A/N: I feel terrible for not updating sooner. I really don't have an excuse this time because I'm actually on holiday... guess I just haven't been feeling very inspired lately. But the good news is, I've figured out what most of the rest of the story is going to look like and I've been working out the chinks in my plot, so things should be a bit better from here! Here we go with the next chapter.

Sirius was going crazy.

It had been four days since he had last seen Remus. A week since Remus's first transformation without the Wolfsbane in years. A week since their kiss.

He hadn't heard from him at all.

Sirius Black wasn't a patient man by nature. He liked things to move quickly, and if they weren't moving quickly enough he would often feel the overwhelming need to step in and move the process along. But when he'd suggested another visit to Remus's home, Hermione had immediately produced a long list of reasons for him to not leave the house, and Harry had (though a little more reluctantly) agreed. Appealing to Remus directly was of entirely no help, because the werewolf had managed to maintain adamantly silent since shooing him and Harry out of his house four days ago and pressing on Sirius not to return because of, according to Remus, "serious security problems".

He still remembered what he'd said to that. "Don't you mean Sirius security problems, Moony?" Accompanied with his old eyebrow-wriggle.

And Remus had smiled weakly, shook his head slightly before closing the front door.

Lame, Black. What happened to all your old charm?

Remus was avoiding him. He was sure of it. It wasn't a particularly hard conclusion to come to, nor was a particularly hard thing for Remus to achieve since after all, Sirius was essentially under the equivalent of a house arrest. It felt very much like when he'd first escaped from Azkaban, only now his time frame was far shorter, and his goal much clearer.

When he'd first returned, he'd had visions of their reunion. Of passionate kisses and feeling Remus's skin against his, their old fire returning anew; of reminiscing about school days past and Marauder pranks; of spending time together with Harry, the three of them re-settling their lives in Grimmauld Place, for however long possible.

It hadn't quite worked out the way he'd hoped.

On top of Remus was the secret that he'd kept since his return, lingering like an irremovable stain at the back of his mind. He had honestly expected Harry, or at least Hermione, to have interrogated him about the Veil and coming back from death by now. He knew he couldn't keep it from them forever. But beyond the mildly curious questions from his first night, the subject hadn't been raised again. He wasn't sure why this was the case, but he certainly didn't want to bring it up himself—if only to buy more time.

But he'd also had a feeling that the three of them were investigating on their own. He wasn't blind. He'd seen books and notes that vanished as soon as he walked into a room, and had noted an increase in their private discussions that excluded him, held in low voices. They were keeping something from him as much as he was.

And while the secrets and the sneaking around would have thrilled him in his Marauder days, he didn't like it. Keeping something so important from Harry wasn't the right thing to do, but he desperately wanted to fix things with Remus before everything came spilling out. So he kept quiet.

He didn't know how long it would last. But he couldn't rely on time being in his favour forever. He needed to act.

Sirius Black wasn't a patient man by nature.

He knew Harry had activated the Apparition wards again after the Prophet had reported some sort of Death Eater support rally that had occurred in Hogsmeade. Carefully, keeping quiet so he could still retreat back into his room if necessary, he opened his bedroom door and peered out into the hallway. It was empty.

He stepped out and closed the door behind him, doing a wandless locking charm, and headed down the hall towards the back stairs. The beauty about living in the house that he had grown up in was that he knew all the shortcuts and the most secret passageways. Entering the study room two doors down, he cut through it to the connecting door on the other side and came into a spare bedroom. This room exited right next to the back stairway.

The moment he was outside and could feel the grass under his feet, he transformed. A black dog trotted through the back garden of Grimmauld Place, squeezed through a gap in the back fence, and vanished with a muted pop.

###

There were several situations in life that Harry believed a person could never, no matter how vigilant, ever be prepared for. The first of these was the moment when your girlfriend says "I love you" for the first time (it had happened last Christmas and had made a mouthful of butterbeer go down the wrong way—he was still hyper-aware of the fact that he had yet to say it back). Another was having your dead godfather show up on your doorstep. After that, it would seem like nothing could possibly top it—but somehow, as always, Draco Malfoy managed to find a whole new way to exceed Harry's expectations, because here was his old Slytherin school enemy sitting at his kitchen table, drinking his coffee.

