Warnings to those of you who didn't like the chapter written from the Baron's pov: Sorry, this one is similar, since it's once again not from Ed's perspective but from a rather observing party. It was needed, though, for no other perspective would have shown how things make sense. Thus, I'm still asking you to give it a chance.

Beta-reader: Gift of the Dragons

"Abc!" - spoken words

Abc! - thoughts or emphasis

Recap Chapters 1-6:

The Elric brothers split up on their quest for information on how to regain their bodies. Following leads, Edward first arrived at Hogsmeade and later at Hogwarts. There, Edward passed Dumbledore's 'trial', as neither he nor the Bloody Baron were able to detect any suspicious behaviour from the teen and was allowed to meet up with Eve, the Flamel's former house-elf on an island in Devon. While Ed could confirm that the Sorcerer's Stone is made of magical energy only, he needs to create a wand that might work for him. Because of that, he took on an apprenticeship in wandlore at Ollivander's.

Chapter 7.1: Barking Dogs Never Bite?! part one (words: 8301)

~ A couple of days earlier ~

The splatter of heavy raindrops falling out of the heights of the sky and onto the street was filling London. For days it had been sunny, even if a little stormy, and now the gates of heaven had opened up to let loose a myriad of tiny projectiles. They hit the ground, splashed to all sides and loosened the dust that had collected and freed it to the air. Some would have said 'It smelled like rain,' but that couldn't have been correct. The raindrops, however sour they may be, never carried a special smell within them. They were just water, after all.

What smelled 'like rain' wasn't the rain, but the dust. The pollen of the flower bouquet that had dusted the stones when a woman had carried it hurriedly to her home before the rain had started. The crumbs of a piece of freshly baked loaf of bread that a crow had managed to steal a slice of and devour. The hairs of men and animals alike that had passed through this particular street during the last days. The remains of fuel that had been burnt in the car engines constantly passing by.

All these particles were catapulted into the night air, tossed around and ultimately reached his nose as he dashed along the pavement in the middle of the night. And he had a very fine nose. His paws splashed through yet another puddle on the ground, sending drips of water up his legs. Not that it mattered that much anymore anyway. The rain had already managed to find its way through his unruly black fur twenty minutes ago and with the wind that still hadn't calmed down enough, it was probably a good thing that it was the height of summer or he would have been shivering from the cold by now.

Another especially annoying raindrop decided his nose would be the perfect place to perch itself just as he was about to turn the last corner. Thankfully enough, it fell down from the impact of his next landing on the ground. He skidded to a halt. Before him lay a dark street. There had been street lamps at one point, but the majority of them had died out long ago. The ground was littered with piles of rubbish in front of some of the houses and the reek emanating from them stung in his sensitive nose. The tall houses were pressed flush to each other, neither hand nor dog capable of fitting between their walls. Broken windows completed the picture of a low-class, deserted back alley that nobody wanted to live in anymore.

His innermost instincts screamed at him to turn around as fast as possible and to give heels immediately. Because no matter the appearance, this was no ordinary Muggle street. According to the name, it wasn't even a street at all. It was a Place. A rather narrow Place compared to others, and very old as well, but a Place nonetheless because it ended in a circular patch. It wasn't that far away and had probably looked neat at one point in time. What had served as a place to meet back then, to sit on the benches and enjoy a moment of rare calm in the raging storm that was the city, had long become an oversized dogs' toilet.

Other than being called a place, though, the name was generally very fitting: Grimmauld Place. If one pronounced it just the correct way, the grim and old nature of the scenery became clear to the attentive listener.

And just as its name suggested, it evoked a very grim feeling in the four legged creature standing at its entrance. It was no use, though, just standing there when the rain was still mercilessly pouring down on him, he decided. A low growl disrupted the rhythmic splatter and clatter of the rain and all too soon did the sound of paws splashing through the puddles join the melody once again. He stopped about halfway down the street. A roofed alcove on the right side seemed to provide enough shelter from the weather and was far away enough from any of the heaps of rubbish to not disturb his nose too much. He sent a wave of motion through his body to shake off as many lingering water droplets as possible and settled down.

Grey eyes rose and landed on the sight across the street. The house stood as tall, old and dark as the rest of the street, but the paint was not coming off just yet.

He glared at it.

And glared at it.

And continued to glare at it some more.

An hour passed, then another and then four had gone by and the scene hadn't changed in the least. The dog was still sitting in the small alcove, still sitting motionless while staring hard at the house across. Surprisingly enough, number twelve hadn't crumbled under the pressure of the heated glare yet.

Finally, he started to move. Rising from his resting place, he paused a moment to stretch his muscles, looked up and down the street to confirm that it was still as void of pedestrians as it was before and then stopped moving altogether again.

