Thanks to everyone who read and responded to my first chapter. This is a decidedly new sort of project for me; not only is it my first project for a new series for several years, it is the first work of prose I've ever written for a book series.

These first couple of chapters will serve to set the stage, as well as establish when this story will be happening, and what it will do. This is an AU story, and one of my personal rules when dealing with a divergence from canon is establishing when the fork appears in the road.

I hope that you enjoy this chapter.

Have fun.

One.

"You seem to be taking this rather stoically."

Sirius shrugged, unconcerned and feeling rather unsurprised. Why not? It was as likely a thing to happen as any. Apparition was a common enough skill, and anyway, he was likely to embrace any change in the status quo right now, if for no better reason than to break the monotony. He didn't care if he was going insane right now. He didn't care if this man—if that indeed was what he was—was a friend or a threat. What did it matter?

"I gave up trying to make sense of this house when I was fourteen," Sirius muttered.

The apparition was sitting across from him, lounging easily as if he/it owned the place. And honestly, if he/it wanted, Sirius was apt to give it away. It mattered little enough to him. He wasn't even sure if he could say that his new companion was wearing clothes, exactly. It seemed more accurate to say that he/it was wearing dust and shadows. His/its body was wrapped in—

"What should I call you?" Sirius asked suddenly, exasperated by his own thoughts.

A nondescript head tilted to one side, as the dust-ghost seemed to ponder this question. Sirius figured he may as well have asked when its birthday was. Shadows didn't have names. Certain ghosts had names—that much was true—but then Sirius figured that any ghost haunting this place would have long since forgotten it.

"…Call me Kafell," said the dark voice.

"Kafell," Sirius repeated, frowning. "All right, then, Kafell. The next question I feel obligated to ask—and you honestly needn't answer because I don't really care—but why are you here?" He was supposed to be guarding the Order's headquarters, after all, and unfortunately Bleshin hadn't quite helped him to forget it yet. He supposed he should at least put up a pretense of loyalty. Fat lot of good it had done him so far.

Kafell chuckled again. "My, my. Master Black, if I didn't know better, I would say you are feeling rather…left out of your own organization." He—Sirius decided it would be simpler just to assign a gender based upon what evidence he had; the voice—spoke in an unfamiliar accent. "So left out that you are willing to converse with a creature like me?"

"Fitting," Sirius growled. "We're all creatures, here."

Kafell laughed. It was a strong laugh, deep and honest, and it rang through the halls. Sirius expected to hear his mother now, taking the excuse to rant a while about the reasons he was a disgrace to the family; he thought the list was hovering somewhere around nine-hundred now. Sirius had contemplated writing them down and making a poster of them, one night when he'd been so sloshed that he'd forgotten what sleep was. "Clever, Master Black!" declared Kafell, holding his sides. "Clever and sad. Quite sad. That is another reason I am here."

"Is that right?" Sirius asked. He forewent the glass this time and took a swig of Firewhisky straight from the bottle. As an afterthought, he offered it to Kafell, pointing the neck at him with a half-raised eyebrow. Kafell shook his head. "Here to make me laugh and dance and find the meaning of life again, are you?"

"Not…in so many words," the shadow without a face murmured. Normally, Sirius might have been put off by talking to a man who had no facial features. Kafell stood up, and Sirius pointedly did not reach for his wand. Thin hands appeared out of the shadows that looked like robes, reached up, and pulled the darkness away from his head like it was a cowl.

A head emerged, and Sirius had a moment where he thought Kafell might have read his mind. The apparition was pale, but not translucent like Sirius would have thought. Equally pale brown hair was slicked back against his skull, cut at his jawline. As his most unusual companion turned to the side, Sirius saw a streak of shock white running from Kafell's right temple, right down to the tips. Kafell was smirking, but it didn't feel like the expression Sirius was used to seeing. It felt…honest. It wasn't a bitter smirk, or a sarcastic smirk, but it was too sharp to be a smile, too severe to be a grin.

"So what are the words?" Sirius asked.

"You wouldn't be able to pronounce them," Kafell muttered. "All this gratuitous Latin you Brits sling around. It's rather crass, if you ask me. But…results. I suppose." He shook his pale head. "But never mind. I am, in fact, here for a purpose, Master Black."

"Beautiful," Sirius replied, and it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic. "Mind filling me in, then?"

"Impatient to be rid of me? That's rather surprising."

