Content warning/reminder: Sirius in this fic explicitly suffers from PTSD, and this and future chapters that feature him may contain discussion and portrayal of this topic, including flashbacks and dissociative episodes. If you might personally find this triggering, please proceed with caution. You're welcome to leave a review or send me a PM if you have any questions or concerns, or if you need more information before proceeding.
July 1994
It hadn't taken Harry long to suss out the situation, once Sirius had drawn back those mysterious black curtains on the ground floor wall. Kreacher's 'Mistress' was the portrait of Walburga Black, Sirius' deceased mother. A few more things quickly became clear: she had died years ago, Sirius hated her and the feeling was mutual, she was a pure-blood bigot, and she shrieked like a madwoman. It hadn't taken long for Sirius to give up on a stern lecture in favour of shouting back at her portrait.
"What'ss all the noise about? Is sssomeone a threat to you, Harold?" Storm asked crankily, slithering out of Harry's satchel and coiling up his arm to his favourite position draped around Harry's neck and shoulders. "Warn the Dog-man that I shall hit him with lightning again if he attackss you. Harder than last time!"
Harry hissed back a quick explanation. "There's no need for that. It's just a portrait doing most of the yelling. She's ranting about me being filth and scum befouling her house, and her ssson being a blood traitor abomination she's ashamed of. Sssirius – the 'Dog-man' – is her ssson and he is yelling back at her and calling her a hag. She was very rude to me and ordered a house-elf to destroy my lovely new guest room because she doesn't think my blood is pure enough to merit me ssstaying here, and he's furiouss about all that. I'm not very impressed either, frankly. It was lovely to have a room made up ssspecially for me, and now it's ruined!"
"They are getting quieter now - why have they ssstopped yelling? Is she ready to attack? What do paintingss do when they attack?" Storm asked. He posed aggressively, hissing and opening his mouth to show his sharp rows of teeth to the woman in the painting.
Harry glanced over at Sirius and the portrait, as he too realised how quiet it had gotten. Sirius had a wicked grin spreading slowly across his face, while his mother's mad rant had stopped, and she looked deeply shocked.
Her jaw was agape as she stared at Harry and Storm. Breathlessly, she asked her son, "He's… a Parselmouth?"
"Whoops, didn't I mention that? I'm so sorry," Sirius said, with insincerity dripping from every word. "Perhaps you weren't aware that in addition to his being the Potter Heir, young Mr. Harold James Potter here is also the new Heir of Slytherin." Sirius gestured for Harry to step up next to him, and Harry warily walked forward to join him right in front of the portrait.
"Informally," Harry said uncomfortably. "It's not official. I mean, some statues and a few people call me that, but it's just because I'm a Parselmouth, really. I don't have a genealogy going back to Salazar Slytherin, or anything."
"You just ordered Kreacher to ruin my welcome of the new Heir of Slytherin, mother. That's a four X magical snake around his neck that he's controlling, you know – a Muggle or child killer, call in the Ministry specialists if you see one on the loose. It can shoot lightning bolts if it's unhappy, and it's looking rather cross with you right now," he added smugly. "I wonder what would happen to your portrait if it was struck by magical lightning? It sounds like a rather interesting experiment."
"He's promised not to eat anyone, even when he's grown. He's a sweetheart really," Harry said, wincing a little as he reminded himself uncomfortably of Hagrid. "He only summons storms if there's danger, and well, last time we had reason to think there was. Sorry again about that."
He paused at an impatient querying hiss from Storm. "What'ss going on?"
"It's fine, we're talking. And portraitss can't attack directly. But do keep looking threateningly at the portrait, as you're ssscaring her and that'ss working in our favour. No ssstormss or lightning, please."
Storm lunged forward in a false strike – body stretching out in a quick dart at the painting to snap his mouth right next to it – then he drew back again into a tight S shape, hissing loudly. "Show sssome respect! You were painted to teach the hatchling Clever-men the old Dreaming ssstoriess, to teach about the land, and remember the ancestorss, not to disrespect my Commander, cold one!"
"What is the serpent saying?" Walburga Black asked with wide eyes.
"She won't like it," Harry warned Sirius.
"Then you should definitely tell her, Harry," Sirius replied gleefully.
Harry translated obediently, "Storm says you should show some respect, and that paintings are made to teach young witches and wizards the old stories, and about the land and their ancestors, and you shouldn't disrespect his commander."
"Really? That's just delightful!" Sirius said, with a happy snicker.
"Uh, yes, that's pretty much exactly what he said. Well, he said 'hatchling Clever-men' technically but that's better translated as young wizards," Harry clarified.
"Perhaps," Mrs. Black said in a strained voice, "I have been a tad hasty in my judgement and remiss in my duties as a hostess."
"Just a tad," Sirius agreed solemnly, nodding his head gravely which didn't match the mirth dancing in his eyes.
Though his casual attire of jeans and a Whitesnake band t-shirt ruined the effect somewhat, Harry assumed the "pure-blood Heir" pose he'd learnt from Draco and Pansy – straight back, chin up, hands clasped behind his back – and said in a haughty tone, "It has thus far not been the welcome I expected from a pure-blood hostess of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black who should be familiar with the old and binding traditions of hospitality.
"Narcissa Malfoy was much more gracious and welcoming when I stayed at their manor, and so were all the family portraits who behaved in a more civilised manner. She was a lady who knew how to properly welcome a family member who is a descendant of the Blacks. The Malfoys have been the height of courtesy and are throwing a ball in my honour during my stay there next month. If I am unwelcome here I can always travel there early, madam, as I know they would be delighted to receive me."
Sirius looked like he was biting his tongue as he waited with wide-eyed, eager anticipation for his mother's reaction. She made a strangled sound like she wanted to explode in outrage and grovel in apology all at once, and all that came out was a garbled, "Urk!"
"Little cousin Cissy's outdoing you, mother," goaded Sirius.
"I must of course apologise for my attire," Harry added with false humility. "I did have to travel through Muggle areas to reach your house, and I am of course a young gentleman who understands the importance of discretion and dressing appropriately for any occasion."
Walburga Black's portrait looked wild-eyed and lost, and her eyes flickered rapidly back and forth between Harry and her son as she said, "But Lily Potter was just a Muggle-born! Wasn't she?"
"She was a half-blood actually, though it is unclear if she ever discovered that fact. My grandfather was a Muggle," Harry explained, in a polite, formal tone of voice. "But my maternal grandmother was a pure-blood Squib from the Parkinson line, and the Head of the Sacred House of Parkinson has confirmed and acknowledged our familial relationship. I believe Greg – Gregory Goyle that is – defines me as a 'nigh-pure half-blood', if that helps you establish my level of so-called purity, madam.
"I think you'll find, however, that it is the magical power in our blood that matters most, not blood itself. 'Consider the Squibs; for of what account is blood in the end, should puissance be lacking?' " Harry argued, roughly quoting his Knights of Walpurgis booklet which he thought held an argument that might appeal to her. He didn't want to just let her bigotry stand completely unchallenged, even though he was playing on it to his advantage.
Her brows rose to push her forehead up into lines of wrinkles as her eyes widened more, with the pupils just tiny specks of black in her large brown eyes. "Kreacher!" she screeched, and the house-elf appeared instantly with a pop.
"Yes, Mistress?" he said adoringly.
