A/N1: As always, a massive thank you to Ambush99 for her wonderful betaing skills.

A/N2: Also, thank you to everyone has reviewed, favoured and followed. The encouragement really helps.

On with the story…

Chapter 27

Fleamont lay on his back, wide awake. He wasn't sure what had woken him, but he highly suspected it had something to do with Sirius. Sirius' sudden and powerful reaction to his uncle mentioning Voldemort worried Fleamont. He wasn't sure if the Blacks approved of Voldemort, but they would certainly approve of his opinion on blood status. But how was this connected to Sirius? Fleamont had highly suspected that Sirius' condition had not all been his parent's doing. The initial healers found marks of dark magic they had never encountered before. It was the darkest they had ever seen. Sirius' panicked and terrified state, then his defensive magic, yes, that could be all accounted for by the abuse and torture he had received from his parents. But Fleamont knew there had been something else in play the moment he had seen Sirius all those weeks ago in Professor Collin's study. Sirius' reaction to his uncle mentioning the Dark Lord had confirmed it. But what should he do? He wasn't qualified to deal with this. Sure, he had been in a couple of close duels, but that was it, and they had rules, he had protection, but still he had performed defensive magic because he thought he was at risk. Sirius had been at risk, not once, not twice, but multiple times, and that was just referring to his early childhood. It didn't even begin to touch what had happened to him over the Christmas holidays.

Fleamont jumped, as his wand on the bedside table jumped and lit up. He frowned. He knew he had established a unique relationship with his wand, but this had never happened before. He had always been holding his wand when it had acted spontaneously. He had always felt he had been in danger. But now, lying flat on his back, in the safety of his own bedroom? Why was this happening? Hesitantly, he opened his palm and lowered it towards his wand. His wand instinctively jumped into his hand and jerked. It twisted and pointed towards Sirius' room.

"Do you want me to check on Sirius?" Fleamont whispered, not wanting to wake his wife. The wand jerked and seemed to pull him towards Sirius' room. "Okay," he said slowly, as he quietly left the room, scared of what he was about to find.

Fleamont stood for a moment outside Sirius' room, unsure of what he should do. As much as he trusted his wand, it had never reacted like this, and he didn't want to invade Sirius' privacy. "Sirius?" he said, gently knocking on the door. "Sirius, I just want to check you are alright, okay?" Upon hearing no response, he pushed the door open and gasped. Furniture was flying wildly around the room. There was a gaping opening in the side of the room. All the light fittings were smashed. And in the centre of all of this, lay Sirius, tossing and turning, in a fitful state.

"Sirius!" Fleamont called out, as he attempted to get closer to the boy, but was pushed back. He frowned again; it was as if he was being pushed back by a shield charm but, in his current state, there was no way Sirius could perform a shield charm. He needed to get to him. He needed to protect him. Fleamont looked wildly around, trying to find the source of this charm but found none, until he spied Sirius' wand. How did it get there? The last he had seen it, it was sitting on his own desk in its box. Sirius had been completely uninterested, to the point of being scared of the wand. Sirius had seemingly not wanted anything to do with the wand. So, why? He scanned the room, trying to find the source. He saw the box shaped hole in the door. Had Sirius summoned the wand, or had the wand summoned itself to Sirius?

"I-I," Fleamont started, uncharacteristically hesitantly. He looked between his wand and Sirius' dominant wand. "I'm sorry," he started, as he held his open palms to the wand. "I am not going to hurt him, but I really need to get to him. Please let me help him."

The wand seemed to pause for a moment, as though it was considering its options. Slowly he felt the shield charm envelop him. "Thank you," he whispered to the wand. "Sirius," he said, as he gently shook the boy. "Sirius!" Fleamont repeated with more urgency when he got no response.

Fleamont looked wildly around, not knowing what to do. He wondered how much longer Sirius could sustain this magic, and what state he would be in when it ended. Would he need to summon a healer? Would Sirius' magic allow a healer to get anywhere near him? "Sirius, please," he tried again, as he took the boy into his arms. "Sirius, it's okay. I know you don't feel safe, but you are. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, but you have to breathe."

