Sirius wished he hadn't opened his eyes. Perhaps if he returned to the darkness he would wake up to a different version of heaven. Because never had he imagined the afterlife would take place in Blackthorn House.

Blackthorn House was an interesting part of the Black legacy. It was certainly beautiful, its ethereal symmetry surrounded by vibrant lawns and lush gardens. It was a wonder that nature flourished, instead of withering away due to the poison contained within the luminous marble walls. Old magical artifacts lay menacingly in corners, while malicious books that should never be read were organized carefully in the proud library.

Blackthorn was centuries of years old, yet timeless in its evil. It had been the original home of the Blacks, before Grimmauld Place was built in London. Redlake Manor had also been built, when the Blacks had required a place to entertain society. Because no non-Black would ever be allowed to sully the sinister halls of Blackthorn.

Sirius's father had taken him to Blackthorn once, just months before Sirius ran away, in a futile effort to convince Sirius that being a Black was something to proud of. Before going to Blackthorn Sirius was already uncomfortably familiar with Dark Magic. The trip had shown him there was were types of magic so dark they weren't even fit for his most terrifying nightmares. The only person Sirius had told about Blackthorn was James, right after he had run away from Grimmauld Place and the words had tumbled out of him in a crashing waterfall of rambling explanations. After he broke out of Azkaban he was certain Blackthorn was compromised. There was no way either Bellatrix or Regulus wouldn't have offered up the trove of manuscripts and dark objects to the Dark Lord.

Sirius had to be in hell, although it was unexpected that hell was equipped with a pillow so fluffy it could be mistaken for a cloud. But Blackthorn must be hell; it was impossible such an evil place could be heaven.

Sirius groaned. He closed his eyes again and nearly slipped back into darkness, but a feminine voice roused him. "You woke up sooner than I thought you would."

"Is this hell?" Sirius croaked, without opening his eyes.

"It feels as if it is sometimes," the woman said wryly. "But no, this is real life."

"Then why does it look like Blackthorn?" Sirius said as he finally reopened his eyes.

Sirius flinched because standing above his bed was a woman whose grey eyes, thick black hair, and aristocratic cheekbones could only lead to a single, damning conclusion: she was a Black.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" He questioned. Then another, even more pressing question entered his mind. "Where the fuck is Harry?" Sirius, with every bone in his body, needed to find his godson. He struggled weakly to move out of bed despite the lethargy weighing on his limbs, but a firm hand pushed down on his chest.

"I NEED TO SEE HARRY!" Sirius roared, desperately wondering where his bloody wand was. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but you don't . . . you just don't understand! Harry was fighting, and I was fighting, in the Department of Mysteries! FUCKING MERLIN! I was fighting Bellatrix. . . . And that's all I remember, but I need to make sure Harry's alright!"

"Sirius," the woman's crisp and authoritative voice somehow made Sirius feel mollified, "your godson is fine. I had the distinct pleasure of seeing him just a week and half ago in Grimmauld Place."

"THAT BLOODY ELF!" Sirius shouted, the mention of Grimmauld Place had reminded him of Kreacher.

"I do not have a House-Elf."

"Bloody Kreacher betrayed me! It's the only explanation for Harry not knowing where I was!"

The woman still looked puzzled, and her raised eyebrow was so reminiscent of an expression Sirius had seen on his Cousin Narcissa's face that he was reminded of his original question. "And who in the name of Merlin's saggy balls are you?"

"Call me Carina."

"Sure, but who are you?" Sirius pressed, "and how did you get me to Blackthorn? Only Blacks can get to Blackthorn, but I have no idea who you are." A sudden thought leaped into Sirius's mind. It was so deeply terrible that Sirius needed to say it aloud so the horror would not be constrained within him; "are you Bellatrix's secret love-child?"

"Oh, no, goodness no! That miserable dingbat could not mother a flobberworm!" The sound started as a small giggle but slowly built to a full chuckle, and then ended as an exhilarated peal of laughter. Sirius joined in too, mostly out of relief.

Once the mirth ended Sirius's question remained, "not Bellatrix and Voldemort's bastard then, but still, who are you?"

"Carina Vela Black." The answer was clear and simple, and though Sirius had anticipated that she was a Black, he was still surprised by the answer.

