Disclaimer: I wish.

"But mother," Draco whined, "why can't we visit Harry and Sirius instead?"

Narcissa smiled at her son. "Because we've been invited to dinner with the Parkinsons, dear."

"But I don't want to go to dinner there."

"Don't be rude," Narcissa chastised. "I thought you liked Pansy."

The boy sighed. "She's all right," he admitted, "it's just that she's so – so girly."

Shaking her head with a smile, Narcissa adjusted Draco's robes. "That's not necessarily a bad thing, darling."

Draco was, of course, highly unconvinced, but in the end he didn't have a choice. Narcissa took her son's arm, and accompanied by her husband she apparated over to the Parkinson Residence. It wasn't as grand as Malfoy Manor, of course, but it was still a respectable home. Mrs. and Mr. Parkinson greeted them warmly, and several pleasantries were exchanged. Draco reluctantly went with Pansy, knowing that his mother would be quite upset with him he wasn't politeness personified.

All the time he kept wishing he was over at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Sirius.

That night Arcturus came over to Grimmauld Place 12, announcing that he would join the two inhabitants for dinner. Sirius was, of course, quite suspicious of his grandfather, but Harry seemed to be glad of the company. When Pollux arrived merely ten minutes after Arcturus, Sirius began to suspect some sort of conspiracy. Harry was simply delighted.

Sirius informed Kreacher of the extra guests, and the elf seemed to be just as delighted as Harry was over the company. Sirius watched the house elf pop away, shook his head and muttered something about crazy elves, and then joined the others in the living room. Arcturus had chosen an arm-chair for himself, and Pollux was sitting on the couch. Harry was in his usual place, his legs pulled up against his chest.

Giving his grandfathers a look, Sirius slumped down into the couch. "So," he said, "what are you two planning?"

The two Slytherins looked far too innocent, if that was even a possibility.

Pollux was the first one to speak. "We wanted to talk to you, actually," he said, giving Sirius a peering look. "About Harry's… education."

Sirius' eyebrows rose. "I've already told Cass this," he said. "I'm not going to let you turn Harry into some pureblood maniac."

"The boy needs a solid education, Sirius," Arcturus said, avoiding his grandson's accusation. "He's going to be a part of our world now, as he was meant to be, and he needs to know how it works."

Pollux was quick to agree. "Arcturus is right, Sirius. The boy can't grow up without a proper base of education."

Sirius grimaced. He wanted to argue, but inside he knew his grandfathers had a point. It would be useful for Harry to know about the world he lived in. "How do you propose we do this, then?" he said with resignation.

The two elderly men looked like cats that'd gotten the milk. "Cassie has already begun," Pollux pointed out, "with teaching him how to play chess."

Harry, who'd silently been listening to the three men discuss him, wanted to say something. He tried to restrain himself, however, as Uncle Vernon had taught him not to disturb adults when they were talking. It was rude. Besides, he wasn't unused to being ignored, so it wasn't too bad. He just wished they'd pay him some attention, that was all.

Sirius, who only then seemed to realize Harry was still there, turned to his godson. Really, the boy was too quiet for his own good. "What do you think, prongslet?"

The child seemed surprised at being spoken to, and even more surprised that they were asking him for his opinion. No one had ever done that before, except a teacher or two back in school, but they rarely kept it up.

For a brief moment Pollux was visibly startled when Sirius spoke to the child, having to admit to the embarrasing fact that he'd forgotten the boy was there. He quickly regained his composture, however, like the Slytherin he was.

He smiled at Harry. "I think all this might be a bit too much so soon," he said gently, getting a relieved and grateful look from the boy. "How about we go and eat some dinner, and then you two," he nodded towards Sirius and Harry, "can discuss things once me and Arcturus have left. There's no need to rush things, after all."

Arcturus gave his cousin a shrewd look, but still nodded in agreement. They could afford to wait a few days.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, the grown ups keeping light conversation, sometimes including Harry in it, too. Kreacher had seemed to take extra care with his cooking, and Harry made sure to personally thank the elf, even thought the large-eyed creature had kept refilling his plate.

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at the child, watching him go away to do something with the house-elf. "Is he always so... polite to the house-elf?" The mere thought was a bit odd to him; house-elves were servants, not friends.