Fleamont was becoming desperate. He was running out of options. He was terrified this defensive magic incident would claim Sirius' life. "Please Sirius," Fleamont begged, tears filling his tears. "Please Sirius. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

Slowly, but ever so surely, Fleamont felt Sirius' magic fade. He hoped it was because Sirius was relaxing, and not the unthinkable. "That's it, it's okay," he said, as he felt Sirius slump against him, letting out a tense breath. "I've got you. I won't let anyone hurt you. Just, just keep breathing." Tears slipped down his face, as he gently stroked Sirius' hair. "Just keep breathing."

Fleamont waited for a long moment before he pulled back to have a look at the young wizard. The pale face, the glazed, sunken eyes, framed by dark circles worried him. He could still feel Sirius' heart hammering away, as though it threatened to leap out of his chest at any moment. He paused for a moment, as he considered his next words. "Let's get you out of this t-shirt, into something dry," he finally said, feeling the soaking wet t-shirt, drenched in sweat. He waited a moment, not wanting to push the traumatised boy any further. When he got no response, he tried again. "Sirius, did you hear me?"

Sirius continued to stare at him blankly, but nodded. "Why don't you go to the bathroom and freshen up? Get out of that t-shirt and into this one," Fleamont said, as he carefully watched Sirius robotically stand and move to the door with minimal awareness of his surroundings. Fleamont let out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, and let his head fall into his hands. Just how much more of this could Sirius take? He slowly looked up to observe the sheer devastation surrounding him. Large chunks of masonry were missing. The window was completely shattered. There was a massive crack in the wall, so large, he could see the dark sky through it. This couldn't go on for much longer.

"Sirius?" Fleamont said, as he gently knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you okay in there?" He waited for a moment, his ear pressed against the door, and heard sobs. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs. "Sirius, I'm going to come in. Is that alright?" He waited for a response, but when there was none, he slowly pushed the door open. Sirius was curled up, his back against the bath. He looked tiny. Utterly broken and defeated. Fleamont could feel his heart break into a thousand pieces. "Sirius are you okay?" he asked, rather pointlessly.

"I don't understand what's happening to me," Sirius managed between sobs, his knees drawn tightly up to his chest. His face was hidden by his hair. "I'm going insane. That's what it is, isn't it?!"

"Sirius, did you have a nightmare?" Fleamont asked, bending down, his ancient knees protesting.

"I'm dangerous!" Sirius replied, his voice hoarse and tense.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Fleamont repeated, placing a gentle hand on Sirius' shoulder. He watched Sirius slowly nod. "And what did your uncle say about your magic?"

"I'm going mad!" Sirius sobbed, looking up, his eyes red and raw.

"No, he didn't," Fleamont replied gently. "He said to never be ashamed of your brilliant magic. I think you had a nightmare and it felt really real. You were very scared and your magic, your brilliant, beautiful magic, was trying to defend you. You're not mad and you are not going insane."

"It's just, it's just," Sirius started, as he looked around the room, trying to come up with the words. "I, just, I can't remember."

"That's alright," Fleamont reassured, wincing as his knees continued to protest. "How about we go to my study? It's going to be warmer and more comfortable than the bathroom floor."

Sirius slowly nodded and allowed himself to be helped to his feet, and to be guided downstairs. "Mr. Potter," he started hesitantly. "I'm so sorry about the room. I can leave now if you want. I'll get a job and pay for the repairs. I-I might not be able to pay for it at once, but I will pay you back. I promise."

Fleamont shook his head as he pulled his thick cardigan around the boy in front of him. "Put this on."

"But Mr. Potter, I need to-"

"No," Fleamont replied, shaking his head again. "Euphemia and I will repair it, and if we can't we will get someone in. But I will not accept one knut from you. You did nothing wrong. Your beautiful, brilliant magic was protecting you. That's not your fault."

"I destroyed your home!"

