On Friday evening, Sirius stuffed his belongings into his trunk and joined the long queue outside Professor McGonagall's office, waiting to use her Floo. He would have much preferred to stay at Hogwarts over the Easter holidays — he'd planned to tell McGonagall he needed more Apparition practice — but Dumbledore had requested that all students return home for Easter. Officers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had finally finished canvassing Hogwarts and were planning to reinforce the castle's defences and protective charms over the holidays. Apparently, this was easier to do without hundreds of students underfoot.

Professor McGonagall nodded as Sirius stepped into her office. She gestured towards the fireplace. "Whenever you're ready, Black."

Sirius grimaced. "You know, Professor, I haven't quite mastered Apparition yet. I was thinking, it might be better if I stay here… get some extra practice…"

"I'm sure the Potters will be more than happy to let you practice in their back garden," said Professor McGonagall briskly.

"Ah," said Sirius. So she hadn't heard that he'd reunited with his family. Not that it mattered — he doubted she'd care. "Yeah. I bet they would be."

He heaved his trunk into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald flames, bending low so as not to hit his head on the mantle. "Grimmauld Place," he muttered, hoping Professor McGonagall couldn't hear.

Her hawklike eyes flashed towards him, but green flames obscured his vision before he could make out her expression. Not thirty seconds later, the Floo Network spat him onto the cold marble of Grimmauld Place's kitchen floor.

Walburga was sitting at the table, stitching a doily while Kreacher poured her tea.

"Hi, Mum," groaned Sirius. He rubbed his sore knees as he stood up.

Her thin lips stretched into a satisfied smile. "Sirius. Darling. So good to have you home."

She made no move to stand, so Sirius reluctantly crossed the room to kiss her on the cheek. "Is Father here?"

"He had a meeting at Gringotts with Blordak," said Walburga. "He said you are to review the ledgers in his office before he returns."

"Alright," said Sirius blandly. Kreacher shot him a look, clearly suspicious. Sirius met Kreacher's gaze and gave a little shrug. Ten more years, he thought. Ten years till I make you into a rug.

Kreacher's eyes narrowed to slits above his bulbous nose, as if he could hear Sirius' thoughts. Sirius winked.

"Regulus arrived half an hour ago," said Walburga, oblivious to the tension as she ran a needle through her doily. "He's in his room, painting. I trust you've seen the portrait he's working on?"

"Glimpses of it," said Sirius.

"And what do you think?"

Sirius could recognize a trap when he heard one. "It's very nice."

"He's quite the artist," said Walburga. "So sensitive, my youngest boy. So talented. I'm sure your father wouldn't mind if you said hello to your brother before looking at the ledgers."

That was new. His mum had spent the majority of the Christmas holidays trying to keep him and Regulus apart. "I'm allowed to spend time with Reg again, then?"

He immediately regretted baiting her. Walburga sucked in a breath, drawing all the air in the room into her lungs. After a long moment, she exhaled and clucked her tongue. "Yes. But no smoking those disgusting Muggle cigars of yours."

Sirius was fairly certain she only found the cigarettes repulsive because they were Muggle-made. His father often smoked a pipe, after all. "Alright," he said. "No smoking and I can talk to Regulus again. Sounds fair."

Walburga's attention had fully turned to the doily. "It's not good to be separated from family." She sounded as if she was reciting from a book. "You and Regulus are brothers. You need each other."

I don't need any of you, thought Sirius. Out loud, he said, "Thanks, Mum."

The door to Regulus' room was ajar. Regulus was standing in the middle of the room, examining his portrait of Walburga. Sirius knocked, and Regulus gestured for him to come in without taking his eyes off of the painting.

Although large parts of the portrait remained unfinished, its face was recognizably Walburga's. She was wearing a deep green dress with a broad neckline that exposed her pale neck and shoulders, though she wore no jewellery.

"It's really coming along," commented Sirius, standing beside Regulus. He thought it best not to add that, even in its unfinished state, the portrait gave him the creeps.

Regulus dragged his brush across his palette and began to add wisps of grey to the portrait's hair. "You could say that."

Sirius frowned; Regulus' angular face looked drawn, and there were deep circles under his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Mum's not working you too hard with this portrait, is she? I can speak to her — fifth year's a busy year, and if she's asking too much of you —"

Regulus laughed humourlessly. "She's not asking too much of me."

"Sure she isn't," said Sirius. "How many hours a week have you spent working on it this term?"

"Irrelevant," said Regulus. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

Regulus picked up a bit of purple on his brush and swirled it into the shadows of Walburga's hair. When combined with the other colours, it looked nearly black. "Like you said. I've got a lot going on this year."

"Exactly," said Sirius. "You're taking, what, ten O.W.L.s? Not to mention you're on the Quidditch team and you're a prefect. Add the painting on top and it's too much."

"Eleven O.W.L.s, actually," said Regulus. "Everything but Muggle Studies. And you're forgetting the things I have to do with Mulciber and his lot, too."

Sirius' stomach felt like it had just dropped out from under him. "What's Mulciber making you do? I swear, I'll murder him if it's anything evil —"

"It's really not a big deal," said Regulus. "It's just a lot of him trying to teach me curses I already know. Well, that and — I don't suppose you know what tubbing is?"

"No idea."

"Better for you," said Regulus. He shuddered a little before turning his focus back to the painting. "He makes us clean the common room, too. Things like that. It's boring, really."

"Huh," said Sirius. "That doesn't sound particularly sinister."

"It's not," said Regulus. "It's just — everything together. That plus Quidditch, plus prefect duties, plus O.W.L.s, plus — you get the picture, anyway."

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Sounds miserable."

Regulus nodded. "I'm not sleeping much."