"We have made a grievous error. Young Harold Potter here – as my son cruelly neglected to inform me – is in fact the new Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin, and a nigh-pure half-blood."
Kreacher looked dubiously at Harry, did a double-take at the angry rearing rainbow snake draped around his shoulders, and turned back to his Mistress for further instructions.
"You will repair his room immediately, and show him and his familiar every courtesy," she commanded.
"That's more like it," Sirius said smugly. "I told you, but would you listen?"
"You told me nothing of import!" screeched his mother angrily with a spray of spittle, her face contorted into a rictus of anger.
Then she choked down her rage as she focused again on Harry with an apologetic strained smile. "I am very sorry for the inconvenience, young Heir."
"Mistress," Kreacher said, grovelling low, "Kreacher did as you ordered. So the room is not being… not easily repairable. The other bedrooms is not ruined, but is still not fit for guests and will needs some hours of work at least. Kreacher will punish himself however you order."
"Later. You will show the young Master to Regulus' room, if it is clean and ready for use," she ordered, a pronouncement which appeared to greatly shock both Kreacher and Sirius, who looked flabbergasted.
"I will air the room immediately, Mistress," Kreacher promised after he recovered, and popped away.
Sirius let out a low whistle of surprise.
"I don't want to take anyone's room away from them?" Harry said uncertainly.
"Don't worry, you won't be," said Sirius, as he drew the curtains shut on his mother's portrait, brusquely cutting off her ingratiating farewell to Harry. Storm subsided on Harry's shoulders once the picture was hidden, relaxing his tight curves and looking a lot more like a scaly limp noodle.
"It was my brother's room," Sirius continued. "He died in the war, the year before you were born, so it's been empty for a long time. But Kreacher still cleans it every week – it's the only room in the whole house he does clean properly, apart from dusting mother's portrait of course."
"Did we win?" asked Storm.
"Yess we did! You were magnificent, and played a pivotal role in helping intimidate her," praised Harry, gently stroking Storm along the chin, which was one of the few pats his picky snake actually liked. "She was very impressed that I was a Parselmouth and the Heir of Ssslytherin and is going to be polite from now on."
Storm sounded very pleased indeed as he proclaimed proudly, "Ssspeakerss are the best Clever-men. It is good she learnt her place. She is just a cold painting and not even properly alive."
While Harry and Storm chatted as they ambled back upstairs, on the first floor Sirius opened the drawing room door and poked his head in to call out, "You, house-elf–"
"Dobby," corrected Harry.
"–Dobby. Your master is here and is being moved to a new room, so grab his things and follow us."
Dobby emerged from the room, a conga line of baggage floating in the air behind him. "Master Harry!" he said, apologetically wringing his hands. "Dobby wanted to be polite, and didn't wants to make a fuss, but the other room-"
"Yes, we saw it. It's alright. It got sabotaged at the last moment by their house-elf – Sirius didn't know it looked like that."
"Definitely not," averred Sirius. "It was in top condition last night – newly restored and sparkling clean, all ready for Harry's visit."
Dobby looked deeply shocked at the thought of such behaviour by a fellow house-elf.
"It's all sorted out now though, and I've got a new room up on the...?" Harry trailed off with a questioning look at Sirius.
"-Fourth floor," finished Sirius. "It's the room right next to mine. You'll be at the front of the house overlooking the street."
Remus Lupin met them on the stairs, coming down as they were going up. He looked rather more scarred than the last time Harry had seen him, with a few rows of red lines down his forehead and cheeks. He was limping and holding onto the bannister carefully as he walked. "Sirius? I heard your mother's dulcet tones – is Harry here? Ah, there you are Potter, it's a pleasure to see you again. I hope Walburga didn't spoil your welcome, we usually keep the curtains closed-"
"Oh, she spoiled it alright," Sirius grumbled. "She ordered Kreacher to trash Harry's room just before he got here. It looks like Peeves went berserk in there."
"Oh no," sighed Lupin. "Can we get it fixed by tonight?"
"Not likely, he made a right mess."
As they reached the third floor – going slowly in wordless agreement to allow Lupin to keep up with them – Lupin peeked inside Harry's room. "Merlin's beard. That's… Oh, I'm so sorry, Sirius. All your hard work!" He let out a deep sigh as he closed the door and wrinkled his nose. "We can fix it, I'm sure. But not tonight. Or… tomorrow either, I think. Well, we will need somewhere else for him. Perhaps the Master bedroom would be the easiest to fix, with some Mending Charms and some fresh linen?" Lupin said doubtfully. "Or I could take the sofa and he could have my room?"
"No need," Sirius said smugly. "He's going to stay in Regulus' room."
"Are you sure that's wise?" Lupin said, clutching the bannister tightly as he stumbled mid-step on the stairs. He gave a wide-eyed stare to Sirius as if trying to communicate an unspoken message by Legilimency. Harry wondered if either of them were skilled in that.
Sirius grinned. "Absolutely. Mother agreed. She even sent the little pest to get the room ready for him."
"But why?!"
"Storm," Sirius said concisely, pointing at the snake.
Remus paused for a moment to think, then resumed slowly walking upstairs. "Parselmouth? Heir of Slytherin? Upstanding young Dark wizard who's not a blood traitor like we horrible two are?" he asked.
"The first two were enough to do the trick," Sirius said. "She'll be on her best behaviour now. Harry helped a lot too – he did a good pure-blood Heir impersonation, sneering at Squibs and citing his connections and ancestry."
He tossed an approving grin in Harry's direction. "He told her Cissy was a better hostess than she was and knew how to be hospitable – it really got up her nose when he threatened to leave, like it should be an honour to have him here."
"That was alright, wasn't it?" Harry double-checked.
"It was marvellous," reassured Sirius. "Perfect. You couldn't have done any better. You'll have to keep your good manners up, of course."
Harry bowed dutifully. "Yes, sir."
"Merlin! Just Sirius, please. I meant with mother. I didn't mean you should keep that pure-blood courtesy act up with me."
Regulus' room was the first door at the top of the stairs on the topmost landing. There was a small, pompous sign in the middle of the door. In a careful calligraphic script, it read:
Do Not Enter
Without the Express Permission of
Regulus Arcturus Black
The door immediately to the right of it had a simple dull brass plate that simply read:
Sirius
"My old childhood room, obviously," Sirius said, with a superfluous wave at his own door. "The creaky little spiral staircase over there leads up to the attic. Best stay out – we haven't tackled it yet, and frankly I'm not inclined to bother with it."
"Why didn't you move into the Master bedroom?" Harry asked curiously.
Sirius and Lupin exchanged a look, and Lupin nodded. Sirius cleared his throat, and said, "That's where Moony – Remus – usually spends the three nights of the full moon. The bigger the room, the less trapped the werewolf feels."
"It's not as good as being outdoors," Lupin added, "but it helps."
Harry nodded. "It makes a difference even with the potion?"
"I ah, don't have… that is, I don't have it every month anymore. It's notoriously difficult to brew, and I'm not employed at Hogwarts anymore," Lupin said, stumbling over his words in his embarrassment.
"Surely Professor – Master Snape, that is – might… Ah, no," Harry said, trailing off at Lupin's snort and Sirius' eye roll, and the memory of Snape's pronounced distaste for the pair of them.