"Did you think you were threatened?" Fleamont asked, as he wrapped a blanket around Sirius' shoulders and lit the fire.

"I don't know. It felt-" Sirius stopped and looked away.

"It felt real?" Fleamont suggested. He watched Sirius nod. "It wasn't your fault then. You thought you were threatened. Your magic protected you." He flicked his wand and summoned a hot chocolate. "Drink this."

Sirius sighed as he accepted the mug. There were a thousand things he wanted to tell Mr. Potter but none of them made sense. He watched Mr. Potter make his way to his desk, pull out a piece of parchment and hand it to him. "What's this?"

"Everything I've learnt about what has happened to you, I've written down. I've tried to put together a timeline."

Sirius frowned, as he passed his fingers over Mr. Potter's neat handwriting. Dates. Events. Stuff he could vaguely remember. Stuff he remembered. And stuff he had no idea about. "I-I," he started. "Who has seen this?"

"No one apart from me. Sirius, I only did this because I thought it would help. No one will ever see it if you don't want them to. I will destroy it if you want me to."

"No," Sirius started hesitantly. "It's just, I don't know," he finished, draining the mug.

"Do you remember what happened in your nightmare?" Fleamont pushed. He watched Sirius slowly nod. "Do you want to tell me?"

"You'll hate me."

"I doubt that. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But I think it will help. I can add it to my timeline. I hope it will help you to make sense of what happened. It will still be frightening but I hope it won't be confusing."

"But-"

"Sirius, whatever happened I know it wasn't your fault."

Sirius took a shaky breath, knowing his life couldn't get much worse than it was right now. "I don't know everything. "I don't remember a lot to be honest. But I know my parents sold me to Voldemort for ten galleons."

Fleamont managed to bite back every response that had built inside him. He needed to remain calm. He needed to be there for Sirius. "You are worth more than ten galleons. I would sell everything if I had to, to get you. You are brilliant. Can you tell me what the nightmare was about?"

Sirius took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, as he recalled the memory.

He stumbled slightly as he landed, weak from malnutrition and pain. He knew this was the end. He had known from the moment he had returned 'home' that he would never go back to Hogwarts, that he was going to die in Grimmauld Place. He quickly looked at the tall, pale man to his side before returning his gaze to the ground.

"So, slave, we have arrived, and you have to undertake a task," the man with a cold, high voice started.

'Task', Sirius thought, the very thought of it, ever since his parents had sold him to Voldemort for ten measly galleons, made him almost sick with fear. He dropped his gaze to the ground and rounded his shoulders, as though trying to hide. His life meant nothing to anyone, just act as a slave to the most heinous wizard of all time.

"Answer me, slave!" Voldemort hissed.

Sirius looked up, and stared defiantly at Voldemort's pale, waxy face, at the flashing red eyes. He knew he would die by this bastard's hand, but he was determined to go down fighting. Whatever this 'task' was, he wouldn't complete it. "If you'd asked me a question, I could answer it. But you haven't."

"Crucio."

It felt as though someone was stabbing him with a thousand white hot knives, whilst simultaneously pulling each of his limbs violently in a different direction. He couldn't help but collapse onto the cold, frozen ground. He didn't want to scream, he didn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction knowing he was breaking him, but he couldn't help it.

With a cruel smile set on his disfigured face, Voldemort lifted his wand. "Get up slave," he said coldly.

Gasping for air and shaking from head to toe, Sirius staggered up. "Yes sir," he replied, his voice full of venom.

"Swim, slave."

"What?"

"You heard me, swim to that rock!"

Sirius frowned at the request but, knowing he had no choice, he slowly trudged into the icy waters. He gasped as the first wave broke over him, but it didn't deter him. He had accepted his own mortality. He plunged into the icy depths and started to swim towards the rocky outcrop. Each stroke cut like fire into him, sapping more of his wavering strength. Another wave broke over him; he found himself coughing as the salty liquid burnt his throat, as he desperately tried to draw oxygen into his lungs. He didn't know how much longer he could go on. The rock didn't appear to be getting closer and his body, numb from cold, weakened by abuse and starvation, couldn't take much more. He wondered vaguely if just gave up and sank into the ocean, would anyone notice his passing? But that would mean the bastard would win. It would mean his parents would have won. Spurred on by this, he summoned the strength to continue.