The change started slowly and was hardly visible in the general lack of light and the additional shadows cast by the alcove. He grew taller and taller, so tall in fact, that his front paws left the pavement and rose to the air. The tail first shortened, then disappeared completely and in the end, he could relinquish in the feelings of standing securely on his two original legs.

The shadowy figure turned his head to look up and down the street yet again, squared his shoulders and finally stepped up to the front door of the very same building he had been glaring at. He felt the tell-tale tingle of the magic emanating from the powerful wards surrounding and shielding the estate as he passed through them. He shuddered. Not because he was still soaked to the bone. Not because it was in the middle of the night. Not because he was alone in a deserted street. And not because the wind was still a howling chill chasing down the streets of London and into his elbow-length, dark hair either.

It was because of what he was about to do, that the man shuddered at the mere thought of it.

It had been years. Years since he had stood here the last time. Been here. Lived here. Decades, even. Back then, returning to this godforsaken place was the last thing Sirius had had in mind. It had repelled him. Repulsed him. Getting away as far and as fast as possible was what had mattered then. The people he had fled from were no longer alive, according to what he had heard. There shouldn't be anything scary left, he knew. But old habits died hard. And the ghosts from his past had yet to leave him alone. That hell-hole of a prison had prevented that.

'Ghosts live on forever,' they say. 'You can't kill them,' they warn. 'But you could escape or chase them away, if only for a little time.'

That was what Sirius tried to do, standing on the threshold of the ancient home. Hand hovering over the doorknob, he took a deep, steadying breath and forced his frenzy nerves to calm down. Then, he clasped his cold, wet fingers around the metallic knob.

And he turned it.

The click of the lock resounded throughout the otherwise silent street. His parents had never bothered to put in a lock that would require a physical key. They had been paranoid, yes, to the point even, that they had researched and used the most advanced spells and charms to properly secure their house. Nobody could get in uninvited without being authorised to do so, his father had made sure of it. That he was now able to not only touch the knob, but to turn it as well, that was the proof that he was, in fact, the official heir to 12 Grimmauld Place. His brother and his parents were dead.

For real.

All of them.

He was the last to carry the name of Black.

His shoulders sagged in relief as all the built up tension seeped out of them.

Straightening up, Sirius pushed the door open. The creaking of metal on metal of the unattended hinges was deafening to his ears, when in actuality it wasn't as loud as it could have been. The interior was dark, of course, as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. He didn't need much light to know his way around. Or rather, he didn't want the light right now.

It would illuminate his path, yes, but it would also shine on all the decorations, the paintings, the colours that repelled him so much and that he didn't want to be reminded of. His heavy, tired steps creaked on the floor boards as he searched his way to the staircase that lead to the kitchen. Its fireplace, more precisely, as he was intending on at least getting a little bit of warmth back into his chilled bones.

He never reached it.

A low, feral growl was all the warning he got before something crashed forcefully into his back, making him loose his footing and falling down on his knees.

"How dare he come into this house!" snarled a vaguely familiar, deep, scratchy voice from somewhere on his back. "How dare he return, he who sullied the name of Black!" Small, bony fingers grasped at his hair the same moment that a pair of feet started to trample on his back. "The traitor! He who abandoned the masters and sullied the reputation of the mighty family of Black. The murderer!" At this, the assault came to a sudden stop. The creature hopped forcefully off of the intruder's back, grabbed his right arm in a death grip and tried to pull him back the way he had come, to where both knew the front door was.

As soon as Sirius regained his footing, however, he decided that he'd had enough for the day. Using both of his arms, he grabbed the attacker and held him in front of him.

"Stop it!" he commanded and was actually taken aback in surprise when he was met with obedience and his captive ceased all motions immediately. The low growl that came from somewhere deep within its throat was still there, though, so the immobility was most likely involuntary. Sirius smirked as understanding dawned on him.

Head of the house, for real.

He had never liked the house-elf that was serving his parents, Kreacher. 'Never liked' was maybe an understatement. He had practically hated it for its mind was just like theirs. Pure-bloods as the superiors. Traitors worthless filth. Mudbloods were mutants and should never have received permission to attend magical schools, be it Hogwarts or anywhere else. Muggles weren't even worth mentioning. After all, there was no point in talking about dirt.

It had been nothing short of a scandal when the Sorting Hat had placed him in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. Personally, he had loved it. It had taken him two whole minutes to convince the ancient Hat, but each and every moment of dreading and arguing had been worth it at the end.

But all of that lay in the past. Now, and this had become crystal clear when the elf had followed his order, now it was his turn to set the rules. Oh, he would enjoy this, he knew.

