Why should we look to the past in order to prepare for the future? Because there is nowhere else to look.

~ James Burke.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place stands tall between numbers 11 and thirteen, a dark stain against the grey sky that seems to have draped itself over London like a heavy blanket nearly two hours ago. It's supposed to rain. That's what Sirius had overheard some unsuspecting muggles say as he'd slipped passed them on the street on his way here. Despite knowing that there's a storm coming and the slow treatment of his battered body lies within his childhood home Sirius has... a rather hard time bringing himself to near the house. Instead he remains seated on the pavement across from Number 12, his animagus form and the fact that it's nearly ten in the evening leaving any passing muggles none the wiser to his presence.

After weeks spent in the tropics Sirius finds that the grey-wash of London is far from what he wants to see. Even though he's closer to Harry being back in the home he'd grown in and ultimate ran from is the absolute last place Sirius wants to be aside from, perhaps, Azkaban. Shuddering, Sirius presses closer to the tree at his right flank in an attempt to make himself smaller.

Above his head thunder rolls, the low rumble of the impending storm forcing Sirius to rise from his seated position and make his way to the front door where he shift back, pulls his wand- given back to him by Dumbledore who'd managed to get it from some auror or another- out of his pocket, and unlocks the front door. Funny, isn't it, that with all of the wards and precautions his father put on the damned place it would be as simple as an Alohomora for Sirius to get in. He knows that most of the reason for it is that despite being disowned he's still got his father's blood running in his veins and no matter how much Orion or Walburga might have hoped otherwise there's no way to change someone's blood even with ritual magic.

With a scowl he shoves the door open and stares into the abysmal darkness of the foyer and, consequently, the space beyond it.

Sirius Black is not a man prone to sentimentality, has never been, but as he stands in the foyer of his childhood home he finds himself growing... nostalgic. Perhaps that's the best word for it. There's no love for this house, no love for the house elf that haunts the walls nor the parents that raised him, but he thinks of Regulus and the nostalgia roots itself somewhere deep in the dark recesses of his mind. Regulus, for all of his flaws, had been the only good thing about the blasted house and without a doubt the only thing that keeps Sirius from completely abandoning what remains of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Feeling ten years older than he is Sirius steps further into the house, making for his father's study where the late Lord Black always tended to keep his liquor and leaving his meager- if that- belongings on the floor for Kreacher to deal with.

There isn't much to be celebrating and Sirius recognizes this as he pours himself a glass of muggle scotch; he is not a free man despite escaping Azkaban, he is confined to a house he despises, and he has very minimal contact with the outside world. But he has Harry. Finally, it had been a horrible nearly twelve and a half years of not knowing what had happened to his godson, not knowing what had happened to him or who was taking care of him, not knowing how to tell Harry that he hadn't been the one to betray James and Lily and that he loved them.

But it's over now, he supposes. Harry knows the truth, Sirius knows where he is and who has him - he still can't believe Dumbledore entrusted Harry to Petunia of all people- and once he gets his name cleared Sirius is going to get Harry out of that house. They can be a family then, just like James and Lily would have wanted.

Sirius might not be a man prone to sentimentality but he loves Harry deeply and he's going to do everything in his power to give him the life he deserves. The life Lily and James would have made sure to give him had they survived. He hates Peter for what he did to them. Hates in a way that's almost foreign to him, even when he'd been living with Walburga and Orion he'd never truly hated them as he hates Peter. Some of it may be because Peter held a certain level of respect and trust that Sirius' parents never had and thus the betrayal stings all the more.

His glass is empty and Sirius pours himself another drink.

Dwelling on the past won't do him any good. Peter was, is, a traitor and he got people killed, James and Lily are dead, Harry is alive, and Sirius is out of prison so there's a bright side to everything he supposes. Harry's alive and Sirius is more-or-less sound of mind. Sound enough to take care of his godson anyway... All he needs to do is clear his name and get Harry out from under Petunia's thumb.

Little by little the scotch in Sirius' glass disappears. He pours himself another glass and sips at it until it too is empty. Dumbledore has promised to look into having Sirius pardoned but he doesn't see that happening anytime soon as there's so many other things going on in their lives at the moment. Sirius shouldn't be anyone's first priority, least of all Dumbledore's... But still, he'd like to be free to go about his own business and raise Harry without fear of being arrested. Being taken back to Azkaban is the last thing Sirius plans on doing.

