I do not own Harry Potter

Chapter Fifty – An Oath

Sirius Black cut a path through Diagon Alley, the other shoppers – few though they were – quickly darted out of his way. He had never thought that he would turn into this man, this man like his father and his father's father and his father's father before him. He had never thought he would become a man who was feared.

When he was young and handsome and care-free, the whole world had gravitated towards him. He and James used to charge down theses streets – two rich young heirs – with all their friends and admirers following along behind them. They used to laugh and joke and call out.

Not anymore.

He walked alone, his fur-lined cloak billowing behind him. And he walked in grim silence, with a hard line set along his jaw.

Still, he could not help but be grim-faced. He had to finish Regulus' mission.

The only Horcrux they had was hidden. It still lived. It still tied Voldemort to this universe. It still tied him and all he loved and held dear to danger. Cassiopeia was right to keep it safe, to keep it secret and hidden. That was all they could do. He accepted that, grimly.

But it still meant there were unknown more.

It still meant Harry might carry part of the Dark Lord in his soul.

It still meant he didn't know how to save him.

At least Maia was safe and well, now. His lips twitched, remembering Avery. She had better be safe and well, or he would kill that boy. He had visited the boy's family in the days after that incident. He had been reprimanded. It would not happen again. Of course the Avery's recognised that the House of Black was beyond question.

As he crossed back into the Leaky Cauldron, his Yule purchases tucked safely into his cloak, he turned on his heel, re-appearing in Grimmauld Place.

Remus stood up from his armchair, as Siris shook the cold and the damp from his robes. "How are you, Padfoot?" He asked, stepping forwards to clasp hands.

"As well as can be expected? And you, and my cousin?"

"Diligently researching my supposed hiding place in Antigua. And I am as well as can be expected."

Sirius nodded, "I'm sorry, Moony, but this is a brief visit and probably an unwelcome one."

"How so?"

"I want to send Kreacher to Black Rose House."

Remus frowned, "Why? Does this have something to do with your visit the other day?"

"Why do you say that?"

"I know you spoke to Kreacher then, and now you want him with you? Something must have happened? Is it to do with... that which we have previously discussed."

"You're conjecturing."

"Incorrectly?"

Sirius sighed, "I would talk freely, if I could."

Remus looked away, "There was a time when we never kept secrets."

Siris pushed a hand through his hair, "You are my friend, Remus, and I am sorry when I doubted you all those years ago, when I thought you were the traitor. I am. But it has been a long time since we started keeping secrets and telling lies. I would tell you now, if I could, and I will tell you, as soon as I am able. But you are safer not knowing. Dora is safer, not knowing."

Reluctantly, Remus nodded. "Then I won't ask." He paused for a moment, before calling out, "Kreacher!"

Kreacher appeared, bowing deeply to both men in turn.

Sirius looked down at him, forcing a smile to his face and kindness to his voice. "Kreacher, as a reward for your long years of service, I want you to go to Black Rose House and serve in the primary residence of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Kreacher looked up from the floor, his eyes bright with tears. "Really, Master? Really?"

Sirius nodded, "Yes, really."

Because it was not safe to have him here.

Not with what he knew.

...

Maia sat by the fireside, and on the other side of the room, Daphne and Tracey were finishing off some last pieces of homework before Monday morning came upon them once again. Maia was looking forward to the start of the week – the pattern of lessons filled her days better than the emptiness of the weekends. Of course, she had Hermione. As Pansy had sarcastically and spitefully pointed out at dinner, they had become thick as thieves.

Maia had pointedly remarked that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had no need to stoop to thievery. She could not speak for other Houses and families, of course. Parkinson must be speaking from alternative experience.

Of course, that wasn't entirely historically accurate, but it had succeeded in putting Parkinson in her place, so all was well and good.

Maia sat up straighter and rubbed the back of her neck before returning to her heavy tome of the history of the representation of werewolves in muggle and magical fiction. The writing was not particularly engaging – truth be told – but the subject itself was interesting and she was currently reading more about werewolves than she was about potions in her free time. She would read anything that might help them to help Remus.

The Honourable Society was still going strong, as a weekly forum for debate. They hadn't exactly raised a great deal of funds or awareness. They had no way of trying to make people listen. They had debated – at length – writing a piece and submitting it to the Prophet. Maia had sat on the fence for a good long while, not sure of the pros or the cons. But they had collectively decided against it. They could not agree on a way to write it, they would not submit it until they at least had a majority agreement, and too many students were painfully aware of the fraught situation of their world since the World Cup to want to draw attention to themselves and their families.

Too many of them had grown up with portraits on the mantelpiece of family members they had never met, and would never meet, to be in any doubt of the real and present dangers of the Death Eaters.

Maia sighed, turning another page. She was brooding, again.

Still, she hoped that this brooding, this considered and constant stream of consciousness of trying to do what was right would be more pleasing to her father, to Marius, than the plotting and one-up-manship to which she had previously dedicated herself. Getting one over on Parkionson didn't count, of course. She would never give up on that. Parkinson deserved it.

Her life had changed so much since that day Aunt Narcissa had been waiting for her in Professor Snape's office.

And had changed so much again since that glorious summer day when the new of Sirius' escape had broken.

And had changed more still since the day she had seen all her mistakes and all her stupidity written across Hermione's face – even though she had, truly had, been trying to protect her.

But that had not changed the look on Hermione's face, and never would, and that look would always haunt her.

Maia looked up as the entrance to the dungeon opened up and Draco and Blaise walked in. Blaise inclined his head to Draco, before turning and heading up towards the dormitories.

Maia marked her place in her book before folding it closed and placing it to one side as Draco came to sit in his armchair opposite her. He smiled – almost wistfully – as he did so.

"I think our old Court is missing."

Again, Maia looked across the room to where Tracey and Daphne were sitting, but said nothing.

Draco watched her eyes move. "They are still your friends." He said. "We will all always be united."

Maia shook her head, "We are not united. But please, we should not speak of such things here."

"I won't let Avery hurt you."

"He already has." Maia snapped back, before catching her tongue. "I'm sorry."

Draco's eyes glanced towards the fire. "I'm sorry too. For all of that and all of this. If I had known..."

Maia leant across and snatched his hand up, squeezing it, "Avery is in the past, for now at least, and I think Sirius scared him off most effectively."

"I'm worried about you." Said Draco, turning towards her and wrapping his two hands around her one, "I know you've said your beliefs and politics have changed, and even if our politics are the same or different and I cannot honestly say I know anymore because it's hardly as if we can talk freely, you will always be my sister and I will always protect you. Please swear to me, if anyone was... if anyone was threatening you, forcing your hand, please swear to me that you would say."

"I swear, of course I would, and I will always protect you in turn, brother. But no one is forcing my hand. I'm no one's puppet."

"I didn't mean it that way." He shook his head, "But you would tell me if you had a problem."

"Of course."

"Even if Potter were the problem?"

Maia half-moved to pull her hand away before stopping, "Why do you ask that?"

"I am worried that Potter, and Granger, are problems for you. If you swear to me now, that they are not, if you swear that you will always tell me if they become so, then I will never mention it to you again. I swear that on my honour, on my love for you as your brother. But I must know. If you are acting on your own, then I will respect that and defend you, but if not... if not I will bring them both down for you."

Maia swallowed, "They are not problems. I act freely. I swear it."

Draco nodded, "Thank you."

And they sat alone, by a waning fire, amidst a waning world. The falsity of it all tasted like poison on Maia's lips.

...