[A/N: Happy Holidays, everyone! Some new characters popped up in this chapter to lobby for inclusion in the full canon-rewrite that seems to be brewing here. I hope you enjoy it!

Thy mealy words are unbecoming, scribe. This tale is to be a compleat retelling of my distant kin's travails and thou dost know it full well.

Gwendolena? You're not even in this story yet and it wouldn't have been as long if you hadn't shown up in that bookstore in a few chapters.

I shall choose to treat that as a compliment, so I thanketh thee, kind sir.

Oh, fine. Just so you know, though, I'm blaming you if this runs on too long.

Cease thy whinging, scribe, and hie thee to thy scrivening!

Humph.]

Sirius stepped from the floo smoothly and bowed to his hosts, the younger of whom stepped forward and returned the bow.

"I bid you welcome to Longbottom Manor, Lord Black" Neville said.

"You…um…might not want to stand there, kid," Sirius replied.

A confused expression was about halfway across the poor boy's face before Harry tumbled out of the floo and into his legs, sending them both into a tangled heap. Hermione came out a moment later, stumbling, but Sirius managed to catch her arm before she ended up in the pile in front of her.

"My apologies, Regent Longbottom," Sirius said to Neville's grandmother Augusta. "They're still getting the hang of floo'ing."

She sniffed. "I'd gathered as much."

"Sorry about that." Harry hauled himself to his feet and helped Neville up. "I have no idea how you lot floo and don't fall over."

"I'm not very good at it, either." Neville looked down at the floor.

"I'm sure," Augusta said, "that you'll pick it up in time, Neville. Your father's floo exits were always elegant."

"When he was sober, anyway," Sirius said. "There was one time after we were celebrating Lily and Alice's pregnancies—"

Very few glares were capable of stopping Sirius mid-story, but the look on Augusta's face just then was one of such undisguised fury that he briefly feared for his own safety.

"Anyway," Augusta said, "Lord Black, will you introduce our guests?"

"Of course," Sirius said. "I'd like to present my godson Harry Potter and his best friend, Hermione Granger."

Harry bowed awkwardly and Hermione gave a wobbly curtsey.

"It's lovely to meet you," Augusta said. "Miss Granger, is it true you're a muggle-born witch?"

"Yes, Regent Longbottom," Hermione replied.

"How fascinating! You may be the youngest muggle-born witch ever to grace this house with your presence since The Bastard destroyed our old one and we had to move here."

Harry snickered, then stopped when Augusta turned her glare on him. She opened her mouth, but Hermione spoke up before she could reprimand him. "Wait, do you mean William the Conqueror?"

Augusta sniffed disdainfully. "It takes more than claiming a fancy sobriquet to clean up one's heritage. William was a bastard born and bred, and he putrifies in Caen a bastard dead. He initially tried to uproot our family, but the Longbottoms showed him he needed better court wizards by murdering the ones he sent to destroy our previous house."

"Oh, my," Hermione said in a small voice.

"That's awesome!" Harry said. "Did you know his body was so decayed that it exploded when they tried to put it in the mausoleum and everyone at his funeral had to run away from the smell?"

The old woman smiled for the first time since they arrived. "Of course, dear boy," she said. "Who do you think cast the spell to speed up the putrefaction of his corpse but one of our ancestors?"

Harry clapped Neville on the back. "Your family is awesome!"

The other boy looked a little green. "Um…thank you?"

"Neville, why don't you show our guests around the house and grounds?" Augusta said.

"Yes, Gran," Neville said. "Would you all like to follow me?"

"Sure." Harry paused, then turned back to Hermione. "Are you OK?"

The girl looked even greener than Neville. "I was almost recovered from the motion sickness until you started talking about exploding corpses."

"Oh, sorry." Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly and then held out an arm. "You can hold onto my arm if you want."

"Yes, please." Hermione latched onto him like a life raft.

"How gentlemanly of you!" Augusta paused. "At least, the part after you brought up the corpses." She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Decades of reading on etiquette and literally none of it discussed this sort of situation."

