IMPORTANT NOTE: This site does not allow for the use of strikethroughs, which I have discovered tonight much to my dismay, irritation, and disappointment. For this chapter, please consider things with curlys around them {{x}} as being crossed out. This does not convey the same feeling, but in the spirit of keeping the material the same across sites, please use your imagination.

Harry,

Happy Birthday! I hope you enjoy the present I've enclosed. It's not much, but I hope it tides you over until I see you again and can give you something better in person.

While I wish I found it hard to believe that Petunia has done such things as you described in your last letter, I can't say it took me by surprise. She was always unpleasant, even when she was young. Personally, I think she was jealous of your mother, who truly excelled at almost everything (although it did take a substantial amount of work, mind you). It didn't help that Lily was marked as different because of her magic, and Petunia thought that meant she was somehow better than her. Whatever her rationale was, Petunia's bitterness towards Lily grew until there was hardly any love left. By the end of fifth year, Lily preferred not to go home over the summer because it was so tense at home.

On the subject of homes...when I get Pettigrew in my grip and have him confess his crimes and my name is cleared, {{would you perhaps consider}} {{Bollocks}} {{Don't say that}} {{Bugger}}

Look, I'll just say it right out. Harry, do you want to live with me? I don't ever want you to feel like I don't want you. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I want you with me, and I hope you want to be with me, too.

Now, I know it's fair strange because I'm also an escaped convict, so I don't want you to feel pressured either way. But I don't want you to feel abandoned or alone, not when I'm here. I've felt that way before, several times: when my family disowned me comes immediately to mind. But later on, when I was thrown in Azkaban, the group fighting Voldemort that I was part of didn't bother trying to visit me, let alone make sure I got a fair trial. I had never felt so lonely knowing my friends and allies—Dumbledore, Remus, and everyone else—had left me to rot.

Well. That got serious (or should I say Sirius, eh?) quickly. All I'm trying to say, really, is that I'm in your corner, and as soon as I can, I mean to do everything I can be with you, no matter what stands in my way. If you'll have me, that is.

Padfoot

Sitting back, he blew out a breath and looked at the letter. It was as good as it was going to get, he felt, and it was completely honest. Once he got Pettigrew in his grasp, he intended on wringing out a confession no matter what it took. Veritaserum, curses, hexes, or anything in between. Pettigrew was the key to his freedom, and with his freedom came Harry.

Hearing about the situation at the Dursleys had made Sirius see red. In fact, reading the letter had made him so angry that he had blacked out for a moment, and when he had come to, most of his room had been blown to bits. Luckily, Hermione had already been gone for the day when that occurred, or she would have been in his room demanding to know what had happened faster than a niffler went for gold. Instead, she had been gone, and he had had the entire afternoon to slowly imagine the various ways he could have...dealt with them. Most of them had been bloody, and, well, fatal. Let it not be said he wasn't a true Black at heart, despite his parents' opinions otherwise.

Truthfully, Harry's situation reminded him of his own when he was young, although his, hm, misfortunes had been at the hands of his own parents. His mother had hated him at the outset, it felt like. No matter what he did, it was never sufficient to gain their approval, and as time went on, his mother's vitriolic words had shifted into vitriolic behaviour that left him bruised, bloody, and broken more times than he could count.

A sorry excuse for a wizard. A foolish waste of space. A mistake I wished I had never given birth to.

All words his mother would scream or hiss or yell or taunt. Walburga was above things like physical violence, but she had honed her skill with her wand into a fine art.

And all the while, his father had merely sipped on his firewhiskey while locked up in his study, the perfect picture of indifference. It didn't matter to him that his Heir had mysteriously fallen down the stairs, or had two broken bones, or thrown up blood. Not if he was patched up enough to pass muster in public.

