Time moved painfully fast. The end of the winter holidays was quickly approaching and Sirius was once again dreading the impending emptiness of Grimmauld Place. He was spending as much time as he could with Harry and Hermione, trying to soak up the last bit of time he had left with them for the next six or more months. It was ironic how the very thing he used to love school for was now the thing he resented the most about it.

'"Hill. Yes, that was it. But it is a hasty word for a thing that has stood here ever since this part of the world was shaped. Never mind. Let us leave it, and go"

"Where shall we go" asked Merry

"To my home, or one of my homes," answered Treebeard.'

He huffed a little into Hermione's hair, making her pause in her reading.

"What's wrong?" She asked him, leaning away slightly so she could look up at him. The glow from the oil lamps warmed her eyes and highlighted her curls.

"It's nothing, Kitten," he tried, unsuccessfully, to wave away her concern. "Just thinking I need to get a hold of a household renovation spell book and figure out how to transfigure a fireplace into your library. It's a bit chilly in here."

His hand slipped from her left shoulder to her right as she bookmarked The Two Towers and adjusted herself up on her knees, and turned to look at him. She studied him like a particularly difficult spell she was trying to learn, and he recognized the stubborn look as one he wouldn't be able to bypass the truth with lighthearted comments. It made the corner of his mouth tick up.

"I'm just a little sad that the winter hols are almost over," he admitted, stroking her shoulder with his thumb through the fabric of her monstrous Gryffindor sweater. The awareness that the affection and comfort she provided him so freely, would vanish as soon as she boarded the train back to Hogwarts, left him with this aching need to keep contact with her as much as he could.

He also couldn't bury the concern he had for her and Harry. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe, but it has a bad track record concerning them. He wanted to keep them tucked close to him as much as he wanted to be free.

Hermione just looked at him for a moment, contemplatively. She crossed her arms and leaned back into his shoulder, tapping the cover of the book with her index finger. His arm wrapped back around to her other shoulder.

She cleared her throat. "I know it's rare for you to be able to leave this place, but I know that Dumbledore has Order members patrolling around Hogsmeade, and the ministry isn't looking for you anymore in Scotland," she looked up at him with tentatively hopeful eyes. "Maybe you could accompany Tonks or someone on a Hogsmeade weekend?" Her eyes lit up when another idea came to her. "Oh! You should come visit me over the summer! No one would think to look for you in a muggle suburb unless it was Harry's. If Professor Lupin came along with you, as Padfoot, it wouldn't look terribly suspicious, either.

He smiled down at her. "I'll have to discuss it with my parole committee," he said with a roll of his eyes. He squeezed her to his side, feeling his insides glow a little at her hopeful suggestion. Even if her idea doesn't come to fruition, the fact that she cared was enough to ease something in him. "Wouldn't your parents be shocked if you invited an escaped convict to your home, though?"

"They know you are innocent," she said vehemently which led him to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

She blushed and glanced away, looking a little chagrined. "I made sure to explain to them what happened. I know Dumbledore told us not to tell anyone, but…" she trailed off still looking like a scolded kitten.

Secretive bastard, Sirius couldn't help but think with frustration. How could the man ask a minor to keep secrets from her parents? "I'm not mad, Kitten. And I don't expect you to keep secrets from them." But that did bring to mind a question he had never thought to ask. "I'm surprised that your parents haven't pulled you from Hogwarts, now that I think about it. Death traps your first year, Basilisk the next, murderous escapees and werewolves your third, and a tournament that ends with a student dead in your fourth? They can't have been too thrilled," he said pointedly.

The more he thought about it the more incredulous he felt. Ron's parents were magical, and had lived through the first war. They had context for the events that happened at the school and understood the political climate of the Wizarding World. Harry's Aunt and Uncle couldn't care less. But Hermione's family were muggles and had no idea of magic before their daughter got her acceptance letter. They were surprised at simply entering an illusioned pub, let alone all the chaos that their daughter had dealt with over the last five years.

A conflicted expression crossed her face. She bit her lip and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "That's the thing isn't it? When I got home from my first year, I was surprised my parents didn't know about what happened. They were furious when I told them."

"The school didn't notify them?" Sirius asked, alarmed.

Hermione shook her head. "They ended up sending a scathing letter to Dumbledore; asking him to explain to them why they weren't informed, and why an object of such high value was being kept behind such dangerous security measures that were easily accessible to children." She paused when Sirius gave a derisive snort. "They were thinking of pulling me out of Hogwarts, but Professor McGonagall had explained the dangers of magical children going untrained. So, for a few weeks all they could talk about was the pros and cons of pulling me from school. Then, one day, when I got back from summer classes, they stopped talking about it altogether and when I asked, it was like they didn't know what I was talking about."