"How?" It was a simple question, but Sirius knew there was no way in hell he was going to receive a simple answer.

"You know how the House of Black is the absolute quintessence of everything that is wrong in this world?" Carina asked as she perched herself on the edge of his large bed.

"Yeah." Sirius would have put it differently, perhaps with the addition of well placed swears, but the meaning was there.

"I was trapped in a portrait for one hundred years. And for that matter, you have been inside the Veil in the Department of Mysteries for thirty-two years."

Sirius's brain malfunctioned. He could feel the soft coverlet beneath his hand, hear the steady breathing of Carina, smell the incongruous scent of daffodils. But he could not think, could not manage to understand how 32 years had passed.

Carina winced. "I wish there were a better way to phrase that."

"What year is it?" It took all of Sirius's intelligence to engineer that one sentence.

"2028."

"Bloody hell. How old are you?"

"19 or 119. I am not sure how to measure it."

"Shite. Who are your parents?"

"Hesper Gamp was my mother, Sirius Black was my father." The darkest hint of humor tinged Carina's answer.

Sirius chuckled because there was nothing left for him to do. "Our family is so fucking insane."

"Really, Sirius, you have no idea." Carina replied. Sirius gave her a look filled to the brim with skepticism, he had every idea of how deranged the Blacks were. So Carina explained further, "Phineas Nigellus Black was my grandfather, and he was the one to lock me in a portrait."

"Why?" Sirius asked, because focusing on the complications of Carina's world was easier than being reminded of his own preposterous life story.

His question lay heavy between them for several moments, as Carina steadily gazed at the wall above Sirius's head and twisted the ring on her left hand. The movement attracted Sirius's eyes to her hands. On her left hand was a silver signet ring that was engraved with an unfamiliar rune. Her right hand was adorned with another ring, a silver band of small sapphires.

Sirius was startled when suddenly her hand lightly grasped his. "Can I trust you, Sirius?" Carina's voice was desperate and pleading, intense despite her low tone.

"Can I trust you?" Sirius returned, wondering where this conversation was going, and thinking that if he was going to bare his soul he would rather be outside the clutches of Blackthorn House.

"I feel a certain affinity between us though I certainly do not know you," Carina began, and her words were slow and obviously chosen carefully. "But we are cousins, and neither of us belong in this time, and above all we both have been . . . damaged . . . by our family's antics."

Sirius thought that made sense, and said so to Carina. She nodded and withdrew a yellowed scroll out of her robes. "When I arrived at Blackthorn after being trapped for a century I found this letter, from my grandfather. I suppose he thought it sufficed as an explanation," Carina said bitterly while handing it to Sirius. She motioned that he should read the letter. And though Sirius had just awoken from unconsciousness he summoned the willpower to read the curling handwriting, because Carina was right, there was a strange affinity between them.

Dear Carina,

I imagine you are frightfully upset with me, as if you are reading this then you have finished your time in the portrait. Be sure that I did not lightly undertake the decision to keep you in a portrait. I am sure that once you understand my reasoning your anger will be lessened.

I often wonder why, when my other grandchildren were bumbling weaklings, you were precocious and intelligent. Likely you had to be, growing up in the shadow of your brothers, Arcturus, Regulus, and Lycoris. Not to mention, you were confined by your father's continual obliviousness to your potential, as a result of your unforgivable femininity. Like a true Black you had the fortitude to flourish under these conditions.

I realized your aptitude when you were nine and with accidental magic locked Arcturus in a cabinet for two hours. He was seventeen, and still could not manage to get out. My observation that you were a remarkable example of Black superiority was proven when you attended Hogwarts, especially after your Fourth Year. Your OWLs and NEWTs were exemplary.

I have always been one for careful and methodical planning, but my decision to show you Blackthorn, and the family treasures hidden there, was spontaneous. I had little time to regret my action, because you quickly showed compatibility with the blood magic I taught you.

Despite your intellect I was reconciled to the idea of you marrying a good pureblood man and raising children who would be proud of their Black lineage. I concluded that I would make a key to Blackthorn, which I would give to either your father or your brother, Arcturus. Of course it would be impossible to replicate the enchanted silver signet ring you possess, which is the key that allows you infinite access to Blackthorn. But we were the only living people who knew of its existence, so I could easily give a sufficient talisman to someone else.

