A/N: This is the part where the timeline is a little skewed compared to the books - but it's nothing drastic and doesn't affect much - I just needed to have Sirius and Heather as a couple by the time this happened. In the books, Harry's letter goes to Sirius a little after his first week back. Here it's about a month later. I tried to minimise the amount of dialogue that came directly from the book, but a little bit of it was necessary. This chapter is a wee bit short because I planned to tag it onto the beginning next one, but it just felt too disjointed - the next one is already partially written, so it shouldn't be long at all.
It was a day or two after Remus' departure that the outside world came storming in to stir up the small amount of domestic bliss they'd managed to surround themselves with. Hedwig arrived in the morning, toting a thinly coded message for Sirius, alias Snuffles, and another letter addressed to her (or rather, Harriet Dursley, as Harry had written on the envelope, but there weren't many other candidates who that could've been). While the letter itself was troubling enough, the two articles he'd send to Heather were something else entirely.
The first one she read made her think he'd sent them solely for her amusement - something to alleviate the state of worry she permanently lived in.
"Sirius?" She frowned down at the magazine clipping in her hand "I'm going to ask you a question, and I expect an honest answer."
"Of course," Sirius blinked, trying to peer at the clipping but she held it to her chest before he could.
"Who is Doris Purkiss?"
"...Who?"
"That's what I'd like to know," she placed the article down before him, the title reading in bold letters - 'Sirius - Black as he's painted? Notorious mass murderer or singing sensation?'.
"Oh, Merlin's saggy-"
"He couldn't have possibly committed those crimes, because on the day in question he happened to be enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner with me," Heather read aloud before sighing melodramatically "Am I the other woman here Sirius - or rather, Stubby Boardman?"
"Very funny," he grumbled, skimming over the article.
"How come you've never sang for me?" She continued to tease "Am I not as important to you as old Doris?"
"You just wait until they start making up backstories for you."
"Oh they never will - I couldn't dream of reaching the heights of musical stardom that you clearly have, Stubby, darling."
Sirius gave a huff that did little to disguise his amusement, however begrudging it might have been. But then Heather's attention went to the article beneath the magazine clipping in the envelope from Harry - one from the Daily Prophet, this time. That was when she realised she'd read them in the wrong order, and Harry had clearly intended for the one she'd read first to act as comic relief after she'd finished reading this one. It was torn in the middle, and hastily taped back together, but still legible.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed.
"What is it, another adoring fan of mine?"
"Not quite. The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black," she skipped over the lengthy description of his notoriety that followed "Is currently hiding in London. It is believed that he may be in pursuit of Heather Potter, alias Barrett, twenty-one, largely considered to be the long-lost sister of Harry Potter."
What followed was a photograph of her - the same one from the band flier, in poor black-and-white quality, with her old hair - and an encouragement for any who might know or see her to contact the Ministry so she could be brought into "protective custody". This was certainly a step up from their previous writings, solely speculating on whether she existed at all.
"Looks like the Malfoy bastard did recognise us, then," Sirius sighed heavily, scanning the article once she was finished with it "It'd be miles easier for them to kidnap you from Ministry 'supervision' - and I use the term lightly - than it would be with you under protection from the Order."
"What are we going to do?" She asked.
Her face felt cold, always a tell-tale sign that the blood was draining from it. This was more than just rumour. This was photos of her in the paper encouraging people to report sightings. What if they did the same in a Muggle paper, listing her as another potential victim of the notorious Sirius Black? She'd never be able to go outside again. Darren would leap at the chance to run and tell tales of her if it meant his photo on the television and a few hundred quid from some tabloid rag. And that didn't even touch on the danger this would put Scott in, should the connection between them be discovered.
"I'll make you a deal - I'll not report your whereabouts if you don't report mine."
Heather gave him a rueful look. Incapable of taking anything seriously, indeed. He had a point though, however roundabout his way of making it might have been. What could they do beyond what they'd already done? Well, along with ruling out the possibility of any more soirees to Kings Cross station.
"We'll need to speak to him, just to offer some reassurance if nothing else," Sirius scratched at the stubble on his chin.
"Come up with some kind of code to write back with?" Heather asked.
"Codes can be broken, it's too risky. Especially with that Umbridge hag breathing down his neck. No, we need a way to actually speak to him."
