Black Bond

by Rajatarangini

An eight year-old Harry Potter comes across Acquila Black, a girl at his school, only to realise that he shares a strange connection with her. Sirius Black escapes Azkaban and reunites with his daughter and godson, together leading the fight against the Darkest wizard of all times Part I of Black Bond (Chapters 1-20 under revision) (Thanks to Nerdman3000 for the cover image)

36. Chapter 36 - Strides and Stumbles

Author's Note: Apologies! I know we said early March, but some setbacks in studies didn't quite give me any time for writing. The Cricket World Cup after that had me glued to the telly after I came back from work...and then there was March end, financial year end which had me too busy with work; then the many, many changes we made in this chapter - in short, we completely overshot our estimated time...
This is a monstrous chapter (it's got POVs of ten different characters) but I have a flight to catch in an hour, and no connectivity where I'm going, so splitting it would have resulted in a long wait for the next part until I came back to town (and there was no good place to split the chapter without making the first part seem like just a filler chapter)
This update will hopefully keep you reading for a couple of days, and make up for the long wait. I swear this is the first and last chapter that's this long; really hope the length doesn't turn any of you off! Hope you enjoy the chapter :)

oOo

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters belong to J K Rowling. We own nothing. Recognisable parts of this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

oOo

Chapter 36: Strides and Stumbles

Acquila sat by Harry's side, his arms around her, her face nestled in his chest. She seemed far vulnerable than he had ever seen her. She wasn't crying now; the sobs had subsided some time ago. But he could hear an occasional sniffle in the silence outside the Healing Room in St Mungo's in which Sirius was being treated.

"Sweetie," said Dora softly, making Acquila look up at her, and Harry slightly loosened his hold around her. "Mum said it might take time. Harry and you could go to our place—"

Dora stopped abruptly, and Harry felt more than saw the seething glare Acquila threw their cousin.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Acquila, her voice rasped from all the crying she had done. "I'm staying here until I know he's—he's fine…"

Harry knew what she had been about to say: Until I know he's not going to die.

It had been half an hour since they had been waiting for the Healers working on Sirius to come out of the Healing Room – and a total of four hours since he was being treated. But the healers were still working on Sirius; and that made Harry suspect that Sirius' injuries were far grievous than he had thought. But Greyback (and he shuddered at remembering a ragged Greyback addressing him as 'My Lord') had told Voldemort that Sirius would survive. And Harry clung on to the werewolf's words with all his hope.

He caught Irene Summerby's gaze. The Auror, along with Savage, had been assigned to guard Sirius (and them) until he was deemed out of danger. A couple of Hit Wizards would take charge of their security once they departed from the hospital. From the snippets of whispered conversation he'd caught, he knew that Scrimgeour had assigned round-the-clock guard for Sirius, too. But currently, all the other Aurors and Hit Wizards – everyone in the Ministry who knew how to deal with a magical calamity in the Muggle world, really – had been sent out to deal with the aftermath of the Werewolf attack.

"Do you need anything, Harry?" Irene asked him quietly, somehow reading his mind.

"Water?" he said, and then accepted the glass of water she brought.

"Here," he told Acquila, managing a sheepish grin when she huffed in irritation.

She hated it when he sensed her thoughts and acted on them. It kept reminded her of the Soul Bond and its privacy-invading effects. But he had sensed her thirst, and he would force the water down her throat if he needed to.

She took the glass from him, sipping down the water quietly. He could sense her insides writhing, her stomach growling with hunger. He knew she had vomited when she'd woken up from that sickening nightmare. Harry, though, was sure he wouldn't feel hungry for at least an entire week. He shuddered, his stomach turning, as he remembered Padfoot's blood and fur in his wolfy mouth, his teeth clamping over Mrs Smith's throat, his tongue swiping over the blood that spurt forth—

"You alright, Harry?" Uncle Ted's worried query made him realise that his face had probably turned a sick shade of green.

"Yeah—I'm fine," he mumbled, hoping the churning in his stomach wouldn't lead to him vomiting all over the floor. The kind-faced Healer, who he had seen earlier, would surely put him into a room and pour vials of potion down his throat if she saw him puking; she had already commented on his relatively skinny frame and bad eyesight.

He felt a shudder run through him again as he recollected the horrific dream Acquila and he had had. He remembered it in clear detail – Voldemort had purposely sent Greyback to the Orphanage to kill Mrs Smith, knowing that's what would hurt Acquila—and Dumbledore! Sirius and Remus had lied to Harry (he would take up the issue with them later) – lied that Dumbledore would recover, that he would be fine. Voldemort, on the contrary, knew that the curse on the box was irreversibly fatal. Dumbledore would die, soon.

And then there was the terrible, scary matter of Sirius being Voldemort's enemy now. His nemesis, Voldemort had called him – the one man who seemed as unafraid of unleashing his power as Voldemort was. Hell, Voldemort had thought that Harry wasn't even worth deeming an enemy! Sirius alone was who he considered a worthy rival. And Harry hated that with all his heart! This was the second time in less than three months that they were waiting outside the Healing Room for news on Sirius' survival. The first time was after the Diagon Alley attack – which Harry now knew had been orchestrated by Voldy through the werewolf. Greyback had almost killed Sirius with the Killing Curse.
And this was the second time – again because of Voldy acting through Greyback. And Harry knew he wouldn't be able to take another time of having Sirius fighting for life on the healers' table.

Acquila snuggled slightly deeper into him, and he pulled her closer, feeling her erratic breaths tickle his neck. He thought back to the way he had felt her legs giving way; she had stumbled down the stairs and fallen into his arms, letting out gut-wrenching cries that seemed to physically pain him. And he hadn't known how to deal with it. He had never experienced the loss of someone close to him. He didn't remember his parents' deaths. And Aunt Cassiopeia had died before he got to know her better.

But Acquila's grief over Mrs Smith's death was something far greater than either of them had ever experienced. And he had known nothing better to do than to hold her tight, let her cry her heart out, whisper words which he knew would never be enough to console her, and open his mind to the torrent of memories that were swirling in her mind: Mrs Smith baking chocolate cookies with her, holding Acquila's little fingers over the pencil as she taught her the alphabet, Mrs Smith patiently answering all of Acquila's questions during the orphanage's trip to the zoo, gathering Acquila into her arms when she had nightmares, walking Acquila to the Muggle school everyday, despite the pain in her ageing knees, , braiding Acquila's hair every morning, dressing up Acquila's bruises when Robin pushed her off the top of the slide, Mrs Smith giving Acquila her mother's locket, saying she wanted Acquila to keep it because she was like a daughter to her… the memories had gone on and on, and he had recognised her unspoken plea for him to keep them safe, store them in his mind forever, in case she ever forgot any of them…

And then Madam Pomfrey had come running in with Parvati, followed by McGonagall, who had already known of the attack (through Dumbledore possibly, he thought, wondering why they hadn't woken them up and taken them to the Hospital sooner!). Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville, whom Harry had woken up by his loud scream at the sickening dream, had followed him to the base of the girls' dormitory staircase. Hermione and Lavender had come, too. And McGonagall had thankfully whisked Acquila and him away to St Mungos before any of them could ask him questions he didn't know how to answer: what had they dreamt of, how had both of them woken up screaming at the same time, why had Acquila known about Greyback killing Mrs Smith…

And after that it had been all fearing and waiting and hoping…

Acquila had been silent for quite some time, he realised with a jolt – something which he preferred to the unusual, painful sight of her crying. But her silence was beginning to worry him now, especially because she had bloody shut him out of her mind! He couldn't listen to her thoughts, except sense her feelings – like thirst and hunger, and grief and loss and despair—and worry and fear for Sirius…

But it was grief which stood out the most. Mrs Smith had been everything to her before she met him in the Muggle school. The elderly lady had been more than a mother to Acquila. And her death was something Harry knew Acquila would probably never get over—especially because of the gruesome manner in which they had come to know of it. And he had a sneaking suspicion about why she was shutting him out: because she didn't want him to feel her grief.

Their Bond was such that they could literally feel the other's emotions. When she had been crying earlier, he had almost felt as if he was Acquila, as if Mrs Smith had been his own mother. Acquila's grief had really been his own… and that was why, he assumed, she was keeping her thoughts from him, to protect him from feeling the depth of her sorrow. But though she was succeeding at concealing her thoughts, she wasn't succeeding at hiding her emotions—hell, she couldn't succeed at the emotions bit, because even without the Soul Bond, he would have known what she was feeling – and it was not just in this case. He knew her so well in most matters, that he believed he could determine her sentiments even without the mind link, from a twitch of her lips, an imperceptible change in her vocal pitch, a tiny frown on her face, the slight widening of her eyes…

"Who's there?" called Irene sharply, startling Harry.

Savage rushed out, to examine the wards possibly. And a moment later, the Auror was back with a pale-faced, weary Remus in tow.

"McGonagall told me—how's Sirius?" asked Remus, his face harried, containing none of the calm he was famed for.

"He's still in," replied Savage before the others could.

"Mum's in with the healers," said Dora softly, pulling Remus into a hug. "They won't let her heal him—but they agreed to let her be with him…"

"He hasn't…?" Remus trailed off questioningly, and Harry understood his unasked worry.

"He hasn't turned," he replied quietly. "Greyback and the wolves bit him, but he was Padfoot. So he won't turn…"

"Thank Merlin," said Remus, before his eyes fell on Acquila.

"Come here, dear," he said softly, letting go of Dora and pulling Acquila into his arms instead. And Harry felt the sense of slight relief that rose in Acquila and the tears welling up in her eyes again.

"I'm sorry—I'm so sorry," whispered Remus. "I should've been there with you—Mrs Smith… I never thought she'd be targeted…and the kids…" he trailed off, as Harry shut his eyes, not wanting to think of the four kids that had been mauled to death. One of them, Martha, had shared a room with Acquila for years. And even though Acquila had never really been friends with her, he knew her death had hit her hard.

How—how could Voldemort attack an orphanage? Voldemort himself had grown up in one for heaven's sake—damn! Maybe that had played a part in his ordering the orphanage to be attacked; after all, Dumbledore had told them how Voldemort had hated his years in there.
But making a pack of werewolves attack orphans? That was—that was—Merlin! He didn't even have words for it! Sirius had told them of how things were during the War – men, women, children, the elderly – all were attacked, tortured to death. But he had never realised the magnitude of how it was to see children killed… those little kids all dressed up and excited for Halloween… lying broken and dead, with no family to mourn them…

"—I'm sorry—I didn't even know—nobody informed me!" Harry turned his attention to Remus again. "I was sleeping off after—" Remus stopped abruptly, spotting Irene and Savage who didn't know of his lycanthropy. "But you should've told me—at least both of you, Ted, Dora! I woke up and McGonagall told me what happened—I should've bloody been there! With you—with Sirius!"

Remus ran a hand through his sandy hair, agitation writ large on his lined face. Remus never swore. And his use of the word 'bloody' spoke of just how affected was.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," said Dora quietly. "I know I should've told you, but I was at the attack site. It's all chaos there. And then I brought the two children Sirius saved to the healers—"

"Dad saved another kid?" asked Acquila hoarsely.

"Yes," replied Dora, and Harry noticed all of them except Remus eyeing Acquila in surprise.

Damn! None of them knew of their link with Voldemort, that they dreamt of Voldemort, that they saw through his eyes in their dreams! And Acquila's words about 'another kid' had made them curious, because they hadn't mentioned a word about the first kid Sirius had saved! They were undoubtedly wondering how she knew.

"He saved a boy," replied Irene, "shielded him with his own body. That's when the wolves attacked him. And he saved another girl earlier."

"He sent her to Mum by Portkey," put in Dora. "I was home, too. Mum brought the girl here, to St Mungos, and Dad and I went to the orphanage… the girl told us what had happened. Mum came in, too, with a group of healers."

"But there were anti-disapparition wards on," said Uncle Ted.

"Kingsley and we were trying to dismantle the wards," put in Savage gruffly. "But they were very well-cast. We barely managed to negate the wards in a small patch of the orphanage, and we got in. Sirius was there—in his dog form. Merlin! The sight of the wolves trying to tear him apart—"

"Savage!" snapped Irene and Dora sharply.

"Shit! Sorry! That slipped out," said Savage, with an apologetic glance at Acquila and him. Harry merely nodded stiffly, shuddering again. What Savage had said was nothing compared to what Harry had seen and felt when his own lupine teeth teared into Sirius' flesh, the bone in his hind-leg snapping in his sharp-toothed jaws—

"Stop that!" cried Acquila, her face pained.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, willing the grotesque mental images away, wincing as his mind refused to stop thinking of them, of Sirius lying in a mangled heap.

"What's the matter?" asked Irene, looking between Acquila and him warily.

But Acquila said nothing, as Remus pulled her closer into him, while Uncle Ted took the empty seat next to Harry's, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"I think Acquila and you should go home, Harry," said Uncle Ted.

And he caught the unsaid worry and concern in Uncle Ted's tone. He, like Harry, was worried for Acquila… and the tension on his usually affable face made Harry wonder whether Uncle Ted was worried whether Sirius would be able to make it…

"You saw him, didn't you?" Harry asked Savage desperately. "You brought him here." He turned to Irene. "How bad is he? Tell us the truth, please…"

Irene exchanged a glance with Savage, and then with Remus, who nodded quietly. "The bone in his left arm's splintered… the one in his left leg's broken, too."

Harry felt Acquila tremble, even though they already knew this bit.

"I fucking told him not to transform!" exclaimed Savage, suddenly beginning to pace around the narrow corridor. "Irene bandaged him up—we were going to put him on the stretcher, and he heard the boss saying Greyback escaped—and Sirius fucking transformed into his Dog form! That caused bloody double the damage, I think! Stretched the bones, pulled the muscles, shook off the bandages Irene had cast, increased the internal bleeding—we had to stun him! And we cast the spell to get him back to human! And when we did, his bloody guts were spilling out of his stomach—"

"SAVAGE!" roared the others furiously.

And this time, Harry didn't know whether it was his stomach churning or Acquila's.

"You dickhead!" snapped Irene, smacking Savage hard on his head.

"He'll be fine," said Uncle Ted, his arm around Harry, while he absently heard Remus whispering assurances to a thoroughly shaken Acquila. "There's nothing magic can't cure. You remember Riley Bliskwick got hit by the Exploding Curse during the Basilisk mission?"

Uncle Ted's voice was calm, soothing. Harry nodded, remembering that Blishwick had had his insides blown up by the Curse, and the organs were regrown by magic during his month-long stay in St Mungos.

"Sirius will be fine, too. I promise. Droma's in with him. We've got the best healers working on him," went on Uncle Ted. "He'll be back on his feet in no time—Droma!" Aunt Andy came out of the Healing Room.

"How is he?" Acquila's words were urgent, her voice shaky. Harry watched Aunt Andy half-fearfully, half-eagerly.

"He's stable," replied Aunt Andy, ashen-faced but relieved. "He'll take a lot of time to recover—thank Merlin he was in his Animagus form. The wounds are very deep…it'll take time to regrow some of his internal organs—"

Harry winced. Growing back the bones in his arm had been so painful, he didn't want to know how painful regrowing intestines could be.

"—but he'll live," went on Aunt Andy. "We've put him on a strong dose of Sleeping Potion. So he won't wake up until tomorrow—"

"I want to see him," said Acquila, as a group of healers came out of the Healing Room. Irene, Savage, Uncle Ted and Remus walked forward to talk to the group, Remus asking them worried questions, Uncle Ted rattling off medical terms Harry had never heard of. But he didn't pay them any attention, looking at Aunt Andy instead.

"We want to see him," he said earnestly.

"I'm sorry," replied Aunt Andy. "Healer Bennet says we'd better keep him in isolation. We don't want him getting any infections. The healers have already pumped him with eleven different potions. An infection will only worsen matters… But you can…" she trailed off, waving her wand at the wall and turning it transparent.

And through the glass, Harry saw Sirius lying suspended in the air, white bandages over all his stomach, bandages to his head, his face pale and scarred, his left leg magically held up in the air, his bandaged left hand lying by his side. And though he couldn't see Sirius' back, Harry knew his godfather was kept suspended in the air because his back was badly hurt, too. Sirius' face was pale, his eyes shut, and the rise and fall of his chest was almost scarily imperceptible.

"Dad," whispered Acquila, her face pressed against the glassy wall, her eyes moist again.

And he quietly took her hand, his own eyes prickling as he gazed at the unconscious man who had yet again managed to defeat death.

oOo

"—horrific attack! Four children and three adults have been shot to death by an unidentified gunman. Eyewitnesses state that the gunman entered the premises of the orphanage just when the children were coming back after Trick and Treat. Mr John Wallace and Mrs Ophelia Smith, in charge of the orphanage, reportedly ushered the children to the safety of the building—"

Harry noticed Dora tighten her hold on Acquila when the television reporter mentioned Mrs Smith.

"—Mr Wallace was reportedly killed when he tried to save Josie Harlton, aged 6, from the gunman, but was shot dead in the process. Mrs Smith, too, was shot dead by the gunman when she tried to save thirteen-year-old Martha Wickham—"

"She was my roommate," whispered Acquila, "Martha. She was my friend… before she started avoiding me… we used to play together… with the dolls—and on the roundabout…"

"—the assailant reportedly shot himself after his killing spree. Detective Inspector Alan Shoreman, in charge of the case, stated that efforts are still on to identify the gunman—"

"The Obliviators are still working," muttered Irene, who was warily watching the news. "It's terrible…"

"—an outpouring of grief throughout England. The funeral for the victims will be held on the 4th of October—"

Harry watched the reporter gesturing towards the orphanage gates, where people had laid hundreds of flowers and bouquets and notes in support of the victims.

Remus fumbled with the television remote, before finally managing to switch it off.

"How did you arrange the gunman?" asked Acquila, her voice still hoarse.

"Dawlish nicked a corpse from a Muggle morgue," said Irene. "Magicked all the paperwork, Obliviated the morgue officers. We took the corpse to St. Mungos, then… had the Healers work on it – glamour up his features, create a bullet wound and everything…"

"And all the people who'd gathered there?" asked Harry, remembering the snippets of conversation he'd eavesdropped on in St. Mungos.

"It was terrible there," said Dora. "Trainees are generally never called up, but we were all summoned to Surrey. They had us round up all the Muggles gathered there—in cars, people in the bus, the cops who'd surrounded the plot, firefighters—everyone—it was hell! Some prick from the Hit Wizards didn't even know how to go about handling Muggles—he directly began stunning them, and there was a mini-stampede… people running everywhere, cars honking, spells shooting around…"

"We finally managed to round up everyone," put in Irene. "The Obliviators are having a hell of a time. They've been working on people since they've been brought in—and there are around a hundred and eighty odd people, mind you… a big crowd gathered there when they saw the fire and the smoke, plus it was Halloween…"

"Kingsley told me they've even brought in freshers in the Department of Mysteries to work on the Obliviation," said Uncle Ted.

"Yeah," agreed Irene. "Wiping off memories is relatively easy, but here, they're having to create fake memories, because they can't leave all those hours blank—and the Muggles who've been brought in, their families were looking for them because they hadn't returned home… and we had to send people there, too, put up Charms to make them think of something else every time they thought of the missing family member—stuff like that…"

"Goodness," whispered Harry, now realising the magnitude of what had happened.

"Ted," said Aunt Andy, coming in from an inner room, where she had been talking to someone in the Floo. They were all at the Tonks' house – Aunt Andy had refused to let them go to Grimmauld Place, saying they would stay with her until Sirius returned home.

"Yes, love?" said Uncle Ted, as Harry noticed just how harried Aunt Andy looked.

"Fudge is rattled," said Aunt Andy, and Harry realised she had been talking to the Minister. "He had a talk with the Muggle Prime Minister—"

Harry looked up at her, startled, before realising that the Magical and Muggle Ministries would, of course, need to stay in contact during such times.

"—it didn't go too well. And the magical press is lapping up the matter, too. I had William Flint get me a copy of the Prophet before it went in for delivery—the attack is all over the paper, and they've put in some uncomplimentary things about Fudge. He wants to talk to Sirius about it—he's scared he'll be asked to step down. Sirius won't be waking up until tomorrow, so I'll go talk to Fudge," said Aunt Andy.

"I'll come with you," said Uncle Ted, exchanging a glance with Remus.

"I'll stay here," said Remus reassuringly.

"I'll be here, too," said Irene. "Scrimgeour's assigned me here until Sirius wakes up."

And then, long after Uncle Ted and Aunt Andy had departed for the Ministry, Harry, Acquila, Remus, Dora and Irene remained seated, Acquila watching the television with a dark glint in her eyes.

"Where's Mrs Smith?" she asked finally.

"In St. Mungos," replied Irene.

"I want to see her."

Remus and Dora exchanged a grim glance.

"Sweetie," said Dora, "I don't think you should—"

"I want to see her," repeated Acquila firmly.

"Acquila," said Harry quietly, shuddering at the thought of seeing Mrs Smith's mauled corpse, with that ripped out throat.

"That's what I want to see… I want to remember," said Acquila, her tone making Harry stiffen. He could sense her thinking: she wanted to see Mrs Smith's mauled throat, engrave the very image into her mind so that she could never forget, so that she could avenge her death, make Greyback pay for his sins.

"Acquila," said Irene, and Harry saw that her expression was grim, but impossibly understanding. "They've patched her up – the people at St. Mungos… healed her injuries… created a bullet wound…"

Acquila sighed, but now her eyes weren't dark, but beginning to moisten again. "I still want to see her."

Remus made to speak, but Irene beat him to it. "I'll take you to see her, before they take her to the Muggle hospital for the post mortem—"

"Revenge takes us nowhere, Acquila," cut in Remus softly. "Sirius' quest for revenge led to him spending a decade in Azkaban—"

"How can you stand this!" said Acquila, her voice a furious growl. "Greyback—"

"Acquila!" put in Harry warningly, knowing what Acquila had been about to say: how could Remus say that when Greyback had bitten him? Led him to having to bear that painful transformation, the social shunning! But Harry wouldn't let her say that; not when Irene, who didn't know of Remus' affliction was in the room.

"Damn it!" Acquila swore, running her hands through her hair, trembling with rage.

"Look, dear—" began Remus, and Harry knew he had realised what Acquila had been about to say.

"You let him get away!" snapped Acquila, ignoring Remus and turning to Irene. "Greyback!" she spat. "Dad ran after him even when he was so badly injured, but all of you let him get away!

"Scrimgeour's looking into it," said Irene. "We'll get him… I promise, we will." And something in her tone told Harry that unlike Remus, Irene knew just how Acquila was feeling, as if she understood why Acquila wanted Greyback dead, why her grief had suddenly turned to a frightening fury. And he remembered that Irene's mother and younger sister had been killed by Theodore Nott Sr., and that she, too, had promised to see him dead someday.

"I want to talk to both of you," said Remus. "In private."

"You're tired now, love," said Dora. "Get some sleep, and then you can—"

"No," said Remus, weary and pale-faced but bright-eyed.

"Okay," gave in Dora, leading Irene out of the room.

And then, finally, Harry told him all that they had seen in the dream, glad to get it off his chest. Acquila barely spoke a few words, Harry doing most of the narration, watching Remus' face pale further when he mentioned Voldemort marking Sirius as his enemy.

"Merlin!" swore Remus at the end of it all. "Voldemort's been working since the very beginning, then—Greyback attacked Sirius in Diagon Alley… and this attack was for the Werewolf Rights' bill… and marking Sirius as his arch-nemesis—Merlin!"

"He'll be fine, won't he? Dad?" asked Acquila, now sounding very vulnerable.

"He will," said Remus firmly. "He isn't one to give up easily, not when he knows both of you are waiting for him…"

"You'd better get a nap," said Harry, knowing Remus was very weak due to the after-transformation effects.

Remus nodded reluctantly, before beckoning to Acquila.

"Remember what I said," he said softly, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. "And both of you… try to get some rest , unless you want to have some breakfast."

"NO," said Harry, stomach turning at the very thought of food.

"Harry," said Irene, as they made their way to the guest room. "Sirius got a note, warning him of the attack. It just said 'Surrey', written in blood."

Acquila and he nodded, remembering Voldemort alluding to it.

"He went to your Aunt's place first—"

Harry's stomach plunged. He hadn't even thought of the Dursleys! Merlin! Voldemort could have targeted them, too, to hurt Harry.

"Are they—" asked Acquila.

"They're fine," assured Irene hastily. "We've had two blokes from the Hit Wizards guarding them round the clock. Scrimgeour wants them to move into hiding until this Werewolf matter is sorted out."

"They won't move," muttered Harry, knowing Uncle Vernon would think it was a conspiracy to snag his house.

"We'll take a decision on them, soon. We'll probably send Remus and Kingsley to convince them—Remus says he's met your Aunt a couple of times with your parents. If they don't agree, will you talk to them?"

"I will," said Harry. "I'll convince them."

However much they had ill-treated him, Harry couldn't bear to think of them harmed – especially not because of him.

"Thanks," said Irene, ruffling his hair and patting Acquila gently on her back. "You both try to get some sleep. I'll keep guard outside, and put up some more wards."

"Alright," said Harry, leading Acquila to the guest room.

She went into the bathroom, coming out minutes later in one of Dora's shirts. She suddenly seemed very small in the relatively big shirt, thought Harry… small, and younger, and far too vulnerable.

She slipped into the bed, although Harry knew she wouldn't sleep – not when she knew Voldemort could invade her dreams again.

He slipped under the covers, next to her.

And then, his arms were around her, clutching her tightly, while she buried her face in the crook of his neck, holding on to him, her tears dampening his shirt.

oOo

"So, Mr Black," said the pretty healer to Sirius. "No trying to get out of bed again—"

"But it's annoying!" groaned Sirius (very petulantly, he admitted). "I've been lying down since the past hour—"

"Re-growing your inner organs was extremely taxing for you, Mr Black," said the healer, checking his vitals with twirls of her wand. "If you insist on disturbing your body's healing process, I'm afraid I'll have to tip some Dreamless Sleep Potion down your throat!"

"Ugh," muttered Sirius under his breath.

It had been an hour since he had woken up, feeling like every nerve of his body was sore. His leg and arm seemed to have been mended by the healers. His clawed back, although sore, was well enough for him to lie down on it. But his stomach was entirely another matter. It was still bandaged up, with the blood seeping through twice since he had awoken, leading to the bandages being changed by the nurses, and the healers declaring that he wasn't permitted to sit up for at least the next two days.

He watched the healer go about her work, feeling worse than he had felt in years. Nobody had been to visit him, yet – although he reckoned that was preferable than someone watching him in his currently weakened state.

Damn! He hated this! Lying here, unable to even sit up, unable to use his left arm without wincing in pain, without any bloody information on what was going on, on what had happened after the Werewolf attack at the orphanage.

Why hadn't any of his fellow Aurors visited him, yet? Kingsley, Savage—even Summerby would do! They would at least let him in on the goings-on.

And why hadn't anyone from the family been to visit him? He wanted to meet Acquila, see how she was after knowing of Mrs Smith's death. They would have informed her, wouldn't they?

Yet again, he thought furiously, he hadn't been there with Acquila when she needed him. When she had wanted her Dad to be with her, support her, help her through the harrowing time, he had been lying asleep in this fucking St. Mungos room, recovering from wounds from the attack which he should have bloody foreseen! How in Merlin's bloody earth had he been so laidback? He should've known that Voldemort—and that bastard Greyback—wouldn't keep quiet when he was bringing werewolves to the Light side! He should've known that the two maniacs would get together against him! That they would certainly target his loved ones, like they'd done during the War!

"Ah, Ms Black, Mr Potter!" The healer's voice roused him out of his thoughts.

And there, at the door, stood the two kids who meant the world to him.

"Dad!" cried Acquila, her voice choked. And he held out his uninjured right hand to her, watching her rush to him.

"Careful, dear!" said the healer.

But Sirius ignored her words, curbing the painful wince as Acquila bent down and put her arms around his neck, sniffling softly.

"I'm so sorry, love," he whispered, not knowing what exactly he was saying sorry for: that she had lost Mrs Smith, that he hadn't been there when she was grieving, that he had failed to reach in time to save Mrs Smith.

Acquila said nothing as he rubbed her back with his good hand, turning his face sideways and pressing a kiss onto her head that was buried in the crook of his neck.

He turned his gaze to the boy standing behind Acquila, returning Harry's relieved smile, wanting nothing better than to hug the boy who looked so much like James, especially with the little hazel specs in his green eyes seeming bright in the sunlight. It had been two months since he had last seen Harry. And the boy had grown slightly taller. Not as tall as Acquila, though, he realised when she finally let go of him. She was taller than Harry by at least two inches – her Black genes were already at work, it seemed, for she had grown taller rather quickly since he had seen her last.

All those thoughts fled, however, when he saw the unshed tears in her eyes, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of them.

"How are you, Dad?" she asked him, though Sirius watched Harry, noting the boy's wide eyes roaming over his bare, scarred torso and bandaged stomach. And he pulled up the covers, not wanting to worry them any further lest the blood started seeping through again.

The healers, he had learnt, were at a loss at how to go about treating his wounds. He had been bitten by werewolves, but his wounds weren't infected. He wouldn't turn into a werewolf, as he was in his Animagus form when bitten.
There was one known way of sealing werewolf injuries: applying a mixture of silver and dittany to the bite. However, the mixture sealed the bitten skin, but left behind a scar. And the healers had been terrified of treating his wounds with the mixture, knowing his body would look grotesque if all the bites he'd received left the skin scarred.

So, they were still looking into other methods to seal the wounds, leaving the silver and dittany only as a last resort.

"Dad?" said Acquila worriedly.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

"You don't look fine!" she said, as her eyes finally roamed over his face.

He wondered whether his face as full of fresh scars as the rest of him currently was. He hadn't yet asked for a mirror. Even if his face was scarred, it wouldn't really matter to him. He had many old scars littered over his body – some of them from the War, some from self-harming spells in Azkaban, some from the Diagon Alley attack. But he wore them proudly: they were marks of battle, of the fight he had put up against the Dark.

"Look hideous, do I?" he asked Acquila.

"Let's just say that I don't have to worry about women hitting on you, at least for the next couple of weeks," said Acquila, managing a little teasing smile.

"I still think you look handsome, love," quipped the pretty healer, making Sirius wink jauntily at her.

Acquila rolled her eyes, and Sirius was glad to see the half-genuine grin she smiled.

"How are you?" he asked Acquila, when the healer left after warning the two kids again that it was their duty to ensure Sirius didn't sit up and worsen his still-healing stomach.

She just shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He sensed her reluctance to talk of the matter – looked like she was just like him in these situations: needing some space, needing some time to gather her thoughts alone.

He turned to Harry, instead. "And how are you, kiddo?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" replied Harry. "This is the second time this is happening—you in this hospital bed… all injured and bandaged up…"

"Comes with the job, Prongslet," said Sirius. "You still want to become an Auror after Hogwarts?"

"More now than ever," replied Harry, a determined little glint in his eyes.

Sirius sighed softly, not knowing whether to worry or to feel proud of Harry. And he turned to Acquila again, his deep concern making it unable to grant her the space she seemed to want.

"Come, sit here," he said, wishing he could just sit up, hug her to his heart's content. "How are you feeling, really?" he asked her softly, taking her hand in his good one.

"Talk to me," he added, when she said nothing. "Please."

She looked up at him, an unidentifiable emotion in her eyes. "I don't know," she whispered. "I was very upset—I—we saw it, Harry and I."

"Saw what?" he asked sharply, though his mind was quickly reaching the right conclusions.

"Greyback," she said, voice low. "We saw him and his pack attacking you—and then, he k—killed Mrs Smith—"

"Merlin," he breathed, reeling in shock. He knew how it was to see your loved ones dying. And he never wanted his kids to know the feeling – of helplessness, of acute, irreparable loss.

A sudden knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," said Acquila, before Sirius could tell the visitors to go away.

"Black," said the visitor – Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour. "How are you?"

"Much better, sir," he replied, stiffening as he noticed Irene behind Scrimgeour.

He watched Irene's eyes run over him, no doubt assessing the extent of his recovery – but they didn't contain worry like the kids' eyes had done. Instead, she watched him with the cool, unruffled gaze of an Auror, of someone who had seen bloodshed and gore, who wasn't rattled by broken limbs and bloodied wounds. And he grudgingly admitted that he preferred that to people gasping with unconcealed worry and pity when he was down and out – like he was sure some of his future visitors would.

Irene walked to Acquila, putting an arm around her shoulder. And Sirius watched, with some surprise, Acquila slightly relaxing into Irene, flashing her a small, genuine-seeming smile.

"I need to talk to you, Black," said Scrimgeour. "Privately," he added, turning to Harry and Acquila.

"Why don't we talk later—" began Sirius, but Scrimgeour threw him firm look.

"Come, Acquila," said Harry quietly, "we'll wait outside."

"Couldn't this wait?" demanded Sirius, watching the kids depart.

"No," said Scrimgeour. "The note which you received before the attack – the blood that it was written in is yours."

"What!" exclaimed Sirius. "My blood? But—but how did they get that—oh, the Diagon Alley attack!"

"Yes," replied Irene. "We had the note tested – the blood is around three months old, preserved with freezing charms…"

"Merlin," Sirius breathed. How bloody gross was that? Preserving his blood with a freezing charm—that meant Voldemort had all this planned in advance, then: the attack on the orphanage, the threatening note with 'Surrey' written on it. But why use Sirius' blood? Was it a fucking clue Voldy had thrown him? Why would Voldy be giving him clues and hints? Threats was fine, hints was not—oh, damn!

His blood… taken during the Diagon Alley attack when he had been bleeding profusely… the masked attacker, who had fled when Remus had apparated there… Greyback's attack on the orphanage, specifically killing Mrs Smith… the threatening note in Sirius blood—oh!

Oh!

Had Greyback attacked him at Diagon Alley, then? At Voldemort's bidding? But that was too farfetched a conclusion, wasn't it?

"Black," Scrimgeour's voice startled him. "I spoke to the healers treating you. They say it will take a maximum of three weeks for you to recover completely – particularly gaining complete use of your limbs."

Sirius nodded, jaw tightening at the thought of lying in bed for three weeks. The healers had already warned him that it could take longer if they didn't find a panacea to the bite wounds.

"The last time you were injured, you were back to working for the force in no time. But considering the extent of your injuries this time, you would require to undergo the requisite tests before you begin field work – physical tests and mental ones," said Scrimgeour.

"Okay," muttered Sirius, half-furious. Why had Scrimgeour stressed on the 'mental'? Did he think being attacked by that bloody pack of wolves had scarred him mentally? Well, he thought indignantly, Sirius Black was made of far, far sterner stuff. This wolf attack was nothing. He would take even worse if it meant he could keep on fighting, keep on protecting people and saving lives.

"I've put Summerby in charge of this case," went on Scrimgeour.

Sirius' gaze snapped up to the Head Auror.

Irene? Scrimgeour was putting Irene Summerby in charge? When she could very well be hand-in-glove with Greyback and Voldemort?

"But if you clear the tests," continued Scrimgeour, his voice unusually quiet, "I want you to lead the case with Summerby."

"I will." Sirius' reply was immediate, even before he realised he had uttered his thought out loud.

"Your Animagus form gives you a strong advantage against lycanthropes, Black," said Scrimgeour. "That's one of the main reasons I'm appointing you to join Summerby in taking up the matter. Dumbledore told me that you were well-informed about rogue werewolves during the War."

Sirius nodded. James and he had been a part of the Order of the Phoenix group which dealt with werewolves – especially around full moon nights, until they went into hiding and Remus had continued the job alone. He had gone on full moon missions with Auror teams, too.

"Our informers say that most of them still dwell in their old haunts in the forests. Fudge, with a firm prodding from your cousin, I suppose, has given orders to flush out all the werewolves from the forests – we have orders to capture them and interrogate them about Greyback's location."

"Oh," said Sirius, smirking. It was an immense relief for him to know that even if ever wasn't around to lead the charge politically, Andy was more than capable of taking up the mantle.

"And the word going around is that you know a lot about werewolves, due to the bill that your cousin is lobbying for."

"Yes."

"So you're the man for the job. You wouldn't be able to search the forests with Summerby until you recover," went on Scrimgeour. "But I want you to assist the team. I'd have put Kingsley onto it, but he's busy with overlooking Azkaban. So, it's a relatively inexperienced bunch working with Summerby: Blishwick, Wiggins, Bayern, Boult… Moody's sending six trainees along, too. So if you're up to working from home while you're recovering, I'd want you to assist the Summerby, until you're well enough to lead the team alongside her."

"I'll help them, of course," said Sirius firmly.

"Good," said Scrimgeour. "I will see you at Headquarters, then, when you're up for the tests."

"Yes." Sirius nodded, as Scrimgeour turned to depart. He stopped briefly when he reached the door, turning around to glance at Sirius. "See you back in the force, soon, Black," he said gruffly, before departing.

"So, Lord Black," said Irene, grinning. "Ready to take on the wolves?"

"Course," he said, wincing as he made to move to lie down on his side.

Irene moved forward silently, gently helping him move. And it was when her hands moved along his side to help him shift that he remembered something.

"Sirius! Please, transform, Sirius—You're safe, now. The entire force is here… you need to transform… you're bleeding, love—GET THE HEALERS!"

Panic. Irene's voice as she came to his rescue at the orphanage was immensely panicked – almost as if she cared for him. She had shown none of the coolness she was showing now. Instead, she had been yelling at their fellow Aurors, demanding urgent help, bandaging him up with quick, nimble fingers…

"I'll get the kids in," said Irene, and he watched her walk to the door and come back with Harry and Acquila in tow.

"Come here, love," he said to Acquila, gesturing towards the chair by his bedside, and he clasped her hand again.

"I'll wait out, alright?" said Irene, realising that she wasn't needed. "I'll be taking you home after you're done – so I'll wait out in the lobby."

"Why is she taking you home?" asked Sirius warily.

"We've been assigned an Auror guard," said Harry. "We're staying at Aunt Andy's place. So one of the Aurors is always with us."

"We asked if we could have Irene," put in Acquila quietly. "But Scrimgeour put her up to something else after the first few hours. So Williamson and Bayern stay with us in turn… Irene comes to meet us when she gets time…"

"Oh," he muttered, not at all liking that. Why the hell were Remus and Kingsley allowing Irene near the kids? Especially when he had told them of his suspicions about her? Merlin! Couldn't Remus just trust his gut instincts this once, instead of blindly believing his girlfriend's best friend? He would need to have a stern talk with Remus about the kids' safety – particularly when Sirius wasn't around.

"You saw through Voldy's eyes again, then?" he asked them quietly, moving on to what was bothering him immensely.

"Yes," said Harry, as he launched into a big narration of all that had happened, each new revelation stunning Sirius to the core.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered to Acquila, wincing in pain as she struggled and then finally succeeded in sitting up, ignoring Harry and Acquila's protests.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, pulling her into his arm, patting her clumsily with his good hand. She put her arms around his neck, not quite saying anything, but he sensed the sudden change in his breathing.

"I never wanted you to face any of this – both of you," he whispered, cursing Voldemort for what had happened, for Acquila having to see Mrs Smith's death through her own eyes, finding her own teeth snatching the life out of the motherly woman, for Harry, too, having to see Mrs Smith getting murdered, the wolves pulling chunks out of Sirius' canine flank—Fuck! This wasn't supposed to happen—none of this! He knew delving into Voldemort's mind had its benefits – it gave them insights into the working of his shrewd, evil mind. But now, more than ever, he knew he had to get the soul fragment out of Harry soon. He just couldn't have the kids witnessing violence and torture and cold-blooded murder of innocents – especially their loved ones.

He needed to prise Voldemort's soul out of Harry. Soon.

"There's more," Acquila mumbled, her voice hoarse, her eyes moist as she let go of him and settled back in the chair, holding onto his hand.

"More?" He braced himself, wondering what more could they have seen.

"Voldemort thinks you're his arch-enemy," said Harry worriedly, "He was thinking that you're the only one who can challenge him—because you aren't afraid to use your power."

"It's all a game for him," put in Acquila. "He's been planning it from the beginning. He had Greyback attack you in Diagon Alley—"

"—so that the Death Eaters would be scared to support you—" said Harry.

At the end of it all, Sirius threw back his head and laughed!

"Dad!"

"Sirius!"

The kids sounded alarmed. But as Sirius finally stopped laughing, he was still grinning from ear to ear.

"So he considers me a bigger challenge than Dad?" he asked, referring to Voldemort's thoughts on James' father, Charlus, who had been a father to Sirius, too. "And more challenging than Dumbledore, too?"

Harry nodded, still worried as if he thought Sirius had lost his mind.

But Sirius was still grinning. If Voldy considered him a rival, it meant his attention was off Harry! It meant Harry would be relatively safe, because Voldy would concentrate on Sirius himself!

Plus, there was nothing Sirius relished more than a challenge, a fight. If Voldemort wanted to lock horns with him, Sirius was more than looking forward to it, for defeating the bastard, for avenging all the pain and hurt he had caused the Blacks and Potters. And what better way to do it than decimate Voldemort politically – which would stop his rise before it even begun?

"You're bleeding, Dad!" exclaimed Acquila, and Sirius suddenly felt the wetness of his blood seeping through the bandages, saw the red suffusing through the sheet that was partly draped over him. Ah, damn! The bloody bite wounds were acting up again! And now the kids knew of it, too! Shit! That would add to their worries, he thought, though he was still excited at the thought of beating Voldemort at his own fucking game.

As Acquila rushed out to call the nurses and healers, Harry worriedly hovered around Sirius, unsure of what to do.

"We shouldn't have let you sit up!" Harry muttered. "The healer told us not to—but you're as stubborn as Acquila—stop grinning!" he exclaimed. "You should be worried!"

"About this?" Sirius gestured to the now-bloodied bandages. "Don't worry. They'll patch me up. It's happened twice before," he admitted.

"Not this," said Harry, still frowning with worry. "About Voldemort considering you his arch-nemesis! He'll come after you again—I'm sure he will."