"Well well, Kreacher," he all but snarled at the servant, "it seems to me that I apparently have the right to be here. I was able to enter. You listen to my word. I am your new master and regardless of what happened in the past, you will serve me!" Sirius set the very tense elf back on the incredibly thin-worn floor and returned the fierce glare directed at him with a very sardonic smirk and a malicious glint in his eyes. He didn't let go just yet, though. With Kreacher, one never knew.

"Now, it was really rainy outside and the wind is currently quite chilling as well. Please," and he pronounced the words in a deliberately mocking way, "be nice enough to go to the kitchen and light the fireplace for me. And while you are at it, a warm, unpoisoned tea would be appreciated as well."

It was to his utmost satisfaction, while his eyes watched in the darkness they had come accostumed to, to see how Kreacher's big eyes narrowed in anger and his bony hands balled into fists as Sirius let go off him. Nevertheless, the elf had to set one foot in front of the other and went, step by step, in the ordered direction until the light tapping noises on the lower end of the staircase were the only thing left that told Sirius he wasn't the only one in this house.

His house.

He could have done without that sort of companion, though. As he turned around and followed his new servant, he remembered why he had returned in the first place: Dumbledore.

No matter how much he hated this building and the memories attached to it, refusing the Headmaster when he had asked for a favour was out of the question. He owed him too much. If it hadn't been for the wizard's instructions to Harry and his bushy haired friend, he would be dead now. Or worse, kissed by a Dementor.

Sirius shuddered as the memories from a couple of weeks prior returned.

He saw the dark night in front of his mind's eye, the few clouds that made place to reveal a beautiful full moon. He had rarely been scared like that before. Scared that his strength would fail him. That the last of his friends would kill his only godson ... And when the familiar chill of the Dementors reached right to his heart, when he knew that the kiss was inevitable and waited for the realization of his punishment, he had felt so utterly useless.

And then relieved and confused when he was rescued by Harry.

His days would have ended there if it hadn't been for Dumbledore's foresight. And - and this scenario was even worse - Harry had inherited enough of James' attraction to trouble. He would have come up with his own plan of rescue and, most likely, messed up and ended with a fate identical to his godfather's. He shuddered yet again, more forcefully this time.

Sirius would have done way more than merely returning to his parents' house to repay the debt he owed Albus Dumbledore.

On a side-note, he mused, a small smile dancing at the edges of his mouth, being out of the storm is another welcome side-effect as well. Or finally getting rid of those stupid flea. He sighed in pleasant anticipation.

Not to mention that it was highly unlikely that he would encounter any Dementors in London. One year ago, they had been chasing him relentlessly through the countryside, so much in fact that he had been hard pressed to leave the country for good. But letting Dementors loose in the capital was too risky for the Ministry. What if they went out of control like they did during the Quidditch match he had attended? Back then, Harry had 'only' fallen from and lost his broom. And he had been saved.

In a city as big as London, however, nobody would be able to guarantee the safety of defenceless children, Squibs and Muggles alike. And what better place to hide a tree than in the middle of a forest?

Kreacher had finished igniting the fireplace by the time he reached him and the soft glow of the flickering flames was cast across the room. In the warm, orange-yellow light of the fire, he could almost forget how creepy everything actually looked. The claws, the snakes, the paintings...

With a sigh, he sat down and waved the elf away after ordering him not to reveal his presence in the house to anyone. Relaxing fireplace or not, he was still on the run from the authorities.

Which reminded him.

I've got to get Buckbeak here somehow.

Sirius frowned. He had left the Hippogriff at his hiding place outside of London when he came to talk to Dumbledore. With the unfitting wand he had, however, and with the distance between said place and himself, he didn't know how long it would take for the invisibility charm to fail and the Muggles to see the magical creature. And then the Ministry would hear word of it and Buckbeak would be killed. He needed to bring him here. I could land on the roof, he mused. And if I fly in the middle of the night, maybe nobody would even notice...

But where would I keep him, Sirius wondered while staring tiredly into the dancing flames. It's one thing to bring him here, but having him live here is another altogether.

And then there was the matter of the guest who was going to stay with him that still needed to be taken care of.

With a tired sigh, Sirius rubbed his eyes. What time was it? He didn't know, but he was sure it must have been the early morning hours. He had been out there in the rain for quite some time, after all. Using his last bit of energy, he put the empty cup of tea on the floor and got up. A last wistful smile was sent in the direction of the fireplace, before he slowly got up from his chair and made his way up the dark staircase. It was only when he reached his room that he lighted his substitute wand with a soft spoken "Lumos!"

The trusted familiarity of the Gryffindor-red walls and banners did wonders to his mood. He marvelled at the posters of his late Quidditch heroes, motorbikes and Muggle girls that – after nearly twenty years of absence – still hung proudly on the walls. He smirked. His mother wasn't the only one who had excelled in the use of the Permanent Sticking Charm.