"You should ask Mum for an extension on the painting," said Sirius. "I know she wants to show it at that mad family dinner she's got planned for Easter, but you're her special darling of a son. She'll reschedule the dinner if you ask."

Regulus was adding impossibly fine brush strokes to the neckline of Walburga's dress. He shook his head. "I just need to finish already. Then I'll have one less thing to worry about."

"Wish I could help," said Sirius.

Regulus' thin lips twitched. "I don't. You're a terrible artist."

"I'm not terrible," said Sirius. "Just impatient."

"Exactly. No eye for detail."

"That's not true. As a matter of fact…" Sirius broke off. He'd been about to tell Regulus about the map. It was probably best to keep that little project to himself.

"What?" asked Regulus.

"Nothing." Sirius strolled over to Regulus' bookshelf and began to browse the titles there. "I'll read to you while you paint, how's that sound? What sort of story do you want?"

"I don't care. Just —" He flushed a little. "Pick something with a happy ending, alright?"

Sirius didn't dare tease him for that. He picked up a copy of Holidays with Hags. "Have you read this one yet? It's about a warlock who accidentally makes a pact with a coven of hags. He has to ask the princess of Bulgaria for help — there's a shockingly steamy section about halfway through, it's my favourite part. Except it turns out the princess of Bulgaria is secretly a Transfigured Hungarian Horntail, and one night while they're being intimate, she — well, I won't spoil it for you."

Regulus almost smiled. "Perfect."

Sirius' duties as heir were every bit as odious as they'd been during the winter holidays. Apparently, something like a new fiscal term had begun at Gringotts, which necessitated many ledger reviews and speculation on businesses with names like 'Mr Moribund's Apothecary' and 'Tallow's Toxic Tapers'.

Sirius was fairly certain that these businesses were fronts that funnelled money to the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, his father flatly refused to consider backing other ventures ("Knockturn Alley's growth over the last four years has been unprecedented," he'd said the last time Sirius dared point out the discrepancies he'd found in the ledger).

At least Sirius was allowed to spend time with Regulus in the evening. He'd sprawl on Regulus' bed, surrounded by thick tomes he'd taken from the Black family library. These books supposedly contained long-forgotten secrets of the Wizarding World, though Sirius was only interested in those that made mention of Hogwarts. He needed to finish filling out the map, after all.

There was another, smaller pile of spellbooks beside him. He was hoping to find a better method for tracking people on the map — adding each dot by hand was a pain. It would be nice if the map could keep track of people on its own.

"What are you doing over there?" asked Regulus. He was well into his fourth hour of working on the painting and was starting to look a little feverish.

"Nothing." Sirius turned a page in Unraveling the Unknown. "Hey, did you know the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is supposed to be hidden in a bathroom? According to whoever wrote this, anyway." He flipped the book over to check the cover. "Eridanus Black, it says. He was a great-great-uncle of ours, wasn't he?"

"Interesting," said Regulus, not sounding interested at all.

"Great-Uncle Eridanus is wrong, though," said Sirius. " 'Cause I've been in all the bathrooms, and I've never seen anything resembling a great door containing forgotten horrors." He perked up a little. "Reckon the entrance is in one of your loos, in the Slytherin common room?"

"It's possible. I'll let you know if any Hydra crawl out of the toilet."

Sirius grinned. "Cheers, Reg."

Sometime later, after Sirius had abandoned Unraveling the Unknown in favour of perusing the pile of spellbooks, he let out a frustrated groan and flung the map across the room.

Regulus didn't so much as glance up from the painting; he was doing something very precise with the shadows around Walburga's ears. "What now?"

"It doesn't exist," said Sirius.

"The Chamber of Secrets?"

"What?" said Sirius. "No. Merlin's tits, Reg, the Chamber was three hours ago. Try to keep up, will you?"

"You make that difficult, you know. So what doesn't exist, then?"

"The spell I need," said Sirius. "I need a way to keep track of people, like on a sheet of parchment. Part-humans, animals, and ghosts, too. Something impossible to fool — that can see through disguises like Animagi or Invisibility Cloaks. And I want the spell to be self-regulating and permanent."

Regulus' thin lips stretched into a smile. "That sounds a little more advanced than the Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six. More advanced than what you might find in the Black family library, even."

"You see my problem. If a spell like this existed, it'd be heavily guarded by the Ministry. They probably use something similar for the Trace."

Regulus swapped one impossibly fine brush for another that was even finer. "You're looking for an enchantment, though. Something that can be put on a sheet of parchment. That's a little different from the Trace."

"I guess." Sirius slid off the bed and onto the floor, reaching for the map.

"I think there might be a similarly enchanted object at Hogwarts, actually," said Regulus.

Sirius bolted upright. "Really?"

"Could be." Regulus' face was inches from the painting; he looked like he was far more interested in whatever minuscule detail he was adding to Walburga's eyebrows.

"What you're describing sounds like the enchantment the Founders put on the Book of Admittance and Quill of Acceptance."

"Hang on," said Sirius. "The Founders? They wrote a… what did you call it, the Book of Admission?"

"The Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance," corrected Regulus. "Believed to have been created by Rowena Ravenclaw. They're locked in one of Hogwarts' eastern towers."

"Have you seen them?"

"Of course not. The tower's been locked for centuries. Only the Headmaster of Hogwarts is allowed to enter."

Sirius took that as a personal challenge. "So what do this Book and Quill do?"

"They've been enchanted to track and record the names of prospective Hogwarts students all on their own. Every magical child in Britain is recorded in the Book. It's been going on for centuries."

"What the — how do you know about all this? How have I never heard of this famous book and quill?"

Regulus sighed. "Have you honestly never read Hogwarts: A History?"

"No, because I'm not a complete prat. I can get around the castle just fine without Bathilda Bagshot holding my hand."