"Well," said Sirius, smirking, feeling a sudden rush of determination, the thrill of a promising fight. "Bring it on!"

oOo

How was it, wondered Remus, that tragedy brought people together – even those people who had never known each other?

All the pews it the quaint little Church were full. Many others stood at the back, while even more people stood outside the Church. Hardly any of the gathered Muggles had known Mrs Smith or the deceased children. A majority of them had probably never even known about the existence of the orphanage.

But the horror and grief at the murder of the innocent children had brought Muggles from all walks of life to the Church, to pay their last respects to the dead. Hundreds of flowers and cards had been placed at the orphanage in the past couple of days. Candle light marches had been held. Masses had been sung for the dead. The Muggle media-persons were standing out, too, waiting for a quote from the children, the orphanage staff, and the couple of Muggle policemen present.

And although Remus felt guilty about the lie that the Muggles had been fed, about a gunman killing the victims instead of Greyback and his pack, he was heartened at how the Muggles united in grief. The Muggles didn't have magic like witches and wizards did; most of them didn't even know that magic existed. But yet, it was their magic that was far greater than any spell Remus could cast: the magic of love, of people coming together for something that hadn't even directly affected them, of shedding tears for the loss of people they hadn't known.

Dumbledore was right. It was love that was the greatest magic of all. And Remus just hoped that Acquila would understand that, realise that love always trounced vengefulness and bitterness. But he had a feeling she wouldn't.

When he had first seen her at St. Mungos, she had been grief-stricken at the death of her beloved mother-figure. But the sorrow had seemingly transformed into anger quickly. When they had reached Ted's house, when Harry had been narrating the dream, her jaw had been tight with fury, eyes dark with determination. Remus had gone to the guest room to talk to Acquila, but he hadn't had the heart to do so when he found her lying with Harry, little sobs sounding in the quiet of the room, Harry's arm around her, whispering words Remus couldn't hear. And he had left the room, letting them be.

Acquila's worrying over Sirius' non-healing bite wounds had made him further defer his intended talk with her. Yesterday, however, a cure had been found for Sirius' wounds – a potion invented by Severus Snape working with Horace Slughorn. Remus had never thought Snape capable of working for Sirius' benefit. But Dumbledore had told Remus that he had convinced the two potion masters to work together, Snape reluctantly giving in. So, Sirius would hopefully be discharged from St. Mungos soon.

Sirius hadn't been able to come for the funeral, though – and he was very grumpy (and guilty) that he couldn't be with Acquila yet again. But Remus had assured him that he would try his best to make up for her father's absence, and true to his word, Remus had stayed with Acquila since they had entered the Church.

As one of the surviving Orphanage boys spoke about his deceased best friend, Remus turned his gaze to Acquila, knowing she was to give the eulogy for Mrs Smith next. She stood up when the boy was done speaking, looking, strangely, a lot like Athena. He wondered how that was, though, because she was dressed in black, her long tresses braided intricately, little tendrils of dark hair fluttering around her, her face unusually pale against the black of her clothes and hair. But it was her expression, he realised, which reminded him of Athena – it was one he remembered seeing on her face when Sirius had brought her to McKinnon Manor after the Death Eater attack had wiped out all her family, the deep, gut-wrenching agony that was writ on her face as she collapsed to the ground next to Marlene's tortured, part-mangled corpse, of acute agony, of irreversible, unparalleled loss... And that told him, yet again, of how much Mrs Smith had meant to Acquila, of how nobody – not even Andromeda or Dora or any woman Sirius might bring into his life – would be unable to fill the void left behind in Acquila's life by her death.

He watched Acquila as she began to speak, her face now stoic, no hint of the inner grief that was certainly assailing her. Her words rang out clear in the high-roofed Church, and Remus found a little lump forming in his throat as Acquila spoke of how Mrs Smith had been everything to her: a mother, a father, a friend all rolled into one, of how although Mrs Smith didn't have a surviving child of her own, she had mothered Acquila and her orphanage peers like they were her own children, never letting them feel that they had no family, never letting them miss having no mother.

People around him sniffled as Acquila spoke of how Mrs Smith had always put the needs of the children before her own – whether it was to buy them gifts on their birthdays out of her own savings, staying up nights tending to a sick child when she herself had been ill, dropping and picking up the children from their different schools so that they wouldn't feel left out when their classmates had their parents coming to pick them up…

Mrs Smith, said Acquila, had spent a majority of her life caring for the orphaned kids, since the time the Orphanage had given her a job when she had been a penniless, homeless widow. And like her life, her death, too, had been to protect the kids she loved. She had been shot by the 'gunman' as she put herself between him and the child he had been aiming at, giving up her life to save that of little Joyce.

It was only then, when Acquila spoke of how nobody would ever be able to replace Mrs Smith in the lives of all the children who had known her, and that they would all forever remember that she had lived and died for them, that Acquila's voice finally trembled. It was only after she had thanked all the assembled people for coming and for being with them in their time of grief, that she finally walked back to them and sat in between Harry and Remus, trembling with suppressed sobs.

Remus made to put an arm around her, to speak to her, but Harry had already beaten him to it. The boy whispered to Acquila, his tone low and soothing, his hand around her waist, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and pressing a loving kiss on her cheek, surreptitiously swiping his thumb over an errant tear as he did so. And it was then that Remus knew that no matter how much he tried to console her, to support her through her grief, no matter how much Sirius tried to coax her to share her thoughts with him, it would always be only Harry who could comfort her, understand her better than anyone: he would always know how she felt, what she wanted, without her even needing to utter a word about it… he would always know what exactly she wanted to hear, know when she needed to be left alone, know when she needed him to talk to… Harry would always be all that she needed.

oOo

"Hey," said Remus quietly, sitting down by Acquila, beside the little pond in the Tonks' backyard.

It was night, with the sky dark and the stars twinkling brightly. It had been a long day: they had been to the graveyard to bury the deceased, avoiding the Muggle press waiting outside the Church, then to St. Mungos to meet Sirius, and then returned to the Tonks' house for a tired sleep. But Acquila had awoken, the sound of her footsteps down the staircase rousing him out of his sleep. And he had followed her here.

"Hey," she replied quietly.

"What are you think about?" he asked her, seeing that she made no move to speak further for a long moment.

She finally met his gaze, her eyes eerily bright as the crescent moon mirrored in the lake reflected in them. "Why don't you hate him?" she asked him quietly, though he could sense the undercurrent of cold fury in her tenor. "Greyback?"

Remus looked away, memories of the far past running through his mind.

"My Dad, Lyall Lupin," he said finally, staring at the dark bushes that bordered the fence running around the property, "was rather well-known. He dealt with Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions – like Boggarts and Poltergiests. I've told you about how my Mum and he met, right?"

Acquila nodded.

"We were very happy – the three of us," Remus went on, smiling at the dim memories of those days when he wasn't plagued by fear of the approaching full moon nights and the painful transformations. "Dad used to be called often to the Ministry, during the beginning of the War, to deal with Dark creatures Voldemort recruited. He joined the Magical Creatures Regulation Department."

"One day," said Remus, finally looking at Acquila's curious face, "Greyback was brought in for questioning… he had killed two Muggle children. They didn't know he was a werewolf – the Register wasn't maintained well, that time. But he convinced them that he was just a Muggle tramp, not a lycanthrope. But Dad right away knew who he was… his scars, his behaviour. Dad said for him to be locked away as the full moon was just a night away. But the other committee members laughed at Dad, said stuff about him—and Dad was furious. He said that werewolves were soulless and evil, deserving nothing but death—"

"That's not true!" exclaimed Acquila stoutly.

"I know that," chuckled Remus wryly. "But it's what people think about us, don't they? Even my own father did, before I was bitten. But that's besides the subject," he added as he sensed Acquila making to interrupt. "Dad was expelled from the room, and Greyback was taken away for Obliviation. But he ran away, with the help of two of his cronies. And then, he wanted revenge on Dad, of course."

"So he bit you," said Acquila bitterly.

"Yes. Dragged me out of my window, just before my fifth birthday… Dad came rushing in to save me, but it was too late. He saved my life, but I had already been bitten…" said Remus, his voice level; he had long ago reconciled with the past. The pain he felt on dwelling over those memories was a mere shadow of what he used to feel when he was younger. Now, he wasn't ashamed of being a werewolf. It was what he was – what fate had chosen for him.

"It wasn't your fault!" said Acquila angrily. "You did nothing! He was mad at your Dad, not you!"

"I know, love," said Remus softly, "Dad insulted him, and he hurt me in return – for revenge. That's why I don't hate Greyback for biting me – for biting other innocent people, yes. But for me, no, because wanting revenge always makes people act thoughtlessly. That's what vengefulness makes people do, you see?

Acquila pursed her lips, knowing what he was getting at.

"Look, dear, I don't mean to sound all preachy—"

"You already are!" she said. "I know what you're going to say—that I shouldn't be going the dark way. Dad went after Pettigrew, and look at what happened to him—I know all that! But don't you see? He killed Mrs Smith and Martha and all those kids for no fault of theirs! Voldemort wanted to get back at Dad—he did that through me—but it wasn't their fault, Remus! They had nothing to do with our world—but Greyback killed them because Voldemort told him to, because he doesn't want the pro-werewolf bill being passed—but I can't sit back and do nothing!"

"I know you're angry, darling, but—"

"I'm more than just angry!" she exclaimed hotly. "And I'm not going to calm down until I see Greyback dead!"

"Acquila!" he exclaimed, appalled. "Dead—you're talking of death as if it's nothing!"

"It was nothing for Greyback, too," she spat bitterly. "I saw him—I fucking saw through his eyes!"

Remus cringed, the expletive sounding awful coming from her. She seemed to have grown up overnight, he thought gloomily: become older, with newer words dotting her vocabulary, become darker, thinking nothing of seeing someone dead, even if that someone was Greyback.

"I saw what he did to Dad, too!" she went on, voice venomously low. "He would've killed him at Diagon Alley if you hadn't reached in time—and he bloody attacked Dad with his pack—that's why Dad's lying in hospital with those wounds! That's why he has to have his bandages changed eight times a day! And I'm not going to calm down until Greyback's dead, Remus!"

"Stop saying that!" he cried, not quite knowing how to deal with this version of Acquila, simultaneously glad that he had taken up the matter with her himself instead of letting Sirius deal with it – that would only have added to his friend's worries. "Stop talking of someone's death like that—as if's—"

"When we'd gone to visit Mum," Acquila interrupted him, face dark, "we stopped by Aunt Marlene's grave, too. And Dad said how Lucius Malfoy's the only one of her murderers who's still alive. And Dad swore that he would see him dead some day—"

What on earth had Sirius been thinking? Talking of all that with Acquila? No wonder the girl was going the Blacks' way!

"—and I'd sworn a promise, too, that day," Acquila continued coldly, "that if, for some reason, Dad couldn't finish Malfoy off, I will."

Remus froze, unable to believe his years. Greyback was one thing, especially since the wounds of Mrs Smith's death were still fresh. But killing Malfoy for Marlene's death – which Acquila didn't even bloody remember – was a completely different thing!

"Acquila! Malfoy's got nothing to do with you—"

"He has! He killed my grandparents, he killed Aunt Marlene—and he's still alive, roaming around the bloody Ministry as if he owns the world! He should've been rotting in Azkaban for what he did! Got his soul sucked out! Just like Greyback needs to—"

"Things don't work that way! You're a child, Acquila, you're just thirteen! You can't—"

"I'm not like you, Remus," she said firmly, unyielding. "I'm not forgiving like you and Harry—I just can't be. I don't care whether it's right or wrong, but if Dad doesn't finish off Malfoy in the end, I will. I swore on Aunt Marlene's grave that I will. And I'm going to keep that promise—"

"But—" Remus made a useless attempt at interrupting her, but she went on.

"—and if I ever see Greyback, I swear I'm going to kill him—he hurt Dad, he killed Mrs Smith and the kids—and he made me watch myself biting her—I can't sleep, I can't get it out of my mind—I can feel her blood in my mouth every time I shut my eyes! I won't rest until I see him dead. I can't rest until he pays for all three: Mrs Smith, Dad, and you."

"What Greyback did to me is none of your business," he said firmly. "It's mine."

"Anyone who hurts the people I love become my business, Remus," she said fiercely, the words, strangely, reminding him of a young James. "He bit you for no fault of yours, just like he killed Mrs Smith for no fault of hers. And I'm going to see him dead."

Nothing he said, he knew, would change her mind.

"I'm sorry," she said, the first time she sounded like the Acquila of old. "I know you don't like this—that this hurts you. But I can't help it – I won't be at peace until Mrs Smith is avenged."

"She wouldn't have wanted to see you like this," he said, giving it a last try. "She wouldn't have wanted you gunning for Greyback's death."

"I know," said Acquila. "But she isn't here to stop me, is she? She's never going to be here to talk to me—and it's all because of Greyback," she spat.

He kissed the top of her head, hugging her lightly, and then departed, leaving her still sitting by the pond.

When he reached his room, he looked out of his window, watching her solitary figure still sitting by the pond, deep in thought. And he knew then, that neither Harry nor Sirius would be able to talk her out of this.

And it was then that he knew what he had to do: if they ever encountered Greyback, he would have to get to him before Acquila did, because never could he risk Acquila marring her soul by the most evil of all acts: the murder of another human being.

oOo

"Dad!" said Acquila worriedly, holding Sirius back as he tried to get up from his bed. "You aren't supposed to get out of bed for another week."

"I can't just sit around all day, love," replied Sirius, gently pushing her hands away. "I've to get my limbs moving – work up the muscles a bit." He placed his feet gingerly on the floor, and though his face was devoid of discomfort, Acquila caught his slight wince when he put his weight on his left leg.

"I'll call Aunt Andy if you don't sit back down," she said sternly, forcing him down again, and carefully lifting his bandaged leg and keeping it back on the bed. "This is not good for you, Dad. Healer Johnson said you shouldn't—"

"Stop coddling me," grumbled Sirius, and she caught the irritation in his tone. But she couldn't let him impede his healing. She wanted to see him recover before they went back to Hogwarts in a week. She wanted him up and about; to reassure herself that he would be all right by the time they left for school.

But Sirius wouldn't listen to her.

"Still not listening, huh?" she said, as he pushed the covers off him again, behaving very much like a stubborn, petulant child. "I'm going to floo St. Mungos and have them send a round-the-clock nurse for you!"

Sirius grinned jauntily at that, suddenly seeming boyishly smug.

"A male nurse," clarified Acquila, rolling her eyes at him, as she helped him back into a sitting position.

"Merlin!" Sirius muttered. "There's no winning with you. You're even more stubborn than I am!"

"Nah!" said Acquila, smiling. "I'm just more convincing."

"Come 'ere," said Sirius, tugging her towards him and into a warm hug.

"I love you so much, sweetheart," he whispered to her, and she hugged him tighter, thanking the heavens that he was still alive, that she could still have his arms around her, have his steady heartbeats assure her that he hadn't died like Mrs Smith had. His battle of wits with Voldemort hadn't even really started, and she already wanted it to stop. She knew she wouldn't be able to bear seeing Sirius in St. Mungos again. Twice was more than enough.

"Promise me you won't do something stupid," she whispered back, thinking of the twisted game Voldemort had marked him for.

"I should ask you to promise me that," he replied, and she pulled away from him, knowing what he was getting at.

"I wish we didn't have to leave in three days," she said, attempting to change the subject he intended to raise.

"You need to go back to school, love," he replied.

"But I want to take care of you until you're better," she said, worried.

"You know Andy's insisting that I stay at her place until I'm completely better. So Harry and you don't need to worry. Andy will take good care of me," he assured her.

"I'm just… scared," she admitted quietly. "Voldemort must already be planning his next step. And Greyback's already on the loose—" She stopped abruptly, knowing she had involuntarily brought up the very topic she had wanted to avoid.

"Remus told me what you think about Greyback," said Sirius.

"If you're going to tell me to forget what Greyback did—" she began tersely.

"I won't tell you that," Sirius cut her off, surprising her with his words. "I won't tell you to forget what Greyback did – I know that's not possible. And I'd be a hypocrite if I tell you to do that when I can never forgive or forget what Peter did to all of us."

She looked at Sirius, watching him meet her eyes with understanding that she had found in neither Remus nor Harry. Remus – try as he might – couldn't understand just how deep her fury was, just how badly she wanted to avenge Mrs Smith's death. Greyback had attacked the orphanage with the main aim of murdering Mrs Smith – and she would never, ever be able to forget that. Harry – though he understood her rage, didn't agree with it. He believed that anger and revenge would lead to nothing; he abhorred her frequent visualisations of aiming her wand at a trembling, scared Greyback and sending the green spell which would snuff his dastardly life out of him. Unlike Harry, who wasn't one to hold a grudge, Acquila knew she would never be able to be at peace until Greyback was dead, or with his soul sucked out, punished for all the hurt and deaths he had intentionally caused.

"We'll get Greyback soon," promised Sirius. "The Auror team is already on his heels – they've been rounding up people, his pack, questioning them. It's just a matter of time before they find him—"

"What if they don't," asked Acquila. "What if they don't find him? He's working for Voldemort now. What if you don't find him, like you still haven't found Voldemort's Ministry mole?"

Sirius' jaw tightened. "We will find him. I've already told the team to check out Greyback's haunts. Once I'm out of this bloody bed, I swear I'll track him down. Just promise me," he said, taking her hand in his, "that you will do nothing too dangerous, if you ever come across him."

"I can't promise you that," she muttered, pulling her hand away. "I'll kill him—I swear I will. I dream of it every night – throttling him with my bare hands, sending a Killing Curse at him—"

"It's not as easy as you think it is," said Sirius, his voice low. "You can't just kill someone by aiming your wand at him and uttering the incantation. You need to mean it. Why do you think I didn't kill the wolves attacking the orphanage?"

"Why didn't you?" she demanded, glad he'd brought up something that had been bothering her recently. "I know you're legally allowed to kill if the situation's out of hand… if it's the only way you can save lives."

"I know that," said Sirius. "But as I said, killing someone isn't just wand movement and incantations. You need to actually mean to kill—you need to realise that you'll be putting an end to a human life, that you'll be sinning—marring your soul irredeemably. I could've killed the wolves, but when I first saw them, I didn't know they were part of Greyback's pack. For all I knew, they could've been innocent wizards who had lost their minds during the transformation. And I thought I could get the situation under control. So I didn't kill them—I didn't think it would've been fair killing them when they weren't in control of their minds at all… by the time I recognised Greyback and realised it was his pack, it was too late to kill them… there was no time…"

Acquila sighed, part-understanding Sirius' initial hesitance of killing the wolves.

"So, do you see? Killing someone isn't easy, love. And—look, I don't want to lecture you about morals and humanity – I just want you to know that I will get Greyback—"

"It's my fight, not yours," she muttered.

"It became my fight the moment Voldy decided to hurt you," said Sirius firmly. "Just promise me you won't get yourself into danger. You need to remember that whatever you do affects Harry's life too. Murdering someone is one of the vilest acts a human being can do—ancient witches and wizards thought that it mars the very soul of the killer. And before you even do anything, remember that what affects your soul affects Harry's too."

She nodded mutely, gritting her teeth, though she decided that knowing that Sirius understood her fury was something that assuaged the miniscule doubts in her mind.

"Sirius!" said Harry, entering the room with a bright smile on his face.

"Yes, kiddo?"

"Nigella Flint has come to see you," said Harry, grinning. "She's out with the Hit Wizard on duty. Do I bring her in?"

Acquila frowned. Nigella Flint? Why on earth was the woman coming here? Acquila had no desire to see her – especially at present.

But Sirius smiled. "Sure, tell him to let her through."

Acquila groaned softly, hoping it would be a short visit.

Nigella came in, tall and beautiful, in robes that Acquila thought were meant to attract attention – male attention, to be precise. She noticed Acquila first, flashing a smile which Acquila returned with a half-hearted one.

"Hello, Nigella." Sirius sat up straighter as Nigella looked at him. He greeted her with a warm smile, gesturing to the chair which Acquila had earlier vacated.

"Goodness!" gasped Nigella, stopping in her tracks. "You look—not so good..." The usually eloquent witch seemed at a loss for words as she observed Sirius' injured form.

And as Nigella's face turned slightly pale, Acquila snorted softly. The woman couldn't even digest the sight of Sirius' now-better bandaged wounds! How on earth would she even be in a relationship with Sirius if she was so flustered at the sight of injuries! Sirius was an Auror for Merlin's sake! Injuries were part and parcel of his job!

"Yeah," Sirius chuckled, suddenly seeming far carefree and cheerful than he'd been earlier. "Well, when you play with werewolves there are consequences."

"But putting your life at such a risk for others – I wonder how you can do that… I hope you get well soon, dear," said Nigella, placing her hand on Sirius' and squeezing it almost-affectionately.

What the hell, thought Acquila. Sirius didn't even seem perturbed by that! He seemed very comfortable with it! Hell he seemed to like it, because he turned his hand and clasped hers in return!

What on earth was going on? Acquila knew that Sirius and Nigella had gotten pretty close recently – with her helping him to bring Umbridge to book, and all the dances they danced at pureblood balls. But this was too much! Sirius was gazing into Nigella's eyes, a little, almost-content smile playing at his lips, while Nigella gazed back at him!

Merlin!

Things had progressed a lot, hadn't they, in the two months since Acquila and Harry had left for Hogwarts?

"You won't be able to make it to the Rosiers' ball, next week, then," said Nigella, seeming disappointed now.

"I guess not," said Sirius. "I'll be glad to miss that, to be honest."

"Well, I'll miss you," said Nigella in an almost-whisper, making Acquila grit her teeth again. Nigella raised her hand, and brushed away a strand of hair from Sirius' face in a loving gesture.

"What the—" began Acquila furiously, unable to tolerate the sight of Nigella romancing her father in front of her very eyes! But Harry, who appeared by her side suddenly, caught her wrist and shot her a warning glance.

"Who will I dance with if you aren't there?" went on Nigella, apparently deaf to Acquila's half-spoken words.

"You'll find someone or the other," Sirius assured her, smirking. "But I'm sure he won't be as great a company as I am."

What the hell! What was Sirius doing flirting back at her! Good Lord! This was too much! Couldn't her Dad see how Nigella was purposely trying to bloody seduce him? Wearing those pretty robes, enhancing her already-beautiful features by putting on that visible make-up, touching his hand and brushing his hair off his face! She was certainly trying to get him to like her! Using her feminine charms on him! And her love-struck father was falling for it!

"I'm sure of that, too, dear." Nigella agreed. "I know I can't find better company than yours. But I should get going now. You need rest."

Sirius actually seemed put-out that she was leaving so soon. "Alright," he said. "Thank you for coming to visit me."

"Are you going to thank me every time?" chuckled Nigella. "This won't be my last visit to you, Sirius. I'm planning on coming to visit you often. I believe you will need company after Acquila and Harry go back to Hogwarts. Am I not right, Harry?"

"Yeah—it'll be great if you visit him. Acquila always worries he gets lonely without us," said Harry cheerfully, before Acquila's furious glare made him shut up.

"Shut up!" she hissed to Harry, who reddened slightly.

Merlin! What was wrong with him? Sirius getting charmed by Nigella was one thing. Harry getting charmed was quite another. Acquila knew Harry quite liked Nigella; she had always been sweet to him. But telling Nigella to visit Sirius often? Particularly after all her subtle flirting with Sirius? What the hell was Harry thinking?

"You're welcome anytime, Nigella," said Sirius, glancing at Acquila, only now seeming to remember that she had bloody been in the same room as them!
"But I'll be shifting to Andy's house after the kids leave for school," Sirius went on, seeming slightly chastised now.

"Then I'll come see you there," said Nigella, smiling. "I'm sure Andromeda wouldn't mind."

Sirius grinned at her in return.

"I'd better leave, now," said Nigella. "Goodbye, Sirius. And take care of yourself." She bent down and pressed a kiss to Sirius' cheek, her lips lingering on his stubbled cheek for far longer than Acquila approved.

Nigella then turned to Harry. "You are turning into such a wonderful boy, Harry, in looks and in character," she said, ruffling his hair. "I hope to meet you again."

"Thank you," Harry replied, giving her a shy grin, as Acquila huffed darkly.

She hated that Flint woman! She was taking over all the men in Acquila's life! Sirius! And now, Harry!

"Acquila, dear," said Nigella, turning to Acquila. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I hear Mrs Smith was like a mother to you."

"Yes," muttered Acquila.

"You must be going through a harrowing time, dear," Nigella went on. "I know how much a mother means to a girl… I know how it is to live without one, especially for a growing girl. But I am sure Sirius will take note of that, won't you, Sirius?" Nigella looked at Sirius expectantly, while Sirius suddenly seemed rather uncomfortable.

Acquila, though, stared furiously at Nigella, getting exactly what she was hinting at.

"Nobody can replace Mrs Smith," Acquila snapped, her tone scathing. "Certainly not someone like you"

"Acquila!" Sirius' stern voice cut her off, as Nigella seemed taken aback – and disappointed – at her sudden, rude retort.

"Acquila didn't mean that, Nigella," said Harry hastily, as Acquila wondered when exactly he had begun addressing her 'Nigella' instead of 'Miss Flint'.

"Acquila, I want you to—" began Sirius, undoubtedly intending to ask her to apologise.

But Nigella cut in smoothly. "It's alright, Sirius, Harry. She's upset about her loss. I understand. I better leave now."

"I'll walk you to the fireplace," said Harry, sounding every bit the gentleman.

And as they both left, Sirius turned to Acquila. "What was that?" he demanded sternly. "That's not how you're supposed to talk to a guest—"

"Guest?" snorted Acquila. "She seems set on making herself family! And you're encouraging her!"

"Acquila—" said Sirius, frowning now.

"Do you like her?" asked Acquila bluntly.

"What do you mean?" Sirius muttered, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Do you fancy her, Dad?" demanded Acquila. "I want to know the truth, please."

"The truth," said Sirius slowly, sighing. "I am attracted to her, if you must know."

"You'd told me that last time. But this isn't just attraction now, is it? You like her—romantically. I saw you—staring at her, holding her hand—do you want to d—date her or something?" Acquila waited with bated breath for his answer, not quite knowing how she would react if the reply was 'yes'.

"Nigella is a good woman, love," said Sirius quietly. "I admit I like her, I'll be honest with you. But there's no going to be 'dating' her. She comes from a pureblood family—they adhere to all the age-old customs and traditions. If I want her, William and she will insist on a proper betrothal, on a swift wedding. And I'm not ready for that—"

"What are you doing with her, then, if you're not ready for marriage? Reciprocating to her like that?" demanded Acquila.

Sirius stared at her for a long moment. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "I like her company…"

"You do get lonely without us, then," said Acquila slowly, realising just how much Sirius hid from Harry and her. "You tell us that you're fine… but you're feel lonely without us, don't you? That's why you work all those late hours—that's why you shifted from Grimmauld Place to Black Manor—"

"Yes," Sirius admitted quietly. "But it's nothing you need to worry about—"

"I need to worry about it if Nigella is taking advantage of it," cut in Acquila. "She bloody seduced you into liking her, and she'll charm you into marrying her, too!

"That's enough," said Sirius tersely. "She's not 'seducing me', as you put it. And she can't manipulate me into marriage. Even if she does, I can more than handle myself—and do you think I'll marry someone you don't like? If I ever do think of getting married, I won't marry if Harry and you don't agree to it, I promise."

"Dad," she whispered, torn about what to say, overwhelmed by just how much her Dad valued Harry and her views, enough to put them above his own hopes and joy.

On one hand, she knew Nigella wasn't right for Sirius – she had a gut feeling Nigella was only after Sirius' money and title. Even Aunt Narcissa – who knew Nigella for ages – had told Draco that. Acquila admitted that she felt bad about Nigella's situation: losing Regulus, then forcefully betrothed to Rabastan, and then having to remain unmarried as nobody had the guts to marry Rabastan's betrothed. But Acquila still felt that something was a little off about Nigella – she couldn't even put a finger on it. But something about the woman told her that she wasn't as sweet and without-an-ulterior-motive as she portrayed herself to be.

But on the other hand, if Sirius genuinely liked Nigella, could Acquila stand between him and his happiness? Since the time he had been reunited with them, everything he had done had been for Harry and her. Couldn't she let him, for once, have his happiness? Even if it meant putting up with a woman she disliked?

"Dad, if you like—" she began again.

But Sirius shushed her. "Look, sweetheart, you don't need to dwell on this now. There are a lot many important things happening than this. I told you I like Nigella, but I'm not ready for a relationship yet – let alone marriage. And any woman who comes into my life will need to be strong enough to deal with everything: the danger, the risks—anyone who's with me becomes a target, now that Voldy's marked me as his challenger. So, you don't need to worry about Nigella…"

Acquila nodded. "Are you—are you over Mum, then?" she asked him hesitantly.

"I think I am," he admitted, his voice calm. "I think I am."

"That's really good," she whispered, genuinely glad that he seemed ready to move on now, although the thought of him moving on with Nigella still rankled her.

oOo

Harry knocked on Sirius' door, hoping he was free to talk to him. Sirius had been busy since morning. Kingsley had come to meet him, to tell him that the Dursleys had finally been shifted to a safe place. They hadn't agreed in the beginning, but they had finally given in to Kingsley. Harry was just glad he hadn't had to meet them. That would've been a seriously awkward talk. It had been so long since he'd seen them; and they hadn't parted on the best of notes, had they? Not when Sirius had transfigured Dudley into a pig, and shut up Uncle Vernon in the cupboard under ths stairs!

He waited for Sirius to open the door, thinking over the recent happenings. It had been some days since the full moon attack, and Sirius was able to stand up and walk a few feet's distance. Acquila, too, seemed much better. Harry knew she was still intent on avenging Mrs Smith's murder, but she had been able to sleep without the help of Dreamless Sleep Potion last night. She was currently in the stables, tending to Calliope, her Winged Horse. She had taken to doing that a lot – feeding Calliope huge stacks of hay, grooming her cream-coloured coat, her golden mane, and then taking Calliope for a long hour of flying, much to the Horse's joy. Thunder, Harry's Granian Horse, too, used to fly alongside them (Harry had a sneaky feeling Thunder did that to ensure Acquila was safe in the skies).

As he knew Acquila wouldn't return to the Manor for another hour, Harry had decided this was a good time to question Sirius about why Remus and he had kept them in the dark about Dumbledore's impending death. Voldemort had clearly thought, in the dream they'd had, that the curse which Dumbledore had caught was fataly irreversible. Dumbledore was going to die… soon. And Harry wanted answers now.

He knocked again, wondering whether Sirius was sleeping.

"Come in!" came Sirius' muffled voice.

"I want to talk to you—" Harry stopped abruptly, staring wide-eyed at Sirius.

His godfather stood before the mirror, trying to force his still-recovering left arm through the sleeve of a rich-looking robe. His hair was neatly combed – none of the tangled mess it had been until last night. He stood tall and straight-backed, undoubtedly suppressing the pain in his still-bandaged stomach.

"What are you doing?" demanded Harry, moving to help Sirius.

"Help me put this on, yeah?" said Sirius, struggling with the robe.

"You shouldn't be out of bed!" said Harry indignantly. "And what are you getting dressed up for? Where are you going?"

"I'm not going anywhere," said Sirius, as Harry reluctantly helped him with the sleeve. "We're having guests home."

"Guests?" asked Harry curiously. "Is it Nigella?" he added as an afterthought.

Sirius chuckled. "You think I'll put in so much effort into dressing up for Nigella?"

"You might," said Harry, winking. "I think you fancy her!"

"Ah, little Pronglet's all grown up, eh? Pulling my leg about witches and everything!" said Sirius, chuckling as he ruffled Harry's hair.

"But you do fancy her, don't you? I know she likes you," persisted Harry.

"I like her," admitted Sirius, "but I'm not ready for a relationship yet... lot of matters to deal with first."

"Because of me, then?" muttered Harry, guessing that Sirius was alluding to Voldemort and the danger he would pose to someone Sirius dated, like he'd targeted Mrs Smith. It all boiled down to Harry in the end – Voldemort was after them because Harry had beaten him that Halloween night.

"Harry," said Sirius, "this isn't because of you, all right?"

"Voldemort wouldn't have marked you as his nemesis if it wasn't for me—"

"Stop that, kiddo," said Sirius, voice stern. "I would've acted against Voldy even if you weren't the one who he's after. Don't you dare blame anything on yourself, okay? Voldemort would have come after me anyway – I'm an Auror, I'm Lord Black, Andy's on the Wizengamot... I hold too much influence for Voldemort to not notice me..."

"Okay." Harry nodded. "But if you ever want to—to date Nigella, I wouldn't mind... I'll be happy. She's a nice lady, even if Acquila doesn't think so."

"Acquila doesn't like her at all," said Sirius, waving his wand around his own face which suddenly made the circles under his wearied eyes vanish, and he suddenly seemed brighter, healthy.

"Glamour charms," Sirius added at Harry's questioning look. "Appearances matter a lot when you've to convince someone... So, has Acquila spoken to you about Nigella?"

"I don't think she hates her... she's just a little suspicious, because Malfoy told her his Mum thinks Nigella is very cunning, can't be trusted."

"Hmm," said Sirius, non-committal, but frowning slightly. "Anyway, you said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Well, it's about Dumbledore, actually…"

Sirius stilled, his hand operating the wand stopping mid-motion. He let out a weary sigh.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to a chair, as he took the one opposite it.

"You hid it from us—Remus and you," stated Harry indignantly. "You told me Dumbledore would be fine! You didn't even give us a hint that he's going to die!"

Harry stared at the floor, feeling an acute pang in his tummy. He hadn't interacted a lot with Dumbledore. But he liked and respected the man. Acquila disliked Dumbledore for the way he had manipulated both their lives. But Harry, unlike her, saw Dumbledore for what he was: someone who wanted the good for the world, even if it hurt someone in the short term, a man who had been the front line of resistance for the Light during the War, a man who – no matter how much Acquila thought his actions proved otherwise – did truly care for Harry.

"Do you trust me, kiddo?" asked Sirius quietly, his hand tipping Harry's chin up so that his eyes met Sirius' grey ones that contained nothing but love for Harry.

"I do." Harry nodded.

"The link you share with Voldemort—I told you it might even work the other way round," said Sirius. "I didn't tell you about Dumbledore because I didn't want the risk of Voldemort knowing that. I wanted to keep him in the dark about Dumbledore's imminent loss for as long as was possible."

"You're behaving just like Dumbledore, now!" cried Harry. "He does this, too—keeping secrets from us—"

"Do you trust me, Harry? Honestly?" asked Sirius again, his tone a lot more earnest now.

Harry hesitated only momentarily before he replied. "Yes, I do, but—"

"Then remember that I will always do what's good for you. Dumbledore has the burden of all Britain on his mind – he cares for you, but his aim is the Greater Good of everyone. But what matters to me is you. And to protect you, if I have to keep some things from you, to avoid Voldemort knowing it through your link, I will do that – even at the risk of having Acquila hate me because she thinks I'm being manipulative like Dumbledore," said Sirius.

"She'll never hate you," protested Harry.

"But she hates being kept in the dark, and being controlled," pointed out Sirius.

"But she can never hate you. You should've seen her when you were unconscious in St Mungos… she loves you very much…"

"I know," said Sirius, smiling. "And I love both of you. So I'm going to keep you safe, no matter what – even if I have to keep secrets from you."

"But—" began Harry.

"We'll continue this later," interrupted Sirius, glancing at the clock. "I'd better go greet everyone—they'll be arriving any moment, now…"

"Okay," mumbled Harry. "So… Dumbledore's going to die, then?"

Sirius nodded grimly, hugging Harry and then quickly letting go, as Harry felt a pall of gloom descend on him, Sirius' words being the final confirmation about Dumbledore's impending demise.

"Who are the guests? Who's visiting?" he called out to Sirius, sudden curiosity striking him.

"Our potential allies – Brown, Macmillan and the lot," replied Sirius wearily.

"Why are they here—" Harry stopped abruptly, remembering why Voldemort had the orphanage attacked: to scare off all the people who had promised Sirius support for the pro-Werewolf bill. And now, with Sirius so badly injured, their prospective allies would certainly have got rattled – just like Voldemort wanted.

"They're all scared," Sirius confirmed, watching realisation dawn on Harry's face, "But nothing for you to worry about. Why don't you go out to the stables with Acquila? Go for a fly on Calliope and Thunder, all right, kiddo?"

"But I want to be there! For your meeting! I'm sure Acquila will want to be there, too!" exclaimed Harry. If Sirius was going to try to salvage the alliance, Harry wanted to be there with him!

"No," said Sirius firmly. "I can handle it. You don't need to worry about it at all. Leave all the politics to me, all right? Go on, now… go be with Acquila…"

Harry nodded reluctantly, and then bounded off towards the stables.

"Acquila!" he called out to her, seeing her brushing Calliope's mane in the stable, Nyx stretching languidly at her feet.

"Hey," she replied, flashing him a tiny smile.

"Come on!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"What's the matter?" she asked him, surprised.

"Sirius is having a meeting… with all the purebloods—the good ones—"

"Lavender and Ernie's dads?" asked Acquila, frowning. And he felt her remembering Voldemort's thoughts in the dream, his plan of thwarting all possible support Sirius could procure for the Werewolf Rights bill.

"Let's go!" she said determinedly, a sudden spark in her eyes, which Harry preferred infinitely to the dark vengefulness that had dwelt in them recently.

"Let's take the horses… Sirius told me to go for a round of flying – he wants to keep us out of the way, I think. I'm sure he'll keep a watch. We'll take the horses for a ride, and then get in through the window in my room," said Harry.

"Smart," she said, smirking. "Dad's a Marauder. Think we can fool him?"

"Let's try." Harry grinned, cocking a glance at Thunder, who walked towards him, his hooves clip-clopping softly on the stable floor.

He climbed onto Thunder, running his hand over the Horse's soft mane, as Thunder neighed happily. Harry looked around, waiting to see Acquila come out of the stable riding Calliope. But he felt her clasp his hand, and holding on to him for support, she climbed onto Thunder behind him.

"Come on, Thunder," she said brightly, and Thunder spread his massive wings, flapping them with increasing rapidness, as they took off in the air.

Harry smiled, as he felt the wind roar in his ears, messing up his hair, as they flew higher and higher. This was bliss, he thought, grinning happily: flying in the air, as free as a bird, and more importantly, with Acquila's arms around his waist as they gained height.

"Your Animagus form should really have been a bird," he heard her saying, over the roar of the winds. And he knew she was feeling his exhilaration at flying, at the wind rushing past him, at the sense of freedom he felt in the skies.

"Uh huh," he said, as he used his hand that wasn't holding on to Thunder to tug her even closer to him, revelling in the sudden sense of happiness he felt at his close proximity to her, at her hands locked at his stomach, at her front pressed against his back, at the strands of her long hair that had pulled loose from her braid and were flying frontwards around him.

With unexpected suddenness, he felt her latching on to his thoughts. And he blushed, waiting for her to let go of him, like she usually did when things got slightly heated between them. But to his surprise, she only tightened her arms around him, whispering a 'thank you' in his ear.

And he only smiled in reply, flying higher and higher above the Manor – he had noticed Sirius gazing up at them from the window, no doubt ensuring they were really away from where the meeting was taking place. They flew around for quite some time, making sure Sirius wouldn't find something amiss, before Thunder descended gradually in the direction of the Manor, the Horse finally coming to a stop right outside Harry's open window, wings flapping to keep them airborne.

Acquila jumped off Thunder and into his room through the window, before he could make to help her. And he followed her quickly, sending Thunder away.

They crept out of his room, and tiptoed down the stairs to the huge room with the round table with many chairs surrounding it – Sirius generally held official business there, Harry knew.

They reached the tall, barred doors of the room, unable to hear a word, and Harry sighed, wondering how they'd be able to listen in now. But suddenly, a voice sounded from within the room.

"—scared, Sirius! You don't understand!"

"—I do understand, but we're doing all we can to get Greyback!" They could hear Sirius say earnestly. "The Auror team has already rounded up wolf packs from the forests… the wolves we caught at the orphanage are already being interrogated—"

Sirius didn't sound all that great, Harry felt Acquila thinking grimly. And he agreed with her. Sirius wasn't sounding in control of the situation at all. Instead, his tone was all worked up, slightly agitated.

"But that's not enough!" said the earlier voice. "Don't you see, Sirius? Greyback had the audacity to attack Muggles—"

"Richard's right!" exclaimed a new voice. "Muggle attacks haven't happened since the War ended. Werewolves carrying away Muggle children in one-off incidents, yes—but there's never been such a massive attack—"

"—and on your daughter's orphanage of all places! This was a direct hit at you! And you're Lord Black for Helga's sake! You'd have almost died if you weren't an Animagus!"

Harry listened keenly, recollecting how the Aurors had to finally disclose that Sirius was an Animagus. With Voldemort now knowing of Padfoot, there was no use keeping it secret anymore. And admitting that Sirius had survived because he could transform into a Dog was the only way the Aurors could answer the presspersons' continued questions on how Sirius had managed to survive an attack by a pack of five werewolves. Wizarding Britain, as a whole, had been extremely admiring of Sirius' Animagus transformation capabilities. Some of them had been upset that Sirius' name hadn't been entered in the Animagus Registry earlier. But all was forgiven for the 'hero' who had saved the surviving orphanage residents and helped capture four of the five werewolves.

"—But we'll have Greyback captured soon, Richard!" came Sirius' firm reply, as Harry felt Acquila stiffen, turning suddenly uneasy, wondering whether they both ought to go in and join in the talk. Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted were at St Mungos, Remus was at Hogwarts. So Sirius was having to deal with all of them alone – and it wasn't quite fair, especially considering how Sirius should've been resting in bed rather than trying to reason with these wizards.

"I've heard about what's going on," interjected a new voice. "I've heard rumours—the packs that you brought in from the forest… there are children in them, aren't there? And you're thinking of rehabilitating them, bringing them into the society."

Harry listened keenly, knowing what the man was talking about. After Aunt Andy convinced Fudge to give official orders for all Werewolves to be brought in for interrogation on Greyback's location, a total of forty-eight wolves had been captured.