Although, being back in his childhood home isn't much better.

A quick glance around the room makes Sirius frown. His father had never been a warm man nor had he been the type to break from tradition and it shows. The study is dark with equally dark furniture dispersed around the room, a large bookcase full of ancient tomes and cursed volumes, and a large liquor cabinet, the only light in the room comes from the fireplace against the far wall.

"Kreacher!"

The house elf, his brother's elf, appears with little more than a whisper. Sirius stares at him for a long moment and the longer he looks at the broken, withered creature he wonders how Regulus could have loved him. Wonders how Regulus could have defended the house elf as diligently as he had. The wonderment turns to anger quickly enough, because Sirius is drunk and hurting and desperate for someone to blame for all of the shit he's suffered through over the years. Regulus might have loved Kreacher but there's no love lost between them and Sirius takes another large drink off his scotch before addressing the house elf.

"Is my room ready, Kreacher?" He asks and the creature bows his head.

"Of course, Master Sirius."

Master Sirius, it is perhaps the kindest thing Kreacher has ever called him, not that the house elf would have said anything disdainful to his face. If he said anything it would have been muttered in the presence of Walburga, or Orion, and depending on his mother's mood Kreacher likely would have been tortured. Sirius doubts Kreacher was ever harmed for talking poorly of him, by the time Sirius left to live with the Potters the only members of his family that Sirius really talked to were Andromeda and, sometimes, Regulus.

"Leave."

The house elf disappears from the room with a low grumble.

After he's gone Sirius sits and drinks for several more minutes before rising from his seat to shuffle across the floor to the door. He isn't sure what compels him to make his way down the hall away from the stairs but he finds himself standing in front of his mother's portrait all too soon. Even in her state of non-awareness Walburga Black is a terrifying creature; her hair more salt and pepper than grey, her face weathered enough to show her age but not enough to make her crone-like, and her lips the same bloody red Sirius remembers them being in his youth- he'd never been partial to the color and any young woman who wore it in the hopes of catching his eye had only ever managed to lose his interest.

Oh, how he detests her.

Walburga Black is a star in his nightmares, a shadow that haunts his waking moments, and the creature that had driven Sirius to some of the darkest moments of his life. While she may not look twisted and deranged Sirius knows what lurks beneath the perfectly coiffed hair; it is a monster.

Fingers tighten around his glass when sharp grey eyes flick up to meet his.

"If it isn't the inadequate one." He hears his mother say, voice unexpectedly soft. "Have you finally realized the errors of your ways then? Consorting with mudbloods and muggles? The filth? To think that my blood created a traitor... But I suppose you were good for one thing if nothing else."

Something cold settles in Sirius' bones.

"And what would that be, Mother?" He spits the word like venom, hoping to wound the shadow of his mother in any way he can.

"I thought it would be Regulus, he was always such a dutiful boy, a good boy. He was to marry a French witch, you know, very old blood. Orion and I had it all figured out."

"And then he died."

Sirius isn't sure how Regulus died exactly but he has his suspicions. Regulus might have been the only family member Sirius could stand but he acknowledges his brother's lack of bravery- he never stood up to their parents, never pushed back, never did anything to disrupt the status quo- and so it is likely that when he took the dark mark and attempted to flee Voldemort killed him.

His mother's face pinches and settles into something that might be genuine sadness.

"Yes, my little star... We all had such high hopes for him..."

Walburga goes on to mutter and moan about Regulus and how his life ended too soon, Sirius lingers for a moment before stalking off down the hall away from her. He doesn't want to hear about Regulus' death, doesn't want to know all the ways Walburga thinks he died. No one had ever found a body and she'd probably heard all sorts of speculations from the high society vultures waiting to pick at whatever scraps they could get. Sirius doesn't want to hear her talk about how a member of the Order killed his brother or how he was bludgeoned to death by a muggle... All he wants is to go to bed, to not dream of a dark cell and tortured screams and hooded figures.