Sirius' brows furrowed. That didn't make much sense. Although he didn't know Hermione's parents, he did know that she was extremely loved by them. It's unlikely they would just drop something concerning her safety.

"Then I found a candy wrapper in the trash," she said, like that was some damning evidence of a crime. She looked at him like she expected him to be able to put the pieces together.

He blinked a few times. Trying to make sense of her train of thought. "I'm not following," replied Sirius.

"My parents are dentists," she said, exasperatedly, like it was something she had to explain before. Luckily for Sirius, he knew what a dentist was. "They're pretty strict when it comes to sweets. We don't keep candy in the house except for rare occasions, and when we do, they are very particular about what they get. Lemon drops are not on that list."

This time it clicked.

"You think it was Dumbledore?" He asked, sharply. Sirius had his own issues with how Dumbledore handled things, but ultimately decided to trust him. If he didn't there was no way he would comply with keeping Harry in the dark. But, if she was implying what he thought she was…

A miserable look crossed her face. She leaned her forehead into his deltoid and clutched the book tightly to her chest. "I can't say for sure. But, I did some research into mind magic. I think there was something done to either make them forget or make it seem like an inconsequential school incident. I know that repeated tampering, especially when it's non-consensual, can damage a person's mind. The chances are higher when a person already has mental health issues. Being underage there's not anything I can do to undo it without getting caught. And mind magic is tricky. Even if I could do magic outside of school, I'd worry that tampering with something that someone as powerful as Dumbledore had cast would cause more damage than if I just let it be."

"Who have you told about this?" Sirius asked. There was a part of him that didn't want to believe it. Dumbledore was a beacon for their side. He was a savior for so many people, and gave second chances when no one else would. He was considered a moral guide for those that chose to follow him. He was wise and powerful. People rarely doubted his words.

Yet, there had always been lingering doubts in Sirius' mind. Dumbledore was also known for doing whatever it took to achieve his noble goals, and a sort of callousness about the man that most seemed to not see. Like allowing Harry to suffer under the guardianship of the Dursley's. Even with the protections that they offered, there had to be things that he could do to ease the abuse there.

"No one," Hermione answered in a timid whisper. Like she was worried he'd get angry at her. "You're the first person I've told. I thought if anyone would believe me, you might."

And there was the crux of it. Dumbledore had enrobed himself in such a reputation of goodness that inspired a fanatical belief in his infallibility among his followers. Those who didn't fall in line with this belief would spin such damaging smears against his character that it would infect everyone who was associated with him. There was very little middle ground.

Hermione didn't have any magical support beyond her current network. Her reputation and credibility were tied solely to her association with Harry, and her blood status. She had already been attacked through both. If she brought up her situation to anyone in the Order, they would likely either think she was groundless in her accusation, or try to convince her that Dumbledore knew what was best; and if she took it anywhere else they would use it as ammunition to further their own agendas.

If Sirius was honest with himself, there were things about his own situation that he hadn't allowed himself to think too deeply about. The part of him that never grew up from being a love starved child was so desperate for someone to lean on and direct him, kept him willfully blind to the role Dumbledore played in the tragedy of his life. The anger and frustration that the tragedies of his life were likely orchestrated, or taken advantage of, and he was dismissed as a simple casualty of war and convenience, was hidden behind cracked glass.

"I believe you," he told her, feeling her go slack against him as nervous tension drained from her. "Thank you for trusting me, Kitten."

She bumped her head up under his chin. This time more for her own comfort than his.

"So, you've been hiding everything from your parents?" He asked, even more concerned, now that he realized that she didn't have as much support at home as he assumed.

"I tell them as much as I can. I avoid letting them know my own involvement in most events," she explained, sounding tired. "Skeeter ruined that during the Triwizard tournament, though," she hissed angrily. "They subscribed to the Prophet, so I can't reasonably tell them nothing. They aren't stupid enough to believe a news paper telling them 'everything's fine, nothing to worry about here folks!'"

Sirius chuckled, jostling Hermione as he did. "I would be beyond shocked if I found out that your parents were anything short of geniuses themselves." He poked her forehead. "I doubt they could have raised you if they weren't." She swatted his hand, but smiled, looking flattered. He smirked down at her, and summoned his tea from the coffee table and tapped the rim to magically warm it.