Sirius, from his St Mungos bed and then from Black Manor, had been coordinating with the Auror team led by Irene. The team had descended on the forests, taking the werewolves there by surprise, and taking them to an Auror safehouse for questioning. Sirius had revealed to Harry and Acquila that the captured lycanthropes were completely unlike Remus, and more like Greyback – more wolf than human even in their human bodies; preferring raw meat to cooked food by virtue of having lived in the forests for years; unused to human contact other than their pack; with no wands and frequent bouts of accidental magic.

There were nine minors in the captured packs, too – four of them abandoned by their families, a Muggleborn who had no memories of her birth family, and three abducted half-bloods who hadn't been allowed to return to their homes by the pack.

Sirius had taken a keen interest – especially in the minors. And Amos Diggory – Cedric's father – had surprisingly taken an even keener interest in them. Amos Diggory had actually visited Black Manor a couple of days ago. And he had come armed with many suggestions to rehabilitate the minors whose families were unwilling to take them in, reunite the abducted half-bloods with their parents (something the Ministry hadn't yet sanctioned as they were currently being attended to by Mind Healers to ascertain whether they were fit enough to re-enter society without posing a danger to others). And for all those suggestions to be implemented, setting up a Werewolf Liaison Office (which formed part of the bill) was imperative. Getting the bill passed at the earliest was, thus, something Sirius was very keen on. But he knew the current atmosphere wasn't conducive to having news of the bill being made public. So, Sirius had given stern strictures to all those in the know about the bill to refrain from making any of it public – at least until public opinion on werewolves had improved, and until Greyback had been caught.

"I am thinking of bringing them back into society," came Sirius' firm voice. "I told you last time, too—werewolves are human for all days of the month except for that one night—"

"We know that!" snapped who Harry now knew was Richard Brown. "But don't you see what's happening, Sirius? You've captured all of Greyback's pack—you're thinking of rehabilitating them, which means they won't go back to the forests—he doesn't even have a pack anymore! And you think he's going to take that lying down? The bill has nothing in it for him—his cronies will rush to rejoin society, avail all that the bill provides for them—and Greyback will come hard at us if we gather support for the bill—at our families, all our loved ones!

"Richard's right," put in another male voice. "I know we said we'd support you, but we can't put our lives and families at risk for a handful of werewolves—"

"Matthew," said a stern female voice, which Harry recognised at Augusta Longbottom's. But she was cut off swiftly.

"Let me have my say, Madam Longbottom. Sirius, you may be sitting all hale and hearty before us, but a healer told me how badly you were mauled when you were brought in to St. Mungos. You are an Auror, Sirius. Trained for such matters, brave enough to put your life in danger for others—yet you barely survived by the skin of your teeth. But we're just normal wizards—we lost a lot during the war, and we can't lose any more now—and especially not for a few dozen wolves—"

"They're humans, too, don't you see?" Sirius roared, sounding frighteningly furious now. "They're humans like you and me! They deserve to live a good life, be accepted into society! And you've seen Remus, you know what a good man he is! They can all live normal lives like him—"

"At the cost of our own? Our families?" asked Richard Brown derisively.

"This is like the war all over again, Sirius," continued the earlier voice. "Families getting attacked, children mauled to death -"

"We'll capture Greyback! I promise we'll capture Greyback! But I need you to back the bid for the Werewolf bill. We need to get the captured men and women rehabilitated, have the children given good homes and sent to Hogwarts—"

"You capture Greyback first, and then talk of have us supporting the bill, Sirius!"

"The team's trying, all right? They're doing all they can! We've brought in forty-eight people in the past five days—and there are going to be more coming—we'll have Greyback captured!" said Sirius.

"Really? And how much have the captured wolves revealed yet?" asked Richard sardonically. "I may not be an Auror like you, Sirius, but I know enough to know that werewolves don't betray their alpha easily! And I've heard all about Greyback during the War. Your Auror force couldn't capture him for years! Your spies couldn't get into his pack, nor could they sway his wolves to our side! And you couldn't capture him even after the War! He's been tucked safely into the forests for twelve years since the War, and you have us believe you'll have him caught soon?"

"I wasn't there for ten of those twelve years!" snapped Sirius. "Give me some time! Let me clear the Auror tests, and I'll rejoin the force, and then I swear I'll get Greyback—he killed Mrs Smith, he hurt my little girl, and I'm not going to let him get away with it! I just need you to back the bill…I swear you'll all be safe—"

"As safe as you are?" snapped Richard again. "You and Harry got attacked in Diagon Alley, you almost got mauled to death by the wolf pack—how will we be safe, huh? I am not gathering support for the bill! And that's final!"

"For Godric's sake, Richard—" began Sirius, annoyed.

"Richard's right," put in Matthew – Hannah Abbot's father, Harry remembered. "I had agreed to support you, even after you told us about Remus. But this—it can be dangerous to my family… to Rose and Hannah—and I just can't have that!"

"Look," said Sirius, and Harry realised that he suddenly sounded very tired. "I told you I will capture Greyback. But I want to table the bill at the earliest. Forty-eight wolves is a large number… until the bill is passed, I cannot have the fund set up, nor the Liaison office—we need to set up a place for them all to live in until we arrange for employment and everything for them… we need to have them speak frequently to Mind Healers, arrange food and clothes—basic necessities for them until they start settling down—and I need to get the bill passed for that. The more I delay the tabling, the direr the situation gets. We can't detain them any longer. They've just been brought in for questioning – we'll have to release them soon, under law. And once we do that, they'll obviously go back to the forests—and we can't have that! I can't convince them to stay back here unless I have concrete provisions to show them: for their living arrangements, jobs, education—"

"I don't care!" exclaimed Richard angrily. "I don't care about all that! I just want to keep my family safe! I'm not going to do anything that'll have Greyback come after me—this Werewolf bill, that's your headache, not mine!"

Something snapped in Harry at those words, as Acquila, too, bristled furiously at his side, her hands extending towards the massive door and pushing it open.

Harry walked in with her, his eyes falling on Sirius' face which was creased with worry, his body slightly sagging with tiredness, his shoulders a little hunched. And fury and indignation roared within Harry with immense force. Sirius was doing all this not just for Harry, but for all of them! Fighting Voldemort would save their lives, too! But people like Richard Brown didn't even seem to care about it! They were just self-centred, worrying only about themselves and their family!

"Harry, Acquila—what are you doing here—" began Sirius quickly, making to stand up to send them out, no doubt.

But Harry stood his ground, speaking before Acquila could.

"What do you mean by 'it's Sirius' headache, and not yours'?" Harry asked Richard Brown.

"Look, Harry," said Richard. "I know you're the Boy Who Lived and everything, but—"

"What if everyone had thought like you're thinking now?" demanded Harry, trying to keep his voice low and polite. "What if everyone only thought of themselves and decided that fighting evil wasn't their business? There would be no Aurors, Mr Brown—there would be no one to fight the Dark! The War would still have been going on, then—we'd all have probably been dead—"

"Kiddo, stop that—" began Sirius, but Acquila interrupted him swiftly.

"Let Harry speak, Dad," she said, slipping her hand into Harry's.

"This Werewolf bill—it's not just for them… it's for all of us! If we don't get the wolves on our side, Voldemort will—" stated Harry firmly, tightening his grip over Acquila's hand. She wasn't saying much, but he could sense her pushing him to speak his mind, to speak out in support of Sirius, of Remus, of all the wolves who would have a better life when the bill was passed.

"You are too young, Harry," cut in Richard Brown, bristling slightly. "I can see the merit in your words, but you weren't there when the War was on… the murders, the killings, losing loved ones—"

"I think I know that very well," snapped Harry, a part of him unable to believe the brusqueness, the frankness in his own words. "My parents gave their very lives to save me—I know what the War cost me—cost Acquila and Sirius, too… but you don't see us giving up, do you? Or cowering back in fear?

"Come on, Harry," snorted Richard Brown. "When things got bad, even your parents went into hiding with you—wouldn't you call that cowardice, too?"

"Don't!" snapped Sirius furiously, getting to his feet. "Don't you dare call James a coward—he didn't want to go into hiding! He was forced to! Because of the—"

"Sirius," said a loud, familiar voice. And Harry (and Acquila) realised that it was Dumbledore! He was sitting to their farthest left, hand still a deathly black, but eyes bright. Harry had been so occupied in talking to Richard Brown that he hadn't even noticed Dumbledore!

"You—you're here!" exclaimed Acquila to Dumbledore. "And you're saying nothing! You're not even backing up Dad!"

Dumbledore said nothing, merely meeting Acquila's disgruntled gaze with a cool one. So Harry went on, not quite being able to meet Dumbledore's eyes, still unable to believe that Dumbledore would be dead in the near future. "My parents were brave!" he said to Richard Brown. "My Dad was an Auror—he's saved dozens of lives—and my Mum and Dad faced Voldemort thrice—Sirius faced him four times—they didn't give up. All of Acquila's Mum's family was killed, but Sirius didn't give up thinking he'll be targeted next! He fought back—he fought back and you all had him put in prison without even a trial despite all that he did for you during the War—but he's still fighting—for all of you! To be able to stand up to Volde—"

"To the Dark," interrupted Acquila hastily, as Harry belatedly remembered that not all the assembled people knew of Voldemort's survival and repeated bids for his return.

"Yeah—Sirius is still fighting against the Dark… and so are we—and if you're all going to hide away because you're scared of Greyback, then I don't even know what to say to you!" said Harry indignantly. "My parents gave their lives to save mine—so many people died standing up to Voldemort… and if you can't even stand up to a single werewolf, then maybe all those people died in vain during the War! Then we don't even deserve this time of peace if we refuse to fight for it!"

There was an eerie silence in the hall after that, as Harry finally took in the assembled people: there was Dumbledore of course, whose eyes were now twinkling as he smiled at Harry. Richard Brown was bristling with anger. Matthew Abbot was frowning, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. Edmund Macmillan was fidgeting uncomfortably. Daniel Greengrass was present, too, Harry realised with a jolt – he was Daphne's father. Then there was Antiquis Blishwick, and Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom – all of whom were looking at him with a distinct hint of admiration. Helphius Urquhart was shakily wiping his brow with a handkerchief, seeming rather terrified. But it was Sirius whose gaze made something bloom in Harry's chest. Sirius was watching him with unhidden, undisguised pride, with a loving, fatherly smile that made Harry feel all warm and wonderful within.

"Harry's right," said Acquila. "If you can't even stand up to a lone man, how will you ever support us if the Dark rises again? How can we even trust you—"

"You're right," said Matthew Abbot quietly. "Harry's right… we can't be frightened. Greyback's just one man—and as Sirius said, he will be caught soon… Harry's right," he repeated, sounding a little dazed. "And the Werewolf bill will only help all of us… if the lycanthropes are rehabilitated, there won't be any one-off attacks. And if the Dark ever rises, they'll be on our side… yes, yes… I'll support the bill, Sirius."

"Thank you, Matthew," said Sirius.

"I already told you that my family and I will stand by you," said Edmund Macmillan. "I gave you my word and my loyalty, last time, Sirius. And I stand by both."

"Thank you," repeated Sirius sincerely.

"I—I need time to think," spat Richard Brown. "I have my family to think of—my mother, my wife, Lavender… I need time to think…"

Sirius nodded curtly, as Richard got to his feet, departing after a long glance at Harry.

"I—I feel the same as R—Richard," stuttered Helphius Urquhart. "I need some time t—to think this over."

"All right, Helphius," said Sirius, as Helphius got to his feet, stumbling on the way to the door.

"Well, Sirius," said Daniel Greengrass, pinning Harry with a piercing gaze. "Harry's very much a Potter, isn't he? Very brave, and such conviction in his words…"

Harry felt his face heating up slightly, while Daniel's gaze turned even more piercing, making Harry wonder whether Daphne had told her father about her crush on him.

"I wish to talk to all of you in private," said Daniel, sending a subtle glance at Harry and Acquila.

"We—uh, we'll leave, then," muttered Harry, as he led Acquila out of the room.

"Lavender's Dad is so rude!" fumed Acquila, as they reached her room, shutting the door behind them. "And the others just sat there! Dumbledore and Amelia Bones! They just let him rant at Dad—"

"Dumbledore's really dying," interjected Harry quietly, feeling rather hollow inside. He had wanted to share the news with her since Sirius had confirmed it.

"You asked Dad?" she asked him, voice suddenly soft, as she sat next to him.

"Yes. I asked Sirius… he said he didn't tell us because he didn't want to take the risk of the link between Voldemort and us working the other way round…"

"He's really dying, then…that's really sad," whispered Acquila; and though she wasn't as upset as Harry was at the thought of Dumbledore dying, Harry felt a sliver of sorrow envelop her.

She said nothing after that, merely putting an arm around his shoulder and kissing his cheek. They sat there for a long time, in comfortable silence.

"You were brilliant, by the way," she said, minutes later, "back there—talking to Richard Brown and Matthew Abbot and the lot. I wouldn't have been able to speak half as well as you did. And Dad seemed really proud of you."

He smiled, wondering whether she felt any envy at Sirius' pride in him. But she merely seemed happy, and very proud that Harry had been able to convince Matthew Abbot at least.

Kreacher suddenly appeared in the room with a loud 'crack', telling them that Sirius was waiting for them in the hall, and they walked down the staircase again.

"—I'd put up the wards because I didn't want the kids getting into all this!" It was Sirius snapping at someone. "And you took them off! You think I didn't notice? I felt you retract my wards—"

"Sirius, I didn't mean to undermine your charge of the children," came Dumbledore's calm reply. "I took down your privacy wards because I knew Harry's word would hold a lot of weight with the likes of Matthew and Edmund."

Harry's eyes widened, now realising why they had suddenly been able to hear the voices from the hall earlier. Dumbledore had taken off Sirius' privacy wards!

"I know how much he means to wizarding Britain, but you need to understand, Dumbledore, that I will not have my kids involved in politics," replied Sirius firmly. "I don't want to use them to prove my point. Harry is a teenage boy – he deserves far better than to have me use him to get my way with my prospective allies—"

"But we want to help you!" exclaimed Harry, as Acquila and he walked in. "I don't mind talking to all these people if I can convince them to—"

"None of that, kiddo," said Sirius firmly. "Politics and legislation – that's for me to deal with. I don't want both of you worrying about all that. You remember that, too, Dumbledore," he added sternly.

"I respect your wishes," replied Dumbledore quietly. "But you need to understand that if we can avail of Harry's help in the war against the Dark, we should – especially if Harry doesn't mind helping."

"The fight for getting the bill passed—I can and I will handle that," reiterated Sirius.

"But, Dad—"

"No, Acquila… I just want both of you to be children for as long as you can… enjoy your teenage years. Let me deal with the rest, please," said Sirius softly.

Acquila nodded reluctantly, lips pursed.

"But I must admit, kiddo," said Sirius, grinning at Harry, "you were wonderful today – especially how you managed to change Matthew's mind. And Daniel's, too."

"Daphne's Dad agreed to support you, then?" asked Harry eagerly.

"He's more or less made up his mind," replied Sirius brightly. Harry nodded at him, before turning his gaze to Dumbledore.

"Professor," said Harry quietly. "I—I know that you're—you're—" Harry faltered, at a loss of what to say. How did you tell someone that you knew their death was imminent soon? How did you tell your professor that you didn't want to lose him to death? That you hated that he wouldn't live long enough for you to even get to know him better?

"Harry, my boy," said Dumbledore, smiling softly, "As I had told you a couple of years ago, to the well-organised mind, death is just the next great adventure. When I die, I will die with the assurance that I leave the future of the wizarding and Muggle worlds in safe hands. Sirius, and both of you, will certainly take Britain to a complete victory against the Dark forces."

"I wish you didn't have to die," mumbled Harry, a little lump in his throat.

"I wish so, too," admitted Dumbledore. "But I have more than lived my life. Although if you want to do something for me before I meet my end—"

"I'll do anything!" exclaimed Harry; and he noticed Sirius stiffen and watch Dumbledore closely—or had Acquila noticed that?

"Bring me Professor Slughorn's memory, Harry. I will die in peace if I know just how much ground is left to cover to vanquish Lord Voldemort once and for all," said Dumbledore softly.

"I will." Harry nodded his head vigorously. "I'll get his memory—I promise!"

"Yes," agreed Acquila quietly, as Dumbledore smiled at her.

"There's something else I wanted to ask you," put in Acquila, looking at both the older wizards. "Dad, you said Harry's Dad didn't want to go into hiding. But he was forced to go—and then you intentionally interrupted Dad," she turned to Dumbledore. "What is it? Why were they forced to go underground?"

Harry waited for either of the two men to reply, now wondering just what Acquila was: Harry had assumed that his parents had gone into hiding like many other people had. But from what Sirius had been about to say, the reason was something else, something far important.

"To protect you, Harry," Dumbledore replied, as Sirius met their gaze with a steady one, no sign of him hiding something from them. "James and Lily went into hiding to protect you. They wanted to keep you safe – just like Sirius and Athena went underground to keep you safe, Acquila… just like Frank and Alice went into hiding, like Andromeda and Edward did—"

"But it sounded like you were about to say something else, Dad," said Acquila curiously, frowning.

"No, love," said Sirius. "It's how things were during the War. And having a child quite puts things into perspective. Protecting a child becomes a top priority for parents – that's what happened with Jamie, Lily, Athena and me. I think you'll understand that when you grow up and have kids of your own."

"That's a long time away, Dad," snorted Acquila, as Harry squirmed.

"I should hope so, young lady," said Sirius mock-sternly.

"I had better leave for Hogwarts now," chimed in Dumbledore. "I shall see you both the day after tomorrow, then, when you rejoin school?"

"Yes," groaned Acquila. Harry knew she was extremely reluctant to return to Hogwarts until Sirius had recovered completely. But they couldn't be given a month-long leave. They had already been home since almost a week.

"See you at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, departing with a smile.

"I don't want to go back to Hogwarts, Dad," said Acquila, putting her arms around Sirius' neck, as he held her lovingly. "I want to stay with you until you're fine…"

"I'll miss both of you," said Sirius softly. "But you are going back to school. After all, I'm sure Harry will want to hear a certain Greengrass discussing how impressed her father was with him!"

"Dad!" huffed Acquila, shooting Harry a glare.

"What did I say!" exclaimed Harry, blushing slightly as Sirius winked teasingly at him.

"If you can tease me about Nigella, I can tease you about Daphne, too, Pronglet," chuckled Sirius, as Acquila snorted irritably, although Harry was only glad that Sirius seemed happier again.

oOo

Draco sighed as he woke up to the sound of the thunderstorm roaring outside. It didn't at all seem like a good day for Quidditch, especially when Draco, himself, had to be out there searching for the tiny Snitch. Quidditch matches were never cancelled for trivial reasons like raging thunderstorms.

An hour later, he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, his insides wriggling with nervousness – though he made sure he displayed none of it on his face. It was the Slytherin v/s Gryffindor match today. He had to beat Potter to the Snitch and win the match for Slytherin. And Draco knew he wouldn't even find a better opportunity to beat Potter than today: Potter seemed rather gloomy since Acquila and he had returned back to Hogwarts a couple of days ago. As he'd been away from school for a week, Potter hadn't even got in much practice with his stupid team. And the fierce rainfall gave Draco an advantage over Potter, who wouldn't be able to spot the Snitch well because of his weak eyesight. And, with a bit of luck, maybe Draco could manage a little tinkering with Potter's spectacles. Without those stupid round glasses of his, Potter would probably be as blind as a bat, and Draco would finally be able to beat that scar-head at catching the Snitch!

The Slytherin table erupted with cheers and applause as Draco entered the Great Hall. And Draco shot them all a smirk, revelling in all the cheers and attention. His glance involuntarily turned to the Gryffindor table, only to see that Acquila wasn't at her usual place. Oh, how he missed her. In the week she'd been away, Hogwarts had seemed so very miserable to him, with no Acquila to surreptitiously stare at, with no way of hiding behind the suit of armour just to eavesdrop on her conversation with that stupid Diggory and send a Trip Jinx at his legs just when he had been about to shake Acquila's hand… no Acquila to watch during mealtimes, no way of intentionally dropping his notes on the floor at her feet, and then moaning in pain when he moved his 'injured' arm, so that she would silently pick up his notes and hand them over to him with a huff, while he would sneakily make sure he managed to touch her hand when she handed the notes, rejoicing in even that little bit of contact with her…

"Good luck, Draco!"

"You've got to win the match, Malfoy!"

"Show Potter what a great team we are!"

"Play well, Draco!"

"Knock Potter off his broom!"

Draco smirked, nodding at all the many wishes and suggestions that his fellow Slytherins doled out to him; although the nervousness within him was now growing.

Vincent and Gregory were stuffing food down their throats, and, as usual, they served him some bread and bacon, too. But he pushed the plate away, his insides now churning dangerously.

"Come on, Draco," said Daphne, as she sat before him. "Eat something – you need to keep your energy for the match…"

"Not hungry," he muttered.

"Eat," pressed on Daphne. "We wouldn't want you fainting and falling off your broom!"

"Ah, Greengrass, I'm so touched by your concern," he said, smirking. "Do I take it you're supporting me and not that stupid git you fancy?"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed Daphne. "Of course I'm supporting you! I'm not that crazy for Harry," she whispered the last part, making Draco snort at hearing 'Harry' instead of 'Potter' from her.

"You are crazy to fancy that annoying dimwit," said Draco, as Daphne began looking at the Gryffindor table, looking for Potter.

"Draco!" exclaimed a familiar, extremely annoying voice: it was Astoria, of course.

"Be good to her," whispered Daphne warningly.

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Draco, digging into his meagre reserves of patience.

"All the best, Draco!" exclaimed Astoria in that irritably sweet voice of hers, kissing his cheek quickly.

"I've told you not to do that!" Draco sneered, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.

Daphne glared at him, while Astoria merely folded her hands against her chest, tutting.

"It's a good luck kiss," said Astoria. "And you need Lady Luck to defeat Harry Potter!"

Draco grit his teeth, curbing the rude retorts that were yearning to escape his mouth. He didn't want to make a girl cry, or get punched by her sister, before his match. He didn't need luck to beat Potter—Salazar! Maybe that's why Potter had never lost a match yet: it wasn't because he was good at Quidditch, but because Acquila, his Lady Luck, was always by his side.

"Fine, thanks," muttered Draco, deciding to be the nice to the girl, considering she always did support him, even if she was very annoying.

The Gryffindor table suddenly erupted with cheers and whistles, as did portions of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. And Draco saw Potter walk in with Weasley and Longbottom, the volume of the cheers increasing as they took their seats. As always, Potter was the most popular boy in Hogwarts. How Draco hated it! He couldn't bear that fake little shy smile on Potter's face when everyone was wishing him luck! If he could just punch that smile off Potter's face, he would be at peace forever!

His gaze shifted to Acquila, who came in with that know-it-all. She immediately went over to Potter, and took the seat next to him. She didn't even look at Draco, and that only made a sudden gloom descend on him. She had always wished him before every match – even for the ones against Gryffindor. But today, she wasn't even looking at him. He had lost the bond he'd forged with her over two whole years. And he had the sinking feeling that they would never be the same again. But he would never stop trying until she became friends with him again – after all, he was sure that she still cared for him.

He felt a smile tugging at his lips as Acquila flashed a little smile at something Longbottom said. He would never admit to being a sentimental fool, but he felt a little something blooming in him every time she smiled – especially recently, after her orphanage teacher's death, as Acquila looked like she had almost forgotten how to smile. She hardly ever spoke to anyone except Potter, not even to her other friends. Everyone in school was curious about what had really happened that full moon night, and wanted first hand information on it. They had all taken to bombarding Acquila with polite condolences first, followed by many, many questions. And a furious Draco had wanted to shove them all away from her, and hide her away from all the world, away from all the prying questions and insensitive queries. But it was Potter who did that! He walked with her, fending off idiots like Brown and Patel who had taken to questioning her rather incessantly, his hand firmly gripping hers, leading her to the Great Hall at mealtimes, whispering in Acquila's ear, putting his scrawny arm around her shoulders—Ugh! How Draco detested that half-blood! He always played hero, always got all the praise and adulation, and most of all, Acquila's friendship.

Draco, on his part, had written a letter to her, offering his condolences, as soon as he had heard the news the morning after the attack. But the formal reply had come from his blood traitor Aunt, Andromeda Tonks, saying that Acquila was thankful for the condolences, but wasn't up to replying personally. Draco had personally spoken to Acquila, when he had met her during a Potions class. She had quietly accepted his condolences, but spoken no more, taking the seat next to Potter.

To be honest, Draco didn't quite understand Acquila's deep bond with the deceased Muggle woman. He knew that she had been like a mother to Acquila, but he still didn't get how a Muggle could be so important to Acquila, especially now when she had her father and a family of her own. But Acquila was like that, he supposed: all loving, and fiercely attached to the people she loved. Even though he didn't quite understand it, he knew she was grieving deeply over the loss of the lady. And he, Draco, could've been the one lending Acquila a shoulder to cry on, if it hadn't been for his stupid, stupid mistake with the Diary.

"Malfoy! Draco Malfoy!" Someone was calling out to him.

"Stop daydreaming, blondie! We've got a match to win!" It was Marcus Flint, who had rudely shaken him out of his thoughts. Stupid captain, always bullying his way around the team, thought Draco grimly. He was waiting for the day that big-headed Flint would graduate and leave Hogwarts for good!

"To the pitch! Now!" Flint ordered their team.

And they all walked out of the Great Hall and out into the pouring rain, getting completely drenched before they even reached the pitch. The Gryffindor Team was right ahead of them, the Weasleys waving to the crowd assembled on the stands. Quidditch was so popular that even the fierce rainstorm hadn't stopped anyone from staying indoors.

Draco muttered angrily under his breath as he pulled on his game robes, catching sight of Acquila kissing an extremely wet Potter on his cheeks, a rare, genuine grin on her face. He had half a mind to smack Potter on the head with a beater's bat lying nearby. But he somehow managed to control his rage, deciding to channel it into catching the Snitch instead.

"Montague and Warrington!" Flint pointed out to the Chasers as the team gathered around him in a huddle, "If you don't score goals, this will be your last game! Derrick, Bole, beat the hell out of those three female weaklings. And, Miles, you better protect the goalposts well, or I'll be throwing you through those hoops instead of the Quaffle!"

An involuntary chuckle escaped Draco's lips, making Flint finally turn to him, sneering. "Keep your eyes out only for the Snitch—don't you dare sit on your broom and daydream about Black!"

Everyone laughed at him, as Draco had half a mind to punch Flint.

"Do whatever it takes to win, Draco—catch that bloody Snitch, and crush Potter!" spat Flint, dramatically making a crushing action with his fist."Do you understand me?"

"Yes!" all of them yelled together.

"Come on, now!" barked Flint, leading them all to the pitch.

Draco would never admit it, but Marcus Flint intimidated him. He was huge and bulky and short-tempered, and Draco didn't want to be at the receiving end of his anger. His only option was to catch the Snitch before Potter did!

"Looks like Flint has made some changes in the line-up!" Jordan's voice boomed as they reached walked on the pitch. "He seems to be going for size rather than skill—"

The Gryffindors were already standing in the middle of the pitch. But it was on spotting Potter that Draco's eyes flew wide open.

A Firebolt! Potter had a bloody Firebolt! How the hell hadn't any of them known? How on earth had the Gryffindors managed to keep that bit of news secret?

Draco's insides churned even more nauseatingly, his extremities numb. A Firebolt! A real Firebolt! The fastest broom in the world! How was his Nimbus 2001 ever going to defeat Potter's Firebolt? He should have forced Father to buy him one, too! He would have, if he'd bloody known Potter had one!

Around Draco, his team had broken into furious muttering, cursing Potter under their breath, glaring at his broom. On the other hand, the Gryffindor team appeared pretty smug and confidant.

But Draco didn't look at them, merely staring at the Snitch fluttering in the box in Madam Hooch's hand. The Firebolt wouldn't deter him from winning. He had to do whatever it took to win.

The Captains shook hands. Draco stared hard at Potter, trying to unnerve him, but it was very difficult to do that with water dripping down his face.

"Mount your Brooms—" Madam Hooch barked, releasing the Snitch, which disappeared through the thick downpour, despite how hard Draco tried to keep his eyes on it. "Three... Two... One!"

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar of the crowd as their brooms rose in the air. Sweet Salazar! Potter was a mere reddish blur on the Firebolt, weaving through the flying players, swifter than the very wind!

Draco breathed deeply, and urged his broom upwards, shooting into the sky. He rose higher and higher into the air, looking for the Snitch. The rainfall was so heavy now that he couldn't see two feet ahead of him. He could barely make out the other players, let alone the tiny Snitch. Jordan's voice was lost in the deafening claps of thunder.

Draco could sense the chasers and beaters zooming somewhere below him, but he couldn't really make out what was going on. He couldn't even spot Potter anywhere! He was probably on the other side of the pitch, possibly within feet of the Snitch!

"Angelina scores! TEN to ONE GRYFFINDOR!" Jordan's voice sounded as if it was coming from miles away, barely heard over the thunder. And Draco cursed aloud, knowing he had to catch the Snitch soon. No matter how Flint considered Johnson, Bell and Spinnet weaklings, they formed an excellent, skilled trio of Chasers, not intimidated by the size of the opposition.

He had to find the snitch soon before Gryffindor took the lead. He flew around the pitch, narrowing his eyes as rainwater dripped down them, squirming uncomfortably as the water trailed down his wet back. But suddenly, unexpectedly, Draco spotted something shining, a few yards ahead of him: it was the Snitch!

He gripped his broom, and sped ahead right towards the shining ball.

"Is that Malfoy—yes it is Malfoy! He seems to be speeding towards the Snitch!" Draco heard Jordan's faint voice. "Where is Harry?"

Grinning widely, Draco picked up more speed, as the Snitch, possibly sensing him nearing it, began fluttering away at full speed.

Suddenly, the crowd began cheering loudly, their voices heard even over the rain and thunder. He hoped, he really, really hoped they were cheering for him as he was nearing the broom. But his hopes fell flat, as he heard Jordan's joyous commentary.

"That is the fastest I've seen anyone fly! That Firebolt is such a masterpiece! Harry's flying faster than anyone I've ever seen—"

"Damn!" Draco swore furiously, as he turned behind and spotted scar-head right on his tail, and he picked up speed, urging his Nimbus forward. He could've sworn his broom was flying faster than ever, speedier than he had ever thought it capable.

But Potter's Firebolt was unmatched in terms of speed. Potter was right next to him in no time, before he sped forward, Draco right at his tail.

Now, Potter overtook Draco, his hand outstretched, within inches of the Snitch. And Draco did the only thing he could do to stop Potter from catching the shining ball: he surged forward and grabbed the tail of the Firebolt, tugging the tail-twigs hard to slow Potter down.

A startled Potter spun his face around, eyes wide.

"Let go, Malfoy!" Potter yelled angrily. But Draco merely smirked at him, continuing to pull his broomstick, safe in the knowledge that Madam Hooch wouldn't spot them through the heavy rains.

By a stroke of unexpected luck, the Snitch flew towards them, before hastily turning track and going away from them, and Draco hastily let go of Potter's broom, flying forward, arm outstretched to feel that wet, cold ball of metal with his fingers. But to Draco's horror, Potter's scrawny hand was right by his side, his thin fingers swiping through the air to catch the Snitch.

It all happened in less than a second: just when Draco's fingers were within less than an inch of the Snitch, Potter accelerated his broom a nudge more, and his hand wrapped around the snitch. Draco didn't even realise how it happened!

Jordan yelled joyfully, proclaiming the score. And Potter sped downwards, Snitch proudly raised in his hand, into the embrace of his team, the crowd roaring and cheering, Draco's fellow Slytherins booing and cursing, as the rains suddenly began ceasing, all their voices clearly audible now.

Draco landed onto the pitch, soaking wet, his heart heavy with defeat – and with something else he didn't want to admit: another loss to Potter, yet another instance when Potter had beaten him, yet another time when Potter would be victoriously being hugged by Acquila…

Flint was angrily making his was towards Draco. But Draco just didn't give a damn. He would've preferred fury to this immense gloom he was feeling. But the rage refused to appear, as the gloom seemed to seep through his very skin. Another loss, another defeat, another time Draco had let his team, his Father, himself down.

Draco slipped into the crowd of Gryffindors, evading Flint. But he didn't fail to notice Potter in the centre of the crowd, being held up on the Weasley brats' shoulders.

"Put him down!" yelled Acquila, as the twins put Potter onto his feet. And Acquila threw herself into Potter's arms, as she ruffled his hair, whispering into his ear, their bodies pressed tightly against each other. And all Draco could do was try to ignore the little lump forming in his throat.

oOo

Sirius frowned as he stood before the mirror in the room – he was currently a temporary resident at Andy and Ted's house, with Andy refusing to let him live alone until he had completely recovered, now that the kids had left for school. And although being babied irked Sirius immensely, he understood how much Andy cared for him, how worried she had been when watching him getting worked upon by the team of healers.

He looked at his reflected face first, relieved that most of the scratch and claw marks had disappeared, except for a jagged line on his cheek which would take a little longer to heal. The wounds on his neck, too, were much better. He shed the old, loose robe he was wearing, baring his torso to the mirror: the tattoos on his chest didn't stand out as much as they earlier did, due to the scarring over and around them. His stomach was still an ugly expanse of angry scratches and scars, with that deep, irritated reddish patch of healing skin standing out, denoting the place where Greyback had torn out part of his stomach.

But on the whole, he looked much better now. Good enough to rejoin the force. But Scrimgeour had been firm that Sirius would have to undergo those tests to get deployed on active field work again. And he couldn't take the tests until the healers pronounced him completely fit.

There was a sudden knock on the door. Andy had gone to St. Mungos for some emergency with one of her patients. So it had to be Ted knocking on the door, back from work.

"Come in, Ted," he said.

But it wasn't Ted who stood at the now open door. It was Irene Summerby.

"Hey—" she stopped abruptly when he turned around to greet her, her gaze roaming over his body, his scarred torso, moving to the deep gash on his cheek, and then meeting his eyes, her pupils seeming rather dilated. And he could have sworn he heard her breath hitching in the silence of the room.

"Hello," he said in response, grabbing the robes he'd earlier shed, suddenly overtly conscious of the fact that he'd been standing before her in just the pair of boxers.

She walked towards him, saying nothing, though she was still observing him. But he noticed, yet again, as he had that day in St. Mungos, that her reaction to seeing his wounds was nothing like most of his visitors' had been. People like Nigella and William Flint, Amos Diggory, even Mopsy and Kreacher, had been horrified and then sympathetic to his mauled state.

Irene, however, much to his relief, seemed unperturbed – concerned, yes; horrified and worried, no. And he liked that, just like he'd liked having Kingsley and Proudfoot visit him. They didn't fuss over him, didn't treat him with kid gloves. Instead, they behaved with him as they always did: with good-natured ribbing and joking and talking of old Auror cases. They were battle-hardened Aurors with nerves of steel, and a stomach cultivated, through the years of training, to digest sights of blood and gore. And he preferred that infinitely to even Andy and the kids' worrying and fussing, even though he was grateful they loved him enough to do that.

"So," said Sirius, gesturing Irene towards a chair, as he straightened the robe he had now pulled on, aware that she had unabashedly been eyeing his injuries and wounds (or had she been checking him out?) in a slightly less than decent way. It was strange – even refreshing, he would say – compared to how the women in the pureblood parties giggled and acted coyly around him… not that any of it mattered, really.

"How have you been?" he asked her, expecting something like 'I should be asking you that' as her reply.

But she snorted. "It's been hell without you. When are you getting your arse out of bed and joining me? I'm sure you're getting bored out of your wits lying around doing nothing."

"That I am," he admitted, grinning. "But why are things so bad? I didn't know I'm so indispensable to the Force," he added, smirking.

"Indispensable?" she responded, rolling her eyes. "We functioned just as well even before you joined in, a couple of years ago. But we can't find Greyback anywhere—"

"Did you check the forest of Rockingham?" he interrupted her grimly, feeling all the irritability and helplessness return to him: he couldn't go out and do his bit in capturing Greyback, not when he hadn't even retained proper use of his arm, not when his stomach was still healing. Damn! He wasn't meant for this: for sitting at home and letting others go out into action. If they didn't find Greyback within the next couple of days, he would have to damn Scrimgeour's commands and go join the team.

"Greyback's not in Rockingham," said Irene.

"And Gwydir? Belvoir? Avon? Didn't you get any clues in Chiddingfold – that's where the orphanage attackers lived—" he pressed on, though he knew she would've told him if she found any clues there.

"Yes, we checked all the places you mentioned. The total count of wolves brought in for questioning has come to seventy-three," replied Irene.

Sirius sighed. The forty-eight lycanthropes who had been earlier captured were still in the Ministry safe-house –legally held; Amelia had ordered for their custody to be extended by another week, under the guise of further questioning. But that couldn't go on infinitely. The bill had to be passed to secure their future. The failure in capturing Greyback was already making even Matthew Abbot air his apprehensions about his gathering support for the bill, spilling water on all that Harry's determined words had achieved. Gradually, his plan was beginning to derail extensively from the path he'd envisioned.

And that wouldn't do at all! The hopes and aspirations of the captured lycanthropes depended on getting the bill passed swiftly!

Ted had spoken to most of them: some of them were extremely wild, raging and ranting about wanting to go back to the forests; but some of them – the younger men and women – saw a chance to unshackle themselves from the chains Greyback and the older wolves had them bound in; they saw a ray of hope, a promising future without the fear of ostracism, to lead a life with equal rights and dignity.

Sirius was most concerned for the children, though. Most of them had been bitten young, grown up in the wild, with uncaring, foul-mouthed older lycanthropes in charge of them, having little to no memories of the civilised world, of their families. Two of them had met with their families – who had been horrified at their states, but eager to welcome them with open arms. The other children, however, were not so lucky: some had no families alive, and some had relatives who didn't even want to see their faces for fear of society shunning them. And Sirius was deeply concerned about their situation. He wanted the Werewolf Liaison Office set up at the earliest, a home arranged for the children to live, things put into place so that they would never have to return to the wild. He was even ready to arrange the funds, arrange one of the Black properties for the children to dwell. But he couldn't circumvent the laws as of now, with so much riding on the Werewolf bill.

Merlin! Greyback had to be caught—or even Edmund, and Daniel, who had agreed to support him, would lose confidence in him… and then there was the added matter of ensuring that the bill was kept secret from the public. If people heard of the bill, with fears and loathing of werewolves high, whatever respect and trust he'd commanded from the public recently would get wiped off. Only if he caught Greyback would he be able to have even a chance of convincing them that not all lycanthropes were bad, that some of them deserved a good life, that their support was necessary in the long term for the war against Voldemort.

"Any children in the lot?" he asked Irene, noticing her eyeing him keenly yet again.

"We found six more minors," she replied grimly. "Two are above fifteen, the youngest is eight. Alexandra McGrath—she had disappeared three years ago...The case made headlines for weeks, her parents had announced a reward for anyone giving information on her, too. But there was absolutely no progress on the case. Turns out Greyback bit her, carried her away—"

"Have her parents been informed?" asked Sirius gravely, expecting the answer to be negative. The Family Affairs Department had set up a strict procedure for the lycanthropic children. Their mental state would first be evaluated by Mind Healers skilled in dealing with children; then their families, if found, would be contacted and counselled, too. Only then, if both parties were deemed mentally and emotionally stable enough to meet each other, would a meeting be set up for the child and his or her family.

"We haven't contacted the parents, yet," replied Irene. "They've been distraught over her disappearance for years—haven't even given a thought to the possibility that she's been bitten and carried away by a werewolf… so we'll need to take it a little cautiously… we don't know how they'll take to her—they'll be shocked, for sure—and she's not exactly human-like...she's wild—wolfish even in her human form, more than the others... she'd been abducted so young that she has absolutely no memories of her parents and brother. The Department recommended having her taken care of by mind healers until she's deemed receptive to humans other than her pack... she's not really taking well to anyone—only an older woman from her pack…"

"I'll talk to Ted… he can take up her case on a priority basis… and he's very good with kids," said Sirius, "But her parents need to be told," he added, knowing the acute, incomparable grief he'd felt at being away from his kids when he had escaped from Azkaban. The girl's parents had it even worse – not even knowing whether she was alive or dead for the past three years. "It's already been what – a day since you brought her in? At least get the Department to inform her parents—they must have been looking all over for her!"

"I'll talk to Maryann at the Department," said Irene reassuringly.

"I need Greyback captured, Irene," he said, earnestness creeping into his tone. "Everything depends on that—the bill, the alliance…"

"Don't worry," said Irene quietly, placing her hand on his clasped ones. "We'll capture Greyback, and then it'll all go well for you…"

He met her gaze, suddenly realising that he'd blurted out the bit about the alliance to her; the grimness in his tone had made it clear that the alliance was much in doubt. And that wasn't something he wanted Voldemort's spy knowing.

But was she a spy, really? The kids had told him that Voldemort's servant was male, one with a mop of fair hair. Voldemort hadn't mentioned or thought of any other follower or spy at all! How, then, could Irene be the spy? That didn't sit right at all. Had been too hasty, then? Too overtly suspicious? Too much scarred by Pettigrew's betrayal of them to view his own friends and colleagues without suspicion?

But he had to do that, didn't he? Be on his toes all the time, put his trust in people only after completely making sure they had no ulterior motives, had no links to the Dark side. His choices were what Harry and Acquila's futures depended on. One wrong decision – like he'd done with switching with Pettigrew for secret keeper – would put their safety, their very lives in danger.

