To the best of his ability, Alejandro Guillermo listened to Mina Novikov. It was no secret that he was deaf in his left ear and regularly had a guard with him because of it. He hated the lack of privacy, but he recognized that the security was more than necessary. As the head of the Guillermo family, his feuds were his father's heirlooms, left behind for Alejandro when he'd passed. His son, Antonio, would have to take up his debts when he too was dead, as would every Guillermo after him, as had all those before him.

The perpetual silence that plagued Alejandro in his left ear was, most thought, a weakness. In the beginning, many of the assassins who had gone after the head of the Guillermo family had attacked him from the left. What they didn't know was that, bar his hearing, Alejandro's senses were primed and practiced at evading any threat. They had soon learned, switched tactics, and found out (again and rather painfully) that their target was no fool. No matter what goddamn disabilities he had, their efforts would be fruitless. The would-be mercenaries left him alone after that, fearing some concentrated power that made him invincible, when, really, one only had to pay attention to lessen the chances of death.

This was why he felt somewhat guilty for not listening to Mina. He was good at focussing, usually, but Mina's words were thoughtful and deserving of much consideration.

"Did you know he would be the one to meet with me?" she was asking in that blunt way of hers that was frequently misunderstood as rudeness.

"No," he confessed, his eyebrows rising briefly. "I would have told you, Mina, had I known," Alejandro chided gently.

"Yes, yes." She waved a hand, drinking that jet-fuel brew her people swore by. He wondered how many glasses it would take for her to lose her wits. She'd gone through one bottle already.

Mina sighed. "I'm afraid to like him, Andro," she explained, reaching up to scrub at her forehead. "Did you hear of what he did to Lukasz?"

Alejandro made a reproachful sound in the back of his throat. "Of course I did. His family and his patrons are in an uproar over it. He deserved it, though, for provoking an enemy," he admitted, though not unkindly. "Make no mistake about that."

"Oh, he was a real piece of shit," Mina harangued the dead man. "But Lukasz called a blood feud, and Brooks voided it."

Now that was something he hadn't known. "How on earth did he do that? The Lukasz family would need to carry on the feud," he exclaimed.

Mina shook her head. "When he killed Lukasz, he murdered his own family as well. An Aunt, an Uncle, and a cousin," she revealed, her eyes alight with excitement.

"Three for three," Alejandro whispered. "Jana, Oscar, and Kort. By the Gods, he voided it out!"

"And he killed his own family to do it," Mina reminded him, seeming shocked at her own words. "That is what is worrying me. He would kill his own blood simply to destroy the Lukasz family. They are destroyed in power now; the blood feud had given them something to go on. But now? Now they are useless and without a leader, all because of the war – they were marked for death."

Alejandro blinked. "It's an evil sort of genius," he felt inclined to compliment. "But Kort brought them into descent long before Brooks finished it, you know?"

"But listen, will you?" She leaned forward in her seat, an open expression on her face that displayed all of her desperation. "If he can kill his own blood for this war, who is to say he won't dispose of anyone who challenges him?"

Alejandro thought about her words for a minute or so. Weighing the strengths of her argument. Soon enough, he found oppositions to it.

"Do you think him an honourable man, Mina?" he questioned, albeit hesitantly.

She started. "I think him an honourable boy, surely," was her answer, the last swallow in her snifter burning, Alejandro judged by her grimace. "He's young and ambitious. But yes, I think him honourable. So you see my upset, yes?"

"Perhaps there are things we do not know about his family. Perhaps he had reason to kill them?"

"Oh, I wouldn't ask," she objected quickly. "He pled that I not tell anyone of the destruction of the blood feud. The Lukaszs' know, but they are scared into silence. He spoke of the events to a confidant, Andro. I wouldn't betray that, and neither am I the sort to press for details."

"Betray him, Mina?"

She was modest enough to blush. "He speaks highly of you, so I don't think he would mind." The woman shrugged.

"I would need to meet him, honestly, to provide a good argument for your fears," he told her. "Not that I do not trust your opinion, of course."

"He has admitted his desire to meet with you as well, though he wonders at your actions in the last few months. He's suspicious, Andro."

He observed her grey pallor and obvious tiredness, evident in her every movement as she turned the glass of liquor in her hands. "My actions?" he queried casually, perhaps too casually.