"Don't worry, I'll be spending the next few nights elsewhere," reassured Lupin. "To be doubly safe for you."
Harry wanted to ask him to be careful. Not to hurt anyone. Not to get caught by the Aurors. But they were all rather obvious sentiments, really. So he just nodded silently.
Sirius twisted the coiled-snake doorknob and pushed open Regulus' door. "Unlocked," he muttered in faint surprise, as the room was revealed.
Kreacher bowed low as the three wizards crowded into the room, his snout brushing the floor he grovelled so deeply. The room was much more spacious than the one downstairs that had been first picked out for Harry. Its lavish grandeur was clearly faded, but the room was clean and in good condition, and smelt faintly of lavender rather than stew and rotten fish.
The décor was all in a Slytherin colour scheme – green and silver were everywhere. There were emerald green sheets on the bed, which had a thick wooden headboard with stars and animals carved on it. A pair of clean but faded emerald velvet curtains had been drawn back to let the late afternoon sunlight into the room through a tall glass window with a view of the street and the park opposite. The walls were covered with some kind of silver wallpaper that looked silky in texture, and held a few fine if slightly dusty wall hangings. On the wall above the bed was a large family crest, painted with meticulous care in black paint onto the silver wallpaper. Two dogs flanked a shield, which had an upraised dagger on it at the bottom. Above the dagger there was a chevron, then a star in each of the top corners of the shield. A painted black ribbon winding underneath the shield had silver writing on it – 'Toujours pur' – presumably the family motto. Stuck to the wall underneath the crest was a collage of yellowed newspaper cuttings that Harry couldn't make out from where he stood just inside the entrance.
"Well this looks nice," Harry said approvingly, as he looked around. He glanced up at the ceiling where a chandelier hung above his head. It was unlit with old candle stubs still resting in its sockets, and old solid wax hung in frost-like drips. But it was free from spiderwebs, which is more than could be said for the other ones in the house he'd glanced at. The rest of the furniture also looked solid and intact –the wardrobe, the large desk and matching chair with a silver cushion on it, and the bedside table. The desk was dust-free and held a tidy pile of old textbooks, an inkbottle, and a squat crystal vase full of decaying green-feathered quills.
Sirius let out a relieved breath, and Lupin patted him gently on the shoulder. "It'll be fine," Lupin reassured. "He likes it."
"Should Dobby bring Master Harry's trunk in?" Dobby piped up from behind Harry, who was still blocking the doorway.
"Sorry Dobby," Harry apologised, stepping in and to one side. "Yes, come on in."
Dobby trotted in, with the trunk, bags, and Storm's tank floating behind him, which he deposited on the floor against a wall.
"Kreacher," Harry said, making the little house-elf straighten attentively, "I would like to introduce you to Dobby, the Potter house-elf who'll be visiting during my stay, with Sirius' permission. Dobby, this is Kreacher, the Black house-elf." Harry hesitated after that. He'd originally planned to give a little ingratiating speech about how Dobby would work under the Black house-elf's authority and would help out with cleaning as directed, but Kreacher hadn't impressed him at all so far. "Um, maybe you can chat with each other a little, and sort jobs out between you."
Kreacher stared fiercely at Dobby, who stood tall and proud in his clean white toga painstakingly embroidered with the full Potter crest – the black and white patterned shield with three cinquefoil flowers and a patterned stripe, topped with a fancy knight's helmet with a hippocampus on top of it. Dobby glared right back at Kreacher, who was clad only in an old rag and an almost palpable aura of resentment.
"We will starts with cleaning Master Harry's rooms properly," Dobby said, with a raised chin and a determined look in his eyes. Then he and Kreacher went into a little huddle in a corner near the bags and trunk as they began whispering fiercely to each other.
"We'll get the newspaper clippings down as soon as we can, but like a lot of things in this house they're glued to the wall with Permanent Sticking Charms," Sirius said. "I never could wreck them."
"What's wrong with them?" Harry asked, approaching them cautiously. "Oh."
They were all about the Dark Lord. Some even called him that, while others favoured Lord Voldemort, and a scattering were about You-Know-Who. A couple had animated photos of the Dark Mark floating above a ruined house, and the panicky sounding article titles reported Death Eater attacks. He glanced quickly over them, and away.
"Is… Potter Cottage up here?" he asked nervously.
"No," Sirius promised. "Regulus died before you were born, remember. He was… well, he wasn't on our side, Harry. He died a good little minion, probably bumped off by one of his fellow Death Eaters – I doubt he was important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. I'm sorry Harry, it's not what I planned – I know it's not the best room, but-"
"It's fine, I really don't mind," vowed Harry with sincerity. "So long as there's nothing cursed in here that can hurt me, I'll be alright. I like the green and the snakes just as much as red and gold, and I can just ignore the clippings."
The muttered conversation between the house-elves was getting louder, and they caught an aggrieved mutter about "Master Regulus" from Kreacher.
Dobby piped up loudly, "Dobby can cook dinner tonight, if Master Harry and his friends would like? Kreacher will be busy cleaning."
"Can Dobby really cook?" Lupin asked Harry optimistically.
"Dobby is a very good cook, when Master Harry is lets him cook," Dobby answered loudly, drowning out Kreacher's unconsciously uttered stream of thoughts.
"Sirius? Where can Dobby stay? I don't remember you mentioning a house-elf room?" Harry asked.
"Oh, there's a little room off the kitchen in the basement," Sirius said. "He can stay there with Kreacher. I'll show you two down there as soon as you're ready."
Turning to Dobby, Sirius asked, "Can you cook a roast?" He looked delighted at Dobby's nod of affirmation.
"I'll just get Storm set up, and we'll go back down then, I guess," Harry said, lifting Storm's tank onto the desk. He unwound Storm from his shoulders and placed him down gently on the leafy mulch.
"Is he going to have a nap?" Sirius asked curiously.
"He's already asleep," Harry replied. "He fell asleep on the way upstairs."
"But his eyes are open."
"He's a snake. His eyes always look open. He doesn't have eyelids like we do."
Sirius nodded. "I never thought snakes were cool, but yours is alright I suppose, if a bit bloody-minded. And he's not at all slimy!"
"I'll stay up here," Remus volunteered, "and do some checking for curses and pests before I have to leave. Pop back up to see me before I go, won't you Harry?"
"Sure."
Sirius looked around the room critically as Dobby floated one of the bags in the air in preparation for their exit. "Do you want the family crest gone? That bit of rubbish should come off easily. It might all come off if you don't mind losing a bit of wallpaper along with the articles."
Kreacher made a choked sound of offence. "Not Master Regulus' painting!" he pleaded. He started muttering and snuffling sadly about how his Mistress would be heartbroken.
"I don't mind if it stays," Harry said, with a light shrug and an uncomfortable pitying glance at the pathetic house-elf. "There's nothing wrong with having a bit of pride in your House."
Kreacher's sobs died off with a spluttering choke, and a last sniffle. "Young Master Harold is kind to Master Regulus' memory," he muttered with an approving note in his voice.
-000-
Harry stared into the kitchen cupboard. Most of it was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the scant foot of space underneath the pipes Kreacher had made himself a nest of rags and smelly old blankets.
"I guess there's not really much room in there for two house-elves," Sirius mused thoughtfully.