He sighed, suddenly wondering over whether he was even capable of doing it all: forging alliances, getting legislations passed, dealing with Fudge, handling the captured werewolves' matter, being a formidable nemesis to Voldemort so that he would take his fucking mind off Harry, deciding whom to trust and whom not to trust, finding out the identity of the fair-haired man in the dream, hastening the process of convincing people to have Dementors pulled out of guarding Azkaban, finding more Horcruxes—Merlin! The list went on and on and on. And he wondered, at times like these, whether he was even good enough to do things correctly. The future of not only his kids, but of wizarding Britain—hell, even Muggle Britain—hell, make that the future of the entire world (for Voldemort would never be content with keeping his rule only to Britain) – depended on him. And one misstep, one wrong decision, one instance of carelessness in rightly predicting Voldemort's next step – like he'd failed to foresee him attacking people who mattered to his family, like Mrs Smith – could lead to terrible, horrifying results.

"Sirius," said Irene, startling him out of his thoughts. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

"I'm not an idiot," she said, watching him with a penetrating gaze that made him look away from her. "I can see something's bothering you—what is it? Is it all the alliance business you're planning? Or getting the bill passed? I've been hearing it's running into difficulties—"

"It's nothing," he cut her off, "Nothing…"

"Okay," she replied, though he could see that she didn't believe it one bit, as he met her gaze.

And suddenly, for a mad, mad moment, he wanted to share everything with her. He didn't talk of his burdens to Andy and Ted – they were already doing all they could: Ted handling the werewolf business, Andy spreading word about the bill, and sitting up with Augusta Longbottom to work out the nuances of the plan to convince people about the Dementor bill (because he knew Voldemort's main priority, after his return to a new body, would be to free his incarcerated Death Eaters).

He couldn't share his mind with Remus because the man was finally having some bit of peace – and he was doing his bit to broaden the views of those people who now knew of his affliction, and engaging with the captured lycanthropes on weekends.

Telling the kids was out of question, of course, what with Acquila still not completely recovered from Mrs Smith's loss. And these weren't their burdens to carry.

Kingsley was already handling everything at the Force – handling Scrimgeour, the Azkaban watch-tower, discreetly enquiring with some of his Squib informers about any signs of Greyback in the Muggle world.

And then there was Nigella, who had taken to visiting him often. But he didn't feel like sharing things about danger and the possibility of a war with her. Politics, yes; she was rather sharp-minded when it came to the way the pureblood world worked. But she seemed averse to stomaching the mere probability of acute danger, of physical injuries and violence. She had even suggested to him subtly that he didn't need to carry on the Auror job if it put his life in jeopardy; he could easily do his bit only in the political world rather than on the field – a suggestion he'd brushed off swiftly.

There was no one really who was privy to his innermost thoughts, to his deepest fears, to his dread that he would fail everyone, that he wasn't capable enough of carrying the weight of the future of Britain on his shoulders. And now, when all his duties and responsibilities were descending on him like dead weight, smothering him, making him feel like he would never rise above them, he wanted nothing better than to speak his mind with the woman in front of him – one who could be a spy; but who seemed to relish danger like he did, who seemed to, somehow, always know when he was down, who had knocked some sense into his head and sent him to visit Athena's grave, marking the beginning of his process of finally moving on from the ghost of his beloved wife, who had taken him to that Muggle pub and had him singing to the Karaoke, dancing wildly with him, blissful under the anonymity that the darkness and the Muggle surroundings of the pub granted him.

He met her gaze, seeing understanding and acceptance and something he didn't quite recognise. And he almost made to speak. But something held him back – possibly the doubt about her loyalty which still dwelt at the back of his mind.

And he said nothing, merely accepting her lips on his cheek as she bid him goodbye, departing after a last, conflicted glance at him, though her hazel eyes held something which he thought was encouragement.

oOo

The post-match celebrations had gone on for two days. And Hermione, for the life of her, couldn't get why the other Gryffindors were behaving as if they'd already won the Cup. They'd played just a single match for heaven's sake! Admitted it was against Slytherin, and, thus, a big victory, but that didn't mean they all had to create such pandemonium in the Tower that she couldn't even study in peace!

The Weasley twins were the life of the party, as always – showcasing their tricks and generally creating havoc all around them. Percy seemed to be the only one who hadn't enjoyed himself. Being the Head Boy, all he did was try and subdue his brothers. But their victory had evidently not made the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, complacent. The team was back to practicing for a couple of hours every two days a week, even though their next match against Hufflepuff was directly in March. Now that would be an interesting match to watch, thought Hermione, what with Harry against Cedric. Acquila would be supporting Harry, of course – even more so after how close they'd become recently.

After coming back to school Acquila, hadn't been the same. She barely interacted with anyone, except Harry, of course. She didn't look at the Hufflepuff table during mealtimes now, merely playing with the food on her half-eaten plate. Harry, too, hadn't once sat with Daphne Greengrass during Ancient Runes. He always attended all classes with Acquila, even going to the extent of taking notes for her once.

Recently, however, Acquila had begun improving a little, going so far as to chuckle at one of Ron's very silly jokes. And currently, she even seemed happy. They were all in the Quidditch stands to watch the Gryffindor team practice – Hermione, Acquila, Ron and Neville.

Personally, Hermione found the practice sessions very boring. She preferred sitting in the Common Room next to the fireplace, reading a good book. But Ron and Neville had insisted on wanting to watch practice, and Acquila would've followed Harry anyway. So Hermione had ended up accompanying them.

Ron and Neville were discussing Quidditch technicalities which Hermione wasn't interested in, while Acquila sat a few seats away from them, lost in thought, but a little absent smile playing at her lips as she stared at Harry, who was hovering mid-air on his broom, discussing something with Oliver. Suddenly, as if he'd known Acquila had been staring at him all along, Harry met Acquila's gaze, smiling widely at her, before he continued talking to Oliver.

Merlin! How were Harry and Acquila so—so—goodness! She didn't even know what to call it! They were always so much in sync with each other; like the night of the werewolf attack, when Harry and Acquila had seemingly had the same dream… how was that even possible? And how had the dream been true? Acquila had woken up screaming, mumbling and sobbing about Greyback killing Mrs Smith – which was exactly what had happened. And according to Ron and Neville, Harry, too, had woken up screaming, before he had rushed out of the dormitory, muttering about Sirius, wolves and Mrs Smith…

This wasn't normal. This certainly wasn't normal. None of the many books Hermione had read had ever mentioned anything like this. Of course, frauds like Professor Trelawney did harp about dreams and omens. But all that was a load of tosh. But Harry and Acquila – they really had seen what had been happening, they had known Mrs Smith was dead, and they'd both shared the very same dream. And that just didn't make sense!

Although this was the first time Hermione knew of them dreaming of things that had really been happening, she had noticed things about the strange link Harry and Acquila shared since the time they'd become friends.

They were tiny things, really – like how they sometimes just spoke in broken sentences, as if they were conveying the rest of their words to the other through some weird, unknown way, unseen by anyone else. Then there was that one time Acquila had admitted she could hear Harry thinking – though she had swiftly changed that, saying she was just joking. Then there were all the times, Harry passed Acquila food at during mealtimes before she had even told him to! That one time their Potion had turned the exact, albeit wrong, shade of green – as though they'd missed the very same two steps and miscalculated the clockwise stirs during the brewing process. Then that other time, when Acquila and she were searching for Harry after their Arithmancy class; and Acquila had somehow known that Harry was at the Owlery – when there was absolutely no way she could've known his location. And in second year, when the rogue Bludger had knocked Harry off his broom, and Acquila had seemed as if the bones in her own arm were broken like Harry's were…

How? How was all that possible? This was all very, very suspicious—

"Oi! Harry!" cried Ron, catching Hermione's attention. Hermione instinctively looked up at Harry. A Bludger was tearing through the air, zooming just at the back of Harry's head – he couldn't see it approaching.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, along with Ron and Neville. But Harry was too far away and high up in the air for their voices to reach him.

"Duck, Harry!" muttered Acquila

Harry, without even turning around, ducked out of the way of the Bludger just in time! Perhaps, he had heard the Bludger zooming towards him, thought Hermione as she breathed a sigh of relief, although something niggled at the back of her mind.

Suddenly, Harry came zooming down towards the stands. He flew from right in front of them, flashing Acquila a thankful-looking smile. What was that? Acquila had only muttered the warning to duck! Hermione herself had barely heard her! How had Harry seemingly heard her, then?

"Did you notice that?" she whispered Ron and Neville, who sitting next to her.

"Yeah!" exclaimed Ron, as she shushed him, not wanting Acquila to listen – not that Acquila was listening, really; she was still staring absently at Harry, her eyes following him as he weaved through the Chasers.

"That was scary," went on Ron. "For a second I thought, the Bludger would knock him off! But he luckily ducked at the right moment—"

"Not luckily," said Hermione.

"Huh?" said Neville.

"How did Harry know the Bludger was approaching him?" muttered Hermione. "The Bludger was coming at him from behind —and he was too far off to hear us when we screamed to warn him—"

"What are you trying to say?" asked Neville curiously.

"Just when the Bludger was about to hit Harry, Acquila was warning Harry to duck—" Hermione began.

"Even we were screaming for him to duck, Hermione," Ron pointed out.

"That's the point! We were screaming, but Acquila just muttered it to herself, and Harry immediately ducked!" said Hermione.

"Come on," scoffed Ron. "Harry couldn't have heard her muttering—"

"But he flew up here, and smiled at her—almost as if he was thanking her," said Neville slowly.

"Yes!" said Hermione.

"He did?" gasped Ron, looking at Hermione, and then at Acquila, wide-eyed.

"Don't look at her Ron!" whispered Hermione, wondering how Ron hadn't noticed Harry smiling at her. "We don't want her to know we're talking about them!"

"It sounds just like that night, doesn't it?" said Neville quietly. "The werewolf attack night? And the match last year when the Bludger attacked Harry?"

"Exactly," Hermione agreed.

"It's very creepy how they both had the same nightmare, that night," put in Ron.

"What's even creepier is that it wasn't a nightmare – it really happened," said Hermione.

"So what are you trying to say?" Ron asked, sounding a bit unnerved. "Are they some kind of Seers? Like Professor Trelawney?"

"I don't think so."

"Yeah," agreed Neville. "If they were Seers, they should have seen this attack coming before it happened, not when it was happening."

"Yes. And I don't think Seers can share visions like Harry and Acquila did," mused Hermione.

"I think Harry and Acquila know what it is… but they aren't telling us. Remember, they didn't tell me why they were chatting up Professor Slughorn, too… during the Slug Club party?" said Neville.

"They shouldn't be hiding stuff from us!" said Ron indignantly. "We're their friends! Don't they trust us enough?"

"I'm sure they have a good reason for being secretive," said Hermione, very much conscious of the Time Turner hanging around her neck, beneath her robes. After all, she was keeping secrets from her friends too. For good reason. It was probably similar with Harry and Acquila.

"Whatever it is, we need to fine out soon," said Ron, sounding unusually serious.

"Yes," agreed Hermione and Neville together.

oOo

Tired.

Sirius was sick and tired of it all: politics, strategising, negotiations, reading through reams and reams of drafts of the Werewolf Rights bill. He was honestly fed up now. Give him a wand and five battle-hardened Death Eaters, and he'd duel them with relish – feeling the thrill of the fight, the deep desire to taste victory, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the fierce joy he felt at taking down his opponents one by one. But this – all these diplomatic talks, the relentless efforts to convince people, listening to their narrow-minded tirades, waiting patiently for them to accept and agree with his views – it was something he just wasn't meant for.

Needless to say, with the Aurors' continuing failure to capture Greyback – there was absolutely no clue of his whereabouts – even people like Daniel Greengrass, whom Harry's heartfelt words had convinced, was now having doubts about Sirius' ability to have Greyback captured.

At most times, Sirius having his fingers in many pies – the Hogwarts Board of Governors through Ted, the Wizengamot through Andy, his own presence in the Auror Force, being Lord Black – was of great utility to him. But it also had its drawbacks – like how people like Richard and even Matthew Abbot were beginning to doubt whether Sirius would ever manage to get hold of Greyback, even though Sirius had no role to play on the Auror team's field missions. Any stumble by the people Sirius worked with – whether the Aurors or his extended family – was seen as Sirius' personal failure.

The werewolves who'd killed the children at the orphanage would be tried soon in the Wizengamot – in the fastest trial in modern British wizarding history. And he hoped that would pacify some of his prospective allies. But there was still was no way the Werewolf Rights bill could be tabled now. He would lose for certain, especially without the support of Richard, Matthew, Daniel, Helphius – all of whom were people who could convince the other Wizengamot members to vote for the bill. The Wizengamot consisted of fifty members. After the War, rules had been set for the Wizengamot, ensuring equal representation for people of all blood statuses. Five seats were set aside for the Ancient and Noble Houses, as only five of them were currently in existence: Black, Longbottom, Rosier, Avery, Nott. Andromeda wouldn't be able to vote on the bill, because she had placed it for voting. Avery had settled out of Britain for fear of being put into Azkaban. Only Madam Longbottom would vote in their favour.

Then, there were fifteen seats for which purebloods could stand for election, fifteen for Muggleborns and fifteen for halfbloods. Sirius didn't at all like the reservation of seats based on blood – it handed even more credence to blood status and the politics over it. But he understood the reason for it. Voldemort had been able to take over the Wizengamot, the last time, because it was overwhelmingly full of purebloods, many of whom had been on the Dark side. After the War, a bill had been passed to give all parts of the population an equal say in law-making and dispersing justice.

Sirius' efforts to win over Richard, Edmund, and the other Light purebloods were so that they could create awareness about the bill and gather support from the other Wizengamot members. But now, when they were beginning to rethink their admittance of support to him, he knew he would have to look at other means.

He had five months left to table the bill. After a bill was accepted by eight members of the Wizengamot, it had to be tabled within six months. It was the third week of November now – so he had five more months left. Making provisions of the bill public wouldn't work now, particularly with anti-Werewolf sentiments running so high. It would only backfire spectacularly on him. All the sympathy, support and admiration he'd evoked in magical Britain after his fight against the werewolves would only turn to fury and outrage if people knew he had produced the bill which ensured werewolves would have a right to rejoin society, attend wizarding schools, work alongside witches and wizards at workplaces. The public would find that totally unacceptable and outrageous, especially now when they thought even worse of Werewolves, thanks to Greyback's pack's mauling and murdering of children.

His attempts at getting Greyback, too, were leading nowhere. All the captured wolves had been questioned. They knew nothing about where Greyback could be. The few hunches they'd had about his whereabouts had turned out to be dead ends. People, including Muggles, had been questioned, entire forests placed under magical surveillance, wards put up at places to inform the Auror office of lycanthropic presence – but none of it had worked. And Sirius knew why: because Greyback was currently with Voldemort, hidden safely by that bastard of a wraith. It was all part of Voldemort's plan to beat Sirius: hide Greyback, make it impossible for him to be arrested, have Sirius' prospective allies gradually lose confidence in him—damn!

If Voldemort had his way, Sirius knew he would even have leaked news of the bill out, wanting to turn public opinion against him. But Sirius, fortunately, had trumped Voldemort in that particular battle of wits. With William Flint's help (the Flints had a substantial stake in the Daily Prophet), and with further help from some contacts of Kingsley and Antiquis Blishwick, Sirius had been able to ensure that not one word about the bill would be published in any publication before he desired it.

Andy thought he was obsessed with the bill – which he was, to be honest. But he had his reasons for it. The more he kept Voldemort engaged in the power tussle, the more Voldemort would keep his sight on Sirius and not Harry. Then again, if passed, the Werewolf Rights legislation would bring most of the Werewolf populace to his side: the majority of the captured werewolves had expressed a desire to rejoin society, give up their bloodthirsty ways. They were looking forward to reducing the pain of the transformations and keeping their minds using Wolfsbane. They wanted education and to earn their own money, the legal rights to marry, to beget children – all of which the legislation could provide. And passage of the bill would only increase Sirius' political power and clout – a very welcome result, keeping in mind that he was Voldemort' nemesis.

There was nothing he could do to make the Light purebloods regain their confidence in him until he had Greyback captured – and given recent failures, that could probably take a long time. And Sirius knew there was only one thing he could do now to ensure that if Greyback still wasn't caught by April – which was when the bill would have to be tabled – he would still manage to get the bill passed: make a deal with Lucius Malfoy.

"Mister Malfoy is here, Master," announced Mopsy, rousing him out of his thoughts.

"Bring him in," said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair, putting on his now-perfected expression of smug confidence.

Lucius Malfoy came in, his usual sneer on his face, although Sirius wanted to chuckle at the trepidation and nervousness Lucius had failed at sufficiently hiding. He knew how much Lucius had come to secretly fear him now. It was Sirius who held all the strings that bound Lucius to his life, his family, his public image, his wealth, and most importantly, his freedom. There were so many charges Sirius could press, due to which Lucius would definitely be in Azkaban – possessing Tom Riddle's Diary, which was a Dark artefact; having the Diary put into Harry's books; leading to Ginny Weasley being possessed by a Dark force… the list went on and on… and the fear of Sirius acting on all his criminal deeds had put Lucius irreversibly in his power.

"What is it this time, Black?" spat Lucius, as he took a seat opposite Sirius. "What would you have me do now? Extort money from people for your Werewolf Fund? Put another of my properties on sale?"

Sirius enjoyed watching the subtle agitation that seemed to virtually surround Lucius, the way his cold eyes nervously met his gaze. "No."He smirked, taking time to reply.

But Lucius, to his surprise, suddenly chuckled, sneering at him. "Your plans have all gone awry, haven't they, Black? All the castles you'd built, all your dreams for the half-breeds—education, social inclusion, employment, providing Wolfsbane—all ending up in naught, I hear."

Sirius said nothing, merely holding Lucius' now-triumphant gaze.

"I met Daniel, yesterday," Lucius went on. "Daniel Greengrass, your latest bosom pal. Turns out your godson did have him convinced about the bill with some sweet talk. But Daniel isn't a novice at politics like some of your other buddies are. He sees no merit in publicly standing against Greyback when the beast is still at large. He's losing confidence in you, you see? He seems to think he can't attract the half-breed's wrath, particularly when he has two young daughters who would make an easy target for revenge—"

"Werewolves are not half-breeds, Malfoy," interrupted Sirius coolly, although he did stare sternly at the blond man.

"Still sticking to that tosh about them being equal to us?" queried Lucius wryly, "Even though it's been weeks since the attack and you've still not recovered completely? Looks like the wolves only managed to scar your face, eh? Not your mindset?"

"It'll take more than a bunch of wild wolves to make me change my views, Malfoy," replied Sirius. "And anyway, my opinions on matters have nothing to do with you. I've called you here for a specific reason, not to listen to your useless blabber."

"Go on," said Lucius curtly, and Sirius saw the man losing his hitherto comfort, as he sat up straighter in his chair.

"Remember your House owes mine a debt?" asked Sirius, watching Lucius grow even more uncomfortable.

"What of it?" demanded the Malfoy patriarch.

Sirius merely smirked, taking his own sweet time to reply.

The ancient laws dealing with Noble pureblood Houses worked in strange ways. When Lucius had aimed for having Harry and Acquila harmed, he had directly threatened the very existence of the Houses of Black and Potter, both of whom Sirius was currently the Head (Harry would take over the Headship of the House of Potter when he came of age; until then, Sirius, who had been considered a second son by Charlus and Dorea Potter, would be the regnant). To avenge Lucius wanting to wipe off the Black and Potter bloodlines, Sirius could very well have killed Lucius, as far as gone on to finish off Lucius' very House, his very bloodline.

None of it was on paper, of course – but Lucius' misdeeds had formed a deep, implied magical bond between the Houses of Black and Malfoy. Sirius hadn't taken Lucius' life – Remus and Irene had stopped him just in time. Which meant the House of Malfoy owed its very existence to the House of Black, a life debt owed by the entire House to the Blacks. It was, of course, an unofficial, intangible magical bond; but Sirius knew how such ancient magic worked. Lucius was bound to his will, the burden of the debt probably weighed heavily on his mind all the time – not an easy burden to carry at all, especially since Lucius was Head of the Malfoys. And knowing that after him, his only son, too, would be bound to the will of the Blacks was certainly something Lucius didn't want. And Sirius had decided to play on that very thing.

"I will release your House of the debt it owes mine," said Sirius quietly.

"And what do you want in return?" asked Lucius shrewdly.

"You know how the Werewolf bill has reached a temporary dead end," said Sirius, "I need to get the bill tabled and passed by April."

"So?" said Lucius brusquely.

"So? Use your brains, Malfoy!" snorted Sirius. "You're the one who told me how Daniel's beginning to rethink his support to me. I'm sure you know what's up with Richard Brown and the others, too! There's no way I can get them to support me until I capture Greyback—"

"How haven't you been able to capture him, yet?" said Lucius, seeming unusually thoughtful. "I thought you'd have him caught within hours—it's not tough to get to him. Even I know many of his usual haunts."

"He obviously has more haunts than the ones people know of, then," muttered Sirius. "The Aurors are trying their best… but he's gone underground. No sign of him."

Lucius frowned thoughtfully, but Sirius didn't continue the matter of Greyback further. There was no way Lucius could ever know of his suspicions of Voldemort sheltering Greyback. That would only lead to severe drawbacks for him in the Death Eater circles.

"So you want me to get you support for the bill?" questioned Lucius, sneering. "You'd told me this even the last time you visited the Manor—"

"But circumstances weren't as dire then as they are now, were they?" responded Sirius coolly. "I know how the situation is. Nobody is going to support me until Greyback's arrested. I cannot make the contents of the bill public without risk to my image. So you're the one who will use all your tricks to ensure the bill is passed—"

"What do you think I am? How on earth can I get you support?" snapped Lucius exasperatedly. "The last time you told me to talk to Nott and the others, I did talk to them—gave them an idea about the bill…said that they'd need to contribute to the fund—but it's not easy, Black—"

"How you do it is none of my concern, Malfoy," snapped Sirius. "You have five months—I give you until the first week of April to gather support—"

"But how the hell can I—"

"I don't care!" repeated Sirius. "You do what you have to—I need two thirds majority in the Wizengamot to get the bill passed—I don't know whether Greyback will be caught until then. If he isn't, you'll be the one ensuring the bill is passed, that there'll be thirty four members voting for my bill. It's not a big deal for you. You've done it many a times earlier – getting yourself acquitted of all charges by faking the Imperius bit, getting Acquila's guardianship decision overturned—"

"Those were different! This is completely different!" exclaimed Lucius. "Public sentiment is completely against werewolves—"

"As I said," growled Sirius, "that's none of my concern. You have until April to get your job done. In return, I will absolve your House of your debt."

Lucius stared at him with a shrewd, calculating look. "What's in it for you, Black? Why the sudden obsession with the bill? You so badly want it passed that you're ready to let go of the hold you have over me and my House?"

"You are the last person I'd reveal my motives to, Malfoy," snorted Sirius. "Just because we've been on civil terms lately doesn't mean I've forgotten what a rotten man you are."

"I didn't know civil terms included having your wand at my throat and the Killing Curse on the tip of your tongue!" spat Lucius, glaring fiercely at Sirius.

"My definition of 'civil terms' is subjective to the person in question," said Sirius, smirking. "Many people have been at the receiving end of my spells during interrogation sessions, Malfoy, and none of them have fared well. Thank your stars that you're still alive and breathing, with nothing worse than tied hands and a battered ego."

Lucius gritted his teeth, glaring daggers at Sirius, but he said nothing.

"Get the job done, and you'll be free of the debt between our Houses. I know how it must be for you," went on Sirius, with a faux-sympathetic shake of his head, "Labouring through each day knowing that you owe every second that you breathe to me, that if I want, I can very well snuff out your life in a heartbeat—that even your own wife's loyalty lies more with me than you—"

"Shut up!" snarled Lucius, as Sirius grinned slyly, knowing he had pushed just the right buttons. This was the reason he had called Lucius here alone, without Cissy. For a man with as huge an ego as Lucius', the fact that Narcissa had time and again chosen to side with her cousin than her husband was certainly something that burnt at him. Getting Sirius off his and his family's back – especially his betraying wife's – was something Lucius would give anything for.

"So, do we have a deal?" asked Sirius.

Lucius stared at him, jaw tight, eyes shrewd and calculating again, before he replied. "Yes."

oOo

"This," said Cedric, puttiing his quill away, "is how a numerical chart is made."

Acquila nodded half-absently, her mind partly on the chart and partly on Sirius. She had spoken to her Dad last night, and he didn't seem all that great.

Sirius was worried Greyback would attack again on the coming full moon night, which was just two nights away. Voldemort's tussle with Sirius would mean staging yet another attack, getting people even further scared of werewolves and distrustful of Sirius' abilities to get Greyback caught. Of course, none of it was public – the newspapers pinned the blame for the continuing failure to capture Greyback on the Auror and Hit Wizard Force. But in pureblood circles, however, Acquila knew Sirius was held responsible for the lack of progress on the Greyback case. He had personally assured them of getting him arrested at the earliest… and the failure of the Auror team was getting to Sirius. Last night, on the mirror, he had seemed extremely irritated – and that was saying something, considering how annoyed he was all the time, recently. But she understood what Sirius was going through: sitting home, unable to lead the Auror team, still having trouble using his arm—and Sirius wasn't really the most patient person. She could understand his restlessness, his frustration at having nothing to show to the people he'd promised results.

Then again, Sirius was worried about what would happen to the captured lycanthropes after the full moon. Their Auror custody couldn't be extended any further.

But Sirius had a plan ready, thankfully. He had asked her whether she would mind their Manor in Yorkshire being given temporarily to those of the lycanthropes who didn't want to return to the forests. Acquila had readily agreed, of course. She didn't really care about all her Black inheritance. She was sure she wouldn't ever use half the Black properties, anyway.

It was Harry who had come up with the idea of giving away the massive palace which the Blacks had grabbed from King Henry VIII – Cepheus Castle, which stood very near the erstwhile Nonsuch Palace. Harry and she had visited the Castle only once, and had been overwhelmed by the hundreds of rooms, the impregnable wards which made the Castle invisible to all eyes, the defences that couldn't be breached by most magical beings. It would be perfect for the lycanthropes to live until they were financially independent. The forests around the Castle would help them roam around in their wolf forms, too. And there were more than enough rooms to accommodate the men, women and children from the werewolf packs.

It was wonderful how thoughtful Harry was, thought Acquila. He was very interested in what would happen to the lycanthrope children whose families didn't want them. He spoke to Sirius nearly every night, asking him his further plans for rehabilitating the wolves, asking him whether anything could be legally done for them. But Sirius had told him that legal provisions for them could only be made once the bill was passed. Until then, everything Sirius was doing was unofficially: offering the Devonshire Manor to them, engaging Professor Slughorn to brew them Wolfsbane (the charges for the ingredients and Slughorn's fees were all being paid from the Black vault), arranging food and clothing for the wolves (Amos Diggory had pitched in with help for this, as had Edmund Macmillan, Augusta Longbottom and Kingsley), having the Manor secured with wards just in case the public and Greyback got wind of the lycanthropes' location, engaging Mind Healers, especially Uncle Ted and his colleagues at St. Mungos to work with the lycanthropes.

"Acquila?" Cedric's voice roused her out of her thought, as she felt his hand on hers.

"Uh—yes, yes," she said, liking the warmth of his hand on hers. But she didn't really feel all the butterflies she used to feel earlier. After Mrs Smith's death, she didn't really care much about it. It didn't even seem right to her, really. Mrs Smith was gone; she'd died because of Acquila, because of the magical world which belonged to Acquila… and she just couldn't bring herself to think of trivial things like blokes and crushes… not when the guilt of Mrs Smith's death still weighed heavily on her mind.

"Are you all right, Acquila?" asked Cedric softly, and she nodded, managing a smile.

"You didn't really understand what I explained, right?" he asked her, grabbing the quill again. "I'll explain it again—"

"No," she said. "I got it…"

"You sure?" he asked her. "I can teach you again. I don't mind…"

"No, I got it. Really," she replied, smiling at his kindness.

"You make your own chart, now," he said, passing her the huge parchment. "Let's see how you do it."

She nodded, taking the parchment and beginning to plot the numbers on it.

Since she'd been back to Hogwarts, she hadn't really had a proper conversation with Cedric. He had come up to her, right after she'd come back, to give her his condolences. And, surprisingly, he hadn't asked her anything about Mrs Smith like the other students had – which was a very welcome relief. It seemed like he'd sensed that she needed her space – something she genuinely appreciated, since very few people were willing to leave her alone during classes and in corridors. Everyone tried to question her, ask her about further updates on capturing Greyback, on the trial for the orphanage attack perpetrators, about why she cared so much for an old Muggle woman, about whether Sirius would ever recover completely… the questions went on and on and on. And if it wasn't for Harry, she knew many a people would've found hexes shooting at them from the tip of her wand.

She had hardly interacted with anyone, other than her closest friends. Cedric, presently, was an exception. He had come up to her during breakfast and taken the seat next to her, attracting many surprised glances from around the Great Hall. It wasn't often that Hufflepuffs sat at the Gryffindor table. After the exchange of pleasantries, Cedric had been tactful enough to realise she didn't want to talk about Mrs Smith. He had instead told her of a funny incident during his Quidditch practice, making her chuckle – something she done very rarely recently. Of course, Harry did make her smile, but Cedric had been slightly refreshing. After that, Cedric had asked her about the classes she'd missed during the week she'd taken off school, repeating his offer to help her with Arithmancy if she needed any help.

Acquila had taken a moment to think. Professor Vector had started teaching them numerical charts and Hermione's notes weren't helping her much. So she had quietly agreed to have him teach her, sending a surreptitious glance at Harry as she did so, only to see him smiling back at her. She had wondered, of course, about where Harry's earlier jealousy about Cedric had disappeared. She had grown closer to Harry than she'd ever been, in the past few days. And she had hoped – though she would never admit it – that he would feel that little twinge of jealousy on seeing her with Cedric. But Harry had said nothing, making her wonder why.

So, here she was, sitting in the library, next to Cedric, preparing her numerical chart.

"Here," she said, handing her chart to Cedric.

Cedric read through the parchment, smiling. "It's perfect… you're a quick learner, eh?"

"That's because you're a great teacher," she replied honestly. "I didn't know you could teach as well as you Seek."

"Even I didn't know I could teach," he said, chuckling. "I haven't taught anyone before. You are my first."

She stared at him, blushing slightly at the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, wondering whether she had just imagined it; the innuendo wasn't lost on her.

"So," he said, still grinning at her, "Do you need help with anything else?"

She shook her head. "Thank you for helping me."

He placed his hand on hers, sending a little thrill through her. It was nothing like she'd have felt earlier, like the time they'd strolled through the Castle at night. But she quite liked it.

"Anything to see you smile," he said, the words reminding her of the woman who'd often said them to her.

"Mrs Smith used to say that," she said quietly, "that she'd do anything to put a smile on my face."

Cedric said nothing, merely gazing at her, his hand still on top of hers. But something about him made her speak further. He was watching her with warmth, not with sympathy and pity like most people did.

"She was always there for me… even for the littlest of things," she said quietly. "I didn't like the dark when I was a kid… I hated it when they turned off the lights—it was terrifying… and all the other kids used to make fun of me. But Mrs Smith would visit me every night… and sing to me… stay with me until I fell asleep…"

Cedric nodded, clasping her hand now, not that Acquila noticed.

"She taught me how to bake cakes—the little brown ones. She even helped me bake them for Harry's tenth birthday," she went on softly, a little lump in her throat. "And she taught me to cycle—and swim…and to read and write—and to always stand up for what I believe in…she—she taught me everything I know..."

Acquila shut her eyes, furiously trying to curb the tears prickling at them, the lump in her throat growing, until she finally managed to get a semblance of control over herself.

"I can hear her voice in my head sometimes – giving me advice… helping me out—" she went on, the words escaping her before she could stop them. "—sorry, I'm—I didn't want to bore you with all this—"

"You're not," he cut her off. "You can always talk to me, Acquila… I'm your friend… and the fact that you're missing Mrs Smith shows just how much you love her, doesn't it? It means you'll always keep her alive… in your thoughts, in your heart…"

She smiled, slowly pulling back her hand from under his, and gathering her books, suddenly feeling like she wanted Harry. But as she looked at Cedric smiling at her, she felt herself grinning back, feeling rather happy that the Hufflepuff seemed to understand her so well. But she didn't want to dwell on any of that – not now.

They started putting away the books they'd borrowed from the library. She looked up at him, quite liking how he was taller than her. Harry was shorter than her… and she had recently shot up like a weed, beginning to beat Harry in the height department. But Cedric was taller – tall enough that she would have to stand on her tiptoes to have her face him… and that reminded her of that night on the staircase when she thought he'd been about to kiss her… and then of that day in Hogsmeade when he'd have asked her out if Harry hadn't intentionally interrupted them.

The fact that Cedric hadn't brought up that topic yet – and she was sure because he knew this wasn't the right time for it – only endeared the older boy to her. He was everything most girls wanted, really: kind and handsome… sensitive and hot!

'But he's not Harry!' said a little voice in her mind.

That was true, wasn't it? Cedric wasn't Harry… he couldn't read her mind like Harry did, he couldn't understand her like Harry did, she didn't need him like she needed Harry—but Harry was so close to her partly because of the Bond. The Soul Bond made him know her in and out, made him sense her feelings, her thoughts—damn! She hated this—this confusion, this uncertainty.

"Acquila," said Cedric suddenly, making her look at him again.

And something in his blue-grey eyes reminded her of when she had been standing opposite him in Hogsmeade, with him just about to ask her out, the words on the tip of his tongue…

"You were going to ask me out, weren't you?" she blurted out, not quite regretting it, though.

His eyes widened; he seemed stunned for a moment. But then he grinned sheepishly, eyes bright, hand running through those brown locks.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I was going to…"

She smiled, her tummy flopping.

"I still want to," he admitted quietly, making her insides dance even rapidly. "But now's not the right time, is it?"

"No," she agreed, watching him nod in agreement.

"But, you can ask me later," she added, immediately feeling rather stupid for her involuntary words, her cheeks heating up.

But the answering grin on his face more than made up for it.

oOo

"Phew," sighed Savage, staring at the first sunrays of the day that were beginning to suffuse in the darkish sky. "Thank Merlin there's been no attack. Another incident and we'd have been done for…"

"Yeah," agreed Irene, shedding off her outer Auror robes and pulling on a coat.

It had been a long night.

Sirius, for some reason, had been particularly adamant about heightening security in both, Muggle and magical, places. Almost all of the Auror Force, Hit Wizards, the Werewolf Capture Unit (which was now stronger than its earlier composition of just four people), some highly-skilled DMLE officials, and even some Department of Mysteries employees who were adept at erecting unassailable wards had been deployed through the night.

The full moon night had, fortunately, passed without incident. Some of the lycanthropes who had been captured earlier had taken up Sirius' offer to stay at his Devonshire Manor. Sirius had arranged for Wolfsbane to be provided to them, and their transformation had taken place within the warded Manor with no untoward happenings.

Some of the wilder lycanthropes, who were extremely loyal to Greyback, had gone back to the forests. Although dangerous, they were innocent of any wrongdoing. And the DMLE had had no option but to let them go after their questioning. Security had been placed around the wolves' forest haunts. And the werewolves had been contained in the forests.

The werewolves who had attacked the orphanage, too, were in holding cells at a secure location, and had been allowed to transform in a warded enclosure, with no risk of danger to the other detainees.

"Alex, Martha, you guys go home now," Irene said to the Auror trainees whom she'd taken along with her. Mad Eye had insisted that the trainees be given jobs to do to, saying they'd get a hang of how things were in the real world – experience which could be gained only in the thick of action.

"I'll go report to Sirius, then," said Savage, "you go home, get some rest, and then write up the report for Scrimgeour tomorrow—"

"No! I'll report to Sirius!" Irene realised that her reply had been a little too hasty and eager only when Savage grinned jauntily at her.

"Ah ha," he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Miss Summerby's got the hots for Lord Black, eh?"

"Shut up, you git," exclaimed Irene, pushing his arm away, and trying to punch him playfully, but he dodged her fist, winking at her teasingly.

"You think we don't see it, huh?" Savage went on. "You've recently been visiting him so often—"

"That's for work! He's supposed to co-lead the case with me," cut in Irene. "I have to visit him to keep him up to date—"

"And what about when you were screaming your lungs out when we reached the orphanage… when Sirius was lying all bleeding?" questioned a smirking Savage.

"Everyone was screaming," retorted Irene, rolling her eyes. "Kingsley, Scrimgeour, you—"

"Yeah, but none of us were telling Sirius don't worry, love—I've got you—" said Savage in a high-pitched falsetto which was a horrible imitation of Irene's own voice.

"Shut up," said Irene, smacking a guffawing Savage on the back of his head, before she walked beyond the wards, shooting a sudden Tickling Hex at him over her shoulder.

Minutes later, she was walking down the leaf-strewn path to Black Manor, pulling her coat tighter around her. Merlin! If Savage knew about her stupid crush on Sirius, she was sure the entire Auror division would know about it in a few hours.

Irene had never really been one to dream of a Prince Charming, of a fairytale wedding and other fluffy nonsense most girls wished for. She wasn't really into commitment. She'd dated dozens of blokes – none of whom she'd lasted with beyond a few months. And to be honest, she enjoyed it that way: hang out, go out for dinners and movies, then have a nice little shag at either his place or hers… no emotional ties, no fights, no meeting the parents and family—none of that sentimental bullshit. Of course, her friends – like Dora and her Muggle sister-in-law – kept hoping Irene would find a nice bloke to settle down with. But Irene didn't think she was meant for that kind of a life.

Irene wasn't one for sentiment and feelings. After her Mum's death, her brother's abandonment and dislike and her Dad's indifference had led to her gradually curbing the emotional side of her. And as she grew older, began to notice blokes and have them ask her out, she had realised that she didn't really care enough to develop an emotional attachment to them.

Her unemotional nature had suited her even better when she had joined the Force. She liked being unattached, with no one to answer to when she returned home late after Auror missions, with no one asking her to stay away from her dangerous job… of course, life got a little lonely at times; but there were always blokes out there, who wanted an evening of fun.

Recently, though, she hadn't quite been active in the dating scene. She had gone out with a couple of men her sister-in-law had set her up with, but she hadn't really enjoyed with them. And it wasn't until much later that she realised why: because she was hung up on Sirius bloody Black!

She had met him often recently – to discuss the Greyback case with him, and then, to discuss the trial for the lycanthropes who'd attacked the orphanage. It had led to her visiting him every other day, spending a couple of hours with him, observing him… Sweet Salazar! What a man Sirius Black was! He wasn't quite like anyone Irene had met before.

Though he'd never said it aloud, she knew he yearned for danger—she could have sworn he loved being in perilous situations just like she did. She'd seen him take danger head-on so many times, uncaring of his own safety, revelling in the excitement of the fight, the hunger for victory, the deep desire to get a chance at putting his famed courage to use… and what she liked about him was that he never gave up. Recently, she had seen him brooding a little, worrying over things that he seemed to think were his responsibility; but she'd never seen him giving up… and that made him seem madly attractive to her: the darkish aura that sometimes surrounded him, the way he was a magnet for trouble and danger, the way his eyes lit up at the thought of a promising challenge, his unquenchable thirst for victory – whether against enemies or a simple duel with the trainees… it all made him extremely attractive to her.

And his good looks only helped matters. That handsome face, those deep, penetrating eyes—and the way they fucking lit up when he was angry! She had heard him rant about Greyback, swear to avenge all the hurt the werewolf had caused Acquila; and his grey eyes had been dark with fury, with determination, with wild rage that only made her want him more, that made her wonder whether he was just as wild in the sack, made her wonder how it would be to have those eyes look into hers, darkening with that determined spark, with that wild little streak that he just couldn't curb—and then, there had been that glorious, glorious moment when she had entered his room, only to see him standing with his back to her, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, the muscles in his back rippling slightly as he flexed his arm. Good Lord! She could've sworn her breath had hitched in her throat when he had turned around, displaying those firm muscles on his torso, the many scars littering his chest, those tattoos standing out from beneath the scars. And instead of his wounds seeming revolting to her, they had only made her desire him more… made him all the more appealing… they were signs of his courage, of his bravery, of his never-say-die spirit—and her stomach had tightened as she had wondered how it would be to run her hands all over his chest, to press kisses to those red scars, to capture his lips with her own, feel his stubble brush her cheeks, have his arms around her, to slip her hands through the waistband of his boxers, and then—

"Irene?"

Oh fuck! She had been so bloody immersed in fantasising about Sirius that she hadn't even realised she had walked down the path and through his door! And here was Sirius! Standing within a mere foot of her, peering at her face in bewilderment, a robe loosely tied around him, hair dishevelled, eyes bright, his stubble even more pronounced…

"Irene?" he asked her, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. "Are you alright? Did something happen?" His voice was urgent now, worried.

"No—everything's fine," she said, feeling the little tug in her stomach when she met his eyes. Shit! She was getting bloody butterflies in her tummy—like a little schoolgirl! This silly crush on him was getting out of hand, wasn't it? This was very, very strange – this infatuation with him, especially for a woman like Irene. Maybe it was just because she hadn't had a nice shag since weeks, what with all this werewolf business. Plus his rugged look and that nightrobe he'd donned weren't quite helping matters!

He led her into the study. He had shifted back to Black Manor a couple of days ago. Dora had told her that he was still refusing to go back to his family home in London for reasons best known to him

"No attacks, then? I kept awake—couldn't sleep," he muttered, as she sat opposite him.

"I know," she responded absently. She had known, of course, that he wouldn't have slept. He had kept awake all night for news of Greyback, or of any rogue wolf attacks. She knew he was itching to get back onto the field, into the thick of action. The month of forced rest at home had turned him rather irritable. His annoyance was soon going to come to an end, though. He had recovered completely now – the St. Mungos Healer had certified that he was fit and fine now, regained complete use of all his limbs, could perform magic to his full capabilities. And he was to go to Headquarters on the morrow, to undergo the compulsory mental and physical tests before he rejoined the Force.

"Any sign of Greyback?" he asked her, as he leant back comfortably into his chair; and she quite liked that he could be so casual with her, with none of the formality she'd seen him behaving with other people. At times, his behaviour with her was inexplicably guarded. But at others – like when they'd gone to that pub, with drinking and dancing and Karaoke – he seemed a completely different person: witty, fun-loving, without a care in the world, far younger that his usually stoic self suggested.

