Not too far away from the three travelers, a young man stood staring out the window, peering outward, though the grey eyes were unfocused and vacant. His hand rested against the glass panes; there was a tremble in his fingers, ever so slight.

"Sirius?" Fingers snapped in front of his face. "Sirius!"

Another boy was shaking his shoulder. This one was not quite as tall, with messy black hair and deep set hazel eyes. "Mate, where are you off to?"

"I… what?" The room came back into focus. His clutter and James's was strewn about the large bedroom. The snitch James had nicked the last day of term buzzed about the room, jaunty and swift, buzzing by his ear and just as swiftly disappearing. Sirius could not have caught it even if he'd tried. He had had such a strange dream, hadn't he? His cousin Bellatrix, whom he tried not to think about, not after that incident in his past, had shouted a curse at him, face twisted in hate, and green light had hurtled toward him—

Fingers snapped in front of his face.

"You've been standing there for ten minutes, Sirius! Mum's been trying to call you down for breakfast. Your last breakfast – here, anyway."

At this, Sirius turned. James was smiling, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. "I doubt it'll be my last here," he pointed out. "I've got a new place, sure, thanks to Uncle Alphard, but I still haven't a clue how to feed myself."

"I still don't know why you wanted to buy that flat just before we leave for Hogwarts," James grumbled. "It's just going to sit empty for a year while we're at school."

Any other day, Sirius could and would have bantered with James Potter, who was more brother than friend. But the jokes about getting away from James's poor hygiene fizzled on his tongue and died there. Sometime in the night, Sirius had had that dream — one he could not quite remember fully, only bits and pieces, namely Bellatrix bawling that spell. But what he did remember was the sheer terror of it; his heart had seized, his limbs had flailed. In it, he thought himself caught in a mad vortex, whirling and swirling around until he'd woken, heart galloping like a hippogriff gone mad.

"Sirius!" snapped James, peering at him. "What is it with you? You aren't going to start having fits like Mary, are you?"

"I… dreamed of – of something last night," said Sirius. His thoughts, weirdly enough, did not linger on that vortex, but on a trio of his Black cousins, and the games they used to play with him. Not all of them had been enjoyable for him.. "It's no matter," he said, forcing himself away from the window. "It's just a malaise."

For his part, James seemed to understand. "Well… come to breakfast. Mum's made all your favorites. If you're that worried about it, you can talk to Old Bones when we get back to school."

At that mention of their Divination professor, Sirius snorted, shook himself, and decided – quite firmly – that he was not going to dwell on the dream any longer. "All my favorites, you say?" he forced out brightly. "Do lead on!"

As Sirius followed him to Mr and Mrs Potter's bright kitchen, his thoughts turned once more to darkness. It was Bellatrix Black, his cousin — he supposed she was Bellatrix Lestrange, now, as the last time he'd seen her had been at her wedding — that gnawed at him. Always cruel, she'd grown even crueler after Hogwarts. Her laughter echoed in his head—

"Come off it," he muttered to himself. He shook his whole body, the way he did when he was Padfoot, and wanted to twitch water off his fur. There was no reason for him to be afraid of Bellatrix; there was no reason for him to be this unsettled by a dream. He was no prophet. He ran with a different crowd than Bellatrix Lestrange; he had been disowned by their family for running with the Gryffindor set. He need never see her again.

And yet, even as he sat enjoying the scramble made for him by Mrs Potter, he could not help but be convinced that something terrible had happened, and that, somehow, everything had changed.

"You're looking a bit ill, dear," she said, sweeping white hair out of her face.

"Didn't sleep too good," he said, after swallowing. Then, because it was expected of him, he added: "James was snoring."

"Was not," said James, as he buttered his toast.

Mr. Potter, who sat reading the Daily Prophet, rustled the newspaper, then peeked over it at them. "James has snored since day one," he announced, "it was like having a small animal in mine and Euphemia's room those first few months."

