A.N.: Hi everyone! So I was on Pinterest earlier and I found the photo of the most amazing red-haired guy with freckles all over him – I've posted the link on my profile here; mix his colouring and freckles with Liam Hemsworth, you've got my Weasley twins.

The Eldest of the Pleiades

03

The Boggart in the Wardrobe

"So what does the Order do, exactly?"

"Well, during the War, we fought the Death Eaters, tried to do everything we could to stop Voldemort's reign of terror spreading," Sirius said. Maia liked that he used Voldemort's name. The others flinched at the sound of it, but she had always found it to be nonsense. Especially when gossiping in public with Elsa, saying 'You-Know-Who' could mean anyone. Mostly, Elsa's pureblood aunt who absolutely loathed her. "But it was futile, almost. The Death Eaters outnumbered us twenty to one, and kept picking us off. Now, though, we've reinstated during peacetime, which has made it easier to recruit new members, and we've got quite a few high-profile wizards on our side."

"What do you do?"

"Not much of anything," Sirius said gloomily, pulling a face, and Mrs Weasley tsked behind him, rolling her eyes. He caught Maia's expression and gave a rueful smile, saying, "Dumbledore's pretty shrewd about what Voldemort might have planned once he regained his powers, so we're doing everything we can to make it impossible to do so, should he ever return." Maia nodded.

"I don't see how him banishing me here will do anything to help," she said sourly, crinkling her nose at the ceiling, cringing at the imagined filth of whichever bedroom she was given to sleep in.

"Well, he wasn't keen on you being left alone," Sirius shrugged slightly.

"I'm not alone; Dashy and I have each other. I used to have Simba but she's a little slut when it comes to Ailith." Ailith glanced over, shooting them a smile, as she rubbed her thumbs either side of Simba's head, the cat's expression rapturous.

"You're not really under house-arrest, you know," Sirius said quietly, and Maia gave an internal wince; Sirius had been imprisoned for eleven years… She wondered if his grief over his best-friends' murder had…slightly maddened him…why else would he have gone with the Aurors so willingly? He had…been laughing… She watched his features, wasted but still showing signs of extraordinary good looks – a few Rejuvenation Drafts she had reinvented would do him a world of good with a few very generous meals daily. "I know there must be things you'd like to do, things you might've already planned…and I would never keep you here when you're unhappy being stuck inside… Diagon Alley's not that far to walk from here…" Maia nodded. "So…do you have things planned? For the summer? Dumbledore mentioned you'd finished some Muggle exams…"

Maia licked her lips, and sighed softly. "Yeah, I, um… Well, I'd…I'd already promised I'd babysit a lot this summer," she said honestly, in barely a mumble, her shoulders drooping. She had been so looking forward to her days with Opal – and she hated the bilious feeling in her stomach, the guilt and shame of maybe having to tell Jules that she couldn't babysit. His parents were going to South Africa for a month, she was supposed to babysit three days a week for Jules while they were gone. She sighed, glancing at Sirius. "Is the Order doing anything about the werewolves?"

"'Doing anything' as in culling?" Sirius frowned, eyeing her inscrutably.

"No, abolishing that legislature Umbridge has pushed through recently," Maia scowled. "It's impossible for one of my werewolf friends to get a job. And he could've been my generation's Dumbledore. He used to lecture all over the world…"

"Well, as a matter of fact we have a werewolf representative liaising with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for a change in their status," Sirius said quietly, though Maia scoffed; she loathed that Department. An odd shiver passed over Sirius' face, but Maia turned fully toward him, her attention gripped.

"Really?" she asked suspiciously, trying to quash the feeling of elation spreading through her stomach. She sat up straight. "Well then, there's –" She broke off, and Sirius gave her a coaxing smile.

"What?"

"Well, there are…there are a few people the Order should talk to, then…" she said, trailing off uncertainly. Sirius looked surprised.

"Really?" She nodded slowly.

"One couple I know, she was the previous Head of the International Office of Magical Law, and she sat on the Wizengamot. Her husband was an Unspeakable," Maia said, frowning tersely. "They were both bitten about ten years ago, though. They saved their son from the same fate, but he's just entered the Ministry and he's trying to support them all. He's losing so much weight."

"Well, they sound exactly the type of people the Order is trying to recruit," Sirius said thoughtfully. "Do you know of any others?"

"What, werewolves? A few. Other witches and wizards, too…" Maia sighed sadly.

"Perhaps this is why Dumbledore wanted you here," Sirius said shrewdly. "Who else would you recommend the Order approach about purging the Ministry?"

"Where to begin?" Maia said grimly. She heaved a sigh. "Totty, and Jules would be good – Lucrezia, too. She'd find creative ways of getting the message out. She knows how to make a point…" She trailed off thoughtfully, wanting to go through her contacts book and sort out who she would bring into a secret organisation intent on revolution from different spheres of wizard society, through different means. She glanced up. "What else are you trying to do? If I know a little more about the Order's aims I might be able to draw up a list of target recruits."

"Well, closest to my heart is the movement to manoeuvre control of Azkaban from the Dementors." Though she couldn't truly appreciate the strength of Sirius's aversion to them after having every happy thought and memory drained from him for eleven years, Maia's own aversion to them made her shiver just at the mention. Forget Voldemort, a Dementor had always given her more terror than anything in the world, even a few ancient Peruvian Aztec curses, and being embalmed alive.