"So…summer school, huh?" He grinned broadly when her cheeks turned pink at the tidbit he picked up.

"I'm not going to be a drop out just because I'm going to a magic school!"

Sirius snorted into his tea.

Sirius looked up from the dresser he was dissecting in one of the many spare rooms, when he heard a knock at the door. It creaked open – reminding him that he needed to oil the hinge – to admit Harry's head.

"What's up, Pup?" Asked Sirius, standing up from his crouched position and pocketing his wand in the back of his jeans.

"I just…" Harry started, looking unsure. "Can we talk?" He asked timidly.

"Of course," Sirius said with a nod. He leaned against the dresser. "What's on your mind?" He took a good look at

his godson, noting the tired expression and the lanky frame.

Harry hesitated and passed his fidgety fingers through his messy hair. It sent a painful ache through Sirius' chest to see such a familiar gesture from the boy.

"How about we go get a snack while you think about how to say it?" He asked, pushing from the dresser and moving towards the door.

They made their way to the kitchen where Sirius put on the kettle, and shuffled through the cupboards.

"Ah ha!" Sirius exclaimed, turning around with a package of cauldron cakes held in his hands triumphantly. "Knew we had something good."

Harry seemed to feel a little more at ease, as he grinned at his godfather's enthusiasm. He laughed when Sirius began grumbling about how long the kettle was taking and impatiently tapped it with his wand. It started whistling immediately.

Once settled at the table with mugs of tea, Sirius looked at Harry expectantly.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind," admitted Harry, scratching the side of the mug handle with his thumb nail. "The whole thing with Mr. Weasley…" He trailed off.

"Does this have anything to do with the dream you had?" Sirius asked. To be honest, he had been waiting for Harry to come to him about whatever it was that had been troubling him. "Moony said something about a dream, but nothing specific," he said at Harry's questioning look.

Harry nodded, sliding his mug forward with both hands and rested his head on the wood table between his arms.

"What was the dream, Harry?" Sirius asked. For a moment he wasn't sure if the boy was going to answer him.

"I dreamed that I was moving along a dark corridor. There were these endless shelves of glowing orbs. And Mr Weasley was walking along them, he leaned back up, and took a sip of the scalding tea.

Sirius watched him quietly, knowing better than to interrupt. He sort of had an idea of where this was going.

"I didn't just see him get attacked, I was the one attacking him. I can remember the feeling of sinking my fangs into him, and his blood on my tongue. I remember enjoying it. It excited me," Harry admitted, there was fear in his eyes and voice. He held himself as though struck by some unseen terror.

Suddenly Sirius understood the terrible fear that Harry had. The reason he had been so reticent. He reached out to grab the boy's hand and squeezed it.

"Harry, you didn't attack Arthur," Sirius said, firmly. He caught Harry's eye and held it, using every ounce of his being to will his poor, scarred boy to understand.

"What if I did? What if something is happening to me in my dreams and I did that?" His thin fingers trembled in Sirius'.

"It wasn't you, Harry," Sirius said definitively. "Even if you saw everything from the eyes of that snake, you were just an observer. Those emotions, as much as they may have felt like it, weren't yours." He squeezed Harry's fingers gently.

Although he looked doubtful, Harry nodded and Sirius recognized that it would take time for him to accept his own blamelessness, but he knew that he would accept it eventually once the sting of the events faded.

"I'm more concerned about Voldemort learning that you are having dreams about his misdeeds," said Sirius , retracting his hand from Harry's and taking his mug up for a sip of tea. "It would be prudent for us to train you in Occlumency."

"Dumbledore said the same thing," said Harry, looking even more gloomy, much to Sirius' concern. "He's making Snape teach me."

"Snape?! He's going to let that greasy git into your head?" Sirius was suddenly very peeved. Dumbledore was crossing lines that had his hackles raised. First with Hermione and now with Harry. It was like the fact that he was Harry's magical guardian meant nothing to the old headmaster. He could accept the actions and decisions made before his escape, he had no choice but to accept them, but now? Dumbledore was acting outside of his purview.

"Yeah, I'm not thrilled either," said Harry.

Sirius hissed through his teeth angrily. "It makes a certain amount of sense," he said, begrudgingly. Very Begrudgingly. "Although McGonagall could also teach you Occlumency, Snape is a particularly skilled occlumens. Dumbledore probably wants to expedite the process." He leaned back in his chair, slouching slightly and tapped one finger on the table. "But choosing a teacher who has such an obvious personal vendetta to do this is not going to work, no matter how proficient the teacher is. He's going to brute force this. Which is not a good idea." His conversation with Hermione surfaced; tampering with a person's mind was dangerous.