I was reasonably content with this plan, until your father grew too presumptuous with your future. It would have been fair for you to choose someone of good standing and marry them. Instead, for the sake of petty political power in the Wizengamot that he would not be competent enough to take full advantage of, your father decided you should marry that useless ponce, Robert Fawley. I could not stomach any Black having to spend a lifetime with that worthless family. But for once in his life your father showed backbone and was steadfast in his decision.

Because of my irreconcilable frustrations with your father, I did not gift him a key to Blackthorn. Rather, I gifted it to Arcturus. I imagine he will have given the key to his eldest son, who gave it his eldest son and so forth. You own Blackthorn, but I suggest you find out which Black is in possession of the key.

I gave Arcturus the key after I put you in the portrait. In truth putting you in the portrait was a rogue idea in the deep recesses of my mind until I saw you performing blood magic with such impressive alacrity. A woman who could cast those spells would be wasted as the wife of Robert Fawley. I only hope that given a new beginning you will be able to make use of the full talents your Black blood has gifted you with.

Your predilection for magic was not the only reason I took unusual steps to protect you. Last year I was tracking down a particular book on the Ananke Ritual when I came across an old Seer who gave me a Prophecy:

power, gold, and blood, I know what you own

I know the sun will soon set on it all

with every heir under a tombstone

the House of Black no more than a recall

your stars will all die, their names reviled

the House of Black the only one at fault

and to all this you must be reconciled

as their is no fight against Destiny's assault

but if kept safe bright star will shine anew

moved by they who knows what a House stands for

all of blood, mind, body, and soul, magic through

they will be able to heal the long ago yore

but their time will be full of unkindness

there is only protection through shrewdness

I puzzled over this. The biggest question in my mind was who 'she' was. Perhaps Belvina was a candidate. But while your Aunt Belvina is a charming girl, she is unsuited to self-reliance. Really, you were the only option for the identity of 'she'.

You likely object with my methods of keeping you safe. It is unorthodox to design a spell to keep someone in a portrait for one hundred years. The spell was a hybrid of many different charms, with a bit of transfiguration, so that you would become part of the portrait without compromising your soul, brain, body, or most importantly, your magic. I hope you liked my touch of adding a replica of the Hogwarts Library to your portrait, and a cauldron and potions ingredients. In a sense that portrait was your own world. Hogwarts is the safest place I could think of for a charmed portrait. And although I put a Silencing Charm on the portrait itself, I put it in the Great Hall, so you could be amused by the idiocy of Hogwarts students.

By the time you read this I will have Obliviated members of the family, your social acquaintances, and changed the tapestry. The complete erasure of your presence from the minds of our society is impossible. But as long as I Obliviated enough people that no one wondered about your disappearance, or puzzled over your portrait, then I am satisfied.

Now that you are at Blackthorn, there are infinite possibilities to what you can do. You have all of the Wizarding World to bend to your will. And if you are in a time when the Black Fortune and Legacy has indeed been damaged, I know I can trust you to rebuild it to its rightful stature. Good luck to you, my dear Carina, may Salazar Slytherin's cunning be with you always.

Sincerely,

Your Grandfather,

Phineas Nigellus Black

Sirius sucked in deep breath. "So you're here to return the Blacks to their, what was it, rightful stature?" He asked, his mind swirling wildly while trying to comprehend the implications of the letter.

"I do not know what I am here to do," Carina admitted quietly.

"This letter just makes you seem like a pureblood princess who knows too much blood magic," Sirius spat, irrationally angry.

"I am a pureblood princess who knows too much blood magic," Carina retorted. "But I am neither a blood purist nor a bigot. Perhaps I was prejudiced when I was trapped in the portrait, but I had one hundred years to reflect and change my opinions."

"You still know too much blood magic."

"Blood magic is not always harmful, Sirius. I used blood magic to retrieve you from the Veil."

"You saved me from the Veil?" Sirius asked. It was only possible conclusion, yet it had not occurred to him that someone had to have saved him.

"Yes, I was able to use blood magic to Summon you back into this dimension from the In-between. The retrieval was only possible because we are related, as it is complicated blood magic."

"Oh, well thanks," Sirius said uncomfortably.