"It wasn't—"

"It was ever so sweet," said Mrs. Potter, reaching over and tousling her son's hair. "But a bit loud, yes."

"Anyway," James said in booming voice. "It's not me who snores. Sirius is the one who snores."

"I don't snore," said Sirius. "I snuffle. You can ask anyone."

Everyone at the table chuckled.

"That's what we should call you," said James, "Snuffles."

Sirius lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "I'll have it engraved and embroidered on my every belonging," he said, solemn. "Just as soon as I get unpacked."

"You don't have to leave," James said at once.

"Agreed," Mrs. Potter said. "It's been like having a brother for James these last couple of months… are you sure you don't want to stay at least until you're finished up at Hogwarts?"

Sirius took a bite of the eggs, giving himself something to do while he thought. The Potters' home was as light and airy as Grimmauld Place was dark and narrow, just like his parents' minds. The Potters could not be more different from the Blacks; they were nearly as wealthy, but there was none of the ostentation, the coldness, and the overt displays of wealth. They had made a space with brightly painted walls, huge windows that overlooked a wild and beautiful garden, and white-washed furniture, most of which looked a bit shabby. Mrs. Potter's hand was seen in the vases of flowers, the landscapes on the walls, and the light.

There were fewer places that Sirius liked more than the Potters home.

But it was time to leave. Uncle Alphard had left him enough to buy his own place. Sirius was well over seventeen. In a few months, he would be eighteen. He was a wizard grown. It was time he stopped taking advantage of the Potters kindness and get his own place. Not to mention, Sirius wouldn't mind a bit of privacy…

"I think it's time," said Sirius.

This time, it was his own hair that was ruffled. "If you insist," Mrs. Potter said, fondness in her tone circling about him like a hug. "Just be sure you come home for family dinner once in a while."

"Every Sunday," Sirius promised.

"You're acting like he's going far," said James, who had argued the fiercest when Sirius had first insisted on moving out. "London's not so far away, especially since we can all Apparate now."

"Maybe you could," Mr. Potter said wryly. "My old bones would need to fly."

"You aren't old," James protested, pointing his fork at his father. "No old man could beat me at dueling. Not the way you did yesterday while we were practicing. You're still fine to Apparate."

"Oh, I assure you," Mrs. Potter said swiftly, "your dad could beat you at dueling on his death bed."

"No one named Fleamont could be slow on the draw," Mr. Potter said. There was a moment when the older couple beamed at each other; the warmth between them was palpable at moments like this. It surprised Sirius every time, seeing a couple whose relationship was not tempestuous but filled with genuine love. "But I'm not going to lie, Apparition hurts my ears and my bones."

"We should get going," said Sirius, once everyone had finished their breakfasts. "I've got to pick up the keys, first."

The Leaky Cauldron was filled with witches and wizards and their families, even this early. Sirius thought he heard the low boom of Rubeus Hagrid's voice talking to the bartender, Tom. But neither he nor James stopped to say hello. Sirius was much too eager for chit-chat. They clomped into a discreet office near the border between the Alley and Muggle London, Sirius signed for the keys, and he was suddenly in possession of his very own flat.

"You have seen this place, haven't you?" said James.

"'Course I have," Sirius snorted. "It's just this way, come on." A bit of nerves made his stride stutter, but Sirius forced himself into an easy glide. He was a man now, for Merlin's sake. They wound their way through the cobbled streets, heading toward the little shops owned by wizardkind.

They'd just gone past Burnem, Boilem, and Freezem Apothecary, which specialized in warts, when James came to a sudden halt.

"Wait," he said slowly, "are we going—"

"Come on," said Sirius.

"But are we—"

"All we're doing is heading to my new place," Sirius snapped at him. He knew James would give him trouble, which was why he had not revealed where it was until just now. But there was no more denying it: there it was, capped with a green awning, and walls carved with intricate Celtic designs: McKinnon's Celtic Customs.

James started to laugh. "You didn't!"

