Disclaimer: Either it's not mine, or I need to have serious words with my bank manager about where all those royalty cheques have been going all this time... :P

Updated: Saturday 24 March
Edited: Wednesday 02 January 2008 (you get the impression it's a slow work day?)

A/N: I know. I'm terrible. But I've been battling major writer's block. Can't remember the last time I had such a dry spell! I need inspiration...

Chapter Seven: Something Unexpected This Way Comes…

Blindly answering the pull of the Blood Bond, Arcturus was surprised and momentarily disorientated to find himself the one place he'd least expected to wind up – the entrance hall of his parents' home. His eyes registering disbelief at the sight of his grandfather – a man he'd only first laid eyes upon earlier that evening – being tortured by none other than Albus Dumbledore, he'd made the potentially fatal mistake of hesitating in his shock. A wordless Disarming Spell hitting him from the shadows, he found his arms pinned from behind - strong, dark-skinned arms pulling him back against their owner in the mockery of an embrace. His struggling only intensified when Dumbledore lifted the curse on the near-unconscious old man, another familiar face emerging from the shadows.

"You!" Arcturus spat venomously. Swearing colourfully, he demanded an explanation.

Eyes flicking between the slowly approaching man and the Hogwarts professor, who was now supporting his very haggard looking victim whilst an old woman – his grandmother, of all people -administered healing potions, he scowled in frustration against the arms that had him so effectively trapped.
"If you had wanted to see me there were sure as hell other ways of doing it other than exploiting a damn Blood Bond and rudely interrupting my evening!"

Sirius did not speak, his face stoic in his concentration, the man slowly closing the distance between them; his wand drawn. Feeling the slightest tingle of Non-Verbal magic being cast on him a moment too late, Arcturus' eyes widened.
"What the devil are you doing?" he demanded. "You want to cast spells on me? Well give me back my wand and duel me like a man, why don't you? This is absolute cowardice!"

Arcturus kept on and on, throwing verbal insults and increasingly desperate – though heavily veiled – pleas his uncle's way, all in an effort to destabilize the man and throw him off whatever incantation he was trying to wordlessly pull off. As Sirius' free hand reached out to grasp the small crystal around his neck, realization dawned on the trapped teen and he let out an almighty scream.
"NO!"

A wand, now, pointed directly at his head, its tip endeavouring to rest between his eyes, and Arcturus was stunned to find two other people either side of him, gentle yet firm hands forcing his head to stay still. By the weathered feel of their skin alone he could tell they were his grandparents, but it baffled him as to just what they were even doing there; they hated him. Locking eyes with his uncle, it occurred to him that perhaps his father's brother had been in collusion with his mother's parents all along, and that they all wanted him to endure an unspeakable fate. Why else would they band together like this, trying to take away the one thing in his life that was his, and his alone?
"No!" he screamed again, his mind now beginning to feel the effects of whatever spell it was his uncle was casting, the man's incantations now coming out in breathless whispers, increasing in volume and urgency. "You don't know what you're doing! You mustn't break the Bond! She's all I have! She's helping me fight this war! How else am I supposed to avenge my parents?"

"With our help," his grandmother told him softly, her face inches from his ear.

The urge to whip his head around and snarl at the woman momentarily cast his attention away from the pulling grip his uncle now had on his Token; the disbelieving boy snorting derisively.
"Is that before or after you raze this house to the ground for allowing a precious hair to be plucked from dear Gunther's head?" he leered, though it was hardly satisfying when he could not cast his glare the woman's way. For old people, he realized, they sure had a firm grip. The slightest flinch of the woman's hand, however, assured him that his words had hit home, the spiteful words of the old couple's one and only letter to their grandson not so easily forgotten.

Having recognized the reference from a comment his nephew had made in passing, Sirius' eyes hardened and flicked towards the couple, mirroring his earlier contempt. The split-second distraction, the slight break in the rhythm of his chanting, was all it took for the Token to begin mounting its defensive. The hand firmly grasping the crystal jerked, the man's face contorting into a pained expression as the jewel began to burn his skin.

"Keep going," said Dumbledore urgently. "You are almost there!"

Sirius nodded quickly, beads of sweat appearing on his brow as he cleared his throat and resumed his chant, his voice slowly increasing in volume. Outside, a loud bang erupted from just outside the property's wards, and a bright light flickered through the windows.