He didn't know how much longer he had been swimming, when a black rock looked up from the gloom and spray. Caught by the current and waves he found himself being washed up and slammed against it. He whimpered as the impact bruised his already bruised and probably broken ribs. He struggled to hang onto the jagged, slimy rock, as it cut into and tore his fingertips, but he clung on. He wasn't going to just drown. Voldemort was going to have to kill him personally. Summoning strength he didn't think he had left in him, he pulled himself up the rock and out of the freezing water. He lay gasping for air on the rock, not caring about the waves continuing to break over him. He was too tired, too broken to do anything else.

"Get up you worthless slave," Voldemort growled as he lightly touched down. "I paid good money for you, so you better not disappoint me."

Sirius groaned, and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. His eyes watered as he tried to rub the salt out of them. With great effort, he shakily pulled himself to his feet, swaying for a moment before collapsing again. Lying on the cold, wet, hard rock, being battered by waves, he wondered if there was any point continuing fighting. No one would notice his passing. His parents had sold him off without a care in the world. His brother would believe anything his parents said. His friends hated him and would probably be glad of his demise. He should just give up; his parents may have won but at least he wouldn't be forced to commit any atrocities for Voldemort. He vaguely wished he could have done more to thwart the bastard, but what could he do? He was a broken, wand-less kid who didn't even have the strength to stand. Yet he was facing one of the most powerful wizards their world had seen. He closed his eyes and accepted his own mortality. He selfishly wished someone would mark his passing, but he knew it wouldn't be the case. His world began to grow dim; he could feel his life slipping away. He had known the moment he had stepped into Grimmauld Place after his suspension it would be his last breath of free air. He had known he would die by his parents' hands or someone else's, it was just a matter of when, not if. Suddenly his world shifted focus. He felt as though he was floating without a care in the world. He was vaguely aware of his body leaving the cold, wet floor. He was vaguely aware of standing and facing Voldemort. He stared listlessly and unfocused at the man who would ultimately cause his demise.

"Don't disrespect your master; stand you worthless slave," Voldemort spat, his wand never leaving Sirius' chest. "To enter the cave, a blood sacrifice needs to be made."

If it hadn't been for the Imperius curse, Sirius didn't know how he would be standing. He felt numb of emotion, he just continued to vaguely stare at Voldemort. He registered the words 'blood sacrifice', but it was as though they were being said to someone else far in the distance. He looked down in mild confusion as he watched Voldemort produce a knife and cut deeply into his arm. Blood streaked down his arm, dripping and pooling on the damp floor. He felt the damp, rough wall cut into his damaged skin.

"Welcome to my cave," Voldemort said coldly.

Sirius found himself nodding, as his body, not controlled by himself, staggered forward. Seemingly cut off from the outside world, the cave was cool and light, with a great lake in the centre. He found himself walking towards a boat and sitting in it, as it made its way smoothly and quietly towards a small island.

"Out."

As if I have a choice, Sirius thought, as he found himself standing and stepping out of the boat. He had successfully fought the Imperius curse before, but he doubted he had the strength to do so this time. He guessed it was due to the Imperius curse that he had the ability to stand.

"Are you ready for my task?"

"Yes master," Sirius heard himself say, but they were not his words.

"Good, now drink the potion."

Sirius found himself making his way, slowly and stiffly, up to the tall, stone basin. He stared at the clear liquid with a greenish tinge for a moment. "But master there is no goblet."

With a causal flick of his wand, Voldemort conjured a goblet from mid-air. "Now drink, slave," he said forcefully, as he pressed the goblet into Sirius' hands.