Regulus, of course, could do no wrong, especially once he had displayed a Dark Affinity. His younger brother had, somehow, been born with something that Sirius should have had but didn't. Instead, Sirius had neither a Light nor a Dark affinity, rendering him less than ideal as a breeding candidate for the Pureblood marriage market. Reggie had had it, he thought bitterly, but then Reggie had always had everything.

At least he had had his cousins, he reflected, though Harry didn't even have that. Andy, Narcissa, and even Bellatrix had been kind to him when they saw him, though that had evolved as they had gotten older and their allegiances shifted. Slowly, he had grown closer with Andy as Narcissa and Bellatrix had drifted away, although a few days after he had almost killed Severus Snape by werewolf Bellatrix had come up and congratulated him.

Of course, even that association had been culled when he had been disowned. The ritual, so quick despite its earth-shattering effects, had ripped his familial magic out of his very core, leaving him a broken, silent mess on the floor that Kreacher had wordlessly thrown into the street like rubbish.

It had set him adrift, close enough to watch his family but no longer invited into the fold, no longer able to participate in family rituals, no longer able to carry out his responsibilities heirs of Most Ancient and Noble Families had. He told himself, on nights when the chasm yawned deep and painful where his family magic used to lie warm and quiescent, that he would be better without such shackles. That he would be free to do as he wished, with no restraints.

It still didn't help, and he had often found himself crying in his sleep, that wound forever bleeding and hurting. At times like that, James, Remus, and sometimes even Peter had come and slept with him, warm, reliable presences by his side. They never said anything in the mornings after, instead pushing food and raunchy magazines at him with the insistence it would fix everything.

But then Peter betrayed them all, killing James, killing Lily, framing Sirius, and leaving Remus to believe that Sirius himself had done it.

Even their loyalty, he had discovered, was not as adamantine as he had believed.

That betrayal and abandonment had been accompanied by the swift abandonment of the Order, who, having seen him dumped him in Azkaban, promptly forgotten about him.

No, he reflected idly, there really was no such thing as loyalty, was there? His family had thrown him over, his friends—even closer than family!—had betrayed him, and his comrades had left him to rot.

And yet, somehow, almost despite himself, he had felt those chains closing around him at the sight of Hermione and his Harry. His foolish heart had stirred where it lay in his chest, determined to fling itself out once more to protect and love.

The two of them, each in their own ways, reminded him of his friends. Hermione, outspoken and loyal like Lily but quiet and studious like Remus. Harry, who flew like James but loved like Lily, with his bright, earnest green eyes.

Yes, they reminded him very much of them, though they were unique and deserving of loyalty on their own.

However, the wizard he was now was perhaps not the wizard he may have been, should things have turned out differently. Was he even capable of such loyalty any longer? What did loyalty even look like? How did he weigh loyalty to the present against his duty to right the wrongs of the past? For even though James and Lily were dead, he was still foolishly, hopelessly loyal to them.

It was a fine line he walked, trying to balance those two, if he was even managing at all. If he fought for the past, he gave up some of the present; if he protected the present, he lost the past.

Some days he wondered at the wizard he was becoming. There were days where he felt Magellan Quickfoot, with his sly machinations and questionable morals, was becoming entwined with his true self, Sirius Black. Those golden morals he had stuck so strongly to had ultimately never done him any good, anyways. His new compatriots' companionship and the delicious allure of the Dark made it easy to sink into Magellan, made him want to stay Magellan and let the old vestiges of Sirius, broken, discarded and left to rot, fade away.

Day by day, they melded ever more together.

Moment by moment, he forgot why that might be bad.

The only thing truly anchoring Sirius to himself was Hermione's presence and the hope that he could have Harry. She had believed in his goodness and his innocence so strongly that she reminded him of his reasons for his revenge. It wasn't because he desired Pettigrew to die by his wand (though he did): it was because he desired to see the wizard who killed and betrayed those he loved brought to justice.

Sometimes, however, he wondered if it was enough. His goals were paramount above all: Kill Peter, and gain custody of Harry.