"Bane's here," said Arcturus, his body beginning to sag in relief despite the additional progress the group holding him captive were making. "And let me tell you, she's really, really mad."

"Archie!" the woman's high-pitch scream cut through the dense wards like the piercing battle cry that it was. Motioning for the three wizards holding Arcturus in place to maintain their positions, Albus Dumbledore wordlessly volunteered to go outside and assess the looming threat.

"Be a sport and leave the door open, will you?" Arcturus called after the man in a singsong voice. By looking over his uncle's shoulder, he would have a clear view of the front garden should the man have obliged him. "The image of you getting your head ripped off is bound to be a very valuable commodity!"

"Arcturus!" his grandfather's voice, evidently hoarse from screaming earlier, addressed him for the first time.

Fitting, Arcturus thought, for a scolding to be the first thing the man could think to say to him face to face… well, not even that, even. He scowled in response, but said nothing, the force of his uncle's enchantment beginning to cause him almost physical pain as he began to feel the presence of Bane's influence slowly pried from his heart and soul.
"Please don't," he said in a small, pleading voice, the thought occurring to him that he simply could not remember being any different; could not recall a time where he did not have her presence with him, mediating his every emotion. Though he had never planned on submitting himself to a life of servitude or exchanging his mortality for an eternal place at her side, the thought of no longer having her to turn to absolutely terrified him… so much so that he was completely unaware of the defeated tears that leaked from his eyes.

Oddly enough, the pressure on one side of his head lessened, and he could dimly register the sound of a woman humming a lullaby close to his ear. On his other side, his grandfather shifted, adjusting his hands so that he could keep both sides of Arcturus' neck in place; the man's wife having taken to using her hands to rub his shoulder encouragingly and run fingers through his hair.

In any normal situation, Arcturus would have recoiled and scorned the pointed display of affection, but irrespective of his forcibly bound state, he found himself demonstrably immobile at the all-too-familiar tune.
"My mother…" he choked out, recalling with all too much clarity the memory his paternal grandmother had forced him to watch on almost a nightly basis when he was young. The image of his exhausted mother, holding his newborn form close and lulling him to sleep, the woman seemingly impervious to the Dark Wizard who had arrived, was one that haunted his dreams; the lullaby she nervously hummed unmistakably the same as the tune the older woman was now humming in virtually the same room. He gasped with the intensity of the correlation, the room around him beginning to swim, both with the force of his highly wrought state and the progress of his uncle's spell casting. Feeling, then, the last of Bane's hold over him beginning to slip away, the hide that had firmly secured her Token to his breast now beginning to weaken around his neck, Arcturus' world began to fade.

"Easy, son," a voice behind him rumbled, the arms around him adjusting their hold, effectively supporting the weight of the lax boy's body. "In and out, c'mon kid, breathe…"

Blinking furiously in a futile attempt to keep his eyes focused, Arcturus could barely register the man's insistence that he breathe. With a shuddering gasp, it only abstractly occurred to him that he was hyperventilating, and he tried earnestly to follow the man's helpful instructions.
'In… out… in… out,' he tried to tell himself, but his body just wouldn't listen.

Suddenly, it was all over. The link was broken with the ear-splitting snap of taut leather, a lick of abused dragon hide whipping up to lash his face. All at once, hands loosened their grip, and he pitched forward into the waiting arms of his uncle. Had Arcturus been paying attention to anything asides the sudden fracture within his innermost mind, he might have noticed that he was sobbing, and that he was now being embraced from three sides; the surviving members of his immediate blood family cocooning themselves around his limp form, physically and emotionally preventing him from following the presence that had just been so forcibly wrenched from him.

"What have you done?" the boy whispered fearfully, not even consciously aware of his words as the world around him went blissfully black.


"NOOOOOOOO!" the scream of the immortal woman was tangible as it cut through the pre-dawn sky. Scores of pale vampires flanked her on either side, their composure belying their fear of the coming sunlight; their fearless leader the only one among them who could withstand the piercing rays.

"Be gone," said Dumbledore warningly, the omnipresent twinkle in his eyes replaced by a grave seriousness that reminded any one within eye shot of the man that they were dealing with a power that had defeated many a Dark wizard. He sliced his wand in the air, the blazing cross that appeared before him causing the weaker of the offence to cower.

He levelled his wand at the woman at the front of the pack and muttered a spell, the wards shimmering blue for a moment as he enforced their strength.
"Be gone of this place," he repeated. "His blood hath reclaimed him. A new dawn approaches. Go now before the waking sun claimeth all that remains to be yours. My war is not with you, woman. Stand down!"

