Sirius walked into the kitchen ahead of the next Order meeting and found Tonks and Bill sitting together, looking over blueprints of the Department of Mysteries.

Tonks smiled cheekily, "I was so glad your evil twin didn't try to steal Harry."

He realized hadn't seen either of them in the two days since Regulus had been in the house. Everyone apart from them and Remus believed it had been the latter who accompanied him to retrieve his godson.

"He isn't my twin," he said tersely, sitting down beside her.

"And evil?" she raised an eyebrow.

"That is relative," he said ambiguously.

"Speaking of him," Bill said, "I heard something interesting."

"About him?" Sirius asked in alarm. Dumbledore assured him they'd all been sworn to secrecy.

Bill nodded, "You've heard of Fleur Delacour, haven't you? She was the Triwizard champion from Beauxbatons."

Tonks smirked, "Otherwise known as the French girl he's-"

"Helping to improve her English," Bill supplied quickly.

"What about my evil twin?" Sirius asked impatiently.

"You may have been right to think they live in France. According to Fleur, there was a Professeur Black at Beauxbatons with 'the most charming English accent," Bill said wryly. "He taught Defense for the entirety of her schooling there."

Arrogant son of a bitch didn't even change his name, Sirius thought to himself.

"It is probably a coincidence," he said offhandedly. It wasn't that he distrusted Tonks or Bill, but they didn't need to know any more about Regulus than they already did.

"I thought so too, at first," he admitted, "But on the pretense of expanding her English, I asked her to tell me about her former teachers. Apparently, this Black has a daughter who will be a fifth year, and a younger son who has not yet started school. The boy occasionally sits in on their Defense classes, and is said to bear a close resemblance to his father."

As other Order members had begun to arrive, they did not risk saying anything more on the matter.

Bill's information was not entirely new to Sirius, though it was still odd to imagine his brother teaching. Traditionally, if a Black held a job, it was an esteemed title with power, and with limited actual work involved.

Their parents had scarcely bothered to brag, even on Regulus, for being the best in his year at school. As a Black, it was simply expected of him. Suffice to say, he was not limited in career options by a lack of aptitude. Without the influence of their family, he would have been free to pursue anything, though it was unlikely he needed to work at all. There would have been little stopping him from accessing the Black fortune over the years. Sirius had taken money from their vault at Gringotts by sending a note with Crookshanks, after all. Beyond that, he had married into the wealthy Bones family. For him to be teaching suggested to Sirius that it was what he wanted to do.

He looked up as Sturgis Podmore took the vacant seat beside him. They had been on friendly terms during the first war, though the man had not yet met his eyes since the Order reconvened. Sirius suspected he only chose to sit beside him because leaving several empty seats between them would have seemed rude. Most of his fellow Order members had remained wary of him despite Dumbledore's insistence of his innocence.

Professor McGonagall arrived at the same time as Remus. They each nodded at him grimly before taking some of the last available seats around the table.

A figure approached him from behind, casting a shadow. He turned and found the bane of his recent existence, Molly Weasley, hands on her hips.

"Can I help you?" he asked dryly.

"I just caught Ginny with her wand, mending a cup she accidentally broke. Do you know what she told me when I got onto her for using magic outside of school?"

He caught sight of three obviously confiscated wands in her pudgy hand and she was quite lucky there weren't four.

"I only told Harry he could use magic… though I suppose I should thank her for showing more respect for my possessions than most people staying here have," he added, despite not giving a damn about most of the possessions in question. He was still aggravated after finding her and the cleaning crew, otherwise known as the children, in his father's office earlier. Given her habit of telling them to throw everything out without knowing what it was, he'd not-so-politely told her to keep the door shut and stay out of there.

It had at least reminded him to remove, Secrets of the Darkest Art, from the hiding place he had watched Regulus return it to in his Pensieve memory. He had stashed it in his room, intending to delve into it once he retired to his room for the evening.

Her eyes widened in surprise, "You agreed this place needed cleaning."