"I did nothing," Sirius retorted. "I checked to see if anyone had a flat to sell, and this one came up. I didn't even know where it was until just a couple days ago."

"Liar!" James said, with a great amount of glee. "You've got it bad."

"I do not," Sirius insisted.

"Oh, you definitely do," said James. "And you take the mickey out of me all the time… at least I haven't shown up in Cokeworth to buy a flat." He snorted. "Honestly, Sirius."

"I didn't buy it because of – of anything besides I want my own flat!" said Sirius. "It's not my fault that the flat that was in my budget is—"

"—located right above your lady love's family shop?" James said, affecting an Irish accent.

"That's exactly right," said Sirius.

James was still smirking when they ducked into a little alcove and found the outdoor stair that led up to the third floor. The door was standing open. Sirius, who had been taking the stairs two at a time, felt a bit of his confidence falter. Someone was in the tiny hallway that led to his and two other flats… what if whoever was there wasn't his neighbor? For some strange reason, his dream from earlier that morning came back to him, along with a frisson of unease.

James jabbed him in the back. "Why'd you stop?" he demanded, nudging his glasses up high onto his nose.

"Nothing," said Sirius, shaking the misgivings off again. The hall was empty. The key fit neatly into the lock and turned with ease, revealing a rather spacious two-bedroom flat that overlooked Diagon Alley. The central windows had a view of Gringotts, which rose higher than the other buildings; its white columns were free of the typical London soot and gleamed in the morning light. Pale green sparks issued out of the chimney of a building a little closer, and the air smelled of London, apothecary ingredients, and the meat pasties being sold from a vendor just below them.

He held his arms wide and spun in a slow circle. His wand was out, and he let it trail little stars. "Isn't it brilliant? My very own space!"

James leaned against the door jamb, smirking. "Yes, truly, in face, I think we should—"

"You were right, he is here!" caroled a young, female voice.

"I told you I heard someone on the stairs," came the amused tones of an older woman.

Sirius snapped to attention. He knew that voice. His nerves leapt and sputtered inside him and he nearly dropped his wand.

"Oh – James Potter! It's you who's just moved in?"

"Not I," James said cheerfully. "It's Sirius. Do you remember Sirius? Sirius Black?"

When Marlene McKinnon, blond and pretty, swept into the room, she nearly swept Sirius's breath away. There were many things about Marlene that he admired – her wit, her humor, the figure she neither concealed nor showed off – but there was something about the way her lips naturally formed a little smirk that had done it for him since Sirius had discovered what that particular phrase meant. As that had been somewhere in his third year, he had been carrying his admiration along with him for a very long time.

Her little sister, flushed a bright scarlet, waved at him, then ducked away.

Marlene laughed. "I swear she was just excited to see you!" she said.

"It's Sirius," James said, shoving him a little. "He stinks."

"I do not," Sirius retorted. "Isn't she young? Aren't young girls just excitable?"

James muttered something under his breath.

"Indeed," Marlene said, grinning. "But if you live here now, Hildy is going to have to get used to you. You really live here?" Her smile dropped from welcoming to quizzical.

"Yes," said Sirius. "I was looking for my own place… I don't live with my parents anymore," he said, making a face, "and was getting tired of James here—"

"I'm not the tiresome one, Snuffles," James put in.

"—don't listen to him," Sirius said, affecting a whisper, "he snores." Then, looking at James, he added: "That nickname's just not going to take off, mate."

"I don't know," Marlene said slowly. "I like it. Snuffles."

"Ha ha," Sirius said dryly. Then, sweeping a look up and down, he added: "Did you still live around here?"

"Since I was born," she admitted, "But—"

"Then we'll be neighbors!" Sirius said with a great deal of enthusiasm. Beside him, James snorted.

"Well, as you see, I'm moving as well," said Marlene. "And I won't be available to work for the family shop much longer."

Sirius gaped at her. "What? Where?" And why?