He wants Dobby to sleep in a cupboard, Harry thought dully. Harry saw a tiny pile of treasures glinting in one corner, and some stale bread crusts and mouldy old bits of cheese tucked in a fold of blanket. The sight and smell reminded him of his hiding spots for food at the Dursleys, and old memories of hungry days locked in the cupboard at Privet Drive flashed back to him. The gnawing emptiness of his belly, the stale hot air growing more unbearable the longer he was in there, his tongue thick in his dry sandy mouth, and the rain of dust from the stairs above as Dudley ran thunderously up and down them over and over again, laughing at Harry's pleas for him to stop.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch away and duck as he covered his head with his hands. "I'm sorry!" he blurted out, hardly knowing what he was saying.
"Harry?" Sirius said softly, dropping his hand away instantly. "Sorry, I didn't know you were… Your house-elf can sleep somewhere else, alright? Would that… be better?"
"Yes, sorry, I was just thinking of something else," Harry said vaguely, wincing at his own poor excuse as he tried to calm his rapid breathing. "Somewhere with a bit more room would be good." Sirius just nodded as if there was nothing to talk about, which was fine by Harry.
"Maybe in uh... well the last few bedrooms really do need clearing up," said Sirius. "Maybe the Master bedroom, or the attic? There's lots of room up there, I think. Would that do?"
"Dobby has a nice little space set up in the attic at Potter Cottage," Harry agreed with relief. "He tried to sleep in the pantry cupboard at first, but he agreed to move eventually. So, I could help fix a spot up here for him in the attic here too? And maybe for Kreacher as well?"
Dobby cocked his head as he heard his name, and paused in his exploration of the kitchen cupboards, but he didn't interrupt their conversation. Kreacher was another matter, and he arrived with a pop right behind Harry, making him jump slightly.
"Young Master called?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to distract you from your work," Harry apologised, crouching down to look Kreacher in the eye. "I was just talking with Sirius about where Dobby would sleep, and we were discussing setting up a place in the attic, with a bit more room. Would you like a larger space to sleep in as well?"
Kreacher stared at him, and briefly looked at Sirius. Harry glanced at him too. Sirius' focus was solely on Harry, and he was watching Harry with a soft and slightly concerned expression.
"Kreacher has always slept in the kitchen. It is warm in winter," the old house-elf said slowly.
"Change can be difficult," sympathised Harry. "But I'm sure I could find a warm space for you upstairs too, perhaps next to a chimney. How about I set something up, and you see if you like it before you decide whether or not to move?"
"Master Harry says Dobby must look after himself for the honour of the Potter family," Dobby urged. "Dobby has a nice nest in the attic out of Master's way at Potter Cottage. Malfoy house-elves gets a little alcove in the kitchen each, and at Longbottom Manor they has their very own room just for house-elves with real beds!"
Kreacher hesitated uncertainly. "Kreacher must check with Mistress. Mistress might disapprove."
"Isn't Sirius your Master?" Harry asked. Kreacher just looked kind of shifty as he stood there silently, rocking slightly from foot to foot, and it was Sirius who answered him in the end.
"Technically I'm his Master. But while I've inherited the house thanks to entailment laws, I haven't put the ring on or said any formal words to assume the title of the Head of the Nobby and Most Annoying House of Black. It bugs him, so he keeps trying to weasel out of orders if I leave any loopholes." Spotting a glint of silver inside the boiler room, he added, "Like squirrelling away old photos I told him to get rid of!"
"Kreacher got rid of them from the library wall like Kreacher was told," the old house-elf justified.
"I've thought about getting rid of him – to another family that is," Sirius added hastily, at Harry's shocked look, "but I'm not sure he'd survive the change and that seems a bit cruel. We don't get along, but this is his home too." Harry thought Sirius' smile looked a little forced, but he didn't dare comment on it.
"May I try and get him settled in the attic if he agrees?" checked Harry. "I might need some spare old sheets or blankets if you have some."
"Sure, if you can get him and mother to co-operate, be my guest. Kreacher, remember I want you to follow Harry's orders while he's a guest here. You be polite to him and keep his rooms – any of his rooms – clean and tidy. But for now – back to work."
Kreacher glanced at Harry, then popped away.
Harry said, "Okay Dobby, head up to the attic, see what you can do with that. Ask Kreacher for supplies that Sirius can spare, and rig something up like we have at Potter Cottage with cloth walls, but for two house-elves."
Dobby popped away, his bag of wool and sewing supplies held securely in his arms.
"But he was going to cook dinner for us," Sirius said wistfully.
"He really needs somewhere to sleep, though," Harry argued. "I'll start dinner myself, it's no trouble."
A little bit of polite arguing and repetitive insistent offers later, Harry was cooking dinner for three people and two house-elves. Sirius lit the wood stove for him, and Harry got to work rummaging in the enchanted ice-box for supplies. The familiar motions of cooking settled his shaking hands and soothed his lingering rattled spirits that had been upset by the sight of Kreacher's den, and the uncomfortableness of arguing with the host he was staying with and upon whose goodwill he now depended. Harry hoped cooking a nice dinner for everyone might put people back in a good humour after a rocky welcome with lots of arguments, and he hoped it would impress Sirius if he did a good job of it.
Sirius watched for a while and offered to help, but once Harry discovered that peeling potatoes with a charm was pretty much the limit of Sirius' cooking abilities, he gingerly encouraged Sirius to do something elsewhere. His host agreeably wandered off to check on the attic and make sure that there weren't any magical pests up there that might be a danger to anyone.
Soon enough Harry had a beef and vegetable stew cooking in a freshly scrubbed cauldron suspended in the massive fireplace, a kettle of water bubbling away on the stove top for some tea, and an apple pie baking in the oven. He found a half a loaf of bread in a bread box in the pantry and cut and buttered some slices to go with the stew. Then he rinsed off a dusty little copper saucepan and started making some fresh custard on the stove to go with the apple pie.
"Mmm, that smells grand, pity I'll miss it," sighed Lupin, wandering into the kitchen sniffing the air.
"It's still two days until the full moon – that isn't until Friday. Aren't you alright for tonight?" asked Harry, pouring a saucepan full of hot milk and cream into a ceramic bowl full of a mixture of egg yolks, sugar, and a little flour. He whisked it continuously with a silver fork, as he'd been unable to locate a proper whisk in any useable condition and hadn't wanted to risk using the fancy gold cutlery for such a mundane task. He wondered absent-mindedly if the material cooking utensils were made of affected the dishes you used them for magically, like potions. Would custard be tastier if stirred widdershins?
"It was my understanding that you only had to change on the full moon and the night either side," Harry checked. "I had presumed you don't choose to transform on other days?"
"Well, yes, that's right. But the full moon's getting close, and… I wasn't really sure how comfortable you'd be with me here. I thought I'd give you time to settle in with Sirius – I didn't want to ruin things."
"But this is your home, and I already know you're a werewolf," Harry said. He poured the custard mixture back into the copper saucepan while they chatted and returned it to the stove to thicken.
"Now, however, I'm also a criminal. An Azkaban escapee with dubious… Well. It's messy, that's all. There are things… I can't be seen, I can't be talked about, or they'll drag me back there in chains. If I'm lucky. Though I think I would rather not be lucky, if it came to that. I don't regret any of it, though. I did what I had to, for Sirius. I have somewhere else I can stay, if you need me to… It's all about what's best for Sirius, and he wants you here."