Mina had been waiting for this. "Moving behind his back, trying to get Kort to see sense, extending alliances in secret…I don't need to say more, Andro, do I?"

Alejandro smiled. "He wants to know what I want in return," he clarified.

"Well, yes," Mina said, peering at him closely. "What do you want?"

He had not come to Russia unprepared. Mina knew his arrival here had been for the sole intention of what he was about to say to her right now. If his plans proved unstinted and precise, he had already prepared a conversation with Henry Brooks that would reveal just as much as Mina was unintentionally asking for. Alejandro had expected this question as well, though not from Mina. The woman was partial to leaving machinations to the masters, after all. She did only for the good of her family and country.

Her asking this question foretold of the influence Brooks had already impressed upon her. Mina was involved in this war, no matter how hard she fought it; she was so closely tied to the campaign now that she had met and unreservedly befriended its leader. She could refute the bad attributes and vices of Henry Brooks all she wanted, but her choice had ceased to matter the moment the boy had stepped through her door.

Alejandro was not afraid the same would happen to him. He was of the opinion, even having never met Brooks, that the boy was something entirely different than simply an ambitious child. Close watch on Henry's movements had allowed Alejandro to cautiously respect the lad, perhaps to even admire him. It would be very arrogant to say he understood the war better than anyone else besides Brooks, but he did, and he heartily approved of a little superciliousness from time to time. The bosses and leaders and allies Henry had collected sought only power, indubitably, but Alejandro, from the moment the world had whispered of a revolution, had understood the young man and his extraordinary rise to power.

Therefore, he had acted, without the confidence of Henry Brooks, not only to ensure their alliance, but also to strengthen the connection between them. They were almost alarmingly alike, perfectly coupled to complete this dream. Only, Brooks did not know he had a partner yet. He did not know he had a fellow to help carry the burden.

"You are beginning to understand," he said to Mina. "This war has very little to do with a man's power. I want nothing more from Henry Brooks but to help him," he finally spoke, and his tone was sincere.

"I don't understand that," she countered fiercely. "What is there to gain but power? Blood and country are power, if they are honourable. I cherish nothing more."

He reached out and patted her hand. "Not knowing has made you conflicted with your own words, and with your heart."

"But I'm not!" Mina shouted, angry now. "Brooks told me of his task!"

Enormously pleased, Alejandro sat back. "He did, did he?"

"And I'm coming to see that you believe him!" Mina accused, scowling terribly. "He told me I was the only one who knew about that day."

Alejandro could not have Mina thinking the boy had lied. He hadn't, indeed, and that he had told Mina of his 'task' said a lot about the stress Brooks felt, said a lot about his difficulties with duty. He was glad Mina knew, though, because she was a great friend and a realist. She would be logical but receptive to his ideas.

"You misunderstood, my dear," he consoled her gently, and she raised her eyes to show a desperate hope that some might think was weak. "I have never spoken to Henry Brooks, but I had an idea of what made this war come to light."

"And what idea was that?"

He watched the shadows play on her face before licking his lips and nodding briefly. "Men do little when there is no belief in purpose. Perhaps Henry Brooks woke up one day and decided to change the world. Perhaps he took the words of others to heart and wrote his own story. On paper, his intentions seem grand and true, but when alive, breathing, could it be that Henry has no task but what he's invented? Purpose. Belief. Mina, these things drive men to war, and Henry isn't any different. But he's told you of a task, one that I do not know about, so I cannot pertinently advise you."

"You think it's a lie, to gain my trust?" she breathed, her face red.

"I need to speak to Henry Brooks," he said simply. "But no, Mina, he spoke the truth to you. The truth to himself. Whether it is fallacious, I cannot say."

"I could tell—"

Alejandro smiled. "And betray his confidence?" he chastised. "I won't ask you to do that. Let me watch a little more."

Her eyes followed him as he rose, ready to retire, more for her benefit than his. Mina did look so very drained and small on the sofa, and her horrible liking for a straight drink had caused bright red splotches to blossom her cheeks. "But why me?" she asked quickly, as if he would vanish.

Weighing her words, Alejandro frowned. Then, softly, he said, "Because he must have seen Mina, not a Novikov. Because he liked you as much as you liked him, my love."

She blushed, but then she got up as well, to walk him out. The guards waited on either side of the door, curious despite themselves, and they both warmly nodded to them as they exited. Mina grabbed his hand with both of hers, giving a small, self-deprecating laugh. "You must think me weak for wanting him to find a friend in me," she fretted sadly.

