Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything you can recognise from any books or TV series or movies. I do however take liberties with the plots or mentions provided by JKR or other writers. The only profit I'm getting out of it is improving my English.
Title: Secrets & Keepers – Entropy
Rating/Warnings: R/M [AU; Manipulative Dumbledore (therefore not Dumbledore friendly); profanity; canon typical violence; frank discussion of past child abuse (Harry but not only) and of past child abuse of sexual nature (not Harry); not very detailed descriptions of torture (not Harry); Black family feels; identity crisis; pureblood politics; good Slytherins]
Characters and pairings: Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Bathsheda Babbling. As well as Hermione Granger, Arcturus Black, Larry Lawrence (OC) and Josephine Turner (OC). The rest of characters will appear as the story progresses.
All adults are more or less paternal towards Harry or grandfatherly towards Hermione as well as generally friendly or at the very least civil towards each other once they sort out their differences.
References to past and present relationship of sexual nature between Snape and Babbling. Occasional mentions of one sided Sirius/James, not one sided Sirius/OFC (the woman of many names). Contains mentions of Remus/Tonks, eventual allusions to Larry/Josephine and background Arcturus/Melania. No Harry or Hermione pairings because they have a lot on their plates and won't have time for teenage nonsenses for a longer while (at the very least through PoA timeline).
Spoilers: All seven books with occasional, brief references to ground work for HP & CC main plot as well as Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course and Secrets & Keepers – Supernova.
Summary: Harry & Hermione learn that as weird as everything become in the aftermath of learning devastating news is that the life actually goes on. There's a Dark Lord to destroy, a manipulative Headmaster to overthrow, family bonds and new friendships to establish and old ones to maintain. Direct sequel to S&K - Collision Course and S&K - Supernova.
Chapter summary: The burning day and rebirth of Sirius Black.
Word count: About 16 000.
Author's note: Okay, so I was wrong, it didn't take two weeks but to be fair I got a bit side-tracked and you can expect the effects of that minor distraction in the upcoming weeks, most likely sooner than the next chapter of Entropy because I want to finish the distraction before I will refocus on Entropy. And yes, the distraction is called chapter 3 of The Blacks: Semper Slytherin. I do have enough self-preservation to not start another story.
Back to the subject at hand which is this chapter. It was as entertaining as it was frustrating to write. I had fun in places in which I could have it (and at times I had to stop myself from expanding these scenes). It's also dark, because it's Sirius (and Snape) and his psyche… well, if you have gotten so far to get to this chapter then you know that Sirius has issues, a lot of issues, to the point of his issues having their own issues. And because I can't exactly send him to therapy in the current state of events he needs to work them out on his own.
I hope that You will find this story as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write and I would love to hear what you think.
Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.
~Baptist Beacon
Secrets & Keepers – Entropy
Chapter fifteen: The Phoenix
Severus Snape, 16th August, 12 Grimmauld Place, London.
In his life there was a brief period of naivety when part of him believed that everything would work itself out eventually. Well, maybe not his father, he stopped believing in him ever seeing the light and getting himself back on straight and narrow right around the time his grandparents passed away, because if that didn't shake his father then nothing could possibly achieve that. Nevertheless at a certain point when he thought of his future he imagined himself as a successful scholar of some sort, of what branch precisely it was unclear at the time, the Dark Arts were fascinating but so was the concept of researching magical maladies complexly from both magical and Muggle angle. Obviously he wasn't going to do it alone. Lily was supposed to be by his side all along, and not only just as a fellow academic. In his childish dreams she was also his partner, and mother of his children (an unspecified number of thereof that fluctuated between two or three, none of which had inherited his lanky hair or his nose). The house in which they lived in his dreams looked much like the Evans residence with a bigger garden and a greater distance between neighbours.
If he was being very introspective on the subject, which happened very rarely and usually at the point of being so inebriated that he was tethering on the brink of regretting his overindulgence on the next day. As a child of a violent drunk and one that often found himself on the receiving end of his father's outbursts, he didn't drink heavily, or too often. But on this late, rare and truly miserable nights when shadows grew too long and nothing felt even a bit peaceful he was brave enough to admit what he longed for.
It was the normalcy of a peaceful and respectful union, an example of which he had seen in the older Evanses. Not that he saw a lot of them in these weird times but eventually Tuney wound up in a secondary school of her own and somehow managed to acquire her own friends amongst the children of the factory upper management, well, mid-level upper management. Either way it got her out of the house for a couple of hours every other day and Lily was sneaking him into the house. At the time he hadn't seen it for what it was.
There were a lot of things in his youth he didn't expect to ever do or do not. Most notably he didn't expect to ever loose Lily's, he couldn't exactly call it friendship when he'd always been hoping for something more than that. But he did and not only he lost her regard but also lost her truly and didn't expect to hear from her ever again. Another thing he didn't expect to do was having any sort of power over Sirius Black and not doing his best to use it against the twat.
That said the aforementioned twat placed himself at Severus mercy the very moment he decided to follow through with Lily's supposedly brilliant idea. Well, in theory it was brilliant, Severus couldn't deny that. Lily was a brilliant theoretician when it came to potions but Severus had on her brilliant idea about thirteen years of practical application of theoretical knowledge and easier access to research.
He also had doubts. Not in his own abilities, he hadn't doubted in them anymore, not in a while. He was educated and experienced enough to go – if he didn't know something for certain – with his instincts. And his instincts were telling him that it was going to work. But that was the process itself. The problem lied in Black and although all of Severus's tests had claimed that considering his circumstances Black was in far better health than majority of the patients that undergone the process there was something about Black's overall condition that made Severus felt doubt about following through with the process.
And weirdest of all he couldn't even pinpoint what it was. Black suffered no allergies that would affect the treatment in any way. His and Lily's blood matched to a t and Severus's test concluded that if Black died in the process it wouldn't be from the shock of the transfusion.
That said he could still die, a loss that without doubt would be mourned by the other occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place, less by Severus himself. Not that he devoted much time lately to actively wishing Black death. Dumbledore's treachery had put a lot of things in a different perspective and as Dumbledore's enemy Black was more valuable ally than a foe. That's said their working relationship oscillated between civil to coldly indifferent and it suited them both splendidly. Well, maybe with the exception of this tiny feeling of betraying his younger self. Black did try to kill him and although he revealed what was going through his head at the time and made some, half-arsed by Severus's standards, attempt at an apology…
Doubts and temptations didn't mix well but the potions he and Black were going to need next day were ready before the elf announced dinner.
Secrets & Keepers – Entropy
Severus Snape, 17th August, 12 Grimmauld Place, London
He woke up at twilight with first signs of brightening sky outside the window. And between Bathsheda loosely wrapped in his arms (well, he had to use up some reserves of his restless energy and she was not only up for that but also pleased with the results) and the comfy mattress under his back it took him a couple minutes to figure out why he woke up at such ungodly hour.
All that he needed to do was to glance at the dresser on the other side of the room to wake up fully and he sighed heavily, muttering to himself, "No rest for the wicked."
And it wouldn't be. Before him were roughly twenty-something hours of monitoring Black progress through the process that according to the source material should end with the raising moon on the next day. Assuming that nothing during the day would go sideways.
As gently as he could he wriggled out from Bathsheda's grasp and headed for a shower, insanely grateful for just right level of pressure and the elf's desire to please everyone with drowning them in the array of luxurious bathroom supplies. And while Severus himself wouldn't splurge for such stuff, after all regular array of Hogwarts supplies had served him well through past twelve years, it was a nice indulgence.
Once he dressed up for the day he headed upstairs. When he reached the topmost landing he found Black just exiting the bathroom and already dressed. Together and without exchanging a word they headed into Black's bedroom that didn't look like he slept in it.
"How soon I can expect the first signs of change?" asked Black once he sat down on the bed.
"Not soon," replied Severus as he offered him the vial. "The decline will be gradual and judging from the reports I hazard a guess that you will start feeling worse to wear around noon. That said I suggest sticking today to food that's easy to digest and going for as long as you can about your day as usual."
"With the exception of drinking a poison at every hour," added Black with a grimace.
"You can still back out," offered Severus. "The only thing you would be wasting will be money for ingredients."
"And a couple of days out of your life," commented Black.
"And since when you started caring about that?" asked Severus sceptically.
"I really don't but I know how I feel about people wasting my time," replied Black. "Well then, cheers," he added before he uncorked the vial.
He downed it slowly, as Severus urged him to do yesterday and without a grimace that Severus expected before he held up the vial and waved it in a weird, twitching gesture that had to mean something.
"Are you keeping them or banishing?" Black asked with a small sigh. "Or is this one of the self-refiling ones?"
"I wouldn't be caught dead using that unsanitary crap," replied Severus sourly. "And I don't understand people that use them, maybe with the exception of chronically ill with a prescribed potion regime."
"A simple no would suffice," replied Black simply. "It bothers you that much?" he asked curiously after a moment.
"Stupidity bothers me, as do unnecessary deaths that could have been prevented if someone had a little more imagination. Especially if the one dying isn't the actual idiot in the equation," answered Severus grimly. "Some couple of years ago some chick crèche slash toddler club for the privileged in Italy, I think that it was Rome but it also could be Milano, had been using these when one of the kids came in with beginning of a cold. The minders not only didn't question the parents whatever or not it was something more than a common cold or a sign of seasonal allergy but also fed all of the kids with a Pepper-Up from the same vial."
"But it wasn't a cold and they started with the sick one," sighed Black. "How many?"
"Dragon pox," replied Severus. "Four dead toddlers, one infant sibling, a pregnant mother of a child that survived and five elderly relatives. And that's only counting the deceased. Six more kids developed some sort of neurological issues."