"Well, the best person for that is probably Madam Bones – Amelia Bones," Maia said, and Sirius raised his eyebrows. "She'd make a wonderful Minister for Magic if Fudge would just die… I'd like to see Umbridge try and get her way around Amelia. And actually, she'd be ideal, if the aim is to hopefully get your name cleared… She's head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Is she? I'm glad," Sirius said quietly. "The War took a horrific toll on the Bones family."

"I know," Maia said quietly. Almost as bad a toll as on Maia's own family. "Her niece goes to Hogwarts, she's told me. I like Amelia. She's tough and fair… She sent a note after I received that last official warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office."

"Really?"

"She said she'd have made exceptional circumstances, because of…well, everything – but if she dismissed it over the 'intense emotional rupture' I'm suffering, and it got out, she'd have every obnoxious sixteen-year-old claiming they're suffering depression or some kind of anxiety complex," Maia sighed, giving a funny shrug. "At least I know that if I was brought up in front of her officially, she'd let me off."

"You don't go up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office without at least five warnings," Sirius frowned, and Maia pointedly glanced away, clearing her throat and examining her fingernails nonchalantly, glancing away as she whistled guiltily, feeling her cheeks warm. He surprised her, chuckling richly. "What were they for?" So, Maia told him – he was giggling by the time she finished telling him about the warning she had received before this last one.

"…anyway… I didn't mean to turn him into an octopus," she said, sighing softly. Several people chuckled. "Quite frankly if I'd had my wand on me and consciously wanted to use magic, I would've done a lot worse."

"I don't think there was a week that went by when girls didn't turn their respective partners into animals, when I taught at Hogwarts," Mr Lupin, Remus, said, smiling. "Howler-monkeys were on-trend during the spring term… Sirius, I thought you'd have shown Maia around the house."

"I'm attempting to prevent too much exposure," Sirius said, sighing. He glanced at Maia. "There's all sorts of nasty stuff just lying around this house." Maia glanced at Sirius, her interest perking up.

"Really?" she asked, keeping her voice politely curious rather than eager. Sirius nodded.

"I should show you around, just so you know what not to touch," he sighed. "Grab a plate, Moony – Maia's trying to fatten us up, look at all this!" Sirius was on his fourth ham sandwich, and he had been munching steadily through fresh scones and fruit.

"Sirius, be careful," Remus said, frowning concernedly. "You're like a starving alley-cat, if you binge on food in one go you'll make yourself ill."

"Excuse me, I am no cat," Sirius cried indignantly, giving Remus a quirky look, and Maia glanced between the two men.

"You could both do with putting on some weight," Mrs Weasley declared, glancing from Remus to Sirius. "You're both skin and grief." Sirius stuck out his tongue at Remus.

"So there!" he said, grinning wolfishly. He promptly reached for two scones, slathering them with fresh butter, copious amounts of jam and fresh clotted-cream. Dashy poured him a cup of tea, giving him an indulgent smile (she liked anyone who showed appreciation for her or Maia's cooking) and he grunted enthusiastically as he chewed a mouthful of scone.

"Padfoot, a little decorum while you're trying to impress your only niece," Remus sighed, shaking his head. He smacked the soles of Sirius' boots, which were crossed on the edge of the kitchen-table, almost flattening Sirius on his back as his chair wobbled on the two back legs. Sirius flailed, but righted his chair without dropping his scone, and grunted something at Remus, who raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, go and show Maia around, before the others arrive."

Sirius sighed heavily, rubbing his face tiredly, but he hauled himself out of his chair and Maia followed, waving slightly to Tonks and Ailith. Simba remained lolling, being petted, in Ailith's lap, but Dashy followed after Maia. Pressing a finger to his lips as they passed the moth-eaten curtains, Sirius showed them to a dining-room with grimy windows overlooking the square, the curtains buzzing with doxies – a polished oval table was inlaid beautifully with golden and cherry woods and silver. Sirius showed them a glimpse into the library – "full of cursed books; don't touch a thing in there, unless you're intending to follow your friend Bill's footsteps as a curse-breaker!" and as they wandered around, Maia could hear things scuttling and scraping against the insides of the panelled walls, and as for the greenhouse built onto the back of the house, into the garden that ended with a coach-house and a cobbled courtyard shared with the neighbouring houses, "full of Devil's Snare – it's a wonder the foundations are still sound, I have no idea how it hasn't crept into the Muggle houses next-door. We'd be in trouble then…"

"This is atrocious," Maia said darkly, crinkling her nose as she cupped her hands on the glass, peering into the gloom. Things were glowing in there, phosphorescent and eerie, and she caught a few glimpses of fuchsia and livid orange amongst the mulch of the undergrowth beneath larger unusual shrubs and plants. "You said there's a house-elf here? Someone needs to have a word with him." She glanced down, exchanging a significant look with Dashy – she loathed mess. No-one cleaned like Dashy – the properties on Maia's estate that had been left abandoned for decades were pristine; anyone could have moved in at an hour's notice and the fires would have been blazing, the beds turned down.

"That is an idea," Sirius said, but his tone wasn't nasty; he sighed heavily, leaning against the glass-paned panelling. The stretch of wall featuring the doors to the greenhouse were still panelled, but the upper-half of the wall was of glass, and Maia thought the corridor could have made quite a pretty gallery with trinkets nestled on the inbuilt bookshelves and a few chaises and armchairs around the small fireplaces. But the wood panelling was damp, the glass grimy and moulded, and despite keeping within the property's magically-protected borders, the contents of the greenhouse hadn't had any qualms about trying to get further into the house. "You're family – Kreacher should do all you ask, but he won't answer to me."