"I'm not a prat," said Regulus defensively. "There are loads of copies all over the prefects' office. It's a useful primer for first years."

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. "And for perusing when Chester Fernsby starts droning on about prohibited joke items?"

Regulus rolled his eyes. "My point is, the foreword was written by Armando Dippet. He describes the book and quill — using them as a metaphor."

"Let me guess," said Sirius. "Something about how, just like the quill marks the pages of the book, every student leaves their mark on Hogwarts' legacy."

Regulus looked defensive. "It's quite well-written, actually."

"Sounds like it," said Sirius, yawning loudly. "Well, thanks, Reg. Stay away from the eastern towers while you're patrolling next term, alright?"

"You — you're not planning on —"

"I most certainly am." Sirius swept the collection of books into his arms and opened the door to the room. "Cheers, Reg. Thanks for your help."

On Saturday evening, Sirius was sprawled on Regulus' bed, as usual, when Regulus set down his paintbrush. Sirius glanced up from the book on motorcycle maintenance he'd been reading, slightly alarmed. Recently, Regulus only stopped painting when forced. "What?"

"It's finished," said Regulus, his expression dazed as he stared at the portrait. "I really — I really think it's finished."

Sirius shoved his book under a pillow, while Regulus summoned Kreacher to tell him the news. Kreacher took one look at the painting and began to cry with joy. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he vanished with a pop, only to return minutes later with Walburga Black. She was holding an ornate jewellery case that appeared to have been carved from bone.

She stared reverently at the painting of herself. "It is beautiful. And just in time for the family dinner."

Regulus dipped his head a bit in acknowledgement, his dark fringe falling over his eyes. "You are beautiful, Mother."

"You have done very well, my son." Walburga lifted an arm. Sirius thought she was going to pull Regulus into an embrace, but she touched the painting instead, running her finger down the portrait's bare neck and collarbone. The painted Walburga remained pale and still, like a Muggle painting, unresponsive to her touch.

"It still needs enchanting," said Regulus quickly. He sounded like he was trying to head off any criticism.

"We shall do it now," said Walburga. Her arm fell to her side, and she placed the ivory jewellery box gently on Regulus' desk.

When she spoke again, her tone was sharp. "Sirius."

Sirius gave a little start. He'd thought they'd forgotten he was there. "Yes, Mum?"

"Leave the room. Take Kreacher with you."

She wasn't looking at him; her eyes were fixed on the jewellery box. Regulus, clearly uncomfortable, tilted his head towards the door, indicating that Sirius should go.

"Alright," said Sirius. "Come on, Kreacher."

The house-elf eyed Sirius suspiciously but followed him out of the room. The door swung shut behind them, locking itself with a clicking sound.

Sirius crossed his arms and leaned against the bannister. "Why'd they throw us out?" he asked Kreacher.

"Mistress needs her privacy," croaked Kreacher.

"Yeah, but to enchant the portrait to move? That's not exactly a complicated process, I've seen Regulus do it loads in that old sketchbook of his…" Sirius trailed off.

Kreacher wasn't listening; the house-elf slowly descended the stairs without waiting for him to follow.

Walburga did not emerge from Regulus' room for the rest of the evening. As Sirius lay in bed that night, he could hear all sorts of sounds coming from Regulus' room, from the occasional bang to what sounded like murmurs. Once, he thought he heard a scream.

When it was past midnight, he crept across the hall and pressed his ear to Regulus' door, but it was no use. It seemed like the closer he got, the less he could hear. Sirius was certain of one thing — whatever they were doing, it wasn't one of the usual charms to make the portrait move.

The next morning, Sirius woke early. The door to Regulus' room was still locked, so he waited outside until Kreacher shuffled past and shooed him away. Undeterred, Sirius snuck into the large, Victorian-style bathroom he and Regulus shared. He lowered himself into the empty tub, fully clothed, and waited, tapping his feet against the tub.

Eventually, the door to the bathroom opened, and Sirius heard soft footsteps as Regulus padded over to the sink. The faucet squeaked as he turned it, and the sound of running water filled the bathroom.

Sirius sat up in the tub. "What happened last night?"

Regulus jumped. There was a clatter as he dropped toothbrush into the sink. "You — What in Merlin's name… Have you been hiding in the tub?"

"Mum and Kreacher are trying to keep us apart," explained Sirius. "D'you think it has something to do with whatever ritual you performed last night?"

Regulus blanched. "How'd you know there was a ritual?"

"Usually when I'm left out of a family activity, it's because there's Dark magic involved. Am I wrong?"

Regulus wet his toothbrush and began to brush his teeth. "I'm not allowed to tell you," he mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"It has to do with the portrait though, doesn't it?"

Regulus muttered something that sounded like "maybe".

"I swear, I'm going to murder Mum," said Sirius. "Making you paint a portrait of her just so she can use it for her own twisted ends… That hag —"

Someone rapped sharply on the door. "Master Regulus!" called Kreacher. "Is Master Regulus speaking to his brother?"

Sirius laid back down in the tub. "Tell him I'm not here."
"Master Orion is needing help with the ledger!" said Kreacher shrilly. "Master Regulus' brother must go at once!"

"Is he refusing to say my name, now?" asked Sirius. "I'm not that much of a disappointment, am I?"

Regulus spit into the sink and turned to Sirius, grimacing. "You'd better go."

Sirius flung open the bathroom door. He pushed Kreacher roughly aside as he stormed past, nearly flinging him to the floor.

"The brother is trying to hurt Kreacher," muttered the house-elf as he steadied himself. "The brother is angry, oh yes, but Kreacher is nimble, Kreacher is getting out of the way…"

"Lock yourself in the broom closet, house-elf," snapped Sirius.

Kreacher shot him a look of deep dislike, but he couldn't disobey a direct order, and he vanished with a crack.

