Thank you again for all the reviews!

Part Four

Walburga Black was an impressively ugly portrait.

"Wow," Harry said, staring at her, and then at Sirius. "I'm not going to look like that when I'm old, am I? I mean, at least I can probably take better care of my skin and teeth. Why did she want to look like that?"

Sirius was strangling on his laughter, and the portrait looked so taken aback that she didn't say anything for a moment. Harry shook his head. "I still love you, but I see what you mean about James's grandparents," he muttered. "What were their names?'

"Fleamont and Euphemia." Sirius's face softened the way it always did when he spoke of the Potters. "They were good to me."

"Not much to choose between for names," Harry said doubtfully. "I mean, I suppose Walburga and Orion are a bit better on that scale, but not on the 'insane supporters of Voldemort' scale."

Walburga, unfortunately, had had enough time to recover her voice. "Shame of my house!" she screamed at Sirius. "You impregnated a Mudblood/ And without even having the grace to marry her first!"

"You'd be upset whether he married her or not," Harry muttered. He looked at Sirius. "She's boring. Can we go?"

"Sure." Sirius cast the spell that pulled the curtains shut in front of the portrait and cut off Walburga's voice. "Just remember that making a lot of loud noise near the portrait wakes her up. And Kreacher loves her, so don't insult her in front of him unless you want to deal with that kind of nonsense."

"Okay." Harry shrugged. "I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?"

Sirius smiled at him, and Harry smiled back, absurdly happy to know that he would get to eat no matter what, that it would probably be something good, that it would be with his dad.

(Even the fact that it ended up being burned toast and overly salty scrambled eggs couldn't dim that joy).

Dear Harry,

I'm so glad that you're safe! Hedwig disappearing like that made me hope you were, but when you were just gone without a word…oh, Harry! I thought a Death Eater must have kidnapped you. If one of them could get into the school and pose as Professor Moody, who knows what others could do?

Ron was worried, too, and he'll be sending you his own letter. But I have to warn you that Professor Dumbledore was very interested in the letter you sent, and since it arrived while we were still at school, he saw it. He will probably be writing to you soon.

I have to admit, I don't know why he frowned the way he did. Your disappearance was concerning, of course, but we both know that Paddy would never hurt you. And if you can't even be safe at Hogwarts from getting kidnapped and used to resurrect You-Know-Who, how can you be safe at the Dursleys'?

Write back to me soon!

Love,
Hermione.

Hey, mate,

So Hermione probably told you this, but Dumbledore is mental. I mean, I understood it when he thought you were gone because someone kidnapped you. But then your letters got here, and Paddy's letter to Dumbledore, and he started talking about how you were, uh, 'in eminent danger.' I don't know why. It's not like he was saying that before when we did think Death Eaters had kidnapped you.

Write back to me. And by the way, if you were just disappear like that again and don't tell me what the hell is going on, I'll set the twins on you.

Regards, or whatever,
Ron.

Dear Harry,

I understand that you did not feel safe at Hogwarts the night of the Third Task, and neither did your father feel safe leaving you there. But I truly wish you had talked to me and told me your plans. We had a nerve-wracking twenty-four hours before Hedwig arrived bearing your letters, as well as your father's owl.

I am saddened that you felt you could not talk to me before you fled. In the future, please do not hesitate to confide in me.

I am also saddened that you did not feel safe enough at your relatives' home to return there. While I understand that they have not always been kind to you, the blood wards offer an unparalleled protection. Please reconsider your decision to live with your father; he can offer you the magical world, but not as safe a one.

Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore.

Dear Harry,

You scared me, you berk! Next time, don't just vanish out of the hospital wing like that and not send word until the next day! You could have told me. You know I would have covered for your escape. I could have told Crabbe and Goyle to do it, too.

But Mother has reminded me of where Father was that night, and I understand that—you might not have felt you could.

I promise you, Harry, I swear to you on my word as a Black, that you can trust me, now and forever. Your safety is important to me. Family is important, but you're more important even than that. I'm a Black before I'm a Malfoy if it comes to that.

Sincerely,
Draco.