Her lips, he had long ago noticed, always formed a natural little smirk, giving her face a humor and mystery even at rest. This smirk widened and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "As a matter of fact, I'm moving to Scotland," she announced. "Up to your stomping grounds, in fact."

"My – what?" Sirius said blankly.

"You're moving to Hogsmeade?" James asked.

"Close," said Marlene. "I'm moving to Hogwarts. I've interviewed for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Dumbledore's just sent me an owl accepting me."

"What?" Sirius repeated. "You're – what?"

"Close your mouth," Marlene suggested. Her eyes were dancing at him. "So shocked that a half-blood could get a job—"

"No," Sirius said.

Marlene waved her hand at him. "I'm just teasing," she said, her natural smirk growing a bit more wicked.

"We're not like those purebloods," James defended.

"I know you aren't," she said, eyes softening. "My little sister said you helped her out of a tight spot last year."

"Mulciber," Sirius growled, mood descending.

"And I'm glad I'll be able to keep my own eye out for her," said Marlene. She looked from one to the other, smile fading. "It is different at Hogwarts now, isn't it? The way my sister describes it—"

"It's…" Sirius thought about the Slytherins in particular, who got away with more and more, and seemed to be recruiting those from other houses. Students were more and more afraid of the parents of their fellow students. Last year, at the end of term, Mary Macdonald had left school to flee the country with her grandparents. Her parents were dead; all that had been left of them was the Dark Mark emblazoned in the sky above their family home. Either things had been better, genuinely better, when he and James were first years, or things were definitely worse. "It's worse, yeah."

At that moment, an owl, nearly pure black with a ring of dark grey feathers around its neck, soared through the open door and landed atop the drapery. It let out a long, indignant squawk at Sirius and dropped a letter onto the floor. In a gesture Sirius felt deliberate, it left a sloosh of owl droppings behind, plopping onto the hardwood floor.

"What do they want?" Sirius demanded. It had been months without contact from his parents. What were they on about, sending him a letter today? Both Marlene's eyebrows were raised, but he couldn't worry about her just now. Instead, he grabbed the letter, opened the seal, and prepared for an extension of the last fight he'd had with them.

Instead, out came an invitation.

"They have got to be kidding me?"

"What is it?" James and Marlene asked at exactly the same moment.

"My stupid cousin is marrying that blighter, Malfoy," Sirius said, disgusted. He shook the invitation out of the envelope. He peered into it, half-expecting another slip of paper, one with his mother's imperious, looping hand-writing on it, but the envelope was empty. "It's really all they sent me," he said. "Just this." He shook his head, and peered at James. "Do they actually think I'll go? Just don some dress robes with the stupid Black crest on them? Go celebrate with all the rest of—"

"No," said James, cutting through his growing rant. "No… why would they think you'd go?"

"Narcissa was a couple of years behind me in school," Marlene offered, "she was always a bit of a twat."

This made Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"I'm not going to be able to get away with saying things like that after next week," Marlene said, on a sigh.

"Well, Marlene—" Sirius began.

"It's Professor McKinnon now," James told him, smirking.

Sirius flipped him a gesture.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Marlene said in a rather lofty tone.

"Well, Professor Mckinnon," Sirius repeated.

"Oh, I like that," she said, grinning. "Go on, then."

Sirius leaned forward. "I'll call you that from now on," he promised. And – to his complete surprise – he saw a rosy flush rise in her cheeks. An awareness snapped between them. Faltering, Sirius took a step back, clearing his throat. In that moment, he became acutely aware that James was three feet away, looking back and forth between them. "Since you're a professor now," he added, after much too long a pause.

"See that you do," Marlene said, nodding. It was as though that hint of a blush had never appeared. "I wouldn't want to give you two detention."

"Not me!" James protested. "I'm Head Boy now… my parents would kill me if I got any more detentions."

"You can save them for me," Sirius said, having rediscovered his footing. He winked at her, rather ostentatiously, allowing James to see it.

