Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write it purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment. A/N: Thanks to those people who took the time to review.

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, I had fun writing it.

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Chapter One: Pride Forgotten, Promises Remembered.

"Do you think I should hang myself? Purely for the sake of my own sanity, of course. Or perhaps I should jump off a cliff? It's less suspicious that way, you know. Or better yet, I should fall off my broom while it's a hundred feet in the air. No one can dispute that as a suicide. They'd simply say 'Dash it all, the wind caught the lad upside and down! He couldn't stand a chance!' Or better still —"

"Would you shut up, Sirius! Please. Please. I'm begging you. I'd go down on my hands and knees but I still have my dignity. Never mind that you've misplaced yours."

Sirius groaned, a little pathetically, and raked a hand through his already dishevelled hair. The appearance of his hair indicated that he might have performed this gesture quite a few times during the course of the day. The Firewhiskey bottle held snugly in his left hand, which was clenched against his chest, certainly helped to further along the image of a man who simply had nothing to loose anymore — or a man who was feeling a little self-hatred.

Self-hatred was putting it mildly.

Sirius was, in fact, furious; at himself more so than Dumbledore, the sneaky old coot. Sirius hadn't given the matter much thought when he'd piped up like an eagre kid in an ice-cream shop, saying those three little words that would condemn his thickly layered pride to all hell.

"I'll do it."

Oh will I ever do it, Professor Dumbledore! I'm really, truly, spectacularly, blubberingly keen to. I'll visit my horrid mother and beg her to relinquish my vault, shall I? Then I'll ignore it while she spits in my face and tells me I'm a worthless muggle-worshipper.

You idiot!

Or perhaps he had given the matter a lot of thought, and that was why he was so furious. He faintly recalled staring at the carpet and pondering . . . but he wasn't quite sure. His brains were currently sizzling in very potent alcohol after all, so he couldn't be faulted for not entirely remembering.

And, what had he been pondering about?

But never mind that, there was still nothing for the situation at hand. It was done and he couldn't back out now. Everyone was counting on him, weren't they? Counting on Sirius Black to roll in the gold.

After the Order meeting the previous day Sirius had wasted no time in apparating to the nearest muggle pub and proceeding to get thoroughly foxed. He'd woken up the next morning in an unfamiliar room with a strange smelling bint lying draped over him, and having absolutely no clue as to how he ended up there.

After that he'd gone straight to his home and given himself a hard scrub down and, just to be sure, he performed a cleansing charm as well. Then he'd hopped on his motorbike and flew straight to James's.

Where he was now.

Drinking.

Again.

He felt rather pathetic actually.

"Sorry James," he told his best friend, raking his hair once more. "I just . . . I feel so helpless." He leaned forward from the sofa he was sitting on and buried his face into his hands. "Urgh, I don't know what I'm doing! I shouldn't have said anything. I hate her! I hate her, Prongs!"

"I know," said James quietly.

"Yeah, I know you do," said Sirius thankfully, lifting his head to pin James with a grateful look. "I think that's part of the reason why I came here. I just wish I hadn't done . . . but at the same time I feel . . . I don't know if 'good' is the right word but, content? I feel content."

"Because you know you did the right thing." James reached over and pulled the bottle out of Sirius's hand. "You sacrificed your own, 'sanity'—" James threw him a wink "— as you called it, for the wellbeing of others' lives. For the wellbeing of our world. You're quite the hero now Padfoot."

Sirius sputtered for a moment, then groaned. "Merlin, please no!"

James chuckled and threw back the whiskey; waited until it had burned his throat, before gasping, "That's hit it! I'm putting this away." He waved his wand over the bottle and it disappeared. "Don't know how you can drink the stuff at all, let alone daily."

"I don't drink it daily," Sirius protested half-heartedly, "only recently have I been doing that. It's this stupid war! It's everything, really."

James, sensing his friend was going on the decline again, decided to change the subject to a not precisely better one, but one that required Sirius' diligent sense of duty to do the right thing, which he never completely abandoned, no matter if he was feeling pathetic or not.

"When are you going to see her?"