Dear Harry,

I am glad beyond words to hear that you are safe. I must tell you that Draco spent a restless night, and so did I, wondering what had happened and if perhaps the Headmaster had decided to spirit you away somewhere for his idea of safety. Given that until this last year, that has involved hiding you in the Muggle world, I must say that I do not trust him to make the best decisions for your welfare.

Sirius did send me a letter, but it self-destructed after I read it only once. The same thing happened with the letter sent to my sister. Please pass on my compliments for his caution and my disdain for his belief that we might betray him. Andi is close to the Headmaster, yes, and worked for his side in the war, but that does not mean she would give up on your father.

I have measures in place to handle my husband if he becomes a problem. I hope to see you soon.

With love,
Your cousin Cissa.

"Regulus."

The whisper came from behind them as Harry and Sirius were making their way down the center of Diagon Alley. Harry saw Sirius flinch before he fastened a calm smile into place over his features. Harry knew the illusion was necessary, but he didn't like it. It made Sirius look too collected and formal and cold. Too pureblood.

Yeah, of course, Sirius was a pureblood. But he wasn't usually the kind of person who wore an expression like Regulus apparently had all the time.

Standing behind them was a man with long grey hair and a gnarled walking stick. Harry blinked as he realized that he could feel—something from the man. It was as if he was carrying around a cursed or enchanted Dark artifact like the ones at Grimmauld Place. And doing it on his left arm.

Death Eater. Harry kept himself from drawing his wand, but only barely. His sensitivity to Dark magic had increased from living at the Black family home, then. He would have to keep that in mind.

"Mr. Nott," Sirius-as-Regulus said, every word he spoke infused with what Harry could tell was loathing. He hoped to this Mr. Nott, it would only sound like cold courtesy.

Nott. That was the name of a Slytherin in Harry's year, wasn't it? And yeah, he was lingering behind his dad, now that Harry looked. A tall, weedy boy with an utterly closed-off expression and dark hair that was straighter even than Snape's. He caught Harry's eye and tilted his head in a small gesture.

"It is—wondrous to see you," whispered Nott. He was looking at Sirius's left arm, but the illusion he wore included adding extra length to his dark robes. Sirius had explained to Harry that he saw no reason why he should be hot in reality when the illusion would make it look like he was wearing long sleeves. "Where have you been all these years?"

"That is my private business, Mr. Nott."

"You called me Alfred once. When we were in the service of the same cause."

"Strange of you to assume it was the same cause," Sirius said, and Harry looked up at him in concern. There was a rumbling growl in the back of his voice. Sirius had no idea how much Regulus might have told the Death Eaters, any more than he knew how Regulus had died. If Regulus had told some of them about Sirius's Animagus form and Nott recognized it—

But there was no sign of that. Instead, Nott was turning pale. "You mean—you dare to say—"

"I came back into public to be with my son," Sirius said shortly, and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I would much rather have remained a recluse. I had no idea for a long time that I had fathered a son. But now I know, and I will not leave him unprotected."

Harry half-closed his eyes. Just the pressure of Sirius's hand on his shoulder was strong enough to convince him, but hearing words like that spoken was something he would probably never get tired of. The Dursleys certainly never would have said them.

"You know there will be consequences. He has returned."

"What, Voldemort?"

Nott stepped back. His son tilted his head further, reminding Harry of a stork. More than one person in the street, who had only been pretending not to listen, gasped aloud.

It's a fucking name, Harry thought crossly. It was also a name that Sirius wouldn't have used until recently, but hearing Kreacher and the portrait of his mother call Voldemort "the Dark Lord" all the time seemed to have worn away his tolerance for nicknames.

"You know there will be consequences," Nott repeated, but he seemed weaker than he'd been. He was staring at Sirius.

"So there will be consequences," Sirius said, and shrugged. He was grinning in a way that looked pretty much like him, but still seemed to work pretty well with the illusion. "I will not let my son suffer as a result of those consequences."

That seemed to be all Nott had come there to hear. He turned around and hastily went the other way. His son followed him with a few long glances back in Harry's direction.

Sirius chuckled darkly as soon as they were gone, and then peered impartially around at all the people who were still watching them. Those people immediately decided that they had things to do elsewhere.

"It's kind of fun," Sirius said happily as they started walking again, "being a pureblood snot."