Sirius was so determined to continue his conversation with Regulus that he managed to update the ledger in record time. "Right, that's finished," he announced, closing the thick, leather-bound book. "If you don't need anything else…"

"I believe your mother could use some help with the floral arrangements downstairs," said Orion Black smoothly. "Why don't you lend her a hand?"

After the decorative flowers were arranged to his mother's liking, Sirius sprinted up to Regulus' room before she could give him another task to complete. Regulus' room was unlocked, but no-one was inside; it turned out that he and Kreacher had gone to Knockturn Alley to purchase some prime cuts of Mooncalf meat for dinner.

When Regulus and Kreacher returned, Sirius was expected to help them prepare the meat. Walburga supervised their work; though she sat quietly at the table, embroidering her doily, her presence ensured that Sirius would have no opportunity to speak to Regulus privately.

As the afternoon grew late, the kitchen filled with the smell of sizzling meat. Between the warmth of the oven and Walburga's watchful eye, the room grew so stifling that Sirius began to feel like he was the one being roasted alive.

He didn't get another chance to talk freely to Regulus, and by the time the guests began to arrive for dinner, it was too late to talk at all.

Cygnus Black was the first to arrive, trailed by his wife, Druella, and two of his three daughters. They were still pretending Andromeda didn't exist, Sirius supposed. Sirius allowed Narcissa to kiss him primly on the cheek, but he refused to even acknowledge Bellatrix's presence.

Bella, who was taller and more feral than ever, didn't seem put out by this in the least; in fact, she was also perfectly content to pretend that Sirius didn't exist, and spent most of the dinner whispering conspiratorially into Regulus' ear.

Uncle Alphard didn't arrive until it was time for pudding, and if he noticed the strained smiles on Orion and Walburga's faces, he didn't show it. He kissed Walburga's hand, bowing low, and Sirius raised an eyebrow. Uncle Alphard played the part of a doting brother well; there was no trace of the man who had ruthlessly tallied up Orion and Walburga's life expectancy. Ten more years, thought Sirius.

After everyone had had their fill of pudding, Walburga rose from her seat, wine glass in hand. She wore the same deep green robes as her portrait, and even her hair had been done up to match.

"A toast," she said, "to my son." She turned benevolently towards Regulus, leaving no doubt as to which son she was speaking of. "He has painted a portrait of me, following the tradition of our family. Even when I am gone, my likeness will remain in Grimmauld Place, watching over our ancestral home."

Kreacher entered the dining room, carrying the cloth-covered painting. Sirius, alarmed at the thought of a portrait of his mum hanging permanently in Grimmauld Place, tried unsuccessfully to catch Uncle Alphard's attention.

"The portrait of the Mistress," croaked Kreacher. He set the painting on a wooden stand and removed the cloth with a flourish. Bella and Narcissa ooh-ed at the painting's reveal, while the adults clapped politely. Even Uncle Alphard nodded, looking impressed.

The portrait of Walburga Black lifted a graceful hand, acknowledging the applause. A pendant in the shape of a raven's skull hung from her neck. Engraved into the forehead of the skull were the words Toujours Pur.

Sirius squinted at the portrait, confused. The painting hadn't been wearing a necklace before, had it? Not to mention his mum — his real, flesh-and-blood mum — wasn't wearing any jewellery, though she and the portrait were dressed alike in every other way.

Narcissa nudged his side, and he realized he'd stopped clapping. He made a face at her and began to applaud with more enthusiasm. Across the table, Regulus wouldn't meet his eyes.

As Kreacher cleared the plates from the table, the adults fell into a deeply boring conversation about politics. Bella and Regulus vanished up the stairs, and Narcissa excused herself to peruse the library. Sirius tried to listen to the conversation, figuring that was his duty as heir, but he soon found himself yawning and rubbing his eyes. He really hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and his family was making even the activities of a Dark Lord sound dull.

A hand landed on Sirius' shoulder and his head jerked up. "'M awake," he said immediately.

"I'm sure you are," said Uncle Alphard, looking amused. "I was hoping you'd show me around your father's study. I'd like to see what he's taught you."

"Er," said Sirius with a reflexive glance at his father. "Can I?"

Orion nodded. "I think you'll be impressed, Alphard. Sirius has quite the keen mind — when he applies himself, that is."

Sirius winced at the jab, but he allowed Uncle Alphard to lead him up the stairs and into his father's study. As he performed the countercurses on Orion's desk — his father kept the ledgers under heavy protection — the air around him suddenly felt heavier, as if they were underwater water.

He glanced at Uncle Alphard, who was tucking his wand back into his robes. "Privacy charms?"

"Only the most basic," replied Uncle Alphard. "I estimate we have five minutes before the countercharms your father has placed on his study take effect."

"Alright," said Sirius, somewhat nonplussed. He pulled the ledgers out of the top drawer of the desk and began to rifle through them. "Well, we've been focusing on businesses in Knockturn Alley this week, so here're the accounts for Moribund's, if you'd like a look. Blordak at Gringotts has been giving us the run-around… This one's got stuff about Potage's Cauldron Shop in it, we just acquired a share there recently —"

"Sirius." Uncle Alphard sounded amused. "Do you really think I care about your father's investments?"

Sirius paused, and then levelled an accusing gaze at his uncle. "You should care. Some of our gold is going straight to the Death Eaters. At least twenty per cent of what we've put into Moribund's, I reckon, and that cauldron shop seems dodgy, too —"

"Potage's is one of ours," said Uncle Alphard. "The Order's, that is. Don't look too closely at it, lest your father grow suspicious as well. Though I will admit that the investments into Moribund's are… unfortunate, but unavoidable. At least for the time being."