Marlene laughed. Then, after a small flurry of conversation, she headed back downstairs to help with the inventory of McKinnon's Celtic Customs. Sirius stared at the door for a bit, scratching at the back of his neck, reliving the moment when she'd blushed. Marlene McKinnon had really and truly blushed, just when he'd leaned toward her. His stomach leapt.

"What're you going to do?" James's voice cut through his fevered thoughts.

"About what?" Sirius said. What could he do, really?

"You know what," James said, exasperated. "With your parents!"

"Oh," said Sirius. He looked down. The invitation was still in his hand. With deliberation, Sirius ripped it in half, and then half again. Then, he set the pieces of it on fire with his wand, and made the burning bits of it spell out the words FUCK and then NO. "I'm not going to reply. Fuck the Blacks."

James clapped him on the shoulder. "For that, I think I should treat you to some ice cream."

"Wait," said Sirius, remembering something. "I've got something for the flat. Hold on."

"What are you doing?" James asked.

Sirius spun the box in his hand, jerking his head. "I didn't want to come empty handed. I brought this along so the flat's not empty when we leave."

"Dad's going to help you with the moving," said James.

"Yeah, I know," said Sirius. But he couldn't explain it. It was important to him, somehow, that this small box containing his favorite things — his advanced transfiguration books, his silver scales, his lunar chart, and the Marauder's Map — stay here sat on the floor, the first thing he moved in at the start of his adult life. "But I wanted to at least bring something." I wanted to mark it as my own, he thought.

"Are you done?" James asked, amused.

"Yeah," said Sirius, tossing a glance around the place. "Let's go."

James was true to his word. They both bought sundaes and brought them to sit outside. There were loads of people there; it was right before term started. The mothers and fathers were looking harassed as they dragged their Hogwarts aged children from store to store, checking lists that were so long, the ends of the scrolls trailed on the cobbled stones, in danger of being trampled by other harried parents. James and Sirius, who had already finished their Hogwarts shopping long ago, sat and watched.

"Oh, that's rough luck," said James, standing half to his feet. One young mother had fallen and one of the young children scampered away, running toward the back of the alley. "Oh, I've got to help—"

"I'll come too—"

"I've got it," said James, striding away and vaulting over the fence that separated the patio from the alley. Then, over his shoulder, he tossed: "Don't eat my ice cream!"

Sirius sat back, putting his feet up on the table, and kept watching. This was going to be his home, he thought. He'd be free to watch the wizards and witches coming to do their shopping; he'd see the hags and the vampires come for their items of need; if there was any place in the wizarding world that was more diverse, he could not think of it. His parents would be appalled: Diagon Alley was a necessary evil, but not one they visited unless they absolutely had to. Sirius had been eleven before he'd been here.

Groaning, Sirius thought of the owl – Blackness, his father had named him. Their estrangement had been rubbing on well enough, why'd they have to break it?

James had been gone a couple of minutes before Sirius realized that the back of his neck was prickling, and he had the instinct he was being watched. Slowly, he let his feet drop to the ground and he set aside his ice cream spoon. As though a cloud had passed over the sun, Sirius's enjoyment faltered. His gaze swept the crowd again, this time with a purpose. But he didn't see anything, not at first, not until he looked at McKinnon's Celtic Customs. His gaze flicked upward.

"HEY!" he shouted, drawing his wand. Startled, the passersby looked at him.

But his focus was on the shadowy figure exiting at the top of the outdoor stair leading to his flat. Sirius shouted again, running forward, pushing through the crowd. Whoever it was dressed entirely in black, long hair falling in his face. It was much too far to see details; the wizard was in shadows. Frustrated, he stopped just below, staring upward. But there was nothing to see; the moment Sirius paused, the wizard Disapparated with a loud CRACK! and disappeared.

Angry and annoyed, Sirius trudged back to Fortescue's. James was there, seated once more, mouth full of strawberry ice cream.

"What gives?" he asked around his spoon.

"Someone was up in my flat," Sirius said, indignant.