Sirius' eyes, which had been staring curiously at his shoes, rolled up to meet James'.

"Some time tomorrow," he answered, and James breathed a sigh of relief. At least Sirius had already thought about it, which meant he wasn't too far gone in his brooding.

"I'll help," was all he said.

Sirius' lip curved slightly at the corner. "I wasn't going to ask."

James shook his head, fighting a smile of his own. "You know you never have to, Sirius."

THE NEXT DAY Sirius found himself in front of his dreaded childhood home; a home he'd sworn never to see or smell or step foot in again. Yet here he was, and at his own accord no doubt. That was what made him so angry. That was what made him feel so out of control about it all. He hated feeling out of control. And this soon-to-be situation with his mother was out of his control. It brought up feelings he'd long ago buried. Feelings of being inadequate. Feelings of not living up to the decrees of her Royal Purebloodedness. Having to live with the disgust of his relatives because he was a Gryffindor!

Merlin, he would give anything to take back those three little words. But at the same time, and after talking with James, he was glad he'd said them. If his mother somehow agreed to let him access one of the Black vaults then he'd be using the gold against the Death Eaters. Against the very symbol of what his mother and relatives conformed to.

Yes, he supposed there was something beneficial about this situation after all; at least beneficial to his own state of mind.

Now, Sirius took a couple of deep breaths before he hit the doorknocker on Number 12 Grimmauld Place's elaborately designed front door, then settled on arranging his face in what he hoped was an expression of boredom, nonchalance, and a your-wasting-my-time-let's-get-on-with-it-already attitude, that he was sure he'd perfected. He should have perfected it at any rate. He'd practised in front of the mirror long enough.

Sirius knew that to impress his mother his dress, speech, and manner all had to be the epitome of a pureblood upbringing in the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. In other words he had to act like the perfect aristocrat, not forgetting, of course, to make a complete arse of himself in the process.

How many times will I have to kiss her backside until she agrees? Not more than once, Sirius assured himself, hastily. He still had some pride left after all. Sirius snorted. Kiss her backside indeed That wasn't an image he needed at this point.

Sirius froze as the door creaked open, rendering his composure for a second, before he remembered his role and quickly arranged it to the façade of perpetual boredom and arrogance. He might even add a yawn or two in there as the meeting went on. Show off the huge fake diamond ring that he'd bought at a muggle shop specifically for this occasion. Just to keep up appearances and all that rot. It was sure to impress his mother.

James and Sirius had worked out what to say to Mrs Black the day before in order to procure her money, even though it was rightfully Sirius's. He would play the part of an arrogant aristocrat that already had enough gold to melt, but nevertheless he was also looking into increasing his prospects, perhaps dabbling in some stocks or the like, in which he needed his rightful gold from the Black Vault to invest in, preferably his father, Orion Black's. He would act as if he didn't really need the money, but that both he and his mother would greatly benefit from the profits if she agreed.

And to explain his sudden about-face in attitude? Why, he was a pureblood, it just took him so long to realise it. And as an added bonus he would mention his imaginary muggleborn friend George betraying his friendship and trust by having a secret liaison with his girlfriend, and that he'd come to the conclusion that George had betrayed him out of jealousy of his pureblood status, and that all mudbloods were like that, and that he should have seen it before hand. He would also mention, in brief, that he'd cut all ties from the Potters and wasn't ever planning on spending time with his muggleloving ex-best friend James, and his mudblood wife and son.

Yes, that ought to do it. Lay it on thick, that's the way she likes it.

The front door of number 12 Grimmauld Place now opened to reveal a crotchety old house elf sporting what looked like woodcarvings etched into its skin. In fact it was its skin, and the woodcarvings were its wrinkles. It was wearing a soiled loincloth that probably would have been more at home in the bin than around the house elf's hips, hanging so precariously lowly that Sirius was certain it would slip down and reveal a most unwelcome sight.

Sirius forced his face into a painful half smile, half grimace.

"Hello Kreacher. Is my mother around? I have something I wish to discuss with her."

Kreacher glared up at him with contempt. "What does the traitor son want with mistress? He has long left the Black house. What is he doing here now? Kreacher thinks he is nosing around."