He wasn't afraid to achieve those through any means.

And if doing whatever he had to included a few—okay, perhaps more than a few—illegal things, like the regular use of the Dark Arts, and the procurement of illegal Dark objects, and perhaps the occasional torturing of unsuspecting people, then so be it.

He smirked. Whatever would dear cousin Bella think of him now that he practiced the things he had mostly eschewed? She'd likely give him a tight squeeze and that slightly lopsided, vaguely deranged smile she had been growing into the last time she saw him.

Of course, now that she'd been in Azkaban like him, who knew what she'd be like? If the way he'd been twisted into something resembling only a former shadow of himself was any indication, she'd likely gone right around the bend.

On that thought, he summoned his evening waist jacket and slipped it on as he made his way down the stairs. After all, one had to look their best before tangling with the likes of Avery and Mulciber, who had been merrily traipsing around as free wizards despite being sworn into Voldemort's ranks so many years ago. Their civilized facades, just like his, were mere window dressing to hide the truth lurking underneath.

It was strange how he felt like he belonged with them now, but it felt good in a way. After he had proven he was a changed wizard—no longer one of Dumbledore's little henchman—by first buying his way in with Eurydice's Lullaby (along with a few other artefacts) and then later doing some casual bonding over 'playing' with muggles, they had accepted him fairly readily. It had likely helped that he had such...connections that could be used once Their Lord had returned to power.

Naturally, he didn't particularly subscribe to the Dark Lord's propaganda, but if pretending to pay lip service to it got him closer to Pettigrew, who had somehow become a star in the ranks, then he would do it.

This included hosting Mulciber and Avery for a casual evening before they headed out for some 'entertainment', and he found himself rather enjoying their company as they discussed some new spells they had been looking into as they steadily made their way through a bottle of firewhiskey. Of course, the way those spells were applied could be a bit gruesome, but at least he had his drink and a hardy stomach.

"You know, Black," Avery said suddenly during a lull in the conversation, "I sometimes wonder about you. You're such a good chameleon, running around in polite society as Magellan Quickfoot. How should we know you're not skulking around in various disguises doing as you pleased? You could sneak up on us and kill us whenever you liked, and we would never know it was you. Who knows how many disguises you have?"

Sirius titled his head and smirked. It seemed Avery had at least cottoned on that he should be concerned.

"Someone seems a bit paranoid," he drawled. "I have only the one. Don't fool yourself into thinking I have the time to 'sneak up on you'. I have far better things to do, such as spend time with my fair Svetlana, who is always eager for my...company, or hunting down Pettigrew."

Quiet thus far, Mulciber shifted. "We don't know where Pettigrew is."

Blandly, Sirius replied, "I think you're lying." He sat forward. "Honestly, gentleman, let's put the posturing behind us. The Dark Lord currently favours Pettigrew, which is all well and good for him. I know as well as you do that if you want to rise through the ranks, sometimes you have to...hm, get rid of the competition. I want to progress just as you do, and if my motivation to take him out is partially based on past history, then so be it."

Avery still looked unconvinced. "There's just something...off about you, Black. You show up as Quickfoot but then tell us you're Black. You tell us you want Pettigrew out of the way—as we all do—so you can take his place at our Lord's side, but you also want him dead. I'm not quite sure I believe your motivations for joining us. Is it to join or our Lord in truth, or simply to get rid of Pettigrew?"

"Does it really matter, gentleman?" He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "I've been wronged by Dumbledore and his ilk." Had he ever. "If I want to stick it to them, get some power, and have a little fun like we've been having these past few weeks then why can't I join up? Speaking of the cursing and hexing—I must say, I've seen much worse in Azkaban. It's getting a bit boring, to be honest."

The ghost of a shiver ran down his spine as he recalled how the guards could do as they wished to the damned. But casting upon someone had been rather different than being the one cast upon. It had made something inside him mend itself. It had made him feel powerful. And he should be ashamed of that feeling, shouldn't he?