James's eyebrow quirked. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Sirius, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "He Disapparated before I could catch him, though…"

"Don't other people live on that floor, though?" James pointed out.

Sirius paused. He hadn't considered that, had he? His flat was one of three on that floor, and there were two floors above it; one had three flats, and the top floor was reserved for Old Man McKinnon and the family he allowed to live with him in what was rumored to be palatial, having been magicked to be bigger on the inside than what appeared on the outside. There were numerous other wizards who could have had legitimate business there.

"He was watching me," Sirius said.

"What d'you mean?" James said.

Sirius shook his head. "I saw him, James. He was staring at me… I knew it. I could feel it, it was strange. But when I got close enough to seeing who it was…"

"I still think you might be wrong," said James, taking another bite of his ice cream.

Sirius's own was waiting just as it had when he left it. Fortescue's ice cream sundaes wouldn't melt in a desert. He felt slightly better having finished the watermelon, but the sensation of being watched had not fully departed. It reminded him of the dreams he'd been having, the dreams he could not quite remember when he woke up, but had visited him the last three nights. It had followed him into waking life, now, that disturbed sensation.

It was heightened when, an hour later, Sirius walked into his new flat to find he'd been stolen from. "I told you!" he said, jabbing his hand at the open window. "Someone was here!"

"But—"

Sirius ignored James, strode over to the small box of things he'd brought, and felt his eyes widen. "I told you!" he repeated. "I told you! And look!" A weird sort of triumph had filled him. "It's gone!"

"What's gone?" James asked, perplexed.

"The Map!"

James's hazel eyes were confused. "But it just looked like a bit of parchment, didn't it? Why would they take it?"

"I don't know!" Sirius said loudly. "But someone was here, they were watching me, and they've stolen it!"

James came to stand beside him, staring into the box, where Sirius's other things lay undisturbed. "But we've charmed that," he said. "It wouldn't look like anything but a bit of spare parchment? Who would take that?" Light dawned. "What if he saw it, and left you a note on it?"

But a cursory search of the flat revealed nothing.

Unsettled, Sirius stared out the window.

"I reckon we ought not to have left the flat unlocked," said James. "But Sirius – I think you should stay with us one more night… I think we ought to get Dad to help us set some protective charms."

Sirius shook his head. "We needed that Map," he said.

"Not really," said James, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. "We know all the ways in and out of Hogwarts… not many mysteries left. And I'm Head Boy now, who's going to give us detention?"

Sirius snorted. But he hated that someone had come into his flat and taken one of his possessions. "You think your dad will really set some charms?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course," James said. "He loves doing stuff like that. And he'll set some good ones, too, you know Dad can do anything."

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Yeah, I think I'd prefer that, actually. I can always move in tomorrow."

"And besides," James said, elbowing him in the ribs, "you'll have plenty of chances to see Marlene up at Hogwarts now… you don't have to move in today."

They found Mr. and Mrs. Potter sitting together beneath the large, sturdy looking tree that was the centerpiece of their large garden. Both were barefoot, and Mrs. Potter had a flower crown in her white hair. Why couldn't my parents have been fun like those two? Sirius thought, a bit resentful.

"Hey, Mum, Dad!" James called.

"Hey, James, Sirius!" Mr. Potter called in exactly the same tone. "James wouldn't let you leave, eh, Sirius?"

"Actually, Dad, we had a favor to ask…"

Mr. Potter listened to them carefully, stroking his mustache as he did. "The McKinnons own that whole building," he said. "They'll have quite a few protective charms on it."

"But not so much on the second and third floors," said James, "those are the ones they rent out."

"And sell," added Sirius.

"True," said Mr. Potter. "Well, I'll have a think about it. I can go talk to old Magnus, too. He knew your grandfather, James. He can tell me which charms you've got on there already. We may not be able to do much, you know the Ministry regulates things like that."

"I know," said Sirius.

"And even more in recent years," Mrs. Potter said, troubled. Her brow cleared in the next instant. "But Fleamont will do what he can."