Mother!

The idea hit him like a lighting bolt and he did nothing to suppress the malicious grin that spread on his features. His parents had slept in the biggest room, one floor below his and his brother's bedrooms. It wouldn't be easy to get Buckbeak there, but in the end it would be worth it.

And if Kreacher minded the Hippogriff's stay in his late masters' bedroom? Well, it wasn't like Sirius had ever paid attention to the house-elf's feelings anyways.

In fact, he was looking quite forward to the face he'd make.

Nodding once in satisfaction of yet another problem solved, Sirius lay down on the dusty covers to get some well needed rest.

Problem solved, my ass! he thought angrily as he held out yet another ferret. Buckbeak was only half way down the stairs to the third floor, but Sirius was rapidly running out of treats. And nerves.

At some point during his short trip to London, the Hippogriff had decided that waiting at the place Sirius had left him was boring. Or he could have gotten hungry and seen a tasty squirrel run by. He could have been thirsty as well, or maybe Muggles had come too near for comfort? Whatever the reason, Sirius didn't really care. It had taken him two whole days to find the wayward animal and another one to appease it to the point that it would actually allow him to ride on it again. By the time he had managed to get back to Grimmauld Place, it was the early morning hours of the day his other guest was supposed to arrive.

Needless to say, nothing was prepared.

Of course it wouldn't be! As if the high and mighty Kreacher would ever do something without being explicitly ordered to – and supervised while doing so, Sirius thought angrily and scowled so deep that the Hippogriff nearly went up a stair. Well, he couldn't have that.

With another five waves of his hand, Buckbeak was finally down the stairs, ferret now securely trapped in his beak. The Hippogriff took a moment to glare darkly back at the steps, before he focussed his attention on his part-time-master once again. Satisfied for now, Sirius went to his parents' bedroom and opened the door. Out of all the rooms in this house, this must have been the tidiest. Kreacher's love for his late masters may not have been enough to have him taking care of the estate in general, but it apparently wouldn't allow him to neglect this one room.

The floor boards were polished and spotless, the bed was made, sheets apparently not only freshly washed but also ironed. There was not a single spider web as far as Sirius could see, not even on the crystal clear windows. He blinked. It was astounding.

Well, he couldn't have that, either. Not in this room.

Sirius turned his head to the animal. "This is where you will be staying for a while," he said and moved in completely to make place for Buckbeak. If his understanding of mimics was any good, and he supposed it was after having spent around two months in the presence of the Hippogriff, he wasn't the only one who was surprised about the neatness. A rhythmic melody of clacks broke the silence when the hooves stepped on the wood and Buckbeak neared the bed. He discarded his last ferret on the nightstand, before mounting the bed.

Or trying to, anyways.

A loud bang resounded throughout the house as the old wood of the frame gave away under the immense weight and the construction crashed to the floor. In an instant, the Hippogriff had fled to a safe distance of two meters away from the ruins. The glare it sent in the highly amused Sirius' way was icy at best.

"Not my fault that you are too heavy!" he tried to defend himself and shrugged nonchalantly.

The glare only intensified.

Too bad they are so proud, Sirius thought wistfully, grin dropping slightly, you can hardly even tease a Hippogriff without having to fear for all of your furniture ... Or your life. He quickly motioned to the bed to show that he merely stated a real fact rather than wanted to offend. "Alright, maybe it was a little old. But you can't argue that it broke because you stepped on it!"

He had expected the indignant shriek to come from in front of him when he saw the beak open, but the sound came from behind him. There, standing stock-still in the doorway, was a scandalized house-elf. Kreacher's naturally big eyes were nearly popping out of his head, focussed only on the bed that now lay in ruins. His usually pale skin had lost every trace of colour it may still have held.

Must have been the crash that finally alerted him, Sirius thought smugly. Not even once had the servant come upstairs since he had arrived with Buckbeak. Probably thought he'd get scolded for being lazy and overwhelmed with house-work. He smirked. Good thing I don't mind going with his predictions this time.

"Well well, Kreacher," he snarled in the way he knew the elf was resenting, "finally decided to show up, have you?"

"What," came the low, scratchy voice after a moment of utter mortification, "what... What have you done?"

He must have it really bad when he doesn't even react to my jabs in any way, Sirius thought, slightly miffed at having been ignored, and frowned.

"You better change your tone of voice, if you know what's good for you!"

Kreacher's mouth clapped shut, but his eyes remained as large as saucers.

Sirius just loved the new power he had over the servant.

"Good. Now, may I begin the introduction? This," he said, and pointed towards the Hippogriff who eyed the elf curiously, his former anger momentarily forgotten. "This is Buckbeak. He will be staying here, in this room, and there is nothing you can do about it. Nothing you will do about it," he added after a moment of thought. "In fact, it is you who decided upon the room he'd be staying in. I really didn't have much choice in this matter, seeing as this was the only one suitable enough to have a guest in."