Harry slumped into the table with a groan. "What am I going to do, then?" he whined, pouting somewhat.

It almost made Sirius smile. For all his worries and too grown up problems, Harry still managed to be a 15 year old boy.

"I can help teach you," Sirius reassured Harry. "And I'll talk to McGonagall about helping you too." And he was going to have words with Dumbledore.

Something seemed to deflate in Harry. He looked a lot more relaxed. "Thanks, Sirius."

"No problem, Pup," he waved away the thanks. "It's my job to take care of you, don't forget that." He smiled reassuringly at Harry. A part of him was relieved. There was something he could do, some action he could properly take and work on for Harry.

Harry looked away, an expression that made Sirius want to beat someone flickered on his face. He swallowed and took a moment to compose himself before looking back at his godfather.

Sirius could recognize that emotion. It was the look of someone who had grown up unable to rely on the goodwill of others, especially adults, receiving the help he desperately hoped for. Very few people had ever just been there for him without the hope of gaining something. As a child who wasn't able to legally make many of his own decisions, much of his safety and wellbeing was reliant on others. Before Sirius, Harry had no authority figure that put him first as their priority.

It was a validating feeling to know that he could provide something so essential to someone else; that he was contributing to this little family he had cloistered to his heart.

The crinkling of a package of cauldron cakes being opened brought Sirius out of his thoughts. Harry passed an unwrapped cake to him.

"I'm glad you and Hermione became friends," said Harry, abruptly.

Sirius blinked, taken off guard by the sudden topic.

"Pardon?" Was all he was able to come up with in response.

"To be honest, I thought I was kind of weird at first. But you seem a lot more settled," Harry continued. He looked at Sirius with a surprisingly keen eye, like he was searching for something.

"Hermione is remarkably insightful," said Sirius after a moment to collect his thoughts. He was a bit reluctant to talk about his relationship with Hermione. Perhaps for fear of misrepresenting it, or perhaps he wanted to keep something good for himself.

He was careful about the amount he touched her when in the view of others. He didn't want the scrutiny, the snap judgements so many people would make. There was this half feral perception of him that most seemed to be unable to shake. They would think the worst of him if they saw how he would card his fingers through her hair, press his face into the crown of her head, or when he pulled her flush against his side as she read to him.

If Remus had misunderstood at first, so would everyone else.

They wouldn't consider the years of neglect, the desperate loneliness, the need for the soft, kind, unquestioned affection of another person. The affection that she offered him when no one else had. He didn't want to lose that. He couldn't lose her. It would likely break him.

"She's a good friend to have. She's gotten us out more than a few scrapes," Harry nodded. "Plus she sometimes lets us copy her essay introductions or conclusions," he said with a laugh.

Sirius smiled, and relaxed a bit. "Smart as a whip, that one. Has her heart in the right place too."

Harry hummed his assent, taking a bite of his cake. "Yeah, she can't help herself when she sees someone hurting. She'll find a way to help even if you don't want it. The Hogwarts house elves flee on sight of her."

Sirius snorted at that. Her indignation over house elf rights was one of the only points of contention between them. He understood her point of view, especially given her first encounter with house elves was Winky – who was treated completely unjustly by Barty Crouch – and then Dobby, who reveled in his new liberty from the abuse he endured by the Malfoy family, and was an odd outlier among elves in his desire for freedom. By the time she met Kreature her opinion of the whole institution was solidified, so even when he slung slurs at her she had sympathy for him, only seeing him as an unwitting victim of a broken system.

Sirius, in his own trauma induced prejudice, wasn't the kindest to Kreature. He could admit that. The best he could do was order the elf to keep out of sight as much as possible. He knew logically that Kreature was bound to the House of Black and, at least at first, wasn't complicit in the abuse he doled out on the orders of his Lady Black; but, Sirius could remember when dispassionate obligation became a sadistic pleasure. He could remember when it became a way to reward Kreature when he pleased his mistress. It was hard to forgive.

The best he could do was avoid the elf.

"There are worse shortcomings," said Sirius. To be honest it wasn't really much a shortcoming in his own personal experience with her.

The wards fluctuated and there was a snap and three people appeared in the kitchen. Molly, Arthur, and Hermione between them looked a little nauseous.