"That isn't exactly a typical symptom, is it?" asked Black pensively.
"No, it isn't," agreed Severus. "The committee that was supposed to investigate how it had started discovered that the father of the patient zero was a researcher for Magical Maladies Research Laboratory and worked on an enhanced strain of the disease. He was very surprised that it was far more contagious than they expected it to be."
"And likely not careful enough," said Black with a nod.
"Like I said, idiots," concluded Severus.
The rest of the morning followed in pretty much the same vein but with their conversation limited to the assessment of Black's condition due the influx of curious onlookers that were either expecting Black to either drop dead or at the very least collapse.
The collapse was imminent and both he and Black knew that but they both agreed that for as long as he could he should go about the day as usual. Which he did right until lunch when, about ten minutes after receiving tenth out of dozen potions that was supposed to weaken his bone marrow enough to submit to the treatment, instead of sitting down with the rest of them at the table Black stumbled out of the room.
He was quickly followed by his brother and Lupin, with Severus trailing at their heels, and had been saved from falling face first to the floor in a spell of dizziness by Lupin and Regulus catching him just as he was collapsing.
Black regained consciousness just as Lupin and Regulus started arguing which one of them should pick him up and carry him upstairs (instead of levitating him like wizards they were both supposed to be) and adamantly refused to be carried. Which didn't exactly made the trip upstairs easy, or short.
Severus, the dutiful moron that he was, followed the stubborn jackass and his handlers to the bedroom to assess Black's condition after the climb. Satisfied with the results he allowed Black to rest, knowing fully well that once Black would receive the final potion of the batch he won't be able to rest in any semblance of peace for quite a long while.
Just as he expected the final dose of bone marrow weakening potion had been administered under the complete audience of all of the occupants (elf included). Not that aside from few early doses that Black taken just under his watchful eye he didn't have at the very least one curious onlooker. Potter had been at Black's side since he woke up, not missing a single dose since, while the others accompanied them at odd intervals. They hadn't even been deterred by Severus's orders to abide strict sanitary preventative measures prior to entering the room and all decked themselves with masks, hair covers, gloves and robes.
Black, refreshed by the impromptu naps, had been in quite a good mood for some time after taking the final dose, encouraging others into conversations, doing crosswords or in Potter's case studying. To a casual onlooker it might seem as if the potion wasn't working but Severus wasn't a casual onlooker. It was all in the small twitches of muscles; careful, deliberately sounding pauses between words that were still holding some semblance of sense.
Black was in pain and a lot of it. They both knew that, he did read at Black the descriptions of the survivors of the process. Some compared it to feeling as if they were stabbed with thousands needles both inside and outside while other compared it to the fire of Cruciatus Curse.
And yet Black was enduring it with only an occasional grimace, carefully calculated with Potter looking down at the page he was reading and a stray grunt disguised as a cough. Severus wasn't the only one that saw it and around dinner time Bathsheda, urged by Black himself, took Potter and Tonks downstairs for dinner.
That left only Severus, Regulus and Lupin with Black in the room.
"I can't hear them further than the hallway downstairs," said Lupin as he closed the door. "You can let it go, Sirius."
"I'd rather not," said Black slowly, grimacing between words. "I hate faeces and urine draining spells and I would like to avoid them for as long as possible."
"I didn't mean it that way," sighed Lupin.
"I know," muttered Black. "The answer is still no," he paused for a longer moment, clearly tired. "I see no point in screaming myself raw," he added.
"It might make you feel better," offered Regulus, without much of a conviction in his voice.
"Loss of consciousness will make me feel better," replied Black, his statement was punctuated by grunts and grimaces. "And please shut up," that was directed at Lupin who opened his mouth to protest. "Your mother hen voice sounds too much like Silky Bobby."
"Who is Silky Bobby?" whispered Lupin to Regulus.
Severus involuntarily shuddered at the mention of the name. He did have a misfortune of spending a couple of minutes with the man.
"A good acquaintance of yours?" he asked pensively.
"A true maestro in getting people to reach the full potential of their vocal range," replied Black, his statement like previously had been punctuated by grunts and grimaces.
"Is he running a fever?" asked Lupin sceptically.
"Err…" started Regulus. "I'm going to sort this one out and grab a quick bite," he added before he ushered Lupin out of the room.
"You sang," said Severus quietly. "A lot."
"I was the Dark Lord's right hand, a mass-murderer and a traitor. Every single one of them was good enough reason to get the inner countertenor out of me," replied Black, slowly and with occasional grimace of pain.
Involuntarily Severus found himself wincing in a twitch of sympathy. They could hide behind meaningless words that disguised the horrors of that God and Magi forsaken island but if anyone from the occupants of the house knew what was going on behind those damp, stony walls it was Severus. And even then he was still miles away from experiencing the same level of horrors and for a far shorter amount of time.
"I'm sorry," flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
"I remember," started Black slowly. "Some kid.. Couldn't be older than eighteen really and could have been younger than that…" he paused, his breath hitching. "I don't know if he was just caught with the wrong crowd and couldn't afford a law…" his breath hitched again. "They brought him down with me, shortly after…" another pause. "They were in a mood, spoiling for a fight…"
"He didn't survive it," guessed Severus quietly.
"Didn't stand a chance," sighed Black. "I was an Auror… and an experienced Occlumenist… prior to Azkaban and the wardens…" he paused. "They were predictable and Cruciatus cast at regular intervals… it still hurts like hell but with your mind… set and some muscle/nerve memory… this sixth sense sort of thing… You can retreat and present yourself as worse… to wear than you actually are but… not too soon… That makes them… very unhappy and when they're unhappy they get creative and that can be wo…"
Severus felt the alarm before it sounded, he saw it in the spike of Black's blood pressure and heartrate and had been already pressing the vial of the potion to Black's lips when the single alarm horn tore through the house.
"That can give man a heart-attack," sighed Black, his breathing back to normal just as the door to the room opened, revealing the others in various state of disarray and complete lack of protective gear. "Or raise the dead," he added as he looked pointedly at his brother.
"What was that?" asked Potter nervously.
"Just me preventing your godfather from suffering a heart-attack," replied Severus briskly. "Now get out and attire yourself properly. He still has another hour left before I can start administering the blood and you can't get out of the gear until I will ascertain that his bone marrow is producing new blood."
The hour that followed was nerve-wrecking in spite of lack of another spike in Black's heartrate and blood pressure and in spite of Black's attempts to lighten the mood it had remained terse and sombre spiking to anxious when the time to administer the vial with Lily's blood came. By that point Black was so weak that his brother and Lupin had to hold him up as no magic could be used to forcefully administer the potion.
Once finished and after declining just enough water to wash out the taste of blood from his mouth Black claimed that he needed a nap. Which was… not ideal as it would require out of Severus making adjustments in his readings. But after witnessing the man go through hours of pain that he had to bear with minimal amount of pain-reducing potions (and only as much as could be administered with the one that weakened his bone marrow) Severus reckoned that he could cut the man a little slack.
The hours trickled by. One, then the other and Severus was examining the third sample of freshly produced blood and comparing it with the source material. Both physical that he got from Lily's vial and textbooks on the subject. Black was still about an hour, two at the most out of what Severus considered as high enough levels of freshly produced blood to remove the protective gear when both the alarm and Potter's anxious voice filled the room.
"He's not breathing!"
Secrets & Keepers – Entropy
Sirius Black, 17th August 1993, 12 Grimmauld Place, London
He experienced enough pain in Azkaban to know that he was in for a rough ride when Snape showed him the reports made by other patients about the procedure. That didn't deter him, Harry's safety was paramount and he would do everything to ensure it. He definitely could withstand a couple hours of pain if it meant that they could remove the Dursleys from the picture permanently.
But knowing that the day was going to suck and experiencing it were two different things. The pain started as described, shortly after taking first dose, a very low grade dull ache in his muscles and joints that very slowly, with each dose raised to uncomfortable levels. He could stand that, he had flu a couple of times in his life and it felt like having a flu, the spells of dizziness were new and he never experienced something similar while having a flu. Nausea was worse, as he wasn't sure whatever or not what little he consumed was going to make a reappearance and he always hated being sick. The nap, punctuated by taking new doses of the potion helped.
Then the actual pain had started. Not that it wasn't present earlier but there was a difference between gradually raising ache that was manageable and the inferno that was tearing through him with every breath. Talking was unbearable but he continued doing that for Harry's benefit alone, the kid was already mortified by the process and it wasn't over.
Worst of all, there was no rhythm to it to which he could adjust and when he thought that he had a grasp on it hard enough to tune it down a bit by adjusting his breathing pattern it changed and hurt even more than before.
It wasn't surprising that his mind, stressed out by both the constant pain and physical exhaustion started recalling the last time he was in that much pain. It was a weird as fuck because he was still aware of where he was and who he was with while visually experiencing something completely different.
Marshall. Was it Marshall or was it Marborough? Silky Bobby. Dawlish Senior. Oolong whose name wasn't Oolong but everybody called him that.
It wasn't really that surprising that seeing echoes of them had caused an alarming spike in blood pressure and the only thing that kept it from spiking again when he saw his father was the potion still cursing through his veins.
Stay focused on reality, he kept telling himself. Stay on Harry, on Reg, on Remus, on Dora, on Bathsy, hell even on Snape. So he tried his best to engage them into conversations but when the respite under the guise of Lily's blood came he had no longer strength left to hide how past several hours exhausted him.
He had fallen asleep without as much as a sip of water, not that he really needed it as in the dark, damp walls of Azkaban sometimes his own blood was safer than whatever he could suck from walls if the wardens forgot about the bucket of water. Not that he developed a taste for it, he just simply didn't care.