"You're his family," Maia frowned.

"I was blasted off the tapestry," Sirius sighed heavily, shrugging nonchalantly like it didn't bother him, but Maia thought he was trying to hide it that it did. She frowned.

"What tapestry?"

"Up in the drawing-room. It's been in the family for centuries," Sirius said, crinkling his nose. "Of course, whenever the family produced someone halfway decent, they were disowned. I'm not on there anymore; Tonks' mum Andromeda was blasted off, too – Tonks isn't on there. But Regulus – he was the favourite. He's still on there, I'd imagine. I haven't looked. But you're his daughter, and Kreacher always loved him." She heard that muffled scrabbling and scratching again, stifling a shiver as she glanced at the panelled walls, wondering about what was living inside them. In a magical house like this, it could be nifflers – but it could also be much worse, like lethifolds. She was surprised the entire structure hadn't been reduced to embers by Ashwinder serpents.

"Was the house this grim when you grew up here?" Maia asked, hoping Sirius wouldn't take offence at her attitude toward the property.

"Worse," Sirius said heavily. "My parents were still alive."

"When did they die?" Maia asked – by his tone, she knew there was no love lost between Sirius and his parents – her grandparents – and she wondered what type of people they were. How could it have been so bad, with his family, that Sirius had left?

"My mother, about ten years ago," Sirius shrugged. "Kreacher's been on his own since. My father, five years or so before that. Died just…just after Regulus went missing."

"He went missing?" Maia blinked. "My aunt told me he'd died."

"Well, 'going missing' during the War was synonymous with being presumed dead," Sirius sighed, then shrugged slightly. "Even among their own ranks, Death Eaters turned on each other." Maia blinked, her stomach seeming to evaporate.

Very quietly, she said, "My father was a Death Eater?"

"Stupid idiot," Sirius said dispassionately. Then he glanced at her, and his intent frown eased. "I left this place when he was still young. Maybe if I'd stayed in contact, things might have been different. I'd've set him straight about our parents' pureblood mania…they were convinced Voldemort had the right idea."

Maia's mouth suddenly felt very dry, her stomach no twisting unpleasantly. "Were…" Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat, "Were they Death Eaters too?"

"No," Sirius said lightly. "Foul enough to be, but they'd never have bent knees before another wizard. Not when they believed that to be a Black meant you were wizard royalty." He caught her eye. "We're the last of a very ancient pureblood family. I don't know if the family origins were always Dark, but that's what we became. This place became a shrine to our bloodline."

"It's vile," Maia said, crinkling her nose again; she got the impression Sirius loathed this place. He was deeply unhappy here, she could almost taste his bitterness at being trapped in a place that held so many bad memories for him – Sirius, an escapee of the top-security cells of Dementor-infested Azkaban.

"If I had my way I'd burn it to the ground," Sirius said quietly, looking deeply unhappy as he trailed toward the staircase. "Feel free to take anything you like the look of, if you can find anything, but I've told Molly she can strip the place." Dashy shot Maia a warning frown behind Sirius' back; she knew Maia would be tempted by whatever unusual potion ingredients she might find lying about, but at least now she was under another wizard's roof. And Sirius had to have had some experience fighting Dark magic, having warred against Death Eaters… She found herself asking, "When you were in the Order last time…did you never come across your brother?"

"No," Sirius shrugged, glancing back at her. He sighed softly. "I don't know what I'd have done if I had. Or what he'd have done."

"How old were you when you ran away?"

"About sixteen," Sirius sighed. "Just finished my fifth-year at Hogwarts…things were getting darker, more dangerous. There were deaths, strange disappearances…people I knew at Hogwarts were being affected, their families torn apart, attacked by Greyback, Dementors were attacking left, right and centre…" A shiver crossed his face, and a deadened, hollow look Maia associated with Dementors shadowed his grey eyes. "My parents kept going on and on about the purification of the wizard race… I couldn't stand it – I left, I went to James' parents' place. I got my own place when I was seventeen; when I left Hogwarts, Dumbledore had already asked me to join the Order." Maia nodded to herself, and Sirius guided them up the stairs – she stopped dead halfway up on the landing, her jaw popping open, hyper-aware of an appalled Dashy at her knee. There was a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques, each with the same distinctive snout-like nose. Horrified, Maia tried to cover Dashy's eyes. Dashy's ears were flat against her head, something that hadn't occurred since venturing into that last tomb in Egypt with Bill, where the pharaoh's house-elves had been embalmed alive and rested beside him, ready to serve him in the afterlife.

"Er… What…what…?" She had no words.

"Our dear Aunt Elladora started the tradition of beheading our house-elves when they got too old to carry a tea-tray," Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, frowning as he regarded the heads. "We've only just managed to secure this place for Headquarters, so we haven't begun decontaminating most of it yet. But we'll make it fit to live in. Bill's offered to help; we'll need his expertise, this place is full of Dark objects. Until then, best only use the bathroom in this floor; Remus and Molly attacked it first thing."