"The boy is worth a liege of these worthless creatures!" she hissed, her arms swinging wide to encompass all who were doomed to serve her. "I will gladly sacrifice them!"

Aiming her wand at a point beyond Dumbledore's shoulder, to where she knew Arcturus to be held just slightly beyond the closed main doors of the house, the infuriated vampire witch muttered a counter to the spell she knew was being cast within its four walls. When her attempts to exploit her mind link to the child that was, in all technicality, within prime physical range, failed, she screamed agonizingly; realising all too late what Dumbledore's addition to the wards had done.
"No!" she screamed. "You are killing him! He cannot survive the transfer! It has been too long! He is mine!"

The woman was beside herself in a mix of concern, fear and all-consuming rage.
"How dare you interfere in the makings of destiny!" she screamed at the man when all else failed. She fell to her knees and began to beg shamelessly for the boy who had, for over ten years, steadily filled the void in her lifeless heart. "The child belongs to me! Can't you see that this will kill him?"

Momentarily affected by the appearance of the woman's sincerity, Dumbledore steeled himself and remained impassive.
"If death calls him, then that is a risk his family were willing to take for his freedom," he said steadily, though inwardly he was beginning to think he ought to have pushed the benefits of the boy's continued allegiance with the Dark and illusive witch before him a little more.

"His 'family'?" Esmerelda mocked, rising to her feet with renewed indignation. "Those worthless scum who abandoned the childe at his most prone? What right do they have to choose his fate? What right do you?" she took a step forward, grimacing as the ward she fought against started to urge her back. "Tell me, wizard, what of the boy's choice? Would he willingly choose death if you had given him the chance?"

Dumbledore paled, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet. It was true, he knew, that they had deprived the boy of all choice in the matter, and they had indeed delved into the situation without quite knowing its consequences. Numbly, he began to think that maybe they had made a grave mistake, that their actions were signing the child's death warrant. But then a part of him was only all too aware of the power such a suggestive witch could weave over the minds of those who already possessed the seed of doubt, and he forced the thought from his mind; breaking eye contact with the vampire. A piercing scream from within the house signalled the finality of their choice.
"It is done," he said, no longer feeling any sort of presence fighting to break through the ward he had sent up to block any effort the vampire made to reaffirm the hold her Token had inflicted upon its victim. He lowered his wand. "The sun arises. There is no point in you staying."

Becoming aware of the discomfort of her followers, each of the unfortunate Muggle undead unable to think for themselves and thus forced to endure the pain of the early morning light until granted permission to leave, Esmerelda Bane took an unneeded breath of defeat and vanished her army with the snap of a finger. Then, squaring her shoulders at the foreboding light wizard who had gotten the better of her, she thrust her chin high and glared at the man in challenge.
"Do not think for one moment that I will let him go that easily," she said lowly, the only way her voice had made it to Dumbledore's ears being because she had wanted it to do so. "I will come for him when you least expect it…" she cast a fleeting look towards the house and smiled secretively. "…That is of course unless the dear boy does not seek me out first."

She was gone before Dumbledore could even question himself on the possibility of her words.

Would, indeed, the boy seek her out even though her hold over him was lifted?


Harry sat in the library of Grimmauld Place, a book set in front of his face under the pretence of studying. Around him, assorted red-haired Gryffindors begrudgingly ploughed their way through the last of their summer essays, Hermione bustling from person to person, overseeing their progress. Glaring at the Potions text in his hands, Harry knew he ought to actually read the page before him – and take notes – but his heart, unsurprisingly enough, was just not in it; his thoughts drifting yet again to the same issues that had been plaguing him all week.

Arcturus Black.

The raven-haired boy frowned. Sirius had been gone for hours, leaving suddenly with some old friends of Dumbledore's, the headmaster himself, and Kingsley Shacklebolt; the group staging a search for the man's recently discovered nephew. His godfather had left without so much as a goodbye, with no indication of where he was going, let alone when – or if – he would be back.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of Harry's stomach. When he had read the name on the tapestry, Harry had been so certain that the news of a nephew was going to bring nothing but good tidings to them all. Arcturus wasn't supposed to hate Sirius, or run away, and Harry had been looking forward to finding a measure of understanding from the teen who had also lost their parents and been raised in difficult circumstances; a connection he hadn't been able to forge with any of his friends. He didn't expect the slightly older boy to immediately look down on him, damn near kill his best friend and rebuke every effort of reconciliation Sirius made – all within the first hour!