The sleep he fell into was… not exactly a nightmare but neither it was pleasant and he found himself wondering through a labyrinth of rooms that were devoid of everything but doors of varying sizes. Some of the rooms had windows, some did not. Not that it mattered as all of the windows were completely dark.
With the exception of the last one, a huge French-like window that led him to a familiar looking room.
His old bedroom, he realised as he looked around the room. Completely unchanged in décor and with eerily familiar mess filling in the room. Except, he was never stupid enough to let his guard down to drink when he was still living there, not more than an offered glass of wine and only when the offer sounded like an order and never more than that.
Thanks to the loosely drawn curtains the room was bathed in the mixture of partial darkness and spots of morning sun one of which was falling at the messy pile of blankets and clothes on the bed.
He was about to approach it to examine it closely when the door to the room opened with such force that it banged against the wall. The sight of the gorgon at the door made him flinch and take a step back. For some reason she looked eerily familial but he had a problem with placing her face.
She was red-headed, short in stature, rather plump and was dressed in this shapeless, a little eyesore mix of patterns and colours that he often found in people so poor that they didn't care for how the material looked like as long as it was cheap. He had been there himself at a certain point of his life but with no talent for sewing and remains of Black family hubris he preferred to buy his clothes in second-hand shops. That such a thing likely didn't occur to the woman strongly suggested that she was a pureblood.
As Sirius observed she walked over to the pile on the bed, closing the door with a loud slam as soon as she was far enough from it that it wouldn't hit her. Then she slowly pulled out her wand from the pocket of her apron and poked the pile with it where the lump was the highest. She waited a moment before she aimed a softly spoken 'Aguamenti' at it.
For a brief moment there was no reaction until…
"Jesus, Merlin, Mary, Morgana," came a muffled groan from the pile. "Did that bloody elf vanished the roof again?"
"Nice for you to join the others in the land of living," said the woman crisply.
"Molly," the sound that came from the pile sounded like a cross between a groan and a scoff.
"Excellent observation," she said loudly, louder than it was needed. "Since against your best efforts you didn't manage to lose the rest of your marbles you're well enough to join us at breakfast."
"I already had breakfast, and lunch, and dinner," came a disgruntled reply. "Kindly bugger off."
"I would have if someone hadn't been asking about you," she replied grimly and grimaced.
That got the pile to stir and from underneath the mass of blankets and clothes to a sitting position raised… well, the shadow of a man he never wanted to see: himself. He was in such a sorry state that had nothing to do with Azkaban. Red-nosed, sallow-skinned, with narrowing eyes of someone who greatly overindulged in the contents of the empty bottles that were littered on the floor. His alter ego looked like it had a good ten years of age over him but it didn't exactly have to be true. He was a Black and from an old off-hand remark made by Grandpa Arcturus he knew that prolonged overindulgence and alcoholism had a tendency of adding them years, sometimes a lot of them.
"How is he?" asked the other Sirius as he ran his hands over his face.
"Worried," muttered Molly. "Don't you think that he has enough on his plate to not worry about you? Not that he isn't the only one…"
"Did I ever try to tell you how you're supposed to raise your own kids?" the other Sirius snarled angrily.
Molly gaped at him, opening and closing her mouth.
"Because I can," the other Sirius continued, "and I can tell you here and now that one of these days you will end up alienating your own kids by overwhelming them with your ambitions and pressuring them into following your choices. Never wondered why some of them put thousands of miles between themselves and the rest of the family…"
"How dare you?" Molly growled. "After everything I've done for your benefit…"
"Your benefit you mean," other Sirius interjected. "I warned you once, I warned you a couple of dozen times," he added stiffly. "This isn't a safe house and was never intended as such. You chose to treat it as such, I never did. And I wouldn't even be here for longer than the meetings if it wasn't for the general and his bright ideas."
"It's your home," she retorted angrily. "It's your choice to treat this space like an inconvenience rather than a blessing. You have no idea how many people would have been happy with a place like this."
"Oh, I do," snorted Sirius before he narrowed his eyes at her. "And I know that I'm staring at one of them. Don't insult me more by trying to hide it, Molly. Because I assure you if there was a way to dump this blessing in your lap I would have done it next morning after you arrived."
"Oh, pardon me," she snorted. "For knowing the value of things that I have."
"And inability to see that sometimes you're admiring a nicely wrapped box of hippogriff shit," retorted Sirius with a huff. "This," he pointed at the floor, "is this shit."
"No, the shit is downstairs and is waiting to be cleaned up," replied Molly sourly. "Your house, your pet, I'm not cleaning after it," she added as she started walking away.
"Only because he knows that you're full of it," grumbled Sirius under his breath.
"Screw you," she called out before she opened the door, stepped out and slammed it shut with a loud thud.
"Screw yourself," snorted Sirius under his breath. "Or do the world the favour and kill yourself or something you overbearing, controlling bitch," he added before he threw back the covers.
Getting himself out of bed had taken him some time but once he was standing he swayed his way to the desk. Sirius trailed after his dream counterpart wavering between feeling disgusted with him and pitying him.
He knew what 12 Grimmauld Place was like and in so far the only thing that made the stay there bearable was the knowledge that right now it was the safest place for them and that once the summer would end and Pettigrew would be caught he will be free again and would be able to leave this place behind and never return there.
What sort of a mess this Sirius had to be to seek no escape from this place or the pleasant company.
But that curiosity had faded away as soon as he saw his dream counterpart picking up the familiar rectangular case covered in a black suede.
"Moron," he snorted it as the other man turned it over in his hands, clearly hesitating. "Monumental moron," he added shaking his head just as the other man slowly opened the case.
The syringe wasn't new. He didn't use to hate Muggle syringes but he was pathologically paranoid over the idea of sharing needles and the old Victorian syringe that he found in one of the antique shops appealed to him. There were two bottles in the case, both unmarked that captured the other man's attention for a moment before he picked one of them.
Sirius turned his head away. From the lack of the other man's reaction when he called him a moron he knew that he wasn't the active participant of this dream rather than a viewer and he wanted to spare himself the sight, the memories and the feelings that came with them.
It wasn't worth it. Never had been, and the brief overstimulation of the senses that it brought came at a price. One that he wasn't paying, in blood, but others had been.
He only looked back at the man when after a brief sigh and a soft thud he heard a soft knock on the door.
"Shit," the other man whispered as he hastily started standing up.
Predictably, he almost had fallen flat on his face as he stumbled his way to the door. Sirius trailed after him and picked a spot behind the other man's back that allowed him the view at and through the door once he finally managed to yank it open.
"Err…" the other man started as he looked down.
At the door stood Harry. He looked less scrawny and a bit taller than Sirius's own Harry but still not by much, maybe about a year to three at the maximum, considering how James's short stature in teenage years could affect Harry at the same age.
"Can we talk?" dream-Harry asked nervously.
"Sure," other Sirius answered quickly, too quickly to Sirius's liking. "I was about to head downstairs to take care of Buckbeak," he added as he slipped through the ajar door and as he was turning slightly to close the door he didn't notice the grimace that passed quickly through Harry's face.
Sirius, probably due to the illogical manner of dreams, somehow found himself on the other side of the door before it fully closed and not for the first time he found himself disgusted with his dream counterpart.
Feeling the need to get high he understood. The zebras after all can't change their stripes and once one falls into clutches of addiction one always remains an addict even when they remain clean and sober for years and decades. But succumbing into the clutches of addiction with Harry in the house…
"Never," he whispered to himself.
Because Harry wasn't stupid, he might not be able to tell precisely what was wrong with the other Sirius but he could clearly see that something wasn't right and the quickly closed door – an attempt to spare him the sight of the visible testimony what sort of a worm his godfather had been – hurt him even if he tried his best to hide it. And the other Sirius couldn't see it.
"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered to the dream-Harry as he tried to place his hand on the boy's shoulder but it fallen straight through Harry's body to come resting at Sirius's side. "I'm so sorry, Harry."
Meanwhile Sirius the oblivious dream-idiot talked, going on about some school prank that Sirius had trouble recalling and didn't really care about, too focused at Harry's hunched shoulders as he trailed after his godfather. They headed downstairs, to the bedroom of Sirius's parents and as Sirius wondered what possibly his dream counterpart could be hiding in there someone called out from a landing below.
"Harry! We need you in the dining room!"
Harry grimaced and sighed, looking from Sirius towards the stairs just as his godfather's hand came to rest on the doorknob.
"Go," dream-Sirius said slowly after a moment of hesitation. "You should be with your friends," he added. "I will be in there for a while," he gestured towards the room. "I'm not going away," he added as he opened the door.
Except you are, Sirius thought furiously as he watched the crestfallen look on Harry's face before he turned on his heel and started walking away.
"I'm so sorry, Harry," he whispered again to the boy's retreating back. "I will never do that to you…"
Was it a warning of what possibly could happen if he let himself stumble, if he would allow himself to be consumed by shadows. And where was Regulus in all of this? Or Remus? Or Dora? Or Bathsy? Hell, even Snape?
"You presume that they care?" asked a silky voice from behind his back that almost, almost made him jump. "The only one that cares is this Mudblood-birthed retard," his father added as he circled Sirius from behind. "And his," he nodded towards the door behind which the dream-Sirius disappeared, "only saving grace as a father figure is knowing what lurks in the shadows. The boy looks remarkably like his father, doesn't he?" he asked innocently.
"Oh, fuck off," snarled Sirius. "I'm not you and Harry isn't James, you despicable twat."