"Neither of us had particularly smooth returns to this world," Carina commented, graciously bypassing his awkward gratitude. "I had the misfortune of first encountering people immediately after I got out of the portrait, while I was freshly livid at what had been through. I yelled at no fewer people than Minerva McGonogall, Harry Potter, and Scorpius Malfoy. I also performed blood magic inside Grimmauld Place so that I would be revealed on the tapestry. Your godson was extremely concerned."

"How is Harry?" Sirius asked as another urgent thought entered his brain. "So You-Know-Who is defeated, the war is over? Harry's okay? How's Moony?"

"Voldemort is dead. Harry is Head of the Auror Office, married to Ginny Weasley, and has three children named James, Albus, and Lily. If by Moony you mean your friend, Remus Lupin, then he, and many others, died in the final battle at Hogwarts. I believe he has a son." An emptiness filled Sirius's stomach and a heavy lump appeared in his throat, but Carina continued, "to be honest, Sirius, I have only been in this world for two weeks, and I have isolated myself from it. I have no idea how to begin the process of reintegrating myself into society."

If she imagined Sirius had the answers she was sorely mistaken. The only thing Sirius was good at was lurking in the shadows as an overly large dog. In search of something else to say Sirius glanced back at the letter in his hand. His eyes flitted to the prophecy.

"Any ideas on this prophecy?"

Carina drew herself up and Sirius didn't think the bloody Queen of England could look as disdainful as his newly introduced cousin, "Divination is a useless enterprise and prophecies are self-fulfilling. I have no intention of using an arbitrary sonnet as my life-guide." Sirius easily spotted that Carina did not believe her own words, but decided he didn't want to discuss fate and destiny so soon after being freed from a mysterious veil in the Department of Mysteries.

"What do you intend to do?" Sirius questioned instead.

"I actually have a job," Carina disclosed, surprising Sirius.

"I thought Blacks didn't have jobs beside being absolute arseholes and oppressing muggleborns."

Carina's aristocratic hauteur increased. "I cannot imagine why you are clinging to the notion that I am a spoilt 'pureblood princess' despite the information I have thus revealed to you. My personality is not disposed to inactivity, especially after a century of mind-numbing boredom."

"I don't actually know anything about you beyond what's outlined in this letter," Sirius pointed out.

"What do you want to know?" Carina queried stiffly.

"I'm not sure."

Carina scoffed.

"Where do you work?" Sirius asked the first question that came to mind.

"I work at Borgin & Burke's, except it is now simply Burke's, and is decidedly less problematic than its predecessor. I help identify the objects that pass through the store."

"Do you like it there?"

"I enjoy it."

Another awkward silence ensued so Sirius looked back at the letter. "What were your brothers like?"

Carina's gaze drifted away from Sirius. "Arcturus hated me. I hated Lycoris. Regulus was fine."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're terrible at talking about yourself," he accused, "and I know all about troubled sibling relationships. I doubt you can shock me with your descriptions of how fucked up the Blacks are."

Carina's expression tightened. "Arcturus Crucioed me when I had better OWL scores than him."

"My mother Crucioed me when I returned home for Christmas break my First Year because I was a Gryffindor," Sirius returned. "Bellatrix Crucioed me after I ran away from home."

"Great-Aunt Elladora tried to kill me so she could make a Horcrux."

"Bellatrix tried to off me all the time," Sirius muttered. "Batshit insane witches seem to be common in this family,"

"Hopefully I am not one of them," Carina said as she looked away from Sirius.

"You seem alright."

"I just," Carina hid her face in her hands, muffling her words, "I have done horrible things, Sirius."

Sirius was silent for a moment. He knew his family. Sirius should be afraid that Carina had nefarious plans for him. But Sirius had always trusted his gut, and Carina just seemed like a lost and confused young woman.

"Look," Sirius said finally, causing Carina to look at him, her eyes red. "We all make mistakes. But you admit that you're not infallible, and that makes you different from all the other fucking crazy people in our family, like Bellatrix, who would kill people and be proud of themselves. You're not like that."

"Thank you," Carina whispered softly.

"This is a fucking crazy situation, though? I just want to make sure you realize how bloody abnormal it is that you fell out of a portrait and promptly saved me from a goddamn veil."