"Thanks," said Sirius, with a great deal of gratitude.

Mr. Potter's hazel eyes were gentle as he nodded. "I'll get started tomorrow."

It took three days before Sirius's flat was protected to Mr. Potter's standards. James had been right: the second and third floors had rudimentary charms at best. "Don't blame Magnus," Mr. Potter said. "He does what he can, but protective charms need a certain amount of upkeep… Sirius, you'll want to invite me over again over Christmas, and I can help out again." They had just made a blood ward, and both their hands were wrapped in handkerchiefs where they'd nicked themselves with a silvery knife Mr. Potter kept in his pocket. It was the strongest, legal protection they could do.

Try to get in again, Sirius dared the mysterious figure who had stolen his Map from him. That's not going to go so well for you again. Anyone who was not Sirius himself would have difficulty getting through Mr. Potter's protections… and Sirius had just set it so only James and the Potters could handle the key. At Christmas, he'd invite Moony and Wormtail over, and do the same thing. But no one else…

"Come now," Mr. Potter said, settling his uninjured hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Mrs. Potter's going to make one more dinner for you, said she's loved having an entire week of goodbye teas. You can come over straight after that, if you want, but I don't want you disappointing her."

Sirius looked around the room. It was fully furnished now, with pieces borrowed from the Potters, bought from the Alley, and other things straight up given to him by Mrs. Potter, who claimed they had enough furnishings for three homes, and to please let her get rid of some. It left the two bedroom flat with a feeling of home; he'd not expected that, not so soon.

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Of course I don't want to upset her."

"I'm glad you decided to stay an extra night or two," said Mr. Potter, before he tapped the end of his pipe with his wand and lit it. A pleasant, woodsy aroma wafted up from it. "Mrs. Potter is pleased."

Sirius lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He and James had once had a mocking type of duel; there was a black scar where one of their jinxes had landed. He stared at the spot, brain churning furiously, unable to stop thinking that Marlene McKinnon – of everyone in the world – was now to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Not only would he see her around the shop when they had holidays, but he would see her nearly every day at school.

She'll be your professor. The little voice of warning in his head sounded of Professor McGonagall.

And so what? he argued against it. You'll still see her every day.

She won't want to start anything up with a student.

Shifting uncomfortably, Sirius flung his forearm over his eyes. Was there an explicit rule against professors dating students? There had to be, though most professors were upwards of forty: who would want to date Professor Dumbledore, for instance? But Marlene… she was young and pretty and not so far removed from seventeen…

There was something there between them. He knew it. There was a particular look in her eye—

Don't get your hopes up.

Just as Sirius was continuing his argument with the part of himself that sounded like Professor McGonagall, the fire in the fireplace roared with emerald green flames. As though his thoughts had conjured her, that very same professor's face appeared in the fire. Both he and Mr. Potter had risen, wands out, and were pointing them at her head.

"Ah, Minerva," said Mr. Potter, pocketing his wand. "It is you."

"Sorry for not giving you a warning," said Professor McGonagall. "I needed to speak with you. Fleamont… do you know where your son is?"

James himself came into the room, carrying a tray heavily laden with snacks. "Me?" he said, bewildered. "I'm right here."

Her eyes narrowed on him. He and James, out of long habit, exchanged a look laden with the guilt they'd carried with them for about six years of trouble-making.

"And where were you an hour ago?" Professor McGonagall pressed.

"James…" Mrs. Potter sighed from the doorway.

"I was with Sirius, in Diagon Alley!" James said.

"And did anyone see you there?" Sirius did not know if he had ever seen the professor quite so serious; and she was a serious woman.

"Dad was with me!" James settled the tray on the coffee table. It rattled. "He was! Weren't you, Dad?"

"I was indeed," said Mr. Potter, puzzled. "What's this about, Minerva?"

Her lips pursed. "I had a rather strange… well, a boy and girl came to Hogwarts asking to see Professor Dumbledore. They seemed quite urgent; I had to tell them that the Headmaster was on sabbatical."