Dutifully, Sirius placed the goblet into the brimming liquid and took a goblet full. He took a moment to look at it with disinterest, before draining it. The reaction wasn't immediate, but when it happened it was profound. It was pain like he had never experienced in his life. The broken bones, the Cruciatus curses had nothing on the pain tearing through his weakened body. It felt as though someone was burning his body from the inside. He gasped for air but only found himself reaching for another goblet full. The flashbacks came next. His parents staring down at him, telling him he was worthless and a mistake, that they should have drowned him as soon as he was born. Family, especially Bellatrix, sending curse after curse at him as he tried to crawl away, his parents laughing in the background. His father killing a homeless Muggle in front of him when he was barely five years old. James telling him to piss off and die. Remus looking at him in disgust, before shaking his head and walking away. Tears streamed down his face. "Kill me, please just kill me," he gasped.

"No, you pathetic piece of scum. Drink!"

He watched his arm reach out and fill another goblet, before lifting it to his lips and draining it. The pain was so intense he could barely breathe. More images flitted before his eyes. Bellatrix laughing with her wand pointed at the twitching, screaming Muggle child. Remus close to death after a bad transformation. The darkness and lack of air from being buried alive. But then something flicked inside his head. 'Why, Sirius? Why are you drinking this?'. I don't know, he thought to himself. 'Why does Voldemort want you to drink it? What does he want with the basin?' I don't know, Sirius thought desperately. 'Yes, you do. It has something to do with that thing in his pocket. He wants to hide it.' Hide what? He thought, as he filled another goblet. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good; it was Voldemort, it had to be evil. He felt something snap inside of him, and the floating, numb sensation dissolved. "No!" he yelled, throwing down the goblet.

"No?" Voldemort said dangerously.

"That's right, I'm not going to drink this poison," Sirius yelled, as he made an attempt to stand, unimaginable pain cursing through every fibre of his body. He managed to stand for a moment before his legs collapsed under him, and he slumped to the ground. "I'll never help you," he said defiantly, staring up at Voldemort.

"How are going to do that, when you can't even stand, you weak, pathetic excuse for a wizard. You will drink the potion."

"No!"

"Very well," Voldemort replied in an icy tone. Grabbing a chunk of Sirius' hair, he pulled him up roughly. With long, pale fingers, he forced Sirius' head back, gripping it at the throat. "Time to drink your medicine, slave." Without a further word, Voldemort filled the goblet to the brim, and poured the contents down the boy's throat. He laughed cruelly as the boy shook, gasped for air, and screamed for death. The boy wasn't his concern, he was just a tool for him to achieve his means. Just like his grandparents, his father, and that filthy muggle. All were just objects to enable his goal of immortality. Filling the final goblet, he poured it down the boy's throat, chuckling as boy started to choke. The potion wouldn't kill him, but he would die from its effects. There was no escape from the cave. If the boy tried to swim across the water, the inferi would drag him to its mucky depths. The potion had made the boy severely dehydrated, but there was no water for him to drink. And if he survived all those things, he would be driven mad by the hallucinations.

As the boy swallowed the final drop of potion, he dropped the limp body to the ground. Carefully taking the locket out of his pocket, he placed it in the basin, before tapping the basin with his wand to refill it. Without another word, to strode confidently towards the boat, sailing across the lake and out of sight.

Fleamont sat there, numb, tears slipping down his face, not knowing what else do as he held the sobbing, shaking child. He had known there had been more to Sirius' story when he had seen him in Professor Collins' office. Then there had been the poisoning, something Sirius had barely survived. But this?! No adult should have been through this, let alone a child. "Sirius, oh god Sirius," he whispered, hugging the boy tightly. "You are safe now my lad. You are safe."

Sirius screwed his eyes tightly shut as the memory slowly left him. "I'm so sorry."

"What?!" Fleamont exclaimed.

"I should have stopped him. I should have done something. I should have done more."

"What could you have done, Sirius?"

"I don't know, but something," Sirius managed to say in between sobs. "I can't remember where the rock is and now, and now, probably the evillest wizard this world has ever seen has hidden something. And, and what if it's something we need to win the war?!"