"Regardless," he continued on, "I would think our little bonding activities showed that I'm as depraved as you, or what have you. Now that we've engaged in illegal activities in front of each other, I would think we're bosom buddies."

Mulciber surged to his feet, wand out. "Now look here—"

"—And because of that," he continued over the wizard, knowing this would get their attention as nothing else would, "I feel inclined to tell you this: I can give you Harry Potter. Furthermore, I can give you his best friend, Miss Granger."

That stopped the man in his tracks, and Mulciber stared mutely at him while Avery downed his glass in one shot.

"Ah, got your attention, did I?" He smirked.

"How could you possibly get Harry Potter? The boy thinks you're trying to kill him!" This from Avery, who had set his glass and come towards him, a gleam in his eye.

"That's what everyone wants you to think," he corrected. "There was an incident in the Shrieking Shack, you see, where it was all made clear who had done what and when. The boy thinks I'm innocent. Which I am, of course, but that's irrelevant to this."

He shrugged off thirteen years of captivity as if were inconsequential. "Potter knows of my innocence. And he's hungry for affection and love. I am his godfather. He trusts me and believes in me. I can manipulate him to do anyth—"

The floo lit, and Hermione's familiar form came through, her French braid and burgundy robes still neat after a long day. Looking down at her robes as she dusted them off, she said, "Evening, Sirius. I thought I heard your...voice." Her own voice died as she took in the tableau in front of her. "Sirius," she said somewhat faintly, "Why are you….you, in front of these men?" Growing alarmed, she pulled her wand. "Are you hurt? Are they threatening you?"

He took a moment to look both of the wizards in the eyes. She had made his point for him, almost, with her protectiveness and alarm. "No, no." He waved off her concern. "It's perfectly fine. These are simply my associates. We've come to an agreement on how they can help me find Pettigrew."

She brightened, then grew suspicious a bare instant later. "Have you? And they won't injure you again, will they?"

Triumph leapt within him. She couldn't be saying things better if he had scripted the encounter himself. "No, kitten. Don't worry."

Avery stepped forward and took her hand, leaning over it and placing a kiss on her hand in the traditional Pureblood greeting. "I promise we have no ill intent towards him," he swore. "We, too, think Pettigrew should be punished."

His tone was sincere, though Sirius couldn't determine the veracity of his words. When they had been Crucioing that girl on Tuesday, he had remarked offhandedly that he hoped to do something similar to Pettigrew one day. Privately, Sirius wasn't sure his definition of 'punished' would match up with Hermione's, but that was splitting hairs.

Hermione remained unconvinced, her brilliant mind no doubt working feverishly as it always did and examining things from all angles. "If you're sure about them…" she replied dubiously, glancing at Sirius as she withdrew her hand from Avery's grasp and stepping back.

"I'm sure," he told her, trying to sound reassuring. "I know how you are after a long day, kitten, so why don't you run on upstairs and take a load off?"

Her gaze sharpened and her shoulders set, letting him know she wasn't pleased with his attempt to manage her. Really, their relationship had grown strained enough he sometimes wondered if she would keep cooperating as he asked. If ever a time came that she wouldn't during a critical moment where he truly needed her to, it would be truly problematic.

But despite their frayed relationship, this time she still obeyed and went up the stairs. Moments later, her door slammed shut with a rather angry thud.

"Like I said," he drawled as he swirled his whiskey and looked them dead in the eyes, "I can get you what—and who—you want. I'm here, gentleman. Let us work together to achieve our goals."

In the words of Fitzwilliam Darcy - "In vain I have struggled". I first wrote this chapter in March and have been working on it ever since. It has been excruciating and horrible and I will never be satisfied with it, I think. I am honestly glad to get it out so I can stop agonizing over it. Ever onwards :) things are going to start getting very interesting around here now that we're in the twenties...