"Unfortunate?" said Sirius. "I'd rate funnelling Galleons directly into the pockets of the Dark Lord a little higher than unfortunate."

"Eventually, less and less will go to the Death Eaters, and more will go to our cause," said Uncle Alphard. "But we have to start slowly. Convince your father to support the newly opened Herborium instead of Moribund's Apothecary. I don't know if you noticed, but over dinner I planted the seed in his mind that the Herborium is aiding Walden Macnair in his effort to amass a part-human army. An utter falsehood, of course — the Herborium is owned by the Fortescues, and they're as good as they come. But one must do what it takes."

"Erm," said Sirius, "sure. The Herborium. Got it."

"On to my next point," said Uncle Alphard. "We are going to have to change our plans. Did you notice the necklace the portrait of your mother was wearing?"

"Yeah, I did, actually," said Sirius. "Not sure where that came from, to be honest. I saw the finished portrait last night, and I don't think it was there. I think I would've remembered if Regulus spent hours labouring to include a huge eyesore like that. Unless he added it in overnight…"

Uncle Alphard shook his head. "That pendant was not mere brush strokes and canvas. There is a spell, invented by our ancestor Harfang Black, which allows a person —"

"—to conceal things in a painting," finished Sirius. "I know. I've seen Regulus use it before."

Uncle Alphard's expression was grim. "I recognized the pendant at once. It is a family heirloom, and an exceedingly dangerous one at that."

"Dangerous how?"

"It's a phylactery." Uncle Alphard paused. He looked expectantly at Sirius, as if expecting him to gasp in horror.

"Alright," said Sirius after a moment. "You're going to have to back up a bit. Not all of us Blacks spend our free time looking up Dark Magic in the family library, you know."

Uncle Alphard's lips pressed into a line, and he closed his eyes. "A phylactery," he said, "is a storage vessel for the soul. There is a ritual — do not ask me to describe it, it is Dark — that allows a person to store away a piece of their soul inside the phylactery, as if for safe-keeping. If such a person were to die, that piece of soul would remain tethered to this earth. It is powerful magic — a phylactery can influence on its surroundings for centuries after the death of its master."

"Fuck," said Sirius. He ignored Uncle Alphard's disapproving frown. It wasn't his problem if his uncle couldn't handle a Muggle swear. "So she's hidden a cursed necklace inside her portrait? To make herself immortal?" That was definitely going to mess up his ten-year plan.

"Not quite," said Uncle Alphard. "The reality is more subtle than that. When she dies, her body will be gone forever. But the fragment of her soul that lives on in that painting will continue to carry out her wishes. Up to and including a resurrection ritual, if she so desires. But I do not think she will go down that path."

"Why not?" asked Sirius. "If it's an available option…"

"She is my sister," said Uncle Alphard. "I know things about her that you do not. Her upbringing was a difficult one, and it has left her jaded and bitterly unhappy. I do not think she wishes to prolong such a life indefinitely."

"Then why would she put a part of her soul in this pendant thing?"

"To keep an eye on her sons, I expect," said Uncle Alphard.

Sirius recoiled. "You're joking."

"Nothing is more important to her than family," said Uncle Alphard. "Cygnus has had only daughters, to his shame, so you and Regulus will be the last to carry the Black family name. I expect she wishes to continue to guide you, even after she has passed."

"Not a chance," said Sirius. "As soon as her ten years are up, I'm slipping aconite into her tea and setting that painting on fire. Soul fragment, my arse."

Uncle Alphard inclined his head. "That is what I mean by a change in plans. Your route to inheritance may be complicated by her phylactery. But rest assured — after she passes, I will do what I can to help you destroy it, if we haven't been able to rid ourselves of it sooner."

That didn't sound particularly promising. "Er, thanks," said Sirius. "I feel very reassured now."

Uncle Alphard's lips curved into a smile beneath his salt-and-pepper beard.

The air in Sirius' lungs felt slightly less damp, and he sensed that the privacy charms were beginning to lift. "How's Dorcas, by the way?" he asked, hoping they hadn't run out of time.

"She's still alive, if that's what you're asking," said Uncle Alphard. "Doing well for herself, too. I don't know if you saw the news in the Prophet about the disappearance of the Bones family?"

"Er, I think my friend Remus might've mentioned something about that."

"Well, we know exactly where the Bones family is. Dorcas was the one who got them out of London — hid them in some Muggle village in Kent. She's very capable."

"Good," said Sirius. "Think she could help us destroy a cursed necklace?"

Uncle Alphard chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past her." He licked a finger and raised it into the air, as if testing the wind. "It seems the privacy charms have lost their effectiveness. Let's return downstairs, shall we? I believe Kreacher is preparing another round of drinks."

"Yeah, well, I'm not in the mood," muttered Sirius as he stuffed the ledgers back into his father's desk. The thought of his mother's soul lingering in Grimmauld Place was making him feel ill.

Uncle Alphard stopped him just before they left the study. "You are doing very well, Sirius. Your father may not show it, but he is quite pleased with you. Do you know that?"

Sirius shrugged. "I think a piece of my soul dies every day I spend here."

"Patience," said Uncle Alphard. "You will not be under your parents' thumb forever." He drew Sirius into a brief, one-armed hug. "You aid the Order more than you know. I am proud of you."

Lily was eating breakfast when a rumpled-looking owl tapped on the kitchen window with a talon. In its beak was a letter from Healer Fenwick.

Lily,

If you're feeling bored during your Easter holidays, why don't you give me a hand in the Artefact Accidents ward? We've got a few cases I think you'd find interesting. I've enclosed a Portkey — it'll take you to the ground floor of St Mungo's.

See you soon,

Benjy Fenwick

Barely thirty minutes later, Lily appeared in the lobby of St Mungo's. Feeling rather nauseous from the Portkey, she forced herself to take several deep breaths as she pushed through the doors that led to the Artefact Accidents ward.

