Edited: 3/17/17

Sirius POV

"'ere 'e is, Headmaster," Sirius heard his wife? ex-wife? call. "Siri, why are yeh sittin' in 'ere all by yerself?"

Before he said anything, Dumbledore walked into the room. "Ah, Sirius, my boy," he said happily. Sirius still had his head buried in his hands. "Teenaged hormones not treating you too kindly, I presume?"

Tilly was looking at him in concern, knowing all too well how sharp that their daughter's words could be. Their daughter's anger was not for the soft-hearted, that was for sure. He shook his head at her, trying and failing to convey that everything was fine. After all, he was not too sure that was true.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," he said. "I tried to convince her, but she wouldn't listen. I'm… I'm afraid of losing her if I push too hard."

Tilly pursed her lips and shook her head. "I told yeh she would no' be 'appy 'bout tha'!" she exclaimed. "Jus' as stubborn as her Da', she is! Won' listen to no one!"

"She's too wrapped up with those friends of hers," he said angrily, all but ignoring the love of his life. "Merlin only knows what kind of influence they'll have on her. Neither of you think… that she'll… y'know?"

"Y'know, wha'?" Tilly asked, eyes flashing dangerously.

Dumbledore sighed. "Sirius, do you think you would be asking what I believe you are asking if she were a Gryffindor?"

Sirius shook his head numbly. "No, of course not, Albus. But—"

"But, wha'?" Tilly growled, hands on her hips. "Yeh think tha' me daughter would become a Death Eater? Damn, bu' there's why I left the Wizardin' World behind! None o' yeh can let go o' yer prejudices, from the 'pitiful states' o' Squib, to yer stupid Houses! Yeh build snap judgements into yer psyche from the time yer eleven an' yeh never learn to grow out o' it!"

Sirius flushed, but did not back down. "You haven't seen what she's been reading, Tilly!" he shouted, picking up the book he had caught Bailey with earlier and shaking it in the air. "And you don't realize the kind of people she's been hanging around! Snape! And the Blackwoods! And the Malfoy scion! You just don't get it!"

"I understand perfectly well, Black," she hissed. "Bein' a Squib may impeded me magic, bu' not me mental capacity."

And then she, too, stormed out of the room. Sirius sighed in defeat, realizing that he had managed to chase away two of the people he cared most for in the world over the course of an hour. He turned to Albus.

"Sorry you had to see that, Headmaster," he said sullenly. "I just… worry about Minnie sometimes."

"Only time will tell what will become of her, Sirius," the wizened wizard said, folding his hands together. "But, I do believe the light far outweighs the darkness in your daughter. She is far too much like her parents to be in Tom's command, even if she were to stray."

Sirius wilted, collapsing bonelessly into the chair. "So, you think she would become a Death Eater."

Dumbledore peered at his former student over his half-moon spectacles. "Don't worry about tomorrow, Sirius. Be the good father that we all—including Bailey—know you to be and she won't. Not so long as she has you to support her."

Bailey POV

Bailey was curled into herself sitting on the roof. The roof had become am almost sacred place for her, the one place where she no longer felt like a prisoner in her ancestral home. She spent many a night watching London come alive and block out the stars little by little. It was a warm night, if rather windy. If she had unfolded herself, she likely would have been blown away from her perch.

"Good evening, Ms. Black," a voice said next to her. She looked over to see Headmaster Dumbledore.

Oh bollocks.

Bailey had never much cared for Dumbledore. It had all started when he had practically handed the House Cup over to the Gryffindors in first year, even though Slytherin had won it fair and square (even if Malfoy had lost them fifty points in one go). The feeling had continued throughout the years, as she was Petrified and made a laughing stock in her House in second year, while still being ostracized by the rest of the school.

Then, ever since she had found out the truth of her parentage in third year, she had had dire suspicions about the old man. There was simply no way that he had not even suspected her father's innocence. Even if he hadn't, shouldn't the great bastion of light supported her mother's petitions for a trial? It was all a part of his master plan, while she and her family were just pawns on his chessboard. In short, she rather hated the man.

"How are you doing this fine evening?" he continued.

"Just dandy, sir!" she said sarcastically. She was in her own home; there were no rules necessitating her deference to the Headmaster. Here, he was just an old man. "Lemme guess, yeh're the reason my father asked me to spy on my friends?"