Sirius shrugged. "He likes him," he defended his godson, "and kreacher likes Harry." That was what was strange to Sirius; the bitter house-elf actually caring for someone who wasn't a mad Black.

Pollux nodded. "I haven't seen that elf take such care of anyone since Regulus died," he commented with a thoughtful look on his face.

Grimacing, Sirius chose not to comment on that, and the conversation soon returned to lighter topics. Eventually it got late enough for the two elderly wizards to return back to their own homes, and after bidding their hosts farewell the two disappeared through the floo. Harry and Sirius stayed up a little while longer, but soon the child began to yawn, and Sirius decided it was bedtime. He could use some sleep himself, anyway.

Waking up with a start, Harry suddenly realized that he was very thirsty. He first thought of calling for Kreacher, but then realized just how late it must be, and changed his mind. He didn't want to wake the elf up, after all.

Softly sliding out of his bed, he snuck out of his room. A quick glance into the adjacent room where Sirius was sprawled out over his bed told the child that his godfather was very much asleep, which means he would have to make the descent to the kitchen on his own. He didn't mind it too much; he like the old house, even though it was kind of scary when dark, and he had a feeling the house liked him, too.

Making sure to skip the third step on the staircase between the first and second floor, he quickly padded down the last stair down into the kitchen. The room was pitch black, but Harry felt sure enough of the area to be able to find his way to the cupboard that had the glasses. He pulled one out, as silent as he could, and then almost dropped it in fright as a light suddenly lit up the room.

Standing by his little alcove, Kreacher held his lit hand up in the air to illuminate the room. "What is Master Harry doing up this late?" he asked, his huge yellow eyes glowing.

Harry, who'd managed to regain his senses, answered in a hushed voice. "I was just thirsty," he assured the elf.

Kreacher frowned at him. "Master Harry should have told Kreacher," he chided the boy.

"I didn't want to wake you up," Harry said, taking advantage of the light as he made his way over to the tap. "I'll go back up now."

The elf looked dubious, but the child's concern for him mellowed him. "Fine," the elf said. "Good night, Master Harry."

"G'night, Kreacher," Harry said, and then began the trek up again.

Once he reached the top of the stairs Kreacher's light disappeared, and the hallway was plunged into darkness. Harry had to take a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light, and he found that maybe he would've wanted the elf's company, after all. It was too late for that, though, he reasoned with himself, and began to walk towards the stairs leading up to the second floor.

Almsot by chance he happened to glance to his side just as he was walking past where Sirius' mother's portrait hung, and he saw the curtains were drawn apart. He was certain they hadn't been open when he walked down earlier.

"Is this a recurring habit of yours, being out of bed at such a late hour?" The woman's voice was stern, and Harry almost dropped his glass of water.

"I-I was thirsty, Mrs. Black," he told the painting, remembering their last encounter.

He could see her give him a sceptical look. "So it seems," she said, eyes lingering on the glass in his hands. Walburga gave him another long look through narrow eyes, and then seemed to make up her mind about something. "Well, then," she said, "you get straight back to bed, now. Young boys like you need their sleep."

Harry gave the painting a strange look. He bit his lip, and then figured he might as well do as the painting said. "Good night, Mrs. Black," he said to the portrait as he began to make his way towards the stairs.

After a few moments he could hear her say "Good night, child," in response.

The next morning Harry woke earlier than his godfather, and for once he decided not to wait for Sirius to wake up. Instead he quickly got out of bed, changed out of his pyjamas into a pair of pants and a white shirt, and then made his way down into the kitchen. Kreacher was already up and Harry could smell breakfast.

"Kreacher," he called out to the elf, a plan forming in his mind, "could I get my breakfast now, before Sirius wakes up?"

The elf gave him a look. "Young Master Harry wants to eat alone?"

Harry's stomach decided to help him out by rumbling, and he smiled sheepishly. "I'm kind of hungry," he admitted, "and Sirius is still sleeping."

Kreacher didn't need more convincing than that, and soon a plate of delicious smelling bacon and eggs and a toast with cheese stood on the table, along with a cup of orange juice.

"Thanks, Kreacher!" Harry said with a wide smile. "I'll go up into the living room, okay?"