Sirius drew from his bottle and stood up. "I never was able to stay interested in one thing for very long," he said.

Kafell regarded him silently for a moment. Then he swept off his dust-shadow robes and tossed them into the air, where they hung suspended as though being held out by another person for him to beat clean. Underneath the shimmering, barely-there robes, Kafell seemed to be wearing a Muggle suit, but like the robes it didn't really look like cloth. It looked like ink. As black as midnight, except for the tie, which was a too-bright red that seared into Sirius's eyes like liquid fire.

"Take a look at this," Kafell said, gesturing.

As his hand unfurled toward his discarded but suspended robes, an image began to appear within them. Sirius realized with a jolt that he was looking at his godson. Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, only child of James and Lily Potter.

The only reason Sirius was putting up with this insanity in the first place.

Harry looked to be taking an exam, an O.W.L. unless Sirius missed his guess. The boy also looked to be falling asleep. Sirius found a smile as he watched his godson's head slump down upon his desk, then jerk back up before it struck the wooden surface. He wiped his eyes, took up his quill, and wrote a line or two onto his parchment.

"Studious," noted Kafell dryly. "So dedicated to his studies, in fact, that he seems overwhelmed by them." The pale man chuckled. "Ah, well. Not all were born to excel in academia. I daresay he's proven himself more than once to be quite effective when it comes to practical skills." Kafell glanced at Sirius and winked. "Wouldn't you say, Master Black?"

"What's this about, Kafell?" Sirius demanded, suddenly far less amused by this stranger. "Do you often go infiltrating people's houses to show them their…" He stopped, blinking. "…Relatives?"

Kafell chuckled. "You were about to say 'children,' weren't you?" He looked back at the robe, and at Harry, who had fallen asleep. "You think of him as your own, don't you, Master Black? Strictly speaking, I suppose he is. Godfather, guardian. And you are the last Black heir, after all, aren't you? Were you to die, the Black legacy would rest with young Master Potter, wouldn't it?" Kafell gestured all around him, that half-smirk on his face again. "All…this. His."

Sirius scowled. "A threat, is it?"

"Threat?" Kafell repeated. "No such thing, Master Black. I assure you, if I wanted you dead, I would have killed you long before allowing you to see me." He winked again. "I don't subscribe to making the victim suffer. I am no such sadist."

"Glorious."

"What I am," Kafell continued, "is here to help you. You see, Master Black, it saddens me to watch a Gryffindor like yourself kept locked in such a dank place." He chuckled again. "A Slytherin could perhaps take refuge in a place like this. But you? Courageous, loyal, powerful? What a waste of resources."

"I agree," Sirius growled.

"And considering the state of affairs in the…wizarding world, is that what you're calling it now? It would be most prudent for all involved if such a man as yourself were permitted to use his talents. Particularly in relation to…"

Sirius flinched violently as the vision of Harry in Kafell's robes collapsed to the floor of the Great Hall and started to scream.

Two.

"What the hell is this?" Sirius demanded, and made the singular mistake of reaching out and taking hold of Kafell's suit, thinking in some detached way of threatening the man regardless of the fact that he was barely coherent enough to stand, let alone attack anyone. A fierce shock of cold went down his arm and through his entire body, then heat like sun-fire blasted him backward, sending him crashing to the floor. He lay flat on his back, stunned and sore and feeling like his hand was simultaneously frozen and melting.

"Hmmm…" Kafell murmured thoughtfully. "I suppose I might have warned you about touching me." He bowed deeply. "I apologize profusely, Master Black."

Sirius scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with equal parts shame and fury. "Piss on your apologies, you damned lunatic! What's this about? And what does it have to do with Harry?"

Kafell didn't show the barest sign of surprise or irritation at Sirius's sudden change in attitude. Smiling serenely, he said, "You must know by now, Master Black, that your dearest godson has…visions from time to time. Visions of what his enemy is seeing, and doing." Kafell checked his left wrist as if for a watch that Sirius could not see. "If I've calculated correctly, then young Master Potter's current vision has to do with…" He glanced up at Sirius. "…You."

"What?" Sirius asked, stiffening. "Me?"