Reflecting on his own tumultuous upbringing at the Dursley's, a small part of Harry could identify with the illusive teen's defensive nature. Strongly discouraged against outdoing Dudley in their primary school classes together, Harry had been unnecessarily abrasive and defensive with any teacher who had seen the potential in him and tried to help him improve. He certainly hadn't wanted to do so poorly in his classes, and had he not feared what his teachers might convey to his aunt and uncle, he would thrived from the attention, but circumstances held him back.

Harry could only hope it was the same way with Arcturus. Sirius did not deserve a nephew to despise him so; he had been through so much already. A small voice inside Harry also protested that if all the boy was going to was reject his uncle, then all the time and energy Sirius was wasting trying to find the kid could be better directed his way. Ever since the man's getaway at the end of his third year, Harry had been clamouring for the opportunity to spend some real quality time with his godfather. When circumstances mandated that he be taken to Grimmauld Place, he had been over the moon; but things were not playing out nearly as well as he had hoped. Whenever Sirius wasn't tied up in a secretive Order meeting, they were cleaning, or talking about things the man was not allowed to really give him any detail about.

In all actuality, Harry could barely recall a moment where they had spent any time together, without some of his friends, or an Order member readily on hand! Now, irrespective of if Arcturus was going to come back or not, Sirius' time would be further monopolized, Harry seeing even less of the man whom his parents had wanted to care for him.

An unbidden dark look crossed over his face, catching Hermione's astute attention.
"Are you having trouble there, Harry?" she asked kindly, in her noted 'teacherly' tone.

Harry tore his sightless gaze away from the book in front of him and blinked at the girl in surprise.
"Huh? Oh, my Potions essay… er, right… what's it supposed to be on, again?"

Hermione clicked her tongue disapprovingly and gathered up her notes, crossing the room and taking a seat beside him without invitation.
"Well let's have a look at what you've done, then," she said assertively, reaching over for his parchment, which, to her utmost dismay, was blank. "Harry! Do you mean to tell me that you've been sitting here for an hour and you haven't taken any notes? Are you trying to memorise the chapter? Do you want me to quiz you?"

Not in the mood for the buzz of questions Hermione was throwing at him, Harry sighed. Snapping his book shut in aggravation, he snatched his 'notes' back from the stunned girl and shook his head.
"Just leave it, Hermione," he said tiredly. "I haven't been taking anything in, all right?"

"But there's only two weeks left of summer, Harry! Two weeks!" she exclaimed, missing the point entirely. "Aren't you the least bit concerned that you won't finish your homework in time?"

'Two weeks' Harry thought to himself miserably. Two weeks was all he had left to try and make up for a lifetime of missed childhood with his godfather. Some chance.

"Why did you have to remind me, Hermione!" he sighed, knowing the girl would mistake his misery for concern about his summer homework.

"Some one has to," she said matter-of-factly. She made herself comfortable. "Honestly, summer isn't all about Quidditch and loafing about, you know!"

Harry's hackles rose. Is that what she really thought his summers were like?
"Do I look like I've been out playing Quidditch lately?" he snapped defensively. Ron was always the one going on about the game – unable to accept many owls whilst at his relatives had meant that he couldn't so much as subscribe to the Daily Prophet; the only way Harry even knew what happened in the sport at professional level was through Ron's excited bantering.
He levelled a glare at the presumptuous study-junkie.
"Do I look like I've done nothing but loaf about since I got here? Don't make such broad statements, Hermione, unless you can back them the bloody hell up."

Only slightly offended by his tone – years of friendship providing the buffer of indifference – Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, the wheels in her remarkably sharp mind beginning to spin.
"You're worried about Sirius, aren't you?" she said in a hushed tone, the know-it-all glint in her eye sparkling triumphantly when she saw by his expression that she was right.

"He's been gone for hours," he said, relieved to have someone to broach the subject with. "He didn't even say where he was going, or anything!"

"Or say goodbye…" added Hermione leadingly.

"No, he didn't, but that's hardly the point;" admitted Harry. "He could be putting himself in danger, and for what? The kid as much as said he didn't want anything to do with any of us!"

"Harry, Sirius lived in a cave and ate rats for you," said Hermione. "Even when he hardly knew you and you hadn't asked for him to come! How is this any different?"