They ushered her to a seat at the table, and Sirius handed her his half drunk – but still hot – tea which she downed gratefully. Crookshanks, sensing his witch was home, came slinking up to rup around her ankles and wrap his tail around her leg. He purred when she tilted down to scratch his whiskered cheek once she looked a little less green.

"Sorry, dear," said Molly, already set about making more tea by the stove. "Apparating is never comfortable the first few times."

Hermione just nodded, still looking a little pale, she had broken out into a cold sweat that dotted her forehead and neck. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her customary oversized sweater and held Sirius' mug close to her as though she was trying to leech the residual heat from it.

"How are your parents?" Asked Harry after giving her a moment to collect herself.

"They're good," she answered, briefly before looking up and thanking Molly as she filled her stolen mug with fresh tea and handed Sirius a new one. "They had a lot of fun skiing. I'm glad I got to see them before we head back to school."

"Edwin was very helpful in explaining microwaves to me," said an excited Arthur. "I had no idea they could be dangerous. I wish I had asked more about molly-cules."

Sirius caught the look that Harry and Hermione shared. Pursed lips and wide eyes that worked very hard not to not laugh as the older, ginger man continued to jabber happily to Harry.

"Oh, Sirius, my dad sent along some records for you," said Hermione quietly as she was twisting her hair up and securing it with her wand. A few baby curls stuck to the damp skin around her neck and temples. She reached into her tote bag that had ended up leaned up against the legs of her chair and pulled out a short stack of record sleeves and handed it to him.

Sirius took them, surprised by the gesture from people he'd never met. He flipped through the records, reading the titles and artist names.

Iron Maiden

Kate Bush – Hounds of Love

Journey – Escape

Def Leppard – Hysteria

Heart

Don McLean – American Pie

Fleetwood Mac

Fleetwood Mac – Rumours

"Don McLean and Fleetwood Mac were my mum's contributions," said Hermione, peeking over to look at the covers. "They're also personal favorites of mine."

Sirius smiled. "Please convey my thanks the next time you write to your parents, Kitten," he said, sincerely. Feeling warm that her family extended care towards him even without having met him.

"Have you had dinner yet, dears?" asked Molly, already wrapping her apron around her waist.

"No, not yet," said Harry, eagerly.

"I'm alright, Mrs. Weasley. I had a large lunch," Hermione politely answered.

"Nonsense dear. You barely ate anything. It's probably why you feel so sick after apparating." She waved away the notion of Hermione not eating. "Now go on, get out of the kitchen while I whip something up." She ushered them all out of the kitchen.

The night before they returned to Hogwarts, they all sat in the sitting room and idled away the evening peacefully. Kate Bush played softly from the record player in the corner. Harry and Ron sat on the floor, their backs to the hearth chatting with Sirius and Lupin in their usual spots, while Hermione sat nestled into the corner of the couch reading through an advanced runes text. It was idyllic. She didn't want the evening to end and when the boys started yawning and called it a night, her heart sank.

Reluctantly closing her book, she was about to follow Lupin as he stood when Sirius nudged her with his crossed knee. Looking up she caught the bright silver of his eyes.

"Library?" He whispered with a lifted eyebrow.

She smiled in relief and nodded. Standing, she made her way up, Sirius and Crookshanks following behind. As the others turned onto their landings, they continued up to the oak door.

"I really do need to add a fireplace in here," commented Sirius as they made their way to the leather couch.

Hermione hummed an agreement as she tucked herself into the couch, pulling a pillow over her lap and picked up the book left on the coffee table.

Sirius seemed to be contemplating something. She watched him as he looked her over for a moment before he dropped down onto the couch and reclined his head on her pillowed lap. He had freed his hair earlier, the daisy charm dangled against his wrist, and his hair tickled her knees. Her hand immediately found its way into the inky waves.

She began reading and Sirius closed his eyes, sighing in contentment. Her fingers absently stroked through his hair as she read, enjoying his comforting body heat.

At some point in the night, Hermione fell asleep mid sentence. She had pushed herself longer than usual, ignoring the yawns that normally signaled bedtime.

She didn't notice when Sirius took the book from her drooping fingers and sat up. Nor did she notice when he carefully arranged her to lay more comfortably along the couch, placing the pillow under her head, and covering her with the oxblood blanket that had found its home draped over the back. She didn't feel when he brushed her curls away from her face, taking a moment to watch her breathe in peaceful sleep, or how he morphed into his large animagus form and lay along side her, nosing his face into her hair.