He drinks as he makes his way down the hall toward the stairs, freezing when he accidentally stumbles into a door he recognizes all too well. As children he and Regulus would sit in the tapestry room and trace the branches of their family tree as often as they could; making up elaborate stories about the ones that were burned off and spitting out histories they didn't quite comprehend.

With a sigh Sirius twists the knob and pushes the door open with his hip, stumbling into the room as he takes another drink from his scotch. It's almost empty but he really doesn't need any more tonight. He'll finish what's left in his glass and go to bed after he satisfies whatever curiosity possessed him to enter this Merlin forsaken room of horrors.

Aside from the family tree covering nearly every inch of available wall there isn't much in terms of decor. Which doesn't matter all that much as people were only ever invited into the room so that Walburga could brag about how pure and wonderful her lineage was. Sirius scoffs as he moves across the room to where the tree is thinnest, having not branched further due to the fact that there really aren't many more children being born to the line.

Narcissa's boy is there, hidden among the branches, due to the fact that his mother is a Black by blood and therefore so is he... In his own way. There's no doubt in Sirius' mind that his cousin's son isn't as arrogant and bigoted as his father, if not more so, which is a damn shame because Narcissa might not have been the easiest person to get along with but she wasn't terrible. Better than Bellatrix, that's for damn certain.

Sirius raises his fingers to the wall, allows the tips of his index and middle finger to brush across the branches of his family tree, and drops his hand until it rests against his father's face. The painting on the wall doesn't do Orion Black any justice; it's sallow and lacks the intensity Sirius remembers his father's face having. It's probably best. Sirius isn't sure how many more times he wants to be visually reminded of his parents tonight.

"You always were a self righteous prat." Sirius tells the picture before moving to look at Regulus' face.

He doesn't cast a glance at the dates directly below his serious visage because he doesn't want to have to think about it. Sirius sucks in a shaky breath, wondering if he should say anything to the painting, it's not like Regulus can actually hear him. And even if he could, why would Regulus want to listen to anything Sirius has to say to him?

With the decision made to leave things as they are Sirius pulls his attention away from Regulus and to the scorched circle that takes up the space where his face used to be. Blasted off the tree but never officially disowned. Whether or not that was Orion's doing or his uncle Alphard's Sirius doesn't know nor does he really care. Being a member of the Black family or not hasn't bothered him in a very long time.

Still, he finds his gaze lingering on the burned spot where his head should be and, consequently, the thin branch sprouting out from it.

But I suppose you were good for one thing if nothing else.

Suddenly feeling very ill, Sirius allows his eyes to follow the branch. It creeps out from around the burned mark and his name to connect with one he only vaguely recognizes; Eleanor Diedrick.

Wracking his brain for any recollection or memory he has of anyone with such a name his mind turns up an image of a pretty brunette with big brown eyes and rosy cheeks. Slowly he begins to remember more. She'd been a recent graduate of some school in America and she'd come to Britain for a summer trip before going back to begin her higher educational studies on History of Magic, they'd met at the Leaky and Sirius hadn't been smitten but he'd thought she was really fucking good looking. They'd slept together. He remembers that easily enough.

A chill settles in his bones as he retraces the branch, searching, searching, searching for something he hopes isn't real. Unfortunately for him, his luck has always been shit. And right there between his name and Eleanor's is another branch, another face, another name.

Ursa Black, b.1979.

Glass splintering in his hand and the warm slide of blood is the only thing that tells Sirius that he's injured himself. He doesn't even feel the sting of the cuts that have flayed him open, all he feels is dread and nausea.

He has a daughter.

She's fifteen years old, practically grown, and he has a daughter.

"Kreacher!" It's a roar this time, because if anyone is going to know what's going on it'll be him- the wretched, vile little creature that knew and never told.

The moment the house elf appears in the room, muttering about glass and blood and overreactions, Sirius is pointing a bloody finger at the picture of his daughter. Kreacher shuffles closer, to get a better look or to clean up the mess Sirius doesn't care, he's speaking before his brother's elf can get further then a few steps.

"Why was I not informed of this?" Sirius demands.

Because he wasn't even in Azkaban when she was born, he wasn't really part of the family but he wasn't in prison. Someone could have told him about his daughter. She might be a bastard in the eyes of most of the Black family but she's still his daughter. Walburga was still alive at his point, Regulus was probably still alive at this point, someone could have told him. They should have fucking told him.