The house was centuries old, built during the Georgian period, and the panelling concealed cupboards, entire rooms, and she was sure, secret passages; huge windows overlooking the square did little to let in the light. There was one painting, in a twin bedroom, that Sirius said they had to keep, for the Order's use, but the rest of the house could be stripped. It was dismal, dark and decaying, and Maia found herself wanting a cardigan despite the heat she had baked herself in at the Hobbit-hole. She felt like she was Belle walking around Beast's castle, or Pip tentatively stepping into Miss Havisham's dining-room, everything sweetly decayed and distorted from time.

She did try to find some beauty in the place, her artist's, inventor's eye picking up tiny details that his hatred of the place made Sirius overlook. She loved art, culture, history – she loved unique pieces of furniture, her tastes more Art Deco contemporary with flourishes of traditionalism, but she loved ceramics, glass, sculptures, photography, she collected ornaments and pretty things from around the world. And unique potions-ingredients and dazzling joke items.

"So, aside from Muggle television, what else do you do with your time?" Sirius asked, glancing at her. Having been imprisoned and then on the run for fourteen years, Maia guessed Sirius wouldn't have much to say about himself; she didn't feel much like talking about herself, but Sirius had invited her into a home he loathed, to keep an eye on her. He knew what it felt like to have lost the person he loved best in the world.

So as they wandered around the house, Maia told him about travelling, and the people she would invite into the Order, about her bees and the goats she had got off Aberforth, going dancing with Elsa, collecting joke-items from magical shops around the world, some of her pen-pals, and what she liked to eat. "I've been living off rats, mostly," Sirius admitted, with a deep sigh, and he chuckled at the appalled, nauseated look on Maia's face – and Dashy's indignant splutter, her enormous eyes widening further. "I was living up in a cave in the mountains around Hogsmeade, couldn't nick too much from the village or I might've tipped someone off… Harry sent care-packages whenever he could…"

"Do you have a fixation with Rattus rattus?" Maia asked lightly, and Sirius' lips twitched.

"It's something pathological," he assured her. "Well, this is the drawing-room." There were grubby tapestries covering the walls, but behind them the wallpaper had once been handsome olive-green silk. Glass-fronted cabinets flanking the fireplace made the hair at the back of her nape stand up, something shivering down her spine as she peered through the glass. She noticed something then – something she should have pointed out to Sirius, but she didn't, and months later, she still felt guilty about not having said anything. Amongst eerie daggers, a gnarled hand, an Order of Merlin and a music-box, there was a small, polished wooden box; on the top, an oval disc of gold was embossed with the form of a badger, worked into a coat-of-arms. Maia knew that coat-of-arms anywhere, it was engraved above the gates to the Big House and some of the buildings in the abandoned village. It was the d'Astaire sigil. What was it doing here? And there was an aged parchment enveloped propped against it, the handwriting so familiar it felt as if she had been pinched, she started so badly. Neither Dashy, who was inspecting the buzzing curtains, nor Sirius, who was examining the bottom of one of the moth-eaten tapestries, noticed, and she didn't draw attention to the box, but it filled her with curiosity – and a little dread. She noticed the basin etched with runes, a Pensieve, on the shelf beside the box, and a small black velvet drawstring bag resting inside it, covered in a layer of dust; a fang rested on the shelf, a rusted dagger beside it, and Maia crinkled her nose at a squat bottle filled with a glutinous dark liquid, the stopper set with an opal.

"Have you seen this?" Maia asked, glancing over her shoulder at Sirius. "There's a Hand of Glory in here. Bill showed me them in the tombs in Egypt, loads of them, wizards used to use them to sneak into the tombs, but once they got inside there were all sorts of magical booby-traps in place. Some of them were quite gruesome, but I learned a lot."

"Bill's talked about working in the tombs," Sirius said, a ghost of a smile illuminating his face, as he strolled over to her. "Once upon a time, I'd thought about it, too…"

"Very few Dementors in the Egyptian desert," Maia said, and Sirius grinned then.

"Come and have a look at these," he said. "They might appeal to your artist's eye." And he led her to the corner of the room, where another cabinet rested, raised off the ground with glass shelves, illuminated from within when Sirius muttered something, and Maia gasped softly, stepping closer. Her maternal grandmother had owned a collection of magical Fabergé-style eggs – only far more sumptuous and even more priceless – and Maia had always been allowed to look, but never to touch them; they resided in a maple cabinet in the Big House, and Diane was always too afraid that she'd never be able to repair them if Maia accidentally damaged one. Only Thistletack was allowed to clean them.

And the Black family had their own, much smaller collection, but they were still as exquisite, in their own ways. Such beautiful pieces of artwork transcended their owners – whether they had been Dark wizards didn't matter; they had exceptional taste.

"My family were bastards, the lot of them, but my great-grandfather was an incredibly wealthy wizard with a highly-acquisitive, very fashionable wife… The eggs were a yearly gift at Easter."

"Fabergé would be spitting with envy," Maia breathed, gazing at the eggs. There were a dozen, and Sirius frowned at one in particular.