"You know that," Father said dryly. "But does he?" he quirked his eyebrow as he nodded towards the door again. "Does he simply hide his urges in the syringe and cheap whisky or is he simply too selfish to put the child he was entrusted with first?"
"Is it a warning?" asked Sirius with a huff. "Or a vision?" he added, barely keeping his anxiety at the thought from his voice.
"It is…" Father started slowly, deliberately drawing out words like he always used to when he wanted them to hurt the most, "what it is."
"And what it is?" asked Sirius angrily.
"Something," replied Father with a shrug.
"And you're full of shit," retorted Sirius.
"Agreed," his Father mussed at loud. "As are you, my dear son. Don't let the door slam that delicious ass on your way out," he added with an unsettling grin.
Sirius lunged at him, with no crystallised plan other than the urge to pummel the bastard to death, but the man simply disappeared just as fast as he appeared and Sirius found himself colliding with a wall.
"The logic of dreams," he snorted under his breath as he rubbed his right shoulder.
The logic of dreams still had left him in an empty corridor in some quite shitty visualisation of 'something' and it was a lousy place to be. So as much as his gut rebelled against doing anything that his father suggested he headed downstairs.
Curiously the lower levels were completely devoid of occupants and the house now looked completely deserted. But then he reached the ground floor and found himself standing in the empty hallway at the end of which, curiously, the front door was wide open.
He approached it with caution, peering cautiously into dining room that was ominously empty even though a couple of moments prior the call of Harry's friend summoned the boy there.
He contemplated for a brief moment the invitation that the open door were before he reluctantly stepped outside into a sun bathed square. Cautious glances that he aimed at the cars parked by the curb didn't help him to establish whatever or not he was stuck in a vision or experiencing something else, they all looked pretty much the same like they did the last time he glanced out through the window.
He approached the entrance of the fenced square slowly and without a hurry. It didn't change much either. The playground was located in the south-eastern corner, taking up majority of the space. The slides, merry-go-rounds, monkey-bars and swings looked much the same like back in his childhood, the eyesore mix of blue, red and yellow. What little space that wasn't occupied by the playground or trees was filled with patches of grass on which Muggle boys used to play football or some families used to hold an occasional picnic. Here and there an occasional bench was located strategically under the shadows of trees.
But now the whole place was nearly completely deserted, with the exception of two boys swinging lazily on the swings. They both looked eerily familiar even though he couldn't immediately place them. They appeared to be around Harry's age and appeared to be fit in this teenage, gangly manner. They both had black hair and relatively pale complexion. From the distance that was where the similarities ended though as their hair although the same in colour differed in length and structure. One of them had curly hair that was just reaching his ears while the other boy's hair was shoulder-length with a side parting and had a certain volume to it.
He approached them cautiously. After the conversation with his father the last thing he wanted was to be caught staring at young boys. But that didn't change the fact that he was curious, there was something about them that was drawing him closer, if only to look.
He was just close enough to have a clear look at their faces when they both looked up and stared right through him. Uncertain on what he should focus or whatever or not he should simply turn around and walk away he looked from one to another.
They both had startlingly familiar even though completely different green eyes and the eyes of the curly-haired boy were getting brighter still until they turned pale, most likely grey. The eyes of the other boy were more familiar, almond-shaped, in a darker shade of green.
He looked like Harry, without glasses and curiously enough he wasn't squinting at whoever caught his attention. Harry's nose, Harry's facial structure and he even managed to glimpse the edge of the scar on Harry's forehead. But the lack of glasses was throwing him off a bit.
The pounding grew nearer and soon another boy found himself by Sirius's side and like the other two he paid him not attention. He appeared to be tad shorter than his companions, a bit pudgier and his hair looked like a cross between Harry and the other one, except in rapidly darkening blonde.
"Okay," he gasped out as he gestured at his head. "Which one of you, twats, is responsible for this?" he added as he narrowed his eyes looking from one to the other.
"Harry," said Harry as he gestured to the other boy just as he said nearly over him, "Regulus."
Sirius frowned at that. Harry was Harry, he knew Harry and he knew that he was looking at Harry, who apparently was called Regulus of all things.
"Great," groaned the boy. "How do I fix it? Gran is going to kill me."
"Your Gran can air her grievances with our Grandpa," said the other boy, supposedly Harry. "I'm sure that they will have a lot to talk about."
"Like say placing spells of questionable quality on his…" started Harry that was called Regulus, "first cousin three times removed."
"Oh Merlin," the not so blonde anymore boy muttered. "You had to bring family into it, didn't you?" he asked almost petulantly. "She's already put out that old arrangement is seriously cutting into our quality time."
"It's the first time that I hear you complain about it," said supposedly Harry simply. "My dear…"
"Don't you dare to start counting," the nameless boy snorted. "I'm so used to it by now that the last time Uncle Algie started questioning me about my own family I apparently managed to classify myself as your brother. I'm still perplexed by it."
"The more the merrier," Harry-Regulus chirped.
"I could use another brother," said supposedly-Harry. "This one," he gestured at Harry-Regulus, "is turning into a Ravenclaw and not very forthcoming with reasons for the change."
The nameless boy frowned and looked at Harry-Regulus pointedly before he asked cautiously, "Have you told him?"
"I sort of figured out that there's a Ravenclaw girl involved but I'm still trying to come up with names. One would think that it's Chang…" continued supposedly-Harry.
"Chang is mooning over Hufflepuff's seeker," retorted Harry-Regulus. "Keep up with your house gossip, brother mine."
"Luna is nice," the nameless boy made an observation.
"Agreed, but it's not Luna," pointed out supposedly-Harry. "If it was Luna his fan club would have eaten her alive. Not that she would have cared. Then there's the smarter Patil…"
"Who is crushing on my least smartest dorm-mate," commented nameless boy.
"Why would she?" asked Harry-Regulus with a grimace. "He's a moron."
"And you've gotten into a flying, supposedly invisible, car with that moron," quipped supposedly-Harry.
"With your best friend and your younger brother in tow," added nameless boy. "Own your mistakes Reg."
"Technically I'm only five months younger than him," grumbled supposedlyHarry.
Five months? Could it be that this supposedly-Harry was his Harry, the son he never got to see growing up…
He gulped nervously as he focused on the boy. The similarities were there once he concentrated on then. His eyes were the blend between Sirius's and Mirzam's, hair he had to get from Mother and Mirzam. He also had Mirzam's nose and Sirius's lips, albeit a bit fuller.
How could this be possible?
At the very least in some way it explained Harry. With Mirzam alive long enough to give birth (for certain, hopefully much longer than that) there was no excuse for Sirius to use the name on Harry. But how Lily had gone from supporting Euphemius Fleamont to Regulus? Could it be possible that aside from Mirzam not dying the rest remained roughly the same and James managed to get himself kicked out of her delivery room and most likely he and Lily died as they had.
"And speaking of owning mistakes," said Harry-Regulus with a grimace. "I owned it, fair and square and I distinctly do not remember seeing either of you even coming close to that classroom."
"Well," said the nameless boy. "Technically Gran is my legal guardian and your Dad is only my step-in-godfather. Additionally, I'm a Gryffindor and Gryffindors act without thinking while Slytherins are supposed to think before they act."
"And Hufflepuffs just go with the flow," quipped Harry… Sirius's son.
"For the sake of the argument the hat considered putting me in Gryffindor," muttered Harry-Regulus. "And if I knew that someone," he glared at the nameless boy, "was going to get himself sorted into Gryffindor I wouldn't approach the sorting with just put me where I fit the best attitude."
"Hey," protested the nameless boy. "I wanted to be in Hufflepuff. Their boys have more sense than my dorm-mates."
"Maybe you weren't trying hard enough," said Sirius's son pointedly.
"To be fair, he did try. He was almost a hat stall," pointed out Harry.
"And almost got myself sorted into Slytherin, for about thirty seconds," admitted the nameless boy sheepishly. "But then I figured that Gran would kill me. She had such high hopes for me," he grimaced. "Still does even though Gryffindor is not really working out for me."
"There's really nothing wrong with following your parents footsteps," said Harry simply. "As long as it remains your choice rather than an obligation. Hence Dad, hence me. Luckily Mum tempered the Gryffindor arrogance in both of us."
"Clearly not well enough if you still get into cars of total strangers," chuckled Sirius's son.
"Har-har, you were there with me, remember?" snorted Harry.
"I remember and I did feel like a special snowflake," said Sirius's son and snickered. "What perplexed me the most is why we didn't lose the worst driver on the planet somewhere along the way."
"Because then I would have to explain to our Mum and Dad and his Mum and Dad what become of him and I really didn't want to end in Azkaban for him of all people," replied Harry with a grimace.
"Does it mean that you do want to end in Azkaban someday?" asked Sirius's son pointedly. "For other people maybe?"
"You, occasionally," deadpanned Harry. "Especially when you get in touch with your inner house-misplaced Ravenclaw and keep putting your nose in other people's business, mine in particular."
"Ah, I was wondering when we will come back to that," said Sirius's son with a grin. "So what's her name?"
"Bugger off," sighed Harry.
"Neville?" Sirius's son asked as he looked at until now nameless boy. "Who he spends the most time with?"
"Usual suspects," said Neville with a shrug. "But lately he had been…"
"Planning to murder his best friend," interjected Harry with an unsettling look in his eyes. "In a very painful and horrific way."
"… hanging around the library," finished Neville, completely undeterred by the threat. "It's quite likely that he hadn't asked her out yet and doesn't want us to mess it up."
"Because we definitely would have," said Sirius's son dryly. "Ah, young love…"
"Wait until your time will come," said Harry with a snort. "And watch me being a very supportive older brother when that happens."