Kreacher merely stares at him before saying, "Mistress Black did not want anyone to know about the Bastard."

Roaring, Sirius slings the remnants of the glass still clutched in his hand at Kreacher's head, watching as the bloody fragments sail through the air only to land at the house elf's feet in a blood soaked cluster.

"Don't call her that! Never call her that!"

He needs to speak with Dumbledore. He needs to find Eleanor, she's more than likely back in America but where in America Sirius has no bloody idea... Dumbledore could find her though, he's got friends and allies everywhere, so it wouldn't be too difficult for him to pull a few strings and find them. Sirius runs his uninjured hand through his hair. Did Dumbledore know?

After Sirius had been sent to Azkaban had Dumbledore somehow found out that he'd had a child? Sirius sucks in a shuddering breath at the thought. He and Dumbledore aren't close, there's too much resentment on Sirius' end for closeness, but wouldn't the first thing Dumbledore tell him about upon his secondary arrest and detainment at Hogwarts be that he has a daughter? An attempt at comfort for a condemned man?

He'd always wanted a family, a rather large one in fact, and while he hadn't been ready for one when he'd been arrested it had been something Sirius had regretted not being able to have while in Azkaban.

Ignoring the creature shuffling around the room attempting to clean up the blood and glass Sirius conjures himself a chair and sits down just across from the portrait of his daughter. She's wearing one of those ridiculous hats and a blank expression but Sirius thinks that he might be able to detect a hint of himself somewhere among her features... The nose maybe, or perhaps the cheekbones, or are their shared features found in the hair hidden in her hat or in the eyes too dull to get a good glimpse of?

What am I going to do?

What is he going to do? Last time Sirius checked he was still a wanted fugitive. Getting to America without being caught would be a miracle in and of itself but what would he do when he actually gets there? When he finds Eleanor and his daughter? He can't say whether or not Eleanor will let him anywhere near Ursa if he does find them.

Sirius rubs his palm against his eye until stars dance across his vision.

It's too much and Sirius isn't in the right state of mind to productively think over the situations so he gets comfortable in his chair, has Kreacher fix up his hand, and stares at the image on the wall until the sun comes up to light up Number 12. As the sun rises higher and the light gets harsher Sirius remains in his chair, staring at the wall and the girl and the date under her name.

Should he contact Albus? Remus? Should he tell anyone about Ursa? He wants to find her, of course, but would doing so hurt her?

Yes, the simple answer is yes.

Bringing her into the fold, making himself a fixture of his life, would undoubtedly put her in danger. She'd be one of the most sought after young witches in Britain for her wealth alone, in terms of political power, well, that's a bit more complicated isn't it? As the only male Black left in the line Sirius is technically the Head of the Family, while no one in his family will openly admit this little fact they will certainly try and latch onto Ursa if they ever found out about her. Voldemort would try and bring her into his circle due to the political advantages she would be able to bring and her wealth, the fact that she's- possibly- a pureblooded witch would only fuel his desire for her.

He shouldn't find her. Sirius should just forget she exists, forget he ever saw her face and name on the tapestry, and let her live her life... But that won't happen. Sirius knows himself, has spent years in Azkaban clinging to the remnants of his sanity, and he knows that now that Ursa's existence has been brought to his attention there will be no staying away from his daughter. Sirius knows that he's not a bad person but he's certainly not a good man. Staying away from Ursa is out of the question because she's his daughter and Sirius will not allow Peter Petigrew, or Voldemort, or even Dumbledore to take another good thing from him. They've already gotten his happiness, his friends, and years of his life. They won't get Ursa too.

Once he finds her- because he will find her over this next summer- Sirius will explain everything to Ursa and her mother and after that he'll bring them home. If they don't like Number 12 then that's fine, Sirius has more than enough money to buy a house somewhere else that'll be big enough for his family; Ursa and Harry and maybe even a few others as well. He knows his godson's gotten himself a couple of incredibly loyal friends and Sirius likes them, he doesn't know if Ursa has any friends who would be able to visit from America but he certainly wouldn't mind having them.

