Chapter One: What Sirius Did
Sirius sat at the table in the kitchen, watching the argument with a calm, forced smile on his face. Though his house was often overrun by many people for Order meetings, he found it easily took his mind off of other, less entertaining things. With Remus to his left and Dumbledore and Snape arguing two feet away, Sirius could relax for just a little while. It was a simple distraction that he pretended to hate but secretly looked forward to.
As people began trickling out through his Floo, Sirius stayed at the table, staring blankly at the green flames flaring in the fireplace again and again. It was oddly mesmerizing, and with the last flare and guest gone, he saw the fire burn low and slowly die out. The room was thrust into darkness, and he was quickly overcome by a deep chill. He shivered but made no move to get up.
And then, just like every other night spent alone in his dark childhood home, he saw flashes of the Dementors. They always came in swarms in his flashbacks, and they always brought pain with them. He cringed against the feeling, like his soul was being sucked from him once again.
After a particularly horrible memory, he slammed his fists down on the table, only barely registering the fact that he was openly crying. He ignored it all and marched toward his potions cabinet.
"I don't care anymore, I don't care anymore!" he screamed, throwing the cabinet door open. He only barely noticed a loud pop behind him as he shoved his hands through the different potions, searching for the correct one.
"Master," Kreacher ground out behind him, and Sirius growled, becoming impatient. "Master mustn't touch those potions. They be bad potions. Master knows this." Kreacher actually sounded worried for Sirius's health.
"Well, of course I know that," Sirius said, grinning wildly when he found the vial he wanted. He turned to Kreacher and smirked, tipping the vial up in a toast, and quickly downed it. Kreacher screached, and another loud pop was the last thing Sirius heard before he fell to the floor, curling up in a ball with a peaceful, mad smile on his lined, worn face.
Snape stomped through the mutt's fireplace, brushing dust off of his dark coat before turning his glare on the rest of the room. He hated being in Grimmauld Place, and Dumbledore knew it. More than the place, though, he hated the owner. Sirius Black was annoying and grating and the two despised each other; naturally then, Dumbledore sent him to retrieve the idiot. Black hadn't bothered answering any of Dumbledore's many firecalls over the last few hours, and the headmaster had begun to worry.
"He's not been acting himself these last few months, Severus. Just go check on him." Dumbledore had given him that look, the look that brooked no argument, and Severus had conceeded.
"Fine. But don't think I'm going to be nice about it," he had ground out, and Dumbledore had simply sighed but remained silent.
Snape flew out of his memories when he heard movement from the kitchen. Stomping angrily, he stormed through the doorway only to find Kreacher wringing his old hands and staring at a bundle of something on the floor. Upon closer inspection, the something, covered by an old blanket, seemed to be moving slightly.
"Kreacher!" Snape snapped, turning to focus on the old house elf. The elderly servant glanced up at him with a mixture of scorn and guilt. "Where's Black?" With a glance to the bundle on the floor, he added, "What's that?"
"Master Black," Kreacher grumbled, turning to look back at the oddly lumpy bundle. Snape's eyes jerked to it once more and frowned, confused. With a steady hand, he reached out and tugged the blanket down until he saw a little face, slack with sleep.
Snape reared back, a grimmace tearing at his face. The boy that had helped torment him throughout his school years was now laying on the floor, at his mercy. The tantalizing picture of him landing a swift kick to Black flashed through his mind a moment before he realized what exactly he was thinking. A sick feeling settled in his stomach and he inched away from the boy that was sleeping so peacefully.
"What did he do?" Snape asked quietly, looking around for any hints as to why there was a child before him instead of a middle-aged man.
"Master took one of the potions in the box. He wasn't supposed to. They are old and dark and bad. It was this one," Kreacher rumbled, tugging a vial out of the child's small hand. He handed it to Snape and then backed away, sending a cold look to the child at his feet.
Snape studied it closely, sniffing at the drops left behind, before he realized what it was. "Idiot!" the Potions Master growled, stuffing the vial in a pocket before turning to Black. He reached into the blanket and felt for a pulse, which was steady and healthy. He tried to pull Black's eyelids back to check his responses, but the boy jerked at his touch and flew up, quickly disentangling himself from Snape and the blanket.
Black was breathing heavy, back up against the table, his arms wrapped around his thin legs as he stared at Snape with wide eyes. "Who are you?!" he asked breathlessly, terror obvious in his big eyes. His gaze trailed around the kitchen and he frowned. "Where's Mum? And why's it so dirty?"
Snape rolled his eyes and stood, surprised to find himself not enjoying the fact that Black followed his movements and started shaking, trying to make himself as small as possible. Sighing, Snape frowned but looked down at Black.
"It's a long story. How old are you?" Snape would guess he was maybe six or so, so wouldn't have any recollection of him.
"I'm eight, sir," Black said quietly, leaning further into the table and giving Snape an distrustful glance.
Snape rose an eyebrow. "Eight? You can't be more than six; you're far too small." Severus leaned closer and studied him intently, watching as Sirius squirmed under his look with a pout. Snape could see bones on the boy where there should have been at least a bit of baby fat left. His eyes were slightly sunken and had dark circles beneath them. Altogether, the boy did not look healthy.
"Everyone always says that. But I'm eight." He pouted and turned his glare to the floor.
Kreacher chose that moment to reappear. "Master is correct. He was always small and sickly for his age. But this degree might be because of the potion, Master Snape. Master was not healthy last night." Sirius was giving Kreacher a funny look, but then turned to Snape.
"You live here? Since when? I think I would have noticed you around." Sirius pondered his predicament for a moment and then frowned, sighing into his knees. "I'm confused," he grumbled, glancing at Kreacher through his hair.
Snape growled out a heavy sigh and reached out for the boy, tugging him to his feet and dragging him through the living room to the fireplace. "What are we doing?!" Sirius shrieked, frightened now more than anything.
"We are going to Hogwarts, where you will no longer be my problem." Sirius didn't have any chance to argue before he was being thrust through the green flames and stumbling onto the rough carpet on the other side. The tall, dark man followed moments later and threw a disgusted look down at the boy trying to stand up at his feet.
"Dumbledore!" Snape shouted, moving past the boy further into the office. The old man shuffled out of a back room and smiled.
"Well, my boy? How is Sirius?" He sounded very hopeful and Snape frowned, dragging the child up and shoving him towards the headmaster. The old man's face seemed to falter for a moment, confused.
"I found Black knocked out on the floor. He was an idiot and took a potion that is impossible to reverse. It sends the drinker back to their youth and closes off the memories from adulthood. He doesn't remember anything. He thinks he's eight!"
Snape was angry that Black had taken a potion that left him both vulnerable and useless. No matter how much he didn't want to admit it, Black was needed, and now there was no way he was going to be able to help.
After the snarled explanation, Snape stomped away, slaming the door to the office shut behind him. He walked down to his rooms, glad that most of the students were away for the Christmas holiday. He made as much noise as he liked and felt his anger at Black beginning to diminish.
He sat down at the table and set the vial across from him, staring at it intently. Slowly, he shook his head and looked away, feeling almost jealous of Black. With an exhausted sigh, Snape stood and went about his duties, hoping he would never have to deal with the little Black again.