"No clue at all. It's almost like Greyback's disappeared off Britain," Irene replied.

"Hmm," said Sirius, almost as if he'd expected the negative reply, running a hand through his hair.

He suddenly looked up at her, staring at her with an unrecognisable expression on his face.

"What is it?" she asked him, wondering what the matter was. They had recently spent so much time together that she had learnt to identify his mood from his manner, his expression, from the way he unconsciously tapped his right foot on the floor, the little crease in between his eyebrows...

He said nothing, merely staring at her, making her feel suddenly very self-conscious – something that was rather unusual.

"What is it?" she repeated, a little note of worry creeping into her tone. "What's wrong?"

"Irene," he said, his eyes now conflicted, his voice a low whisper, almost as if he was internally debating with himself.

"Tell me, Sirius. What's wrong?" she asked him again.

"Well," he mumbled, suddenly looking away from her. "Mopsy!" he called out to the elf, who came in with a glass of water, and then departed with a soft crack.

Sirius slowly pushed the glass of water towards her, saying nothing, meeting her gaze with a conflicted one again. He glanced at the glass, then back at her, still refusing to speak.

She took the glass warily, bringing it to her lips, only to stiffen. The water was colourless, odourless – just like water should be. But she wasn't an Auror for nothing. Irene could sniff the almost imperceptible, sweet scent of a familiar potion. Although the water was colourless, she could sense the dissolved foreign substance in it. She had been trained for it, after all, by Mad Eye Moody himself. She had spent days and days learning to recognise the almost unnoticeable scent of the one potion, which Aurors, if ever captured, needed to fight off before they were fed it: Veritaserum.

She slammed the glass back onto the table, the potion-laced water sloshing, feeling a surge of fury rushing through her.

Veritaserum! Sirius wanted her to have this fucking Truth Serum!

"What the fuck is this?" she demanded, her voice a furious growl.

"Irene," he said, his voice calm, but his face could barely curb the emotions flitting through them. And she hoped for his sake that at least one of them was guilt! And fear! Because whatever his fucking reason was for wanting her to have the Veritaserum, she wasn't going to let him off without a flurry of the most painful curses she knew!

She was Irene Summerby, born of Bellona Nott, who was from a family of Death Eaters. She had been in Slytherin House in Hogwarts. She was uncommonly fascinated by Dark Magic in her teens – she had even tried Dark curses in secret! Even when joining the Auror Force, some people had doubted her loyalties, worried that her Mother's Dark blood would show up one day or the other. But never—never had anyone ever made her take the Truth Serum to confirm her loyalties!

"Spit it out, you bastard!" she snapped at him, grabbing her wand now. But he still remained seated, the tapping of his foot increasing in speed.

"If I clear the tests tomorrow, I'll join you on the Greyback case," he said quietly. "And I can't work with someone I doubt, Irene—"

"Doubt? You bloody doubt me? After everything?" she spat at him, trembling with rage. "You've known me for almost two years now! You've chased Harry's Flying Car with me—I helped you hush up the matter! We've fought that Basilisk together—I've bloody stopped you from getting thrown into Azkaban again by stopping you from killing Lucius Malfoy—"

"I know, but—"

"I even made you visit your wife's grave! Made you fucking open your eyes and start to move on!" she thundered. "I thought you were a friend—I thought you considered me your friend—"

"You are my friend!" he exclaimed. "I swear—I don't suspect you anymore—but I need to just confirm that I can trust you, to work with you—or I'll never be able to—"

"You suspect me? Of what, you bastard?" she demanded angrily, although her mind was quickly forming conclusions.

"Of being Voldemort's spy in the Ministry," he replied quietly, meeting her eyes with that infuriatingly conflicted gaze again.

She stared at him, breathing heavily, mouth agape. Voldemort's spy? He suspected her of working for You Know Who? That was beyond anything she'd imagined—that was fucking preposterous! Outrageous! And bloody insulting that he ever thought so fucking low of her!

"You—you bloody fucker!" she snarled. "You think I am You Know Who's spy—"

"I thought so," he cut in hastily, "I don't think so anymore—"

"How could you? How the fuck could you suspect me of spying for You Know Who—"

"Because you were everywhere!" he cried. "I'd told only you about going to Diagon Alley to buy the Firebolt for Harry, and we got attacked—then my plans started leaking out… and you were in the know about everything! You were best placed to reveal things about me and the kids to the enemy—"

"Are you crazy? Are you fucking crazy, Black! Why would I harm your kids? I bloody like them! Both of them! Acquila, Dora and I've been shopping so many times—and Harry's such a wonderful bloke—and I bloody stayed with your kids when you were unconscious," she exclaimed, an acute sense of betrayal running through her. "I was with them all the time—with Harry, consoling Acquila, trying to help her with what she was going through—"

"I know! I know," he said earnestly. "And I'm sorry for doubting you! But I've been betrayed by a friend once before—and I can't be betrayed by another one again—"

"What else?" she snapped, ignoring his stupid explanations and excuses. "What else made you suspect me, huh? How could you be such a arsehole—"

"I couldn't help thinking that! You started getting close to me!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair again – although the action now only made her want to pull his bloody hair out! That would teach that vain arsehole a lesson!

"You made me go to Athena's grave," he went on. "You didn't even know me well—you started getting close to the kids… you were bloody flirting with me in that Muggle pub that night—you danced with me, you tried to get close to me! I thought you were trying to—"

She grabbed the glass of water from the table, not wanting to listen to him anymore, hating that she had even thought about wanting to be with that foolish, foolish bastard. She swallowed the water quickly, feeling the once-familiar sensation of Veritaserum. Her mind began going blank, her rage began diminishing, her speedy heartbeats slowing, her erratic breathing gradually going back to normal, until she thought no more.

"Have you ever worked for Voldemort or any of his supporters?" She heard a voice ask her.

"No," she heard herself hearing, her voice sounding as if it was coming from afar, her lips moving on their own.

"Have you ever wanted to harm Harry, Acquila or me?" asked the voice again.

"No," came her involuntary reply.

"Do you have any intention of working with Voldemort or his servants in future?" asked the voice again.

"No," she found herself replying.

It was very gradually that her blank state of mind began receding, the earlier fury began creeping into her again… and something else followed – something she'd never wanted to feel again, the one emotion to avoid which she'd always insulated her from all sentiment: hurt.

"Irene," he said quietly, his guilt evident now. "I should never have—I knew—I knew right after the orphanage attack that the spy couldn't be you—but I—"

"Save your shit for someone who wants to listen to it," she spat at him, not even wanting to see his bloody face, cursing herself for ever having thought of him, for wanting to bloody snog him, run her hands through his stupid hair, for wanting to know how he was in bed, for wondering whether he could mean more to her than all her meaningless flings had—Fuck it! She wasn't going to get into that territory! Not at all!

She was done! She was done with Sirius fucking Black and his bloody suspicions! She wouldn't—she bloody wouldn't let herself get hurt and pained by this bastard! She deserved far, far better than this idiot of a betraying, untrusting, doubting arse!

She got up, retrieving the reports she'd brought for him from her coat, slamming the bunch of parchments onto his table.

"Irene!" he called her, as she stormed off towards the door, not wanting to use his bloody fireplace, but not trusting herself to apparate home without splinching. She would have to walk home now! She could flag down the Knight Bus probably—and she hoped Stan Shunpike would better keep his flirty comments to himself, because if anyone annoyed her any further, he or she would possibly lose a limb or two! Her rage, on the rare occasions it reared its ugly head, wasn't something that died down without rather dangerous results to the one she vented it on.

"Irene, please!" Sirius called out to her, his voice slightly desperate now. He caught her by her wrist turning her around to face him. But a quick incantation under her breath, and he swiftly let go of her wrist, wincing and rubbing at his fingertips which were now a bright red – his fingers were certainly burning with the heat of the spell. Served him right!

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "I'm really sorry—but you need to understand that I couldn't help it. My kids come first—anything and anyone who I feel is a threat to them, I need to negate the threat—"

"You thought—I can't believe you thought I'm working for You Know Who—you thought I want to harm Harry and Acquila," she whispered, hating the tremble in her voice, the hurt that arose within her with renewed vigour.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Please, forgive me—I know I've been a complete arse to you—"

"You said you suspected me because I got close to you," she cut him off, voice hoarse now, wanting to pour out everything she'd ever thought of him before she shattered the remnants of their friendship into further miniscule pieces. "It wasn't because I wanted to prise your fucking secrets out of you—but because I bloody fancied you!"

He stared at her, eyes wide, mouth opening in visible shock.

"You—you—" he stuttered, staring at her with those wide grey eyes.

"I fucking liked you—I liked being friends with you… I liked how you are—I thought maybe we could—" she cut herself off abruptly. She wouldn't let herself admit that she thought he could be more than just a friend to her. That she had wanted to have him… that she'd wondered whether she could find in him what Dora had found in Remus, what her Mum had found in her Dad…

"Irene, I never knew," he said in a dazed whisper. "If I did—"

"I was wrong," she snarled, cutting him off. "I was a fucking fool to ever like you, Black—"

"Irene, let me explain—"

"You keep away from me now!" she went on, refusing to hear his bloody voice, his useless, worthless words. "I'll work with you on the case, I'll do all that's expected of me as an Auror—but that's it—you're not a friend to me anymore—you can never be!"

"Irene!" he exclaimed again, far louder than earlier, grabbing her wrist and turning her around again.

But this time, she couldn't contain her rage. Her fingers curled into a tight fist, she drew her arm back, and then slammed it into his jaw with all the force she could muster, grudgingly thanking her brother for the very hook she possessed.

"Owww!" He cried, swiftly letting go of her hand, and wiping off the blood trickling down his cut lip. Oh the fierce joy it gave her, seeing him dab at the blood.

"What the fuck!" he swore, staring at her again, though she could have sworn she saw a hint of admiration flitting through his eyes.

She threw him one last glare, unwilling to admit that his reflexes were quick enough for him to have dodged her blow – but he hadn't, for some undoubtedly Gryffindorish reason.

"Just thank your bloody stars it wasn't your nose!" she snapped at him. "Or you'd have been walking around with a broken nose like Dumbledore!"

And with that, she stormed out of the Manor, deaf to his shouts, feeling the pain and betrayal seep deeper and deeper into her.

oOo

Never, thought Harry, had Acquila and he had a tougher time than they'd had in the last month.

Her grief at her loss had exacerbated due to how they'd seen Mrs Smith's death with their very eyes. How he wished he could cut off that stupid link they shared with Voldemort! To be honest, when he'd first known of the link, he had been grimly accepting of it, knowing it gave them insights into Voldemort's plans. But now that he'd seen the drawbacks of the link, he didn't want it at all – especially when it had led to Acquila being acutely sorrowful for more than a month.

He hadn't left her side since they had returned to school. And he knew that she felt the most comfortable with him around. And even he liked being there for her; even apart from the fact that he got to spend time with the girl he fancied. Frankly, all romantic thoughts about Acquila had fled away from his mind – partly because he knew this wasn't the time for it, and partly because her own current disinterest in that department was affecting him, too, through the Soul Bond.

She tried not to let her emotions affect him; but she couldn't quite manage that well. She went about everything routinely: classes, their Animagus practice sessions in that secret passage, watching his Quidditch training… but he had noticed that her smiles were rarely genuine. Despite the nonchalant front she put on for the rest of Hogwarts, he had seen the inner grief she hid, and her burning quest for revenge – something which honestly was beginning to scare him. From all that he'd learnt about Greyback from Sirius and Remus, the rogue werewolf was the strongest wolf Remus knew of, a skilled duelist, extremely violent and dangerous, with hardly a shred of humanity in him. Voldemort's quest to defeat Sirius would surely include Acquila, too – because everyone knew she was the one person who mattered the most to Sirius. And if Voldemort ever sent Greyback to attack her, her thirst for revenge wouldn't help her but impede her – just like Sirius, her anger often clouded her mind into acting wrongly.

But recently, her rage had begun dimming gradually, settling into heated embers compared to how volcanic her fury had earlier been. She had begun smiling a little, laughing at Ron's goofy antics, grinning when Harry told her a funny incident from Care of Magical Creatures, and smiling when she came back to the Tower after an Arithmancy lesson with Cedric Diggory. Before the orphanage attack, Harry's jealousy would have reared its head on sensing Acquila think of Cedric. But, strangely, she wasn't as affected by the Hufflepuff as she was earlier. She fancied him, Harry knew; but it had diminished a little, clouded by her sorrow and hurt.

And at least presently, he had nothing to worry about when it came to Cedric. Acquila and Harry had gotten even closer than they'd been. It was true, thought Harry: tragedy did bring people together.

Harry, too, felt closer to Acquila than ever. Before Halloween, Harry was excited about the Runes project he had to do with Daphne. He was partly looking forward to spending time with her outside the Runes classroom. Of course, he wished Acquila was his project partner. But Daphne wasn't bad either. She was pretty and friendly, even if a little too sarcastic at times. He used to like sitting with her during Runes. Even recently, Daphne kept the seat next to her empty during Runes, but Harry had sat with Acquila, deciding he preferred that. Even the Runes project was put on the back burner.

But a couple of days ago, Daphne had come up to him. She had reminded him of their project, and they had decided to meet up in the library today to get the project done.

Presently, Harry was absent-mindedly staring at the parchment Daphne was writing on. Harry hadn't even fully understood what they were supposed to do, letting Daphne go on with her writing,

"Is this fine? Or do we look up the translation in the other book?" Daphne asked him.

"No...No, this is fine... it's good," he said, roused out of his thoughts, not even having read what she'd written.

"I translated the passage from what Father taught me when I was younger," she said.

"So you've been learning Runes since you were a kid?" he asked her curiously.

"Yes… most pureblood children are taught basic Runes. Astoria and I learnt them since we were five."

"That's great," he said.

"What about your part of the project?" Daphne asked him, glancing at his parchment which had just a few lines scribbled onto it.

"I—uh, I didn't have much time," mumbled Harry sheepishly. "I've been too occupied—but I'll do it tonight—"

"I understand," said Daphne. "It's been a tough time for Acquila and you… what with Lord Black injured… I can translate your portion if you want me to… I like Runes, anyway—"

"No," said Harry hastily. "I'll complete it…I'll do it. I'll finish it by next week."

Daphne nodded, leaving an awkward silence, as she began to pack her books into her bag.

Harry did the same, not quite knowing what to talk to her. She was looking really pretty today. But he didn't feel like dwelling on that. Instead, he was wondering what Acquila was up to…

"How is Acquila now?" asked Daphne, breaking the silence.

"She's much better," replied Harry.

"That's nice," said Daphne.

"She's a strong girl," said Harry, more to himself. "She'll emerge stronger out of this…"

"I agree," said Daphne. "And I'm sure part of the credit goes to you, Harry. The entire school knows how you've been with her over the past weeks…"

Harry gave a non-committal shrug, not knowing what to say to that.

"Come on, at least take credit when it's due to you," said Daphne, grinning. "You are so modest, Harry!"

He just smiled, putting his last book into his bag; he couldn't quite wait to go back to Acquila. He could sense that something wasn't quite alright with her. Hermione and she were in Arithmancy; and he wondered what was upsetting her… something didn't seem alright…

"HI!" yelled someone from the doorway, and everyone in the library, including Harry and Daphne, turned to look at who it was. It was Astoria, covering her mouth apologetically but not really looking embarrassed. She walked over to them, looking all chirpy.

"Hey!" she said, in a much softer tone

"Hi," Harry replied, wondering what Astoria was up to this time. He quite liked the girl; but she was a little too bubbly and cheerful. And then, there was his memory of the time she'd manipulated him into asking Daphne for a dance!

"I was looking all over for you, Daphne—until Professor Remus mentioned that he saw you going towards the library! What are you guys doing here, anyway?" Astoria asked, before her eyes widened, their stunning shade of periwinkle blue very eye-catching. "Are you on a library date?" she exclaimed, her lips stretching into a very wide grin.

"No!" exclaimed Harry, his face heating up.

"Astoria!" said Daphne warningly, seeming rather embarrassed herself.

"Come on, Daphne!" said Astoria, grinning like the Kneazle that had got the cream. "You both looked like you're on a date—all together and smiling—"

"We're not on a date," Harry clarified quietly.

"Good," exclaimed Astoria. "Library dates are really boring! So then, where is the real date?"

"There is no date!" exclaimed Daphne.

"Why not?" said Astoria, genuinely sounding upset. "Does that mean Harry hasn't asked you for Hogsmeade yet, Daphne?"

"Astoria," said Daphne through gritted teeth, shooting an apologetic glance at Harry.

"Why haven't you asked her, Harry!" cried Astoria. "She really wants to go to Hogsmeade with you! I thought you knew that!"

"Shut up, Astoria!" exclaimed Daphne, her cheeks all red. Harry could imagine just how embarrassing that was for Daphne. Harry himself felt like running out of the library! Astoria Greengrass was just eleven and she could easily make anyone uncomfortable. Harry dreaded to see what she would be like when she grew up!

"Astoria," said Daphne quietly, looking up at her, face still red. "Harry doesn't have to ask me just because I feel so—it's his wish… don't force him, alright?"

Harry averted his eyes from Daphne, feeling more awkward than he'd ever felt. This even beat the time Acquila had stared at the tent in his pants after that naughty dream he'd had about her!

"But, Harry!" cried Astoria. "Don't you—don't you like Daphne?"

Harry glanced at Daphne, seeing her stare at the table, stiff as a board, not meeting his eyes. And something in the sagging of her shoulders and the glint of sorrow in her blue eyes made him speak, the words out of his mouth before he even realised what he was saying: "Will you come with me to Hogsmeade, Daphne?"

"Yay!" Astoria squealed happily.

But Harry didn't even glance at her. He was stunned, unbelieving of what he had just said. Damn! Damn! He hadn't salvaged the situation, he had worsened it. Harry didn't want to go on a date with Daphne! Sure she was pretty and smart and he had a crush on her… but Harry didn't want a date with Daphne! He had gotten so very close to Acquila recently, that Daphne's prettiness didn't quite hold the same charm. If he had to go on a date with someone, he wanted it to be Acquila!

"Harry," said Daphne. "If you asked me only because Astoria said so, you don't need to—"

"No," he said, knowing he couldn't go back on his word now. It would be beyond embarrassing for Daphne… and he honestly didn't want to hurt her.

Damn!

Why was he so very malleable and gullible? Why did he always fall for Astoria's tricks! She'd made him ask Daphne for the dance, and now she'd made him ask Daphne for a date to Hogsmeade – something he'd have wanted to do with Acquila! But there was nothing he could do now.

"No, Daphne," he said quietly. "I want to go with you… it'll be… nice…"

"My answer's a yes, then!" said Daphne, her face suddenly breaking into a smile.

"Yes! I knew you two would go on a date together!" said Astoria happily, her chirpiness irritating him.

But he said nothing, instead beginning to think over how exactly he would break the news to Acquila.

oOo

"I hate this!" grumbled Acquila, as Hermione and she walked out of Arithmancy class. Remus and Sirius had told her that Arithmancy was one of the toughest subjects at Hogwarts, and she had thought she'd be able to manage it; but she was finding it really tough. She would have to sit up tonight with Hermione and have her teach her. Or maybe she could ask Cedric to teach her again, to help her with her doubts in the subject.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione, as they left from class.

"Did you understand the class today? 'Cause I didn't! At all!" replied Acquila.

"Yes, I did," replied Hermione. "See, when you plot the numerical chart, you need to—"

"Don't explain it to me now," said Acquila, already rather irritated with the subject. "I won't understand it—"

"I know," said Hermione, smirking teasingly. "You understand Arithmancy only when Cedric explains it!"

"It's not that," said Acquila, feeling a little giggle slip out of her mouth. "It's just that I'm too irritated right now… teach me tonight?"

"I will," said Hermione, "But you could still ask Cedric to teach you if you wish…"

"I don't think I'm doing that," muttered Acquila.

"Why not?" asked Hermione, intrigued.

"I don't quite know," replied Acquila honestly.

"Go on," said Hermione encouragingly.

"You know how I was all crazy for him? After that midnight stroll with him and everything?"

"How can I forget that?" chuckled Hermione. "'Cedric's so cute! And he said I'm pretty! And he was staring at my legs, Hermione—even I was checking him out—'"

"Shut up!" exclaimed Acquila, hoping she hadn't sounded the way Hermione was. "I never said that!"

"You did!" exclaimed Hermione, laughing. "You so did!"

"So," said Hermione after she had finished laughing. "You—don't you still feel the same for him? Remember how mad you were at Harry when he interrupted you both? When Cedric was going to ask you out?"

Acquila nodded, not liking to remember that night. She had gone to sleep thoroughly annoyed with Harry, and with many a visualisation of remembering Cedric on the verge of asking her out, butterflies fluttering in her tummy all the while. But at that very time, Mrs Smith and Martha were being mauled to death… and Acquila had been merrily thinking of Cedric and grumbling over Harry, not even knowing Mrs Smith was breathing her very last breaths…

"Hey," said Hermione softly, "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to bring that night up…"

"It's alright," whispered Acquila. "It's alright… and talking of Cedric," she went on, desperately wanting to think of anything but Mrs Smith being killed by those horrifying jaws, "I don't—I didn't feel like I used to, when I was with him… I don't know… I mean, I still think he's very nice… and very dishy—but I don't know…" she trailed off, not quite knowing her own thoughts.

"Is it because of Harry?" asked Hermione.

"No," muttered Acquila. "It's got nothing to do with Harry."

She didn't want to dwell on that. And it really didn't have anything to do with Harry, did it? It was just because of Mrs Smith's death… she was grieving, not in the right sense of mind to start thinking of boys and everything… yeah, that was it.

"But you told him he could ask you out after a while," said Hermione, as they continued walking. "What about that? What are you say when he asks you out? I really think he likes you…"

"I don't know," replied Acquila honestly. "I just…need some time. Maybe I'll go back to liking him as much as I did before… before everything happened."

Hermione just nodded, saying nothing. She didn't need to, anyway. Acquila liked the comfortable silences she sometimes shared with Hermione. It was nice to have a girl friend. Harry was her best friend, of course. And she loved Ron and Neville, too. But sometimes, Hermione was the only one whom she could talk with of certain things. It also helped that Hermione knew when to stop prying – like she'd never asked her about how Harry and she had dreamt of Mrs Smith being killed by Greyback…

"Black!" A voice from behind them roused Acquila from her thoughts.

It was Pansy Parkinson, with a nasty grin on her pug-like face.

"What is it, Parkinson?" asked Acquila curtly.

"Haven't you heard today's latest news?" asked Pansy, still grinning.

"What news?" Acquila and Hermione asked together, as Acquila wondered what the matter was. It wasn't something about Draco, was it? There was nothing else Pansy and she could talk about?

"What is it?" repeated Hermione.

"I'm not telling you, Mudblood!" spat Pansy.

"How dare you!" snapped Acquila, pointing her wand at Pansy. "Apologise, right now!"

"It's okay, Acquila," said Hermione, trying to lower Acquila's arm. "Drop it."

"I'm not going to drop it, Hermione," said Acquila irately. "If you don't apologise, Parkinson, I won't think twice before I—"

"Save your anger for what I'm about to tell you, Black," sneered Pansy, although Acquila noticed that the girl now had her own wand out, and was steadily taking steps backwards, putting distance between Acquila and her.

"Spit it out," growled Acquila.

"Joanna Flint is heartbroken," said Pansy, still sneering.

"And what am I supposed to do about that?" demanded Acquila.

"Well, she's heartbroken because Potter is going out on a date to Hogsmeade! With Daphne!" said Pansy, grinning that vicious smile again.

"You're lying," snorted Acquila. Pansy had to be lying. Harry wouldn't go on a date with Daphne! He would've told her—she would've felt his emotions if he'd done something stupid like asking Daphne out!

"I'm not lying," said Pansy in a sickeningly sweet voice. "You can verify it with your beloved scar-head!"

Acquila didn't even notice Pansy leaving. She stared at Hermione, who seemed rather perturbed. "She's lying, isn't she? Harry can't be going with Daphne…"

"Yes," said Hermione, rather confidently. "Harry won't go out with Daphne, Acquila… I've been observing him and you since days… he wouldn't—I'm sure."

Acquila nodded silently, picking up her pace as they walked to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry wouldn't do that. Acquila was sure he wouldn't, not after the past month… He wouldn't just ask another girl out—or why would he have sabotaged Cedric asking her out? Why had they almost kissed in the secret passage before Remus had interrupted them? Harry liked her—he'd told her so himself! Daphne was just a—a silly crush! And Harry wouldn't have asked anyone out without running it by Acquila first… certainly not out of the blue like this!

They walked in through the Portrait Hole. Harry, Ron and Neville were the only ones in the Common Room. When Acquila and Hermione entered, the boys turned to look at them: Neville smiled, Ron seemed mighty pissed, and Harry… he just wasn't meeting her eyes. And that's when Acquila knew that Pansy hadn't been lying. Harry was really taking Daphne to Hogsmeade.

And something erupted within her: something far more welcome, far more invigorating than the depressing sorrow, the heart-wrenching grief, the frightening vengefulness she had felt in the past weeks. It was jealousy rearing its head after a long time – and this time, the jealousy was far stronger than any Acquila had felt before.

Harry going to Hogsmeade with Daphne! On a bloody date! This wasn't right! This just wasn't right! This wasn't supposed to happen!

"We heard rumours about you in the corridors," she said coldly, as Harry finally looked up at her.

"W—what?" he mumbled.

"Did you ask Daphne on a Hogsmeade date, Harry?" she asked him, wanting to know the answer from his own mouth.

"Err—kind of," said Harry weakly.

"What do you mean by 'kind of'?"

"Harry is a git!" put in Ron, seeming rather annoyed. "It was that Greengrass' sister again—"

"Let Harry tell me, Ron," said Acquila, as Harry seemed even more uncomfortable.

"I was doing the Runes project with Daphne," he said, "in the library—and Astoria came up to us—"

Astoria, thought Acquila irritably. She, frankly, quite liked the girl. But this Try-To-Hook-Harry-With-Daphne plan of Astoria's was really getting on her nerves!

"—Astoria started talking something about boring library dates and Hogsmeade—then she asked me if I'd asked Daphne for a Hogsmeade date yet—I said no, of course, because I didn't want to ask her—but Astoria went on talking! You know how talkative she is!" exclaimed Harry.

"Go on," muttered Acquila.

"It was the ball thing all over again! She asked me whether it meant I didn't like Daphne—and Daphne got all sad—and it would've been embarrassing for her if I didn't ask her out—and the words just slipped out of my mouth—and it would've been rude if I hadn't said anything—"

"So you did ask her out, then," said Acquila, feeling immeasurably jealous. So Harry was going on a date. With Daphne. To Hogsmeade. So close to Christmas time. Where all the shops would be decorated, and there'd be mistletoes hanging around—and they'd walk hand in hand—he'd help her into the carriage…and maybe he'd kiss her when he dropped her to the Slytherin—

"I won't!" exclaimed Harry, latching on to her thoughts.

"Huh?" said Ron. "What's wrong with you, mate? You won't what?"

"It's nothing," mumbled Harry, but he sent a beseeching glance at Acquila. "I didn't mean to ask her out, I swear—Astoria made me—"

"You always have a choice," said Acquila.

"But you know how—"

"You could've said no – straight and simple. But you didn't," said Acquila, quietly now.

"Acquila," said Harry, getting to his feet now. "You know me—you know how I think, what I feel—"

"Yeah, I know," she snapped, remembering all the times he'd thought about Daphne, about how he'd purposely put his hands on her waist while hoisting her up Buckbeak, how he'd sat with her for Ancient Runes instead of Acquila—

"That was long ago!" said Harry, as Hermione, Neville and Ron stared at them in bewilderment, undoubtedly wondering why Harry was suddenly speaking in disjointed sentences.

"That was ages ago—you know what I—" cried Harry.

"No! You don't! Or you wouldn't have asked her out! You bloody stopped Cedric from asking me—"

"I did that because I—"

"And now you're going on a date with Daphne!"

"Acquila!"

"Leave me alone," she snapped, not wanting to stare into those wide green eyes any longer. She turned around and stalked out of the Tower. She knew Hermione, Ron and Neville would have a lot of questions; but Harry could very well deal with them!

She walked through the Castle, glad she hadn't encountered someone she knew. She didn't know where she was going – she just wanted to go somewhere, where she could be alone, to make sense of what was happening. This was all so bloody confusing! Harry and Daphne and Cedric!

Damn!

Why had he asked Daphne? Did that mean he liked her? Or he would've said 'no' to ask her out! He would've refused! But he'd asked her… and he was taking her to Hogsmeade… and Acquila hated it! She bloody hated it! Harry was—he was Acquila's best friend! Acquila's soul mate—no! She wouldn't think of that, now! She just wouldn't think of the stupid Bond!

She reached the fifth floor and spotted an unlocked empty classroom. She entered the room, and sat on the bench by the window. It was late evening; the sun had almost set. She could see the grounds, the Lake and the Forbidden Forest.

"Serene, isn't it?" a soft voice said from the darkness, and Acquila almost jumped out of her chair.

"Lumos!" she said, her wand working instinctively.

And there sat Luna Lovegood. How long had it been since Acquila had spoken to the girl? She had been so engrossed in her own grief and problems that she hadn't even remembered Luna! Damn!

"Hey, Luna," she said, putting her wand down. "You gave me quite a fright."

"I'm sorry," said Luna, staring out of the window.

"I didn't hear you come in," said Acquila.

"I was already sitting here when you came," said Luna, still looking out of the window. "You seemed troubled, so I didn't want to disturb you."

"Thanks, I guess," said Acquila, never sure how to react to Luna.

"I love watching the sunset. I used to watch it every day with my Mum before she died," said Luna softly, still staring.

"I used to love watching it, too," said Acquila quietly. "With Mrs Smith."

Luna said nothing after that, nor did Acquila. But Acquila didn't quite mind again. Luna's presence was somehow peaceful; or maybe it was because Luna, too, had lost her Mum… it made Acquila feel not quite so alone…

"I should get going. It's almost curfew. And I have to make my bed," said Luna suddenly, making to stand up.

Acquila got up with her. "Make your bed? Don't the elves do that in your dormitory?"

"They do. But my dorm mates mess it up every day," Luna said casually.

"They what—why?" exclaimed Acquila. "That's a very mean thing to do. Don't you tell them off?"

"No. I like making my bed," said Luna.

Acquila hummed. Luna was a strange girl.

They walked out into the lit corridor, and the first thing Acquila noticed was the Luna wasn't wearing any shoes. She was only in her socks.

"Did you leave your shoes in the classroom?" Acquila asked her,making to go back and get them.

"No. Sophie Hiddleton has them," said Luna, walking ahead.

"Why does she have your shoes?" asked Acquila.

"She took them from me," said Luna, shrugging. "She always does that. She takes my things… hides them sometimes…"

"If you know she takes them why don't you get them back from her?" said Acquila indignantly. She couldn't stand bullies – especially when she'd seen how Dudley used to treat Harry. "If you don't want to talk to her, I can—take me to her, and I'll get your shoes back."

"Thank you," said Luna sweetly, "But there's no need for that. They are my shoes. They won't quite fit her. And then she'll give them back to me."

"What if she doesn't? What if she hides them? You shouldn't tolerate bullies, Luna. I'll complain to Professor Flitwick if—"

"There's no need for that," said Luna calmly. "The things that belong to us, they always come back to us in the end, Acquila."

"But—"

"They do come back to us. Always," repeated Luna, as Acquila suddenly wondered whether Luna was still talking of her shoes.

With that, and a last smile at Acquila, Luna departed, leaving her in the darkness, making her wonder whether Luna had indeed been referring to Harry!

oOo

Beautiful, thought Nigella, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She looked beautiful.

Modesty wasn't one of her virtues. She had been taught, since as long back as she remembered, that she was a beautiful witch, that there was nothing immodest or vain in admitting to her beauty. Her blue eyes stared back at her, her high cheekbones even more prominent as the light fell on them, her lips a pretty shade of pink, her blonde hair falling elegantly to her shoulders, the neck of her robes deep enough to reveal a sensuous hint of cleavage – all in all, she seemed set for dinner with Sirius Black. Well, dinner with Sirius plus the Tonks family, she amended mentally. Andromeda Tonks had invited her for dinner. Her Muggleborn husband and their Metamorphmagus daughter would surely be present, too. Of course, Nigella wished it was only Sirius and her having dinner together. But something was better than nothing. She would take dinner with Sirius and his extended family than no meeting with Sirius at all.

Sirius Black, she thought, as she touched up her lips with a last dab of pink. It was strange how important the man was to her, when merely two years ago, she hadn't even given him a single thought.

He was a very, very intriguing wizard. Unlike Regulus, Sirius was extraordinarily brave – foolishly brave, even; although Regulus, too, had been foolishly courageous in the end, sacrificing his life over his belated realisation of the Dark Lord's misplaced ideals.

She still remembered getting the news that Regulus had denounced the Dark Lord in a room full of Death Eaters and then escaping from there with one of the most incredible displays of magic. She remembered Bellatrix and Rabastan yelling and ranting over his betrayal; she remembered herself curling up in her bed, frightened for Regulus, afraid that he would be killed, knowing that he had destroyed the last remaining chance at living their lives together, resigning to the fact that she would have to spend the rest of her life married to a fiend like Rabastan Lestrange…

Part of her fears had turned true. Regulus had died – with no body to bury, with no knowledge of how he had died. But she hadn't had to marry Rabastan. The Lestranges' attack on the Longbottoms had ensured they rotted the rest of their lives in Azkaban.

And then, she had waited and waited and waited, for someone to ask for her hand, for someone to marry, to have children with. But the fear of the Lestranges seeking retribution from the confines of that Dark prison had scared wizards away.
The Light pureblood wizards were either dead or already married, with many of them marrying young due to the War; and they wouldn't have wanted her hand in marriage anyway, since her brother had allied with the Dark Lord.
Most of the neutral purebloods were married; and they, too, hadn't wanted Rabastan's intended wife.
The Dark ones had all been friends of Rabastan, unwilling to marry his betrothed, leaving Nigella a single woman, with no marriage prospects.
There had been Muggleborn wizards who had proposed to her – Raymond from the Ministry, Clarke and Desmond who had been at Hogwarts with her. But she had refused, unwilling to settle down with someone who wasn't a pureblood, unwilling to sully her family name by marrying a Mudblood… preferring to remain unmarried.

And over the decade since the War had ended, her face had lost quite some of its youthfulness, her eyes had lost their earlier brightness, her smiles appeared only when she was with Marcus and Joanna, William's children, for whom she was almost like a second mother. But it wasn't the same, was it? Mothering your brother's children and mothering your own? She had aged over the decade, watching all her friends get married, have children, watched Marcus go to Hogwarts, watched Joanna grow up… but the bareness of her own womb pained her, it ate at her from within… as did her cold, empty bed… and the fact that at thirty, she was still a spinster, living in her brother's house, destined to stay alone until the end of her life…

And then, Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban – she hadn't really cared much, knowing it would only remind her of Regulus and drag her into the quagmire of his memories.

But months later, Sirius had been acquitted, cleared of all charges. The truth had come out: Sirius was innocent of all crimes; his loyalties had always been with the Light. His praises were sung to the skies in the magical world; he had evoked admiration and sympathy from all sides. And it was right after that that William had suggested getting her married to Sirius.

She had been horrified at first, recoiling at the very thought of marrying Regulus' brother.

But gradually, she had seen Sirius for what he was: Brave – yes; noble – yes… but none of those virtues mattered to her much. What mattered that he was a pureblood – the only one brave enough to wed her, uncaring of Rabastan. He was Lord Black, possessing the titles of the Gamp and Black families, descended from an unbroken, long line of pureblood witches and wizards. He was the Head of the Blacks. And he was extraordinarily rich – wealthier than all men in the country. He was the owner of many, many properties in England and abroad, the possessor of a rumoured twelve vaults in Gringotts – the highest to ever belong to a single person – eight vaults of the Blacks, one inherited from his disowned late Uncle, and three belonging to the Gamps. He also had a seat in the Hogwarts Board of Governors – a very prestigious position – and a seat on the Wizengamot!

Even more fortunately, he was single! He was grieving, she knew, over the loss of his wife. But he was single, at the young age of thirty-three, with only a daughter to inherit all his wealth and titles. And it was precisely that which had made Nigella allow Wiliam to write to Sirius, all those months ago, offering her hand for a betrothal.

Sirius had, unsurprisingly, subtly rejected William's offer. But Nigella wasn't one to give up so lightly.

She had made sure that Sirius got an invite to their family ball, and further ensured that she got a dance with him. It hadn't been tough to recognise that Sirius was a lonely man, especially with his daughter and godson off to Hogwarts for majority of the year. And it had been easy to get close to him: snag that first dance with him, show off her womanly attributes, frequently make use of those little touches, the intentionally accidental brushing of her hand against his, the unnecessary but sensuous proximity to him when they danced together, the use of words that clearly expressed her interest in him… She had done all she could to attract him … but she had truly endeared herself to him only when she had admitted that she had loved Regulus – a very well-thought out, well-timed admittance.

She had overheard Sirius and Narcissa talking of Regulus during the ball. And she had grabbed the opportunity with both hands, admitting her relationship with his brother to Sirius, acting the part of the bereaved girlfriend, of the lonely spinster still hounded by her deceased lover's death. It had all worked flawlessly. Sirius had taken to being friendlier with her after that. He danced only with her at the balls he occasionally attended, nipping off competition from Christina Greengrass and Crysanthis Zabini in the bud. Nigella had then worked behind the scenes to ensure that most people in the pureblood world knew that Sirius only had eyes for her now, staving off whatever little rivals remained. Of course, there had been the odd report about Sirius and another woman – including one preposterous, jaw-dropping one detailing how Nymphadora Tonks was pregnant with Sirius' child! – but Sirius himself had admitted that there was no truth to the reports; that he was a single man, and intended to remain so.

They had met often after that, especially after he had brought back Regulus' body. At his funeral, she had been under a Disillusionment Charm, not wanting Severus Snape and Narcissa knowing of her relationship with Regulus. And after they both had left, it hadn't been hard for her to shed tears over Regulus' grave: some of them were real, yes – finally felt herself getting the last remnants of closure over his unexpected, untimely death. But the tears that she had shed to have Sirius consoling her were less than real… she didn't beat herself up over that, though – she had got Sirius putting his arms around her, wiping off her tears with the pads of his thumbs—until his annoying daughter had told Andromeda to take over the consoling, glancing rather suspiciously at Nigella all the while…

That brought her to Sirius' daughter, Acquila Black.

At first, Nigella hadn't quite paid much attention to her. She had first met the girl at Narcissa's ball, when Sirius was still on the run. They had merely exchanged pleasantries.
But the next time, she'd met her at Cassiopeia Black's funeral, the girl had been rather wary of her. But Nigella hadn't cared much. Most Blacks didn't really bother about their female offspring; daughters were only useful for forging alliances with other pureblood Houses. She had expected Sirius to think on the same lines; and, thus, not given Acquila much importance in the scheme of things.

But it was over the course of their many meetings – particularly when Sirius hadn't acted on his visible attraction to her – that Nigella understood that the key to getting Sirius was his children: Acquila and Harry Potter.

At first, Nigella had been rather nervous about the Potter boy, not quite knowing what to expect from the vanquisher of the Dark Lord. But Potter – or 'Harry' as the boy had shyly told her to call him – was nothing but a sweet, rather naïve boy, easy to please. It had been really simple to get him to like her.

But Acquila was a very different matter. The girl seemed to have inherited the Blacks' mulish stubbornness, the innate suspicious nature that had characterised even Regulus, their sharp instincts, and fierce, fierce protectiveness for her father. In the beginning, Nigella had tried hard, on the few occasions that she'd met Acquila, to get the girl to like her: she had complimented the girl, treated her with more sweetness that she even treated Joanna with, tried to befriend the girl. But Acquila was unmoved, never opening up to her, never shedding the wariness she seemed to hold for Nigella and, if she could manage it, never letting Nigella get close to Sirius.

But, fortunately, the only time Acquila could thwart her plans were during summer. After she had gone back to Hogwarts, Nigella had had things easy – particularly when Sirius himself had approached her for help with the Umbridge matter. The fact that Umbridge loosened her tongue when drunk had helped her gather a lot of dirt on her. And Sirius had been elated when he had managed to have Umbridge fired, and he'd given most of the credit to Nigella.

Those days of discussing Umbridge with Sirius had been very rewarding: meeting Sirius every other day to acquaint him with the information she kept on gathering. Over the time they'd spent together, she had found the weakest chink in his outwardly calm façade: he still grieved over missing out on all of his only daughter's childhood; missed not being with his godson in his growing up years; he regretted knowing nothing about Acquila's first day at school, of the first time Harry had lost a tooth, of their friends, their likes and dislikes as children...

And when Sirius had inadvertently blurted out that his and Athena's unborn child had died with her, she had grabbed the chance with both hands again, giving him hope that he could still have a child if he wished to, that he could still hold his own infant in his arms, watch his little boy or girl take their first step, hear their first words, teach them to ride their first brooms…

But her words had backfired! Sirius had stiffened, swiftly letting go of her, bidding her goodnight and walking away; but not before she saw the longing and hope in his eyes. How she wished Sirius had acquiesced, agreed to wed her, had her have that much-longed for son! After all, that was all she wanted from him, really. She wouldn't care if he didn't love her – because she, certainly, would never love him, not when his brother had been the one to ruin her life.

Regulus Arcturus Black, she thought bitterly.