Sirius almost lost his temper.

"Just fetch her, will you? That is an order."

He un-gritted his teeth as he followed Kreacher into the house, dimly aware of the smell of mustiness invading the air. It seemed to Sirius as if the windows had not been opened since the day he'd left.

"I'll wait for your mistress in Father's office," Sirius told the house elf, then walked up the stairs to the second floor where is father's office was located. He opened the door and stepped in.

It was a large office tastefully decorated in rich mahogany hues that impersonated the desk and the bookshelf that held the brilliant display of Dark Arts tomes Death Eaters would die to get hold of. It, too, was musty. But there was still a faint scent of pipe smoke lingering in the air.

Suddenly, and quite against his will, Sirius was transported into a distant memory . . .

Of himself when he was very small, sitting quietly beside his father and brother on the velvet embroidered sofa, just sitting together in the stillness of the office, the woodsy scent of pipe smoke lazily drifting through the room and out the window, and the crackle of the fire; the crackle of the Daily Prophet as his father turned the pages with his long, elegant fingers. . .

Sirius shook his head. He had no business remembering that. His father had hated him as soon as he'd become a Gryffindor, and there were no more lazy, pipe smoke days after that.

Sirius walked to his father's desk and leaned his cane, an exact replica of Lucius Malfoy's, on it. In fact, Sirius had borrowed it from him one time when they had both been at The Leaky Cauldron. Malfoy had been ordering a drink or some such and James had dared Sirius to swipe it while he wasn't looking. Sirius had agreed at once. He hated his cousin-by-marriage even more than Narcissa because Sirius knew he was a Death Eater.

It turned out the cane had housed Malfoy's wand, and both Sirius and James had been delighted they had robbed him of it. Later they had destroyed the wand, transfiguring the broken pieces into a bouquet of flowers which Lily had kept on the kitchen windowsill until they had wilted away.

Sitting down on the plump chair behind the desk, Sirius put his feet up on the table and crossed his legs at the ankles, looking relaxed, confidant, and most importantly, intimidating. Too bad he didn't feel that way. How he hated Grimmauld place and its pureblood ideals. The sooner he finished his business the better.

On second thought, perhaps he should keep hold of the cane. He knew the image he presented would be even more intimidating that way. He reached over and palmed the slick piece of wood in his hands, grimacing at the grotesque serpent visage on the handle. He shrugged, looked at his crossed legs, and stuck the end of the cane into his left boot, where he started moving it around. This, he knew, served two purposes. One, it made him look cooly lazy, as though he was simply bored and had come here to garner some much needed entertainment; and two, it made a perfect itch scratcher.

The door opened just then and Sirius looked up quickly, making sure to mask his features in lines of arrogance and detachment.

In walked his mother.

Or more precisely, in strode his mother.

She had been a beautiful woman in her youth. Now in her late-forties she was only marginally handsome.

Probably from all the stress I put her through. Sirius grinned at his thoughts.

Her hair was still as black as his own, but her eyes were a very pale blue colour that reminded Sirius of cold ice. They were nothing at all like his own greyish ebony eyes, which had been likened to rich, dark chocolate by many of his female acquaintances.

They hadn't seen each other for six years, and they now, without realising it, both took the time to run sneering gazes over the other.

Sirius was seeing, as he always had, a wicked old hag with expensively spectacular velvet black robes that hung on a briskly framed body, which had always been pale, unlike his own. Well, considering she hardly left the house . . .

Finally, after running a cold hard gaze over her, now, only son, his mother spoke. "So it's you is it?"

Sirius forced himself not to grit his teeth. It wouldn't do to let his mother think she had one over him, or that her barb had struck home. She had always spoken to him as though he were a welcome mat people wiped their muddy shoes on.

Instead, all he said was, "Yes."

She squinted at him once more, her eyes roving his figure from top to bottom. "You look different."

Sirius almost grinned. "I've always looked this way madam. You just haven't noticed before."

He watched his mother's back stiffen with anger, but her face showed something else. What could it be? Admiration? Approval? He almost did grin then, in triumph.

"What do you want?" she snapped sharply.