In the end, Sirius chose to keep quiet on what his method for contacting Harry would be - although it did consist of him sticking his face in the fireplace every so often all evening. At first she'd been alarmed, and then confused, but any questions she asked were met with smug phrases like 'all will be revealed in time', and - even worse - 'a magician never reveals his secrets', and so in the end she stopped asking just so she could rid herself of the urge to lob history books at his head every time she was met with infuriating responses.
She was almost considering calling it a night and leaving Sirius to his strange little love affair with the fireplace, when he gave a triumphant shout and waved her over.
"Heather! Come and say hello to Harry!"
"You're asking me to stick my face into the fire?"
"That's the long and short of the matter, yes."
Heather levelled him with an unimpressed look.
"Come on! We don't have long!" He urged impatiently.
"You know," she groaned, standing up and moving to join him "One day somebody from your world is going to play an awful prank on me - 'hey Heather, walk into traffic on Oxford Street, it's how you get to the magical car dealership' - and you'll only have yourself to blame when I fall for it and end up horribly maimed."
She knelt beside the fire and hesitated, but Sirius placed a hand on her back and urged her forward (with poorly hidden amusement), and then suddenly she was looking directly at her brother and his two best friends.
"Oh," she blinked.
"Please don't walk into traffic on Oxford Street," Harry tried and failed to hide his own amusement.
The room the three teenagers sat in before the fire was a thing of fairy-tales or historical movies - overstuffed armchairs, bright tapestries that moved much in the same way their portraits did, grand windows that very much betrayed the fact that they were in a castle, and surfaces littered with quills and parchment. It took everything she had not to let her jaw drop, even as sadness warred with the happiness she felt at finally having a chance to actually speak to her brother. Looking at photographs of the castle, even if they did move, still didn't make it feel quite real. But watching the three teenagers sit in such a fantastical setting as though it were as normal as their own living rooms was just yet another reminder of how much she'd given up in deciding not to go to Hogwarts. The most she'd gotten at her school was a desk with a broken leg and several dicks carved into it.
Harkening back to the days when the house was filled with Order members and Heather either had no worthwhile input to give, or didn't understand what they were talking about at all, she mostly listened as Harry and Sirius talked, silently wondering if now was the time to tell him what had occurred between them in his absence. They had been reluctant to put it in a letter, but Christmas still felt a bit too far in the distance. In fact, she suspected the first thing he'd ask upon finding out if they waited that long was whether it had been a thing when they last spoke.
"I don't know if the Prophet are planning to run a story on Dumbledore," Sirius answered Harry's latest question "I haven't seen anyone from the Order in a while - they're all busy. It's mostly just been us two...well, and Kreacher, if you can count him."
Hermione looked rather offended by the latter part of Sirius' statement, but any outrage was quickly replaced by suspicion at Sirius' slight hesitation at mentioning that it had mostly just been the two of them in the house. She looked directly at Heather, who quickly looked back to Harry. While Heather wasn't one to fall into the trap of plenty of the other Order members who underestimated what the teenagers might notice or suspect, solely based on the fact that they were teenagers (she remembered her own shenanigans at the age of fifteen quite well), she still thought that Hermione caught on far too quickly for her comfort.
At the slight lull in conversation, and the near-perfect set-up the direction the conversation had taken them in had provided, they shared a look, followed by an almost imperceptible nod. Heather opened her mouth to speak, but Harry interrupted.
"And Hagrid?" He pressed "You haven't had any news about him?"
Well, there went that opportunity. But she'd be lying if she pretended she didn't relax, going back to her role as a listener in the conversation, nodding along wherever it was suitable but otherwise inspecting her brother for anything that might have been amiss. He was stressed out, that was plain to see - and who wouldn't be, with the amount he had on his plate? The Ministry had shown themselves to be absolute pests second only to Voldemort himself, and now they had invaded his safe haven. It would've been the equivalent of Debbie setting up camp in the club night after night - or Darren moving into Grimmauld Place.
There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was messier than usual, and he had his jumper pulled down over both hands. Coldness? She was sure that was another sign of severe stress - something about the blood moving away from the extremities in order to protect the vital organs. Whenever she had an anxious episodes, her hands and feet threatened to go numb from the chill.
It was when Sirius' finished warning Harry not to ask too many questions about Hagrid around Hogwarts that a far greater problem presented itself, though.
"When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway?" Sirius pressed eagerly, speaking quickly now "I was thinking, we got away with the dog and the Weasley disguise last time, didn't we? I thought we could-"
"No!" Harry and Hermione shouted in unison.
Heather wasn't sure whether that was what bothered Sirius most, or the fact that she'd joined them before even fully realising that she had. Judging by the betrayed look he gave her, she knew which one she should put her money on.