"This one's new," he said softly. About the size of a swan's egg, Sirius pointed out the pale lilac-blue lacquered egg, shimmering in the golden light within the cabinet. As she observed the egg from different angles, she could see designs lightly etched into the enamel, Opaleye dragons, snakes, striped badgers, heartsease violets and evening-primroses, but like watching coals, or an opal in the sunlight, the designs changed as she watched, some figures dominating, shimmering with colourful opalescence, changing into others, sometimes faster, sometimes the jewel-scaled Opaleye dragon dominated the entire egg, and it burned against her eyes; sometimes the egg seemed to be made entirely of jewels in the form of violets, glittering and awing, and sometimes the jewelled, enamel forget-me-nots that clustered together to form the stand seemed to overgrow the Opaleye, until the snake slithered amongst the tiny blossoms, and a badger gambolled around in them happily. Always, as she watched, the snake would seek out the badger, wrapping itself around the badger in a sort of embrace. The one part of the egg that remained unchanging was a little oval of ivory painted with a tiny portrait, a smiling baby with dark curls and hazel eyes, although the baby did grin with delight occasionally, flashing perfect pearl teeth. As Maia looked closer, she saw that the portrait seemed to be cradled on the back of another badger, and that the diamond frame around the portrait was actually a snake, embracing the badger with its tail, surrounding the miniature portrait, the snake's head tucked affectionately beneath the badger's, both heads facing the picture.

Maia felt her mouth go dry again. "That's…that's me." Sirius glanced at her, his eyebrows rising. He looked back at the egg; she was a toddler in the painting, but she had seen photographs of herself with her glorious blonde mother. Sirius opened the cabinet, and delicately lifted the egg out of its forget-me-not cradle. On the back, another oval was framed with diamonds, but instead of a portrait, there was writing etched into the silver. Maia's name, the date of her birth, how much she had weighed…everything.

"He…must have had it commissioned," he said softly, looking surprised. But Maia was staring at the egg.

"He can't have," Maia said hollowly. "He died when I was a baby – I'm a toddler there… My…my mother must have had it made, her family collected eggs too." She thought she saw a muscle tick in Sirius' jaw as he cradled the egg as he might an ancient grenade, but his hands were steady when he set the egg back into its forget-me-not cradle. Maia had never known much about her parents, had never liked to bring up the topic with Diane, who had known her mother so well, mourned her truly where Maia only wished she could have known her. Diane had known nothing of her father beyond his family's unusual naming traditions. Here, now, Maia wondered how a family so awful could have such a lovely naming tradition.

"My mother must have been relieved he'd produced an heir," Sirius said, with a heavy sigh. He shook his head, then closed the cabinet door. The light slowly faded, but Maia didn't take her eyes off that egg. "You can move them up to your room later, if you'd like." Maia blinked, surprised.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Anything you like the look of, move it up to your room so we don't chuck it," Sirius said, shrugging slightly, and Maia nodded. She remembered what he'd said about burning the house to the foundations. He showed her into cluttered parlours full of spine-tingling artefacts, spare-bedrooms with dressing-tables set with dusty snuffboxes and powders Sirius suggested were probably jinxed. A grandfather clock on another floor spat heavy bolts at them when they passed.

"We could do a roaring trade down Knocturn Alley," Maia breathed, as they wandered into the corridor again, careful of the slumbering portraits.

"I'd ask Dung to sell the things on but he'd just pocket the Galleons," Sirius sighed, his lips twitching. They entered a large playroom that might once have been handsome and airy, the walls hand-painted with animal murals, but they moved sluggishly, and Maia thought the room seemed to have been left as a shrine to Sirius' and Regulus' childhood – "more Regulus' than my own, I assure you…" He gestured to one of the corners, where a raised platform guarded by balustrades featured a writing-desk, and a mobile of model phoenixes, dragons and Snitches. There were drawings and paintings pinned to the walls, around photographs hung neatly in a line – they were of two very similar-looking boys with dark hair and fair eyes, but Sirius' unhappiness radiated from behind the dusty glass. Maia's attention was drawn to the drawings, though, her stomach aching.

"My father did these?" she asked quietly.

"He was always artistic," Sirius shrugged. "Whenever our cousins used to stop by the house for tea, I'd…hide him up under his bed, with a packet of colouring pencils… I hated her."

"Who?"

"Bellatrix – Andromeda's elder sister," Sirius sighed. "She had two – sisters, I mean – Bellatrix, the elder, and Narcissa, the youngest. Well, Cissy was never stupid enough to become a Death Eater herself, but she married Voldemort's right-hand. But Bella…she was more than evil enough before she joined Voldemort…"

"What happened to her?"

"She's in Azkaban," Sirius said quietly. "After Harry defeated Voldemort, she, her husband, his brother and Barty Crouch Jr. tortured an Auror and his wife to insanity, trying to find him. What was left of him. You might have heard of her – Bellatrix Lestrange is her married-name." Maia glanced up.

"I've heard of her – she's your cousin?" Maia said, stunned. A nasty aftertaste lingered in her mouth as she realised, she was related to Bellatrix Lestrange too. As they wandered through the playroom, she kept glancing at Sirius, wondering how on earth he had ever escaped this place, his family, unscathed. Despite – or perhaps in spite of his family – Sirius had grown into an incredibly loyal, fearless man who had fought for what he believed was right, no matter the personal consequence… Of all the witches and wizards locked in Azkaban, Sirius alone had been worthy of escaping – he may have broken out to murder Peter Pettigrew, but his intent had always been to protect his godson.

"Mm," Sirius said, his lips twisting in distaste.

"Augusta Longbottom used to come to tea quite often," Maia said softly, glancing at Sirius, her insides twisting. "It was her son they tortured to insanity, wasn't it. Mrs Longbottom talks about her grandson a lot. She says he's not as talented as his parents, but I don't see how pointing that out is any good for his confidence." Sirius chuckled softly.

"I'm afraid there are amends I must make to Neville Longbottom," he sighed, hands in his pockets. "He was banned from visiting Hogsmeade because of me."