"That's not something a sixteen-year-old child should have to deal with."

"But, but." Sirius paused as he tried to calm himself down, holding his head in his hands. "I swear to you Mr. Potter, I tried."

"Sirius, I know. You didn't have a wand and you stood up to a very powerful wizard. You fought off the Imperius curse."

"But if-"

"Do you know what the brightest star in the sky is?"

"The Sirius," Sirius replied shyly.

"Yes, it's the brightest star in the sky and I'm not going to let it go out. You are brave and strong, and you will feel normal again. You will feel happy again. You cannot choose your family, but you deserve to be loved. You deserve to feel you belong somewhere," Fleamont said fiercely.

"But it's the reason I don't deserve that wand."

"Sirius?"

"You heard what Ollivander said. It's a powerful wand; no other witch or wizard has ever been able to wield it. I am not worthy of its power."

"The wand finds the wizard, Sirius," Fleamont reminded him. "That wand found you."

"I know," Sirius said rubbing his face. "It just doesn't make sense. Voldemort controlled me. I let him do what he wanted to do with that locket. I cannot perform magic anymore and then this wand, a wand Ollivander's ancestor made over 1000 years ago. A wand that Ollivander tested and knew had a very powerful magical core, but he couldn't perform magic with it. Dumbledore couldn't. Why me?"

"Sirius, I'll be honest with you. I really don't know, but I will find out."

"I'm turning into a squib. That's why I can't do any magic," Sirius said, biting back a sob.

"Oh Sirius, is that what you think? Remember what we discussed," Fleamont said kindly. He watched the boy nod. "No Sirius, you are not turning into a squib. You struggled to do magic because you were hurt and exhausted. You were performing it with your non wand hand and with a borrowed wand, which even Ollivander struggled to perform magic with. He checked it and said it had virtually no magical core. So, the magic you managed to produce was nothing short of miraculous."

"How do you know?"

"Sirius, where did we go a couple of days ago?"

"What?"

"Where were we a couple of days ago?" Fleamont repeated gently.

"Ollivander's."

"And what kind of shop is Ollivander's?"

"A wand shop."

"Why would a squib go to a wand shop?"

"I don't know," Sirius said quietly, as he looked down and bit his lip.

"They wouldn't. Sirius, there is absolutely no doubt you are a wizard and bloody good one at that."

"Why did it take me so long to find a wand?"

Fleamont shrugged. "Ollivander didn't pick up the right one to start with; that's not your fault. A wand is an incredibly individual item. James went through about fifteen wands before he found his. Euphemia, I think she only went through five. I went through most of the shop. Clerkenwell, you know, the current Deputy Minister, went through the whole shop, and then Ollivander's back storeroom. Sirius, sometimes it takes time, and the magic you produced when you found it was phenomenal. Most people produce a few sparks or something, but not you. You summoned that wand. You then cleaned up his shop. No Sirius, you are a wizard without a shadow of a doubt. Ollivander said it was the first perfect match he had ever found. Everyone else has a near perfect match, but not you Sirius. That wand found you. It wanted to connect to you! Why would it do that if you weren't a wizard?"

"But most witches or wizards are buying their first wand when they are ten or eleven. I'm sixteen, and I'm in my fifth year at Hogwarts. I was supposed to take my OWLs in a few months," Sirius countered.

"Was supposed?"

"I'm," Sirius started and looked down.

"Sirius, it's okay to be scared. After what you've been through, it is completely normal."

"But the magic!?"

"We are telling you to restrict your magic because you are still healing. It should be easier now you've got your own wand. We just need to build you up again, and then you will be fine."

"But I don't understand. On the one hand I cannot perform the most basic of spells," Sirius turned away for a moment. "I can barely even perform Lumos. That's a spell a pre-Hogwarts child can perform. Then I get this powerful wand, and I, I don't know. And then there's all this accidental magic. It's the only magic I can do!"