"I appreciated it, for one," said Harry testily. "I didn't push him away…"

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I don't think Arcturus meant anything of the sort," she said quietly. "Put yourself in his shoes, Harry… he's been raised with the knowledge that his uncle should have been the one looking after him, but that the man had not even bothered to acknowledge the letters his father had sent Siirus asking him as such. Wouldn't you be a little miffed by that?"

"Had Sirius not given me to Hagrid the night my parents died and gone after Pettigrew, I might have grown up with a godfather," said Harry lowly, the realization hitting him for the first time, making him almost relate to Arcturus' behaviour. "How is that any different?"

"Sirius gave you to Hagrid on Dumbledore's orders, and then went after Pettigrew because he didn't think there would be enough time to pull anyone else together," Hermione hypothesized. She cast Harry a shrewd look; "and I can say from personal experience that you have to be able to relate to that."
She took a breath.
"Sirius gave you to Hagrid and went after Wormtail thinking that he would nail the rat and be back with you in time for breakfast… when he didn't even open his brother's letters, he was making it quite clear that he didn't want anything to do with his family. Has Sirius ever made you feel that he didn't want anything to do with you?"

"No," admitted Harry begrudgingly. As usual, Hermione was making perfect sense. "But that still doesn't change the fact that he's wasting his time!"

"I don't think he is," said Hermione resolutely. "I think somewhere, deep down, there's a part of Arcturus that doesn't want to be so alone in life. Sirius just has to find it, that's all."

Harry looked at her in disbelief.

"What?" said Hermione, raising a brow at his incredulity. "Everyone needs someone, Harry... no matter what they'd rather have us believe otherwise."

Harry cast his eyes down to the textbook in front of him and shook his head slowly.
"Are you telling me that even Snape needs someone?"

Hermione sighed.
"Professor Snape, Harry," she corrected him automatically; "and yes, even Professor Snape cannot go through life without some measure of support from somewhere."

"You'll never get him admitting as such," said Harry levelly.

"That's my whole point, Harry!" said Hermione exasperatedly. "Just because someone won't admit that they need help, it doesn't mean we should give up on them!"

"This isn't going to turn into another SPEW, I hope," groaned Harry, laying his head atop his book. "I am not joining a 'Slytherin Outreach Board'… even if the acronym were rather befitting of the recipients of the cause…"

"Harry!" admonished Hermione. Completely ignoring what he had implied about Slytherins, she slapped his arm lightly in protest. "It's S.P.E.W, not spew!"

Harry threw his head back and laughed, ever thankful for his friends and, pointedly, moments such as these where they could pull him out of his rut. Finding it difficult, then, to try and picture someone like Arcturus having such meaningful relationships with his own peers, Harry realized that Hermione was right. Nodding to his friend in understanding, not needing to clarify what he was referring to, Harry promised himself that he would support his godfather and be there for Arcturus – whether the boy welcomed it or not.


"Arcturus?"

Rising panic flooded through Sirius' veins as the boy went limp in his arms. Staggering back slightly under the dead weight, he shook the unresponsive teenager in concern.
"Arcturus?" he repeated, looking to the old couple who were supporting the child from behind. "I think he's out cold. Help me get him down on the chaise over there and we'll revive him…"

Given the old man's recent experience at the end of Dumbledore's wand, beads of sweat were already starting to form on the Baron's brow. His elderly wife seeing this, the woman turned her attention to assisting her spouse, the pair moving aside so that the capable Auror behind them could assist Sirius in his plight. Together, the two able-bodied men hefted the boy off the ground and carried him across the hall and into the wide open reception room. Levitating the teen would have been an option, if not for the fear that he might awaken whilst hovering in mid air; something that was not a very reassuring experience to be had.

No sooner had they laid Arcturus out across the chaise, the old but sturdy piece of furniture not quite long enough to accommodate the boy's long legs, and Sirius drawn his wand to cast the necessary 'Ennervate', did an urgent voice from the doorway urge them otherwise.
"Do not use magic on the boy!" Albus Dumbledore warned before Sirius could cast the spell, sounding remarkably out of breath though his physical appearance had not diminished at all.

He swept into the room, raw power emanating off in waves. Approaching the prone boy, he placed a comforting hand on Sirius' shoulder.
"What are his vitals?" he asked quietly.