Kreacher, who had gotten used to Harry's odd little quirks – the child wanted to do things on his own, for one – simply nodded and went about his work around the kitchen. Soon another hungry person wanting breakfast would arrive, after all, and Kreacher was too proud in his work to accept any slacking off.

Harry walked back up the stairs again. He'd fibbed a bit when he'd said he'd be going to the living room; instead he stopped in front of Walburga's curtains, and then promptly sat down on the floor, putting the plate in his lap.

"Good morning, Mrs. Black," he called out, and the curtains immediately pulled apart.

The woman managed to hide her shock pretty well. "Good morning, child," she greeted, eyeing him curiously. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

He smiled brightly at her. "Thought you might want some company. It seems so lonely being stuck on a wall all day."

Despite herself, Walburga was amused. "I can leave whenever I want," she reminded him.

"Yeah," the child agreed, "but the other portraits around the house doesn't seem to talkative." He should know, he'd tried to talk to all of them. He took a bite of his bacon, relishing in the taste. "Most of them won't even stay around for very long." A thought hit him. "Hey, where is it portraits go when they leave their frames?"

Walburga wasn't as surprised by the child's inquisitiveness as say, Sirius would have been, but she still wasn't all too prepared for it. "Well," she said after a moment, "We can go to other paintings nearby, and we can go to other portraits of ourselves."

The child nodded, soaking up the information as he ate some scrambled eggs. "Can't they go further than that?" he asked through a mouthful of toast.

The woman pursed her lips. "As long as there are adjacent paintings, we can go as far as we wish." She gave him a stern look. "Your table-manners are atrocious, child."

Harry paused for a second. "They're not that bad," he defended himself, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Had anyone else made the comment he would've felt real bad, but for some reason it was okay when Mrs. Black said it. He supposed it was because she was a painting.

"They're bad enough," the woman said with finality in her voice. "Something has to be done about this. Where is that blasted son of mine?"

Harry took another bite of his toast. "He's still sleeping, I think," he offered before taking a sip from his orange juice. Ever since Kreacher had started to overfeed him he had seemed to discover a certain joy in food. It was certainly nice not to have to go hungry, at any rate.

Walburga's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Wait here," she ordered the child, and then walked out of her frame.

Blinking, Harry supposed he could only do what he'd been told. Besides, he didn't feel like going anywhere at that moment. He could hear Walburga's voice from upstairs, but he couldn't hear what she said. The fact that he even could hear her all the way from upstairs didn't surprise him too much; he'd heard her yell before.

A few minutes later Walburga returned, looking decidedly pleased with herself. Harry was about to ask why, when he suddenly heard someone rush down the stairs. Seconds later Sirius came into view, still wearing his pyjamas. His hair was all over the place, and his eyes were wild.

Harry smiled at his godfather. "Morning, Sirius."

When Walburga had left her frame, she'd immediately made her way up to a painting of a distant uncle that was in the hallway right outside Sirius' bedroom. With fiendish delight and a wicked smile she opened her mouth.

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK!" she shouted. "YOU GET OUT OF THAT BED RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

The sound of someone falling out of bed flittered out the door, and Walburga resisted the urge to laugh as she heard her eldest son spring to his feet. Without waiting for him to appear she quickly made her way down to her own painting again, pleased to find that Harry was still waiting there.

Moments later Sirius came crashing down the stairs, and Walburga would cherish the look on his face forever.

Harry greeted his godfather, and the man blinked stupidly for a few seconds. Then he turned angry eyes onto the portrait of his mother.

"You crazy old hag," he muttered angrily at the smug painting as he tried to get his heart to calm back down. "I should blast you right off the wall." His fingers itched for his wand, but it was still upstairs.

Walburga huffed, giving her son a haughty look. "You wouldn't know how to," she taunted, much to Harry's amusement.

The child tried to hide his laughter by stuffing more food into his mouth.

The portrait gave him a disapproving look. "Don't stuff your mouth like that," she chided him sternly. "You look like a commoner."

Harry blinked up at the woman. "But I am a commoner. Aren't I?" He glanced at his godfather, who was looking dumbstruck. Harry certainly didn't think there was anything uncommon about himself.