The ward was nearly as large as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, though it was lined with beds instead of four long tables. Nearly every bed was already occupied, and the air hummed with activity as Mediwizards bustled about. Some Healers were barking orders to orderlies who scribbled on clipboards; in one corner, a circle of Mediwizards had surrounded one of the beds and were casting a complicated countercurse.

"Lily Evans!" exclaimed Healer Fenwick, loping towards her. Sweat plastered his hair to his large forehead, and it was a bit odd to see him dressed in emerald Healer's robes instead of his protective spacesuit. He was breathing hard, as if he'd just run a marathon, yet his smile was jubilant. "Excellent timing, there's been a cauldron explosion in a Muggle pub. We've just finished stabilizing one victim, but there's another on the way, we're getting the bed ready now —"

"A cauldron explosion in a Muggle pub?" asked Lily, following him as he strode down the ward. "How is that possible?"

"Looks to be the work of Death Eaters," said Fenwick. "Easy way to kill a bunch of Muggles, apparently. We've been seeing more and more of it, lately — they stick a few incompatible ingredients in a cauldron and leave it lying around for the Muggles to find. It's a lucky thing Doge was there, he was able to notify us as soon as it happened..."

"Sorry, who?" asked Lily.

"Oh, Elphias Doge," said Healer Fenwick. "An old friend of mine. He was in the area doing some work for Dumbledore — I'd tell you more, but I think Albus wants to keep it hush-hush for now." He winked at her.

The doors to the ward burst open and a couple of Healers marched in, pointing their wands at an unconscious figure floating above their heads.

"That'll be the patient we've been waiting for," said Healer Fenwick, gesturing for the Healers to come closer. They lowered their wands, depositing the patient on the bed. "Lily, would you like to perform the initial assessment?"

Lily nodded. She pressed the tip of her wand to the patient's wrist, casting a spell to check the state of his humours. "Too much black bile, not enough blood," she said. Why didn't he have enough blood?

She leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the patient. He was a smartly-dressed man in his sixties, though his suit was torn.

"He's bleeding," she said, noticing a dark stain that had blossomed on his side.

"The first rule of Healing," said Healer Fenwick. "Air goes in and out, and blood goes round and round. Any variation on this is bad." He spoke lightly, but his movements were focused, intentional; as he spoke, he drew his wand and Summoned a tray of various potions. "What's our next step?"

"We have to stop the bleeding to balance his humours," said Lily. "He may need a replenishment."

An orderly was already at her side, Vanishing the man's suit. Together, she and Lily closed the wound on the man's side while Healer Fenwick mixed a few potions together.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion," said Healer Fenwick, handing a phial full of dark red liquid to Lily. She poured the potion down the man's throat, and Healer Fenwick handed her another.

Lily hesitated as she took the second phial. "One dose should be enough, I think," she said. "He's a Muggle — he might not be able to tolerate another potion. If we give him too much, we'll scorch his veins."

"Good girl," said Healer Fenwick, pleased. "Keep that one for yourself, then. It's always useful to carry your own potions set, in case of an emergency."

Lily slipped the phial into her robes. As soon as the Muggle man had been stabilized, she and Healer Fenwick moved on to their next case: a witch who had lost a hand after her wand had backfired. After that, they took care of an eleven-year-old boy who Lily vaguely recognized as being a first year in Ravenclaw; he'd taken his older brother's broomstick for a ride and had broken a wrist.

After a few hours on the ward, Lily understood why Healer Fenwick had been out of breath when he had greeted her. The work was exhausting, yet varied and rewarding at the same time. It was much more hands-on than her apprenticeship in the Camille Grenoille Ward had been.

"What's going to become of our first patient?" she asked at the end of their shift. "The Muggle man?"

"Oh, he'll make a full recovery, I expect," said Healer Fenwick jauntily.

"But he won't…" Lily hesitated. "He won't be allowed to remember what happened, will he?"

"Ah," said Healer Fenwick. "No, unfortunately. They'll have to Obliviate him before he's released from St Mungo's."

Lily sighed. "I was afraid of that." She understood wizarding Britain's need for secrecy, but she didn't much like the idea of scrambling an innocent man's brains.

Healer Fenwick pulled off his emerald robes and handed them to an orderly. To Lily's surprise, he was wearing a collared shirt and trousers underneath, the sort a Muggle might wear.

He noticed her surprise and winked at her. "I'm moonlighting at the local Muggle hospital after this — need to keep those physician skills sharp, you know. Plus Doge heard the Death Eaters might try something in the A&E department, so I'll be there as a lookout, too."

Lily tried to remain nonchalant. Healer Fenwick was so cool. A dual-trained Healer who was helping Dumbledore fight the Death Eaters? She couldn't tell if she was in love with him or if she simply wanted to be him. If only he were thirty years younger, she thought.

Lily spent the remainder of her Easter holidays alternating between reading, helping Healer Fenwick at St Mungo's, and daydreaming about finding Sally Dearborn.

She wasn't sure exactly how she was going to find Sally Dearborn, but she was certain she could make it happen. Healer Fenwick was doing his part to fight the Death Eaters; finding Sally was how Lily could contribute, too.

She had a single new lead: Isadora Pimentel had seen Avery with Sally the night she disappeared. So she needed to find out more about what Avery had been doing that night. Regulus had refused to help her, and that was fine; disappointing, but fine. Because there was still one other Slytherin she could speak to, as loathe as she was to do it.

Severus Snape, her former best friend.

She didn't want Severus to think she had forgiven him, or that she wanted to be mates again. He needed to know this was purely an informational exchange. She hadn't bothered trying to talk to him at Hogwarts — he would have spent the entire time denying everything while looking nervously over his shoulder for Mulciber. She'd had enough of that dynamic the previous year.