Or someone who appeared to be Draco Malfoy. There was a chance it could be somebody else.

Malfoy—apparently—cleared his throat. He raised the cup he was holding disdainfully, cocking one eyebrow. "Potter," he said, his tone as snobbish as Harry could remember it, "this coffee is revolting."

Harry suddenly saw the tip of a wand emerge beside him, and he turned to see Ron brandishing his, aiming it straight at Malfoy. The redhead practically growled out the words, "What did Moody turn you into in our fourth year at Hogwarts?"

He rarely ever saw Malfoy blush, but he could have sworn he saw two pink tinges appear on the man's pale cheeks. Malfoy seemed to be battling internally to get the syllables out, and when they finally came they were accompanied with a deathly glower aimed in Ron's direction. "A ferret, Weasley."

For a moment, Ron remained still. Then he tucked his wand away, chuckling loudly. "Never gets old, that," he remarked, purposefully bumping Malfoy in the process as he stepped by him to get a cup of coffee for himself.

Harry had so many questions that he didn't know where to begin. He opened his mouth, and what came out of it was: "Are you wearing jeans?"

Malfoy was, indeed, wearing a pair of faded denim jeans that Harry couldn't help but notice fitted him perfectly. It seemed just the sort of irritating unbalance in the world that Draco Malfoy could make jeans look expensive and high class. Harry was unaware of the odd look that Ron cast in his direction, however he did catch the muffled snigger coming from Hermione behind him. He could feel his own cheeks turning pink and hastily headed for the coffee machine so he could hide his face.

"Yes, Potter, I am. I don't find the need to wear suits all the time now that I'm no longer under my father's thumb." Malfoy sounded amused.

The mention of Lucius Malfoy reminded Harry of why they had been desperately searching for Malfoy in the first place. He latched onto this new topic with relief, and ignored the fact that his hand was trembling slightly as he poured himself coffee.

"How did you know we were looking for you?"

Malfoy tilted his head backwards slightly to look at him. "I charmed my front doorknob at Spinner's End, Potter. When you touched it a week ago I was alerted to the fact that Harry Potter had been at my house, apparently looking for me."

Behind him, Harry heard Hermione mutter under her breath, "Told you there were traps, Harry."

He decided to ignore her. "Who on earth would charm their front doorknob?" He said instead, scowling.

"Those who have concerns that there may be wizards after them." Malfoy picked at a frayed thread on his jeans.

Before Harry could ask the obvious question—why exactly do you have concerns that there are wizards after you?—Hermione interrupted with a question of her own. "What charm did you use? Even I don't know a spell that could do that." She sounded impressed despite her best efforts to appear otherwise.

Trust Hermione to ask about the technicalities. Harry saw Ron roll his eyes.

Malfoy studied her for a moment, then inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Well spotted, Granger. It wouldn't be in one of your usual Charms textbooks. It's a Dark spell. My father had given me some books on Dark Magic when I was in my sixth year."

The atmosphere in the room dropped several degrees.

Sensing the shift, Malfoy took a sip of his coffee, posture stiff. "Look," he said, when the silence had dragged on for a good thirty seconds, "This is my past. This is what I know. It's a useful spell, and I won't apologize for using it." He looked at them defiantly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught Ron opening his mouth, an equally defiant look on his face. He jumped in hurriedly. "We weren't asking you to," he said, shooting Ron a pointed look. "Why are there wizards after you?"

Malfoy studied the contents of his cup before looking up at Harry. "Why were you after me?"

Harry hesitated. He exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione, then said slowly, "Well, actually, we—"

Ron let out a long cough. "Excuse me. Harry, could I talk to you?"

Before he could reply, Harry felt himself being shoved out the kitchen door with both Ron and Hermione in tow, leaving Malfoy sitting in the kitchen with the coffee, looking slightly bemused.

Once all three of them were in the living room, Ron rounded on Harry. "I don't trust him, mate."