It was all rather nervously incoherent, obviously with much left unsaid, but it was enough for Harry to get the gist of what he was trying to say. Harry glanced back at him, still stirring his custard so it didn't form lumps. "Are you a danger to me?"
"No! No. I promise I'm not. And I won't transform tonight."
"Then stay for dinner tonight. Stay here in general, too – this is your home, not mine. Just spending the three nights around the full moon somewhere safe elsewhere is good enough for me, since you don't have any potion."
"Alright then," Lupin agreed softly.
Lupin got out some crockery and the good gold-plated cutlery, plus two smaller place settings for the house-elves at Harry's prompting, and then settled down at the long wooden kitchen table which was big enough to seat a full dozen guests if needed. He snuck a piece of buttered bread off Harry's prepared platter to snack on, watching Harry work.
"Do you like cooking?"
"I guess," Harry shrugged. "It's better than most other housework. I like gardening the most, I suppose. It gets you out into the sunlight and fresh air. Could you find a jug for the custard, please?"
Lupin located a gravy boat, which they agreed would have to do, as Lupin suspected Sirius had thrown out the custard and milk jugs in one of his "cleaning purges".
"So…" Harry said slowly, as he decanted the custard into the dish, "Sirius is my Regent, right? Do you think he'd be happy to help me sort out my finances a bit? There are some expenses I'd like to get approved, from the Potter Vault. For property maintenance, and a house-keeping allowance for Dobby. He's also keen to have some wages, though he bargained me down a lot – he doesn't want too much. Just enough for food and sewing supplies, mostly."
"I'm sure he'd be happy to help!" Lupin said. "He likes to keep busy, and something to focus on is good for him. He is officially bound to serve House Potter for a year, so the more official tasks along those lines you can set, the happier he'll feel that he's repaying his debt to you, I think. Or perhaps more precisely, to James and Lily." He looked a little pensive after saying that, and nibbled slowly at the rest of his slice of bread.
"Harry?" he said quietly, glancing around to make sure they were unobserved. "About Sirius – he's… he's doing alright but he still has bad days, sometimes. If he starts looking a bit lost, or if he turns into a dog, just leave him to it, alright? Don't try and shake him out of it – he hates that. Just make sure the room is warm – light a fire or use a Warming Charm. Sorry, not the latter, you can't use your wand out of school, of course. Anyway, it helps him – the warmth. It reminds him he's not in Azkaban any more – he said it was always cold there. If he gets too cold he sometimes forgets where he is. You could try fetching him a mug of hot chocolate, too. He always tells me not to fuss like an old mother hen, but he drinks it anyway."
Harry nodded understandingly. Chocolate was an oddly efficacious remedy for wizards for a lot of mental disturbances, and the warmth of the milk would probably be good to chase away the cold. "Anything else?"
"Don't invite anyone over without checking with him, which you'd have to do anyway since the townhouse is under the Fidelius. Uh… keep him out of the bathroom on the third floor if you can. It's the mould – the dank smell of the room, I think. But he won't want to talk about any of it, so I wouldn't even try if I was you. Just help him stay busy and encourage him to get out of the house while I'm gone if an opportunity arises. He gets a bit guilty at having to leave me here on my own, but that won't be a problem while I'm away."
"Is it… because of the Dementors?"
"Yes. Dementor exposure isn't good even in the short term, and he was there for a decade," Lupin said, looking horribly guilty. "They call it 'Athena's Curse' if you want to look it up – I know you're interested in being a Healer. I think it's a lot like what Muggles call shellshock."
"What's Athena's Curse?" Harry asked, intrigued. "How is it different? Has he consulted a Healer or a doctor?"
"Yes, he saw Healer Smethwyck, and that's what he called it – Athena's Curse. The term comes from the Iliad. After surviving years of battles, Homer wrote that Ajax went mad under Athena's spell. He slaughtered a herd of sheep that he thought were the enemy, and then killed himself. It's not a pretty story, I'm afraid," he apologized.
"Smethwyck wasn't a lot of help, really. It's not his area of Healing specialisation, but he was the only one Sirius was willing to trust, since the man spoke up for him at his trial. I can't really share any more – I don't want to discuss Sirius' private medical details any more than is necessary."
"I understand."
"Don't worry though – he's never violent," Lupin attempted to reassure him anxiously, "he just retreats into himself, typically. Don't tell him I talked about this with you, please. Just act like everything's normal, if you can."
"No problem." Harry guessed he knew a little what that felt like. He was really hoping Sirius wouldn't tell Lupin about his brief breakdown earlier in the kitchen.
Dinner went smoothly (unless you counted Lupin not wanting custard on his pie), and copious praise on the meal left Harry basking in the glow of rare and treasured compliments on his cooking skills. Sirius promised to take him out for a visit to Gringotts to sort out his finances to pay for maintenance of Potter Cottage, and Harry accepted his offer to teach him "a bit of boring tosh about estate management" whenever it was convenient for both of them. They also agreed to spend the next morning having a proper tour of the townhouse, and Harry's offer to help clean up was graciously accepted.
Dobby and Kreacher reappeared with empty plates and bowls, having presumably enjoyed their meals too. Kreacher hadn't thought it "fitting" to eat in their presence, and Dobby had obligingly acquiesced to his insistence they take their supper elsewhere. But soon enough his natural wilfulness reasserted itself, as he slipped into one of his usual habits – nagging Harry to let him work more.
"Master Harry will let Dobby do the washing up," he half asked, half ordered, snapping his fingers and making the dirty crockery from the kitchen table float over to the plain grey stone-topped counter next to the sink.
"I promise I won't try and do the washing up tonight," Harry swore, "but you should ask Kreacher if it's alright with him, first."
Dobby hesitated and turned to Kreacher apologetically. "Dobby forgots he was a guest. May Dobby wash the dishes?"
Kreacher jerked his head in a stiff nod. "Yes. Kreacher will work in the attic."
"Don't you dare try and get that moth-eaten stuffed Nundu head back on the wall, it's ugly and cursed," Sirius warned sternly.
"Yes Master," Kreacher promised with an insincere smile. Then in a low mutter he added, "Another heirloom, Mistress would never have gotten rid of such things but the ungrateful spawn doesn't care-"
He disappeared with a pop, mid-rant. Harry suspected he would be continuing his monologue up in the attic – he didn't seem to even notice he was speaking aloud.
Dobby cheerfully started doing the washing up, as if nothing was wrong at all.
"Does he do that a lot?" Harry asked hesitantly. "Muttering?"
"Constantly," groaned Sirius, "he's done it ever since I moved in. I think he's gone loopy on his own here with no-one but mother's portrait to talk to for years. He's always been a nasty little beast, though. You don't have to be nice to him if you don't want to, Harry. It's alright to be mad at him for trashing your room and being a bigoted bitter old thing."
"I'm not mad, honestly," promised Harry. "He was just doing what he was ordered. Sort of."
After dinner Remus said his farewells. Harry was escorted by Sirius as he peeked into the attic to see how the improvised house-elf bedrooms were going. It looked good – the attic contents of old furniture and boxes had all been pushed to one side to make some clear space, and on the side with the chimney some old striped flannel sheets had been hung up with ropes and hooks to make a slightly saggy-walled cubby, with separate piles of old pillows and blankets on the floor for each house-elf to sleep on.