Alejandro turned his head with comic innocence. "What was that? I'm sorry, I'm deaf in one ear, you see," he joked.

A weakness for a weakness, Mina.

She laughed. "I shall see you soon, Andro," she said, grinning affectionately.

"Good night, beautiful." He kissed her hand and took off down the hall, his guards following behind him.

.o00o.

"Terrible business, this," Sirius said gruffly, flattening out the Daily Prophet with a flourish. "Almost ten thousand dead in France! Bollocks this war."

"Sirius Black!" Mrs. Weasley shouted in offense. "No talk of that at the dinner table. I've told you before!"

"Leave off, Molly," he scoffed, looking at her over the top of the headline. "The kids know what's happening. Everyone knows what's happening."

The Weasley children pretended to not be listening, wary of the box to the ears they would receive for looking curious. Fred and George did not hide their interest, however.

"The Aurors were there, yeah?" Fred asked intently, dodging his mother's hand.

"Not in time," Sirius grumbled. "Just like every attack that's happened, they were only alerted after the fact. Mighty suspect, if you're asking me."

"I told you—" Molly began shrilly.

"Molly," Arthur spoke up suddenly, cutting her off. "They'll be going back to school in a week, and they'll know then, anyway."

Ron and Ginny both perked up at this, casting a quick glance at their mother before pouncing on Sirius. "Have you heard what Scrimgeour plans on doing?" Ron prodded.

"What'll they do now? The Statute of Secrecy is bloody useless!"

"Is it another Dark Lord?"

"These are Muggles, Ron!"

"Yeah, but why would they do this to us? It's bad form, isn't it?"

Arthur responded to their queries instead, seeing as Sirius looked a bit overwhelmed. "The Ministry is unable to do more at the moment," he sighed. "They aren't up against a Dark Lord. It's not just one tyrant anymore. It's the Muggle world at large that's after us."

Pausing to take a sip of his tea, Arthur gave his wife a sad smile. "The Ministry is trying to gain a foothold internationally, to at least have every Wizarding country working together, but there's civil war everywhere. We aren't organised enough to fight a war against the Muggles. And it shows."

"But we're Wizards!" Ron objected quickly. "We have magic…and the Muggles—"

"How can you think like that, Ron?" Ginny interrupted furiously. "Thousands of people, Wizards and Witches, are dead. Muggles are obviously not inferior at all!"

"She's right, Ron," Arthur nodded. "Believing that Muggles are defenseless is obviously what got us into this mess in the first place."

"There's word they've got weapons," Sirius told them rather ardently. "Weapons made to kill Wizards. No one can get a hold of one, and no one's seen them to give us a description of their power. It's all rumour."

Ron scoffed. "I don't believe that," he said. "All those attacks, and no one's seen these weapons?"

"No one has survived to see them, Ron," Sirius said without reserve. "When the Muggles attack, they kill everyone. And they do it in isolated, random magical places, where help only arrives when it's too late. The few survivors from the attacks are either in hiding or too scared to speak of what happened. The Muggles are thorough, Ron; they sweep through the living and kill or incapacitate the people who might help us."

"That's enough!" Molly shouted, looking frightened and overwrought. Sirius glared at her, but then he noticed that her children did seem quite disturbed. He grimaced.

"Do they know who's behind it all?" Ron asked quietly. "Who their leader is?"

Sirius shook his head, so, instead, Mr. Weasley answered his son. "Every Muggle leader in the world knows of our existence. We took the initiative long ago to keep them informed. The question isn't who is involved, Ron, but who isn't. We let too many people know, thinking that they would be perfectly amenable to the Statute, and so we caused this, with our oversight and arrogance," he exhaled and dipped his head. "That is what happened, Ron."

"You can't say only we're to blame, Arthur," Molly said, turning about and looking as though she wanted to cry. "People are dead! Dying! Our kind!"

"Molly…."

She hopped up from her seat so quickly it startled everyone at the table. "It's disgusting, what some people will do for power, and you sound as if you're…as if you're agreeing to it!"

"Molly," he interjected swiftly, wary of her temper. "I don't agree with it, but I do understand."

"He's right, Molly," Sirius said calmly. "It was bound to happen some time."