"Augusta sent him a Howler," Maia said quietly, glancing at Sirius out of the corner of her eye. "She was livid." Sirius grimaced guiltily; he knew a Howler was one of the worst things a Hogwarts student could receive. He fidgeted with the handle of a glass-fronted cabinet, full of wizard board-games, puzzles and books. Sirius looked about the playroom sadly, using his wand to clean the dust off photographs on the mantelpiece by which a bespoke rocking-chair stood, drawing Maia's attention immediately due to the design. It was beautiful, and she dusted the seat off before settling herself into it, rocking gently. Sirius eyed her quietly, as she rocked, the ghost of something flickering across his face.

"Regulus was a terrible baby," he said suddenly, his voice so soft, almost faraway, that Maia wondered if he was even speaking to her. "He never stopped crying… One night, I wanted to throttle him, so I went to his nursery… I looked into his cot, and he stopped crying… He smiled at me. I took him out of the cot and sat in that armchair all night with him… He wasn't a bad man, Maia, I don't want you to think he was… He was just too young, mixed up with the wrong people…" Maia nodded. He glanced around the room again, as if uncomfortable with having revealed that, but Maia appreciated hearing just that tiny piece of information about her dad, the way Sirius had been with his brother. "When we were children, we had our own Christmas-tree in here. I would drag our little folding camp-beds here, and we'd sleep by the tree, watching the fairies glitter…"

He gestured to her, and she followed him out of the playroom, to another room on the same floor, a single letter embossed on the small silver plaque on the door, A. "This was Drum's room, whenever she and her sisters used to visit. It's one of the nicest rooms, though it'll need a thorough clean." It was a nice room, considering – Andromeda had been far less acquisitive than their ancestors, or perhaps the room had been cleared out after she had been disowned, the furniture was sparse but beautiful; a pretty frieze had been painted below the ceiling, a chandelier dangled from the ceiling with a decade's worth of cobwebs, a delicate fireplace was surrounded by a shelved, mirrored mantelpiece perfect for trinkets, and two huge windows overlooked the park. There was a chest-of-drawers, a delicate writing-desk and a tall wardrobe in the far corner past the double-bed draped with a diaphanous silvery-pearl canopy of silk-organza. But the paint on the walls was faded, the curtains were buzzing, little puffs of dust wafted up whenever they stepped on the carpet and the air was close and decayed.

"Padfoot?" a voice said, very gently, and Sirius glanced around, stepping into the hall.

"We'll be down in a minute," she heard Sirius say, and he smiled wanly at her as he glanced back into the room. "The others have started to arrive, want to come downstairs and meet them?" Down in the basement, Dashy had found the washroom and got the laundry-service working, filling that part of the basement with fragrant steam; she was already getting started on the cleaning, to Mrs Weasley's delight, and they chatted about the chores that needed doing as Maia retrieved Simba's bed, bowl and a basket of toys, setting her up in a corner of the kitchen. At home, Simba wasn't allowed in the bedrooms, and Simba had the sense not to go exploring in this house; she seemed content to stay in Ailith's lap. Sirius found the mouse with a little bell attached to a stick, and sat playing with Simba for a little while, before she climbed into his lap and stayed there, purring contentedly as he scratched her behind the ears.

Remus pulled out a small, old pocket-watch, examining the face, just as the doorbell clanged upstairs. Maia jumped as a sudden ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech rent the air, clapping her hands over her ears.

"I've asked them not to use the doorbell!" Remus moaned.

"—Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers—" Remus jogged upstairs, cringing. The screaming upstairs came to an abrupt stop, and Simba's hair settled, having shot up all down her back, on edge.

Sirius seemed to delight in the number of people who slowly trickled downstairs; Mad-Eye kept a watch on the front-door to catch people before they rang the doorbell, and Maia became self-conscious of her choice of knickers. Telling Tonks this made her snort cider through her nostrils in a peal of giggles. Until she remembered what she was wearing under her skirt, and a soft blush rose in her cheeks. Maia met several newcomers, an excitable Dedalus Diggle in a violet silk top-hat, and stately Emmeline Vance, and more, and Dashy kept everyone in beverages and snacks.

Each of the witches and wizards she met smiled at her kindly, their gazes taking in her features, remarking to Sirius the striking resemblance they had to each other. Every time they said that, Maia got a thrill; it was a strange experience to suddenly look very like someone who was her family, when she had never even known of him. The kitchen steadily filled up with witches and wizards. Bill introduced his father, Arthur Weasley, the balding, bespectacled man who said eagerly, "I hear you went to school with Muggles! You must tell me—"

"Is everybody here yet?" Moody grunted irritably up the stairs, and Mr Weasley broke off, glancing eagerly at the stairs.

"Nearly, Alastor," Remus said patiently, and Mrs Weasley started fussing over how tired her husband looked, though her eyes still looked red, and Maia noticed Bill's expression darken at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks. She wondered again what was upsetting Mrs Weasley. She declared Bill's hair too long, Maia "far too thin" and was only cut off lecturing by the arrival of several more Order members.

"Maia, my duck, why don't you go and strip your bed," Dashy suggested; behind her, Maia could see the laundry-service clacking away busily, sheets and pillowcases scrubbing themselves while feather duvets and pillows wrung themselves out, left to fluff and inflate by the warm fire. "There's nothing worse than climbing into bed between dirty sheets."