Dobby proudly pointed out the improvised shelving he'd made for each of them out of wooden crates, stuck together by their sides with charms. Kreacher's shelf was still empty as yet, but Dobby had tidied away his stash of wool and fabric into his.
"Kreacher said he will try the new room tonight – his Mistress told him to, and to listen to Master Harry," Dobby relayed.
"If only she'd tell him to listen to me, too," sighed Sirius. "But I've always been the white sheep of the family, I'm afraid. Fancy her favouring a half-blood over her own son!"
"I'm sorry," Harry apologised, with a repentant look.
"Not your fault, don't mind my grumbling. She's a nasty bit of work and no mistake – she was always a bigoted old cow and we've fought for longer than you've been alive. Come on, now you've seen your house-elf is settled in let's get you to bed."
The display of old newspaper articles had been covered over with a square of thick black fabric that matched Mrs. Black's curtains downstairs, presumably affixed with some kind of sticking charm because it was glued fast to the wall. Dobby or perhaps Kreacher had unpacked for him – his clothes were all put away in the cupboard. However, Harry did notice that his Muggle clothes were in a messy pile in one solitary drawer rather than carefully folded or hung up on wooden coat hangers like his robes had been, as if to ensure they wouldn't contaminate his other clothes. It made him conclude that Kreacher must have done the unpacking.
"This isn't one of my robes?" Harry said hesitantly, noticing a couple of black and green formal robes at the end of the wardrobe.
"Regulus' formal robes," Sirius said, showing off the embroidered Black crest on the front. He pulled open a couple of drawers and peeked inside. "Nothing else out of place. I guess everything else was packed up. My, he rarely works this hard. And he's left you a pitcher of water and a glass next to the bed, unless that was Remus. I know Remus did the wall."
"The window's cleaner," said Harry, glancing around. "And there's a new candelabra on the bedside table. Well, see you in the morning?"
"Good night Harry. Sleep tight, don't let the Lethifolds eat you."
"What?!"
Sirius blinked at his surprised exclamation. "It's just a saying. You know – sleep safely. Don't get smothered in your sleep."
"Oh. Good night then Sirius, don't let the Lethifolds eat you."
-000-
Harry awoke safely the next morning, having escaped the rather gruesome imaginary prospect of being smothered by leathery wings in his sleep. He'd kept his wand on his bedside table, just in case.
Thankfully, he had a day off from his tiresome book-signing duties, with his trip to Gabon on Friday still another day away.
Sirius looked tired at breakfast time, citing some late-night reading as the cause. But he gamely chatted with Harry about getting an international Portkey so he could accompany Harry to Gabon the next day – an apparently non-negotiable plan, of which only the details remained to be ironed out. Sirius was easily wheedled into a promise to make up for his hovering by taking Harry to Gringotts the following week, and to escort him while he went shopping with friends.
"Have you got your supply list yet?" Sirius asked, sipping his tea in a well-trained dainty-looking manner.
"Not yet, but I think it should arrive soon. Though I already know a few of the books I need. Anyway, I also need a few new clothes and I promised Pansy we'd go shopping together," Harry said with a small grimace. He didn't mind shopping with her, but was a little scared she might treat him like a dress-up doll if not reined in.
"Parkinson, right? I can still hardly believe Lily was related to the Parkinsons – how trippy is that?!" Sirius said, shaking his head in bemusement. "Oh, about the book list – owls won't find you unless you're outside the property boundary. Wards. Go into the park across the road or even just stand on the footpath on the other side of the road – they'll find you there safely."
"Well that explains my lack of post last night. I left the window open and everything – nothing!"
"Popular, are you?" Sirius teased with a tired smile.
Harry shrugged and mumbled embarrassedly, "It's not so much being the Boy Who Lived, it's the Heir of Slytherin thing, mostly. I mean, I have a few friends who send letters, but there's also lots of strangers writing to me. There's some people asking favours, others sending ads for their stuff or inviting me to go to things. And the book promotion thing hasn't been helping, either. Lately there's been a lot of people trying to butter me up or ask my opinion on things like they think I'm someone important just because I can talk to snakes. It's silly really. Hermione says that, statistically, it's likely that at least half the wizarding population of Britain is descended from a Founder. Not that talking to a snake even counts as proof of that. Tracey told me that being a Parselmouth is not quite so rare in India, where it's a very respectable talent."
"Well, I had not heard that! There you go. Not so special then, are you?"
A knot of tension eased inside Harry at that. "No, quite ordinary, really. For a wizard."
They made plans for a quiet day in – Harry wanted to do some reading and studying, then make a trip outside after sunset so owls could locate him. Sirius wanted to get some more house-cleaning done so Harry offered to help, not wanting to be a burden. Kreacher muttered in the background about "Master ruining everything" before Sirius brusquely ordered him out to continue fixing Harry's original room.
Harry spent a quiet morning studying as planned. He and Sirius reconvened later that day in the drawing room, which was a long, high-ceilinged room with a cobwebbed chandelier. Two of the olive-green walls were covered in large dirty tapestries, while the wall directly opposite the door looked a little nicer with a large fireplace flanked by two ornate glass-fronted cabinets. The last wall was lined with curtain-covered windows that overlooked the street. A writing desk had long ago been placed near the windows to catch the theoretically available sunlight, which currently failed to penetrate the heavy drawn curtains and grimy windows. A few spindly tables and a sofa set took up the centre of the room. As was true of most of the house, Harry felt the room must have looked very fine back in its glory days but was now faded and grimy.
"There's a lot in here that needs work," Sirius said grimly, "but we should really deal with the Doxys first. Remus got the Boggart out of the writing desk earlier this week, so that's dealt with, but those creatures have got to go. Watch out for their bite – they're venomous. I've got some Doxycide, so I'll spray them, and you bag them, alright? It's got dragon liver and essence of hemlock in the potion, so if you get it on you wash up right away. Oh, and I have a bottle of antidote for Doxy bites if we need it, but I doubt we will."
Harry nodded obediently. Little clouds of dust rose from the carpet as they walked across the room to the long, moss green velvet curtains, which were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. Harry wished he was armed with something more substantial than an empty sack, but he didn't want to get in trouble for complaining about a chore. His wand in his pocket was scant comfort since he wasn't allowed to use it. Maybe some extra protection would be alright?
"Sirius, do you mind if I wear gloves?" he asked hesitantly. "I don't want to be bitten."
"Be my guest! Good idea."
Dobby was called to fetch Harry's dragonhide gloves for him, which he did with delight at the opportunity to help.
The Doxycide was a foul-smelling black liquid which made garden fertilizer smell like roses in comparison. Sirius started squirting it into the curtain folds. Each spray paralyzed a few Doxys which Harry gingerly picked up to throw in the sack. The little beetle-winged bristly black creatures might have too many arms and legs, but they still looked uncomfortably similar to the more pleasantly humanoid fairies. However, once they started swarming Harry lost all his former sympathy for them. He swatted them out of the air with a sofa cushion trying to keep them away from his face, while Sirius frantically drenched the curtains in black sludge, swearing loudly in a mixture of Muggle and wizarding slang as they started biting him. Sirius' nose started to drip blood, and he was gritting his teeth in pain.