She had been merely sixteen when they had been courting… and just eighteen when he had died. The first year had been glorious – full of moonlit walks in the Forbidden Forests, of coy embraces and stolen kisses… she had thought she'd never be happier, that she would marry him – the boy she loved…

But then, the downslide had begun: Rabastan had fallen for her at her coming-of-age ball. William, scared of the Lestranges' and Dark Lord's wrath, had given in without even asking her whether she wanted to marry Rabastan. Regulus had been stunned, unable to confront his best (and insane) mate that his betrothed was the girl Regulus loved; and they had settled for stealing kisses in dark corridors during her Hogsmeade visits, for frenzied touches and lip-locks in the Lestranges' rarely-used rooms, always fearful that someone would chance upon them, but revelling in the little moments they got together… and then, he had died, leaving her with a grieving heart and fading memories …

He had thrown away their chance at a life together, shredded all her dreams of a future with him…He hadn't once thought of her before he went about his suicidal ways of denouncing the Dark Lord. He knew he would be killed – no one betrayed the Dark Lord and survived. In his quest to redeem himself, Regulus hadn't once thought of her, not once wondered how she would have to spend the rest of her life with Rabastan Lestrange, who frightened her, revolted her!

She had liked Regulus, cared for him, even loved him—but he hadn't cared for her at all in the end! He had put his late realisation of his supposedly wrong ideologies above her, put his penitence for his wrongs above her, leaving her to rot with Rabastan… It was Regulus who had left her as she was today: a lonely woman with no man to warm her bed, with no child to love, with no house of her own, no family of her own making!

Regulus had died, she thought as she twirled her wand, casting a Charm on her blue eyes so that they appeared brighter. And with him, he had taken all her hopes, all her dreams of being Lady Black, the wealthiest witch in all of Britain, the mother of the next Lord Black, the one lucky enough to have her blood flowing through the future long lines of Blacks to posterity.

And she would avenge the wrongs, the indifference, the betrayal Regulus had dealt to her… avenge it through his brother: the estranged brother who could have saved Regulus if he wanted to, but who hadn't… who had turned his back on his brother to walk with the Light… who had ultimately, albeit unknowingly, indirectly played a part in hurting her, making her spend all of her youth solitarily, watching other witches and wizards her age thrive in their lives, further their families, while she remained in the dark, withering away…

She hadn't got Regulus, but she would get Sirius… she would marry him, beget a son with him – a son who would be Lord Black, Head of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Black and Gamp. There was no way she would let Acquila's future son inherit it all! It should've all belonged to Nigella's child – because Regulus had been the Black heir! And it would still belong to the son Nigella bore – with the only difference that the father would be Sirius, not Regulus.

It would be tough – very, very tough – to have Acquila on her side, especially after the girl's brusqueness when Nigella had last spoken to her. But the girl was away from home for nine months of the year. Even after Hogwarts, she would definitely move out of home. So the girl didn't really matter. And anyway, making efforts to befriend the girl wouldn't be of use. Nigella knew she couldn't be a good step-mother to Acquila – she wasn't of her own blood, and the girl had too much of a mind of her own for Nigella to make any headway with her. But Harry was already in the bag; she knew the boy liked her; he had no problems with her.

All she needed to work on, now, was enamouring Sirius with her feminine charms, playing the 'child of his own' card again – though she would have to proceed a lot more cautiously than she had last time, unable to afford offending him.

She glanced at her mirrored reflection one last time, before she set forth for the Tonks' house, stepping out of their fireplace minutes later, having Andromeda and Edward greet her.

"Hello, Nigella," said Andromeda. "It's so nice to have you here."

"Thank you for inviting me," replied Nigella, smiling at her. To be honest, she didn't really like Andromeda Tonks. The woman had wronged her family by eloping with Edward Tonks, she had turned a blood traitor for the love of a Mudblood. The bigger threat Andromeda posed to her was because of the influence she held over Sirius. It was well-known in pureblood circles of how Andromeda was extremely important to Sirius. She wasn't only his closest family member after his disownment, but even after his acquittal, Andromeda had regained his trust, their relationship had gone back to being as it was before his incarceration: of love and trust and respect. And Nigella knew Sirius heeded to Andromeda's advice; she was half the brains behind his policies of allying with other pureblood Houses; and she was his proxy for the Black Wizengamot seat. Even after she married Sirius, Nigella knew she would have a hard time weaning him off Andromeda's influence. But currently, the older witch was useful to her – particularly because she wanted Nigella to marry Sirius. She had been encouraging their alliance since the very beginning, wanting to see her cousin settling down in life again.

"It's our pleasure to have you here," said Andromeda. "You've been so helpful to Sirius… visiting him when he was recovering. And I know you haven't met him since he rejoined the Auror Force. So I thought this would be a nice opportunity to have you both catch up with each other."

Nigella smiled coyly, as Andromeda led her into an inner room.

"—can't believe you thought that—" She heard a furious female voice from the room they were nearing.

"Come on, Nymphie, I couldn't help it! You know how much I worry about the kids' safety," came Sirius' loud reply.

"That doesn't mean you do this! How could you—" came Nymphadora's voice again, cut off by Andromeda opening the door.

They were sitting facing each other: Nymphadora and Sirius; the Metamorphmgus with her hair a bright red, her expression furious; while Sirius looked rather chastised, and guilty.

"Enough now, Nymphadora!" exclaimed Andromeda, making the cousins' gazes snap up to them.

"Hello, Nigella," said Sirius smoothly, standing up to greet her and kissing the back of her hand.

"Hey," said Nymphadora rather curtly, putting on a forced smile when Andromeda glared at her.

Nigella wondered what the two of them had been talking about. What was worrying Sirius about Harry and Acquila's safety? But she shoved the thoughts away, preferring to concentrate on Sirius now.

After she had put him off her with her talk of children, she had directly met him after the Werewolf attack. And that time, he had been more than polite with her, even in front of his daughter; he had possibly decided to put their previous talk out of his mind. She had visited him often after that, when he was recuperating at the Tonks' house: meeting him every other day; talking to him of Regulus – the one thing that seemed to connect them; and doing subtle things that she knew would attract the lonely man bereft of any intimate action – like having her linger over his for longer than necessary, having her lips fall closer to his mouth when she kissed his cheek, caressing his face when she brushed his hair off his forehead… And by the end of it, she was sure he was more enamoured with her than he had earlier been, more than covering the ground she'd lost when she'd mentioned having him father her children... But once he'd rejoined the Aurors, he hadn't met her at all – either intentionally avoiding her because he was wary of getting close to her, or because he was catching up with all the work he'd missed out on.

"So," said Nigella, as they all began dinner, "How is work going, Sirius? I'm sure you were relieved at getting out of bed and joining the Force again."

"It's going well," said Sirius, not seeming to elaborate further.

But Andromeda chimed in. "I keep telling him not to work such long hours. But you know how Sirius is, don't you? A total workaholic… when the kids aren't home, he's more than happy to stay up late in the Ministry…"

"Yes, I agree," said Nigella.

Sirius was unlike any pureblood wizard she'd seen – he actually worked instead of living on the interest family investments provided him with. He was rich enough for the next ten generations of Blacks to live in luxury. But he still insisted on doing that Auror job, putting his life in repeated danger, creating more enemies – but it irked her most that he actually worked, when none of the other pureblood Heads of Houses did; it was rather beneath the dignity of the Head of an Ancient House to be employed, even if it was by the Ministry.

"So, how have you been, Nymphadora?" Nigella asked the half-blood.

"Don't call me 'Nymphadora'," came the curt reply from the girl. "Call me 'Tonks'."

"Nymphie," said Sirius. "I know you're mad at me, but don't vent your anger at Nigella—"

"You're one to talk, huh," snapped the Metamorphmagus.

"Calm down, Dora," said Edward, flashing his daughter a smile.

Nymphadora huffed under her breath; and the rest of the dinner passed very, very awkwardly, with Andromeda and Edward trying to lighten the mood, but failing; while Sirius seemed unusually pensive, not speaking much.

So, Nigella was elated when Edward suggested that Sirius and she take a walk on the lawns outside. Nigella had never really liked Edward Tonks – he was a Mudblood—Muggleborn, she reminded herself. He was rather beneath her; and it was because of him that Andromeda had turned blood-traitor. And he, too, held Sirius' trust, going by how he was on the Black family seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. But the man had his uses, like now, when he'd pushed Sirius into having a walk with her.

"So," said Nigella as they walked over the lush grass. "What's bothering you, Sirius?"

He slowed down in his tracks, looking sideways at her. "I've been a git to you today, haven't I?" he asked her, snorting. "I'm sorry, Nigella… it's just that the last few days have been tough for me…"

"What's wrong?" she asked him, her knuckles brushing against his as they walked.

"Just… things at work," he replied evasively.

"Come on… you know you can tell me," she pressed on.

"Well… I'm just having a hard time with the Greyback case… then, there are some problems with a colleague," she muttered.

"Look at you," she said, as their pace slowed down even further, "you've barely been out of bed, and you're already stressing yourself… come on, put away this frown…" She brought her hand to his face, her fingers tracing over his forehead, the creases on his brow disappearing, a little smile tugging at his lips.

"You could always quit the job, you know, if it's worrying you so much," she said softly, only to regret the words as his smile fell off, jaw tightening.

"It's what I like doing, Nigella," he said. "It's the only thing I've wanted to do since I ran away from home… be an Auror like Dad—James' father… I'm not giving up the Force for anything—except the kids, and they're alright with me continuing…"

She nodded, cursing how the air around them was now bereft of the earlier bonhomie.

"How are the children?" she asked him instead, knowing talk of Harry and Acquila always cheered him up. "Is Acquila better, now?"

"She's improving," he replied. "I wish I was with her… I've never been around when she's needed me. But Ted reckoned she'd heal sooner if she was back at school… with studies and her friends distracting her from dwelling over Mrs Smith…"

"She'll get better soon," she said, as he led her to a bench near the little pond, its waters shimmering as they reflected the twinkling stars, the light of the waxing moon illuminating his features.

"And how's Harry?" she asked him, as they sat down on the bench. "Joanna wrote saying he won the match against Slytherin."

"He did," said Sirius, flashing his first genuine smile of the evening. "He's brilliant at Quidditch…"

"I've heard a lot about him," she said. "Even Marcus says he's the best Seeker he's seen…and Marcus doesn't praise his rival players…"

Sirius nodded, still smiling.

"Are you coming for the Ivy Brown's hundredth birthday?" she asked him. "I'm sure Richard's invited you."

"He has… but I'm not going for it—have some work planned… I'm planning to dig deeper… get some leads on Greyback," he said, frowning again.

"You worry too much," she repeated. "And what's with all the long hours Andromeda says you've been keeping? I thought the Healers had told you to take it easy for a few weeks… cut down on the stress, on the workload—"

"Life's never been stress-free for me," he said. "And it's going to be that way."

Something in his tone made her wonder whether he was implying something. But he went on. "And it's not like I've got anything to do at home. The kids are at school, Winky and Kreacher are always squabbling over who's going to cook dinner, Phineas' portrait keeps annoying me—" he stopped abruptly, quite as if he hadn't wanted to share his worries with her.

"Sirius," she said softly, laying her hand on his cheek, feeling his stubble tickle her palm. "You know I'm always there for you, don't you? You can talk to me… share things with me… I know how it is to be lonely, to have no one to unburden your concerns to…"

"Yes," he said quietly, his grey eyes gazing into hers with something she couldn't put a finger on. "It does get lonely," he admitted in a whisper, his gaze seeming vulnerable, almost lost.

"I'm there for you, love," she whispered, knowing this was the time to make a move. She glanced at his lips, knowing his eyes had noticed her gaze. And she moved forward, devouring the distance between them, and softly pressing her lips to his.

He seemed frozen for a moment, unmoving, unresponsive, his heart beating against her hand which she had now placed against his chest. But she ploughed on, knowing no one could ever defy her charms. Her lips parted, capturing his bottom lip between them, her teeth lightly raking over his lip, and the tip of her tongue following suit.

And his lips finally parted, his hand going around her waist, pulling her into him with unexpected suddenness, his lips moving against hers with an almost desperate want, as he tugged her even closer, her breasts pressing against his firm chest, both her hands tangling into his hair.

And as his tongue finally met hers, moving with dexterous skill, sending very welcome tingles all through her body – something she hadn't felt in years – she felt her own desire taking over, as she traced the curves and crevices of his mouth, fierce heat building in the pit of her stomach. But the emotion triumphing over all was that of victory, of finally being on the path of gaining retribution, of avenging all the pain Sirius' brother had given her.

oOo

It had been a long, long day, thought Sirius, as he shed his coat and his robes, sinking tiredly onto his bed.

Nymphie's furious words were still ringing in his ears.

Nymphie, unfortunately, had seen his heated kiss with Nigella. And that had only increased her grumpiness with him, which had begun with their shouting match over Irene.

Irene was her best friend. It turned out that Irene hadn't told Nymphie over why she wasn't speaking to Sirius; but the Metamorphmagus had noticed the frostiness in their ties, and prised the truth out of him, erupting with fury when he had admitted to her that he had suspected Irene of spying for Voldemort.

"You're such an idiot, Sirius! Irene bloody fancied you! She cared for you because she liked you!" Nymphie had yelled at him. "How the fuck did you think she was You Know Who's mole in the Ministry? You couldn't have used that big brain of yours? You couldn't have asked me about it? One word to me and I'd have told you there's no way Irene's a spy—she's my best friend for Helga's sake! She cares for you, she likes Harry and Acquila—she's done everything a good friend should do, all the time you were lying in that hospital bed—and what did you do, you big-headed prat? You suspected her? You had her take Veritaserum! How dumb can you get?"

How the hell was he supposed to know that Irene fancied him? If Nymphie bloody knew of it, she should've told him! Then he wouldn't have thought Irene was trying to seduce him to get close to him!

Good Godric, this was all driving him nuts! Nymphie had gone on and on all evening, stopping only when Nigella entered. And after Nigella left, Nymphie had taken off again, telling him that he didn't deserve Irene at all! And that he was welcome to go around snogging snobbish witches like Nigella who were only after his money and title!

That had led to another bout of bickering, with even Andromeda joining in, telling Nymphie that she'd got the wrong idea about Nigella and that she was saying so only because she wanted him with Irene instead. After that, he had just come back to Black Manor, tired of all the arguments, but not before he'd firmly told Andy to stop trying to play matchmaker for Nigella and him, and told Nymphie to just leave him alone, particularly on the Irene matter.

Nymphie was right in pointing out how he'd been a complete arse. And that only pissed him off even further.

He had erred.

He knew he had erred tremendously. He had been an utter fool. Nymphie was right, really. He hadn't seen what was before his very eyes. Irene had always been on his side: for the Flying Car incident, the Basilisk, the Diagon Alley attack, the werewolf attack. But he'd behaved like a blind idiot! All those subtle hints thrown at him during all the times he'd gone out with Irene either alone or in a group – he'd ignored them all, thinking she was just putting on a show to attract him. Damn it!

Frankly, her attraction for him (did it still exist?) didn't matter to him. What mattered, though, was that she had been a friend to him: Irene was the one who'd made him gather his guts and visit Athena's grave. She was friends with the kids. He had had fun with her whenever they'd got out, whether alone or with their Auror colleagues, even with his suspicions about her at the back of his mind. And she'd had his back – especially during the Basilisk incident, keeping Harry's Parselmouth ability a secret, letting him overstep protocol and keeping it secret from Scrimgeour…

And, like an idiot, he'd gone and thrown it all away. And it was bloody affecting him now! Irene and he had worked together for more than a year now. Admittedly, he'd spent most of the past few months suspecting her; but they had worked together in a couple of cases in their usual way, with good-natured ribbing and discussing various duelling skills. And now, when he was co-leading the Greyback case with her, her recent behaviour was bothering him more than he would admit. She didn't talk a word to him beyond what was necessary in the course of work. She didn't sit with him during lunch in the Auror cafeteria, nor did she walk to the Atrium with Kingsley and him after work.

He'd tried! He'd bloody done all he could to get her to forgive him, he'd apologised to her, reiterated that he was truthfully sorry for what he did – especially for making her have the Veritaserum. He could understand how he'd hurt her – insulted her, even – after all, he'd felt similarly when Remus had suspected him before that Halloween night in 1981; he'd felt the same when the entire world had questioned his loyalty, his integrity, let him rot in Azkaban because they didn't believe him…

He didn't know what to do now… he didn't know how to get things back to normal with Irene… But he didn't regret admitting his suspicions to her. He had dwelled over it for long, before deciding that he would place the Truth Serum before her and admit he'd doubted her loyalties. He had needed to do that to know whether he could trust her, to work with her without having to look over his shoulder, to continue letting her be friendly with the kids… He didn't regret what he'd done—but he bloody regretted doubting her in the first place! Regretted letting his paranoia of betrayal cloud his earlier opinion of her…

He sighed, knowing thinking of it would do no good. He could do nothing, except wait for Irene to forgive him, hope that they could go back to being friends again. It was after James' death that he'd realised the true value of friends, of having someone trust him unflinchingly, having someone unquestioningly by his side. He could count his true friends on the fingers of one hand: Remus, Kingsley, Savage—and he knew Irene could have been a true friend to him, too—she already had been that, going by her conduct through the past two years (even if she'd done it because she fancied him); it only made him regret his actions more.

He grabbed the newspaper on his bedside, putting Irene to the back of his mind.

'SURREY WEREWOLVES SENTENCED TO LIFE IMPRISONMENT IN AZKABAN' screamed the headline of the Daily Prophet. The trial for the lycanthropes had taken place the previous morning. And the four captured werewolves, who had attacked the orphanage and killed the Muggles, had been sent to Azkaban for life. Sirius' testimony had clinched the hearing in the prosecution's favour.

All of Britain had commended the verdict. The Light purebloods and Daniel Greengrass, too, had welcomed the verdict, appreciating Sirius for working behind-the-scenes and ensuring the swiftness of the trial and sentencing. That was about the only good thing to have happened recently, he thought, as he shed his clothes and walked into the bathroom for a shower.

He emerged again quite some time later, the shower taking more time than it usually did; that kiss with Nigella had made his imagination run overboard, and left him with a raging hard-on to take care of.

He sank back into his bed again, shutting his eyes, rethinking over Nigella. Great Godric, he was behaving like a hormonal teenager, obsessing over a single kiss with a girl!

But the kiss was the most action he'd got in the past couple of months. In mid October, when his empty bed had made him long for female company, he had gone out to the pub where he'd met Jessica – the Muggle girl he'd slept with. Jessica hasn't been there, but he had soon had a pretty brunette's arms around his neck, her mouth on his, her hand grabbing him through his clothes—and they had continued in a room above the pub, the fantastic sex leaving him blissfully satiated. It was the first time he had voluntarily sought out some physical intimacy; and though it stung him deep within, he knew it was good he was finally getting over Athena. He would always love her, of course – she was the one girl who would always remain his only love. But that didn't mean he could ignore his physical urges any more. He had always had a rather high libido; and he had decided that having a woman to satisfy his need was better than having his right hand do it. It was something he did discreetly, though. He didn't want Acquila ever getting wind of it. What he did was his business, honestly. But he didn't want to hurt her in any way, especially seeing her opinion on Nigella…

Nigella…

It had been wonderful, having those soft lips on his, feeling her pressed up against him, her hands in his hair, his tongue exploring her mouth, his hands holding on to her waist, and then kissing the column of her throat, feeling her pulse throbbing, her hands pulling him to her mouth again, until something – he didn't quite know what – had made him pull back; and she'd departed, with a coy smile at him, her chest heaving with her laboured breathing, her eyes bright, a pretty dash of colour in her cheeks. Merlin! How he had wanted to take it further, to have his hands explore all those enticing parts of her, have his eyes feast on more than just her cleavage, have her own hands run all over him—Merlin! He couldn't help it! He just couldn't help thinking about her – especially now when he knew how it was to kiss those plump lips, to have her in his arms…

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair. After that encounter with the brunette in October, he hadn't had any physical dalliances, his recuperation and then the workload at work, leaving him with no time to seek someone who would want a no-frills-attached night of fun. Perhaps, it was the lack of recent action which had led to his frenzied, lusty response to Nigella's kiss.

Why? Why had she kissed him? He had been fine, really. Her visits when he was recovering were nice; but once he'd rejoined the Force, he hadn't given her much thought. But now that she'd acted on her very visible desire of him, he wondered what would come next. She was a proud, rather traditional pureblood witch. And he knew she wouldn't be like Jessica or that brunette; she wouldn't be content with just a physical relationship. She would want more: to get betrothed to him, to marry him, to have his child—Hell, the very thought of it made him stiffen.

He remembered her words, about being a father to another child, holding his own son or daughter in his arms, of watching his child grow up… and it evoked a fierce longing in him. But it wasn't what he wanted. He needed to be practical. He had a lot many things to do before he even decided on getting together with someone. And whoever he married – if he ever did – would need to accept and love both his children, and, more importantly, need to accept that even if he had another child, the family titles, wealth and seats on various institutions would pass on to Acquila. It was something he'd decided recently. The Black wealth and titles always passed through the male line. But he didn't see the necessity of carrying on the tradition. Being a daughter didn't make Acquila any inferior than a son. Acquila was his first-born, the child his beloved Athena had borne him. And Acquila would be his heir, even if a son followed after her…

Nigella, he thought again. It was very obvious what she wanted from him: a long-awaited end to her spinsterhood, a family, children… A relationship with her without the promise of marriage would never be acceptable to her. But marriage brought a lot many things along with it: responsibilities, duties, knowing he had a wife waiting for him to get back home—and more importantly, an emotional bond. But that just wasn't something he was ready for! He wasn't ready to commit to someone emotionally… what he presently felt for Nigella was desire; he liked spending time with her, and he liked snogging her even better, as he'd just discovered… but he wasn't ready to let anyone get close to him emotionally… he couldn't let someone occupy the place that Athena had in his life: he had trusted Athena, truly, truly loved her, bared his fears, his insecurities, his very soul to her… and a concrete relationship for him meant having all that he'd had with Athena, not just someone to share a bed with and father children with…

"Dad! Dad!" Acquila's voice suddenly arose from the Two-Way Mirror; and he sat up hastily.

"Hey, love," he said, feeling a smile pull at his lips when he saw her face in the Mirror. He missed her… both of them, really, Harry and her. But after Mrs Smith's death, he missed Acquila even more. Just talking on the Mirror every night didn't quench his yearning to be with her, to help her through her grief, to ensure that she was recovering from her loss. One of these days, he was going to go Hogwarts through Remus' fireplace, just to see her with his own eyes, to pull her into a tight hug…

"Hi, Dad," she said, sounding not all that great. "How was your day?"

"It was alright," he replied. "Everyone in the Ministry was discussing the trial…"

"It's the same here," she said. "They were all asking me about it… whether I'm happy that Mrs Smith and Martha finally got justice…"

He nodded. He had discussed it all with her at length, telling her everything that had happened at the trial, watching the grim satisfaction on her face when he'd told her that the lycanthropes had been put in Azkaban for life, for intentionally murdering innocent people.

"I went to Andy's place for dinner after work," he said.

"That's nice—"

"Nigella was there, too," he added, watching her lips purse.

"How is she?" asked Acquila, staring at him rather warily.

"She's good… she was asking me about Harry and you… praising Harry's Seeking in the Slytherin match."

Acquila merely huffed, something telling him that she wasn't quite alright.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she muttered.

"You know you can tell me everything, right, love? I know something's bothering you… what is it?" he pressed on.

"You tell me about Nigella first," she said. "What else did she say? Did she, you know… behave like she did, last time?"

Sirius stiffened, something in her expression reminding him of a promise he'd made to her long ago. He had promised her that if he ever felt himself falling for someone – or even a little interested in someone – he would tell her. And she, in turn, had promised him the same. And he realised that even if it wasn't for their pact, he wanted to tell her what had happened with Nigella… he wanted to be open with his daughter about this part of his life. Nigella wasn't like Jessica or the brunette he'd slept with – they had been just one night stands; he hadn't, obviously, told Acquila about them. But that kiss with Nigella today was a clear intimation of what Nigella wanted from him; and the fact that the kiss had kept him thinking for more than an hour told him that it did have quite some substance.

"She kissed me," he admitted, watching Acquila's eyes widen.

"What! She kissed you? I knew it—I knew she'd do this! She's always fancied you—she wants to marry you, I'm sure she does!" she exclaimed, disgruntlement evident on her features. "And you—did you kiss her back?" she demanded.

"Not at first," he admitted honestly. "But later—yeah, I did."

"Damn it!" exclaimed Acquila. "I knew this would happen! I'd told you she wanted to seduce you—and you didn't listen to me!"

"Seduce me?" he snorted. "She did nothing of that sort—we were just sitting on the bench in Andy's garden, talking about something…and she just kissed me—it wasn't planned or something—"

"And you kissed her back!" she snapped.

"'Course, I did! I'm a man—I had a beautiful witch kissing me, you think I wouldn't respond?" he exclaimed, before slapping a palm to his face. "I can't believe I'm discussing this with my daughter!"

"Wow," said Acquila curtly. "So, Nigella and you—are both of you on, then? Like a couple or something—"

"No!" he interrupted her. "No, love—I told you that I'm not ready for all that… this isn't the time anyway… it was just a kiss, yeah? Not a big deal… I still stand by what I said: I'm attracted to her, but I'm not looking to date her or something… not yet," he added frankly, watching Acquila purse her lips again, saying nothing.

"Okay," she said, surprising him with her lack of further questions on the matter. "Okay," she repeated, bristling now. "Do what you want!" she said, suddenly fierce. "Both of you! Nigella and you—and Harry and Daphne—"

"What! Harry and Daphne?" he exclaimed, taken aback at that.

What did she mean by Harry and Daphne? From whatever Remus had told him, Harry and Acquila had gotten very close in the past few weeks – so close that Sirius was inwardly wondering whether he ought to expect them to begin dating soon. So, how had Daphne Greengrass entered the picture?

"He asked her out, for Hogsmeade!" said Acquila.

"Seriously? Harry asked Daphne out?" exclaimed Sirius, wondering how Harry had suddenly shed his shyness to ask a girl on a date.

"He said Astoria forced him into it—but he could've said no, Dad! He could've said he didn't want to go with Daphne! But he didn't! He just gave in—he asked her properly and everything! On a date! To Hogsmeade!"

Acquila said nothing after that, remaining silent.

"Oh, sweetheart," he sighed, acutely wishing he was with her in person.

"How are you feeling about it?" he asked her quietly, wanting her to speak her mind, to share her thoughts with him. The Soul Bond was so dynamic, their feelings about each other so ever-changing, that he didn't quite know what to make of Harry and her, especially when Daphne and Cedric Diggory were in the picture.

"Tell me, darling," he persisted when she didn't reply.

"I don't know," she admitted in a small voice. "I don't know, Dad. Harry says he only asked her because Astoria made him—but why couldn't he have said no? He could've said he didn't want to go on a date with her. But he didn't! Because he likes Daphne!"

"Acquila," he said softly, "Look at me. We'd spoken about this, remember? Even if Harry and you are soulmates, he's bound to feel attracted to other girls—"

"I know that," she said, her shoulders sagging. "I know that, Dad… even I had a crush on Cedric—but I didn't go on a date with him, did I? Harry even stopped Cedric asking me out!" she cried, before she breathed deeply. "I'm not making sense, am I?" she asked with a mirthless smile. "I'm being an idiot—"

"You're not, love," he told her. "I know how you're feeling—"

"You don't know! Even I don't know!" she exclaimed, making him smile at how much younger she suddenly seemed. Sometimes, with how soon Harry and she had had to grow up, it was tough to remember that they were just thirteen, relatively naïve, new to the world of crushes and dating and fancies and love.

"I know you're confused about Harry," he said. "But don't beat yourself up over this. Harry didn't want to ask Daphne out, did he?"

"But he did ask her, right? And they're going to Hogsmeade together… on a date…"

"Yes, but you know how Harry is, don't you? He doesn't quite know how to say 'no' to people," said Sirius, watching her nod grudgingly. "You try putting this out of your mind, let Harry go on with his date… and then let's see how it turns out. If he doesn't like Daphne much, you don't have to get jealous, eh—"

"I'm not jealous!" she said stoutly.

"Alright, you're not," he said, smirking. "But even if he does like Daphne, who says it's the end of the world for you? You still have blokes fancying you—remember that McLaggen boy who gave you flowers?"

"Eww! Not McLaggen, Dad!" she said, grimacing.

"Well, then you have Cedric, don't you? After all, he was going to ask you out… and he's been teaching you Arithmancy and everything," he said teasingly.

"Yeah, but Harry is… he's Harry, Dad!" she exclaimed, and he knew she wasn't quite able to put her thoughts into words.

"I understand, love," he said. "But don't dwell too much on it… and remember, you were the one who didn't want the Bond to force you into liking Harry?" he pointed out slyly, knowing that, like him, she was better off when indignant and determined than when confused and upset.

"Yes," she muttered. "I never liked Harry before the Bond—I don't know what's going on with me… I don't want to think about this at all…"

"I love you, darling," he said softly, watching her smile back.

"I love you, too, Dad."

"Now, go off to bed… don't think too much about all this… and tell Harry to give me a call tomorrow, alright?"

"Okay," she said, bidding him good night after reminding him that she wanted to be in the know about everything that happened with Nigella.

As he put the Mirror away, he found himself grinning wryly. Merlin! Never had he thought he would have to deal with all these teenage conflicts. On one hand, he understood how Acquila felt. But on the other, he was genuinely looking forward to see how Harry's date with Daphne went. He knew the boy fancied the Greengrass girl. And he had long ago decided that he wouldn't let the Bond dictate his children's love lives. They could be with whoever they wanted, irrespective of the fact that they were each other's soul mates.

He grinned wider as he realised that he could get to pull Harry's leg about Daphne for the next many days; and even give him some dating advice, some tips from the many dates he'd gone on when he'd been a teenager at Hogwarts. Watching Harry's blushing face, his stuttering words would be some of the most fun he'd had in recent times!

oOo

Harry paced near the main entrance of the Castle, dressed up in layers of winter wear, feeling very nervous and sort of excited, at the same time. It was the day of the Hogsmeade visit. He was waiting for Daphne to come. Daphne – his date!

Merlin! That sounded so strange—and not all that right at all! He didn't want a date with Daphne! He'd been literally forced to ask her because of her cunning little sister! Merlin! Those Slytherins were so good at manipulation – whether it was Astoria or Phineas Nigellus or even Aunt Andy! After all, Aunt Andy had had Nigella come over for dinner, which had led to Sirius kissing her—ugh! That had been one awkward conversation: Sirius telling him all that had happened with Nigella, and then pulling Harry's leg, asking him if Harry was going to have his first kiss with Daphne! Sirius had had a gala time teasing Harry, and giving him many, many tips on girls and dates – half of which Harry wasn't sure he wanted to put to use!

Date!

A date with Daphne!

He still couldn't quite believe it! His first date – something he'd recently been imagining he'd have with Acquila! And he was now going to have to go with Daphne—damn! Why couldn't he have said no? Why did he have to open his big mouth and ask Daphne out! His stupid, unplanned, utterly foolish words had completely dampened whatever hopes he had for Acquila and him. Acquila wasn't behaving normally with him any more! Whatever strides they had taken recently in their friendship (although that was too inadequate a word to describe what they had) had disappeared; and he now felt like he was back to square one with Acquila: wanting her, but no clue how to go about it. She wasn't even speaking to him like she usually did, with warmth and affection. Since the Daphne fiasco, her tone wasn't her usual one when she spoke to him (almost like she couldn't make up her mind whether she was supposed to be mad at him or not), her conversations limited to studies and asking him about Quidditch practice, her thoughts seeming more and more inaccessible to him… But yes, there was one good thing that had happened: her earlier moroseness about Mrs Smith's death was decreasing. Daphne's impending date with him had had Acquila slowly going back to what she had been before that night: lively, curious and jealous – although her envy was something she was rapidly succeeding at curbing.

"Stop that!" Acquila growled, coming towards him with Ron, Hermione and Neville.

"What!" he exclaimed, bewildered.

"Thinking of whatever it is you're thinking!" she replied. "I don't want your butterflies fluttering in my stomach!"

"Now you know how it feels," he quipped with a smirk, before deciding to shut up when she threw him a glare.

"I don't want to be feeling like this all the time you're on your date," she snapped. "So try to control it."

"You try blocking my thoughts—right now, I can't concentrate enough to do it," he muttered honestly.

"This is ridiculous!" Acquila grumbled. "I don't want to know what you're going to be doing with Daphne, alright! No privacy—even on a date!"

"I know a way to solve that problem," Harry said quietly.

"What?" she asked him.

But he just shrugged, not wanting to voice that the perfect solution to that would be Acquila and him going on a date together! Then they wouldn't mind feeling each other's emotions, maybe, because they'd be feeling them for each other! But he didn't dare say it aloud, not when she was in such a grumbling mood, not when he was going on a date with another girl in a few minutes…

She merely rolled her eyes at him when he looked at her; and he didn't know whether she'd sensed his thoughts or not. And then, she began whispering something to Hermione, both the girls throwing him glances.

"You know I know you're talking about me, right?" he asked them, chuckling.

Acquila merely huffed, as Neville clapped him on the back. "She's here," he said quietly, and Harry felt Acquila's eyes snap to him. But he wasn't looking at her, but at Daphne, who was coming up to him, covered in a thick coat like most people were. But she looked pretty, he thought absently, as Neville wished him good luck, and Harry's insides began somersaulting again.

Now that Daphne was walking towards him, it was all feeling very, very real. It was actually happening. He was going on a Hogsmeade date with Daphne! Merlin! He didn't even know what to do! Ron's suggestions were more inclining towards resulting in having him end up arguing with Daphne and breaking their ties for good! Neville had no experience in dating; and Fred and George's suggestions were frankly outrageous! Damn! He'd never thought he would be the first one of his group of friends to go on a date. He'd always thought he would follow what the others did on their first dates. The only tips he could use now were from Sirius.

"Hi," Daphne said softly, as she approached him.

"Err—hey," said Harry, all of Sirius' tips suddenly vanishing from his mind. He couldn't think of anything clever to say – and to be honest, half his mind was on trying to glance at Acquila from the corner of his eyes to gauge her reaction. He didn't dare look at her directly, not quite wanting to see more of her glares directed at him.

"It's pretty cold outside," Harry stated lamely, as they stood in line for Filch to tick their names.

Acquila and the others got into a carriage, and Harry and Daphne took the one after it, Harry helping her into the carriage. There was a couple sitting in their carriage already – older Hufflepuffs Harry reckoned. The girl stared at Harry, face alight with recognition – and Harry knew the girl knew all about his date with Daphne. All of Hogwarts did, really! The news had spread like wild fire!

As the carriage began moving, the Hufflepuff boy caught the girl's hand, and they began whispering to one another. Oh goodness! Was Harry supposed to hold Daphne's hand, too? Merlin! The couple was getting a little too cosy with each other, the girl pecking the boy's lips, making Harry even more unsure and uncomfortable!

Maybe he was supposed to hold Daphne's hand. But that didn't seem all that great. If it was Acquila, Harry wouldn't have thought once before clasping her hand – it was an action that came naturally to him, holding Acquila's hand, entwining their fingers, having her trace little circles on the back of his hand with her thumb… but Daphne? It didn't seem all that comfortable and easy doing that with her… And why was Daphne sitting silently? After all, wasn't she who wanted the date? Why couldn't she say something, then? Just like Harry, she, too, was averting her eyes from the couple, staring outside the window. But he realised that maybe that was good! It meant she was as unsure and nervous as he was!

Damn! He still didn't know where he was going to take Daphne. Where did couples usually go? Remus had told him to take Daphne to the Three Broomsticks, but Harry knew that's where Acquila and the others would be. Sirius had suggested the same, along with laughingly telling Harry of some places which were out of public eye, behind shops – they were basically ideal places to make out, and Harry didn't plan on doing that.

Harry heard the boy whispering something about how the places he wanted them to visit. Merlin! And Harry hadn't even a bloody idea of where to take Daphne!

"Where do you want to go?" Harry whispered, not wanting the couple to know he hadn't planned his date.

"I'm fine with whatever you've decided," said Daphne, finally looking away from the window and at him.

"But I thought we could go somewhere you liked," said Harry with a smile, not really wanting to show he was unprepared.

"That's so sweet!" exclaimed the Hufflepuff girl suddenly, making Daphne and Harry blush lightly. "Did you hear that, Adrian?" she asked her boyfriend. "Why can't you be sweet like him?"

"Anna," said the boy, Adrian. But the girl ignored him.

"You're both on a date, right? All of Hogwarts knows!" she said excitedly, as Harry nodded. "You both look so cute together!" she gushed.

"Thank you," said Daphne, as Harry didn't quite know where to look, his face flaming.

Can I suggest a place for you?" Anna asked eagerly and continued without waiting for a reply. "You should take her to Madam Pudifoot's. Perfect place for a date! That was the place where Adrian took me on our first date! And look at us now! We're in love!"

Daphne's face had turned even redder now, not that Harry was looking.

Good Lord! Love? Harry didn't want to be in love with Daphne! No way! But Madam Puddifoot's was probably a good place – even if it was one Sirius hadn't even mentioned. Perhaps, he could take Daphne there.

Mercifully, the carriage came to a stop: they had reached Hogsmeade.

"Enjoy, you two!" said Anna, before going her way with Adrian, who shot Harry an sheepish look.

"That ride was really—" began Harry.

"Awkward!" completed Daphne. They both took one look at each other and burst into chuckles, the atmosphere suddenly lightening.

"This is what Astoria's going to be like when she grows up," said Daphne as they began walking through the town.

"You're right," he agreed.

"Talking of Astoria," said Daphne, her tone serious now. "I know you asked me only because she—"

"No—it's not like that—" said Harry hurriedly.

But Daphne spoke on: "You don't need to lie, Harry. I admit I wanted to go with you, but I didn't want you to be forced into asking me—"

"It's fine!" he said hastily, not wanting to hurt or embarrass her. "I don't mind—I'm glad we're here!"

I didn't ask you just because she said..." Harry started but Daphne intervened.

"You don't need to clarify. I apologise for my sister if she forced you into doing something you didn't want to."

Daphne smiled slightly at that.

"So, want to try Madam Puddifoot's, then?" asked Harry before Daphne could say any more on the topic.

"Sure. I've heard a lot about it, too!"

"Madam Puddifoot's it is, then," said Harry, as they headed down the path.

Harry was very much aware of Daphne's gloved hand brushing his, as they walked towards the tea shop. Was he supposed to hold her hand? Did she expect that from him? God! He'd have taken Snape's Potion class than this! All the couples walking past them were holding hands, or the boys had their arms around the girls' waists. But Harry surely didn't think he could do that! He barely knew Daphne, and she didn't seem the types who'd be comfortable with that!

How he wished he could read Daphne's mind. If it was Acquila instead of Daphne, he would've known exactly what to do… he'd have known even if he couldn't sense Acquila's thoughts… he didn't have to think at all before he initiated any kind of contact with her… Everything was easy and comfortable with Acquila… But he was with Daphne now, he realised with a jolt, pushing thoughts of Acquila away.

They entered the shop, and to Harry's surprise, it was much smaller than it appeared to be from the outside. They took their seat at the table next to the window. The place was decorated for Christmas. There was a small Christmas tree near the counter, the door bell jingled whenever a new customer entered. There were candles and mistletoes floating all around. But what put Harry on edge was the fact that the shop was filled with couples holding hands and kissing! Merlin! Why had he agreed to come here? Why had he taken that Anna girl's suggestion! This was certainly the wrong place to be on a first date!

"What do you want to have?" Harry asked Daphne.

"Just tea is fine," said Daphne, smiling.

It was nice and toasty in the shop. Daphne shrugged off her fur coat, and Harry saw that she was wearing intricately embroidered blue robes underneath the coat. The blue colour went very well with her eyes – she looked very pretty, thought Harry.

"Your robes are very pretty," he blurted out suddenly, before cursing his stupid mouth.

"Just my robes?" asked Daphne, raising her eyebrows.

"No—you're looking pretty, too," said Harry, feeling suddenly very shy.

"And you're looking cute," replied Daphne, grinning smugly, though her cheeks were tinged pink.

Cute! There was that word again! Why couldn't he be handsome? Or attractive? Cute sounded so—so girlish! But his cheeks were heating up as he ran a hand through his hair, Daphne's gaze fixed on his, a little smile at her lips.

"Why does that man keep looking at us?" asked Daphne suddenly, looking outside the window they were sitting next to.

"Oh, that," muttered Harry. The man was Riley Blishwick, an Auror. Harry had noticed Riley long ago. Sirius had already told him that he would have an Auror guard.

"You know him?" asked Daphne.

"He's an Auror," admitted Harry. "Acquila and I have someone from the Force guarding us when we're in public places—even more now, after the Diagon Alley and the werewolf attack… Sirius prefers having us protected in public – even thought we don't like it much…"

"Lord Black cares a lot for you, doesn't he? And you do, too, don't you? Daddy told me he met you… he was very impressed with the both of you," said Daphne.

Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"Lord Black is very brave. He even risked his life for Muggles, even though they don't really matter to our world," said Daphne.

Harry stared at her. Muggles did matter! Merlin! Was Daphne one of those Malfoy-like purebloods? Who thought Muggles were beneath them? That wasn't good – not at all!

"Sirius would risk his life to save any human being," he said quietly. "Sirius, Acquila and I – we all think Muggles are equally important—"

"I didn't mean it like that!" said Daphne hastily. "I swear I didn't! Acquila has told me about Muggles—when she'd come home for my tea party! All about their machines which give cool air, and those moving staircases and everything. I don't think they're inferior or anything," she said. "I was just surprised that Lord Black risked his life for them—Daddy said he could've died… but he still saved them…"

"It's fine—I get it," said Harry, wondering whether he had jumped to conclusions too quickly. Daphne seemed to genuinely respect Muggles – at least from the air-conditioners and escalators she remembered from Acquila's conversation.

But he didn't quite want to dwell on that topic. "Sorry I couldn't meet you yesterday for the Runes project," he said. "I've completed my part of it. I wanted to show it to you, but Oliver extended Quidditch practice…"

"That's not a problem," said Daphne sweetly. "Diggory played very well against Chang in the last game. You'll need practice to beat him."

"You like Quidditch, then?" asked Harry. He hadn't taken her for a girl who liked Quidditch.

"Yes, I like it," said Daphne. "It's fun to watch."