"Didn't you see the articles I sent Heather?" Harry asked nervously.
"We got them both," Heather answered.
"Oh please, they're always guessing where I am - they haven't got a clue. And they're looking for someone with black hair as far as Heather is concerned with...with all of the makeup and the black and all that. The Weasley look is so different, it's sure to work just fi-"
"But this time they do have a clue," Harry countered, blood quickly draining from his face "Malfoy hinted on the train that he knew it was you - both of you."
"And the things he said about Heathe-" Hermioned made to add anxiously, but Harry quickly interrupted her, shooting her a pointed look.
"Lucius Malfoy was on the platform too, Sirius. Don't come up here, whatever you do. If he recognises either of you again-"
Heather badly wanted to ask what exactly the younger Malfoy had said about her that Harry so badly didn't want her to know, but there was no room to get a word in to even ask.
"All right, all right, I've got the point," Sirius said, with the tone of somebody who clearly did not like the point "Just an idea, thought you might like to get together."
"I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" Harry argued.
He looked like he was about to keel over of a heart attack at any minute. Out of sight, Heather tried to place a placating hand on Sirius' shoulder, but he immediately shrugged it off. She pretended not to feel the streak of hurt that shot through her chest at the action, and told herself it was just annoyance, plain and simple. But rather than acknowledge her, Sirius was regarding Harry with a furrowed brow.
"You're less like your father than I thought," he said finally, voice cold "The risk would've made it fun for James."
Heather was certain her jaw dropped at the hurtful words - and Harry? Harry looked like a puppy who had just been kicked.
"Look-" he rushed to undo the damage he clearly thought he'd caused, but Sirius wouldn't allow it.
"Well we'd better go, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs," Sirius said - a lie, considering Heather couldn't hear a thing "I'll write to you with a time I can make it back to the fire then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"
He didn't wait for a response, and Heather felt him move away at her side. The teenagers stared dumbly at the spot where Sirius' face had been, before they turned their attention back to her. She mouthed an "I'm sorry", levelling a particularly apologetic look at her brother, before she pulled her face away from the fire.
She half expected to find Sirius gone from the room completely, but instead he was by the drink cart in the sitting room, pouring himself a glass of Firewhisky. Heather repressed a sigh. The fact that he didn't look at her, nor even acknowledge her in any way, told her that Harry was not the only victim of his ire.
"That was unkind," Heather said as gently as she could, leaning away from the fireplace.
She wouldn't pretend to be in the wrong when she wasn't. Not even for him, and especially not if it meant backstabbing her brother.
"That was unfair," he countered with a grumble "Both of you - cowering in the face of a little risk like cowards."
"Cowards?" She echoed incredulously "Sirius, we weren't against it for self-preservation or because we're afraid, it's to keep each other safe. Harry and I don't want you to get recaptured for the sake of a day out, Harry knows my face is plastered in the papers too, so it's not even safe for me - and god knows what would happen to him should he be found with the two of us there."
Sirius scoffed, shaking his head "Listen to yourself, Heather. We wouldn't get caught."
"Nobody goes into any risky situation expecting it to turn out badly. Cowardice and caution aren't the same thing - if anything, James would want us all to be careful."
"How would you know what he'd want? You never knew him."
She looked away when he said it, and so didn't see if he regretted either his words, or how harshly he spoke them, once they'd left his mouth. She doubted it, anyway. The retort was an easy one, pushing its way to the tip of her tongue - 'and whose fault is that?'. If he wanted to be nasty, she could be too. Instead, though, she took a deep breath in and said nothing. Fighting fire with fire, however pettily rewarding it might've been in the moment, wouldn't get them anywhere, and devolving into saying the worst thing possible at the first sign of friction would set a dangerous precedent, especially considering their situation guaranteed frayed nerves and irritability.
"He's not James," she settled for instead.
But saying that might've been worse than what she'd originally been tempted to say.
"Yes, Molly, thank you for that revelation. I do often forget that my best friend was brutally murdered fourteen years ago, what would I do without you to remind me?"
There was no talking to him when he was like this. He wanted to hear only what he really wanted to hear, and anything else would be met with scorn and derision. Heather wasn't going to play that game. There would be no winner.
"That's not what I-...Okay, Sirius," she sighed, standing and brushing the soot from her leggings "I'll leave you to it, then."
He said nothing as she left the room, shut the door behind her, and made her way up to her bedroom.