"Succinct as always, Mother. I'll be the same. I want access to Father's vault. I am fully prepared to deal with the back payments and other such expenses. All I need you to do is sign this form."

He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out an official looking parchment. He handed it to her and watched her peruse it for a few seconds. Sirius felt both anger and disappointment when she looked up at him with a smirk on her face. This can't be good.

"So you want money do you, muggle lover?" She laughed softly, a sound that grated down Sirius's spine. "Didn't think about the gold when you ran away from home did you, traitor child?"

From his mother's viewpoint Sirius was the modicum of calm, but inside his blood was boiling. He willed himself to cool down. "I'm fully prepared —" he began.

"And don't give me some cock and bull story about changing your ways!" she interrupted, glaring at him.

Sirius almost gaped.

"I know you too well, child of my flesh," she continued. "I know that meddlesome mudblood-lover Dumbledore has some sort of group working against the Dark Lord. Most likely he's short of gold and he's asked you to supply it!"

Sirius did gape now, his composure completely obliterated. Of course. This was his mother after all and he had underestimated her entirely.

"Well," she now breathed, looking manically excited, "you may inform him that the Black gold comes with a price."

Sirius forced himself not to gape a second time. His mother noticed, prompting a satisfied smirk at his lack of composure.

"Are you telling me you're willing to part with all the rights that entails you access to Orion Black's vault, and fully handing over that entailment to me?" He didn't quite manage to keep the disbelief from his voice.

His mother laughed harshly, a short, guttural sound, barely lasting a second. "Yes . . . For a price."

Sirius stiffened, staring apprehensively at his mother. "What price?" His voice was low, soft and filled with underlying menace.

His mother cackled, a triumphant gleam in her eye. "You'll have to sacrifice yourself, son of mine, if you want that money."

Sirius stood up so fast, his father's plump, cushiony chair, followed by Malfoy's cane, toppled to the floor, but he was uncaring.

"What?" He was almost on the point of shouting. Horrible images of being forced to participate in muggle-hunting with Bella filtered through his head. How he hated his mother. Damn her!

"You heard me perfectly well. You'll have to sacrifice yourself. But you need not worry, blood traitor, it is only the metaphysical sacrifice I speak of, the sacrifice of your . . . way of life, if you will. And you'll need to curb that hot-headedness of yours, and work on your patience. You will need it in the near future."

Sirius was beyond confused now, though still angry. What was she getting at?

"Just what exactly do you mean you old hag?" He spoke through a clenched jaw, completely forgetting his original plan to maintain his composure.

His mother didn't seem to notice. Instead she smirked, a glint of triumph evident in her eyes. "You might like mudbloods my son, might even have one as a lover right now. And nothing is going to give me as much pleasure as saying this to you. If you want the gold, you will forget about her. If you want the gold you will marry a pureblood witch. If you want the gold you will marry a pureblood witch of my choosing!"

His mother started cackling insanely with glee, not noting Sirius' shocked expression and the angry breaths releasing a rapid tattoo from his mouth.

"And," she added and paused to savour the moment, paused to savour her son's expression of rapid disbelief. "You will marry her before the month is up. I don't so much care about the Dark Lord or where the money goes. But I will have my first grandchild and heir to the Black fortune a pureblood. The Black line will continue untainted, and you will be responsible for that, my son."

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The parlour room was a little stuffy that day, despite the fact of it being autumn, and despite the fact that the house elves had put refreshing charms in every room of the house. Tatienne and Edmond Le Creux usually dallied there after supper to drink a sweet tea or read an interesting book. But today they had decided to abstain from visiting the room and instead headed to the cool greenhouse porches at the back end of their estate. There they could bask in the sweet scent of honeysuckle and wild rose flowers while watching the fireflies dart in and out of the bushes.

It seemed the perfect setting for a romantic liaison.

It was a pity Edmond and Tatienne hardly found anything romantic about each other. Love had never entered their marriage, most likely because it had been an arranged one. But, they could tolerate each other, were even friends to the point of being not so polite, and they both wanted the best for their only child and daughter, no matter the case.