Harry smiled at him, but he could feel uneasiness stirring in his gut. "Do you think you should have, you know, played along? Pretended?"

"I'm no good at pretending. One reason they should never have thought I was guilty. Spying would require a level of subtlety I just don't have." Sirius wrapped one arm around Harry's shoulders and dragged him close. "Come on, let's get home and see whether Kreacher made an acceptable lunch for once."

Kreacher seemingly still didn't know what to make of Harry.

When Harry had his friends over and they whooped their way up and down the staircase and practiced hexes that took care of doxies in the curtains and the boggart hiding under the desk, Harry saw Kreacher hiding on the stairs and watching them from under the banister. His eyes were always wide and suspicious. Harry would ignore him, and then next time he glanced up, Kreacher would be gone.

Harry supposed it wouldn't get better than that. They would just coexist and not attack each other, and that would be fine.

But then Kreacher showed up for breakfast one morning in a clean black towel tied around his waist, and his skin and teeth and nails were clean as well. He made the breakfast while sneering at Sirius, who had got down the knives and a pound of bacon, and then set a plate in front of Harry first. Harry ate a sausage cautiously and sipped at the pumpkin juice while Kreacher stood there with his arms folded.

"Wow," Harry said. "This is really good, Kreacher."

"Kreacher is being a much better cook than Master Sirius," Kreacher said smugly, glancing at Sirius, who was hiding his grin behind a cup of tea. "Master Sirius is letting Kreacher make the breakfasts from now on."

"Sure," Sirius agreed. Harry knew Sirius still didn't really like making the meals, even if he'd got better at some specific things, like not putting so much salt in the eggs.

(And even though Harry had offered to cook, Sirius didn't like that, for some reason. Harry supposed it went back to the Dursleys and the fact that he'd learned there, which he and Sirius hadn't really talked about yet. Sirius had given Harry the largest bedroom and spoiled him with gifts and hung up lights everywhere and would have bought Harry everything he so much as looked at in Diagon Alley if Harry had allowed him.

Harry did restrain him, but, well. It was nice. To know his dad cared).

Gradually, Kreacher took over a lot of the cleaning, making lunch and dinner as well as breakfast, and staring creepily at Harry to make sure he brushed his teeth and folded up his clothes every night, which was the kind of thing Harry could really have done without. One night when he was climbing into bed, he asked Kreacher about it.

"You know I'm not really Regulus's son," he said sleepily, letting his head fall onto the pillow. "And you don't like Sirius. What made you change your mind?"

Kreacher's ears twitched, and he didn't answer. Harry thought he might not, and was drifting off to sleep when the elf's voice reached him, soft and low.

"Master Sirius's son is the only grandchild being born to Mistress Walburga. The only chance Kreacher has."

And that was pretty creepy, too, but as long as it meant that Harry didn't have to worry about being strangled in his sleep or dying from food poisoning, he'd take it.

"Are you ready for this?"

Draco's voice was low and soft in his ear as they got off the train to take the carriages to the castle. Harry bit his lip and nodded. Ron and Hermione were walking ahead of him as if to shield him, but he knew they couldn't, really. The papers were spreading the story around that Harry and Dumbledore were lying about Voldemort's return, and Sirius had already learned that some Ministry flunky was going to be the new Defense professor.

Harry sighed and settled his shoulders. "As ready as I can be."

People stared at him as they walked to the carriage, Draco's hand positioned in the small of his back. Ron and Hermione were holding one of the carriage doors open. Ron had a small scowl, but spending time with both Draco and Harry in Grimmauld Place that summer—which had the kinds of protections that let them practice magic—had done a lot to wear away his rivalry with Draco. And Draco had apologized to Hermione for the Mudblood comment.

Hermione had accepted, but had told Draco he would miss having his eyes if he did it again. Draco had looked both startled and terrified at that.

It was enough to make Harry wonder if Hermione had been spending time with Cissa he didn't know about.

"Cowards," Ron muttered as they climbed into the carriage. "Muttering about You-Know-Who and how Harry's a delusional liar. They'd be quick enough to run screaming and begging him to save their lives if You-Know-Who actually showed up."

