12 Grimmauld Place…

Orion Black set the paper down, disgruntled, and proceeded to attack his bacon with newfound vengeance. 'Another werewolf attack, why am I not surprised?' he told to no one in particular, readily assuming that his wife would be listening. 'I don't know who's more despicable: these disgusting half breeds or the ministry, who can't find hide or hair of the one responsible for this anarchy for over five years.'

Sirius looked up from his plate and at his father, whose plate stabbing had gotten even more vicious by the end of his little speech. Anyone looking from outside would have thought Orion Black was furious over the death of so many innocent people. Sirius knew better and from the conversation that followed next, apparently, so did his wife, Walburga Black.

'The Ministry of Magic has been a disgrace ever since Barrywaters decided to step in,' she said absentmindedly glancing at her husband. 'What's worse is that most of the victims were children, pureblood at that. If this keeps up, there'll be no difference between us and those filthy muggles.'

Sirius bit his lip and concentrated on making little patterns with pieces of leftover toast. The conversation in particular would have been interesting had he not been hearing about it continuously for the past few months. It was always, how the wizarding world was getting tainted with 'those filthy mudbloods', and how 'those half breeds' needed to be hung as soon as they were born and so on, and so forth. Boring, really.

Werewolves had been the hot topic for the past few weeks now and for once, Sirius agreed with his parents. His tutor, Harad Felis had briefed him enough on dark creatures for him to know what kind of beasts werewolves were. According to Sirius, they were the vilest of dark creatures, who didn't have an ounce of self control over their blood thirst. They were lowly and inhumane and it was beyond him why the ministry allowed such creatures to even breathe, let alone work or educate themselves.

Walburga Black immediately noticed her eldest son, fiddling with his food and rapped his knuckles lightly with her cane. 'Don't play with your food, boy.'

Sirius rolled his eyes, but complied. 'Yes, mother.'

'Honestly, Sirius, has Harad taught you nothing?'

Sirius bit back a sharp retort. He knew better than to argue with his mother, especially if he wanted some peace and quiet in the house. After all, mischief was easier to manage without a constant racket.

He hastily swallowed the last of his breakfast and put down his fork. 'Mother, could I be excused?'

His mother nodded absent mindedly, too engaged in the topic of 'filthy half breeds' and 'disgraceful ministry' to particularly care. It seemed, thought Sirius, that his parents's passion for mockery and disdain of those below them was the only thing that kept them together. It definitely wasn't love, that he was sure of.

Sirius quickly got up from his chair, before his mother could spot another flaw in her eldest son and start her daily rants. On the way out, however, his eyes fell on the Daily Prophet where the words 'Werewolf Attack' was emblazoned in black bold letters. He stopped and stared at the headlines for a while, before looking back up at his mother.

'Mother, could I borrow the paper?' he asked, his hand already clutching the edge of it.

Walburga Black waved a dismissive hand. 'Do as you wish and while you're at it, see if Kreacher has remembered to feed Regulus. Sometimes I think that child is more trouble than he's worth.'

Sirius nodded, snatched the paper from the table, and proceeded to walk gracefully out of the kitchen. Once he reached the stairs, however, he broke into a run, ignoring Regulus's room and quickly entering his own. Kreacher was more than efficient in his daily duties. He didn't need Sirius's supervision. Besides, Regulus causing a commotion was only an added advantage to him because it meant that he could carry on with his work without being under scrutiny for the rest of the day.

Locking the door, he flopped on his bed and spread the paper before him. It wasn't the attacks in particular that intrigued Sirius. Hell, he didn't give a damn if a couple of snot nosed brats died as long as he was safe and sound. Besides, the Prophet often used words that were beyond the vocabulary of an ordinary six year old, even if they had been tutored by Harad Felis.

No, what had managed to capture Sirius Black's attention that particular day was the colour photograph that accompanied the news of the attack. It was of a small boy, sleeping peacefully on one of the beds in Mungo's. Most of his face was hidden and buried deep within the recesses of his pillow, but you could still make out the beginnings of an angry red scar on his neck before it disappeared completely beneath the sheets. His honey coloured hair contrasted horribly with his skin, which was so pale that it seemed like he was trying to outdo the white of the sheets draped over him.

Sirius watched in awe as the boy's chest rose and fell continuously. Entranced, he ran a single finger over the boy's picture. Strange, yet…And just for a second there, Sirius felt something akin to sympathy. It was a new feeling, and he never got the chance to explore it because he was rudely interrupted by a healer coming in front of the camera and shouting what Sirius could only imagine as obscenities.

Sirius blinked quickly. Once, twice, then shrugged and took out a pair of scissors from his desk drawer. He carefully cut the picture out, making sure he didn't rip the sides. He fumbled in his drawer again, this time coming out with a book he'd nicked from the library: Dark Arts at its Finest. He hadn't really understood much of it, but he was sure it would come in handy once he was older. For now, the title sounded cool and he wanted to keep it as an act of defiance against his parents.

Sirius looked at the picture one last time, disappointed that the healer had not moved by much and that he could only catch a small glimpse of the mysterious occupant in the bed. He sighed heavily and placed it in between the pages of the book, never to open it for another six years. He didn't know why he was saving this picture in particular but right then, it had seemed important, like the boy was a vital part of his life. The key to a hidden lock…

xxxx

Thanks to xOmudbloodprincessxO, WhiteRose101 and Birds of Morrigan.