"The house was clean from the beginning– it was the personal affects you took offense to," he pointed out.

"We are making this place fit for children to inhabit!"

"These aren't the first children to live in this house. My brother and I survived just fine, thank you." Tonks snorted into her tea.

"Sadly, neither of our most recent examples went on to become productive members of society," Snape said slyly from the doorway. He found a seat along the wall, as far away from him as possible.

"I'd be careful about insulting someone who was killed for leaving the death eaters, Snivellus. It might cause confusion regarding whose side you are on."

"Don't be so self-righteous, Black. Death eater or not, you tried to kill me at the tender age of sixteen."

Sirius merely smirked at him in response. It probably wasn't the best decision given that at least half the people there still thought he was a murderer, but he knew by now what annoyed Snape the most. He ignored the disapproving looks Remus and McGonagall were giving him.

Rage flickered in Snape's expression but quickly cleared, his face unreadable, "Poor Regulus," he said in a regretful tone. "Hated by Slytherins because of you – hated by you because of his house..."

"How many times did you harass him, wanting secrets about me?" Sirius asked. "One of the few people who might have tolerated you, and you're mocking him after his death? I don't know how Dumbledore can trust you when you've no loyalty to anyone."

Snape's retort was drowned out by Professor McGonagall's.

"You are correct, Sirius. Dumbledore trusts Severus," Snape smirked. "He also trusts you. We do not have time to be bickering amongst ourselves."

"What do you think Dumbledore would say about Sirius allowing Harry to use magic over the summer, Minerva?" Molly asked as she finally moved away from him and took a seat.

"Leave it alone, mum," Bill muttered.

"What do you think any sane person would say about you filling his summer with muggle cleaning when we could be preparing him in his fight against Voldemort?" Sirius countered.

"The adults responsible for Harry should prioritize keeping him away from Voldemort rather than fill his mind with ideas of training so that he can challenge him!"

"What the hell are we guarding at the Ministry if there isn't a Prophecy about the two of them going up against each other?"

"Everyone needs to calm down," Remus said. At the same time, Molly shrieked,

"Lower your voice! You know the boys have been trying to eavesdrop on our meetings!"

Sirius threw up his hands, "Let them hear! Harry has a right to know about the Prophecy. Frankly, I think Dumbledore should tell all of us what it says if he expects us to guard it."

"Perhaps he does tell those who guard it," Snape sneered. "Last I checked, you aren't in that circle."

"I know how desperately you want to feel important, but there's no way Dumbledore confided the Prophecy in Voldemort's lap dog," Sirius snarled.

"Don't say the name!" Snape hissed, rubbing his left forearm.

"Does it hurt to hear your master's name?" Sirius asked as if he didn't already know. "Voldemort."

For a moment Snape looked like he would leap across the table to attack him until, quite suddenly, his face went blank. It was almost eerie how quickly it happened. He wasn't the only one whose focus had shifted. Following his gaze, he saw the reason why. Dumbledore had arrived, and was standing in the doorway, looking between the two of them disapprovingly.

His eyes settled on Sirius. "I would have thought, given that the Prophecy is about your godson you would want to be more cautious about its contents." He held up his hands to keep him from objecting. "Now is the time for our meeting to begin. Whether or not to tell Harry is not on the agenda for this evening."


Harry was sitting on a couch in the drawing room wondering how much longer the Order meeting would last. His wand felt heavy in his pocket following a guilt trip he'd been taken on, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.

It started when she caught Ginny using magic, who promptly ratted Ron out for doing the same. Ron responded by telling her Sirius said it was okay. Mrs. Weasley's eyes had lingered on him after snatching Ron, Ginny and Hermione's wands away.

"I know what Sirius said, but you know the right thing to do here," she had said with her palm extended to him. When he didn't offer up his wand, she hadn't pressed the issue, which almost made it worse. She looked disappointed rather than angry.