"And since we're on the subject," said Neville. "Did you find out what Surprise is?" he asked curiously.
"Not yet," said Sirius's son simply. "Surprise has excellent evading tactics. Dora believes that it's an Metamorphmagus like her that's why the Healers can't tell what it is at the moment."
"According to Aunt Andy, Dora used to circle between sexes until they decided to circumcise their son and she noped out of being a boy," added Harry with a shrug. "And speaking of sexes and Metamorphmagi, Uncle Namesake visited yesterday and Mum got it into her head that he's pregnant."
"He's pregnant?" asked Neville sceptically. "How that's possible? Doesn't he need a womb for that?"
"Apparently he has one because when Dad was distracting him Mum cast this new spell. You know how to tell that your teenage daughter is pregnant without insulting her by making her drink the potion," explained Sirius's son.
"And he's very much pregnant and quite likely highly unaware that his genderfluidity coupled with eccentric lifestyle does have consequences. Mum and Dad are waiting until Surprise is born to enlighten him," added Harry.
"And speaking of surprises. Where's Herself?" asked Neville.
"With Uncle Oops and Aunt Mum Is Going to Kill Me," said Sirius's son dryly.
"They're pregnant too?" frowned Neville.
"Just came to Mum and Dad for an advice yesterday right after Uncle Namesake left. Uncle Oops has been completely perplexed by the lack of riot act from Dad," explained Harry.
"No, that was us," snickered Sirius's son. "Regulus Euphemius and Harrison Ford Black…" he started in a tone that was supposed to imitate that of stern Sirius.
"Do not follow the examples of your Uncles and until you're ready for having children use the bloody spells," finished Harry dryly.
"Said the man who spent his wedding night in a maternity ward," added Sirius's son with a chuckle.
"Official wedding night, brother mine," Harry corrected him. "Grandpa married them off before you ever had been a concept."
"Marriage and birth certificates comes first," countered Sirius's son. "29th December 1980 and 29th December 1980," he gestured at himself as he was saying the later. "Which makes him a big, fat hypocrite…"
"But one that has to maintain a modicum of control over the decency of his sex having relatives," said Harry with a grin.
"Well, he had given up on it after yesterday, that's certain," quipped Sirius's son.
"Nah, that's Surprise's impending arrival," said Harry. "So for now he told Uncle Oops and Aunt Most Likely Will Be Murdered By Her Own Mother that they should sort out what they want to do between themselves and that he would act accordingly."
"And you're betting on them keeping the baby," said Neville pensively.
"Well, they were sent home with Herself and Mum wouldn't have let her go if she didn't believe that at least one of them wanted that baby a bit," replied Harry. "She has a sixth sense for stuff like that."
"And a major case of a very bad timing babies," added Sirius's son with a chuckle. "We're making bets whatever or not she will go into labour at the party or will she wait until tge day after."
"Wedding night," said Neville as he gestured at him. "1st September," he added as he gestured towards the house. "Surprise will be born on 30th or 31st July that's certain," he added simply. "And if it does on my birthday I have an excuse to skip it altogether, I've seen plans and the guest list and I would rather wait at your Mum's arm than stay there."
"It's supposed to be messy and…" said Harry with a grimace.
"I don't care, I won't be looking at your Mum's bits. I will just stand there and hold her hand while it happens," said Neville.
"If Dad lets you," snorted Sirius's son.
"If we let you," added Harry.
"If Grandma lets you," said a new voice from behind Sirius's back.
He turned around to see a completely different Sirius. He looked like a polar opposite of the pitifully, disgusting creature Sirius encountered earlier. He was still lanky but in a fit and healthy manner and he was beaming at the trio.
"Surprise…" started Harry.
"Decided that there's no time like present and there will be no spoiling of the birthday parties," said new Sirius dryly. "Come on, Mum wants you to return to Derbyshire."
"Hell no," protested Harry.
"Hell yes, no arguing with your mother, young man," said Sirius's sternly. "She's annoyed enough at the way things are progressing that she won't be able to return home for the birth."
"Herself took only two hours," said Sirius's son simply. "What makes you think that this time Surprise will wait until you return home?" he added pointedly.
New Sirius frowned as he narrowed his eyes at his son he said slowly, "If I hear a baby's cry just as we're stepping into the house next year I'm signing you up for Divination."
"No, that hag is awful," protested Sirius's son.
He barely finished saying that when a loud, amplified 'Sirius Black!' could be heard coming from the house. It took the four of them only a second to stare at each other before they all broke out running towards the house.
Sirius was about to follow them when he heard his name being called out. And it was only when he looked around the playground that he saw that they weren't exactly alone in there. About twenty feet away from the entrance and a couple of more from the playground one of the benches was occupied by a woman whom he couldn't recognise.
She had short hair that was so grey that it was almost white. She was very thin and although she was sitting she appeared to be somewhat tall. She was dressed in a grey and very unflattering combination of a shapeless shirt and long trousers. She was also barefoot.
She smiled at him as she patted the empty spot next to her.
He approached her cautiously, not taking his eyes from her face until it started to seem familiar for his mind to make connections. The nose, the lips, the colour of her eyes. It was Mirzam but she never looked like that in his dreams and visions of her. She was always young in them, black-haired and fresh faced. But this Mirzam, she looked older beyond her years.
"Dreams are nice," she said simply. "But nothing good had ever came from dwelling on what you can't have," she added slowly, her tone bordering on sympathetic and cautious.
"I know," he sighed as he came to stand in front of her. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Me too," she sighed. "I should have been…"
Whatever she thought she should have been was drowned by the deafening rumble of a thunder that was almost immediately followed by first, fat droplets of rain and another rumble.
"Storm is coming," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
"It is," she agreed as she looked up. "Looks like it's going to last a long while too. It's a pity that there isn't enough rain in British Isles to wash the sins out of that house," she drawled out gesturing towards her old house, "or that one for the matter," she waved towards 12 Grimmauld Place.
"Do you really think that such amount of rain exists?" he asked and allowing his lips to twitch he added. "Do you know that you sound like that what's his face that Moody got the first month of our practical training?"
"Well, unlike him I know how to imitate accents," she replied with a snort. "Poor Bama, got himself codded into believing that Brits speak Irish English."
"We sure had the craic doing that," he agreed. "And that's about the extent of my Irish these days."
"You sure knew how to cuss in it," she quipped.
"As did you," he pointed out. "And aren't we a pair of clowns, standing outside when it's pissing down?"
"I'm sitting down," she replied simply. "You, on the other hand, are attracting lighting like a beanpole you are."
She barely finished saying that when he felt the tiny hair on his arms raising and the world faded to black with a loud bang.
Weirdly when the darkness cleared out he was no longer at Grimmauld Place, in or outside. He was lying on the stone floor of an ominously looking dark room that was only lit by occasional, random bursts of spells and the weird glow coming from a stone archway, with a translucent drapery that was located in the middle of the room on a podium.
When his gaze refocused he spotted himself on the platform, wand drawn out and casting, nasty stuff going by the lights of the spells alone and at someone way above where he was currently lying.
The red jet of light came exactly from that direction and hit his dream counterpart straight in the chest and even though it didn't make sense because it was too far away to notice such a thing he could see exactly when his dream counterpart made a mistake.
Reflex training was something that didn't end with graduation from Auror training, especially with such a mentor as Moody and Moody could be vicious with his ambushes that were too hard or too fast to block to root out basic instincts. Man's first instinct when faced with a spell that couldn't be blocked was always to put more distance between themselves and the spell coming at him. Meanwhile Auror's first instinct, at the very least one that was trained by Moody, it was to dodge, mostly to the side (always that of your wand arm because no one expects that) or to drop down (always face down, it leaves your back exposed but you're in better casting position).
The other Sirius, the forgetful idiot, not only took a step back in an attempt to block the spell but also tilted himself backwards instead of forwards and when the stunner hit he collapsed backwards straight into the archway.
The sound returned in that very moment with vicious and for a moment very painful clarity. Screams, grunts and curses briefly became more amplified than they normally would have been.
And then…
Harry stepped into his line of vision, running towards the ominous archway, calling out Sirius's name frantically. Dear Merlin, ready to follow his idiot of a godfather and why there was no one stopping him.
From where Remus came Sirius had no idea but he was grateful for it all the same because Remus was grabbing Harry around the chest and attempting to drag him backward, further away from the archway.
Not that Harry made it easy, he fought with Remus's hold with vicious ferocity.
"There's nothing you can do, Harry…"
"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"
"… it's too late, Harry."
"We can still reach him…"
"There's nothing you can do, Harry … nothing … he's gone."
"He hasn't gone! SIRIUS! SIRIUS!"
"He can't come back, Harry. He can't come back, because he's d…"
"He's gone and got himself killed," interrupted a completely new voice, eerily familial just as someone grabbed and hoisted him up.
Sirius could barely stand on his feet without swaying but immediately fixated himself on the face of the intruder. He looked exactly like the last time he saw him. Handsome, relatively young looking in spite of his age with long, luscious black hair tide back and pale eye twinkling merrily at him. His godfather, Uncle Alphard.
"By a stunner," Uncle Alphard finished and shook his head. "And a drapery," he deadpanned. "At the very least it makes for a memorable tombstone."
"Said the man that had been boning his serial killer cousin for decades," replied Sirius with a huff. "The same one who actually killed him. I'd rather die by a drapery."
"I'd rather if you do not," replied Uncle Alphard.
"Not your choice," retorted Sirius.
"Agreed," Uncle Alphard nodded as the room suddenly emptied around them with people fading away rather than simply leaving it. "The choice is yours, it always has been and always will be. Except…" he hung his voice.