Arthur gave him a look that said he had better shut up. The subject was dropped, much to Sirius' disgruntlement, while Molly visibly controlled herself and said, "When can we expect Chrissie?"

"It's Harry now, Molls," Arthur reminded her. "Half past seven."

Harry was going to be staying with the Weasleys for the last week of summer, and then he would leave with the rest of the Weasley children to attend Hogwarts for the first time as a student. Sirius thought it fitting that he should see his godson off, given that he had lost his chance all those years he'd wasted in Azkaban. Never mind the fact that Harry hadn't gone to Hogwarts at all during the years of his imprisonment. Harry would be his for the next week, to get to know, to spoil, and Sirius really couldn't be any happier about it – except, he wouldn't be the only one vying for Harry's attentions.

Molly had asked at what time Harry was to arrive about eight different times during the day, and Ron had actually cleaned his room in an attempt to make space for his best friend. Ginny had a perpetual attitude going on, Fred and George looked mischievous and excited, and even Arthur, who had been rather pensive and withdrawn since the Wizarding World had been exposed, seemed to be perky in light of Harry's visit.

They had all agreed not to speak of the war with Harry. He was, no doubt, tired of war, given the way he'd quickly ended the last one, and Molly told them all heatedly that the lad deserved a break from political talk and plotting. Then again, Sirius thought differently; he was of the opinion that Harry, as the reported liaison for Muggle Britain, would know a fair bit more about the inside workings of the Ministry than they would. And, being his father's son, would likely not wish to keep his family in the dark when it could be potentially harmful. He had told Arthur of his belief that Harry would confide in them, but the man had only nodded, choosing to remain silent instead.

Having had their pudding, a favourite of Harry's, apparently, they sat around the table to wait for the boy. Anticipation did not prevent Fred and George from pulling a prank on Ron, who was fiercely defended by Ginny until he called her a girl, and the squabbling finally rose to a high pitch before it abruptly fell silent. There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Ron and Ginny shouted, jumping up. There was a ruckus in their competition for the door.

"Why's he coming in that way?" Sirius asked Arthur bemusedly.

"Something of a tradition," Molly responded, smiling gently. They listened to the sound of Ron and Ginny greeting Harry happily, and then the smooth baritone of Harry's gentle-but-firm voice responding. Sirius found himself grinning, having missed that confident tone of his, and when Harry emerged in the kitchen, a book bag on one shoulder, Sirius stood up.

Harry looked tired, and Sirius wanted to hug the boy, but he felt it would be a bit too informal to his godson, who he had yet to get to know properly. Therefore, he hesitated as he stood there, smiling gently at Harry but not moving. Then Sirius realised, rather belatedly, that Harry had brought someone with him.

The man was a bit shorter than him; though that didn't mean he was short by any means, since Sirius himself was considered rather tall. They looked to be around the same age. Grey had sprinkled his thick, dark hair, which fell in waves across his skull. His dark eyes were framed by personably caterpillar-like eyebrows. There was stubble across his jaw and over his lips, which, at the moment, were turned up in a light smirk. He was dressed in tailored clothes, like Harry, and obviously wore the best that Muggle money could buy; though he had a simpler taste that spoke of less affectation than most. Sirius noticed the likeness in the two. It wasn't so much a physical likeness as it was a likeness in mannerisms.

Harry and the stranger stood in exactly the same way, with their arms loose and ready at their sides, shoulders back, and head tilted upward in a full body display of confidence and caution. They smiled the same, a tiny lift of the left side of their lips, and, when dreadfully amused, they both closed their eyes briefly, as if physically preparing to switch from quiet humour to clear hilarity, before a blooming grin accompanied the opening of their eyes. Their laughter was husky, deep, and attractive. Obviously, they found Fred's and George's torturing of the younger siblings amusing.

Sirius was busy watching the stranger when Harry suddenly made his way over. He snapped to attention and shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. Surprisingly, Harry pulled him forward and hugged him briefly. Despite the discomfort Harry felt – Sirius could tell by his stiffening shoulders that Harry was embarrassed – Sirius felt honoured that he'd been given a hug at all. Perhaps the fact that Harry was embarrassed that he had even done it was a sign of affection as well.

"How are you, Sirius?" Harry asked, and there was genuine concern in Harry's voice. Sirius blinked.

"I'm well, Harry. Well enough to be getting on with," he said, grinning now. He gestured to the stranger. "Who's he when he's at home?" he asked.