Dumbledore's silence was answer enough.

"So I was right? How about another, then, eh?" she said. "You're up here to try an' take a stab at it yourself."

He was still silent.

"Two for two!" she exclaimed with false excitement. "Now, let's see, Da' thinks I'm a Death Eater now, dunnit he?"

Silence.

She felt it like a blow to her stomach. Her father truly did think so little of her? She had not wanted to believe it. But then, they hardly knew each other. All that her father could see was the little toddler he had carried on his shoulders was now clad in green and silver, a member of that which he resented so much. She had to move on.

"Well, as I'm on a roll, here's one I've been dyin' to ask for years," she said once she regained her voice. "You knew that me father was innocent fourteen years ago and did nothin', didn't yeh?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Your father is worried, Ms. Black," he said, deftly avoiding her last question. "He only wants you to do what is right."

"An', wha' would yeh say is right, Headmaster? Takin' yer orders?" she growled, her accent growing thicker the angrier she became. "Even if it means betraying me friends? Alright then, yeh wanna know how much influence the Dark Lord has in Slytherin? I'll tell yeh—a 'elluva lot. Me mates are scared fer their lives, Dumbledore. Most who are joinin' up aren't doin' so willingly. They've got enough shite goin' on—I ain't gonna be addin' to it by reportin' 'em to be carted off to Azkaban!"

"I wouldn't want you to," Dumbledore said smoothly. "I realize that many of your Housemates are in… less than ideal situations."

"Oh, don't sugar coat it, old man!" she hissed, not fearing retribution as they were in her house. "You know nothin'! If yeh realized half of what was going on, or even cared to, things wouldn't be so bad! I've nursed one o' me best friends back to health abou' five times since second year from the beatin's his father is given him! Me o'er mate is so scared of livin' with her parents that's she lives full time with her twenty-year-old brother! And everyone knows what kind o' woman Madame Zabini is! An' tha's barely scratchin' the surface o' Slytherin House! Bu' you do nothing!"

Dumbledore bowed his head. "Ms. Black, I know that I have failed far too many of the students in my care in the past. I would hope that you could come to see it as an old man's blunder."

"Like hell," she growled.

"Please, child, I am not asking you to spy on your fellow Slytherins as if they are criminals that might be carted to Azkaban," he said. "I merely wish to know what they do. Perhaps I'd even be able to aid them better if I had someone I could trust telling me who was in trouble."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, knowing without a doubt Dumbledore was manipulating her. He seemed all but desperate, though he was doing his best not to show it. The old coot would do just about anything to get what he wanted. But she was a Slytherin; she would manipulate him in turn. After all, she, too, had things that she wanted done.

"That's what you say," she replied, cocking her head to the side. "If I am to spy on me Housemates, I would expect some sort o' payment. So, if I do this for you, what will you do for me?"

"The satisfaction of a job well done is not enough?" Dumbledore asked lightly.

Bailey glared at him.

"Very well. Name your price. Galleons? Good marks? The Head Girl position?"

She snorted.

"I can get all those on my own, Dumbledore," she said in a calculating tone. "No, I want you to protect me mother and father, like you should o' done fourteen years ago. I won't have me father dyin' in this war. That means no more pilferin' missions. No more Padfoot excursions. He has to stay within Headquarters. He is to be put in no more danger until the war is over an' his name cleared. Twelve years in Azkaban is enough sacrifice to your so-called noble cause, Dumbledore."

"How do you know that his name won't be cleared first?"

She laughed. "Because Wormy is always under the protection of a Death Eater's child. Consider this yer first bit o' intel: As far as I know, Theodore Nott has 'im now. And I can't get to him; there's some sort of anti-Black charm around his cage. And your reputation is currently shot all to hell, otherwise I'd be tellin' yeh to call in all yer favors with the Ministry to get 'im cleared."

Dumbledore nodded. "So, do you take the job?"

"Will anyone but actual Death Eaters, with the Mark, go to Azkaban?" she asked pointedly.

"No, child."

"An' even those will 'ave a trial."

"As far as I am concerned, yes."

"Will me Mum and Da' stay safe?"

"Yes, of course."

She stuck out a hand. "Then we have a deal, sir."