But they were home for the Easter holidays now. He was back in Cokeworth, where she had the upper hand. There were no witches or wizards to eavesdrop, and they had no childhood friends from Muggle primary school to join the conversation. Here in Cokeworth, it had always been Severus and Lily against the world, ever since they'd met and he'd told her she was magic.

She liked that dynamic. She could use it to her advantage.

Lily began to take long afternoon strolls through Cokeworth, hoping to catch Severus at the post office or the grocer's, running errands for his mum. But her efforts were fruitless; she didn't catch so much as a glimpse of his stringy black hair. She began to suspect that Severus was purposefully holed up inside his house.

So she extended her afternoon walks to include grimy Spinner's End, where Severus lived. She tried whistling every time she passed his house, hoping he would hear. Once, she feigned an entire conversation with an imaginary Petunia, pretending to be arguing loudly.

Nothing worked. No signs of life stirred in the house on Spinner's End: its interior remained dark, and nobody came or went.

On the last day of the Easter holidays, Lily decided that, unfortunately, she would have to be a little more proactive. That evening, she carefully lifted the latch on her bedroom window once she was certain Petunia had gone to bed. Somewhere downstairs, her mum was still awake, though that didn't concern her as much. Lily was far more afraid of Petunia's reaction if she caught her sneaking out.

She climbed out the window and carefully lowered herself off the roof, dropping into the front garden. She followed the river to Spinner's End, past rows of abandoned shops and brick houses that became progressively more battered-looking.

There was something about Severus' grimy little house that reminded Lily of the Shrieking Shack; both had shuttered windows and weeds springing up where they shouldn't be. As she crept around to the back of the house, she saw a dim light coming from Severus' room.

She put her hand on her wand in the pocket of her jeans, steeling herself. She'd turned seventeen in January, so she was technically allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts, but she didn't have an Apparition license yet. She hadn't dared Apparate directly from her house to Severus' — suppose Apparating inside a Muggle residence wasn't allowed? She didn't know if the Ministry could trace Apparition the same way they did underage magic, but she wasn't about to take any chances.

She knew the Snape house wasn't Traced, though, since Severus' mum was a witch. Severus had always been able to do all sorts of magic at home without ever being reprimanded by the Ministry. She could Apparate into Severus' house from the back garden, and the Ministry wouldn't be the wiser.

Taking a breath, she turned on her heel — destination, determination, deliberation — and Apparated, as quietly as she could, directly into Severus' bedroom.

He was hunched over at the edge of his bed, scribbling furiously into his Potions textbook. He glanced up at her and gave an enormous start; his book clattered to the floor. As he scrambled away from her, he knocked over his inkwell, spilling pools of black ink onto his threadbare sheets.

"Sev." Lily held up her hands. "Relax. It's just me."

"It — you…" Severus stuttered, his face white. "You… Did — the mirror…?"

Lily frowned. She'd expected Severus to be surprised to see her, but this was a bit much. "What are you on about?"

Severus blinked, then sat up a little, squinting at her. "It's really you."

"Clearly," said Lily stiffly. "Who else would it be? My evil twin?"

"Something like that," said Severus. He looked at the puddle of ink on his sheets, grimacing. He reached for his wand, which was lying on the floor.

Lily beat him to it. "Scourgify," she said, and the ink vanished from Severus' sheets. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to startle you."

"Don't —" Severus groaned. "That — that was the last of my ink."

Right. He was poor. Lily felt a fleeting moment of guilt, which she buried. It wasn't her fault he'd overreacted. "Looks like you'll have to buy some more, then."

"Indeed." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I'll just wear my robes lined with Galleons to Flourish and Blotts tomorrow."

He was angry because she wasn't taking pity on him. Well. Let him be angry. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

His eyes narrowed. "What's the point of this? Why did you Apparate into my room in the middle of the night?"

"Well, I would've met you in Cokeworth, but you never leave your house."

"Yes, I do," said Severus, but he looked away from her as he spoke.

"You don't. But I didn't come here to argue. We need to talk."

"About what?"

Lily pointed her wand at the door. "Muffliato."

Severus' black eyes glittered. "So you still use my spells?"

"Don't flatter yourself. The whole school uses your spells."

The chill in her voice was not lost on Severus. "Why have you come, Lily?"

She met his gaze, trying to keep her expression neutral. "Do you know what happened to Sally Dearborn?"

For the second time that night, Severus seemed genuinely surprised. He regarded her cautiously, heavy brow furrowed, before speaking. "I don't. Why?"

"That gang of yours," she said. "The Death Eaters."

"We're not Death Eaters."

"Not yet."

Severus' mouth twisted, as if he were about to spit out a scathing rebuttal, but nothing came out. At last, he said, "What about them?"

So he wasn't denying it. That was an improvement, she supposed. At least he was being honest. "I think they had something to do with her disappearance."

"Obviously." He drew each syllable out so long that she was tempted to hex him. There was no need to be so condescending.

Lily crossed her arms. "So?"

"So what?"

"You need to tell me what happened to her. It's important. Important enough for me to come here in the middle of the night."

Severus picked his Potions textbook off the floor and smoothed out its pages. "I can't tell you what happened, because I don't know, either. As much as it pains me to admit that."

Lily stared at him incredulously. He wasn't dancing around the topic like he usually did when lying. "You really don't know what happened to her?"

Severus shook his head. "I agree with your assessment. It seems most probable that someone in… my gang, as you call them, had a hand in her murder."

"Murder!"

Severus gave her the same look he used to use when she failed to grasp an advanced concept in Potions on the first try. "Of course she was murdered."