Harry laughed and gestured for the man to come forward. Sirius shook his hand companionably. "This is Denny," Harry introduced. "My dad."

So this was the man who had become a father to James's son. Sirius could not decide what to think of this man, this Denny. He was an intimidating sort of person, gruff and coarse and somebody Sirius would have normally liked instantly. But this was his godson's adopted father. What could he think?

Molly, it seemed, was having the exact thoughts he was. "Oh," she said, rather shocked. "How do you do?"

"Well, ma'am," Denny grinned. "And you must be Henry's mum."

She blushed outrageously as he moved to hug her tightly. Despite herself, Molly seemed to like Denny very much. Sirius was surprised at his brogue, given the fact that he had thought the man was from New York, or some other wild place that Harry had gone to. When Harry spoke, the influence of Denny's accent was clear, and Sirius finally pin-pointed the cadence his godson's voice had that he had been quite confused about before.

"You must be Henry's dad." Denny was greeting Arthur warmly when Sirius' mind came back to him.

"Not in the legal sense," Arthur said, smiling slightly. "Not as you are."

Harry and Denny laughed, and Sirius started at the sound. So alike.

"Legal sense, eh, Den?" Harry nudged him with amused eyes.

"Never done a thing legally," Denny told them proudly, nudging Henry back. "And neither has Hen here."

"You'll have a lot in common with Sirius, then," Ron said before he could stop himself, looking sheepish when his mother yelled "Ronald!" in reproach.

"Aye?" Denny said, turning to look at Sirius gleefully. "I bet you aren't an escaped convict, Black. I'll win this round!"

Sirius had to grin. "I've got you there. Has Harry not told you about my notorious break out?" he heckled.

Denny looked at Henry, who nodded. "Crime and punishment, eh?" Denny hooted. "Bet you're not as good with the birds as I am, though!"

Harry groaned. Sirius barked out a laugh and said, "I'll have you know that just yesterday—"

"Sirius Black! I will not have you talking about your numerous sexual escapades around the children!" Molly shouted.

Denny guffawed and moved forward to shake Sirius' hand again. "Good to meet you, good to meet you." He gestured to Harry. "You can help me with that one over there."

"I hardly think criminals are the best guardians," Molly interjected crossly.

Sirius knew she was peeved that anyone would be proud of being an escaped convict and annoyed at Sirius for being indecently approving. Where Sirius appeared properly chastised, Denny seemed to find it all ridiculously amusing.

"Have you met Henry?" he crowed, slapping Harry on the back. "The lad makes the worst criminals look like a piker. He needs convicts to keep him in line."

"Shut up, Denny," Harry said, though not spitefully at all. In fact, the lad looked to be restraining a mad grin.

Molly's lips twitched.

"Alright, I'd best be going," Denny told them with a mild salute. "It was a pleasure meeting Henry's family."

Blushing again, Molly smiled at Denny warmly. "Won't you stay for dinner?"

"Ach, no, I've got business. I'm overworked, you know."

Harry put a hand on Denny's shoulder and led him out. "You're lazy is what you are," he muttered.

"Better that than a poof with no morals," Denny countered, waving a hand at everyone. There was a chorus of goodbyes.

"At least I get some, Denny."

"Arse."

"Fuck face."

They made their way out the door they came in, and Sirius glanced at Molly, who had given up that disapproving glare and had turned back to the dishes with a small smile on her face. Harry came back in not even moments later, greeting his family (in all but blood) with a sparkle in his eyes. He sat next to Sirius at the table.

.o00o.

Denny ordered the guards to their places curtly, relaying Henry's instructions on where they were to be stationed. In the small second it had taken for Henry to put up the wards, each of the armed soldiers had all made it within the boundary, and Denny went through them quickly to make sure no one with ill-intent had slipped in. Everything had gone according to plan, however, and he left the guards around the Burrow to their job. They would switch out every four hours, and Henry had set up headquarters for them at Tyler's house with a myriad of Portkeys to take them there and back. They were consigned to only a few posts, and restricted by contract to not speak of whom they were guarding, but, all and all, their situation was lucky. They had Mary's Cottage pie to look forward to and tea and biscuits for when they got off their shifts.