Ron, on the other hand, was simply angry. After exiling Ginny, the moment Mrs. Weasley had gone, he'd been pacing the room, muttering obscenities. It seemed he had grown quite accustomed to using magic away from school in the last two days they had snuck around using it. Harry didn't miss the occasional resentful look that was being sent his way.

Hermione was reading a book with a smug, 'I told you this would happen,' sort of look on her face. Aside from reprimanding Ron for his word choice, she hadn't said much since Mrs. Weasley left them.

The moment Harry heard voices from below he was on his feet.

He saw Snape from the landing and waited just long enough for him to clear the threshold before meeting Sirius. He looked about as happy as Ron had when he left him upstairs. The difference was that Sirius would have a proper reason for being annoyed. He was stuck in a house he hated with people who were constantly questioning everything he did. It was a misery that Harry could relate to.

"Anything new happening?" he asked, eager to hear news about Voldemort.

"Not really," Sirius said, sounding a bit down.

Dumbledore emerged from the meeting, and Harry felt inexplicably angry upon seeing him. It was almost as if he was feeling someone else's emotions. Judging by the contemptuous way Sirius was looking at him just then, they could have been his.

Sirius abruptly turned and went up the stairs. Harry hesitated before following him.

"Did something happen?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"No," he assured him. "This house just brings out the worst in me."

When they reached the fourth floor, Sirius went to the door at the right-side of the staircase. Harry followed him in and his eyes widened upon seeing the inside. It was immediately clear this was Sirius' bedroom, and had been since he was a teenager. He could appreciate the contrast from the Slytherin influence throughout the rest of the house. The posters of bikini-clad women plastering the walls grabbed his attention, as did a collection of liquor bottles in the corner.

Noticing Harry was looking at the latter, Sirius banished them with a flick of his wand. With another swift movement, Sirius had procured a bottle of Firewhisky. He slumped against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

Harry shifted his feet unsure if his company was welcome. "Regulus mentioned you could stay somewhere else."

Sirius took a long drink from the bottle. "My brother and I haven't had the easiest relationship," he admitted after a moment.

"Oh," was all Harry could think to say. He had not noticed any animosity between the two of them during the one and only time he'd seen them together.

"You remember I told you most everyone thinks he's dead?" Harry nodded. "Until recently, I believed it too."

Harry tried to imagine how it would feel to learn his parents were really alive after so many years. It would be the best feeling to have them back, and the worst to know they could have told him, and didn't.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, hating to see Sirius upset.

He laughed suddenly. "You've nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn't be bothering you with my problems."

"I'm the one who came up here," Harry pointed out. "And why shouldn't you tell me?"

"Well, you're supposed to come to me with things, not the other way around," Sirius answered in his best adult-voice.

"You can tell me anything," Harry said earnestly. "I want you to." Something like guilt flickered in Sirius' eyes. "I mean it," Harry pressed. "I don't want to be treated like a little kid."

A slight smile graced Sirius' features. "Here," he said, passing him the bottle. "I was around your age when I first tried it."

Harry sat down across from him and tried not to look giddy at the prospect of trying Firewhisky for the first time. He'd always wondered what it would taste like. A bit too eagerly, he put the bottle to his lips and tipped it back. He coughed and Sirius slapped him on the back, gray eyes sparkling in amusement.

"It gets better," Sirius said, as he took the bottle back from him.

"So, when did you find out Regulus was alive?" he asked, feeling a sudden burst of confidence.

"Well, it was the night of the final task…" Sirius began. As he recounted his meeting with Regulus, Harry reached for the bottle of Firewhisky and took another drink, and when Sirius didn't object, another one after that. His godfather had been right about the taste improving. Harry was soon convinced he quite liked it.

It wasn't long before it was an empty bottle that sat between them, Harry having polished off more of it than he could currently remember.

Their conversation had turned darker as the evening wore on. Harry shared some of his memories from living with the Dursleys and in turn Sirius was telling him how much he hated Grimmauld Place.

Harry's eyelids felt heavy. "I don't like it here either," he admitted sleepily. "I hated being at the Dursley's, but at least I could go outside when I wanted to."