"He's our best chance—"

"There's always another way. We'll find some other kind of proof—"

"How? Unless you want to go knocking on the door of Malfoy Manor, I'm all out of ideas—"

"—this guy is our enemy—"

"—used to be our enemy—"

"—a Slytherin—"

"—I trust him!"

There was a stunned silence. It took a moment for Harry to realize that he had shouted the last sentence at the top of his lungs.

Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip, looking anxious. She glanced at Ron, then at Harry, then back at Ron again. "Harry has a point, Ron. At the moment, Malfoy's our best hope to get proof and resolve this once and for all."

Harry could feel his cheeks burning and cursed himself, wondering what in Godric's name had made him jump to Malfoy's defence so vigorously. He knew that both Ron and Hermione were staring at him and he pointedly examined the fibers on the carpet.

After a moment, Ron let out a half exasperated, half resigned huff. "Oh, all right," he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "I guess I should give the ferret a chance."

The triumph was substantially tainted by his embarrassment.

They filed back into the kitchen to a waiting Malfoy, who raised an eyebrow. "Finished discussing whether or not I'm trustworthy enough?"

Harry felt himself turning red again, but luckily Hermione jumped in. "You can understand us being cautious, Malfoy, can't you?" She said, and without waiting for a response barreled on with a brisk explanation: "All right, basically this is what it boils down to—we think that somehow, someone is bringing Death Eaters back from the dead and we're trying to find proof. We thought you might know something about it." She paused. When there was no reply, she said, a little more forcefully, "Well, do you?"

Harry swallowed, scanning Malfoy's face. Hermione seemed to have decided on an aggressive all-or-nothing approach. He hoped fervently that he hadn't done the wrong thing in sticking up for Malfoy.

Malfoy's own expression was impassive, and his eyes hadn't left Hermione's face. It felt like years before he spoke. When he did, it was to pose a question of his own: "Is this because Sirius Black is back?"

Ron spluttered. Harry could feel himself turning pale. "How did you—" He began, but Hermione cut across him.

"Yes," she said, eyes narrowed. "That's the reason. How do you know that?"

Looked extremely self satisfied, Malfoy leaned back on the back two legs of his chair. "So my eyes didn't deceive me, after all," he said. "It was him with you that night, Potter."

Harry felt his skin prickling. "What night?" He snapped, more harshly than he intended.

Malfoy drained the remains of his coffee, wrinkling his nose with distaste. "About a week ago, Potter. In front of the werewolf's house. I saw you."

Harry felt like he was falling into a black pit. He stared at Malfoy. It had never occurred to him that he would have been watched for those two minutes outside Remus's home, when he and Sirius had arrived on the night of the transformation. He had been too preoccupied then to even think about that. The street was usually deserted; it was why Remus had chosen the location in the first place.

Behind him, he heard Ron's voice, incredulous. "Are you stalking him?"

Malfoy threw him a bored look. "I have far better things to do with my time, Weasley. But since the three of you had kindly decided to pay me a visit at my old home earlier that day, naturally I had to know what you were up to."

Harry found his voice again. "But… how the hell did you find me?" He demanded.

Malfoy fiddled with his wand on the table. "I think I'll keep that to myself for now, Potter," he said slowly. "Can't reveal too many secrets, can I?"

"I knew we couldn't trust him," Ron snarled, and before Harry knew it he'd thrown a wand up in front of Malfoy's face.

The man didn't even react an inch. "If you want information, Weasley, I'd strongly suggest not using magic or violence," he said smoothly.

Ron turned beet red, opened his mouth, then shut it again as Hermione gave him a sharp nudge. She lowered his wand rather forcefully with her own hand. "No threats, no magic," she said. "If you'll just tell us what you know, Malfoy."

"Still the smart one then, Granger," Malfoy crossed his legs, then draped an arm over the chair next to his. Harry had the distinct feeling that the man was enjoying this a little too much. "I think you're right," he said finally.