"He passed out, I think," said Sirius with a frown, eyes scrutinizing the slumbering teen for signs of distress. "It just looks like he's sleeping…" he whirled on the headmaster and narrowed his eyes in concern. "Why can't we cast magic on him? Albus, what have we just done?"

Taking in the fugitive's tired tone and slumped posture, Albus Dumbledore turned his attention to the wizard who had removed the Curse from the boy.
"Sirius, my boy," he said with sudden urgency. "How are you feeling?"

Sirius blinked a few times in astonishment, surprised at having been asked. Reflecting inwardly for a moment, he frowned at the answers he found.
"Like I've been hit by two Bludgers at once," he responded honestly, from distant experience. He screwed his face up in confusion, unable to account for this sudden feeling of unease. "Albus, I don't know why I am feeling this way all of a sudden… the only thing that felt out of joint during the casting was where I was holding that blasted crystal; I think it burned me."

"Let me see," said Dumbledore, a withered hand shooting out with preternatural dexterity for his age and grasping the wrist of his former student's non-wand hand, twisting it gently to face palm upwards.

Seeing his palm for the first time since grasping the precious stone that had lain around his nephew's neck, Sirius gasped at the sight that now welcomed him. It was mirrored by that of three others; the only sign of shock the headmaster gave away being a slight adjustment in the grip he had on the younger wizard's arm.
"I had not foreseen this," said Dumbledore in self-incrimination, a grave expression clouding his features. He looked over at their audience imploringly. "Kingsley, draw Sirius up a chair – Sirius, you look like you need to sit down."

Helping to ease the shaky, but compliant, wizard down on a chair Kingsley had provided next to the chaise the man's nephew lay unconscious upon, he turned to the former lady of the house.
"Elena, if you could revisit that stock of Potions your family has kept on the premises in ready-stasis, do you suppose you could find an all-purpose burn salve and another vial of Pepper Up?" he asked the woman, a slight twinkle returning to his eyes at her quick nod.

"I'll see what I can find, Albus," said the woman worriedly, looking somewhat remiss at the fact that they had thought to fetch potions to help her husband in the wake of his run in with Dumbledore's wand, but had neglected to anticipate the effect the unknown magic would have on her grandson and his uncle.

"Kingsley, if you would again accompany the Lady?" said Dumbledore politely, smiling in acquiescence as the Auror bustled to comply, his longer legs allowing him to pass the woman and hold open a door at the far end of the room for her.

"It's… it's just a burn, right?" said Sirius once the pair had left, bound for another search of the manor's lower-most catacombs, where the Potions were apparently kept. He tried to shrug off his wounds as an easy-fix situation even though he had an overriding feeling in his gut that it was something more.

"No," said Albus with a sigh, recognizing the aura the distinctly Dark magic had left around the man's hand; it being something of a calibre he had only ever seen once before, upon the forehead of a fifteen-month-old infant. "The crystal has left her mark upon you. It is a Curse Scar."

The added inflection the headmaster had leant to his voice when saying the words 'Curse Scar' told Sirius all he needed to know.
"Like… like Harry?" the stunned Animagus swallowed dryly, eyes wide with surprise.

"I do not know the full extent of details, but the magic is intrinsically the same," said Albus gravely. He reached out and rested a weary hand upon the man's shoulder, silently beckoning the younger wizard's utmost attention. "Sirius, it is entirely possible – I strongly suspect – that an unforeseeable consequence to this action has seen part of Arcturus' bond with Esmerelda Bane transferred unto you."

"Only part, Albus?" said Sirius, eyes flicking to the unconscious boy in concern.

"The boy is clear of her influence, that I can be sure of," the wise old headmaster assured his former pupil. Gesturing towards the angry red burn on the stunned wizard's hand, he made his meaning clear. "This Curse on you, Sirius; I have no accurate means of anticipating its effect. You withstood the Dementors for twelve years, so I am hopefull of your ability to dissuade her persuasions; but I must warn you that Lady Bane will not let your nephew go without a fight."

Sirius felt his mouth go dry.
"You think… you think she will try to use me against him? Use me to bring him back to her?" he blanched, his wide grey eyes landing on his late brother's father-in-law; the foreboding Baron now shaking his head mirthlessly.

"It is most poetic in its malice, wouldn't you say?" the elder wizard mused mirthlessly. "Turning the one who removes the bond into an agent of her will."
He gave Sirius a level look.
"You had want to hope your will is stronger, boy. For all our sakes."