The room around them started changing, shrinking in size until it was no bigger Ted's office, except less cluttered, at the very least with papers. It was still very messy though, clothes and books were strewn all across it in a manner that seemed familiar. There was no creative chaos in it rather than…
Then his eyes had settled on Harry. He was sitting in the corner of the room by the wardrobe, knees pulled tightly to his chest, shoulders slouched, hair wilder than ever. He was pale, his cheeks looked sunken and his eyes...
He knew those eyes, not just the colour as the emptiness behind it. Sirius's heart squeezed painfully in his chest and he didn't stop to question how that was possible in a dream.
"The kid is in agony," said Uncle Alphard slowly. "Literally as much as figuratively. Someone," he sneered, "thought that it would be wise to inform him about his death sentence shortly after he lost the only adult who he believed was in his corner."
"The Horcrux," whispered Sirius.
"Oh, not that," added Uncle Alphard. "Old twinkler is son of a bitch, no offense actually meant to his mother, but he knows how to torture people with just right amount of weight to keep them broken but not on the verge of giving up. If he told the boy that he had a piece of mad wanker's soul attached to his own the boy straight from his office would head to Astronomy tower to take a swan dive."
"Why are you showing me that?" asked Sirius. "Harry knows that already."
"And what you're doing with that?" asked Uncle Alphard pointedly.
Sirius looked down at his feet.
"Exactly," sighed Uncle Alphard. "Who will do that to him when you're gone?"
"Remus?" offered Sirius. "Regulus? Dora? Bathsy? Snape?" he counted out.
"The wolf is grieving as does that rainbow ball of sunshine that Meda birthed. The bat is serving two masters and fending off your cousins. Babbling is dealing with a loss of her own and never reached out to you. And your brother?" counted out Uncle Alphard and grimaced.
"Never made it to the meeting point," guessed Sirius.
"No," confirmed Uncle Alphard. "Basic human decency was what got him killed this time. I'm not sure if he realised it. Maybe he was faster where you are coming from or maybe simply more driven by the idea of meeting you after all of these years. Interrupted a robbery in progress, got himself stabbed through the heart."
"And this Harry has no one," said Sirius quietly.
"He has friends," replied Uncle Alphard with a shrug. "Some good ones and some… well with friends like these who needs enemies," he added and snorted softly.
"What do you know?" pressed Sirius.
"I know that there are people who under the disguise of good intentions love exploiting people who are at their most vulnerable. Even worse, they are smart enough to be so subtle about it to never cast a shadow of a doubt on themselves. What is actually the worst in it is their belief that what they're doing they're doing it for everyone's good," said Uncle Alphard slowly.
"And are these people worse than Dumbledore?" asked Sirius sceptically.
"Define worse," said Uncle Alphard and snorted. "Planning to turn you into a sacrificial pig for a slaughter worse or trap two innocent souls in illusion of love worse?" he offered.
"Love potions…" started Sirius.
"Are never subtle," interrupted him Uncle Alphard. "But you and I know that there are certain rituals that along with certain potions can bind two people together in something."
"Except that this ritual takes time," pointed out Sirius. "Seven weeks to be exact and the potions need to be consumed at the minimum three times a day before the binding ritual. Who would have such an audacity…"
"In ten days the boy will receive correspondence from the twinkler. One would think that with a Dark Lord openly running rampant it would be prudent to keep the boy under protective wards from start of the summer but…" said Uncle Alphard and grimaced. "History in general is written by winners, no one will support a hero who doesn't remember when was the time he had eaten or stinks like a pile of hippogriff manure. A depressed hero is not good for image and doesn't make a very good history read for posterity. People want to hear about dragons slayed rather than a hero struggling with not running away at the sight of the dragon."
"Harry isn't a hero," replied Sirius with a huff. "If any of them is a hero, it's Lily," he added swiftly. "She performed the protective ritual that saved Harry's life. She stepped in front of a Killing Curse for him. Her magic saved Harry, not Harry's. If anything he's a victim."
"And yet in every victim lies the seed of a hero," said Uncle Alphard calmly. "Even if it's just enough for a hero of their own narrative. Some people don't even get that much while some go on and suppress it."
"If someone pushes them to it," grumbled Sirius.
"Agreed," nodded Uncle Alphard. "But no man is an island, Sirius, and not all advice that one receives is a good one. You know better, while your godson didn't have a benefit of support network in his formative years."
"And now you're going to bugger me about Grandpa," sighed Sirius.
"Not really, you're doing that quite well on your own," replied Uncle Alphard. "Arcturus is many things Sirius but one thing that he isn't, is your enemy. You need him as much as he needs you, if not more."
"What do you know?" said Sirius sceptically.
"What do you?" offered Uncle Alphard.
"Merlin," groaned Sirius.
"Hey," snorted Uncle Alphard. "It's your head, not mine."
"And you aren't really Uncle Alphard," added Sirius. "I'm arguing with myself, my own fears and desires."
"Speaking of which," said Uncle Alphard before he coughed and snapped his fingers.
This change was even more drastic than before and suddenly he found himself sitting in the backseat of a convertible. Its roof was down and the front seats were occupied by two black-haired individuals.
He leaned forward, once again ignored by the participants of this dream vision, and after careful look from one to another he realised that one of them was himself and the other was Regulus.
To his dream counterpart he paid very little attention, noting only subtle changes in his looks. This Sirius started going grey, in a Black family manner, with steel grey strands peppering his mostly black ponytail (bound with a Muggle elastic, nice to know that some things never change). He didn't appear that much older than Sirius himself though, not that Sirius could see the most telling area of his face when it came to age because his dream self was wearing huge sunglasses. Mostly the other Sirius was focusing on the road ahead, occasionally glancing to the side at his passenger.
Regulus looked much the same, well the same for most of the time. His own Regulus went through hairstyles like James through trolley with sweets on Hogwarts' Express but with very few minor instances his face looked the same. Same nose, same jaw, same cheekbones, same brown eyes. Except this Regulus had something that his own wasn't likely to have. It was a giant belly and not the kind of giant belly of overindulgent in sampling (and devouring) culinary whims. No, aside of the belly itself, the rest of his body wasn't fat. And then there were… well, breasts.
That Regulus found female form comforting Sirius knew. He also knew Regulus's stance on his physical and mental gender. Regulus was Regulus and that was it. Presence or lack of boobs and dick didn't make him a different person. Except when it actually made him a different person and he almost gave Sirius a minor heart-attack when he once walked on Sirius nursing his midnight tea as a small, tiny, black woman with curly, blue afro. And even then he reminded Sirius to call him Reg and treat him like a brother.
And Sirius was fine with that. If sporting a pair of breasts under his clothes in a private setting was what put Reg's mind at ease when there were just the two of them then Sirius wasn't going to question it. But he did notice, not that for most of the time there was something to notice.
But now there was and Reg's attire did nothing to hide or at the very least conceal the size of his cleavage. He was dressed in a muggle summer dress, long and fiery red, that accented all of the curves of Reg's feminine body.
And he was also scowling. At nothing in particular and without much heat but it was evident from what Sirius could see of his face that he was annoyed.
"Remind me again why I'm putting up with it?" asked Regulus suddenly.
It had taken other Sirius a moment and a turn in the road to answer, "Because you never take my advices seriously."
"And which of your advices I hadn't taken seriously, brother mine?" asked Regulus in a falsely sweet voice.
Other Sirius had taken his eyes of the road for long enough to gaze at Regulus's belly before he looked back on the road and said, "Starting from always using protection through not messing with one of Lupita's sons and finishing on getting a healer that is also pregnant."
Sirius breathed out. Pregnant? So he was actually right.
"You know," started Regulus after a moment. "It wouldn't have been so bad if wasn't for the ban of magical forms of travel or junior constantly punching me in the bladder."
"Do you need me to stop?" asked Sirius.
"No, I'm good," sighed Regulus. "Once this bugger comes out I'm going to write a treatise about the dangers of genderfluidity in Metamorphmagi."
"Bladder again?" prompted Sirius.
"Who knew that prolonged stay in one form could actually rewire one's DNA," continued Regulus, ignoring Sirius's. "I kind of miss pissing while standing up, waddling my ass into cubicle is a royal pain and that's even before removing anything. If I still had a prick I would only need to hike up my dress, push underwear slightly down, fish the win…"
"Yes, thank you, I'm familiar with the mechanism of peeing while standing up. In November I will be celebrating thirty-nine years of having a prick," interrupted him Sirius insistently.
"And just as much of being one," deadpanned Regulus. "And since we're on the subject can you imagine what Mother would say about us. Me, thirty-six and on the verge of birthing my first child…"
"Thirty-seven," coughed Sirius.
"And you already a grandpa at advancing age of thirty-eight," finished Regulus.
"Do I need to remind you that this advancing age is driving your whinny arse all the way from London to Derbyshire?" asked Sirius pointedly. "Besides for all your whining about junior getting into fights with your bladder, morning sickness, swollen ankles and waddling you actually love it."
"Do I really?" asked Regulus as he stared at Sirius pointedly.
"Well, not the fights with your bladder, swollen ankles, morning sickness and waddling," added Sirius cheekily. "But for the first time in a very long time you're at ease in your own skin. And that has nothing with your current inability to shift."