"That's great," said Harry. "If you like to fly," he went on, smirking, "you should try out for your team. Slytherin does need help—"

"Hey!" exclaimed Daphne. "We have a really good team! It was just that we had one bad match against your team—Draco would've caught the Snitch if you'd been a second late… and anyway, Mother says it's not very ladylike to fly on a broom trying to catch balls. I just like watching it."

"Are you sure? Or are you scared to face my team?" he asked her cheekily, enjoying the expression on her face.

"Scared? Me? Not at all!" she exclaimed indignantly. "And I'd have beaten you if I was on the team! We're better than you guys! Our Chasers are better than yours!"

"But we've got the best Beaters," Harry pointed out.

"But Marcus is a better Keeper than Wood," said Daphne.

"No!" exclaimed Harry. "Wood's the best! He's even going to try for Puddlemere United next year! And Puddlemere's the best team in the league!"

"No way!" snorted Daphne. "Not Puddlemere! They're just popular because they have all the handsome players…the Tornadoes are way better—"

They continued in the same vein, simultaneously sipping their tea and tucking into the delicious scones. And Harry realised that being around Daphne wasn't uncomfortable anymore. He was almost having fun! That he was discussing his favourite game with a pretty girl only made it better!

oOo

Earlier

Their carriage came to a stop on the path in Hogsmeade, and Acquila descended from it. She had been restless all through the journey, trying and trying to connect with Harry's mind to know what was going on with Daphne and him; but only finding a myriad of emotions, none of which gave her a clue as to what was happening!

Harry's carriage stopped behind hers, and he got down first, holding Daphne's hand to help her descend.

"Come on," said Hermione, tugging her by her hand towards the shop, but Acquila hesitated momentarily, watching another couple descend from Harry's carriage, the girl saying something to Daphne and him which made them both blush. Merlin! Harry and Daphne seemed to have bonded with the couple… how had that happened? That was rather unusual, as Harry wasn't all that quick at making friends, and Daphne didn't seem the type who'd befriend Hufflepuffs. And—and they were both laughing now! Harry and Daphne! Laughing like they were already so comfortable with each other! Daphne Greengrass! Laughing so very freely! With Harry! Acquila didn't like that! Not at all!

"Come on, Acquila," said Neville, firmly grabbing her arm and leading her towards the shops, but not before she heard Harry saying (or had she felt him thinking?) 'Madam Puddifoot's'.

"I know you're not liking this, Acquila," said Neville quietly, as they followed Ron and Hermione down the snow-clad path, "But we'll just leave Harry alone today, alright? And aren't you the one who was talking about privacy earlier? So let him have his."

Acquila shut her eyes, and then nodded, knowing Neville was right.

But she couldn't help wondering why they were going to Madam Puddifoot's. Hadn't Lavender said Madam Puddifoot's was like a dating hub? With all those couples going there – with holding hands and kissing and everything? Why was Harry taking Daphne there? Had he had it all planned since the beginning? Then why had he said he didn't want to go out with her?

"I'll get the drinks," said Ron, as they sat down at a table in Three Broomsticks.

"You'll go ogle at Rosemerta, more like," muttered Hermione under her breath, making Neville chuckle.

It was good to be out of the freezing cold. But the warm and toasty atmosphere of the shop wasn't really helping Acquila. All she could think of was Daphne and Harry, sitting close to each other. Were they holding hands over their drinks? Had Harry put his arm around her or something?

"The Christmas decorations are nice, aren't they?" said Hermione, bringing Acquila out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, I guess," muttered Acquila.

"What's wrong?" said Hermione, "Don't tell me you are still thinking about Harry and Daphne."

"Not at all," snorted Acquila. "Why would I? I don't care what they're up to…"

"I know," said Hermione.

Acquila stared at the decorated Christmas Tree in the distance, unable to curb her curiosity any longer.

"What do you think they're doing?" she asked, Neville chuckling at her.

"Didn't you just say you don't care what they're up to?" he asked her teasingly.

"I don't care—but I was just wondering, for—for curiosity's sake, you see," mumbled Acquila, a tad embarrassedly.

"Ah," said Neville, still smiling.

"Don't worry," put in Hermione. "He'll tell you what happened, obviously. It's not like he's going to hide it from you…"

"But why would he take her to Madam Puddifoot's if he didn't really want to date her?" asked Acquila, feeling very unsettled.

"She's right, you know," said Ron, placing their Butterbeers on their table. "I told him to cancel the bloody date! Daphne Greengrass! A Slytherin of all people!"

"Harry wouldn't have done that," said Neville. "You know he'd never back out of a promise like that…"

Acquila warmed her hands on the glass of Butterbeer, taking small sips. Whatever the reason, she just couldn't just sit idle any longer while Harry was on his date! She needed to know what was going on! And she couldn't wait till after when Harry would tell her! What if he really kissed Daphne or something! NO! That would be terrible! He wouldn't do that, would he? He wanted to kiss Acquila barely a month ago! A couple of months ago – although she would never tell Harry (or anyone else for that matter) that she'd been latching on to his thoughts – she'd ever felt him thinking of Acquila when he was jerking off in the shower!

Her cheeks flamed at the memory, his rather vivid fantasies running through her mind's eyes, before she put down her glass, deciding what she had to do.

"Where are you going?" asked Hermione.

"To see what Harry's doing," she replied. "I can't sit here and do nothing! I'm going crazy thinking about it!"

"What if he spots you there?" asked Neville.

"I've come prepared," she said, tapping the pocket of her thick coat wherein lay the Invisibility Cloak. Well, who was she kidding? She'd decided to spy on Harry's date since the minute he'd confirmed he had asked Daphne! She wasn't a Marauder's daughter for nothing!

"Acquila," sighed Hermione. "You shouldn't go."

"You're right," said Ron.

"I am?" exclaimed Hermione, just as shocked as the others at Ron agreeing with her for once.

"Yeah, Acquila shouldn't go. Alone," said Ron, gulping down his Butterbeer in one go and slamming the glass on the table."I'm coming with you," he said to Acquila, getting up and pulling on his coat."

"Ron!" cried Hermione. "Just let Harry be!"

"Acquila—" began Neville, but Acquila grabbed Ron's arm, and pulled him towards the exit, ignoring Neville and Hermione's calls.

Ron and she walked behind the Three Broomsticks, pulling on the Invisibility Cloak there, when no one was around to look. And they disappeared from sight. They stepped on to the main street – as Ron and she had both grown a little taller in the past year, they were finding it a little difficult to walk around concealing their feet under the Cloak. But they managed, somehow.

A chilly breeze hit them, making Acquila wished she'd been inside. But they walked on, Acquila frequently clearing up the footprints they were leaving behind them.

"You need to teach me that spell," said Ron, turning around and looking at their disappearing footsteps.

"Sure—oww!" cried Acquila, as Ron stepped on her foot, her cry startling two girls who'd been walking beside them, making them look all around to find out where the voice originated from.

"Sorry!" Ron whispered.

"Be careful," said Acquila, "We don't want to draw attention."

They reached Madam Puddifoot's, standing outside the door. Acquila could see Harry and Daphne sitting near the window.

"Let's go closer," Ron suggested, "Maybe we'll be able to hear what they are talking."

Acquila nodded. They walked closer to the window, trying to listen in to their conversation.

"Bloody Hell!" exclaimed Ron, panicking, as Daphne pointed to them. "Look! She's pointing at us! She can see us!"

Acquila's heart skipped a beat. Daphne couldn't see them through the Cloak, could she? She turned behind on a whim, seeing Riley Blishwick standing there.

"Even Harry's looking right at us!" cried Ron, making to walk away, but Acquila caught his hand.

"They can't see us, Ron," said Acquila. "They're pointing to Riley."

"Oh! Thank Merlin!" said Ron. "I was almost ready to run—"

"Thank God you didn't," she whispered. "You'd have appeared out of thin air, and Riley would've stunned you!"

"I wouldn't want that." Ron shivered.

"On second thoughts, it would've been fun to watch!" Acquila chuckled.

"Ha ha," said Ron sarcastically, "Laugh all you want. Daphne just placed her hand on Harry's."

"Damn!" swore Acquila, staring at the two: Daphne's hand was on Harry's, while he looked at a loss of how to react to it. "That's not supposed to—oh, she took it away!" said Acquila, sounding happier than necessary.

"He's looking happy," said Ron, making Acquila frown.

"Come on," she said. "Standing here is useless—we can hear nothing. Let's go in."

"Yeah, and it's getting colder out here," said Ron, as they opened the door.

The bells over the door jingled, but fortunately everyone in the tea shop was busy talking or kissing to notice that the door had opened and shut on its own.

"Ugh!" said Ron, grimacing. "How do people kiss in public? That's not what I needed to see-McLaggen kissing Pucey—oh, look! There's a mistletoe over our heads!"

Acquila rolled her eyes. "I'm not kissing you!"

"I'm just saying," said Ron, seeming alarmed at even the thought of kissing.

The place was pretty small and the tables were crammed. But somehow Acquila and Ron managed to reach Harry and Daphne's table without drawing attention. Using an Invisibility Cloak wasn't as easy as one might think, especially when accompanied by clumsy Ron. He had almost fallen onto the girl sitting on the second table, but Acquila had caught him just in time!

"We can hear them now!" said Acquila eagerly.

"And I can feel my fingers," muttered Ron, rubbing his hands together.

Surprisingly, Harry and Daphne were talking about Quidditch! Oh, that sneaky, sneaky girl! Daphne knew Harry liked Quidditch! And she was using that to her advantage. Acquila hadn't thought Daphne had much of an interest in Quidditch. Either Acquila didn't know the girl too well or Harry was falling into her traps yet again! Merlin! This sucked! Acquila actually got on well with Daphne; she was far better than the other Slytherin girls! But seeing Harry with her always made Acquila wish she could use a couple of the creative hexes her Dad had used on her Mum's former boyfriends!

"I can't believe she likes Quidditch!" Ron sounded bewildered.

"I know!" Acquila whispered. "She's definitely bluffing!"

"No, I think she really likes it," Ron whispered back. "She knows the scores of the League matches. She must be listening to them on the radio."

Acquila groaned. "She really likes Quidditch, then? That's even worse!"

"—even the Falcons are better! And that match where Benjy caught the Snitch—"

"I'd been for it! Sirius had taken us in the summer holidays!" Harry was responding eagerly to Daphne's talks.

Acquila stood there frowning, noticing how he was repeatedly running his hand through his hair—hang on! Wasn't that what James used to do, to attract Lily? Run his hands through his hair? Merlin! Was Harry trying to charm Daphne, too, then? Ugh! This was bad! Acquila didn't like it at all!

But he was looking cute, wasn't he? With his hair all messed up, and flecks of snow in them, his cheeks all rosy because of the warmth in the room—oh shit! Harry turned and looked right at her. Almost as if he knew she was there! Like he'd sensed her presence! They had to get out of there before Harry got up to investigate!

"Let's go!" she said urgently, tugging at Ron's sleeve.

"Yeah," said Ron, "I think he knows we're here! He looked right at us!"

They began to move, only for Harry to stand up. They immediately backed into the corner again.

"Merlin!" whispered Ron. "I hope he doesn't come this way."

"Yeah," agreed Acquila, wondering what reason she'd give for spying on Harry. Damn! He'd probably think she was jealous or something, if he came to know she'd been spying on them!

Harry took his coat and swung it over his shoulders, knocking over Daphne's cup of tea; whatever was remaining in the cup spilled onto her dress.

"Ha ha," said Ron, "Perfect way to end a date with a Slytherin, eh?"

"I'm so sorry!" they heard Harry apologising profusely, as Daphne stood up, telling him it was alright.

Harry grabbed a napkin from the table, instinctively dabbing at her dress to soak the tea—and bloody hell! His hand was practically on Daphne's chest! What the bloody fuck was Harry doing! He didn't even need to dab at the stupid tea! He was a wizard for crying out loud!

Harry, suddenly, seemed to have noticed where exactly his hand was, for Acquila could feel his heart thumping faster. And he withdrew his hand, as if scalded, cheeks suddenly a bright red.

"Both of them are blushing," pointed out Ron, who didn't seem to find anything amiss, maybe because he couldn't feel the bloody beating of Harry's heart, the heat surging through him.

"It's okay, Harry," said a smiling Daphne. "I know the spell to clean up…"

"Oh right," Harry smiled embarrassedly, pointing his wand at her and muttering 'Tergeo', and the tea stain disappeared like it had never been there.

"Come on," Acquila muttered, not wanting to see anymore; and Ron and she walked back to the Three Broomsticks, far sullen than she had been just moments earlier.

oOo

Lucius stood in the Ministry, surrounded by Ministry employees and the family of Edwin Rowland, one of the senior-most employees of the DMLE, who was now retiring from the Ministry. He had extensively dealt with Rowland after the War, obtaining the man's discreet services to vanish evidences that were testimony to his involvement in some of the Death Eater attacks on Muggles. Rowland had been of immense help in his successful bid at covering up crimes for which he would have spent at least five years in Azkaban. And when he had received an invite from Rowland's colleagues, requesting his presence for the party thrown for his retirement, Lucius hadn't been able to refuse – especially because Rowland still had contacts which could be of use to him in future.

The party was on in full swing, in one of the largest rooms of the Ministry, decorated especially for the occasion. The loud noise and chattering was already getting on Lucius' nerves. He had been rather irritable recently; things annoyed him quickly, and his temper was always on edge. And he had Sirius Black to blame for that! That unbearable, bully of a man was going to be the death of him!

"Gather support for the bill!" Black had bloody ordered him!

Did that fool think it was easy? Did he think it was child's play to convince a group of hardened, suspicious, cunning former Death Eaters to gather support for a bill that had nothing in it for them? It wasn't easy! It bloody well wasn't! It was tougher than anything Lucius had done until date – except bearing the Dark Lord's Crutiatus Curses, trying not to yell in pain.

Dealing with people like Nott, Yaxley, Macnair—it was so very taxing! How the fuck did Black think Lucius could convince them about supporting a bill which gave rights to half-breeds who'd bloody served them during the War! Greyback and his idiotic followers hadn't even been given the Dark Mark! They were ranked lower than the lowest Death Eater! Greyback, of course, had quite some influence. But his followers? They'd been treated like bloody slaves! Like house-elves, even—being forced to do the Death Eaters' bidding – except, of course, on the full moon night, when they were given the freedom to bite and kill as many people as they wanted (which was the reason they'd stuck to the Death Eaters, really: the Dark Lord gave them sanctuary from Aurors during most of the month, while allowing them to kill to their hearts' extent during the full moon night). And they had been more animal than human, anyway; considered inferior to the basest-born half-blood in the ranks…

And Black expected Lucius to convince Nott and the others to vote for those half-breeds' rights? Black was bloody insane if he thought Lucius could accomplish that!

But Lucius was trying – and trying his very best; because what Black was offering him in return was priceless. Not many people, nowadays, put much stock in the ancient wizarding laws, particularly those pertaining to the Noble pureblood Houses. But Houses were still as important as they'd been centuries ago, even thought the ancient culture and traditions were almost completely inexistent now. People never gave the title of 'Head of House' much thought; they assumed it was just an honorary title – especially after the War when Houses held relatively lesser of a sway in administration and politics of wizarding Britain.
Being Head of House didn't just mean being the holder of a title, but it meant being responsible for the House as a whole—the very bloodline of the House! Decisions which Lucius took, promises he swore, debts he owed… they all flowed from him to the male members of his House – Draco in his case. And the debt he owed Black was massive, incapable of ever measuring! It weighed upon his mind like a gigantic burden, every waking minute, every bloody time he looked into the mirror. Black had spared his life; even if it was due to the intervention of that Lupin and the pesky female Auror, Black had spared his life. And he was now literally bound to do Black's bidding. One toe he put out of line, one little thing he did to harm Black in the slightest gave the blood traitor the right to do as he pleased with Lucius' life. And he knew, from the frightening rage on Black's face when he'd aimed the Killing Curse at him, that Black wouldn't think twice before ending his life. Black had a lot to avenge: Lucius' attempt on his children's lives, Lucius leading the attack in which Black's in-laws had been killed… Black would happily snuff his life out, without even feeling a smidgen of guilt…

And if Lucius ever died a natural death or at the hands of anyone who wasn't a Black, the debt Lucius owed him would pass on to Draco and his descendants! The House of Malfoy would continue obeying the House of Black! And Lucius couldn't have that! He couldn't have future Malfoys curse him for being the man who had besmirched their House, had forced their allegiance to a House led by a formerly-disowned blood traitor!

Lucius had taken to laying awake at nights, almost physically feeling the burden of the debt he and his House owed the Blacks. And when Black had put forth his offer, Lucius had lunged at it, ready to do anything to pay off the debt, to have Black off his back, to finally live as he'd always lived: with power, dignity, with his self-respect, his pride intact, with his head held high…

"Malfoy," a voice called out from next to him.

Damn! It was the devil himself! Lucius had tried to avoid him; but Black, who had also been invited to the party, had finally caught up with him.

"Black," Lucius growled back.

"How is everything going?" asked Black.

"Fine," spat Lucius, hating the very sight of that bastard's smug face, wishing he could curse that infuriating smirk off him.

"Well, that's very good," said Black, still smirking. "You have until April. And remember, not one word about the bill should leak out—"

"I know," snapped Lucius through gritted teeth, as Black walked away.

"I don't anyone knowing of the bill. If I find out that any of the people you talk to have been giving bytes to the media, I'll hold you responsible, Malfoy!" was what Black had told him in a subsequent meeting.

How the hell was Lucius supposed to take care of that, for Salazar's sake? He was engaging with so many people for the bill: Nott, Rosier, Macnair, Yaxley, Crabbe, Goyle—even Avery, who was Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Avery and held a place on the Wizengamot. Avery was hiding in France, to evade arrest for War crimes in Britain, but Lucius had even established contact with him, trying to manipulate him into nominating a proxy for his vacant Wizengamot seat who would vote for the bill… and yet, despite all the bloody efforts he was taking, despite the number of people he was dealing with, the hours he was putting into trying to convince them all, Black expected him to keep his dealings secret! As if that was even bloody possible! How on earth could Lucius contain any of them from talking of the matter to others? The press, especially sneaky reporters like that Skeeter woman, could get their data from anywhere. But, fortunately, Lucius had somehow managed to keep everything under wraps… the common public and the media knew nothing about the bill or Black's mechanisations for having it passed…

An hour later, after reminding Rowland that he could require his services in future, Lucius walked towards the elevators, glad that he was putting a good many feet of distance between Black and himself. Another moment of being around Black, and Lucius would surely have cursed that blood traitor!

He got into the elevator. Unusually, the elevator was devoid of any other occupants. He held on to the metal bar, as the elevator sped upwards, suddenly lurching to a stop. The door opened, and in zoomed a single purple paper aeroplane – an interdepartmental memo used by Ministry employees. He didn't even spare a glance for it, as the door shut again and the elevator resumed its jerky course.

But the memo, strangely, hovered in front of his very eyes, fluttering before Lucius, as if it was meant for him! He ignored it, knowing he couldn't have a memo sent to him. But he suddenly spotted something written on the memo: Lucius Malfoy

He frowned, sensing something amiss, a sense of foreboding rising in him. But he caught hold of the memo, opening it, only for his heartbeats to quicken, his mouth drying, his hands trembling, as he read the three words on the purple memo: You are next

He let go of the piece of parchment, his extremities turning numb as he reread the words written in red ink—or was that blood?

"Hades' hell!" he swore, reeling backwards, as the memo suddenly burst into flames in mid-air – dark, black flames.

And he knew—he bloody knew who had sent the memo: Fenrir Greyback!

He stumbled out of the elevator as it reached the floor that contained the Atrium, stepping dazedly into the fireplace and coming out of the one in Malfoy Manor.

"Lucius, darling," Cissy greeted him. But he waved her away, telling her he wanted to be alone for some time. He couldn't tell her about it; she would worry. And he had kept her in the dark about his deal with Black, too – he wanted to keep her away from anything that had to do with her traitorous cousin.

He walked into his study, shutting the door behind him, collapsing onto a chair.

You are next

You are next

The memo was from Greyback – a warning, Lucius was sure it was. Who else would threaten him with a 'you are next'? That Greyback already knew of the bill was certain – that was the reason why Black's daughter's orphanage had been attacked: to warn Black to cease his efforts for the bill. Having werewolves given rights, treated on par with other wizards would snatch all of Greyback's supporters from him… Greyback couldn't let the legislation materialise...

And now, Greyback had, somehow, probably got wind of Lucius' talks with Nott and the lot. Greyback now knew that Lucius, too, was working for the Werewolf Rights bill. That was why he had undoubtedly sent him that threat – it was the first and last warning, to keep away from Greyback's business.

You are next.

Yes, it had to be Greyback… and the way the note had burst into black flames – it was something Greyback used to do during the War. The Dark Lord used to order Greyback to finish off people who deserved a terrifying death. Greyback would send them similar threatening notes, loving the thought of his would-be victims cowering in fear, knowing they would be mauled to death, but often incapable of preventing it…

Lucius grabbed his cane, making to go meet Black, to tell him of the threatening note, to ask him for help to keep him safe.

But halfway to the door, he stopped in his tracks, beginning to pace around the room instead.

If he told Black about the note, there were two ways Black would react: either he would call off the deal – his love for Cissy would make him tell Lucius to back off from his efforts with the other Death Eaters, to avoid the risk of Greyback harming his beloved cousin's husband. Or, Black would do nothing – Lucius didn't mean anything to Black. Lucius' death would cheer him up! Black wouldn't employ his Aurors' valuable time to guard the murderer of his in-laws!

Salazar! There was no way of knowing which way Black would choose to react. Black's actions were almost always unpredictable and startling.

If Black ignored the threatening note, Lucius would have to protect himself, and he knew he could secure himself. However, he doubted Greyback would actually walk the length and attack Lucius. They had been acquaintances during the War; and the beast had preferred Lucius to Bellatrix's insane ways. Of course, Greyback was blood thirsty and violent, but Lucius doubted he would ever harm a pureblood, someone who was far higher up in the hierarchy… And the Manor was already warded against letting intruders in. The forthcoming full moon night was on Christmas Eve. The annual Malfoy ball would be held, then… and Lucius could take precautions to stop entry of unsavoury people like Greyback: blood wards, security spells, intruder-attacking curses… Malfoy Manor was impregnably secure…

On the other hand, if he did tell Black about the note, Black could choose to call off the deal. Black would want to avoid the mere risk of Greyback attacking another victim. That would be a massive blow to the already failing Auror efforts. It would make the public lose whatever little faith they had in Black and his team. And Black certainly couldn't afford that. He would probably call off their deal—but Lucius bloody couldn't have that! He couldn't have the deal called off! He couldn't make himself bend to Black's will any longer!

This deal with Black was his one chance at negating the debt between their Houses, at beginning to live his life with freedom and pride again! If Black called off the deal, Salazar knew when Lucius would get another chance at freeing himself of the debt…

And Greyback wouldn't harm Lucius—he wouldn't let him! Greyback in his human form was easily beatable in a duel. And on the full moon night, Lucius could secure himself with spells and wards… And anyway, Greyback was literally a lone wolf now… the Aurors were on his trail. He couldn't escape them for long.

And on the next full moon, during the Christmas ball, the Aurors would surely send people to guard the Manor. Black had ordered that during the last full moon night, too. All high-risk places had been secured, and Greyback hadn't dared attack. This time, with so many wizards and witches present for the ball, Scrimgeour would certainly have his people standing by in case of danger.

Greyback could do nothing, especially with no one backing him.

For an instant, he wondered whether Greyback had the Dark Lord's backing – particularly when he remembered the similar notes Greyback used to send to the Dark Lord's intended victims in the very early days of the War. But the idea of the Dark Lord working with Greyback was ridiculous! The Dark Lord had lain low after attacking Black in Diagon Alley. And striking a deal with Greyback was a laughable idea, especially now, when his pack was almost non-existent, when he was on the run from all the Ministry's forces, when he was more of a liability than an asset.

"Lucius," said Narcissa, knocking on the door of his study.

And he straightened up, throwing off his earlier nervousness, knowing she would sense something amiss, reminding himself that he couldn't worry her by letting her know of the threatening note.

"Coming, darling," he replied, deciding that he had done right by choosing to not inform Black about the note; he had nothing to fear from Greyback.

oOo

"So, what'll happen to him now, Dad? What if Voldemort attacks him?" asked Acquila, talking to Sirius in the Mirror.

"He's adamant about going back to Gaunt Shack," said Sirius. "I'll put up some wards there… I doubt Voldy's going to harm him. Morfin doesn't matter to him now. I've to go now, love. I'll give you a call tonight? Tell Harry about the trial, eh?"

"Okay," said Acquila. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too, sweetheart," replied Sirius, blowing her a kiss, before he disappeared off the Mirror.

Acquila put the Mirror away, gathering her Runes books and walking towards the library.

Morfin's Gaunt's trial had finally taken place. Dumbledore had testified that Morfin was innocent of his crimes. And the Wizengamot had declared him not guilty, awarding him a hefty compensation for his wrongful confinement. Sirius had been relieved, glad that he had saved someone from the fate he'd been dealt during his unjust incarceration for a crime he hadn't committed.

She wondered what Harry would say about the trial; he was at Quidditch practice now, Wood making them work hard to retain the House Cup. Days had passed since their Hogsmeade visit. He had spoken to her about his date with Daphne, mentioning only that they'd spoken about the werewolf attacks and Quidditch matches, saying nothing about the tea spill and his hand literally groping her chest! Him hiding that from her had irked her immensely, putting a further rift between them, although Hermione kept telling to just let it go. She knew she was being unreasonable; Harry had the right to go out with whoever he wanted. But she couldn't help it! She just couldn't! Harry had even met Daphne again for their Runes project, which they were supposed to submit the next day. But Acquila had finally been able to stay firm, and had ignored her deep desire to go eavesdrop on them under the Invisibility Cloak again.

Talking of the Runes project, that was where she was headed: to complete her own project with Draco. She hadn't spoken to him at all recently; but she had thought long and hard about what she was going to do about him, finally reaching a decision with a little bit of help from Remus.

"Look," said Draco when she sat at his table in the library, "I've written the entire essay—and I've translated all of it. You don't need to worry… just copy down the translations I've done, and we can submit it tomorrow…"

She stared at him, taken aback that he'd even done her part of the work. Since when had he become so kind and helpful? Or was it just because he was trying to get into her good books again?

Her lack of response seemed to have perturbed him. "Look," he said, "if you want to make changes in it, it's alright—I don't mind, you can go through the translations, too—"

"No, Draco," she said softly, "It's all fine. And thanks… for doing it all… and I'm sorry I wasn't very helpful…"

"It's alright," he said immediately. "You were going through a hard time. And—uh, well, you weren't very comfortable being paired with me… so I thought I'd do it all…" he mumbled.

"To be honest, at first, I didn't want to be paired with you at all," Acquila admitted, deciding to talk about the elephant in the room. "It reminded me of what you did—with the Diary, putting Harry in danger—"

"I'm sorry," he said pleadingly. "I really am!"

She nodded silently, before carrying on. "I'd have been mad at you forever—you know how I am about holding a grudge, don't you? But after Mrs Smith died," she went on slowly, "I realised how much my family and friends mean to me… Life is too short, and too unpredictable," she said, thinking of their tussle with Voldemort and the fatal dangers it carried. "I don't want to be on bad terms with the people who matter to me. You've done quite a big wrong… but I think you've realised your mistake… you don't argue with Ron in the corridors, you don't throw blood purist abuses around—and I don't want to be mad at you anymore… "

"Does that mean you've forgiven me?" he asked her eagerly, a wide smile on his face that made him seem suddenly younger, more innocent. "We're friends again?

"I guess so," she said, "Doesn't mean I've forgotten what you did… I can't promise it won't come up often—I'm still pissed with you—"

"That's alright! I'll be good, I promise! As long as you're talking to me again!"

She smiled, somehow glad to see him so happy, but inwardly wondering whether she was doing right trusting him. But Remus had said that nobody was perfect; friends made mistakes, and friendship and blood ties were too strong to break because of a single mistake. And Draco wasn't bad at heart, was he? His father had just led him down the wrong path… and Draco's recent behaviour suggested that he was really improving…

"Thank you so much," he said happily. "I was afraid you'd never talk to me again…"

"I still don't know whether I can trust you," she admitted honestly.

"I understand!" he said hastily. "What I did was bad—and I'll prove that you can trust me… that we can go back to being what we were—you're my best friend, Acquila…and I missed you, really!"

The earnestness in his voice made her smile, and pull him into a hug, grinning as he put his arms around her, unwilling to let go.

However evilly and idiotically he'd behaved, it was Lucius who'd led him astray. Acquila wouldn't let him go Regulus' way. Draco was good at heart – arrogant and snobbish and rude, yes. But she knew he'd never wanted to see Harry dead. He wasn't that evil. She wouldn't let him turn evil. He was her cousin – the first person she'd ever met who had links to the Blacks, who shared her blood, who was… family. That didn't mean she thought their friendship would quickly go back to what it was. It would take time undoubtedly. But she'd try her best, especially now when Voldemort was looking to make a comeback… Draco couldn't go to the Dark. She had to lead him to the right path.

They wrapped up their project just as the time for curfew was approaching. Madam Pince was ushering students out. Acquila and Draco were the last ones to leave.

"Goodnight," said Acquila.

"Err—wait!" said Draco. "Mother sent your Father an invitation for our Christmas Ball."

"Yes, he told me," said Acquila.

"So, will you come?" asked Draco hopefully.

I would really like it if you came." Draco said hope filled in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't," said Acquila.

"Oh, I understand," muttered Draco, looking away from her.

"Harry and I are actually staying back for Christmas," she explained. "Dad thinks we'll be safer here until Greyback is captured."

She didn't tell him the real reason for why they were staying back: Harry had promised Dumbledore that he would get Slughorn's memory, especially with Dumbledore's nearing death. And Harry had decided that the Slughorn's Christmas party – which only a handful of students staying back for Christmas would attend – would be their best bet at retrieving the memory from him; and Sirius had agreed, unwilling to spend Christmas without them, but knowing they'd be safer at the Castle, with more of a chance of making some progress on the Horcruxes.

"As long as you're safe, I'm happy," said Draco. "Alright, then," he said. "Good night."

"Good night, Draco," she replied, rather happy that she'd mended bridges with him, but just hoping that wouldn't turn out to be a bad decision.

oOo

"—Madam Pudifoot's? Really?" Sirius heard Irene's tinkling laugh, as he neared her cubicle.

"Yes! You should've seen him, Irene!" chuckled Riley Blishwick, who had been assigned to protect Harry during the Hogsmeade visit. "He seemed so shy! Nothing like his father—I've heard James Potter was a cocky bloke…"

"Yes," said Irene. "But Harry's the shy and quiet types…"

"Quiet, but sharp," said Riley. "Noticed me right away—I think he felt even more awkward because he knew I was around… but a job's a job, eh? And Black would've killed me if anything happened to his kids…"

Sirius chuckled softly; all his colleagues knew how much the kids meant to him. Coming to think of it, most of them were just as fond of Harry and Acquila as Irene was. Over the week that they'd been home when he was recuperating and earlier during their school vacations, some of Sirius' Auror friends used to come over, and the kids had got pretty well-acquainted with them. News of Harry's Hogsmeade date had had most of his colleagues rather excited, wanting more details on the boy who was almost like a nephew to some of them. Sirius found their interest amusing, as were the questions they'd asked Riley and Robards after they'd come back from seeing the kids safely to the Castle.

His colleagues' interest in Harry's romantic life was one thing; the media interested in it was quite another. Sirius had got letters from half a dozen publications, each wanting to interview Harry, wanting to know the Boy Who Lived's thoughts on Daphne Greengrass. But Sirius had promptly refused, of course, knowing none of them would dare publish anything about Harry without his permission.

"—how's Acquila? Did you talk to her?" Irene's voice roused him out of his thoughts.

"Robards was with her—we split up, I took Harry and Robards took Acquila… he said she seemed a little upset in the beginning—Merlin knows why—and then she disappeared under the Invisibility Cloak with Arthur Weasley's son! Gave Robards quite a scare disappearing like that!"

Irene chuckled again, making Sirius smile. Since that miserable day when he'd admitted his suspicions to her, she hadn't spoken to him at all apart from work. She didn't smile around him, didn't talk to him, didn't even ask him about the kids… But, going from the way she was talking about the kids, she at least wasn't letting her rage at him affect her fondness for Harry and Acquila.

"Sirius!" exclaimed Riley, spotting him. And Sirius noticed Irene's grin suddenly disappearing, as she stiffened, and he could literally feel her putting on that formal air which she'd so perfected now – no sign of her earlier friendliness, cheerfulness, that smile she always flashed at him.

"Hey, Riley," he said. "Thanks for taking care of Harry yesterday…"

"Not a problem, mate… it's my job. And anything for your kid, after all that he's done for our world," said Riley, grinning. "He's a good lad, you know… and it was fun watching him fumble for words around that Greengrass girl!"

Sirius chuckled, as Riley walked away.

"Irene," he said to her, as soon as Riley was out of earshot.

"Black," she said curtly, retrieving parchments from a cabinet under her table and spreading it before him.

"I've got the two buildings all plotted out: This is Malfoy Manor," she said, pointing to the first map. "There will be six Hit Wizards and three Aurors with me," she went on, pointing to little moving dots in blue and purple, denoting the Aurors and Hit Wizards. "There'll be three layers of wards. I've already spoken to Malfoy… he says he has blood wards already in place, but we're putting ones of our own, too…"

Sirius nodded. The full moon was on Christmas Eve, and preparations for securing places of significance were on in full swing. Sirius, though, was concentrating on two places: Malfoy Manor and Edmund Macmillan's country house. Most well-known witches and wizards would be in either of the two places. Edmund's party, especially, was one which was attended by almost all Ministry employees and their families, which was why Sirius had suggested that he would remain at the country house, while Irene could take Malfoy Manor. From what he knew of how Voldemort's mind worked, if there was to be an attack, it would surely be at either of the two places: because that would create utmost fear and distrust in the minds of the public, dealing Sirius a severe blow.

"—the fireplaces will be barred. I thought of having Johnson from the Hit Wizards taking care of that—Malfoy's already given us his guest list; the fireplaces and wards are charmed to identify them… anti-Portkey wards are in place… nobody can get a Portkey in… the places will be charmed, no chance of anyone flying in with a broom… wards for lycanthropes are already in place; and an emergency evacuation plan is already ready – the one I told you of last time," Irene went on.

"It is all fine," he said, as she made to go on, "I know you'll handle everything well… you've been in the Force longer than I have—"

"Oh please, Black," she snapped, "You don't trust people easily, remember? And I'm a spy working for You Know Who, am I not?"

"Irene, please. Can't you just forgive—"

"No, I can't," she snapped, now placing the second parchment with the map of Edmund's country house before him. "You doubted me—my loyalty, my fucking integrity! I can't forget that any time soon… now, just go through all that I've chalked out, if something goes wrong, I don't want you forcing Veritaserum down my throat again—"

"I didn't force you!" he exclaimed. "I gave you a choice—can't we just get over that, please—"

She grabbed hold of the collar of his robes, pulling him close to her, her expression almost frighteningly fierce. "I spared you last time, Black, but one more word from you about fucking forgetting what you did, and your pretty face is going to get maimed permanently!"

"Fine!" he said, keeping an eye on her fist. He'd let her punch him last time – he knew he deserved it. And he'd been left nursing a bleeding lip and a sore jaw for quite some time. He certainly didn't want an even painful encore!

"Fine," he repeated as she let go of him, knowing pursuing the matter would only make things worse. "Let's go through the details," he said hastily, gazing surreptitiously at her stoic face, and those bright hazel eyes, wondering what he could do to have them gaze at him with friendliness again.

oOo

It was finally the morning of the Twenty-fourth of December. Slughorn's Christmas Eve party was tonight, and Harry was praying and hoping they'd be able to get the Horcrux memory from him. Sirius had been so busy with recent happenings and tonight's full moon that he hadn't made any progress on the Horcruxes. And Harry hoped he'd be able to help Sirius with that, once they got the memory about Tom Riddle. And he'd be able to fulfil the promise he'd made to Dumbledore, too.

Most of the other students had gone back home – including Ron, Hermione and Neville, whom Acquila and Harry had convinced to go home. They'd wanted to stay back with them at the Castle, but they'd only have gotten in the way of getting the memory. They couldn't have them asking any more questions. So they'd been glad when the three of them had finally left, although inwardly guilty for keeping them in the dark about many matters.

"So, what's our exact plan tonight?" Acquila asked him, as they sat by the fireplace in the Common Room.

"What plan?" Harry asked, rousing out of his thoughts.

"The plan to make Slughorn spit out the memory he's been hiding, of course," said Acquila.

"There's no plan," said Harry. "I thought we'd do what we always do: just go up to him and flatter him, and make him give us the memory."

"That's never going to work," said Acquila. "Besides, I'm sick of praising and complimenting him and asking him about our parents' teenage years. We need a proper plan to make sure he gives the memory."

"So, you do have a plan, then?" he asked her, hoping she already had something in mind. It would make their job easier; and it would also give him a chance to hear Acquila talking like she was now: freely, without those terse tones she'd been using since the date with Daphne, without those conflicted glance she kept throwing his way. Staying back at the Castle had mended their friendship a little because they'd had no one else to talk to, with all their friends gone home.

"What I think is," said Acquila, "that he won't give us the memory voluntarily. If there was any chance of that Dumbledore would've managed to get it out of him—"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore said he's very strong-willed, remember?" said Harry. "As long as he's in his senses, he'll never give us that memory."

"You're brilliant!" exclaimed Acquila excitedly.

"What?" Harry asked, bewildered. "What did I say?"

"You said 'as long as he's in his senses, he won't give us the memory'! So all we've to do is knock his senses off a bit!"

"Huh? How do we even do that?"

"Remember Dad told us about that one Slug Club party they'd ruined?" said Acquila eagerly.

"Yes," said Harry, remembering the incident. "They spiked the punch with Firewhiskey and Slughorn had gotten drunk and—oh! So that's what you're getting at!"

"Yes! We'll get him drunk enough and he'll give us what we want!" Acquila stood up, and Harry could feel her excitement, her hope…

"It is a good plan," he said unsurely, hating to prick her bubble, "But—"

"But what?" asked Acquila sharply.

"It—it doesn't sound right." Harry felt uncomfortable with the whole thing.

"Come on!" said Acquila. "You are sounding like Hermione! Forget all your ethics and everything—this will work! And we have to do this! You've promised Dumbledore, remember? And Dad will be so happy!" She knew exactly which buttons of his to press.

"You're right," he admitted, "But—"

"Do you have a better plan, Harry?"

Harry had no answer.

"Didn't think so," Acquila said, shrugging. "Dumbledore didn't get the memory from him by asking nicely, so we need to take a different approach—and it's not going to harm anybody! It's just a little drink. Big deal."

"I guess you're right," Harry gave in. "And we've no other option, anyway. We can't waste any more time… we never know how long Dumbledore's got," he added sadly.

"Yes! So come on, now!" she said, pulling him to his feet.

They planned their strategy all through the next hour. If anything went wrong they wouldn't get the memory, lose Slughorn's trust, and maybe even get caught by Snape!

Harry intently listened to Acquila, glad they were almost back to normal now. He loved spending time alone with her, he realised; he loved watching her in her element, eyes bright, her words flowing rapidly, eagerness evident in her spring in her voice, the animated motions of her hands.

"So," she said finally. "I'll go change, and meet you back here in ten minutes."

"Alright," he agreed, getting to his feet.

"Don't forget to get the bag of money!" she called out to him.

Minutes later, they were heading out of the Portrait Hole under the Invisibility Cloak. They had decided to take the passage that ended at Honeydukes. The Marauder's Map was with Remus. But Harry, who'd studied the Map carefully, remembered exactly how to get to the passage.

It was fairly easy to reach the statue of the One-Eyed Witch. They passed no one on their way, most of the students having gone home for Christmas.

"We're here!" Acquila whispered.

"You don't need to whisper." Harry smiled. "We're alone here."

"You never know who's listening," she said. "This is Hogwarts."

They paused for some time, listening for any footsteps, but they heard none. They slipped out of the Invisibility Cloak and got out their wands.

"Dissendium!" Acquila said clearly, tapping her wand on the stone witch. And he could sense her trepidation, wondering whether they'd got it right, her eagerness at wanting to see it open.

Immediately, the statue's hump opened wide enough to let a fairly thin person pass through, which wasn't much of a problem as both, Harry and Acquila, were pretty thin. Harry entered first, making sure it was all safe, and Acquila followed. They slid a considerable way down what seemed like a stone slide, and then landed on cold, damp earth.

"Lumos!" Harry muttered, and heard Acquila repeat the same. There was a long passage way ahead of them.

"Well, this is going to take long," he said.

"Let's start walking then," she replied.

They walked for about five minutes in complete silence. Harry could feel the awkwardness in the air. Now that they had planned the whole thing, they had no other topic to talk on. Earlier, he hadn't even needed to think of a topic to talk about; things were easy with her. It was the date that had ruined it all! It had been fun, admittedly; it was nice spending time with Daphne, but Harry knew Acquila hadn't liked it at all, even though she wasn't openly ready to admit it.

"So," he said, deciding to bring up the one important topic they hadn't discussed yet. "How're you feeling about the Sirius and Nigella—er, thing? We didn't exactly talk about it..."

"I knew this would happen," she said, shrugging. "I knew Nigella would seduce Dad... This was waiting to happen—"

"I don't mind Nigella," he said.

"I know," she snorted, though she wasn't sounding too disgruntled like she earlier used to when talking of Nigella. "I know what you're going to say, 'let Sirius live his life. I'm happy with his decision as long as he's happy," she did an uncanny imitation of him.

"Ha Ha, very funny," Harry said sarcastically.

"But I'm not going to think too much about Nigella," said Acquila seriously. "Dad isn't even thinking of committing to her... He says he's not going to date anytime soon, he isn't ready for it... Until then, I don't have to worry much, do I?"