"Dobby! Kreacher!" Harry yelled, and the two appeared with pops of displaced air – Kreacher looked cleaner than previously and was wearing a plain toga. "Help us deal with the Doxys, if you can!"
What was a terrifying and overwhelming job for two people was more manageable with extra helpers. Telekinesis seemed to be Dobby's forte, and with hasty gestures he floated struggling Doxys right into Sirius' line of fire. Kreacher seemed either less powerful or less motivated, and mostly helped Harry pick the tiny dazed creatures up off the floor to shove in the sack. But Kreacher sprung into creaky action when some of the fleeing creatures tried to shelter by clinging onto the tapestries, and Sirius pivoted to aim the spray gun at them.
"No! Not the tapestries! Kreacher will get the Doxys off!" he cried anxiously, and physically pulled them off, throwing the creatures into the air for Dobby to catch and whisk over to Sirius.
It took a couple of hours, but eventually they were all dealt with. A small pile of glistening marble-like black eggs – free from Doxycide – was even found and set aside for Storm to enjoy as a snack later when he woke.
Sirius slumped on the sofa with a little puff of dust from the fabric, pulled off the cloth tied around his mouth to ward off fumes, and took another sip of Doxy anti-venom. "I think," he said tiredly, "that we won't try the upstairs curtains until Remus is back to help. That was a lot harder than I had anticipated. I'm not even sure we have enough Doxycide left. I might try and get some of those old tapestries off the walls and then call it a day. Mother might have used Permanent Sticking Charms again, but it's worth a try as I think they predate her." He passed the bottle of antidote to Harry, who took a swig and passed it on to Kreacher, wiggling the bottle encouragingly at the old house-elf until he took it and drank a hesitant sip.
"Whatever Master says," said Kreacher, passing the antidote to Dobby, who took a careful tiny sip at Harry's approving nod. Dobby had been bitten the least of all of them.
"Seven centuries it's been in the family," Kreacher muttered under his breath. "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out. Kreacher must save it from the blood traitor."
"If I can get rid of it I will," snapped Sirius, with a disdainful look at the largest wall tapestry, which was coated in dust and pock-marked with burnt spots.
Dobby politely ignored the fight and began cleaning up the mess from their fight with the Doxys, while Harry wandered over to look at the contentious tapestry. Sirius and Kreacher started arguing about throwing out "treasures" and whether Sirius was a murderer or not.
"Sirius! Is this the family tree you mentioned at the garden party?" Harry cried out happily, eagerly seizing on an opportunity to defuse the situation as he examined the contentious tapestry in question. "Oh, this is awesome! Am I on here? Is my dad?"
Sirius sighed. "Oh, right, I remember – I promised to show it to you," he said, which ended the argument with Kreacher abruptly, to Harry's hidden relief. Sirius came over and started explaining the history of the Blacks to Harry, who listened with eager attention. Kreacher listened in too, eavesdropping on the duo as he slowly helped Dobby clean up the room.
Harry sympathised with Sirius' brief tale of how he'd left home in his teens to live with the Potters and nodded understandingly as Sirius admitted to his anger at his family who'd never been happy with him being sorted into Gryffindor, or for aligning himself against You-Know-Who against their wishes. He was interested to hear about the Tonks family, and they chatted about whether the tapestry could be restored to fix the burnt patches – Sirius didn't know but agreed to let Harry look into fixing it, since he was keen. Harry was also curious about the mention of Phineas, saying he'd met his portrait at Hogwarts.
"There's another painting of him around here somewhere," Sirius said, a bit bemused by Harry's continuing enthusiasm. "I think it's in the study, on the second floor."
Harry was thrilled to see his grandmother and grandfather listed on the tapestry, even if the only mention of his father was as "1 son".
"How come Draco is listed on the tapestry, but my father and lots of other children aren't?" Harry asked.
"Narcissa married sine manu, you see," explained Sirius.
Without the hand, Harry thought, translating the Latin in his head.
"It's a particular type of marriage – though not a distinction most people worry about in modern times. It's a rather old marriage option not very hip these days, and I don't imagine Malfoy – her husband that is – would be keen on having it discussed. Officially she retains her maiden name of Black and is still part of the House. Her first child is a Malfoy. But according to her contractual obligations, if she ever has a second child it will have to take on the Black surname. Grandfather Arcturus fretted over the House diminishing in size when he was the Head, even back then when Cissy married."
"She signs her letters as Narcissa Malfoy," Harry volunteered.
"Does she? Uncle Cygnus – her father – would've hexed her silly if he was still alive for throwing away her name like that. Still, she remains entitled to use the Black surname, and that's why the tapestry records her children. It puts Draco Malfoy in the line to inherit, though not strongly as he's the Malfoy Heir, and not a Black himself. The thing is, being the paterfamilias of the House of Black is entailed on the male line. Other Houses are more egalitarian, but the Blacks were always overly proud of their bigoted ancient traditions. Young Malfoy has a weak claim, but we are running rather short of Blacks."
"So, he's the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"
"Merlin Harry, keep it simple. The House of Black will do, or the Nobby and Most Annoying House of Black if you want to be formal. That's what I always called it."
"Wretched traitor to the family name," muttered Kreacher in the background. "Master should have stayed away, what a disappointment to his poor mother he was…"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Kreacher, and get that muck off the carpet. Anyway, to answer your question Harry – no, it's not Malfoy, it's you. You're in my will as the Heir, so you can add that title to your growing collection. As the nominal Head of the House and with no children or other official heirs to worry about, I can pick whomever I so choose, so long as they're a blood relation of some degree to the Blacks. I have no direct descendants and there are no other wizards with the family name remaining, so the field is open."
"Are you sure? What if you have a family? And why do you have a will already?"
Sirius shrugged, and ticked off his answers on his fingers as he replied, "Yes, I'm sure. I don't see a family in my future – it's not going to happen and no-one's going to want a battered old dog like me anyway. I have a will because we're heading into another war – I don't like my chances of making it through a second time. Or to put it more simply in one word: goblins."
Harry looked blankly at him. Perhaps more than one word would help – it wasn't much of an explanation.
"Oh, I guess they never told you – those dratted creatures won't give you the time of day without charging you for it. If you die intestate – that means without a will – the goblins of Gringotts have a chance to seize the contents of your vault if your family isn't quick enough to secure their inheritance with valid claims. You should have a will too, Harry, especially since there's the Potter family vault to think of."
"I thought… Griphook was quite nice, underneath his bluster," Harry said dolefully. "He's been helpful, in a way. I thought I had them figured out."
"No-one's ever friends with goblins. There's too much bad blood between our people and theirs."
Sirius strode across the room to one of the glass cabinets. He unlocked the glass lid with a tap of his wand and a muttered spell. "Here you go," he said, lifting out a large golden ring and holding it out to Harry. "The Head of House ring."
"But I'm not old enough, and you're the Head of the… House Black," Harry objected.
Sirius huffed in frustration. "Take it, or I'll just throw it away with the dead Doxys! It was my father's, and I want nothing of his to remember him by!"
"NO!" wailed Kreacher suddenly, bursting into furious tears. "Not Master's ring!"
"No don't!" yelled Harry. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I didn't mean it. I'll take it, I'll hold onto it until you want it back. Don't throw it away – family's important."
Kreacher choked on some ugly sobs, snuffling to a stop.