"Voldemort, Ron," Hermione corrected. She had her nose buried in a book about wards that Sirius had lent her.

Ron shivered but said nothing. At least he didn't flinch as hard as he used to anymore. Harry touched his scar with one hand. Since the graveyard, he'd had fewer of the visions he'd had during fourth year, but Sirius thought that might have had to do with being behind the wards of Grimmauld Place. They would have to see what happened when Harry was in Hogwarts.

"If I can say it, you can, Weasley."

Draco's voice was low and intense. Ron glared at him. "Yeah? Let's hear you, then."

Harry glanced at his cousin uncertainly. Draco had insisted that he wanted to claim his place at Harry's side openly, but this was still a step beyond what they'd discussed.

Draco closed his eyes, seemed to reach inside his body for breath, and exhaled hard. "Voldemort."

Ron looked reluctantly impressed. Hermione smiled at them over the top of her book. Harry reached out and entwined his fingers with Draco's, tightly.

"You, of course, will have no need to use practical Defense spells this year," said Dolores Umbridge softly.

It was hard for Harry to keep hold of his tongue and his temper, but he managed it. He wouldn't get in trouble for blurting out what he knew to be true. Sirius had taught him, not to be less impulsive, but to channel that impulsiveness in new directions, this summer.

So Umbridge was going to suffer. She just didn't know it yet.

Hermione raised her hand. Umbridge turned from staring at Harry like she could set him on fire with her eyes and gave a fake little smile. "Yes, dear?"

"This is our OWL year, Professor," Hermione said, lowering her hand. "I was just wondering how we'll be able to pass the Defense practical if it turns out that we haven't practiced the spells all year."

A murmur of dissatisfaction swept around the room. Umbridge sighed as if they were all disappointing her. "Of course, my dear, that would be a reasonable question..."

"Would be?"

"Please don't interrupt, my dear," said Umbridge, her eyes narrowing a little. "I was going to say that it would be a reasonable question if you are unable to apply principles to practice."

Harry distantly admired how neat this was. It would make it seem like the students' fault if they weren't able to pass the practical portion of the exam, either because they hadn't spent enough time revising or because they just weren't smart enough.

Or because they lacked parents who could bribe the examiners to push them through. Sirius had been pretty educational about that.

"Now," said Umbridge, while Hermione watched her with narrowed eyes, and looked around the classroom again. "Is there anyone else here who has a question before you begin reading? There will be no need to talk."

Her gaze kept lingering on Harry, but Harry kept his face perfectly bland and polite. Umbridge wouldn't be able to find a reason to turn on him. Harry was going to make sure that he stayed quiet, for the sake of his father. And spending time with his father. And maybe, someday, finding a way to capture Pettigrew and get Sirius a trial so he could claim Harry as who he really was, not the son of Regulus Black.

Against that kind of temptation, what Umbridge was peddling wasn't really all that important.

"Thought you'd speak up for yourself more, Black."

Seamus still said his name like it was a curse. Harry gave him a perfectly cool look and kept on searching for his Herbology book. He knew it was in his trunk. Kreacher had warded it for him so that no one else could take anything out of it. Sirius had thought that might be necessary once the stories started appearing in the papers, and Harry was glad that he had listened to him, as usual.

"Aren't you listening to me?"

"Mmm," said Harry, knowing the absentminded way he made the noise would irritate Seamus worse than anything else, and pulled out his Herbology book.

"Doesn't it bother you," said Seamus, taking up a posture near the doorway to the bedroom with his arms folded, "that your mum was a whore?"

Harry stared at him. His ears were full of rushing noise, and his head full of numb surprise. He supposed he should have thought someone would take that tack sooner or later, but no one had until now. Maybe it was because of the announcement over the summer that Harry was a member of the Black family.

"There," said Seamus, an ugly look creeping into his face. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

If I had reacted before this, you would have just taken it as evidence that I was mental.

And that kept Harry from reacting in the way that Seamus probably wanted him to. Seamus was baiting him. It had to do with being afraid that Voldemort was really back, and Harry didn't have to react to it. He gave Seamus a smile of simple pity, which made him straighten up and blink.

