Black Manor was a very imposing manor on a cliff at the seaside town of Cornwall. It was Unplottable, as was the Black house in London. It was three stories, constructed in the Gothic persona, but the house had a siding with Queen Anne's Lace. Beautiful red roses climbed up the walls, and were in full bloom. A single candle flickered in a window.

With a pop, the trio landed in the drawing room, Alphard standing upright, Sirius and Harry sprawled out on the floor.

"I'll prepare your room, Sirius," Alphard said softly, heading upstairs. Harry followed after him, but SIrius stopped him.

"Look," he said. "I've been trying to remember you. I honestly am." Harry just looked away. "I do know that you're James's son, and therefore, my responsibility." He rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. "James and I had a bond, Harry. One that cannot be broken, even in death."

"I'm sorry, Sirius," Harry said. "You're still my godfather, even if you can't remember me." Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off. "I'll try to help you remember!" he said earnestly.

--------

Days passed. Harry was telling Sirius about how Ron had been put on the Quidditch team, and Sirius was listening intently.

"I bought you a Firebolt, didn't I?" Sirius asked. Harry looked up He couldn't recall telling SIrius about his beloved racing broom.

"No..." Harry said, testing SIrius, who shook his head vigorously.

"No, I know I bought one. I was in Diagon Alley after I escaped from Azkaban! You would go into Quality Quidditch Supplies, and sit there for hours staring at the damn thing! I remember!" he added happily, feeling rather stupid. Harry laughed. He knew that this would be easier now.

But, a distraction came when the door to the kitchen swung open. Silhouetted by the sunlight was a woman with dark, curly hair.

"Bellatrix," Harry breathed, reaching for his wand. Sirius stood, as the woman launched herself at Sirius, holding onto him tightly.

"They called me, Sirius," she moaned, her pale, delicate hands clinging to Sirius's robes. "They told me you were alive, but-" The woman broke into hysterical sobs that scared Harry.

"Hestia," Sirius whispered, holding the woman closely. "Don't cry. Because if you do, then I will. And if I will, then Harry will, and we'll be one big crying mess. And you don't want that, do you?" The woman shook her head, and permitted Sirius to wipe the tears from her rosy cheeks.

"No," she said in a child like voice. "I don't." Harry took this opportunity to go find Sirus's uncle, who was teaching him how to play the guitar. He looked over his shoulder as he left the lounge, and saw his godfather pressing gentle kisses to the woman's face. Was he... jealous? Why should he be jealous? This was his GODFATHER! Maybe it was because the love he saw displayed by this woman earnestly returning Sirius's kisses made him envious. He had never seen the Dursleys show this much affection toward each other. Maybe it was the fact of the love in general?

"Grandpa?" Harry had decided to call Alphard 'Grandpa' as the old man treated him as if he were Sirius's son, telling Harry embarassing stories of when Sirius and James would stay over at his house.

"Yes?" Alphard was in his study, with an older man, who looked up.

"Who is that, Alphard?" the man asked.

"Shut up, Lesath, its Sirius's godson." Alphard said irritably, as Harry stood in the doorway. "Come in, Harry," he added in a warmer tone. Harry did as he was told, and Alphard beckoned for him to sit in a chair that looked rather comfortable, and Harry did so.

"Um. Hi." Harry said to the other man, who rolled his eyes, looking disgusted.

"Harry, this is Sirius's father, Lesath Black," Alphard said. Lesath glared at Harry before turnin back to Alphard.

"Have you told him?" he asked.

"I can't," Alphard said. "He's struggling to remember everything," Lesath scoffed. "I can't do that to him! Why don't YOU tell him? You ARE his father." he added, smirking. Lesath just glared even more.

"Until he learns the truth, Brother. And its no wonder he trusts you, because you are hi-"

"Lesath, please." Alphard said helplessly. "Just go. We're too old to bicker like children."

"Yes, yes, make everything rose colored for Sirius. He isn't a child anymore, Alphard."

"He never was your child to begin with..." Alphard said quietly, as Lesath turned away. "I'm sorry you had to see that Harry," he added, glancing towards the seventeen-year-old. Harry shrugged.

"Why's he such a clot anyway?" Harry asked curiously.

"He and Sirius had never been fond of each other. They never had a father-son relationship. It was more of a love-hate relationship." Seeing the perplexed look on Harry's face, Alphard continued. "They loved to hate each other. Sirius was outgoing, and showed his emotions more easily. My brother was reclusive, and preferred to stay at home. He rarely took his family to fancy dress parties. Nope, that was my job." He thought for a moment. "No, Sirius was closer to his mother, Victoria. He'd rather die than admit it, though. When Sirius was permitted to write home from Azkaban, he wrote to her until her death, telling her that he was fine, and nothing was wrong. I knew he was lying, and so did she." He pointed to a silver box, and Harry went for it.

"Can I?" he asked. Alphard nodded.

"If you would like," he said, handing Harry the box. Harry took it, and recognized his godfather's handwriting. As it did whenever a letter from Sirius was addressed to him, his heart skipped a beat.

Mother,

Do not worry about me (see, I am not using contractions because contractions are BAD.), as I am fine. My cell is a little sparsley decorated, but with time, it shall remind me of home. I miss eating your cookies, and I am sorry for running away. But Father drove me to it. Regulus told me, before he died, that it broke your heart; for that I am sorry Harry read that, and knew instantly it was a lie. Why was Sirius protecting his mother? Uncle Alphard came to visit me today. He told me that if I did not stop lying in my letters to you, he would tell you the truth. So here is the truth:

My cell is dank, and cold. I can hear the wind howling outside the stone walls as I write this. I am filled with dread of the coming days, afraid I might die, or have my soul taken. I worry constantly about everything, as that is all one can do in Azkaban. I worry for Harry. He had to live with his Muggle relatives, as you most likely know. I worry if James and Lily could ever forgive me. I worry for a lot of things.

I have not been fed in days, Mother. The hunger is a constant presence. I fear that I just may die hungry, and that is what I have always feared.

I am sorry for disgracing the Black family name. I violated the code of Toujours Pur. Maybe I am not fit to be a Black.

Your son,

Sirius.

Harry read this and sighed. Sirius lied to his mother, he could tell. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up, seeing the gray eyes that had often made him feel loved.

"I wrote that three days before my mother died," he said softly. "I know that every letter I wrote to Remus while I was in Azkaban was torn up, or burned. Remus denies it, but I know he did."

"You never wrote me." Harry said. Sirius sighed.

"I know, and I'm sorry." he said, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. "I just... I wasn't aware of what to say. I mean, how would you have liked a letter from some one you could hardly even remember, filling you with false promises, then, as you got older, the promises became lies?"

"I don't think I'd like that very much..." Harry said.