"Or maybe it's just me having one shot at this," Regulus muttered as he rubbed his belly. "I'm a…" he didn't finish because Sirius smacked him in the back of his head which made him snort and lean away from Sirius before he continued. "You know that it's true, Sirius. I'm a freak of nature, even by Metamorphmagi standards. Also, I'm gay, well mostly and the few women I found myself attracted to in any shape and form aside I like a good dicking as much as a giver as receiver and it doesn't really matter if it goes into my pussy or my arse. And I love sex…"
"I noticed," muttered Sirius before he snorted. "Anyone that spent a night at Grimmauld noticed that and your inability to perform silencing spells in the heat of the moment."
"I don't know why you're complaining at the very least that hag looked properly scandalised next day. I don't really get it. She has more children than she can handle, definite proof of her having sex a couple of times at the very least and she treats it like performing dark magic or something," continued Regulus, still rubbing his belly.
"Because most people view sex as something private, to be shared with the person they're actually having it. It's always had been this way…"
"Bullshit," snorted Regulus.
"And this," Sirius continued, without taking his eyes of the road, gesturing towards Regulus's belly. "Isn't your only shot at this, Reg. You know it can happen, you know how it does happen. And while I'm sorry that your bedfellow is a coward that likes boning you in every shape and form but runs for the hills the moment things become difficult…"
"He's the only person to whom I ever been attracted and at ease with showing my fluidity in bed," replied Regulus grimly. "It's really my only shot at this, Siri. I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea of using a Muggle sperm banks and not because of a miniscule chance that the kid will end up Muggle. The only way for me to have another is…"
"Please, don't finish that sentence," groaned Sirius. "We'd seen first-hand what inbreeding can cause and I find the idea of you contemplating inseminating yourself with your own sperm riveting."
"As do I," agreed Regulus. "But I really don't want to give anyone more ammunition…"
"You and any child of yours is and always will be under my protection," said Sirius vehemently. "Legally and lawfully you're a Black male heir with all applying privileges and responsibilities and your ability to carry children doesn't change that. So Lupita can complain all she wants but your kid is and always will be a Black, in name if not in skin colour."
"I'm not sure if we would ever be able to tell his genuine skin colour," said Regulus slowly. "Not that I would mind really, the family in so far had been pretty mundanely white and a black Black will definitely cause some havoc in the afterlife."
"You remember that our family actually hails from Middle East, don't you?" quipped Sirius.
"I do, but it doesn't change the whitewashing our origins with snow-white spouses through centuries to the point that the only thing we retain from our Middle-Eastern heritage is the colour of our hair," replied Regulus. "Not that this family ever celebrated traditions connected to our heritage," he added before he hissed and rubbed his belly violently. "Junior is getting feisty."
Instead of replying Sirius took a long look at Regulus's face and then at his feet before he veered slightly off road and turned on emergency lights.
"Okay," said Regulus nervously. "What's going on?"
"You tell me," said Sirius as he turned towards Regulus and removed his sunglasses with one hand and unbuckled himself with the other. "Are you feeling anything right now?"
"Aside of being so sweaty that I'm feeling like I'm melting into the seat?" asked Regulus pointedly. "Just bloody Braxton-Hicks contractions, relax, I've been having them on and off through the last week and I'm not due for another."
"It's not Braxton-Hicks, Reg," said Sirius calmly. "Your waters broke."
"No shit," snorted Regulus as he leaned forward and looked at the floor. "Okay…" he drawled out nervously. "Drive on then, if you floor it we might get home just in time for the real thing."
"And how long you've been having contractions, brother mine?" asked Sirius, still in a calm even tone and when Regulus didn't answer he added, "Pants off."
"What?" squeaked Regulus. "No! You're not looking at my coochie, stay the fuck where you are," he added hastily as Sirius opened the door, ran around the car and was already opening Regulus's door just as he finished saying it.
"You. Have. No. Room. For. Argument," said Sirius, his voice was still calm with an edge of demand. "You've been in labour for hours and before I will start driving you in any direction I need to know how much time we have."
"Sirius," Regulus protested weakly.
"Reggie, I need to know how far dilated you are and how far apart are the contractions," said Sirius insistently. "I assure you that this experience will be as unpleasant to me as it will be to you."
Regulus's shoulders briefly slumped in defeat before he sighed, "Fine. But you will have to help me."
Which Sirius did once he pushed the seat back as far as it could go. Then he planted Regulus's right foot at the console and helped him ease down his soggy underwear before he hiked up the skirt of Regulus's dress and looked underneath it.
For about ten seconds the only thing that could be heard was the buzz of insects coming from surrounding fields before Regulus lost his patience and muttered, "Seen enough?"
Sirius didn't answer.
"Listen, I know that you hadn't seen a vagina in…" started Regulus, a little nervous.
"Reg," said Sirius calmly as he slightly lowered Regulus's skirt, "the baby is crowning."
"What?" squeaked out Regulus as he tried to sit up but Sirius insistently pushed him back.
"That's great news because it's not going to take much longer but the bad news is that you have to give birth here and now because I can't risk apparating you to hospital at this stage of labour," said Sirius, sounding calm and collected but Sirius knew better, under all of this reliable support exterior he had to be freaking out.
At the very least Sirius would be freaking out, strike that, he was freaking out and he wasn't on the helping end of emergency birth, just a passenger in this weird dream.
"No, no, no," protested Regulus anxiously. "I need a midwife…"
"You have a midwife," said Sirius simply. "Luckily for you I had been at this end before and you're minutes away from saying hello to your offspring. Just calm down a bit, breath in, breath out. See you're doing better…"
He coaxed Regulus through breathing for about a minute longer before he changed the position of the seat so the back of it was as low as it could go. Then amid Regulus's curses, grunts and gasps he returned to guiding the birth.
Which as far as births go and Sirius was in the room for a couple of them went frighteningly fast and just as Sirius started contemplating running for the hills on the tail end of what had to be an exhausting push he heard the first squeaky cry of a baby.
"It's okay," said Sirius calmly. "See, everything is fine," he added as he straightened up, showing the baby, still covered in slime and blood to Regulus. "Someone wants to say hello to his daddy."
If hello was a cry of protest over leaving safe confines of the womb for a strange and windy place. But that protest had died down when Sirius wrapped the baby into his own t-shirt and placed it on Regulus's chest.
"Oh, Siri," whispered Regulus. "He's perfect. How can he be so perfect?" he babbled.
"He's a Black," said Sirius simply as he leaned down again. "Give me a moment, I need to take care of nastier bits."
The baby as far as the babies went looked completely normal, pink skinned with a riot of dark curls. It also looked average in size as far as Sirius could tell, not that he had seen a recently born baby in over a decade. But Regulus seemed content with junior's perfection and his dream counterpart was gazing at them with an unabashed adoration.
"Come here," whispered Regulus as he reached out to pat the edge of backseat.
At that Sirius hopped out of the car, making place for the other Sirius and watched how he moved Regulus, still holding on the baby into backseat before he joined them.
It was a nice picture, as idyllic as on certain level it was bizarre but hardly anything in his life was nice and simple.
Where the car came from he had no idea until the collision occurred and he had really no time left to ponder that bizarre aspect as the world around him once more shifted dramatically.
What was weird about this one though was that he wasn't an observer rather than an active participant of… He looked carefully around the room, noting the stone walls and stained glass windows, then benches filled with people upon people, some of whose seemed familiar.
Some church gathering it seemed, except wizards weren't very religious folk and they hardly attended churches of any sort unless they were of mixed Muggle heritage.
Or had a church of their own on their grounds, he reminded himself. Strictly speaking the Black manor in Derbyshire didn't have a church on its grounds, more like small chapel in the northernmost corner by the ancient cemetery. It was tiny, as was the graveyard that surrounded it so the church in which he was standing couldn't be it.
But there was something familiar about this place, if not how small it seemed from where he was standing to the ribbed wooden roof. It all felt as if he had been there before.
He didn't waste more time on examining the structure of the building and instead fixated himself on people. Harry was there, in the first bench on Sirius's left. He was all grown up now, with his long hair slicked back into a ponytail. He was chatting amicably with a woman is a green dress whose face Sirius couldn't see because it was obscured by quite impressive hat. But Sirius didn't need to see her face to know that she had to be important to Harry because Harry himself was gazing at her with adoration and when his gaze did stray it did so to a black-haired toddlers he and the woman were holding onto.
Regulus was sitting next to them, with a another black-haired toddler on his knees, likely the one in which in Sirius's previous dream he had birthed, or not, it was hard to tell. Next to him were sitting two black-haired girls that appeared to be tad older than the one he was holding.
Behind them was sitting Grandpa Arcturus, hair all white but beaming, from Sirius to the woman next to him, to Harry's toddlers, to the people on the opposite side of the church.
Remus was seated in the second row of benches on Sirius's right. He'd gone completely grey in the intertwining years but weirdly he looked healthier and happier than ever and Sirius had an inkling that it had something to do with the woman that was sitting by his side and the blue haired toddler that she was holding onto. That it had to be Dora gave away presence of Andromeda and Ted by her side.
Behind them he spotted another familiar, although unexpected, face. It felt weird seeing him this neat about his appearance but even underneath neatly combed back hair and properly cut and modelled beard Larry was still Larry. Except not, Sirius realised as Larry quickly stood up and rather than finding him barely sticking up over the bench he saw him drawing himself to what appeared to be his full height as he turned towards the people behind them to greet them.
And then there were the Greengrasses, in a truly impressive number. Damocles, Hyperion with his wife and most likely their kids and then further behind them Cora with Mia on her side and with Percy and Davies occupying the rest of the bench. Behind them were seated even more of them, people he recognised like Hecate with a mass of people whom Sirius didn't recognise but bore familiar resemblance to the adults.
He glanced back to the left side of the church and then past Grandpa Arcturus, stopped briefly at the sight of Narcissa, sans Lucius but with a blonde-haired young man that could be her grown up son. Next to them was sitting a young man that bore a striking resemblance to Frank, likely his son.