" ... A guest?" the elf breathed incredulously, finally managing to tear his eyes off the pitiful ruins of the bed.

Sirius nodded. "A guest," he repeated, smirk growing by the minute. "You will treat him like one, no questions asked. You will not say anything about him to our other guest either. And now that we're already talking about that: go and tidy up the room I showed you on the first floor! Do it now. Do not procrastinate," he ordered, "and clean until it shines just like this one did before Buckbeak and I entered!"

A moment of silence passed, before Kreacher slowly, unwillingly, tore his eyes away from their 'guest'. They flickered over to the ruined leftovers of his masters' bed one last time and his angry face saddened. Shoulders sagged in defeat and immense grief, but the general air of defiance remained. Without sparing his new master even so much as a glance, he swiftly turned around to walk downstairs.

Sirius didn't feel remorse. He called out once again just as the house-elf reached the stairway to the lower level. "And keep in mind what we talked about before I left. Slip up even once and you won't know what hit you!"

Me, probably.

The tiny hands balled into fists and for a moment, Sirius thought this last bit might have pushed him over the edge. Internally, that's what he had hoped for. If Kreacher gave him any reason to punish him, he wouldn't hesitate. Any reason at all. Unfortunately, however, the house-elf seemed to be aware of his current master's intentions. He paused a moment to suppress his anger, then forced his feet to take the first step, the next and then the one thereafter.

Well, maybe next time, Sirius thought with a good amount of disappointment. He turned back to face Buckbeak.

"I know it's not the most comfortable sleeping place you can imagine," he started condescendingly, "but there's no wind, no rain and I'm sure the cushions itself are soft. How about you give it another try?"

~ Back to the present ~

Sirius knew his guests had arrived when he saw the silver phoenix. The Patronus was the signal Dumbledore and he had agreed upon when setting up this meeting and he had been waiting for it for more than two hours already. Albus Dumbledore was late.

Well, I suppose that's alright, he thought smugly. 'Important personalities always come late,' someone had told him back when he was a teenager. After hearing that and realizing the grain of truth that the statement held, he had made a point of coming fashionably late to his classes. Not so late he'd have had to fear the loss of more than one or two house points, but late enough to hold everyone's attention for a moment and feel important.

I guess I should be grateful he only needed a little bit over two hours longer than planned, seeing as how important he is. Sirius chuckled.

He checked his attire one last time and opened the door. There, standing a mere meter away, was Dumbledore. It was like someone had taken a painting, coloured everything in a dark, dead grey and then put a bright orange blot right in the middle of it. A twinkling, bright, orange blot, Sirius' mind elaborated his first impression.

What he was more curious about right now, though, was the person that would be staying with him. So, ignoring Dumbledore for the time being, his eyes wandered about in search for another person. They found their target a little to his left. There, standing with his back turned in his direction and wonderingly taking in the run-down state of the street, was a blond teenager with a large trunk securely held in his right hand.

Sirius' mouth dropped as he stared at the stranger in utter disbelief and shock.

Recognition hit him full force. That's the brat that called me a bitch!

It had been on the day he had had the meeting with Dumbledore that he had first met the teenager, he remembered. He had just gotten his teeth around a string of delicious looking sausages when he smelled it: Floo Powder. Out of all the smells that his sensitive nose picked up on the street, Floo Powder was the one he recognized the easiest. There were only so many wizards walking around the Muggle part of London and only so many of them were actually using the Floo network, making it easy enough to distinguish it from the others.

Immediately, Sirius had turned about and followed the faint trail the person had left behind. It wasn't the old lady and it wasn't the business man either. He continued to make his way through the masses of pedestrians sniffing shortly on every person he passed to see if they were his target. Not the one buying souvenirs, nor the pair of young women wearing high high-heels that he wasn't sure how they managed to walk in.

He thought he may have made a mistake in checking out last two when the combined force of their strong perfumes pierced through his nose and had him take a couple of steps back. With his nose out of commission by the overdose, he wasn't quite sure if he had any chances left to find the wizard at all.

Never one to give up this easily, though, Sirius had decided to keep walking, wait until he could smell properly again and then hope that he hadn't missed his target yet. He needn't have worried, though.

It was only half a minute later that he spotted the teenager. The boy was wearing his blond hair in a high ponytail, black pants and a long sleeved jacket. This was unusual in itself and would have been enough to make a guess, but what had tipped him off in the end were the boots and the gloves.

Must not have selected Muggle Studies as elective course if he doesn't even know the slightest bit about Muggle fashion sense, Sirius deduced. And if dogs could smirk in victory, he would have done so right then.