"'Family's important'? You'd leap to rescue something of the Dursleys' then, if they journeyed to the Summerland? 'Oh no, that's Uncle Vernon's favourite gold watch, you can't throw it out!'" Sirius challenged, in a mocking tone of voice.
Harry hesitated, then grudgingly admitted, "No, you're right, I wouldn't want anything of his. Nothing."
"See?! The Blacks are my Dursleys!" Sirius said, smugly triumphant.
"…But I'd keep it aside for Dudley. I wouldn't throw it out."
Sirius' face sagged. "Fine. You can have the stupid ring."
"Or you could make Draco your Heir, since his mother-"
"I know who his mother is!" Sirius snarled. "And more to the point I know what his father is! That whole harpy-dung Dark family gets nothing, NOTHING! Merlin's bones, they are our enemies, Harry! Don't you understand that?!"
"Hey, it's alright, you don't have to give them anything," soothed Harry, backing away slightly with a stumbling step.
Sirius noticed the change in Harry. He fell silent for a moment, looking desolate. "Oh Harry, I'm all bark but no bite. I'm not like my father – I'd never hurt you, I swear," Sirius said gently. "I'm sorry I yelled. I should have remembered you're friends with young Malfoy, even if I don't understand why. Of course you would advocate for him. But I'm not going to make him my Heir. Here, take the ring Harry, go on."
Harry inched forward slowly to take the ring obediently from Sirius' hand and heard a slight gasp from Kreacher's direction as he did so.
He looked at the ring curiously. It was a heavy gold signet ring – chunkier than the Potter ring – with the Black crest on the top. A shield of some black polished stone, perhaps onyx, was interrupted by a chevron of silver, with two silver stars picked out on the top half of the shield, and a teeny silver dagger inset on the bottom half. The hounds that flanked the shield formed part of the gold setting for the inset stone, with Toujours Pur engraved along the bottom of the setting.
With a look of wonder at Harry, Kreacher asked hesitantly, "Young Master Harold is… the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"
Harry looked at Sirius, not wanting to answer for him and risk setting him off.
Sirius shrugged. "Not yet, I suppose he has to be seventeen. So maybe we'll do that later if neither of us have thought better of it by then. For now, he's the Heir, and I'm the Head. I'd rather the line died out with me, but if he wants the job he can have it."
Kreacher bowed very low to Harry, his nose scraping the dusty carpet.
"Thank you," Harry said uncomfortably. "Uh, Kreacher, you can rise and return to your duties, please."
Sirius slumped down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him for Harry to join him. Kreacher hastily gestured and the dust on the other half of the sofa disappeared with a puff of air. Harry joined Sirius, who was chuckling at Kreacher's solicitousness.
"Oh, he likes you now. It's a bit like having my brother back. Regulus was always his favourite, you know. He was everyone's favourite, after I sorted into Gryffindor. He was the good little Slytherin pure-blood, not like me. I was the white sheep of the family. When I left the family at sixteen I didn't plan to ever return here. I didn't tell you at the garden party but there's a bit of extra history about that you might like to know since it involves the Potters.
"So, before he died, Charlus was in negotiations with our paterfamilias – our Head of House – whom you might remember was Grandfather Arcturus at that time. Charlus was looking to officially adopt me into the Potter family after Walburga 'disinherited' me from the Blacks. Not that it was official since she wasn't the Head of House, but she gave it everything she had. She stalled the negotiations a bit – caused enough trouble that it never went through, and then I turned seventeen. While you can still adopt an adult, it's not much done these days. Still, he kept trying until the day he died. A good man, Charlus."
Sirius' brow furrowed, and he shivered, looking blankly around the room with a doleful expression on his face. Harry waited for him to continue, but he just seemed kind of… frozen.
Harry suddenly remembered Lupin's advice. "Kreacher, light a fire in here at once, please. Dobby, fetch some snacks and hot chocolate for two, if you'd be so kind. It's been a long afternoon."
Dobby popped away to the kitchen, and Kreacher quickly scurried to the fireplace and lit it magically with a snap of his fingers triggering a crackling whoosh of flames. A few short moments afterwards, Sirius blinked as the warm firelight danced across his face. "Sorry, where was I up to in my story?" he asked, clenching and unclenching his hands slowly, nails digging into his palms. Harry pretended not to notice.
"You were up to how Charlus was trying to adopt you. I had Kreacher light a fire, I hope you don't mind. It's a little dark and gloomy in here since there's clouds out this afternoon," Harry explained, making what he hoped were plausible and acceptable excuses.
"Not at all," Sirius said. "Yes, right. So, things were stalled, and then sadly Charlus journeyed on. I fended for myself – Uncle Alphard left me a bit of gold so that helped, and your dad helped too, when I let him. I was a bit too proud for my own good. Remus was the same, mind you. Still is."
Harry nodded. Accepting charity was awkward.
"Grandfather Arcturus wouldn't curse me from the family, but he did cut me off from the family funds. He changed his tune later, however, when I was arrested. He must have believed the stories about me being a follower of Voldemort, for he tried to get me out of Azkaban by throwing around his money and influence. He failed miserably thanks to Dumbledore's superior status and extensive network of clients, but he tried, which is more than anyone else can say. I just wish he'd done it because he believed in my innocence, rather than my guilt," Sirius said bitterly.
"There's a note in his will putting me officially in the line of succession, and formally denouncing mother's claims that I'd been disinherited. So that's the long story of why I don't really feel like the family title's any sort of honour, Harry. I would rather have been a Potter if I could have been. If you want this mouldering old heap, its crazy house-elf, its collection of cursed knick-knacks, and the old rundown manor house in the country, it's all yours."
"Alright, Sirius. I understand a lot better now, I think. It doesn't have the same associations for me, so I'll be happy to be your Heir if that's what you really want. And when I'm old enough I'll adopt you into the Potter family if you want and make you the Potter Heir until I have a family of my own," Harry spontaneously offered, which made Sirius laugh heartily.
"You're a good kid, Harry." He reached out slowly and carefully to ruffle Harry's hair, and Harry smiled and stayed still to let him.
-000-
A/N: Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers last chapter! It was fabulous to see my readers appreciating the fine details, and enjoying a variety of different elements in the chapter. :)
The Black family crest – Note that I'm not using the one from the movie, instead I'm using the one hand-drawn by JKR for the Black family tree.
Athena's Curse/Shellshock – After a traumatic childhood, a war-filled adulthood, and a decade in prison being tormented with induced flashbacks of his worst memories, Sirius suffers from what we modern Muggles would call post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Most people suffer some stress reactions after a traumatic event, but if the reactions don't go away or they interfere with their life, they may have PTSD.
Stargirl1061 – Dobby visiting Grimmauld Place. I hope you enjoyed it! :)
Grimmauld Place - You can now view floorplans and other images at: memb ers [d o t] opt us net [d o t] c o m [d o t] au [slash] ~pelari [slash] potter [d o t] h t m (please remove spaces and fix up punctuation to visit)
Thanks again to FirePhoenix86 for permission to modify and use their floorplan. :)
One important thing to note is that I differ in places from book canon due to my justification that Sirius at this point in time has not had to repurpose some rooms into additional bedrooms to accommodate the eight guests he hosts in the OotP book. I've added a library because why wouldn't you want a library/study in such a big house?! I have also added a back garden, which my research suggests is appropriate for this style of townhouse.