To his bafflement, Sirius' reply was, "Kreacher."

Harry opened his eyes, "What?" he asked, laughing.

A house elf much older than Dobby appeared, startling Harry, and giving Sirius a deep look of loathing. Harry laughed even harder.

Sirius looked at him strangely, perhaps concerned by his current level of amusement. Harry tried to stop laughing and an involuntary giggle escaped him instead. He heard Sirius say something about Regulus and the house elf popped away.

When they were alone, Sirius pointed his wand at the now empty bottle of Firewhisky and it disappeared. He then aimed the wand in his direction, but before he could cast anything or Harry could even ask what he was doing, there was a loud 'pop' and the house elf was back with Regulus. Sirius stood up, stowing his wand as he did so.

As the two brothers talked, Harry's eyes shut involuntarily. He might have dozed off but knew it wasn't for very long if he did. The room was spinning and he was beginning to feel queasy. Regulus was looking at him and he thought he might have asked him a question, but his words sounded distorted to his ears.

He nodded, having no idea what he agreed to. He noticed Regulus' eyes lingered on him and he vaguely thought he looked concerned but when he extended his hand, Harry took it, and allowed him to pull him to his feet. He registered a light pressure on his arm, just before a horrific feeling of being squeezed through a tube. He was sure he'd never felt more wretched.

When his feet touched solid ground again, they didn't stay there. He fell to his knees and he had to force himself to open his eyes. It was a different room that was spinning now, much brighter than anything he'd seen in Grimmauld Place. Before he could wonder where he was or why he was there, he vomited on the white carpet.


It was late when Regulus left Sirius and Harry.

He couldn't help but second-guess the wisdom of taking them to his house. Not because he minded them being there, but because Sirius was – well, Sirius.

It was evident that Harry thought of him as some mixture of friend and father figure. Regulus recalled being told he was selfish for not letting their family name die out. He could deduce Sirius never intended to have kids, but he thought it was more to do with defying their family's obsession with extending their bloodline. He obviously cared about Harry and if things had gone differently, with James and Lily surviving, Harry likely would have grown up with Sirius serving as a sort of corruptive uncle to him.

Authoritative figure wasn't a role Sirius ever wanted to fill for his godson.

As he hadn't had a chance to talk to Maliah about the arrangement first, he was 'interested' to see her reaction. In normal circumstances, she would be inclined to extend an olive branch, so to speak, but she was not Sirius' biggest fan after hearing of his encounter with their children.

He found she was still up when he returned. She was writing a letter that would most likely be sent to her sister. It was evident she did not hear him come in.

He approached quietly and wrapped his arms around her from behind, breathing in her perfume.

"What have you done now?" she asked softly. He kissed her from her neck down to her collarbone as if he hadn't heard her. "What did Sirius want?" she tried again.

"Out of Grimmauld Place," he said, reluctantly releasing her and moving to sit beside her at the table. "What do you think of letting him and Harry stay at our house while we are gone?"

"Are they already there?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Then you don't really need my opinion, do you?" she said, turning back to her letter.

Regulus' eyes lingered on her as she wrote. She didn't seem especially angry, but it was true that he could have found another option for his brother that didn't involve taking him and Harry to their own house. The options were limited in the middle of the night - but he could have simply told him to wait until the morning. After they sobered up, they might have been less keen to leave in the first place.

He subtly kneaded the skin on his arm as his dark mark burned. Or perhaps not-subtly as it drew her attention. "How is your arm?" she asked.

He immediately stopped what he was doing. "It's fine – just a bad habit."

"You've done that more in the past month than you have in the last ten years," she said skeptically. Reaching for his arm, she pulled up his sleeve. It was no different in appearance from the evening of the final task, but it felt stronger. She traced a finger over it tenderly and it was enough for him to withdraw his arm.

"It's fine," he insisted, kissing her lightly on the forehead as an excuse to avoid her gaze. "I'm going to bed."