Denny was not allowed the same luxuries; he was off to New York the next morning to meet with Frank, who had called him in a panic two nights ago regarding Henry. He worried, and he hoped that Henry would get some much-needed rest with his family. He looked back at the Burrow and tried to ignore the longing deep within him to be with his son, lest anything terrible happen. But everything would be fine, he knew. It was just Denny being a dad that made things hard.

.o00o.

The field of tall grass reached to the top of Ginny's head. She pulled it away hurriedly, breathing deeply through her nose, and waited. No sounds of shuffling through the long lanyards of green betrayed movement close to her, and she felt her heart beat frantically as she listened. Light from the moon that was just barely rising illuminated the acre of land briefly, and she turned about to look back at the Burrow. The candles visible in the windows would guide her out of the field, but she couldn't chance running yet. Bugs, which were usually loud, had gone silent after she had run though the brush, noisy and intrusive to them, no doubt. All she could hear now was the sound of her own breath.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Then there was a minute noise, the movement of a patch of grass like the parting of the sea, and she screamed.

"It!"

She bellowed at him fiercely while trying to calm her heart, which wanted very much to fly out of her chest. Harry laughed maniacally, placed both hands over his mouth, and shouted:

"All ye, all ye, outs in free!"

"You cheated!" Ginny howled at him once he'd stopped yelling. In the distance, she could hear her brothers quarrelling.

Harry chuckled and set off back to the Burrow; Ginny was close behind him, mumbling curses. "I didn't use magic, if that's what you're thinking," Harry tried to pacify her.

"No," she bit out, and then she stopped where she was. "But you've got some sort of terribly unfair advantage and I'll find it out, so watch it!"

Harry thought this terribly amusing, and he cackled rather madly. "It's secret," he said, going back to her and swinging an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe you shouldn't make me seeker then. Fred did suggest Bulldogs."

"We should have played Sardines," Ron said, huffing as he emerged through the grass in front of them.

"Don't be stupid," Ginny snapped. "Remember the last time we played Sardines with Fred and George?"

Ron looked as if the incident had only just happened, and it was so horrifying that he would possibly forsake both eating and sleeping to not remember the dreaded game of Sardines.

"What did they do?" Harry asked, grinning.

Ron tugged him toward the edge of the field. "You don't want to know, mate," he said, haunted.

They met back at home base, out of breath and giggling, and thought it okay to have one more go before dinner. Ginny crossed her arms, angry about having to seek when Harry had so obviously cheated.

"I don't know, guys," Harry said slyly. "I vote for Sardines next."

There was a flurry of shouting all at once. Fred's and George's cheers of approval were very nearly drowned out by Ron and Ginny's cries of desperation. Ron looked a hair's breadth away from bolting.

"Harry, mate, that's a wonderful idea!"

"You've never played Sardines with us, have you?"

"We've got different rules, you know!"

"The adult version, if you like."

The twins were in his space, and Harry pushed them away teasingly. "You can't just fix up games with your own rules, gits," he argued.

Ginny put a hand on her hip. "I don't know about that. They renamed Sardines years ago. Didn't change up the rules, though. One person hides, the rest of us try to find him and hide too. Same old Sardines."

Harry frowned.

"They called it 'Where's Harry,'" Ron told him.

"Why'd they do that?" he asked in surprise.

Fred scoffed loudly. "Because of you, mate," he said, rolling his eyes. "The boy-who-lived vanished after he defeated the big bad Dark Lord. Little mite that you were—"

"Little ickle baby—"

"Nobody knew where you were. So the kids started calling it 'Where's Harry.'"

"Heard your story every night before bed, actually," Ginny added, trying not to smile.

"Once upon a time, there was a little ickle baby—"

"Named Harrykins Potter—"

"Who looked like a cross between a Garden gnome and Winston Churchhill."

"Oi!" Harry yelled. "That's enough already. I'll have you know that I find this incredibly disturbing. It's not funny at all."

"It's true though, innit?" Ron plodded on, picking at a piece of grass to chew on. "Only problem was everyone wanted to be you and not the seekers. Made for a lot of brawling."

Ginny watched Harry's face closely, noticing his grimace of distaste at their words, and, though she didn't fully understand it, she reached out to jostle Ron. "Let's get on with it! Mum's going to call us in soon."

"Gin's it, isn't she?" George shouted gleefully, grabbing his brother and preparing to run. "A hundred, Ginny Gin Gin!"