Sirius smiled. "He gets that from his father."

"I knew I recognized this headache from somewhere," Augusta said. "I'm going to have a cup of tea in the conservatory. Please let me or one of the house elves know if you need anything."

"Of course," Sirius said. Hermione and Harry looked confused about "house elves," so he made a mental note to explain that to them later.

Neville gestured to them and they followed him into the house. It was enormous, richly furnished in Restoration Style, and had more of the appearance of a National Trust Property than a home anyone lived in. Their footsteps echoed through the rooms as they passed (except for those of Harry, who was wearing trainers), the sound only vaguely deadened by the vibrant, preservation-charmed tapestries covering many of the walls for warmth and colour.

"This place is amazing, Neville," Harry said after the third room.

Hermione nodded excitedly. "It must be like living in a museum!"

"It is," Neville said. "I'm not allowed to touch anything or make too much noise. Your arrival here is the most interesting thing that's happened in months."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. Sirius frowned, but before he could say anything, Harry spoke up.

"In our defence," Harry said, "we are pretty interesting." He leaned toward Neville and whispered conspiratorially, "We're pirates."

"You're…what?" Neville asked.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed. "We're not pirates."

"We're definitely pirates," Harry said. "Just you wait and we'll all do something pirate-y and amazing together."

Neville sighed. "I don't think I'm up for anything amazing. My whole family thought I was a squib till a few years ago."

"A squib?" Hermione asked.

"Someone born to a magical family but without magic," Neville said. "They're usually disowned and sent to live in the muggle world."

"That's awful!" Hermione put her free hand up to her mouth and gripped Harry's arm tightly with her right hand. "How could they?"

The other boy shrugged. "It's just how things are done."

"Well, we won't turn our backs on you no matter what," Harry said. "You're my godbrother, which means you're family. I mean, Hermione's parents don't have magic and we're never going to turn our backs on them."

"Thanks." Neville looked down at his feet again. "You might not feel that way after we get to Hogwarts, though. I can barely get my father's wand to work. Gran says I'll get better once I'm at Hogwarts, but I'm afraid I won't."

"Wait a second," Sirius said. "You're using Frank's wand?"

"Yes, Lord Black," Neville said. "Gran said it's the best wand I could have."

"Call me Sirius," Sirius said. "Lord Black was an arsehole."

Neville blushed at the language.

"Anyway," Sirius said. "You really should have your own wand. I had to use another wand while I was on the run and I was lousy with it. You need something matched to you at this stage in your magical development."

Neville's shoulders slumped. "I knew I wasn't good enough for my father's wand."

"That's not it at all!" Sirius said. "You could be Merlin himself and not be able to cast well with someone else's wand."

Hermione nodded seriously. "Mr. Ollivander told us much the same thing, and he's the expert." She spoke the last bit with an emphasis that was uniquely hers.

"Oh," Neville said. "So I'm never going to be able to use my father's wand or do magic properly."

"You'll never be able to use your father's wand because you need your own," Sirius said. "Once you have that, I'll bet you'll be a great wizard."

"Gran will never let me get one, though," Neville said.

"Don't worry," Harry said. "Remember what I told you? We're pirates. We're going to sneak you out, get you a wand, and get you back here with no one the wiser, because that's what pirates would do."

"They would?" Confusion, fear, and optimism warred for control of the boy's features.

Hermione sighed. "The jury is still out on that, but we'll definitely help you. We need a plan, first, though. We can't just spirit him away right this instant."

"You're right," Harry said. "A plan will make this even more awesome and pirate-y."

Sirius smiled sadly. "Lily always made us think through our plans, too."

"Good for her!" Hermione said.

"You're…serious about helping me?" Neville asked.

Harry and Hermione groaned.

"What?" Neville asked.

"I," Sirius said, "could not possibly be more Sirius."

Neville blinked. "Did you just…"

"Yes, he did," Hermione said resignedly.

"You really aren't a Lord, are you?" Neville asked. "You're just…a man who has the title. I have literally never heard a Lord make a pun about themselves like that."