The black pit became bottomless. Harry gripped Hermione's elbow. "What do you mean, you think?" He said, a little wildly.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. "There are plenty of signs that the Death Eaters appear to be returning, Potter, if you look closely enough," he said. "I'm sure you—or at least Granger—has noticed what they are, otherwise you wouldn't have come to this conclusion. Unfortunately, I am no longer part of Voldemort's old inner circle. I don't know with any more certainty than you do."

"You think we're going to believe that?" Ron snapped. His wand arm twitched. "You're Lucius Malfoy's son, and his house that was on sale on the market isn't on sale anymore."

"Thanks for the lesson in my family members, Weasley, but if my father has returned he hasn't contacted me." Malfoy's voice had taken on a shade of iciness. "The house is no longer under my control or my name. I sold it."

Harry's mind was racing to keep up with all the information. "But it was never sold," he said, confused.

"Correction, Potter, it was sold. It was sold very quickly and very quietly, so very little people noticed. It was about a month after I put it up for sale, but the new owner returned it to the market just two weeks later, so it seemed like it had never been gone. When it mysteriously went off the market some months ago that wasn't me, that was the new owner."

Ron was still glowering. "So who's the owner now?"

Malfoy's face went blank. "That's none of your business."

Ron exploded. "You little bloody ferret, we're trying to prevent a third war here and you just—"

"Ron," Hermione hissed. "Calm down." She eyed Malfoy, her head tilted to one side. Harry recognized the posture—Hermione was wearing her I-just-figured-out-something-about-you look. "I don't think it matters who he sold it to," she said slowly.

Malfoy's head shot up in surprise, along with Harry's.

Hermione seemed unperturbed. "I don't particularly think Malfoy would have sold his house to someone with a Death Eater connection. So it means when the house was taken off, it was done through coercion. And in that case it doesn't really matter who the victim is."

"Hang on," Ron interrupted. "You supposedly went missing just as the house disappeared from the market. You expect us to believe that's just coincidence?"

Malfoy sighed heavily. "It was a combination of things, Weasley, that made me quit the hospital. Believe it or not, coincidental timing did play a part in it."

In his mind, Harry heard Belinda's voice, low and secretive, dramatically whispering: "Draco Malfoy… likes men."

He realized that he was suddenly very alert.

Malfoy had continued, apparently not noticing Harry's private revelations. "But I did notice the disappearance of the house and that told me something was going to happen – or had happened. I thought I should take precautions." He fixed Ron with a stare.

"Such as moving out from your home and charming the doorknob to see who comes looking for you," Hermione said.

Turning back to Hermione, Malfoy nodded. "Actually, Potter, you are the only one who's touched it so far. If Death Eaters had gone, they didn't go near enough to the front door."

Harry noted that he didn't say, if my father had come. A twinge of emotion stirred inside him and he realized, with some surprise, that he was feeling empathy for Draco Malfoy. He knew what it was like not to have a father.

He wondered when exactly he had become so attuned to reading between the lines of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's sharp gasp and the iron-tight grip on his arm startled him, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Harry! Look!" She shifted her grip to his shoulders and turned him forcefully in the direction of the windows on the opposite side of the kitchen.

The windows on that side faced the back of the house, away from the main street. As Harry turned, he managed to catch sight of the wagging tail of a black dog slip through the back gates of the house, and then Disapparate.

It didn't take a genius to work out what he had just seen. Fear swept through him.

He swore. "What the hell is he doing?"

"He must be going to see Remus," Hermione said, anxiety and annoyance fighting for dominance over her features. Anxiety won. "Harry, we have to get him back. There are really Death Eaters out there, we have to—"

"Malfoy didn't actually give us any proof," Harry said, twisting back around to face Hermione. He could feel every fiber of his body pulsing with nerves. "He just said his opinion was the same as yours. That's not solid evidence by any degree."

Hermione's brown eyes were shaded with impatience. "Harry. Please. Try and look at this objectively for just one moment—"

"I can't." He knew he was yelling, but the surge had started and couldn't be stopped. "Hermione, he's my godfather. He's the closest I'll ever get to a father, don't you get it? I can't just let him go again if I know I have a choice." He was sounding close to hysterical now and he knew it. "You're asking me to let him die. Again." He stopped, catching his breath.