"Kreacher!" Sirius calls, careful to keep his tone as neutral as possible despite the emotions still rolling through his body.

Was he sworn to secrecy? Had Walburga been so adamant about keeping an illegitimate Black out of the public eye that she'd ordered the simpering creature not to speak a word of Ursa's existence to anyone? Or had his dislike for Sirius simply been so great that he had assumed that by not saying anything the eventual realization would cause Sirius even more pain than if he'd simply been told?

"Yes, Master Sirius?" that croaking, weathered voice makes the hair on the back of Sirius' neck stand on edge.

"Find Remus Lupin and bring him here. Tell him it's urgent."

Because if anyone knows what to do it'll be Remus. He'll know how to find Eleanor, he'll be able to give Sirius options, and he'll be able to ask for Dumbledore's help without the conversation falling apart after a few gleaming-eyed remarks and bitter retorts. Remus, always the most level headed of the Marauders, is the only person Sirius trusts at the moment and the only one he'll actually listen too.

Sirius barely hears Kreacher's promise to bring 'Master Remus' before there's a pop and the house elf goes to check the old Lupin residence in Wales. If he's not there, which is unlikely, then it's possible he went to his previous home in Yorkshire. Sirius hopes Remus went back to Wales as he'd declined Sirius' offer to come and live at Number 12 with him... Not that Sirius blames him, he wouldn't want to live at Number 12 if he had a choice either.

With a grunt Sirius rises from his transfigured chair as he casts a longing glance at the tapestry before slipping out into the hall and making his way to the kitchen in search of food. His time in Azkaban had obviously not been kind to him and the time he'd spent as a dog hadn't been easy either despite the muggles who'd been kind enough to put food out for a clearly starving stray. Kibble might not be the best but it'd kept him alive. Still, he tears through Kreacher's carefully stocked kitchen with childish glee and ends up making himself a plethora of random food.

He's halfway through his third plate when his stomach begins to roll, leaving him only seconds to get to the rubbish bin before he's emptying the contents of his stomach. Witch his head halfway in the bin Sirius doesn't realize there's someone else standing in the kitchen with him until he's finished vomiting and has rocked back on his knees to wipe the remaining sick off his lips with the back of his hand.

"You shouldn't be eating such rich foods, Sirius, not in your current condition." He hears and a sudden sense of shame fills him as he turns his head in Remus' direction.

The other man is standing in the entryway with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his trousers. A closer look at his features tells Sirius that the past few days have been stressful on him; there's a sallowness to his skin that makes the white scars there stand out even more and he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Deciding not to berate Remus on how he can tell Sirius how to take care of himself but can't seem to do the same Sirius rises and makes his way over to the cupboard to get himself a glass.

Sirius thinks it would probably be best to just get this over with as quickly as possible so after he takes a few sips of water to wash the acid taste out of his mouth Sirius says, "I have a kid."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you remember Eleanor Diedrick?" Sirius asks to which Remus shakes his head. "Her name's on the tapestry along with the kid."

Remus' face is paler as he takes a seat at the table. If it weren't so damn early Sirius would break out the Ogden's as he could use a drink and Remus looks like he legitimately needs one.

"Are you sure it's not a trick of some kind? You always said Walburga had it out for you."

"This isn't something Walburga would stoop to... She was always more a curse slinger, never liked playing the long game." Sirius takes another sip of his water before making his way to the table as he continues, "Besides, the tapestry is old magic tied into the Black bloodlines. There's really no tampering with it unless you blast a face off or formally disown someone."

"So... a kid."

"Yeah."

Remus runs a hand through his hair, seeming older then he really is, and shakes his head slowly as he meets Sirius' eye.

"What are you going to do, Sirius?" Remus asks.

"I'm going to find her."

"And then what? You seriously can't be thinking about bringing her here can you? You know how much danger that would put her in Sirius!" Remus cries, eyes flashing an off sort of hazel-gold like it used to around the full moon when they were younger. Not gold but not Remus' natural pale green either. It hints at his irritation, his anxiety, but Sirius has spent too many years in literal hell to give a damn about Remus' slip in control.

"Remus, I'm not asking for your advice right now."

"Then why bring me here?"