Sirius grinned and clapped him on the back. "I knew I liked you! I'm claiming you as my god-nephew."

"Is that…um…"

"A thing?" Harry helpfully supplied.

"Um…yes," Neville said. "Is that a…thing?"

"It is now," Sirius said.

Neville took his guests on a lovely, if slightly harrowing, tour of the greenhouses after that, and then to an elegant and stuffy luncheon with Augusta. A few days later, he took up the habit of a morning walk around the entire estate after working in the greenhouses.

The delay was the key, Sirius had told him. It obscured the cause-effect relationship of events.

No one had ever told Neville such a thing before. It was clearly the sort of thing that good boys weren't supposed to know.

Neville was starting to think there was a lot more to life than being a good boy.

Ted Tonks looked at the piece of parchment in his hand and smiled grimly. The noose was tightening around whoever it was who'd written the Adventures of Harry Potter series. The publisher had just caved and passed him their payment information at Gringotts. The goblins would demand a fee, of course, and he'd have to follow their lengthy process (including appeals, because those gave them the opportunity to collect fees from both sides of the dispute), but now it was just a matter of time.

Sirius and Hestia stared down the short walkway at the battered old door of a battered old townhouse. "I appreciate," Sirius said, "that you're not making any comments about it 'not looking that bad.'"

The witch shot him a withering glare. "I know I'm new at this, but I've taken lots of courses on cursebreaking and I understand the dangers involved. I would assume this place could kill me if it were painted with pastel flowers all over it."

"I should do that," Sirius said thoughtfully. "I almost hope that Walburga's ghost is still around so she could see what this house looks like in pink."

"Later." Hestia rolled her eyes. "Cursebreaking first, then painting."

"I'll hold you to that." Sirius held out his arm. "Come on, I'll take you across the ward line."

Hestia rested her left hand on Sirius's arm and drew her wand in her right. They nodded to each other and walked carefully up the walkway. A faint sensation washed over them as they walked, almost like a push to turn around and come back later.

"That wasn't as bad as you said the wards fel—" was as far as Hestia got before another sensation crashed into them, this one of terror thick as tar and a promise of certain miserable death. She stumbled, but Sirius clamped his arm down on hers and brought his left arm around to help keep her upright. The feeling passed after a moment and Hestia slowly straightened up.

"Welcome, Hestia Jones, to the House of Black," Sirius said formally. "I grant you safe passage through our wards." Then, more conversationally, he continued, "That first one was just the muggle repelling ward. The second one is the main line. How are you holding up?"

"Merlin!" Hestia said. "I've never felt anything like that."

"This house has been the seat of an old, Dark, and powerful family for several centuries," Sirius said. "Few places could support such wards and fewer still families would think they would be acceptable to use."

"Well, that's good, at least." Hestia shook herself. "Are there any other defences like that?"

"No, they put everything into that one main line," Sirius said. "Secondary ward schemes would have added complexity, but at the cost of weakening the strength of the main line."

"That's sensible. What about active defences, like magical creatures forced into guard duty?"

"There shouldn't be any." Sirius paused. "Oh, bollocks. There might be one. Kreacher? Are you there?"

There was no reply.

Sirius sighed. "Kreacher, if you can hear me, appear before us and show yourself."

A wizened little house elf popped up in front of them, a snarl on his lips and malice in his eyes. "Kreacher obeys useless, disobedient Master."

"He gets his nastiness from my mother," Sirius told Hestia. "I'd tell the wretched thing to go slam his head into a wall, but he'd probably enjoy it."

"Sirius!" Hestia said. "There's no call for torturing him."

The elf sniffed disdainfully at Hestia. "Kreacher does not need the help of a blood traitor whore. Torturing Kreacher would be the only thing disgraceful Master has ever done to make himself worthy to be a Black."

Hestia's jaw dropped.

"Welcome to my childhood," Sirius told her.

Hestia shuddered. "Merlin! What is wrong with him?"