And then there were others. Dark-haired with unfamiliar faces but the familiar way they held themselves. An older man with an old woman and a pair of girls in their teens. Behind them was sitting an entire group of people he for the life of him couldn't recognise.
"Second guessing the idea of not eloping?" he heard a soft whisper by his ear in an eerily familiar silky voice.
He turned his head slightly and found himself staring at Snape although for a brief moment he felt uncertain. Not that he changed much, he was still standing tall, with straight shoulders, head held high. He was still pale-faced although it appeared that somewhere along the way it had lost its sallow parlour and he aged, quite significantly, but in his face rather than hair which rather than hanging in greasy strands around his face were tide back and gleaming in a healthy manner.
"What you're doing here?" whispered Sirius, trying his best to keep anxiety from his voice.
"Keeping you from running for the hills or aiding and abetting in thereof, I hadn't decided yet," replied Snape simply before he looked towards one of the benches on the left side and narrowed his eyes at someone.
"Why?" whispered Sirius curiously.
"Because you asked me to be your best man, moron," replied Snape quietly.
That was perplexing. This dream on the surface wasn't as bizarre as the one that preceded it but on a certain level it was weirder than Regulus getting pregnant and giving birth to a baby. At the very least that one was more likely to realistically happen.
Regulus was a Metamorphmagus that sought out certain level of comfort from his physical genderfluidity. He was also far more interested in sex than Sirius (or at the very least prone to complaining about other people having it while not getting any) and provided that he somehow managed to acquire a partner with stamina and superficial levels of tolerance for experimenting with having sex in many forms... And if all of it was so great that he spent months on end as a woman then perplexing stuff like getting pregnant could happen.
But Sirius getting married? With Snape as the best man of all people? There was only one woman he ever wanted to marry and it was extremely unlikely that she would be walking down the aisle unless she was some sort of an advanced inferius bride. But if that was her then it explained Snape's presence as a best man because there was one person he hadn't seen in the crowd which meant that she either didn't show or was occupied with the duties of the maid of honour.
That occurred to him just as Bathsheda stepped into aisle. She looked gorgeous in her green gown which looked just imposing enough to make her stand out in the crowd but not enough to overcast an actual wedding dress. It accented the curves of her body and inner radiance that was beaming from her and Sirius needed only one glance at his best man to realise that he was floored with her appearance.
Well, good for them if a couple of years down the line they're still at it and Bathsheda is still capable of producing that look on Snape's face. Then as she stepped closer Sirius realised that there had to be another reason for Snape's cowed expression. It wasn't a too obvious sight but just visible enough for anyone that looked at her from a certain angle.
It was one of the old of wizarding blessings for a fruitful marriage, a pregnant woman in the wedding party, especially if she was one of the close relatives. And the jury was still out on whatever or not she was a relative.
Sirius had just enough presence of mind left to great her and complement her appearance before the somewhat dreaded music had started and he found himself staring anxiously down the aisle.
The woman that stepped into it was adorned into a pale green wedding gown with white and gold accents that looked just luxurious enough to be a proper wedding dress. Her face was obscured by a heavy veil that ended just below her cleavage and the only part of her body that he could see were her hands, pale with long fingers wrapped tightly around a small bouquet of white and crimson red roses.
This was wrong, all wrong and on so many different levels. To begin with, there was only one woman whom he ever loved and wanted to marry and she was gone. Just gone, with a trail of secrets and doubts left behind. Still, she was the only one and he couldn't imagine another woman in her place. Well, there was Bathsheda but that proposal was more about doing right by Bathsy and Sheba and she turned him down, calmly and politely. And she was right because he wasn't that guy that settled for something he didn't want and he couldn't have what he wanted.
He was neither one of the guys that just settled down because other people did it; because it was a wise thing to do with the war going on; because children still needed to be born and family lines needed to be extended. That wasn't him. He didn't need a woman to validate him as a man just like women didn't need men to validate their worth in the eyes of society, at the very least shouldn't need them.
And yet, there he was, in a church, waiting for an unknown woman to approach him and he almost flinched when he realised that she was standing in front of him already.
Maybe he should be running for the hills.
But instead of doing that his hands, on what appeared to be their own volition, reached out to move away the veil from her face and he found himself staring at his bride in shock. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the sight of her.
It was Mirzam and not the old Mirzam, young and fresh faced. She looked like in one of his earlier visions, older, with curly, white hair hanging around her face. She was smiling softly at him with a smile that was reaching her eyes. She looked so painfully alive and perfect and just Mirzam.
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest again and he found himself swaying slightly. She reached out to steady him with her smile quickly morphing into a look of genuine concern. He tried to smile back but whatever he ended up doing with his face didn't calm her down.
His heart squeezed again and he found himself stumbling into her and he had to briefly black out because in the next moment she was lowering him to the ground. Which wasn't really surprising, she was stronger than she looked and never had a problem with throwing him over her shoulder, she was perfectly capable of holding him up without going down like a sack of potatoes.
She reached out to caress his face, her own lined with worry and concern.
"Hold on," she whispered to him. "Just hold on."
He only managed to whisper back 'okay' just as his heart squeezed again and the darkness completely enveloped him.
Secrets & Keepers – Entropy
Severus Snape, 18th August, 12 Grimmauld Place, London
The glittering light of the raising sun that was reflecting in the windows of the house on the opposite side of the garden was still low enough to not light up the room completely. But that didn't change its annoying persistence to keep him from dozing off.
Not that he was going to but the serene peace of dawn and calm breathing of the occupants of the room was making him weary. His night was just as tough as the previous day, if not tougher but finally two hours ago Black's condition stabilised after a gruesome fight for his life. He wasn't completely out of the woods yet and Severus wouldn't be able to tell if he was until Black would wake up on his own. But he'd done everything he could to keep Black from dying during the night and he had trust in his spells and potions.
He glanced to the right, past Bathsheda dosing off in the other armchair, at the group sprawled on the seat. Regulus was snoring, with his legs extended and the elf curled in his lap. Tonks lied with her head in Lupin's lap while Lupin was leaning against the other side of the seat. Potter wasn't with them, he fell asleep where he was sitting, on Black's bed about an hour and half ago as the very first victim of the mild sleeping draught that Severus slipped into their tea. But he wouldn't have done that if he wasn't certain that he wasn't going to need help.
And he didn't. Black although unconscious was stable and under the effects of the potion that was going to restore the damage done by the heart-attack but his bloodwork finally looked like it was supposed to and that was a comforting thought. At the very least when one of those clowns would wake up they would be able to relieve him.
His eyes lingered for a little while on Bathsheda before slipping down to Potter's curled up form by Black's legs and then back to his patient.
Who was blinking at him owlishly.
"How are you feeling?" Severus asked quietly, to not wake up the sleeping parties.
Black for a moment appeared to be either unable to process the question or give an answer before he muttered, "As if a dragon landed on my chest."
"That would be a heart-attack," muttered Severus. "For your information, a massive heart-attack. You're under influence of restorative draught and will be for another three days."
"That explains it," sighed Black heavily.
Severus nodded before he glanced at the nightstand. Technically Black wasn't due for another dose of restorative draught for another ten minutes but according to literature they worked better when they were digested by the patients on their own volition rather than being magically forced into them.
"I have to pee," muttered Black as he started weakly pushing down the coverlet.
Severus sighed and pulled out his wand.
"Is it really necessary?" asked Black with a grimace. "I hate these spells."
"Everybody does," said Severus simply. "You're on strict bed rest for another twenty-four hours, most likely forty-eight. I'm not risking disturbing healing process just because your dignity requires a toilet."
"Well, then spell away," replied Black with a heavy sigh. "Just…"
Severus had a pretty good idea what Black planned to ask him but he did it anyway, removing only one kind of waste while his patient was supposed to not leave the bed was really counterproductive and likely an involuntarily shudder passed through Black's body.
Which woke up Potter and quite impressively it took the boy five seconds to get his bearings and wake up fully.
"Sirius!" he breathed out in a mix of relief and anxiety. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he shifted closer to Black.
"I've been better," replied Black simply. "But I also have been worse. How are you doing?" he asked.
Potter instead of answering finally launched himself into Black's arms which wasn't really surprising. Severus still didn't like the boy, much, but under Black's care Potter proved to be compliant to following instructions and far less annoying than when he was running solo. And then there was the effort he was making to catch up with his schooling. It appeared that for once Black was right and carrot proved to be far more motivating than a stick.
Not that it would matter in the end, Severus mused, as in about two weeks they would have to return to their earlier hostility. But maybe they could play it to their advantage.
He shook his head and refocused on Black and Potter just as Black was attempting to smooth down Potter's porcupine's nest of hair.
"Have you ever considered growing your hair?" asked Black pensively.
"Not really," answered Potter sceptically. "I mean, I never really cared for that with the exception of that one time when Aunt Petunia tried to shave it all, with the exception of fringe to cover up the scar," Severus saw him grimacing. "It was awful," he grimaced again. "Really awful and I was relieved when they grew out overnight."
"Not exactly an easy task," commented Severus. "Not without aid of potions."
"Well, I didn't have access to any back then," replied Potter. "I was still in primary school."
That was interesting and Severus muttered as much.
"Latent Metamorphmagi abilities," said Black pensively. "A Black family trait, very muted I'm afraid. Not that it every had been particularly useful without the ability to consciously control it."
"Can you?" asked Severus curiously.
TBC
Next: We're getting out of 12 Grimmauld Place, that's certain. Most likely we will end up with Hermione but we can also end up with Draco or both.