Not long after this thought had crossed his mind, the teenager had stuffed his hands into his pants pockets in frustration. Apparently he had seen the confused glances sent his way and decided to do something about it.

If he thinks the gloves are the only things wrong with his attire, though, he's still got a lot to learn, Sirius thought amusedly as he trailed behind the stranger at a safe distance.

From time to time, Sirius stopped to take a cautious glance at the rest of his surroundings. As far as he could tell, there were no Aurors on this street at the moment and he sincerely hoped that this wouldn't change. He had put great efforts to lure them to Ireland (even went so far as to leave his hair at the inane length it had been after his escape from Azkaban just so that he would be recognized more easily) and then south after having left Hogwarts on Buckbeak, right to the Channel. He would be damned if he slipped up now that he was back in the capital again.

A lot of time had been put into the analysis of the conversation in the Shrieking Shack these last days. Ever since he had received Dumbledore's request of meeting up, Sirius had been contemplating whether it was safe to come back to England. When had the door opened? How much had the jerk actually heard? And how much of this had he told the Ministry officials?

Sirius was sure that Remus had been speaking about James and him becoming Animagi for his sake around the time they were being overheard. But he was also sure that Snivellus couldn't know about his animal form being a dog. They spoke about that before he entered and he had been unconscious later on.

Was this enough to take the chance?

Yes, he had decided and changed course back to where he had come from. It was, if he made sure to be extra careful and not draw attention to himself.

Much to Sirius' pleasure, the boy had nearly reached the Leaky Cauldron. He sped up his pacing, easily catching up to the blond and tried his best to give a warning bark without dropping his dinner. He had trotted up to the doorstep and waited, uncharacteristically patiently, for the youth to open the door.

And then...

And then he called me a bitch!

Back then it had seemed logical to approach a young wizard that wasn't old enough to possibly be with the Ministry yet. In fact, it had been a lucky strike. However, it still was the first time ever that he had been called ... that, even in his animal form.

Can't be helped, I suppose, Sirius thought resignedly as he tried to smooth away the scowl that had appeared on his face while reminiscing.

He took one last look up and down the street to make sure nobody was spying on them before taking the final step out of the wards. Upon coming face to face with him, the Headmaster was as calm and collected as always.

"It's good to see you, my friend," the old man greeted warmly.

Sirius nodded in reply. "Professor Dumbledore!" he said as they shook hands. "And you must be Mister Elric." He looked over to the youth who had just turned in their direction, having missed his appearance since the door was behind the wards and thus invisible to the unauthorised eye.

The teen recovered soon enough from his surprise. "Yes, my name is Edward Elric. Pleased to meet you, Mister Black."

"The pleasure is all mine," Sirius said and smiled.

Inside, though, had took a moment to wonder once again if it really was. Standing out here in the open was questionable at best. The Black family had resided in 12 Grimmauld Place for a very long time and, whilst it was unlikely that the authorities were still searching this place when they assumed he was somewhere else entirely, being on the run meant being on guard all the time.

As much as he had been looking forward to being of help for Dumbledore, they had both agreed that there would have to be taken a couple of measures to ensure Sirius' safety.

Under any circumstances, Elric was to not find out about him being a wanted criminal.

I still can't believe he didn't even know about You-Know-Who before coming to this country.

And, really, he had been under the impression that the whole magical world had known about him. On the other hand, this was good. It meant that there was no way the teenager would know that Sirius Black was considered a murderer and – even better – had no idea what he looked like in case he ever found out.

Not that I'm going to let that happen, though.

He had made sure not to be recognized. After successfully settling Buckbeak, Sirius had spent two solid hours to take a proper shower (the only thing he really had been able to enjoy in this godforsaken house – being on the run tended to do that, after all) and get his elbow-long hair cut to a style vaguely resembling the one shown on the portraits of his brother, for he was who he was intending to impersonate. He had never liked his brother's early affinity for the darker side of arts, but in Elric's case, 'impersonating' would only go as far as keeping up appearances. Kreacher was to only call him 'Master Black' – And God help him if he dares to slip up! - and Elric had no idea what Regulus' character had been like anyways.

There would be no reason to doubt him.

And then there was something else. Something, Dumbledore had only mentioned once and had been very vague about it. For some reason or another, the Headmaster seemed sure that even if Elric found out, he would not report him to the authorities. Sirius had asked, of course, why that was and if he was positive about it, but if Dumbledore set his mind on being secretive, getting information out of him could be as hard as forcing rocks to talk.