"I need help finding her and I... I can't go to Dumbledore with this." His voice shakes, anger and resentment bubbling in his chest when he thinks of what Dumbledore would do with this information.

He'd try to hold Ursa against him in some way, no doubt. Promising to help him find Ursa as long as Sirius does something for him in return. It's the price of the game, Sirius knows this, and to win the war they all need to sacrifice things but right now all Sirius can think about is how Dumbledore let James and Lily's killer lurk in the shadows. Dumbledore allowed Peter to live in close quarters with Harry for three years because he'd allowed an innocent man to go to prison. Right now going to Dumbledore for any sort of help is out of the question, Sirius won't do it. Which means Remus is his only real hope at finding Ursa.

"What makes you think I can help?" Remus asks and his eyes are so full of weariness that it makes Sirius feel ill again.

And Sirius doesn't know what to say to that.

How can he ask Remus to help him with then when the other man has his own problems to deal with? What gives Sirius the right to ask for help from Remus when Remus has so much going on in his life without Sirius adding more problems to it?

He left you to Azkaban, a voice that sounds strangely like Orion's says. Eleanor could have written to you and you wouldn't have known because you were in a prison cell.

Swallowing bile Sirius turns his face away from Remus so he can gather his thoughts and approach this another way. Sirius doesn't want Remus to go looking for Ursa, Kreacher can do that easily enough, but he does need Remus to go with him. Moral support and all that. If nothing else Remus can be there to keep Sirius from completely falling apart when his daughter inevitably wants nothing to do with him. Why would she want anything to do with him anyway? He's not the Sirius Black who used to take late night rides on his motorbike or sneak out to watch muggle films with James or the Sirius that had hoped to be one of the best Aurors in history. He's a broken shell of a man with only his memories and the hope of a family with Harry and maybe even his daughter keeping him from doing something stupid. Like drown his sorrows in firewhiskey.

"I don't know," Sirius sighs, "guess I just wanted someone there with me."

There's a tense moment of silence before a hand settles on Sirius' shoulder, warm and heavy. He looks up to find Remus offering him a hesitant but warm smile that promises nothing and everything all at once. It makes Sirius feel a little better he supposes, the smile is the same one Remus used to give the marauders after a particularly rough full moon.

"We'll figure it out, Sirius."

"Somehow we always do, don't we?"

Remus' smile turns into something more mischievous. "Does that make me the godfather then?"

"I was thinking the eccentric uncle that buys incredibly dangerous toys and gives surprisingly sound advice to anxiety ridden fathers about how life is short so they should enjoy the little things."

The laughter that spills from Remus' mouth reminds Sirius of old times. It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad knowing that James isn't here to witness this. He'd laugh and call Sirius a dog, ask which parent Ursa will take after and laugh as he offers all sorts of ideas on how the kid will make Sirius go grey before he's thirty. James and Lily would have been Ursa's godparents in another life where everyone lives a full, happy life and Sirius gets the chance to help raise his kid. He thinks, maybe foolishly, that he'd have been a good dad. Maybe not the best but he would have without a doubt been a better father than Orion had ever been and if he ever had any questions Sirius could have gone to Remus or James for help. Lily and James would have been a kickass godparents too had they ever gotten the chance to try... Peter ruined that though. Sirius hates him all the more for it.

"I can still be the sage uncle. I've got more than enough tidbits of advice to share with anyone that'll listen to an old man's gabbing." Remus then moves to stroke the ends of an invisible beard and it makes Sirius laugh so hard that he starts to cry, the crying soon turns to sobs that wrack Sirius' entire body.

"Sorry," Sirius says after a few moments, "sorry."

"It's alright Sirius."

So that he doesn't have to see the pity in Remus' voice- it's bad enough having to hear it- Sirius gets out of his chair and tells the other man that he's going to freshen up and that Kreacher, who lurks in the hall like a ghost, will show him to a room he can stay in if he's feeling inclined. Remus refuses, saying that he's got some business to finish up at home before he can come back and help Sirius. They two part ways soon after; Remus returning to his home in Wales- thank Merlin- and Sirius scurrying off to the tapestry room to make absolutely sure Ursa's name and face is still on the tapestry.

It is. Sirius isn't sure how he feels about that.