Hermione had fallen back, and was now regarding him, her gaze steady. "I'm not asking you to let him die, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm just asking you to get him back here so we can find out what really happened. From Sirius."

"Oh." Now feeling slightly foolish, Harry retreated. "Right. OK. I'll send Remus a patronus." He glanced around the kitchen and saw Malfoy staring at him intently. That was about the fourth time he'd felt embarrassed in front fo Draco Malfoy today. "Sorry. I get worked up sometimes." He mumbled.

Malfoy contemplated him for a moment. "You really care about Sirius Black, don't you?"

Surprised by the question, Harry nodded.

He expected Malfoy to say something else, anything, about his outburst, but instead the man simply nodded in return, picked up the green coffee mug and placed it in the sink.

Trust Draco Malfoy to have good manners, even in these circumstances.

"Unfortunately, I have an appointment I have to keep," Malfoy said, sounding suddenly stiff and formal. "If that's all you wanted to ask me about, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help. As I said, I'm not connected with the Death Eaters or that circle any longer." He hesitated. Harry could almost see him thinking and rethinking what he wanted to say next. "If—" He began, then stopped. He glanced at Harry, and then started again: "If you do find confirmation, and you need help, I'll be glad to give assistance." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Harry blurted. Malfoy paused and half turned, so that Harry saw his profile. He wracked his brain for something to say. "Er, is there an easy way we could contact you? You know. For assistance." He attempted to grin.

Draco Malfoy didn't turn for a long moment. Then finally, he reached into his pocket and tossed Harry something over his shoulder. Harry lunged forward, catching it by the very tips of his fingers.

"Still the Seeker as always, Potter," he heard Malfoy comment, but he was too busy studying what was in his hand. Malfoy had tossed him a Galleon. A Galleon that looked incredibly familiar.

"Your legacy lives on with your fake Galleons, Granger," Malfoy said, sounding just slightly uncomfortable. "I've found it useful in the past and saw no reason not to continue using it."

In a rare show of tact, none of the Gryffindors mentioned what Malfoy had used the Protean charmed Galleons for in the past.

"You know how it works, Potter," Malfoy said, meeting Harry's eyes. "I'll come if I'm needed."

He was gone out the kitchen before Harry could say anything else. Harry heard the front door open and shut.

There was a sense of anticlimax in the kitchen as Harry was left with Ron and Hermione, staring at the space where Malfoy had been sitting. Harry couldn't quite tame the whirl of emotions in his chest to actually settle on what he was feeling at the moment.

Finally, Ron said, "The git's still as posh as ever."

"Ronald, he's trying to help," Hermione said, but it was only half-hearted. She turned to Harry instead. "Shouldn't you send the patronus?"

"Right." Pushing aside all thoughts of Draco Malfoy with extreme effort, Harry drew his wand. "Expecto Patronum," he said, watching the silver stag burst from the tip of his wand. "Tell Remus that he has to tell Sirius to come home, we have an urgent matter to discuss with him," he told the stag, and sent his Patronus cantering out the kitchen window, down the path where he had just seen Sirius disappear.

The three of them sat around the kitchen table to wait. They had been sitting there for a good twenty minutes before out of the thin air, a wolf padded towards him, strong and lean and muscular. It sniffed around Harry for a few seconds before it sat down in front of him, opened its mouth and Remus's voice came pouring out: "Harry, Sirius isn't here. He hasn't been here for four days. What's going on?"

The atmosphere in the kitchen shifted like lightning. Harry turned to Hermione, eyes wide. "You said—"

"I just assumed!" She said, looking panicked. "It just—he had to have—where else would he have to go?"

It was a good question. Harry turned back to the patronus, but it had already vanished. He was left staring out the kitchen window.

The bad feeling in his gut was returning.

Any guesses as to where Sirius has gotten to? We have, as an estimate, probably about 4-6 chapters left of this story, so please review! It will give me fuel to go on.

And if anyone's seen my muse, please tell it to come back to me.