Maia snickered. "Dirty sheets. Dirty!" Smirking, she dodged Dashy as she made to swipe and clip her ear, but Tonks stood and said she'd let Amos in when Mad-Eye mentioned he was on the step.

"I'll start a list of jobs that need doing around here," Maia said to Sirius, "and what we need to obtain." First thing first, she intended to open the windows in her room and let in some light.

"Are you going to have us waxing floors on our hands and knees?" Remus asked, sidling up with an approving smile, and Sirius grimaced at the idea of manual labour.

"What's that about you being on your knees, Remus?" Tonks asked brightly, hopping into place beside Maia with a saucy smile, her eyes twinkling. Remus's lips twitched with a smile, but he seemed to not let himself ever look at Tonks for too long.

"Hello, Tonks," he chuckled softly. "Just discussing the cleaning with Maia."

"Oh, I see—that's really nice, you know," Tonks said, fiddling with her wand absent-mindedly as her sharp, sparkling dark eyes flitted from Maia to Remus, "you bring this poor girl here and force her to clean."

"It was Maia's idea!" Remus said, at the same time Maia said, "It has to be done." Tonks followed Maia upstairs, tripping over her own feet twice before they reached the foot of the stone stairs, and Maia had to watch that she didn't fall down said stairs tripping over her shoelaces.

"Thank Merlin Remus got rid of that troll's-leg umbrella stand," Tonks sighed. "I knocked it over three times in five minutes the first afternoon I was here. Have you seen those house-elf heads?"

"Dashy was appalled," Maia said darkly, and Tonks grimaced, nodding. She had been to tea at the Hobbit-hole often enough that she was familiar with and liked Dashy, who always sent Tonks off in the evening with a box of freshly-baked biscuits. She left Tonks in the front hall, letting a bearded wizard in, and made her way upstairs, dodging the grandfather-clock. It was strange, being in a house with people she had met little more than two hours ago, and taking charge of cleaning. Except at Elsa's, when Maia would help to do the washing-up after dinner, unasked, Maia would never even consider walking into someone else's house and start cleaning. But this was different – she wondered how long the place had before it was condemned, and she couldn't believe any house-elf who lived here could ever have let it get to this state. Sirius had told her Kreacher the house-elf had been taking "mad" orders from the portrait of Sirius' mother, what they were, Maia could only imagine. Maybe the only thing for this place, she thought, as she crinkled her nose at a particular fungus growing on the skirting-board in the corridor, was to purge it with fire as Sirius wanted.

Maia was Sirius' niece by blood, though she wasn't a Black by name, so this Kreacher should do as she asked. But she didn't like the concept of house-elves being tied to families; Dashy had been with her and Diane for fourteen years, and she and the other elves each earned a very fair salary, had holiday time, and Diane had set aside some money in her will so they would have a generous pension when they finally got too old. But Diane was a rare bird, and Maia had learned her eccentricities from her. There were few wizards who held their same beliefs, and it was odd to think there was another being bonded magically to her for the rest of his life.

She entered her new room, sighed heavily at the grim nature of it, and set to work, retrieving Doxycide with a flick of her wand, and knotted a scarf over her mouth and nose. Quickly and efficiently, she sprayed the buzzing curtains, and with a grin she conjured a small cage for the doxies, and a glass jar for their glistening black eggs. She would use them later in experimental potions. Quickly tugging down the damp curtains, she folded them up, and almost suffocated herself dumping them on the floor; a great plume of dust swarmed around her, and she coughed and spluttered, glad of the scarf over her face. She waved her wand, and the dust coating most of the room – she wasn't proficient, but she had learned enough household spells to keep the oven pristine and do her own washing. She coughed, sniffed and removed the scarf from her face, then set to opening the windows – she jiggled, tugged, painstakingly shoved and resorted to kicking the windows open, then stripped the bed down to the mattress, which seemed relatively new, or at least preserved in very good condition. She gave the jar of Doxy eggs a fond smile as she stripped her dragon-hide gloves off, thinking how there would be more to add to her potions-kit before the week was out – she was hoping for Ashwinder eggs, and there was bound to be a few unusual strains of magical fungi, and perhaps other magical creatures that had shed quills or claws, she could extract salvia from the Doxies she had harvested and put them to good use in potion-making. And that greenhouse was certain to be a goldmine.

The idea of emptying her things into the chest-of-drawers and the wardrobe made Maia's insides writhe with discomfort – it would make things a little more…real. She had to stay here. And it was quite clear that Sirius was about as excited at living her as she was. Well, at least they could be united in their mutual dislike of the place – she glanced around the room, crinkling her nose. And then she sighed; Sirius didn't want to be here either. There was no reason for her to make things worse for him, though – and as his family, Maia…wanted to help. She had always looked after Diane, made sure she was happy – Sirius wasn't a person who struck Maia as having experienced any happiness recently. She didn't want to be here – neither did he – but if she made an effort, perhaps they could make things more bearable for each other.

Outside it was blisteringly, almost uncomfortably hot, even as the evening was drawing to a close, and with the curtains removed, the windows open as far as they would go, her new room began to feel different, the hot breeze starting to dry out the damp, sunshine spreading across the dull floors. With the light, and warmth, the room started to feel more cheerful, Maia could certainly see photographs on the mantelpiece, and if she moved a dressing-table from one of the other rooms in, and repainted the walls, it might be nice. She sighed, glancing around. Still dreary, though – she glanced down at the foot of the bed, where her magical trunk had been relocated. Well, at least she had that – if she wanted, she could disappear into her trunk and enjoy a few hours. She would probably end up there tonight, unable to sleep.

