Chapter 11

August 21, 1987

"Huh," Sirius said, glancing over the morning paper on a marvelously sunny summer day. "Would you look at that… my mother died." He chewed at his lip in thought.

"From anyone else, or about anyone else, Sirius, that would sound very callous and rather heartless." Remus voiced, having traipsed into the kitchen just in time to hear Sirius' statement. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, squeezed by the Flamel house elf Fuzzy, and said, "Does this mean anything for you?"

"Well, I get the family signet ring now. Since I'm the head of House Black, I can let Cousin Andy and her daughter Dora back into the family. And since I don't - and can't - have any children by blood, I'll make Harry the Black Family Heir."

Sirius set his face grimly as he remembered a Death Eater attack, just after his seventh year, and the penalty of an infertility spell, the Wizarding equivalent of a vasectomy, he couldn't get removed… Ach, what's in the past is in the past, you scruffy old dog; lay off on the bad memories.

Nicholas tottered blearily into the kitchen, and fumbled with the teapot and his cup, that he had charmed unbreakable because of his dislike of the morning hours. Lemon juice and two lumps, as usual, went into the old pale green mug, but when he took a swallow of his tea his pure white hair turned into a spectacular rainbow of neon.

Sirius smirked and hid his beaming face behind his Daily Prophet.

Remus rolled his eyes, but stayed silent and gave his attention to staring, musing and thinking, out the window.

An owl swooped in the casement and landed on the table in front of Nicholas. He groggily looked up from his sleep-induced miasma and muttered, "Who're you after?"

But the owl would have none of it. The screech owl took one look at Nicholas' multihued and color-changing hair, hooted indignantly at the eye-hurting display, and flapped over to Remus to hand over its letter.

"It's from Professor Dumbledore, er, Albus. He's inviting us over for tea on the 25th and…" Remus peered at the letter to make sure he had understood a sentence correctly. "'A portion of information I feel is incredibly important has come to my attention.' Hmm, I wonder what that could be…"

"Oh, well, t'is no good to think on it now, at this ungodly hour of the morning." Nicholas murmured, and reached for the last plum on the silver tray in front of him. He got a good eyeful of his tinted reflection, and caught a glimpse of Sirius' sniggering visage. "SIRIUS!" Nicholas' face was turning a shade of maroon only seen when he got pranked.

He was irate, and probably more than a little frustrated, but he wasn't reaching for his wand, which meant that he a) wasn't wearing it, which was unlikely, b) had forgotten he had a wand on him, or c) remembered the sentiment most humans had called humor that kept them from getting totally irrational about something like rainbow hair.

Judging by the expression on Nicholas' face, it was either 'a' or 'b'.

It was 'b'; Nicholas drew his wand, made of pear wood with a dragon scale for a core, and fired jinx after jinx at Sirius, whose sniggering had given way to raucous laughter, and who had fallen out of his chair in mirth.

That mirth didn't last long, as a full-blown prankster's duel was underway within the minute. Nicholas traded a twitchy ears curse for a color-change charm; Sirius fired off a trip jinx only to have it miss. He was then hit with a tangling hex that made his robes bunch up around his legs, forcing him to stumble and fall onto his behind.

"Ow." Sirius said dazedly, his eyes nearly crossed as he tried to track Nicholas' wand pointed between his eyes. "That hurt, Granddad."

"Serves you right, Padfoot, you old Marauder, you; when, oh when, will you learn to not cross the aging but still strong Leonardo?"

"Leonardo?" Remus asked curiously.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Seeing blank looks, Nicholas sighed and pocketed his wand, took a cleansing breath… and changed...

A middling-sized lion stood in place of the elderly chap that had been there only a few moments before. A white lion of the Transvaal region of South Africa, his mane was a lot slighter and less bulky than Ari's; as a Barbary lion, Ari's pale mane was very thick, and extended from his forehead to halfway along his underbelly. A self-satisfied look was plastered upon his features.

"You got a mountain of shed hair on my bed! I blamed Ari for that!" Sirius said.

"How long have you been an Animagus?" asked Remus, who was completely unfazed by the whole thing.

Nicholas changed back with a small 'pop!'

"Since I was 189 years old; I helped to create the potion that allows the change in most people. It's not widely known nowadays, but some people Change of their own accord, spontaneously, without the aid of the potion. It requires a lot of power, power that I don't have."

Sirius and Remus shared a look.

If a wizard with the amount of power he does can't do it, then who could? Remus thought bemusedly. Albus? Maybe…but being an Animagus changes your scent, and I've never smelled it around him…but then again, I've never smelled it around Nicholas and connected it with his scent, I assumed the Animagus odor was Padfoot's dog fur coating everything…

Nicholas fell into silence, poured his pranked tea out in the sink, and got a fresh cup. He sat back down, and cradled the mug in his grasp, deep in contemplation.

This reflection was interrupted by Harry bouncing into the kitchen and looking at Nicholas' still multicolored hair. "Whoa. What did I miss, Granddad? Your hair looks like a rainbow."

"Wha?" Nicholas said intelligently.1 He reached towards the silver platter that did double duty as a last-minute mirror, looked into it, and said, "Damn," and removed the charm.

Ari tramped in and made a beeline for the bowl filled with lamb that the house elves made for his breakfast. He gobbled it slightly greedily – and very messily.

Urgh, Ari, that's really gross.

And I think the sounds you make when slurping a root beer float through a straw are truly vulgar. Do I comment on it?

Yes.

You were supposed to say 'no,' cublet.

Well, I didn't. Get over it.

My my, you've become cheeky as you've aged, Harry.

I am NOT old, Ari! You're one to talk, you one-thousand-year-old lion!

For your information, I was asleep for most of that time! Ari sounded/felt like he was faking the indignant feeling that was pouring into their bond.

You're not about to kick the bucket on me, are you?

No, you're in the clear there; I'll die a few days after you do, as long as I don't fall in battle.

Oh. Good. I'd miss you, you great lump.

Why thank you… Hey!

And the kitchen was treated to the amusing sight of a large, heavy lion chasing after a screeching little boy. When Ari caught him, (under the table, squeaking), he gave Harry's face a few good slobbery licks from a rough tongue. As soon as Harry sat up, slightly pink faced, he made a grimace and said to the room at large, "Ari, your breath is foul. We really should get the house elves to feed you vegetables."

Ari made a sound pretty close to "Eeep!" and made his face go into its I'm-a-good-boy pose.

This made everybody crack up.

1 Sarcasm, people!