Carina snickered, "all I want is normal, Sirius. But normality always seems out of reach."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

(From Veronica Burke to James Potter)

Dear James,

Once again I am the absolute sorriest for taking so long to respond to your letter. Even though you are gallivanting about Peru as a curse-breaker, you still find time to write letters to Zeno and me, and to send our little Haydee a gift. I should to write a thank you letter to Harry and Ginny Potter for raising such wonderful children even while faced with the formidable obstacle of combined Potter and Weasley genes! All of which is to say, you are a good friend and I appreciate you very much.

I will admit that Haydee only cares about sleep and food, so she has not yet noticed the stuffed miniature hippogriff you sent her. But never fear because Zeno is obsessed with it. It really makes so much sense that my husband has a career designing jokes.

Mum hired an employee at the shop, so I now have more time to spend with Haydee, which is a welcome change. The employee's name is Carina, and we do not know her last name. Your father actually wanted Mum to fire Carina, but then Mum got in a big fight with him, actually two fights. Of course, Mum won the arguments and now Carina works with us. It has only been a few weeks, but it has been such a blessing to have someone knowledgeable pick up the work I've been neglecting since Haydee was born. Besides, Mum says Carina is far from the strangest person she's ever met, and that it is better for Carina to have given us no last name than a fake one.

As would be suspected of someone with no last name, Carina is an enigma. We don't know where she was schooled. She seems British and sometimes references Hogwarts, but I don't think she attended because we would have overlapped with her. She seems very learned, although sometimes surprisingly ignorant of current events, which is startling especially as she reads the news voraciously. Her runic knowledge is practically unparalleled. Even Mum is continually impressed with her skill in identifying objects. Beyond this, I still do not know anything about her, except she is knows a lot about blood magic. And I think she might own a dog.

Though I believed Carina was a complete bitch at first, we get along fairly well now. But I don't think you care about my odd coworker, so instead I will tell you that Zeno is working on a joke product at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that he thinks you'll love. But he's keeping a secret from even me, so if you want to know more you'll have to write to your Uncle George.

Zeno, Haydee, and I all send our best regards dearest James. Please stay safe in all your curse-breaking adventures! We miss you very much. I know I say this every letter, but it has been two years too long, please, please, please, come home!

Love,
Veronica

(From James Potter to Veronica Burke)

Veronica,

I'll keep sending Haydee toy hippogriffs until she's forced to take notice. Nothing less for MY goddaughter. Tell Zeno he's a grown man, and the hippogriff isn't meant for him.

Your new employee does sound unique. But I don't know why you expected normal in your line of work. Silly girl.

Curse-breaking was smashing until I caught the wrong end of a cursed staircase. Now I'm in a hospital in Lima trying to make sure my legs stay attached to my torso. I seem to have bad luck with injuries.

You'll be delighted to know I'm fond of my legs, and have decided to take an indefinite hiatus from Peruvian curse-breaking so I can fully appreciate having all four limbs. Also Albus said that he's tired of writing letters, and if he must he would come to Peru and kidnap me home. As if that dramatic boy could handle this moldy hospital. I've kindly decided to spare him the pain of smelling hospital fumes.

So I'm coming home, and I'm going to steal my goddaughter from you fools. Catch me at the Ministry Department for International Arrivals on July 20th at 7:08 in the morning. I'll be bringing more toy hippogriffs for Haydee. Maybe if I'm in a good mood I'll also bring something for you and Zeno.

All my love,

James

P.S. Give my love to Zeno.

P.P.S. Uncle George is infamous for not spilling what his jokes-in-progress are about. But I believe in your sleuthing abilities. If anyone can get the truth of this new joke project out of Zeno it's you. Best of luck.

P.P.P.S. I found a stray cat wandering around the hospital here so I'm bringing home a spunky Peruvian cat. I've named her Leopoldina. I am sure you realize (or at least Zeno would realize) I am naming her after Leopoldina Smethwyck, the first British witch to referee a Quidditch match, and the person on the first Chocolate Frog card I ever got. I'll probably call her Polly, though.

P.P.P.P.S. I hope I can take care of a cat.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AN: So that's the third chapter. What did you think of Sirius?

The fourth chapter will be posted this weekend. I really like the fourth chapter, and I hope you will all enjoy too. As usual, here's your snippet:

["I know who Sirius Black is, Gran," Victoire said. "I am wondering what he is doing in my kitchen."]

Why do you think Victoire and Sirius will meet?

Reviews make me happy!