To give the impression that she was making the best of things and getting comfortable, Maia retrieved her box-clutch and started pulling a few things out of it, placing her makeup-bag, pyjamas and toothbrush on the chest-of-drawers. She eyed the wardrobe, tugging her dressing-gown and a few tops out of the box-clutch – she usually kept a few changes of clothing and the essentials in there, for impromptu sleepovers at Elsa's or passing out after a gig on Ailith's living-room floor with Tonks. Approaching the wardrobe, she hoped there were a few hangers. It was a pretty enough piece of furniture, a single polished door with an oval-shaped full length mirror, and she yawned before tugging open the door.

Out burst, not a family of mice, or a Puffskein, or a Doxy. It was still a close, humid evening, but ice crashed over her as if she had undertaken the Ice Bucket Challenge, and a tall figure shrouded in a tattered cloak towered to the ceiling, its face completely hidden, but Maia saw, for one brief second, a glistening, grey, scabbed hand. The blistering day had suddenly turned piercingly, bitingly cold, total darkness descending as quickly as the thing had appeared; the fine hairs at the back of her neck stood up, and goose-bumps prickled all over her arms. And then…it started to breathe, the thing, drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Ice penetrated her heart, her lungs, seized everything in its unforgiving grip, she was drowning in the cold, terrified, and she could see…Diane… Another rattling breath, Elsa, lying in the hospital covered in bandages…she could hear a young man's heartbroken voice, choked with emotion, was he crying? "I love you so, so much, poppet… One day, you'll know why I had to. And I hope you can forgive me… I love you, always…"

She sank further into the icy darkness, where anarchy reined, a lovely drawing-room packed with people—beautiful young women in glittering dress-robes; two handsome men who looked alike despite the age difference—at the elder man's bellow, shouting a curse at the door that slammed shut, something ramming it from the outside, red light blasting around the edges of the door-frame, the younger man with astonishingly sapphire eyes grabbed her under the arms as easily as a ragdoll, dumping her hastily into a blanket-box, his features stark, his face bloodless, his curls shining gold as he forced the lid closed on her after pressing a kiss to her brow; the sound of petrified screams, the hasty shouts of women's curses, light exploding in the sliver where the lid of the blanket-box didn't sit right, then an orchestra of shouts, curses, and the most horrifying, pain-drenched, prolonged screams, whimpers of pain; deep voices, thick and gurgling, issuing their last curses, trying to protect those still untouched, whimpering from pain—their piercing screams made her shudder, hidden in her soft little box, terrified, tears streaming down her face. A low, evil laugh; the sickening sound of something heavy slapping on a wet surface; a snuffling, sucking, squelching sound, grunts and the laughter of wizards, footsteps and then…nothing. For a long time. Nothing, and then, a petrified shout; her name, over and over again, in a deep voice: the sound of running feet, doors opening and closing: sounds of movement close at hand, a staggered step, a gasp being sucked in, the sound of someone trying not to vomit: the click of heels coming close: a deep voice, shaky and throaty, grief-stricken and horrified, startled; "No—Balian! Don't come—!" A horrified gasp, a thump, there was a guttural moan, and the male voice trying to revive 'Balian'. The voice started again, moaning Maia's name, but she was too tired to answer, couldn't see because something was stinging her eyes, and she had her thumb in her mouth. Light sparkled suddenly, and she squinted, squirming, vivid blue eyes splashing tears on her face as a choked cry of relief escaped a beautiful woman's lips; Maia was wrenched out of the blanket-box, encased in familiar arms, her mother's arms, her fragrant, curling hair creating a shimmering curtain of gold around Maia as she rocked in her mother's arms, quiet as her mother kissed every part of her she could, squeezing her tight, as if she never wanted to let go.

"Is she alright, Balian?" the deep male voice asked hoarsely, close at hand, so close Maia could feel him encircling both her and her mother in a tight, shaky embrace.

"She's absolutely perfect," Balian, her mother, choked tearfully, and fragrant blonde hair tickled Maia's cheek as she sucked her thumb, resting her head against her mother's chest, her mother looking down beside them. Maia peeked, tired and bleary-eyed, but the sapphire-eyed man who had grabbed her and hidden her in the blanket-box gazed back…eyes wide, glassy…something red was shining all over him… With a tiny wet pop she pulled the thumb from her mouth, reaching out her tiny little hand to pet his cheek, "Wack up, Bertie," she said happily. She wanted Uncle Bertie to play with her. The man with Balian scooped Maia up, kissing her many times as her mother sobbed, and, tucking Maia against his front, her face pressed to his chest, standing on unsteady legs, she heard him say, his voice broken, "Remus… Remus…" There was the sound of retching, but she was safe and warm in one of Russ' cuddles, she could hear someone sobbing, then something roared, a sound so heartbroken, the sound her heart had made when Diane had died…it was the sound of utmost agony, and made her shiver, as the roar ended on a choked sob and a whimper that made her eyes burn, squirming in Russ' arms, her lip trembling… Everything went dark, and Maia descended further into that abyss, her worse memories catching up to her in the form of nightmares that made her whimper.

A.N.: So this chapter is dedicated to twin of a sister, Luc234 and MuggleCreator and the rest of you old crowd who are loyal followers of this story! I hope you like the altered details.