She cursed him as they ran off, Ron and Harry scrambling after them noisily. The night came upon them and the animals sang. Ginny looked at the moon briefly before hiding her face into her hands. It was getting cold.

"Bollocks. 1...2...3...100."

.o00o.

"What are you doing?"

Harry looked up at Sirius with a smile, motioning to his book and parchment with one hand.

"Homework," he responded.

Sirius sat down across from him and turned the book upside down to look at the cover.

"Potions?" he said, aghast.

"Yeah, well…" he stopped and sat back, running his quill across his lips thoughtfully. "Snape's trying to get me caught up for seventh year."

"Ah, right." Sirius frowned. "Minerva mentioned that. She said Snape was asking for money to do it."

Harry lifted a shoulder. "Supposed to help with research funds, apparently," Harry told him. "Or to buy a new wardrobe that doesn't make him look like The Count."

Sirius grinned. "I know for certain he isn't buying shampoo."

Harry scoffed, putting down his quill with a little more force than necessary. "Hair jokes. You know, Hogwarts has about a million jokes about his hair. He says it's from the potion's fumes, but, honestly, when does he have the time to slave over potions when he's not teaching or trying to get people in trouble? I say he spends about as much time on his own potions as the average Potions student does. So how on earth does his hair look like a wet mop when everyone else's hair is fine? Something doesn't add up."

Mouth open, Sirius blinked. "Uh…" he cleared his throat. "I think you're thinking about this too much."

"You know what I think, Sirius," Harry continued, leaning forward to whisper conspiringly. "I think he does it on purpose!"

Sirius bit his lip. "So that people will keep away from him?" he hedged.

"No, so that we'll sit about on a nice day like this and speculate why his hair is greasier than a '57 Thunderbird."

"You've got jokes!" Sirius guffawed madly.

Harry grinned. "I'm funnier than I look."

Sirius laughed harder. Harry invited his godfather to come outside with him, and they traipsed through the kitchen and out the back door, waylaid by Molly only briefly so that she could hand them both a hot bun and a cup of tea. Harry leaned against the side of the house, lighting a smoke and inhaling with rather transparent delight.

"You want one?" he asked Sirius, who was wide-eyed and stiff next to him.

"Does Molly know you're out here smoking?"

Harry leaned his head back and enjoyed the slight breeze of the day. "No, and we'd best be quiet about it," he said before he handed Sirius a fag.

The man looked at it carefully. "I haven't smoked in years," he confessed to Harry. "Got a light?"

He lit it for Sirius and passed it to him. Even if it had been years since Sirius had last smoked, the man really seemed to enjoy it, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"You shouldn't smoke, you know," Sirius told him.

Harry laughed. "That your godfather-ly advice of the day?" he mocked gently.

"I've got to at least make an effort," Sirius said, exhaling happily. "We haven't gotten a chance to speak about… well, I sort of have to ask. Er…" He ran a hand through his hair, and then blurted, "How are things at the Ministry?"

He watched his godson sigh deeply, his every countenance weary. His eyes were trained across the courtyard, however, on a gnome who was trying, without success, to fend off an attack from a chicken that had escaped from the henhouse. Ron had forgotten to lock the gate again.

"It's…chaos. Complete chaos, really," Harry said, but then suddenly burst out laughing as the chicken nearly pecked the caterwauling gnome to death. "Look at that, then!" he said, pointing his cigarette at the mess.

Sirius seemed to find it about as funny as Harry did. Then, as the brawling intensified, some sort of object from an open window of the house came flying out. It crashed in between the two quarrelers and exploded into a shower of black dust. Harry recognised it as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and he moved out from underneath the alcove to see Fred and George sticking their heads out of the topmost window.

"Got 'em!"

The shrieks of the chicken and the gnome continued until, out of the dark cloud in front of them, the gnome waddled off to the safety of another Wizard's yard. From inside, Ron had come out to inspect the trouble, and a new round of bickering ensued.

"Ah, Weasleys," Sirius said with amusement as Harry leaned against the wall again.

"That's who I'm worried about," Harry said, going right back into the subject as if they hadn't been interrupted. "The Prime Minister has modified his Floo somehow, so I can't very well ask to see him. I'm pretty much useless as a liaison; that much should be obvious. I don't really know anything. All I know is that the Minister has got to step up, or more people are going to get hurt. And if my family does, I'll be having words with him. Floo or not."