She didn't notice until she woke up curled up into him with her face pressed into Padfoot's furry neck and her arm wrapped around his back. It was still dark, not yet time to be awake. She snuggled closer, reaching her hand up to scratch his ears. She felt him huff contentedly into her hair, making her smile as she drifted back to sleep.

Padfoot woke to the smell of spice and cedar, and a nose full of curls. He breathed deep and enjoyed the weight of her against him. He was sleep-warm and content. It was like her presence was a talisman against bad dreams.

A click alerted him to someone entering the room. Shifting his eyes he saw the familiar figure of Remus walking towards them. Padfoot whined, knowing that this was a wakeup call.

The scarred man came and knelt by them. His face was sympathetic, and he smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, Pads. It's time for her to get up," he said apologetically.

Padfoot growled with no real heat and burrowed his nose further into Hermione's hair. Remus put a hand on her shoulder softly calling her name. Hermione made a dissatisfied noise, her arms tightened around the fluffy body.

Her eyes cracked open and squinted in the morning light.

"What time is it?" She asked, her voice cracked with sleep.

"About half past eight in the morning," answered Remus. "The portkey is scheduled to take you all back around noon, and Molly wants to make sure you don't forget anything and to send you all off well fed."

She sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment to gather herself then moved to sit up. Padfoot whined even louder and leaned even more heavily on her, trying to encourage her to ignore the mean man who was trying to get her to leave him. She ended up having to push his head away, and climbing over him to get out.

"Sorry, Pad's. I have to get ready to go," she said, apologetically.

He didn't appreciate his suddenly cold nose and side, and huffed his way out of the blanket that ended up flung over him. Once standing he transformed back into a man, he watched the retreating form of Hermione.

He sighed, and looked over at his old friend who was watching him with interest.

"What?" he asked, feeling a bit petulant.

Remus shook his head, dismissing whatever he had been thinking. "Nothing. You might want to go see if Harry is up," he suggested with a mild tone.

The last few hours felt like minutes. Sooner than Sirius could comprehend he was standing in the sitting room with Remus, Molly and Arthur looking at the blank space where the kids had been. His heart felt like it had been tied to a stone and then dropped into the Black Lake.

The Weasley's stayed a while, long enough for Molly to make some meal prep for Sirius, and eat an early dinner. Remus, who had all but moved in with him, had disappeared upstairs after sending the Weasley's off and a glass of elf wine. Sirius went back to his previous habit of meandering through the house, feeling lost.

He knew he wanted to keep working on the renovations in the house. In the six or so months that would lapse before he could see Harry and Hermione there was a lot he could accomplish, but for right now he felt no motivation.

He made his way up to his room, feeling like maybe he could sleep off his melancholy. As he crossed the threshold of his room he stepped on stiff parchment. It crinkled under his socked foot. He bent to retrieve it and noted the familiar scrawl. Like it had in September, he felt that stone in his chest buoyed.

Dear Sirius,

I hope you're okay after we left, I know you were dreading us leaving. Remember we have our standing reading nights via the mirror and Harry is always eager to talk to you.

I can't wait until I can come back and see the fireplace you want to put in my library. My dad gave me a book called The Eye of the World that we should add to our booklist. I'm a little anxious about it, since it's not a complete series yet. I hate when I catch up with a series and I have to wait for the next one to come out. You never know if the author is a quick writer or a slow writer and sometimes it can be years between books.

I hope you can come visit over the summer. I was giving it some thought, and I think we could also get Harry to come along as well. Since my parents are muggles, the Dursleys might be more amenable to us working something out over the phone. Did Harry ever tell you about the time Ron and Mr Weasley used the phone to call the Dursleys? Apparently they thought you had to scream into the receiver to be heard. I don't usually sympathize with them but for once I can't blame them for their reaction. Don't forget to ask Tonks to take you to Hogsmeade sometime! We can meet out by the cave if you think it's too dangerous to meet in the village proper.

We'll mirror you tonight after everyone goes to bed. Promise.

Love,

Kitten

P.S even though we mirror each other, feel free to write if you want. Sometimes writing is an easier way to talk.

He smiled at the youthful letter, the use of his moniker for her and the little heart she used to dot the 'i' of her signature. And of course the fact that she wasn't shy about making him feel wanted and needed in her life. The fact that she could somehow find a way to lift his spirits even when her absence is one of the reasons for his despondency was amazing to him.

With renewed energy, Sirius sat down at his writing desk and began to pen a response.