"I don't really know much about my mum, considering she died when I was one and all," Harry said, with a shrug. "I know she died to save me, and she had red hair and green eyes, and she was pretty. But you know what? I know she was a witch, and so did my dad, long before he slept with her. And so did the man she married."

Seamus flushed bright red all over. "Don't talk about my mam," he whispered.

"Why did she have to keep it from your father that she was a witch?" Harry asked lightly. "Because he wouldn't have married her otherwise? That's kind of sad, isn't it? That she couldn't trust him with such a vital part of herself?"

Seamus drew his wand. Harry looked down at it and then up at him.

"Going to hex me right here in the room?" he asked. "Who do you think Professor McGonagall is going to believe, if I'm the one hexed and you aren't?" It was torture to keep his hands by his sides and not move, especially after all the practice he'd got with hexes this summer, but it would be worth it. He could hear Sirius telling him that it would be worth it.

Seamus shoved his wand into his sleeve again and stormed away. Harry could hear his angry footsteps on the stairs.

Harry breathed out slowly. Then he shook his head and gave a thin smile. Yes, it was going to be worth it to resist the lures other people kept throwing out to him.

Especially because he knew, once he owled his dad about the insult to Lily, Sirius would arrange to play a prank on Seamus that would make any hex Harry could have cast look small.

Other people, unfortunately, had less luck resisting the temptation to talk.

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry whispered, as he bent over her hand with the Essence of Murtlap she'd asked him to get. "God." He rubbed the Murtlap gently into the cuts, which formed the word MUDBLOOD and apparently had been caused by a quill that wrote in Hermione's own blood. "What do you want to do?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione was blinking away tears.

Harry felt helpless. This was not how this was supposed to go, but he didn't know what to do about it. "I mean, do you want me to write to Sirius? I know it probably won't be very effective to write to your parents, because they're Muggles and Umbridge won't listen to them. But I can unleash Sirius on her. Just say the word."

Hermione closed her eyes. "I was stupid," she whispered. "I just should have stayed quiet like you did, Harry, but…all I can think of is the newspaper slandering you and Professor Dumbledore, and—"

"Remember, it's called libel when it's written," Harry said, gently massaging the Essence of Murtlap into her hand and smiling to take away what he could of the sting.

Hermione let out a watery chuckle. "Yes, I know, Harry." She leaned back against the chair in the common room where she was sitting. Ron stood nearby, clenching his hands and looking helpless. "I don't know. I mean, Professor McGonagall keeps telling us to keep our heads down. And I shouldn't have gone on and on about learning defense spells and how we knew we would have to defend ourselves against Dark wizards in front of her."

"It is not your fault, Hermione," Harry said, and poked her sharply in the ribs, so she squeaked. Then he stood up and hugged her. "Just because I decided to do it this way and Professor Dumbledore decided to speak out doesn't mean you have to do it either of our ways. And Umbridge is horrible. She shouldn't be torturing people. That's what she's doing. So just say the word."

"Say the word?" Hermione whispered into his shoulder.

"Say if you want me to write to Sirius or not. He'll stop it."

"He's still a fugitive, though. He has to be so careful not to get found out by the Ministry."

Ron answered before Harry could. "But he has that cool disguise as Regulus Black, now," he said, grinning at Harry. They were under a Privacy Charm again, so Harry wasn't worried about Ron hinting his father wasn't Regulus. "A very snotty and pureblood Regulus Black writing to the Ministry about this and storming the school is a whole different thing."

Harry matched Ron's evil grin. Then he turned back and stared expectantly at Hermione.

Hermione laughed a little. "Yes, okay. I think that you're right. I just—it's so hard to know what the right thing to do is when the people who should be doing the right thing aren't doing it." She stared down at her hand. "Why is Professor McGonagall telling me to keep my head down? Why won't Professor Dumbledore look you in the eye, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "The same reason they won't do anything about Professor Snape, I suppose. They're going to just be vague and say there are reasons and we can't do anything about them or we're not old enough to know anything about them if we ask."

Hermione snorted and hugged him harder. "Okay. Then please, write to Sirius. And please make sure that I can see it when he storms into the school and gets all high and mighty with Umbridge."

Harry laughed. "He wouldn't have you miss it for the world."