"I don't have all the answers Sirius, I may never have all the answers" Fleamont started. He stopped as he considered his words. "But I do know this. You are not weak, you are powerful, you always have been. Yes, some of that comes from the family you were born into, but the rest is you Sirius. You made your choices. Choices an adult would struggle with. You stood up against Voldemort. You do realise more than half the auror department is working against him. Sure, there are other dark wizards they are working to convict, but over half the department is working towards convicting one wizard, and you stood up to him. You are sixteen-years-old Sirius; you are not an adult."

"But why can't I remember stuff?"

"Trauma," Fleamont said simply. "That month you were away from Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays, was nothing short of hell." He shook his head. "No Sirius, to say they were hell is an understatement. I cannot even begin to comprehend what you went through, and it didn't get much better when you got back to Hogwarts, did it?"

"But if I could just remember where that cave was, then I could go- "

"No," Fleamont said cutting him off. "You are not going anywhere near that cave. We will work out where the cave is and give that information to the aurors. If that is what you want."

"But I need to go there. I need to do something."

"Sirius, it damn near killed you," Fleamont said fiercely.

"And you think he won't try to kill me again?" Sirius replied darkly.

"Sirius?"

"I need to remember everything, so I can stop him. He cannot do what he wants to do."

"Sirius, this is not a game," Fleamont started, but instantly regretted his words.

"I know too much. I don't know why, or how, but I know too much, and he won't want that information to get out," Sirius continued, barely aware of Fleamont's words.

"We will give the information to the Aurors. They will deal with it. It is not your job."

"But-" Sirius started.

"No!" Fleamont cut in. He placed his hand on Sirius' chin and turned his head. "You have done your job. You and I will figure out how we can get you to remember the cave. But you are not going anywhere near there."

"Why?!" Sirius exclaimed. "Why dad?! I was there! I need to finish it!"

Fleamont swallowed as he took a moment to recover from what Sirius had just said. 'Dad', he thought. Finally, he was getting somewhere. "You can finish it. But I will not allow you to do it destructively."

Sirius turned to face the man who, in all but blood, was his father. "How do we do that?" he asked slowly.

"I'm still figuring that out, but I know it won't happen tonight. You need to relax, and you won't be able to do that tonight."

"What?! Because I blew up half of your house!?" Sirius exclaimed.

"Yes," Fleamont replied simply. "You are exhausted. I'm guessing your whole body aches and you have a headache." He watched as Sirius looked away and took it as confirmation.

"So, what?"

"You need to rest. With everything that has happened, the fact you are still healing, and then couple that with the powerful defensive magic episode."

"But-"

"No Sirius, it wasn't your fault. It was a very normal reaction. But the amount of magic you produced would have drained anyone, including Dumbledore," Fleamont reasoned.

"So?"

"You need to rest. I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere," Fleamont replied, as he pulled Sirius onto his chest and took his hand.

"But, dad," Sirius started, and stopped. He was running out of ideas. All the good ideas came from the man he considered as his dad. "I'm so tired," he finalised on.

"I know. But I need you to remember you are no one's possession. You are your own free person." Fleamont stopped and let out a shaky breath. "I don't have all the answers, but I will look for them and I will support you no matter what."

"But the accidental magic?"

"The defensive magic," Fleamont corrected. "It will happen, but we will figure out a way for you and your magic to control it."

"But," Sirius started tiredly, as he allowed himself to be lowered onto his dad's lap. "But what if I can't control it?" he asked desperately.

"Sirius, we are so far from that. So far, you have only performed two larger defensive magic episodes; the rest are nothing, and no one has been hurt." Fleamont paused for a moment as he took Sirius' hand and gently stroked his hair. He knew, normally, Sirius would reject this, as would any normal sixteen-year-old boy. But Sirius wasn't a normal sixteen-year-old boy anymore. What he had been through in a month, the average adult shouldn't have to experience in multiple lifetimes. He watched as Sirius tried to protest before his eyelids grew heavy and his body gave in to sleep. "I'm here and I'm not about to go anywhere," he whispered, as he squeezed the sleeping boy's hand.