"He spent too much time with my bitch of a mother," Sirius said.

Kreacher raised a shaky hand at Sirius. "Kreacher would punish wicked, debauched Master for that, but Kreacher cannot. Kreacher only wishes Mistress Walburga had used the Cruciatus Curse on blood traitor Master more when he was younger. Master might be less of a disgrace otherwise."

"Still think I shouldn't torture him?" Sirius asked. "It would be nice to see him get the same treatment he used to cheer when I got."

"Don't," Hestia said. "Think of what Harry and Hermione would say if they knew."

Sirius sighed. "Damn it, you're right."

"Blood traitor Master is too weak to be a proper Black," Kreacher sneered. "Remember how Kreacher laughed when Master hit his head on the hall table while Mistress Walburga had him under the Cruciatus? Master bled enough to soak two washcloths." The elf sighed. "It was worth having to clean them. Will Master punish Kreacher now?"

Sirius nodded. "Bring yourself enough food and water for the week and go up to the attic. Kill all of the spiders up there without damaging the house and do not come out until the week is done."

"Kreacher does the will of useless, stupid blood traitor Master." The old elf popped away again, leaving only silence.

Hestia stared at the ground where the elf had stood. "That is one of the most disturbing things that's ever happened to me."

"He's pretty disturbed," Sirius said. "I'm tempted to put him to death. If I promised to put him on the wall with the others, he'd probably jump at the opportunity."

"With what others?" Hestia asked.

"Oh, right, I forgot most people don't have a wall of house elf heads in their house. It's a Black family tradition to mount a house elf's head on the wall of the manor when he can no longer be of service."

"So, in that house…"

"The house elf heads line the stairs to the first floor," Sirius said.

"I'm starting to see why you suggested a bomb as an option to deal with this place," Hestia said.

"That's absolutely still an option."

"No." Hestia set her jaw. "We are going to cleanse the taint on this house and show the world that you, as Lord Black, can clean up your family's mess."

"You're probably right," Sirius said. "And part of that mess is Kreacher. I can't keep him. He'll hurt someone the first time I give him ambiguous instructions, and he's going to keep goading me into torturing him in the meantime."

"I do agree about that. That elf scares me. I have no idea who would trade you for him, though."

"I do. Do you have an owl?"

"Yes," Hestia replied. "We don't have to do it now, though. I'm on the clock and I don't want to waste your money. "

Sirius pointed at the house. "That house is full of Dark objects and probably some Dark creatures attracted by the old, Dark magic swirling around us, but the most dangerous thing in there is something that can think for itself and hates us. We need to get rid of it or it's going to kill us."

"But…it's a house elf," Hestia said. "How can it be the most dangerous thing in Black Manor?"

Sirius laughed mirthlessly. "I'll show you. Kreacher?"

The elf returned to his spot in front of them. "Pathetic wastrel Master calls Kreacher?"

"Get Hestia a glass of water."

The elf disappeared and reappeared a moment later, a glass of water in hand. Before Hestia could reach for it, Sirius told him to place it carefully on the ground and then repeated his previous orders regarding the attic. Once the elf was gone, Sirius said, "Can you cast poison detection charms on it?"

"Of course," Hestia said. She cast a few charms on it to look for poisons, toxins and venoms, and lethal contaminants like heavy metals, but they all came up negative. The biological test, though…

"Rat droppings." Hestia's face turned green. "There are dried rat droppings in that glass."

"What happens when one of the kids asks for water?" Sirius asked.

"I'll get my owl," Hestia said.

Halfway across London, a middle-aged woman giggled, surprising herself with the sound. "Oh, you flatterer, you," she told the man standing at her Ministry-standard desk.

"Nonsense, my dear lady!" he exclaimed. "I have travelled to all ends of this fine Earth and yours is the warmest smile ever to grace my humble personage. And I, as you may know, am an expert on smiles."

"I can't argue that," she said.

"No one can, my dear," the man replied, flashing her a truly dazzling smile. "Now, about that old reprobate Sirius Black…."