"But what's this got to do with my son?" Mr. Potter insisted.

"Because he looked a great deal like James," she said. "Same hair, same chin, lips, nearly the same height. And any differences looked deliberately done. We know how gifted James is with Transfiguration—"

"Yes, yes, he gets it from his mother," Mr. Potter said proudly. Sirius looked from him to the head in the fire and then over to James. While this, admittedly, sounded like a prank he and James would pull, it had not been them.

"Well… must be a relation, I suppose," said the professor. There was a line creasing the center of her forehead.

"Could be," Mrs. Potter said cheerfully. "James takes after me a bit more than he does my husband, and I've many relatives… tell me, did he have an accent?"

"No… no accent. He was properly British."

"And what did his sister look like?"

"Small. Red-haired."

"Must be a Weasley," Mr. and Mrs. Potter chorused together, then grinned.

"Yes, but… neither of them students. Ah, well. I've told them to come back on the first, when the Headmaster can properly see to them." She stared off at a point just above Sirius's shoulder, then, still looking disturbed, shook her head. "It is strange times we live in. I suppose… I wished it had been you two playing a bit of a prank—"

"James is not to be participating in any more pranks," Mr. Potter said, suddenly very stern. "You are Head Boy now, James. The time for pulling pranks is over."

"Yes, Dad," James said, sheepish.

"Well, I'll be off, then," said McGonagall.

The fire popped and crackled and finally died, leaving behind a scorched log.

"I wonder what that was about," Mrs. Potter said, coming fully into the room. "I wonder if someone was attempting to impersonate you—"

"It may not have been that," Mr. Potter assured her. "It could be he just looks very like James. I've no siblings, true, but I've cousins I've never met."

"It's not like Minerva to be over-set like that," Mrs. Potter said gently, sitting beside her husband and taking his hand.

"She did think the boys were pulling a prank on her," Mr. Potter told her.

Sirius and James exchanged a glance and a quick grin. There was a time when the pranks they'd pulled were whispered about in the corridors of Hogwarts; they'd never even been caught for half of them. He doubted even James's parents could remember a time when a few fifth graders were able to become Animagi without any of the adults around Hogwarts even aware of it. But over the last year – other than keeping Remus company on the nights when he transformed – they had slowly tapered off their trouble-making.

He flopped back onto his back and resumed staring up at the ceiling. There was one new professor that Sirius had no intention of pranking: Marlene McKinnon. She was young for a professor; she probably was attracted to people like her: serious and studious.

Sirius chuckled.

"What is it?" James asked. His parents' quiet discussion broke off.

"Just thinking that I am no longer minded to pull pranks," Sirius said. "I am quite… Sirius about that."

All three let out a good-natured groan; James threw a pillow at him. "Not that old joke!" he protested.

"I missed a chance," mused Sirius, "not saying that to the professor."

"She was the one who missed out," Mr. Potter dead-panned.

Sirius laughed with them. There was a pang in the vicinity of his midsection when he thought about leaving this place. It was not his home, but James had let him borrow it for a time and treat it as though it was. The time had come to move out, but he would miss the warmth of the Potters' home that had nothing to do with physical heat, but the kindness with which all three treated each other and him.

Just think of Marlene.

Sirius smiled. Small mysteries aside, he couldn't wait for September.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait! I hope you enjoy this (slightly different) chapter set from Young Sirius's point of view… my goal is that between each sequence, I have a sort of "palate cleanser" chapter set from someone else's POV. I have an idea for a sort of "Tales from the Crypt" type chapter that will be set over Christmas and will be from the POV of a Death Eater. It just sounds like fun to me, and I hope it'll be fun to read. Any of you remember that old show?

Also, just a reminder that while this version is very close to canon, it is slightly altered, and that does include ages of various characters (specifically Regulus Black and Barty Crouch Jr.). I hope you don't mind that!