They were purebloods of course, with a strong aversion to anything muggle related. Oh they could tolerate them if they had to, but since they weren't obliged to, they didn't disguise their contempt. They would even wrinkle their noses offensively if ever introduced to a muggleborn. But unlike other purebloods with money and class, Mr and Mrs Le Creux never had any desire to actually harm, or Merlin forbid kill any muggles or muggleborns. No, they were far too moral for that. But they did dislike them, which was why they found their daughter's acquaintance with a muggleborn girl difficult to understand. They had raised her to find them objectionable, of course, but she was at times a wilful girl, so what could they do but give in?

The porch was a peaceful place, perfect for discussing the day's happenings and whatnot. Edmond decided to bring up the topic of the morning's post and the tiny bit of panic it had caused them to feel. Both of them had been shocked and not a little dismayed to see the official Black family crest on the letter a haughty eagle owl had delivered at the breakfast table. They hadn't heard from the Black family in a little over seventeen years, in fact just when their daughter was born, and they knew what the letter would say at once without opening it.

It was a summons. A summons to honour the betrothal contract issued at Antoinette's birth to one Sirius Black.

This saddened them. Not because of the impending marriage, since they both thought the match to be a good one, but because it was too soon. They had hoped for a few more years with their daughter yet, a chance to properly educate her in the ways of the world. Perhaps to get rid of her existing desire to find paid work. As if women of class actually worked? The scandal that would cause. But now they couldn't even do that. And Merlin help them if the soon-to-be dowager Mrs Black found out, about that or the muggleborn girl their daughter was friendly with.

"Shall we tell her now Edmond?" Tatienne asked her husband. She watched him shake his attractive golden head.

"Non. We will not. We will wait until the morning. We will break it to her gently. She will understand."

"Oui, she will. She has been aware of this betrothal since she was a small child. It should not be that great of a shock to her. Only the fact that it is right now might surprise her a little." Tatienne admitted, worrying her bottom lip with little white teeth.

"Oui." Edmond agreed. Though, he too, looked worried.

"Do you think she will like it in England? I hear it can get very cold there."

"I hear it can get very dirty there as well," Edmond responded with a slight disgusted grimace. "I heard Hogwarts is nothing like Beaubatons."

"But surely the Black house will not be like that!" Tatienne exclaimed, horrified by the thought of her precious Antoinette surrounded by dirt.

"Most of the old manors and castles in England and Scotland usually are," Edmond reminded his wife with a resigned tone and a sombre expression. "But the Blacks are revered as a family, and they have a lot of gold. I'm sure the house in which they live is not in the least impoverished. Perhaps a little out of date, but clean. And they are sure to have a house elf or two."

"You are quite right Edmond. I shouldn't panic so. It is just that I will miss her. She is so young. And Sirius Black, he is at the most twenty-two. That is five years apart."

"I'm seven years older than you."

"But that is different. I was older, more mature than Toni when we married. And I didn't have delusions of employment in my head to keep me occupied. At least I wanted to get out of my home. I seriously doubt Toni does."

"You are right there," Edmond conceded. "But she knows her duty, she will accept. Perhaps with a bit of complaint, but in the end she will be resigned to her fate and go willingly to England to meet her fiancé."

"When did the letter say for them to meet?" Tatienne glanced over her husband's arm as he pulled out the parchment from out of his robes.

"In two weeks there is some sort of conference or party, I'm not certain which, for all the ministry delegates from around Europe. It will be held at the British Ministry for Magic this year. We are to meet them there."

"Two weeks?" Tatienne couldn't bare the thought.

"Oui, but they will not be married until two more weeks after that, so we have a whole month with her."

Tatienne's eyes turned glassy. "But I wanted more time with our daughter."

Edmond patted her knee reassuringly. "Do not worry mes on font, we will spend as much time with her now as possible. Besides, we shall see her again even after she has wed. Sirius Black could not be so cruel as to disallow that," he added, then both he and Tatienne grimaced.

Perhaps that was not true at all, they both thought, exchanging disquieting looks. If Sirius Black was anything like his mother . . .

Tatienne and Edmond turned to watch the night, conscious of the fact that things would never be the same again.

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