He eyed Elric curiously. Wonder what he could've done to avoid the Ministry. He squinted his eyes and looked the teenager over once again. He certainly didn't look like a delinquent. His hair was well kept and pulled back into a high pony tail. His clothes, albeit still as strange as when they first met, were clean and most certainly not of the lowest quality. There were no signs of past acts of violence on his face, either, except for a small scar over one of his eyes and a certain amount of weariness in his pose.

Maybe he ran away? Like I did when I was 16? He looked to be about the same age as him back then and he did have a trunk with him, so it wasn't that far of a stretch. It would also explain why Dumbledore had paired them up and why Elric would try to stay away from the authorities. But would someone really go as far as to travel countries just to get away from their parents?

Sirius had to wonder.

Unfortunately, though, he had no time to wonder any longer. With a start, he realized that he must have spaced out quite a bit for both, Dumbledore and Elric, were looking curiously at him. The way both of them raised a single eyebrow respectively at the very same time was a little eerie and Sirius decided he'd better do something about it. In a moment, he had adorned a smiling façade once again and stepped behind them. Neither of his guests had the time to ask about what he was up to, for he instantly turned about and shoved them, one hand on each of their backs, gently in the direction of the house.

"Welcome to my humble home," he exclaimed and only stopped when he was absolutely sure that they had passed all wards. He was glad that Dumbledore would help him to not only set up a Fidelius later that day, but to also help him remove some of the more unnecessary wards his father had put up. He did not want to have to accompany Elric in and out of the house on each and every single day just because physical contact was needed for non-family members to pass through. He didn't exactly want to step out of the wards in his human form on each such occasion, either.

'A humble home', he had called it and 'humble' was actually the best word to describe how he felt right now. Elric was wide-eyed when he entered the hallway and even Dumbledore blinked in astonishment. With the tapestry peeling off the walls, the floor worn thin by years upon years of walking across it and especially with the spiderwebs decorating not only the ceiling but the next meter of air below it as well, he really felt humbled. One could even see which paths he had taken so far, and which belonged to Kreacher.

Under all the dust that had collected over the years and that the stupid house-elf still hadn't cleaned away, it was rather hard to tell that he had indeed been expecting his guest. I'll grill him, thought Sirius. One day, I'll grill the useless creature. Until then, though, he would continue to command him around and make his life miserable in general.

Not now, though, he reminded himself as he realized that the small nuisance hadn't even shown intself to greet their guest. That alone was a lapse that would have put any other house-elf to shame. But not so the Blacks'. Sirius didn't care as much as he should have, though. It didn't matter that Kreacher was hiding in the shadows somewhere, straining his old, pointy ears to listen in on the glimpses of their conversation he was able to make out. Not because he was actually interested, of course, but so that he could have something to complain about nearly inaudibly later on.

But the real reason why it didn't matter was because Sirius had just come up with the perfect punishment for his servant's failures of cleaning the house and greeting their new guest in an appropriate manner. He smirked in early delight as he imagined Kreacher's reaction to being told to not only clean Buckbeak's room regularly, but to finding out that it was practically his own fault as well. The best thing was that Sirius wouldn't even need to watch over him whilst he did this task. If he lapsed in it as he did with this guest, the Hippogriff's proud character would sure as hell tell the house-elf just what exactly he thought of having to live in an unkempt room.

"Excuse me!" Elric's rather loud voice sounded from behind him and managed to pull him out of his thoughts at once. Immediately, Sirius spun back around to face the door. Dumbledore and Elric appeared to have long since entered the house, trunk hovering in the air behind them, and, also quite as apparently, Sirius had spaced out too long – once again. However, all of this didn't matter, as he quickly cast a wide-eyed glance at the old, moth-eaten cloth that hung in front of his mother's portrait.

Surprisingly enough, just like the time of his first entrance to the house, the old hag had not awoken. The curtain stayed still except for the slow, rhythmic movement that rattled the fabric whenever she let out a sleep-induced breath.

Feeling reassured for now, he turned back to his visitors. Both looked a little tense – Elric more so than Dumbledore – and cast their eyes between him and the covered painting. He smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry to have startled you like that," he apologized even though he had been the first to be startled, and made extra efforts to keep his voice as low and calm as possible. "I would like to ask you not to talk as loud whilst being near this painting. Actually, if you could not talk at all, that would be best. She doesn't particularly ... like ... being woken up by people she doesn't know," or by people she despises, he thought, "so you really had me worried for a moment."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Elric's eyes blinked. Then he took another long look at the rhythmically blowing curtain and pulled out a silver pocket watch. He flipped it open and gazed at it for a long, calculating moment, before giving Sirius a rather pointed look. His mouth opened, assumedly to say something like 'Why would anyone sleep at 5 o'clock in the afternoon?' but closed it again upon seeing Sirius' frantic hand movements.