Before Sirius had time to respond Walburga spoke up again. "You most certainly are not," she said indignantly. "You are the grandchild of Dorea Black, my own aunt." She shook her head. "Commoner."

Sirius, who was still sort of creeped out by the whole situation, gave the portrait of his mother a shrewd look. "I thought you disowned her when she and Charlus took me in."

"I did no such thing."

"You disowned Uncle Alphard."

Walburga changed the subject. "You are a child of Black," she told Harry sternly, "and we are no commoners. We are-"

"The most noble and ancient house, yes, yes we know," Sirius interjected with a roll of his eyes. "You still forget that Harry's mother was a muggle-born. You know, the kind of people you want to exterminate?" He wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I want no such thing," she protested haughtily. "I just think that they have no place in our society."

Harry, who'd been listening with rapt interest, frowned. "But why not?" he asked, before he could stop himself and before Sirius could retort. "Aren't they magical, too?" From what he'd heard his mom had certainly been magical, even though she'd come from a normal family.

They would have continued the conversation, but there was a sudden sound from the living room, and seconds later Cassiopeia came out into the hallway. "Why are you sitting on the floor, Harry?"

He smiled at her. He liked Cassie. "Eating breakfast," he told her honestly, showing his plate of half eaten bacon and scrambled eggs.

She looked decidedly unimpressed and turned to Sirius. "Haven't you taught him how to use a table?"

Sirius held his hands up in defence. "He got up before me," he explained. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with sitting on the floor."

Both Cassiopeia and Walburga gave him equally stern looks. He shrank back, just a little.

"Besides," Harry added, still smiling, "there wasn't any table here, and I wanted to keep Mrs. Black company."

Cassiopeia glanced at the painting. "There are other paintings for her to visit should she feel lonely," she pointed out to the child.

"But they all seem so boring," the child complained. "No one of them will talk, and they're mostly never here, anyway."

Glancing at Sirius, who held his hands up again, Cassie then turned back to the child. She seemed to have troubles containing her laughter. "My mother would have had a seisure had she seen you," she told the boy.

Walburga could only agree. "Grandmother Violetta had the right notion," she said, giving Harry another stern look. "You need to know how to act properly, and most importantly your table-manners need to be improved. Now." There was no arguing with that tone, certainly not since the painting snapped her curtains close just to prove her point.

Harry sighed. "Fine," he said, "I'll go to the living room." He picked up his plate and cup, and dejectedly trudged into the living room, leaving a stunned Cassiopeia and Sirius behind.

Cassie shook her head. "One day I'm going to figure out how he does that," she promised.

Sirius glanced at her. "Does what?"

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't noticed. How he completely charms every one in his surrouondings, even someone like Walburga."

"I heard that!" came from the other side of the curtains covering the painting.

It was ignored. "You have a point," Sirius said, stroking his chin. "I don't think even he knows it, though. I half expect him to panic and run away every now and then."

Cassie's eyebrows rose. "He's still frightened?"

"As jumpy as a rabbit," Sirius confirmed. "It's a lot better now, though. I think being with Kreacher helps, even though I can't for my life understand why."

The elderly woman's eyes narrowed in thought. "From what I've gathered, he must have lived like a servant with those... muggles." It was still a touchy subject, and very much so. "Perhaps he feels more at ease with someone who he'd consider being on his own level?"

Sirius had to agree the idea had merit. "Could be true, yeah," he admitted. His eyes turned dark. "If I ever get my hands on those heartless bastards..."

Cassiopeia put a hand on his shoulder. "You're not the only one," she assured him, "but now's not the time to go on a crusade." She almost surprised herself with the reasonable advice. "Harry doesn't need you to get sent back to Azkaban."

He calmed down notably at the mention of the prison. "You're right," he sighed. "Still..."

"We can deal with that later. Now, we should join Harry in the living room."

A grin began to tug on Sirius' lips. "'We'?"

"Oh, shut up."

A/N: And here's another chapter. It feels good to be writing again. Also, as the spell-check on the school computers is retardedly boring, Alphard was only corrected to Alp Hard, Dorea to Dora, and Charlus to Charles. I am dissapointed in you, retarded school computer spell-check. I miss my own spell-check.