Sirius was shaking uncontrollably, the man wrought with the paralysing fear that he might become a danger to others, against his will. Voicing his fears, the Cursed wizard was not comforted by the awkward looks he got in return.
"It is quite possible," said Dumbledore gravely. "Wards will protect you to a certain extent, but until we are better able to assess the long term implications of this situation I dare say I needn't say what needs to be done…"

"I cannot leave a warded house," said Sirius, defeated.

"I am sorry, dear boy," said Dumbledore apologetically, squeezing the distraught man's shoulder in support. "I am certain that with the resources of some of the oldest libraries in the known world at our disposal, the answers we seek will come swift and timely…"

"There's no telling what the boy has picked up from his years spent under her thumb," the Baron pointed out in a seemingly uncharacteristic show of support. "Let us not count our eggs before they hatch."

Albus Dumbledore looked at his old friend with thinly veiled amusement, chuckling at the man's misnomer.
"Ivan, my dear friend, I daresay you were referring to counting chickens before they hatched…" he said lightly.

Ivan von Astor looked scandalized.
"Counting chickens before they hatched? Now why would anyone want to do that?" he said, the limits of his comprehension of the English language – specifically its culture – letting itself be known.

"Ah, then I recant," said Albus merrily, re-evaluating what his old friend had been trying to say. "Might I infer, then, that you were suggesting that we 'cross the bridge when we come to it'?"

"Bridge?" said Ivan with a frown. "What bridges must we cross? You are one Sherbert Lemon short of rotting your brain, I fear."

Despite the dire situation he found himself in, and the uncertain prognosis of the boy who lay unconscious by his side, Sirius laughed. All were unaware of the beginning signs of the boy's stirring, or the unexpected arrival of a young wizard in the entrance way; the sturdily-built visitor dressed in formal Quidditch livery, a dragon-hide cloak draped over the arm that was not hefting a finely crafted trunk with apparent ease.
"Arcturus, I do bring your things," said Viktor Krum, too preoccupied with setting down the trunk he had offered to mind for the younger boy at the end of their last school term together to notice the company he now found himself in.

When his greeting brought nothing but stunned silence, he looked up in search of his young friend. The change that came over him upon sight of the boy's prone form was instantaneous in its intensity, the Triwizard Champion forgetting his burden and drawing his wand protectively. Recognising the headmaster of the school that had hosted his school's contingent that previous year, the curse died on his lips and he shook his head, muttering something in unintelligible Bulgarian.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," he said formally, recovering his composure at the peculiar sight. Eagle-like eyes darted from the figure that commanded his respect to the unconscious form of his unlikely friend. He had not forgotten the night of the third task, and the Unforgivable he had succumbed to. While no lasting harm had been inflicted upon his French competitor, that he had failed to shake off the Imperius Curse and endangered others had wounded his pride and disgraced his school. Inwardly, such failure was even harder to come to terms with in light of the incredulity with which he and his Durmstrang brothers had regarded their Host Headmaster, and the ways in which he ran the school they had visited.

"Mr Krum!" said Dumbledore in honest surprise. "I must say, this is an unexpected surprise-"

The look on Krum's face informed the adults in the room that he was just as surprised as they.
"I come for Arcturus," said Krum uncomfortably. "The Blood Bond, it did call him here? But then where is his cousin? Is the boy safe?"

"You know about the Blood Bond with Gunther?" said Baron von Astor in surprise.

"It is I who helped enact it," said Krum with a regretful frown.

Unwilling, then, to give anything else away without knowing who he was dealing with, he demanded introduction. The headmaster dispensing with the honours, all were quite unprepared for the hardened look that set on Krum's face at the revelation. Ignoring the older of the unfamiliar wizards entirely, the proud Quidditch champion crossed the room purposefully, making a beeline for Sirius.
"Master Black, it is my pleasure, sir," said Viktor, bestowing upon Sirius the formality his position as head of the family commanded in certain circles. "Arcturus tells me promising things of your meeting, but nothing of any such progress with those of his mother's kin."

Ignoring the veiled question inquiring after the older man's presence, Sirius blinked in surprise.
"Arcturus speaks… well… of me?" he asked, flabbergasted. "He's been with you, then?"

"Speaks well of you?" said Krum, thinking carefully before responding in that which was not his native tongue. "I would not say that. There is promise, yes. Arcturus has it his eyes when he speaks of you… but he hides it very well."