He nodded, wondering whether she was hiding something under her nonchalance, because she suddenly seemed put out all of a sudden. And they passed the rest of the passage in relative silence.

"I think we've reached the end," said Harry. "Look, there's a staircase! "

"Merlin!" groaned Acquila. "So many stairs to climb... Being a Marauder is tough work... It's already draining me out..."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, sighing as he realised they'd have to walk back the same way to the Castle.

"I hadn't thought of that," groaned Acquila, seemingly not realising that she'd read his mind.

After what seemed liked two hundred steps, Harry's head banged against a wooden trap door.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his head and he saw Acquila do the same. "There's a trapdoor here."

"Great!" Acquila said excitedly. "Can you hear anyone above?"

They stood there silently, trying to listen for some noise, but there was none.

"Come on," he said, pushing the trapdoor open and climbing up.

He stepped into a cellar filled with many wooden crates. Harry helped Acquila up, quietly revelling in feeling her hand in his after so long, before they flashed their wands around the cellar.

"There!" said Acquila, pointing to the staircase leading up to the store.

They reached the top of the short staircase and came to a stop. On the other side of the door, they could hear a lot of noises and the frequent ringing of a bell. It was the day before Christmas, so the candy shop was undoubtedly crowded, which would quite help them get out of the shop from under the Cloak which he wrapped around them again.

They opened the door and they were in Honeydukes, just like they'd remembered Remus telling them. The shop was packed with people; and they carefully wove through the crowds, managing to get out of the shop without drawing attention.

It was snowing rather heavily outside the shop, the snowflakes accumulating on top of their Cloak, surely making it seem like a mound of snow floating in the air.

"This is bad," said Harry, shaking his head to shake out the snow.

"Let's just walk fast, so the snow won't settle too much," said Acquila, and they rushed towards the Three Broomsticks.

The Three Broomsticks was also fairly packed. They made their way to the counter, weaving through the crowds yet again. Madam Rosemerta was behind the counter shouting orders to waitresses.

Harry wondered how they were going to get the Firewhiskey with Madam Rosemerta standing right there!

"We need to create a diversion," Acquila whispered to him probably having sensed his thoughts.

"How?" Harry asked. And the next thing he knew, Acquila stuck out her leg! The waitress passing by, with a tray full of empty mugs tumbled to the ground; and Madam Rosemerta rushed out from behind the counter.

As everyone stared at the fallen waitress, Harry and Acquila easily managed to sneak in behind the counter. They had to be quick, because if Madam Rosemerta came back in, they would have no way to get out.

Harry hesitated only a moment before he nicked two bottles of Firewhiskey, swiftly emptying his bag of money into the till, hoing it would cover up the cost of the Firewhiskey.

He saw Acquila grabbing two bottles of Butterbeer, too. And he was glad she'd thought of doing that. The Butterbeer would warm them up; and it had been ages since he'd had it with her - it was their favourite drink.

They slid out of the counter just in time before Madam Rosemerta resumed her place, rushing out of the place before she discovered the missing bottles and the unaccounted additional money.

They walked back swiftly to Honeydukes, not stopping until they climbed back down the trapdoor they had come through.

Harry placed the bottles on the stairs, took off the Invisibility Cloak, sat down on a stair and beamed at her.

"That was—" he began.

"Amazing!" exclaimed Acquila. "We should do that again!"

He grinned at her, feeling the thrill she was feeling. Merlin! No wonder their fathers, and even the Weasley twins snuck out so often! It was fun! Especially the sneaking in with the risk of getting caught, the thrill of avoiding detection... and the way he could stick close to Acquila under the Cloak, putting his arm around her waist, holding her close as they walked through the crowd.

Their little adventure made the walk back very pleasant, the Butterbeer raising their spirits, warm smiles and laughter returning, the recent barriers breaking, making Harry finally look forward to Christmas with Acquila tomorrow.

oOo

An hour later, Harry and Acquila squeezed out of the One-Eyed Witch statue.

"That took longer than I had expected," Acquila remarked, carefully cradling a bottle of Firewhiskey. "The passage didn't look that long on the Map."

"Yeah. My legs are starting to ache now," said Harry.

"I thought Quidditch players were supposed to be fit," said Acquila playfully.

"We're adept at flying not walking!" Harry pointed out.

Acquila smiled, as Harry stuffed the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket, picked up his bottle of Firewhiskey and followed her as she lead the way.

"Time for Stage Two of the plan!" she exclaimed. "I am most worried about this part. They should agree to help," she said, as they made their way towards the Hufflepuff dormitory.

"I'm worried they will tell someone," said Harry.

"They won't, I'm sure," said Acquila.

"The elves follow Dumbledore's orders not students'," said Harry.

"I know. But they haven't ever spilled the beans on the Weasley twins yet... and if you could convince Matthew Abbot and Astoria's Dad, house elves are easy for you, Harry!"

He smiled.

They reached the corridor leading to the kitchen and stood in front of the painting of the fruit bowl. Acquila tickled the pear, just Sirius had once told them. The pear squirmed, laughed and then transformed into a green knob.

Acquila turned the knob and they entered, staring at what they saw, awestruck.

At first glimpse, the Hogwarts Kitchen was huge, the high ceiling making the room look even enormous. It was the same size as the Great Hall above it. There were pot and pans and house elves everywhere.

"Wow!" Acquila exclaimed. "I never imagined it would be so huge!"

"Harry Potter sir! Harry Potter!" broke out a chorus of high pitched voices. And before he could register it, a squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff.

"Dobby!" Harry gasped.

"Yes. It is Dobby, sir. It is!" Dobby squealed, tears welling up in his enormous green eyes.

Behind the elf, Acquila was trying very hard to control her laughter, making Harry shoot her a playful glare.

"Dobby has been hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!" exclaimed Dobby excitedly.

"Yes, I've come to see you," Harry said, not wanting to tell the elf the truth. Besides, he knew, from Acquila's thoughts that she'd decided that Dobby would be the one to help them.

"Dobby, this is Acquila Black," said Harry.

"Dobby knows Miss Black," squeaked Dobby, bowing to her.

Harry remembered that she had met the elf at Malfoy Manor.

"Dobby is happy to meet Harry Potter's friend again," Dobby squealed.

"And she is happy to meet you too!" Acquila smiled.

"Dobby, what are you doing here?" Harry asked him, wondering what he was doing in the Hogwarts Kitchens.

"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!" Dobby said excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore has given Dobby a job, sir."

"That is really impressive!" Harry exclaimed.

Suddenly, about six elves came carrying tea pots, a milk jug and biscuits. They placed it on the table in front of them and Harry and Acquila hungrily dug into it.

"Dobby I need a favour from you," said Harry when they had eaten to the fullest and thanked the elves who were all in awe of the Boy Who Lived.

"Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby seemed extremely eager.

"Will you be serving at the Slug Club Christmas party today?" Harry asked.

"Dobby will be, sir!" Dobby answered.

"Great! So, listen carefully: take these bottles of Firewhiskey," Harry said, handing the two bottles to the elf, "We need you to spike whatever drink there is and serve the spiked portion only to Professor Slughorn. Can you do that?"

"Dobby will do that!" Dobby said excitedly.

"As soon as Professor Slughorn finishes a glass of his drink, you hand him the next one. And keep doing that until we tell you to stop," Acquila chimed in.

"Dobby will do exactly as told!" Dobby said.

"And one more thing, Dobby. Be careful and discreet. No one should catch you or find out what we did," added Harry, hoping the elf wouldn't fall in trouble because of them.

"Dobby will be very careful, sir!" Dobby promised.

"See you at the party then. Best of luck!" said Harry, making to leave.

"Dobby is very happy that Harry Potter has chosen Dobby to help him. Dobby is honoured!" Dobby bowed to them again.

As soon as they shut the kitchen door behind them, Acquila burst out laughing.

"What?" demanded Harry.

"That elf is in love with you!" guffawed Acquila.

"Well, it's because I freed him!" said Harry. "And how is that funny?"

"It's funny because Draco's house elf is more loyal to you than he was ever to the Malfoys. It's amusingly ironic!" Acquila chuckled all the way to Gryffindor Tower.

o0o

Harry came down to the Common Room, dressed in the robes Aunt Andy had sent him especially for Christmas, fresh from a hot shower that took away the tiredness he felt from the long walk to and from Hogsmeade through the secret passage. But he spotted something at near the fireplace that made him stop in his tracks.

It was Acquila! Dressed in a green dress which came up to her knees, staring at her legs. Now he knew why Cedric had been checking out her legs that night! His eyes roamed upwards, settling momentarily at the layers of silk bunched just below her bust, before meeting her suddenly bashful gaze.

"Harry," she said quietly.

"Let's get going, then," he said, involuntarily holding his arm out to her, wanting to tell her how he couldn't take his eyes off her, how she was looking so very beautiful, how he felt even more foolish for having gone out with Daphne when he could have been with Acquila, who was just as pretty, but had something which he couldn't quite define, which made him want to be with her, be the one taking her out on a date - and not a date like the one he'd had with Daphne, but one similar to their trip back from Hogsmeade: in everyday clothes, but more laughter; a walk through a cold, stony, dark passage with none of the warmth and brightness and decorations of Madam Puddifoot's, but with him getting to hold her hand over all the slippery bits of the passage, have her fussing over him when he'd bumped his head on a protruding but of rock... with no fancy tea cups and delicious scones, but with him and Acquila chugging down Butterbeer from the same bottle, having her wipe off the little bit of Butterbeer that had dribbled down to his chin...

"Harry?" Acquila's voice, her hand on his hand shook him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said dazedly.

"What are you staring at me for?" she asked him

"Green!" He said the first thing that came to his mind. "You're wearing Slytherin colours!"

"I'm wearing green because it's Christmas, silly!" she said, as Harry grimaced thinking of how stupid he had sounded.

They spoke about Dobby for the rest of the way, putting on smiles on their faces as they entered the classroom.

Only a few of the Slug Club members were present, and the rest were the Hogwarts staff.

"There are my star guests!" Slughorn exclaimed, approaching them. He was dressed in red and green and looked like a comical version of Santa Claus.

"We stayed back just to attend your party!" said Harry.

"That is wonderful of you, my boy!" Slughorn exclaimed. "And may I say how lovely you look Ms Black."

"Thank you." Acquila smiled. "You're looking very, uh, jolly, Professor!"

"It's the Christmas spirit, Ms Black!"

Almost on cue, Dobby came up to them, holding a tray bearing drinks.

Slughorn took a glass nearest to him. And Dobby's little smile told them the work was done.

"Ah! Best punch I've had in a long time!" Slughorn exclaimed, drinking almost half the glass in a swig.

Dobby held out the tray to them, and they took the glasses the elf glanced at.

"Would Professor Slughorn want another glass?" asked Dobby.

"Of course!" said Slughorn, taking one; and so it continued, Slughorn finding nothing amiss in why he was suddenly downing glass after glass of punch.

Harry discreetly looked around, trying to ascertain if anyone thought something was out of place. Most of the teachers were seated together talking, some students were dancing to the soft tunes and the others were eating. But Snape who had surprisingly come for the party was standing hardly a yard away from them, almost as if he was trying to listen in. Harry just hoped he wouldn't come up to investigate! But almost as if Dumbledore knew what was going on, he beckoned to Snape, taking him off their backs.

And they began their task swiftly: talking to Slughorn about school, their parents and a lot of very important people Harry hadn't heard about. Gradually, the Firewhiskey in the punch began taking effect: Slughorn's speech began to slur, his hand-motions began more animated as he spoke, his claims of famous people he knew grew more and more outrageous. Strangely, nobody else, not even the teachers were looking at them, almost as if someone had cast a Notice-me-not charm on them.

"Professor, you say my Mum was your favourite student from her year," said Harry.

"She definitely was! Ah, sweet Lily! What a bright talent she was!" Slughorn exclaimed, the punch sloshing in his glass as he waved his hand about.

"I was just wondering who else were your most favourite students... People we'd know, the ones who became most famous!"

"Well, there were many, you know," said Slughorn, forgetting that he'd named most of them in the past half an hour. He began blabbering names and their current potion in the wizarding world.

But it seemed Acquila couldn't wait any longer for Voldemort's name to be mentioned. "What about Tom Riddle?" She asked.

Harry elbowed her for her impatience, but she ignored him.

"Tom?" Slughorn exclaimed, taken visibly off guard.

"He was your favourite student, too, right?" Harry asked, deciding to go along after Acquila had already dropped the bomb.

"He was indeed," whispered Slughorn, shutting his eyes as if he was reminiscing the past.

"He grew up to be the most feared Dark Wizard of all time. Didn't you ever notice the darkness in him?" asked Acquila, her eagerness and curiosity well hidden under an air of casualness and nonchalance.

"No... yeah..." Slughorn sounded dazed and confused.

"Didn't he ever share stuff with you? Or maybe, ask you anything? I guess you'd have been his favourite teacher," added Harry.

"No... never.. I know nothing..." whispered Slughorn, trembling and trying to open his eyes wide.

"Did he ever mention... you know, Dark Curses...?" asked Acquila.

"Or maybe Dark objects? Like Horcruxes?" put in Harry.

"Dumbledore put you up to this, didn't he?" Slughorn whispered. He had turned red and sweaty. The word 'Horcruxes' seemed to have shaken him out of his drunken daze.

Harry and Acquila both chose not to respond.

"Dumbledore showed you that, didn't he? That memory... well.. hasn't he?" Slughorn demanded, sounding nothing like the jolly man he'd been minutes ago.

"Yes," Harry immediately answered, thinking it best not to lie in this particular situation.

Slughorn wad turning redder by the moment, glaring at them. Harry didn't want to see what a drunk Slughorn could do when enraged.

"That man," muttered Slughorn, dabbing his face with his handkerchief. "If you have sh—seen that memory," he slurred, "then you know I don't know anything —know nothing about Horcruxes!" Slughorn said forcefully, eyes wide open.

"We just thought there might be a bit more to that memory—" began Acquila.

"Did you?" Slughorn said, now visibly angry. Some of the people around them were starting to turn and look at them. Whatever spell whoever had cast had been negated. "Well you both are WRONG!

"But—" Harry tried to say.

"THIS PARTY IS OVER!" Slughorn cried loudly.

All the guests just stared at Slughorn, and at Harry and Acquila. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, while Snape was watching them suspiciously, as if he knew they had a hand in the sudden display of drama.

"Didn't you hear me!" exclaimed Slughorn. "Party is over!" With that, he left the room himself.

Harry and Acquila followed him as swiftly as they could, nor wanting to be interrogated by Snape who was heading their way.

oOo

Music was playing in the ballroom, Draco's feet tapping to the rhythm. House-elves were walking around with drinks, couples were dancing, the Manor was decorated splendidly, there were smiles and laughter and a festive atmosphere… Everyone was in high spirits, even with the Aurors, Hit Wizards and the security wards and charms in place.

Astoria was standing at the other end of the room, gossiping with Joanna Flint. She was too busy with her chatter to pester Draco for a dance, making him feel very much at ease. Mother and Father were dancing in the middle of the dance floor, Mother's eyes bright, a flush in her cheeks, a little pleased smile playing at her lips: she was happy. Father seemed rather subdued; but the fact that he was dancing with Mother made Draco immensely happy. Their relationship had repaired after the depths it had sunk to after Sirius Black's arrival in their lives. And that made Draco very, very glad.

But what made him most glad was that Acquila was talking to him again! And that made all well with Draco's world! And the icing on the cake was that Acquila and Potter weren't quite on talking terms! Draco's little plan had worked like a charm.

He had called Astoria for a walk with him, the girl following him like an eager, loyal puppy. He had shrewdly brought up the topic of Daphne and her little crush on Harry. Astoria, who loved her sister to bits, had been disgruntled that Potter's early attraction for Daphne had dimmed in recent days, rather upsetting Daphne. And then, Draco – smart that he was – had suggested that Astoria could use Potter's kindness, his inability to refuse people, and his reluctance to hurt people, to coax ('manipulate' was the word Draco preferred) him into asking Daphne to Hogsmeade. And everything had gone perfectly as per plan! Daphne had quite had Potter enamoured with her. That Daphne was genuinely interested in Quidditch had helped her build a rapport with Potter. And from whatever Draco had seen and observed, the Hogsmeade date had put a giant spanner in Acquila and Potter's deepening friendship. Their ties had turned visibly frosty, with Acquila putting an air of formality and indifference when Potter was around.

Ah! This was life, he thought happily: his parents were back to loving each other again, Astoria wasn't bothering him, he knew Father was going to gift him a brand new Firebolt for Christmas tomorrow (he had ordered the house-elf to find out what his gift was going to be), and Acquila was his friend again! The only thing he wanted, now, was for Acquila to start liking him; and then they could start courting maybe, and then, a few years later, she'd be his wife, just like Mother and Father had promised him on the very day they had known of Acquila's survival… Acquila would be Lady Malfoy… and their son would be Lord Black in future… and they would live happily every after (even if that was a very girly and clichéd thing to say!).

He looked around again, wishing Acquila had agreed to attend the ball. Salazar knew what she was doing in the Castle right then. Potter would bloody be there with her. But it didn't matter; they wouldn't go back to being friends again so soon – especially when Potter would get the Christmas gift which Daphne had owled him.

A passing elf slowed down as Draco neared him (or was it a female elf? – they all looked the same… not that Draco cared about those lowly creatures). He grabbed a glass of the centuries-old Goblin-brewed wine from the elf's tray, sipping it. He tried not to grimace as the wine slid down his throat – he hated the taste of it; but he was the Malfoy heir… he was supposed to behave all grown-up and dignified, just like Father, who was the one of the most important wizards in Britain. His Mother had told Draco that his Father had made wrong choices, that Draco was supposed to think for himself. But he couldn't help wishing he would grow up and be like his Father: important, powerful, someone whom people never refused (except Sirius Black, of course – that man didn't give a damn to Father. On the contrary, Draco had the distinct impression that Father was scared of Sirius Black… but that wasn't something Draco wanted to think about now…)

He sipped at the wine again, straightening his expensive robes, which Mother said brought out the rich colour of his eyes… It was when he looked down at his half-empty glass that his gaze caught something twinkling on the ground at his feet. It was Mother's ring! The ring which Father had given her on their engagement, which had been passed down through generations of the Malfoys, which had even appeared twice in Witch Weekly as one of the most beautiful Goblin-made pieces of jewellery!

He wondered how Mother had dropped it – she generally never took it off, taking extra care that it always looked pristine, glimmering proudly on her finger.

He placed his glass on the table next to him, and bent down to pick up the ring, strangely entranced by the twinkling emerald in the centre of it, still wondering how Mother had dropped it there. But the moment his fingers touched the ring, all thoughts fled from his mind, leaving a blissful, peaceful blankness in its wake.

'Draco,' said a voice in his mind. 'You have to leave the Manor, Draco. Go take the secret passageway through the dungeons.'

And he began walking, happy to obey the voice.

oOo

Narcissa smiled as Lucius twirled her around, spinning and falling back into his arms, his hands on her waist. His silver eyes gazed into hers, alternately looking elsewhere to their right. But unlike the joy she was feeling, Lucius seemed inexplicably tense.

"What's the matter, darling?" she asked him quietly.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Lucius, tell me," she ploughed on.

"It's just—all these Aurors roaming around… I don't like them here, in the Manor," he said, though he didn't sound all that convincing.

"You should be happy Sirius isn't here," she said quietly. Summerby had told her that Sirius was securing Edmund Macmillan's party, while she had taken charge here. Narcissa would have liked having Sirius here for the ball – especially because Andromeda was here, too. It would've been like the old times, with only Bella and Reggie missing… but she knew Sirius' presence would only have made Lucius irritable. She knew Lucius was doing Sirius' bidding: trying to get support for that dratted bill Sirius wanted enacted. But his efforts had recently been undertaken with renewed vigour – though for no probable reason Narcissa could think of.

"Draco!" exclaimed Lucius suddenly. "Where's Draco?"

"He must be somewhere around, with Vincent and Gregory," said Narcissa, unperturbed. But the wild darting around of Lucius' eyes, the manner in which he swiftly let go of her and began looking around, had her rather worried.

"What's the matter—" she began.

"Look for Draco!" said Lucius, urgently, walking swiftly off the dance floor, Narcissa following him quickly.

"Lucius! What happened?" she demanded, simultaneously looking around for her son, but not spotting him in the crowd of witches and wizards.

"DRACO! DRACO!" Lucius yelled, looking all around wildly, his hair askew, face turning paler by the moment. "DRACO!"

"Lucius! He must be somewhere around!" she exclaimed, as heads began to turn, Lucius' loud voice drawing their attention.

But Lucius didn't react, merely roaming around rapidly, calling Draco's name. And Narcissa found herself joining in, ordering her elves to look for Draco, searching for that head of platinum blonde hair, those slate-coloured robes she'd commissioned specially for tonight, her heart clenching in unexplained fear.

But Draco didn't respond. He was nowhere to be seen, as the assembled crowd, too, began to look around for him, tensing by each passing minute.

Never had Draco not responded to her, never had he kept her waiting… And her mother's intuition told her he wasn't in the Manor at all; she knew that something was wrong with her child…

"Summerby! Blishwick!" Lucius called out. Summerby was already rushing towards them, wand in hand, seeming very alert.

"Draco—where's Draco? Find him!" exclaimed Lucius, the fear in his features making Narcissa's legs feel like they were going to buckle.

"We'll look for him—don't worry," said Summerby. "Nobody's left the Manor, or the wards would've alerted us—"

"Find him!" cried Lucius, his tone a mixture of pleading and fright and urgency.

Summerby glanced at him grimly, before barking orders to her team.

"Riley, take the East Wing! Johnson take the West!" she said, her voice loud. "Plan Beta on standby—"

"Cissy," said Andromeda, rushing towards her, and for once, Narcissa didn't hesitate in letting her sister wrap her arms around her.

"Don't worry, Cissy," said Andromeda soothingly, "I'm sure he's somewhere around—"

"Where was he seen last?" barked Summerby to the room at large, while her team swiftly went about following her orders.

"He was there—near the Christmas Tree," said Lucius, his fingers trembling as he wiped his brow, as Summerby rushed towards the Tree.

"You—you were watching Draco," whispered Narcissa, things suddenly falling into place. That's why Lucius had been so distracted during the dance; that's why he'd kept glancing towards something on their right. He'd been keeping a watch on Draco! But that meant—did—did that mean Lucius had already anticipated danger?

"What is it?" she demanded, walking to Lucius. "Why were you keeping a watch on Draco? Did you know something was going to go wrong?"

Lucius didn't meet her eyes, his entire frame seeming to tremble.

"Tell me!" she cried, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Lucius! Tell me! Where is my son!"

"I—I got a note," whispered Lucius, still not meeting her eyes. "A threat—from—from Greyback…"

Narcissa's hands fell limply to her sides; and this time, her legs did indeed buckle…

Greyback.

Lucius had been threatened by Fenrir Greyback – a werewolf.

"Cissy!" exclaimed Andromeda, supporting her suddenly weak frame; as Lucius, too, rushed to steady her. But she pushed his hands away, feeling tears prick at her eyes, feeling a rapidly-increasing lump forming in her throat, her heart feeling like it would shatter into hundreds of pieces…

Her Draco… her dear child… missing… a threat from Greyback… No.. no.. no.. this can't be happening...

"He isn't in the Manor!" said an Auror, who came rushing in. "But he hasn't left through any of the exits! The wards would've told us—"

"Evacuate!" barked Summerby, as panic spread through the room. "Johnson, Watson! Begin evacuation! Riley, Dawlish, come with me—and inform Headquarters—"

"I got a note!" cried Lucius to Summerby. "I got a note—from Greyback—it said 'You are next'—but I didn't think he would—"

"You're a bloody bastard, Malfoy!" snapped Summerby, eyes blazing, her wand waving simultaneously, as Narcissa felt a subtle change in the air around her. "Why the fuck didn't you tell us?"

"I—I didn't—"

"Irene! We've got a trail! He's gone this way!" called out an Auror loudly, as Summerby rushed towards him, Narcissa, Lucius and Andromeda following.

Narcissa barely noticed the path they were taking, her heart racing in fear, Draco's innocent face swimming before her vision.

"Droma," she whispered, Andromeda's childhood nickname falling beseechingly off her lips. "Call Siri! Please, call Sirius!"

"He's been informed," said Riley Blishwick. "He's coming—"

Footsteps suddenly followed them as they made their way down the ancient stairs leading to the dungeons. It was Sirius, grim-faced, his jaw set.

"Sirius," Narcissa whispered, knowing that if there was someone who could bring her child safely back to her, it was Sirius. After all, hadn't he saved those two Muggle children from the werewolves? Hadn't he almost died to save that Muggle boy? Single-handedly survived the onslaught of five werewolves?

"Cissy," he said, squeezing her hand for a moment, his eyes softening, before he turned grim again, seeming every inch the firm, unemotional Auror.

"Malfoy got a threatening note," spat Summerby, making Sirius stop in his tracks.

"He—you got a what?" demanded Sirius, rounding on Lucius.

"A note—from Greyback… it said 'You are next'," repeated Lucius, as white as snow.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy!" snarled Sirius, quickening his pace and sprinting down the path, all of them on his heels. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me! That's what I was bloody wondering—he wouldn't have fucking played his chance without giving me a hint—damn it! It's a bloody battle of wits—and I was at Edmund's house—if you'd bloody told me you were the target, I'd have been here—brought in added security!" roared Sirius, more furious than she'd ever seen him, half his words not even making sense to her.

"Stand back! Riley, take them back! Cast the wards!" Sirius growled, as they reached the dungeons—Salazar! She hadn't even realised they'd reached the dungeons! Why had Draco been to the dungeons? How had Greyback entered the dungeons if he, indeed, had taken Draco? And where was Draco now? How was he? If he was harmed—no! She wouldn't think of that! He couldn't be harmed!

"Homonum Revelio!" said Summerby, as Blishwick herded them away from the shut dungeon door.

"Lupus Revelio!" muttered Sirius, and a chill crept through Narcissa's spine as she realised that the moon had risen – or Sirius wouldn't have cast that spell.

"Clean!" barked Summerby, and with a flick of her wand, the door opened to an empty dungeon, bereft of Draco.

"No," Narcissa whispered, her hopes fading. Draco really wasn't in the Manor… he'd been abducted, her beloved boy…

"Where did he go! How did he fucking escape the wards!" roared Sirius agitatedly.

And it was then that Lucius spoke: "There's a secret passage that leads out—it's been here since centuries—for people to escape in case of an emergency—"

"YOU DIDN'T TELL US!" yelled Summerby furiously at the same time as Sirius shouted: "Open the fucking passage, then!"

"You gave us the map of the Manor—we were here to secure it and you bloody didn't tell us about the secret passage, Malfoy! Or your kid would never have been taken away!" went on Summerby.

"Nobody knew of the passage—and only Draco and I can open it—I didn't think it necessary to—" whispered Lucius.

"Did Voldemort know of it?" demanded Sirius, as Lucius put his hand on a spot on the wall, muttering under his breath, as the wall parted open, an ancient stone door springing forth in the gap.

But Narcissa barely glanced at the stone door.

Voldemort

Sirius had asked whether the Dark Lord knew of the secret passage! And the Dark Lord had known! When he had stayed in Malfoy Manor for a couple of days during the War, the Dark Lord had prised all the secrets of the Manor out of Lucius! And Lucius had admitted the secret passageway used, in the olden years, to smuggle out Malfoys out of the Manor in case of an attack by the enemy. That meant—that meant the Dark Lord had taken Draco—and he was working through Greyback… Draco wouldn't be unharmed, then… the Dark Lord never let his plans fail, never failed at finishing off his targets… that meant Draco would be—spots appeared in front of her vision, her legs giving way… and when she finally awoke from the faint, a worried Andromeda reviving her, she saw Sirius standing at the now-open door to the passageway, a note in his hand, with words written in blood…

"The blood is Draco's," confirmed Summerby, waving his wand over the note.

"No!" whispered Narcissa hoarsely, images of Draco flitting through her mind's eye, fear gripping her heart in a vice-grip, wondering whether she would ever see her son alive… His blood—they'd taken Draco's blood to write the note… meaning her baby was already hurt… they'd already harmed him, taken his blood… he was bleeding… without his Mother to soothe him, without his Mother to take him into her arms and heal his wounds…

"What does the note say, Siri?" asked Andromeda, her voice trembling.

"'Hampshire'," said Summerby.

"—Hampshire—Hampshire—where in Hampshire? What had happened there?" Sirius was muttering frustratedly, while Lucius stood in a corner, still white-faced and trembling, guilt and regret writ large on his face, meeting her eyes pleading for forgiveness. But she looked away, knowing that if something happened to Draco, she would never forgive him.

"Hampshire—think Malfoy, think!" barked Summerby.

"It was where you almost killed me—in that Muggle field!" exclaimed Lucius suddenly to Sirius. "You let me go because you didn't want Cissy to be a widow—"

"Come on! Riley, stay here with these three—Irene, come with me!" ordered Sirius, his wand slicing through the air, negating the anti-Disapparition wards, his hand clasping Summerby's as he prepared to apparate her to the spot, while he barked the exact location to the team of Hit Wizards, who Narcissa now noticed had followed them.

She saw Sirius shut his eyes, making to apparate; and in one sudden motion, she clasped his wrist, knowing she had to go along, to be with her child…

"What the fuck, Cissy!" snarled Sirius, the moment her feet touched the ground. "Irene, take her back—I'll deal with—" But his words stopped abruptly, his gaze widening as it fixed on something in the distance.

And Narcissa spotted it, too: a wolf, smaller than a fully-grown one, snarling, howling as it stared at the moon.

On spotting them, the wolf lunged towards them, howling wildly. Summerby cast a Shield Charm, pulling Narcissa behind her, Sirius transformed into a dog mid-air, lunging at the wolf, stopping its advance, grabbing it by its furry neck and dragging it away, his canine body far huger than the wolf's lupine one. But Narcissa noticed none of that, her teary gaze fixed on the wolf's familiar silver eyes she'd seen and the expensive robes lying shredded on the nearby ground…

Draco had been bitten.

He was a werewolf.

Her child was a werewolf now… a werewolf, she thought, a burst of pain and hurt and grief searing through her, before everything went dark.

oOo

"That was a complete disaster!" said Acquila, as they walked back to the Gryffindor Tower.

"Couldn't agree more," sighed Harry, feeling very melancholic. And Acquila knew why: for one wondrous moment, he'd thought he'd get the memory from Slughorn, thought he'd be able to keep his promise to Dumbledore, his desire to reduce Sirius' burdens by giving him leads on the Horcruxes.

"Slughorn must really not want anyone to know what he told a teenage Voldemort," she said, "For him to call off a party is a big thing!"

"Yeah," said Harry, sounding genuinely upset. "He is never going to give us the memory now."

"Don't worry we'll find another way," said Acquila soothingly. "Maybe we didn't get him drunk enough."

"We should have waited until he'd drunk some more of the punch," said Harry, as they entered through the Portrait Hole.

The Common Room was empty, the couple of Gryffindors who had stayed back seemed to have gone to bed or were still at the party without the host.

"I need to get out of this dress," said Acquila, wanting to get into some comfortable clothes. "Let's get changed and we'll rethink it all...hatch some new plan... We still have a few days until everyone returns."

Acquila went up to her dormitory, while Harry went up to his own. Acquila shed her dress and got into a sweater and a pair of pants, casting a Warming Charm over herself.

The evening had been an utter disaster, she thought irritably. Well, the trip to Hogsmeade with Harry had been nice and fun. But the Slughorn plan had failed as a whole.

They had gone all the way to Hogsmeade, stolen bottles of Firewhiskey and spiked Slughorn's drink. She had never done so many illegal things in a day! It had all been for nothing!

But yes, she admitted again, their little trip had helped rekindle their friendship. The awkwardness, which had been present just that morning, had disappeared; and they were now talking almost normally again. That made Acquila really happy; the annoyance and coldness with him for the date with Daphne was all warranted, but she had missed him, dearly missed him. Life was never the same for her without Harry, without having him with her. She admitted she had probably reacted too extremely to the date with Daphne; but she couldn't help it! She'd been mad at him! But she would try putting it behind her now, try seeing how things developed in the near future, like Sirius suggested.

"Look at what I found lying in my bed." Harry's voice startled her from her thoughts.

"Firewhiskey!" Acquila exclaimed, staring at the bottle in Harry's hand. "How did it get there?"

"I guess Dobby didn't use this bottle, so he returned it. Want to open it?" Harry asked, winking.

"Why not!" Acquila answered eagerly, wanting to try the drink. The Marauders had had their first Firewhiskey at thirteen! So Sirius wouldn't mind, would he? Aunt Andy would, but as long as she never got to know of it, all would be fine!

"What! I was joking!" said Harry, bewildered. "We can't! We're under-aged... We aren't even supposed to have this bottle with us!"

"Don't tell me you aren't thinking of trying even a little bit!" said Acquila. "And I'm pretty sure we've already broken more than a dozen rules today. What's the harm in breaking one more?"

Acquila smirked at him, knowing that under Harry's innocent exterior, he had a hidden wild side. "And after the day we've had, I say we deserve it."

Harry looked at the bottle of Firewhiskey, and then at Acquila.

"Okay," he said, smiling a grin that was part eager and part hesitant. "But not here. What if someone catches us drinking?"

"I know where we can go!" Acquila exclaimed, leading Harry out of the Tower under the Invisibility Cloak.

They made their way to the secret passage they used for their Occlumency and Animagus practice sessions. It was the most secret place they knew of. The only person in Hogwarts who knew about it was Remus, and as it was a full moon night, he was a bit pre occupied.

"So? Ready?" She grinned mischievously at him.

"As I'll ever be," he replied, winking at her - which gave rise to a little flutter in her tummy which she ignored.

"I'll go first," she said, and they sat in the well-lit passage, the bottle placed in between them. They hadn't learnt conjuring glasses yet, so she would drink it directly from the bottle first.

She put her lips on the mouth of the bottle, feeling the liquid slide down her throat, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. No wonder it was called Firewhiskey, she thought, as the burning heat of the drink warmed her up.

"Whoa!" said Harry softly, and she knew he'd felt the burning in his own throat because of the Bond.

"Your turn," she said, handing the bottle to him, feeling in great spirits suddenly. The Firewhiskey was really great! It was making her feel all warm within...and she really wanted to have some more...

Harry sipped the Firewhiskey, scrunching his eyes shut when the drink burned his throat; but he was grinning as he brought the bottle to his lips again, taking a big gulp. Acquila was grinning with him: she had finally found one positive of the Bond she had with Harry! Drinking Firewhiskey together was double the fun!

"My turn!" She took the bottle from him, chugging the drink again, little realising that this bottle, too, like the one Slughorn's punch had been spiked with, had been charmed by Dobby, increasing the alcohol content, spelled to hasten the effects of the drink...and unlike Slughorn, who drank often, they were drinking the first time, with negligible tolerance for the effects of Firewhiskey...

"Hey! I want it, too!" said Harry, tugging the bottle from her grasp; Acquila not even realising that a little giggle had slipped out of her mouth, her spirits a little too high now.

"I'm feeling great," she giggled some time later, when three quarters of the bottle were drunk between the two of them.

To be honest, she knew she was feeing rather woozy, but who knew woozy could feel so great! Everything seemed so nice! The nice little passage, those moving lit torches on the wall... but wait! The torches weren't supposed to move, were they? Nor were the torch brackets! Nor the stone walls of the passage, coming to think of it!

"Who cares!" said Harry.

"Don't mead my rind!" she giggled.

"Read your mind?" he asked, letting out a throaty little chuckle that made her look at him. And he was looking at her, too! He was swaying!

"I'm not!" He laughed. "I'm not swaying! You're drunk!"

"'M not!" she protested, taking a swig from the bottle again. "'M not drunk! 'Jus happy!"

"Yeah, same here," he said.

And he did look happy, really. He was smiling way too much. Happy, and nice... His eyes were bright behind his lopsided glasses, his hair all messier than usual, the top button of his shirt was undone...but it was his smile which she loved: it was wonderful! Not the hesitant ones he'd been throwing her recently...nor the cocky smirk he sometimes flashed...It was all wide and nice and real...like the ones he used to smile in school...their Muggle school, when they used to roll down the sloping lawns of the garden behind the school, landing in a tangle of limbs at the foot of the slope, laughing and giggling and then tickling each other, then lying on their backs, staring at the blue skies, their hands clasped, before looking sideways at each other, cheeks flushed, feeling immeasurably giddy with happiness, without a care in the world, their sorrows all forgotten, smiling those real smiles...

"What are you smiling for?" she asked him quietly, wanting to know what had brought that smile back again.

"Nothing. Just looking at you," he said. He was in a strange mood, she sensed: happy... and something else that made her heartbeats speeden...

"Don't look at me like that!" she mumbled, covering her face with her hands.

"Why not?" Harry asked innocently.

"You are giving me weird thoughts," Acquila found herself admitting.

For some reason, Harry was suddenly looking very attractive. Merlin! Maybe it was the Firewhiskey talking! Or why else was Harry suddenly looking so nice, with those bright green eyes, and that smile...like he'd looked in one of the naughty dreams she'd had about him, with those pink lips meeting hers, her hands threading through that messy hair... Merlin! It was high time she stopped drinking if she'd begun thinking of Harry's lips!

Harry, meanwhile, took another swig from the bottle; he seemingly hadn't heard her reply about her 'weird thoughts'. He slammed the bottle on the ground, the sound echoing throughthe passage.

"Oops," mumbled Harry; he was still smiling, but his smile was different now...something she couldn't place a finger on...

"I think we should stop drinking now," she said, putting the bottle aside. "We better go back," she suggested. "Or we'll definitely fall asleep here."

She tried getting up, but everything around her started spinning, and she sat right back down.

"Okay, we should probably sit here for some more time," she muttered, holding her head in her hands.

Harry had gone strangely silent. He was still smiling, a little glint in his eyes. Drunk Harry definitely looked a lot more cheerful than regular Harry! And a lot more attractive, more happy, more—damn, she didn't even have a word for it! He was making strange things happen to her, making her heartbeats increase in pace again, butterflies flutter in her tummy...

"You are beautiful," Harry whispered suddenly, twirling a strand of her hair around his fingers, staring into her eyes, leaning in towards her.

"'M not Daphne," Acquila mumbled, her drunk self bringing up the unresolved issue of Daphne Greengrass.

"'Course you're not Daphne," said Harry, frowning. "She's...pretty...it's fun talking Quidditch with her...she's even prettier when she smiles..."

Acquila bristled, furious that Harry was praising Daphne in front of her! She stood up, the world around her swaying again; but Harry caught hold of her hand in a tight grip, pulling her down to him. Their faces were mere inches away from each other.

"But," whispered Harry, his warm breath falling on her lips, his whispered word loud in the sudden silence of the passage, "she's not my best friend like you are, she's not as brave, not as beautiful, not as caring... she's just not you, Acquila."

She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, feeling like she was flying, elated, feeling something she'd never felt before: immeasurable, indescribable, a hitherto unknown happiness...and desire...

He met her eyes, asking her a wordless question. And she leant in towards him, knowing just what he wanted, which was just what she wanted...he leant closer simultaneously, their breaths mingling, the distance between them disappearing as her lips touched his, his hands moving from her hair to her back, inching towards her waist...

She stilled, but it was only for a moment, feeling a rush of something shoot right into the pit of her tummy, as his lips moved against hers, hesitant but needy, desirous...and she didn't know whether she was feeling his desire or hers...but she captured his lip between her own, throwing her own hesitance away: it was Harry, there was no need of apprehension or nervousness or trepidation about whether she was alright at kissing—oh! What was that—was that—was that what Harry was feeling? She nipped lightly at his lip, feeling a burst of desire rush through him...and his hands encircled her waist, pulling her closer into him, his lips softly moving against hers, his hands tightening their hold around her, her own fingers locking at the back of his neck...

He moved more insistently, asking, needing, wanting... and she parted her lips, feeling him delve in with an almost fierce need...she pulled him closer to her, her tongue delving into his mouth, tasting the Firewhiskey he'd just drunk, making her want to deepen the kiss further, feeling something surging through her - something that she knew was surging through him as well...something warm and tingly and magical...

She could sense his thoughts, the intense rush he was feeling, wanting him closer to her, feeling him want her even closer to him...and in one quick motion, almost as if they both had been meaning to do the same thing, he pulled her off the ground, placing her on his lap, her legs on either side of him, straddling him, his tongue meeting hers, her hands in his hair, holding his mouth in place, tasting him, exploring—that warm rush intensifying, heightened by the emotions, the desire they were feeling—and she wanted more! Much more! She wanted him touching her, to feel his hands roaming over her—suddenly, she felt something rather hard against her inner thigh—and she felt another thrill of elation as she realised the effect she was having on Harry, the evidence of his arousal...

Her hand moved down from his hair, moving downwards between them, wanting to touch him—feel him—but his hand moved up her back, an eager desire pooling in her stomach, wanting him to take the leap, for his hand to do what it sought to—and with his tongue still tracing her mouth, his hand moved to her breast, his palm cupping her through her sweater, caressing her almost excruciatingly slowly, making her let out a soft moan, kissing him even deeper, wishing he would never stop.

He pulled back for air, breathing heavily, his heartbeats as quick as hers, his cheeks suffused with colour, his lips swollen, his arousal digging deeper into her thigh, as he cupped her face with both his hands, bright eyes staring into hers with something that made her blush involuntarily.

And as his lips captured hers again, her hand leading his to her breast again, his hips suddenly moving forward, making her want something—anything that would quell the intense need running through her every vein, that almost magical rush coursing through both of them again, Acquila knew she had never felt happier.

Author's Note: There! Really sorry for the Draco bit ( We know it might lose us readers), but it was something we'd decided long ago, and has a great bearing on the future plot.
The next update, it won't come before June, I'm afraid. Both my friend and I have exams, and I have to study better this time. So long, then! And thanks a ton for the 800 reviews on this story! If I've missed out replying to any review, it's because I'm really short of time; but we appreciate them immensely!
Cheers!