Harry stopped there and lit another cigarette. He seemed to be thinking about something rather important for quite a long while. He suddenly turned to Sirius with a keen eye. "Can I ask you something?"

Sirius frowned but nodded.

"What do you think about this war?"

If Harry thought he would think it an odd question, he was wrong, for Arthur and Sirius had gone over it from top to bottom in the first few weeks of the attacks. Sirius had even asked the same question to many others.

"Well," he began, flicking the cigarette away. "Most Wizards are frightened. This isn't like the witch hunts, or anything so trivial, it's a full-on tactical war with them. And we're losing. Many of the more radical Wizards in the community – and, by that, I mean purebloods – are blaming Muggleborns for exposing us. They're prohibited against attacking Muggleborns, of course, but, as I'm sure you know…that won't last long."

"The Ministry just fired close to two hundred Muggleborn workers in the last month," Harry acknowledged. "Thinking they're spies."

"Well, they could be; I'm not stupid enough to rule that out," Sirius said. "Not that I think it's because they—"

"It's not about blood anymore," Harry cut him off. "This isn't about blood."

"Right," Sirius agreed, licking his lips. "It's about two worlds bollocksing everything up. We're outnumbered, and, with these fabled 'weapons'…" he paused and seemed to give up on some internal battle waging inside of him. He asked Harry for another cigarette. "Arthur thinks we were sold out by someone hungry for destruction. That, though the actual war was pretty predictable – I mean, we expected it would happen some time – this leader of the Muggles is likely a Wizard. I think he's got a point."

Harry gave an indifferent shake of his head. "And you?" he asked, turning to his godfather. "You've told me what everyone else thinks. It sounded like you were building up to something there."

Sirius chuckled and took a deep drag. "I'm never that systematic, kid. I know there was point in there somewhere," he retorted, grinning, but then he sobered. "It has to be about the destruction, doesn't it? People, both magical and Muggle, are dying. You heard about the attack on the refugee camp?"

Harry looked down at his feet. "Yeah," he breathed. "I heard."

"Bloody cold. Merciless. Arthur and I both acknowledged it as a good strategy, but only a person damn set on destroying fuck-all would have no problem killing neutrals. Voldemort did that, but never to this extent. It's like they don't want anyone to survive—"

"I don't think that," Harry told him. "Maybe it's one of those revolutionary things. Anyway, how do you know this was all one person's doing?"

His godfather raised an eyebrow. "Because the war feels like it's on strings, like it was with Voldemort. Because it feels like it was orchestrated, and very carefully so. Because, long before anything happened, some people could smell it on the wind," Sirius explained cryptically.

Harry glared. "You're fucking with me," he accused.

Sirius held up his fingers and made a tiny space in between his pointer and thumb. "I might be, just a little bit, yeah," he jeered.

Harry smacked him.

"Ah, but, you know," Sirius went on, rubbing his wounded arm. "While purebloods are going into fits, others are horrified and philosophical about it all. They have Dumbledore's ideals about integration, see. So, you've got a bunch of old tossers sitting about trying to understand the brain of this war. Not everyone is angry, but many are mystified."

"You sound like you don't think it's philosophical."

A cold breeze blew across their faces, freezing Harry's nose quickly, and he realized his smoke had gone out. He relit it. "Maybe this person believes in something more than destruction," he added.

Sirius looked at him and smiled. "I reckon that's a load of bullshit," he said wryly. "People don't think like that, Harry; they don't do things if there isn't something selfish involved. If they do only go on faith, they're nutters, and nutters fucking up the world is an old story."

Harry closed his eyes and reached up to rub some tiredness away. When he opened them, Sirius was staring. "What do think, then?" he suddenly asked. "I'm blathering on about it, when you should know, better than anyone, what the Ministry is up to."

They both didn't understand just how they had developed such excellent reflexes, but when Molly stuck her head out the back window and started yelling, their smokes were stubbed out before she could notice. They stood there, looking entirely innocent.

"Fred! George! Did you do something to Wallaby?"

"Her and the gnome were at it again, mum," Fred answered.

"Not that way Ron! Don't look so pale."

"If her eggs are black, I'll wallop you!"

Harry laughed. "Who names a chicken Wallaby?" He grinned, glad for the interruption and glad to be witness to Wallaby's misfortune, however evil that was.

Sirius raised both of his hands in surrender, and, rather charmingly, said, "Weasleys?"