Sirius himself had feared them to be rather disoriented and confusing, but it appeared that his message of 'Please don't ask now, we can always talk later and I would really prefer it if you just shut up now since I absolutely don't want to handle the hag's aggravating screeches about all of us being mud and dirt and – as a matter of fact – even lower than those,' had somehow been conveyed. Sirius decided it was a miracle he had been understood in the first place.

This settled, Elric motioned for the neglected door to his left and rose a questioning eyebrow in enquiry. But he didn't understand Sirius' complex body language this time. And thus, what had originally been intended to be a dismissive wave of hand was thus interpreted as an invitation to 'Go ahead and take a look.'

The unoiled hinges of the door protested the opening and before Sirius was able to interfere in any other way, his guest was already standing in the entrance of dining room.

What was a dining room once, anyway.

The chamber wasn't only covered in layers of age-old dust as he had come to expect from the estate. What lay before them was a sea of spiderwebs. The delicate pieces of art were hung over the chairs, the closets, the table, the floor, … they were everywhere. Looked at from afar, it seemed like they spilled in waves over the furniture and ground, different shades of grey giving off the illusion of light reflecting off of them. The illusion of a dirty white sea on a stormy night. In its own, eerie way, the scene was beautiful.

A spiders' nest, Sirius concluded, slightly disgusted. Then he frowned. But something's strange.

He couldn't pinpoint his feeling of uneasiness as he stared at the room. Something was off. Something was missing. Something -

"Ack!"

Sirius' eyes moved to look at Elric's form automatically and he couldn't suppress the mirthful grin forming on his face. So that's what had felt off. He had been able to see the webs, sure, but the whole room had lacked the physical presence of the spiders. The spiders who, upon further careful examination, had taken residence in the webs hanging off the ceiling.

And in some recent cases in the hairs and on the shoulders of his surprised guest.

Sirius was just about to give a half-hearted apology when the shouting started.

"Who is there?" screeched the voice of Walburga Black in full use of her nonexistent lungs and immediately managed to catch the attention of all three living humans. The curtains flew apart by the force of her rage to reveal an all too familiar face that reddened dangerously in unconcealed fury.

"You!" She started her tirade by pointing at Dumbledore, who just happened to stand closest to her. "You are not welcome here! How dare you set foot into this house!? Filth begone from the house of my fathers!-"

Sirius tuned her out. He had heard her rants often enough during this day alone and didn't need to pay attention to know what was being said. Instead, he locked eyes with Dumbledore and made his way to the painting, fully intent on closing the ragged curtains once again. The stream of words changed course, then, as soon as he entered her vision. "Traitor!" she shouted in his face, "Filth!" and "Scum!" and other things that he didn't bother to remember. He really didn't want to hear it. Not from her. She had no right to judge.

With a last tug, their combined efforts paid off and the curtains were closed again.

Finally! Sirius heaved a sigh of relief. Not sure how much longer my eardrums could have stood that. He frowned. There must be a way to counter the permanent-sticking charm. I just have to find it. It was more of a prayer than a thought.

Upon turning about he was faced with a very sheepish looking Edward Elric. The boy had apparently put two and two together and realized that it was his shout of surprise that had awoken the hag. The door at his side was now closed shut and no spiders inhabited his hair anymore.

Sirius motioned for Elric and Dumbledore to follow him down the stairs to the kitchen.

By the time they came back upstairs, the house-elf was nowhere to be seen. Wearily, Sirius opened the door to the guest room on the first floor that Elric was supposed to be staying in.

At least this one command, Kreacher had been able to understand. The room wasn't spotless, per se, not so much as his parents' room anyways, but it was acceptable. The floor had at least glimpsed at a broom as of late, the spiders had been shooed out and there were no moth holes in the bed sheets either. Walking to one of the gas lamps Sirius was surprised to find that even those had apparently been refilled enough to at least work for the moment.

Dumbledore levitated Elric's luggage in and the boy set about unpacking his belongings.

Closing this chapter of the day, all that was now left was to talk with Dumbledore about the charms surrounding the house.

And telling the useless creature about its punishment, Sirius thought yet again. Never forget punishing the useless creature.

Author's Notes:

So, it's been eternity. I've bored you all enough during the wait and during the chapter, so I guess I'll not bore you with my excuses of having not only writer's block, but a real life as well. I'm feeling very bad about having all of you wait so long, but you are free to make me feel worse. Really. I think I deserve it after not uploading in such a long time.

On a positive note, the second part is practically done and will be up later this week. I'm just doing the final touches. (And I didn't want to overwhelm you with 20k at once.) There will be way more Edward in it, even though it's still from Sirius' pov.

Thanks for still reading the story and please consider to leave a review! :)

See you, hopefully, in the next chapter:

Chapter 7.2: Barking Dogs Never Bite?! part two