"But there's no proof of that at all!" protested Lily. Severus continued to stare at her with that disbelieving expression, and she relented. "I mean… I'll admit it's possible, but she could be, I dunno, held somewhere against her will, or something."

Severus snorted derisively. "She's not alive. There are a myriad of spells that can be used to find a living person. I'm sure Dumbledore knows them all, yet he's found nothing."

"But Dumbledore might not tell us if he did find something. Some people think there's a conspiracy between him and Caradoc Dearborn to keep Sally safe."

"Do you actually believe that?"

Lily sighed. "Honestly… I don't think so. Did you notice, during the feast at the start of our second term, when he called Sally a —"

"…sacrifice," finished Severus. They stared at each other.

"You actually don't know what happened to her," said Lily, amazed.

"I don't. I wish I did. You're trying to figure it out, too?"

"Yeah," she said. "Why're… why do you care what happened to her?"

"Are you trying to determine whether I'm trying to find her and finish what my Death Eater friends started?"

Lily's eyes widened. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "Oh, God. You're not —"

"Calm down." Severus looked vaguely amused. "Of course not. I'm simply curious about what happened to her. That's all."

He sounded… honest. And it certainly wouldn't be the first time his curiosity led him to poke his nose where it didn't belong. Could he actually be telling the truth?

"Are you going to ask about my motivations?" said Lily.

"Of course not," said Severus. "I assume you believe that finding Sally is the right thing to do. And since nobody else seems to care, you've made it into a personal crusade."

Damn. Was she really that predictable?

"More or less," admitted Lily. She realized she was still standing in the middle of the room with her arms crossed, so she decided to sit beside Severus on the bed. As long as he was being civil, she could be too.

Severus' shoulders tightened as she sat down, but he gave no other indication that she'd just done something that even ten minutes ago had been unthinkable. "Well. If you've come to compare notes, you're going to be disappointed, I'm afraid. I've got proof that none of my so-called gang were involved in her disappearance, as hard as that may be to believe."

"Proof?" asked Lily. "What proof have you found?"

Severus glanced between her and his Potions book several times. He seemed to be debating something internally. Finally, he said, "It has to do with mind magic."

"There's no such thing as mind magic," said Lily immediately. That had been one of the first things she had asked Severus about upon learning she was a witch. "You told me it's impossible to read people's thoughts."

"Yes," said Severus sardonically, "because that is what I believed I was nine years old. The truth is somewhat more nuanced, it turns out."

"Nuanced how?"

"It is impossible to peruse another's thoughts like a book," said Severus. "But there are ways of… getting the gist of things. Memories. Emotions. Ruminations. All can be accessed, though not easily interpreted."

Lily's jaw dropped. "You've read the minds of your mates? To see if they killed Sally or not?"

"It is not Muggle mind-reading," snapped Severus. "As I have already said."

Well, that distinction was certainly lost on Lily. "Erm, alright," she said. "So you, erm, used mind magic to figure out that your mates are innocent."

"It certainly looks that way."

"What about Obliviation, though?" asked Lily, thinking about the Muggle man she had Healed at St Mungo's. "Is your mind magic still reliable if they've been made to forget something?"

Severus stared at her. "It… It is possible. I had not thought of that." He reached for his quill, as if to jot something down, before seeming to remember that he no longer had any ink.

"Lucky you," said Lily sarcastically. "Some of us think about Obliviation every day, you know. Because we have family members that could be Obliviated for something as small as a slip of the tongue at the post office."

"I come from Muggles, too," muttered Severus. "Obliviating Tobias might be an improvement." He turned the quill over in his hands. Lily almost felt a little sorry for him.

Well. She certainly couldn't have that. It wasn't like they were friends. She'd ask the question she came here for, and then she'd be on her way, before he tested her boundaries. "Did you use your mind-reading — mind magic, sorry — on Edmund Avery?"

"I did. Why?"

"And he was innocent?"

"As far as I could tell," said Severus. "Why?"

Lily shrugged. "Just checking names off my list." They might have the same goals, but she wasn't about to give up her only lead to an admitted Death Eater in-training.

Severus' eyes narrowed, and Lily's heart began to thrum in her chest. He'd noticed something was off. "And Mulciber?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"Innocent," replied Severus. "So it would seem. Lily, if there's anything else —"

"There isn't. I've got no idea what happened to Sally, same as you." She stood up from the bed and adjusted her shirt. "I should be going, let you get your rest —"

"Lily," said Severus. "We can work together on this. Look at me."

She met his gaze only for a moment; the intensity in his black eyes scared her. "I don't want to work with you."

Severus stood. In an instant, he'd crossed the room and grabbed her by the arms. "I told you what I know. It's only fair. What have you found out?"

His eyes were strangely bright. Mind magic, she thought. But he couldn't cast without a wand, could he?

"You have three seconds to let go of me," said Lily. She needed to get out before he discovered what she knew. She wouldn't let him take it from her. "One."

"Avery," said Severus. "You asked something about Avery. What was it?"

"Two."

He was still touching her. Her hand edged towards the wand in her back pocket. "Three."

She turned on her heel, wrenching away from him. His hands tightened around her arms, trying to keep her in place, but it was useless: with a deafening crack, her body was overcome with the sensation of being squeezed through a straw. A strange, sharp pain shot through her left foot, but she didn't have time to dwell on it before she Disapparated.

When she reappeared in her bedroom, she knew immediately that she had made three large mistakes. The first was that she was missing most of the little toe on her left foot, which she discovered after removing her blood-soaked trainer. The second mistake was that her sloppy Apparition had woken both her mum and Petunia.

The third, most damning mistake, swooped in via owl the next morning. It took the form of a letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office, informing her that she was due in front of the Wizengamot on the twenty-first of June for her use of unauthorized Apparition in a Muggle residence, and was signed by Mafalda Hopkirk.