"Then why did he run away from me?" whispered Sirius, confused. He had not thought he'd made that much of a 'promising' impression upon his nephew at all.

"Without family he has gone for so long, accustomed to making time for them he is not," said Viktor carefully, eyes shifting restlessly from Sirius to the still form he had come to see. "Your nephew… is he well?"

"He has suffered a shock," Dumbledore cut in before Sirius could open his mouth to reply, the crafty old wizard not giving anything away.

Looking down at the boy in question, Krum's Quidditch-honed eyes detected something different immediately.
"He is not wearing his Token," he observed, unable to hide his surprise.

Sighing, Sirius unfurled the injured hand that he had instinctively tucked against his torso when the intruder had arrived. Holding it out, palm facing upwards, in silent explanation, he watched the wizard's expression carefully for any sign of recognition.

"You have removed the Token," said Viktor, the astonishment in his tone showing the foreign Quidditch player's understanding of the precise gravity of such an act. "You do this with Arcturus' consent?"

"Not exactly," said Sirius awkwardly, before the scheming headmaster could dispel the visitor's suspicions with a wild half-truth. The former Durmstrang student had studied alongside Arcturus for four years, and would be hard to fool.

"I thought not," said Viktor with a frown. "Has he woken yet?"

"No," said Sirius with a frown; "though you're quite welcome to stay until he does, of course…"

Krum looked torn.
"I cannot stay, my comrades await," he said apologetically, inclining his head towards the unconscious boy as though addressing the teenager directly. "Arcturus understands this. I did come to return his cloak, he did leave in such a hurry without it…"

"And the trunk?" said Sirius, looking upon the ornately carved vessel with undisguised curiosity.

"His school things. Arcturus did leave them with me before classes end. He had discussed with me before the game that he require trunk back now at the home of his parents;" he wordlessly summoned the bulky trunk and set it down at the end of the chaise, Arcturus' too-long legs raising seemingly of their own accord and stretching out across the dark wood grain.

Stooping, then, the illusive Durmstrang alumni shook out the cloak he had been holding, draping it over the lower half of the unmoving teenager with an almost uncharacteristic moment of tenderness. Straightening up and sheathing his wand, he turned to formally regard the uncle of his friend.
"With your pleasure I shall take my leave," he said solemnly, fisting a hand over his heart and bowing rigidly. "My regards to Arcturus. He will know I did come and can contact me if he so needs. He knows the means."

With a considerate nod towards the observing headmaster, and a contemptuous look at his friend's absentee grandfather, Viktor Krum made to take his leave. He'd taken barely a step, however, when he was struck by an idea and turned. Pulling something small and glinting from the top breast pocket in his tunic, he lowered himself upon one knee until he was level with the lying boy he had come to see and pressed the immobile object into his hand; closing the unresponsive fingers around it firmly. Leaning in close to the teen's ear, then, he muttered something secretively in fluent, but slow, Bulgarian, before standing tall once more and brushing himself off; nodding in satisfaction and sweeping off without offering an explanation.

No sooner had the formal young wizard Disapparated from the entrance hall across from them, was Sirius off his chair and crouching at his nephew's side, reaching out for the hand that reflexively clung to Viktor's parting gift.
"Was there a Quidditch match tonight?" he asked with incredulity, looking first to Dumbledore and then the Baron for clarification.

"I believe the top eight teams are engaged in a fierce battle for the finals," said Dumbledore with a mad twinkle in his eye. "And if I recall our young guest correctly, he did mention something about there being a game earlier this evening, specifically a conversation he and Arcturus had before it began."

"Yes, that sounds right," said the boy's grandfather, the cold indifference of his voice resoundingly lacking. "Moreover, it makes sense. The boy did engage in a internship with Krum's team whilst they were in running for the World Cup last season, if I am not mistaken."

Remembering his nephew having said something to that effect, Sirius nodded in agreement, but could not help but feel curious as to the circumstances by which Ivan von Astor had become so knowledgeable about the grandson he had refused to acknowledge until now. He strongly suspected that the proudly autocratic Baron had indeed kept a close eye on his wayward heir, pride and ancient history preventing him from closing the distance that had been forged between the generations.

"Why is it that you ask, Sirius?" said Dumbledore, though all who knew him could tell by the old wizard's tone that he already knew the answer to his question.

Sirius gave up trying to uncurl his nephew's fingers from their prize and looked up at the two conscious wizards with awe written all over his features.
"Because Krum gave the kid the bloody Snitch!"