet. "Y-y-your highness," The man stammered to the chair, making a clumsy bow. "You're late again, Goyle." A voice like sweet honey or maybe wind chimes trilled. The man shuddered. The figure laid down the paintbrush and picked up her wand. She began to twirl it in her hand, seeing this, Goyle began to tremble, his face turning a grey-green.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry my lady. It's just I got caught in a..." Goyle's excuses were cut off as the figure waved her wand lazily.

"I don't want the morning traffic report darling. I want to know about the girl." The sweet voice said impatiently and with another wave of her wand Goyle could speak again.

"Our spy at the ministry has told that they are sending Harry Potter to tell her." He spat out as quickly as he could.

"Ah yes dear Mr Potter," the voice said quietly "I was wondering when we would meet again. You can go now Goyle." She said more loudly "And do try not to be late next time."

"Of course my lady I promise I won't be late" Goyle said bowing as he backed away towards the door.

"Now Goyle we don't want you making empty promises. You need some incentive," the beautiful voice scolded.

Goyle stopped abruptly "What do you mean my lady?" He asked confused... Then realisation dawned on him.

"No, no please, my lady, I beg of you," he cried

"Crucio."