"Yes, yes," Kafell said, chuckling as he nodded absently. "Quite the ploy. Master Riddle always was fascinating. But then…well, I suppose you could say that I've lost my taste for him. Lord Voldemort." The name slid from his mouth like a squirming insect he found particularly revolting. He shook his head and returned his attention to Sirius, pointedly ignoring the vision of Harry still present in his suspended cloak. Sirius watched as his godson was led through the halls of Hogwarts by an elderly wizard, most likely toward the Hospital Wing. "But you now…" Kafell said, and the last Black flinched violently, which was apparently highly amusing, "Master Black, you are…a differentmatter entirely."

"What are you raving about, man? What ploy?"

"Master Riddle has sent a vision to young Master Potter, you see," said Kafell, sounding thoroughly delighted, "and it is but a fabrication. You see the genius of it? Especially considering that now, thanks to your most esteemed servant…" He seemed to catch himself, and Sirius wondered for a moment what he could possibly have meant by that. "I get ahead of myself," Kafell said. "He hasn't yet attempted to contact you. That comes later."

"You can see the future, can you?" Sirius asked skeptically.

Kafell shrugged. "That is the closest you could come to describing it using your language. Yes, Master Black, I suppose that I can see the future."

Sirius's scowl deepened. "So, is that why you're here, Kafell?" He doubted that was this specter's real name. "Tell me how it turns out? Tell me how I'm going to die, is that it?"

Kafell raised an eyebrow. "No. That is…not permitted. Unfortunately, I do not suppose that what I am intending to do is strictly legal, either. In any case…let us gather ourselves, shall we? I suppose I should explain."

He sat down and flipped a hand.

Bare moments later, Kreacher came waddling in holding a tray. Atop it were a steaming kettle, two cups, a jug, and a bowl of sugar. "Kreacher is bringing refreshments," the elf declared under his breath, with a much more pleasant tone than usual. "Kreacher has tea, and milk, and sugar for Master and his guest." He set the tray down on an end-table at Kafell's left hand.

"Many thanks," Kafell offered with surprising sincerity. "I'm quite parched. Most excellent." He flipped a hand again—it seemed deliberate, because it was the precise movement he'd used to apparently summon Kreacher—lifted one of the cups, and Sirius blinked with surprise when he realized that it was filled with hot tea, despite his never even touching the kettle. He'd never, to his recollection, seen magic performed quite so easily or so quietly.

"Would Master like tea?" Kreacher grumbled politely, and Sirius noticed with yet another jolt of surprise that the elf's towel was immaculately clean, and his appearance—such as it was—was actually rather…impressive.

"N-No," Sirius said. "No, Kreacher, that's…quite all right." He raised the bottle of Bleshin's to his lips, then sneered and tossed it aside. Kreacher caught it and carried it away, bowing as he did so. "So…Kafell. You were going to explain."

Kafell nodded, sipping at his tea. He set the cup aside after a moment. "Indeed. You see…I cannot tell you how, or when, you are going to die. But I can tell you that you will die soon. Thanks in no small part to the rather foolhardy arrogance that seems to plague all powerful people," he added as an afterthought. "The one called Albus Dumbledore. Your dearest godson. Yourself."

Sirius thought that he might have been offended, if he hadn't spent so much time over the past few months staring deep into the darkest parts of himself and acknowledging that they existed. "Arrogance," he murmured tonelessly

"Mm." Kafell smirked. "For example, you might well wish to treat your servant better than you have been." He raised an eyebrow. "I believe you have been warned about that, and I further believe I have just shown you that the alternative is...preferable. But I suppose it's not my place to criticize you. Truth be told, I often find myself guilty of that selfsame arrogance. So, never mind. With luck, any damage caused by such a trivial situation will soon be…rectified."

"Being your captivated audience is fine enough," said Sirius, growing annoyed, "as I've been bored beyond all recognition of humanity lately. But I wonder when you intend to start talking sense."

"You were always clever about your studies," Kafell offered. "Finding the right notes to copy, devising the most fascinating methods to cheat. Tell me, Master Black: in all that time, did you ever learn the properties of the…Time-Turner, I believe it's called?"

Sirius blinked. "…Yes?"

He'd never known a person to own or to even use a Time-Turner, not from his past, but he did recall that they were immensely powerful artifacts, able to turn back time and space itself to send their users into the past. Hermione Granger, he remembered, had used one during her third year at Hogwarts to attend several more classes than usual. The devices were strictly regulated, and only permitted under the rarest, most heavily moderated of circumstances.

"Do you know that there is a limit to its power?" Kafell asked. Sirius blinked again and shook his head. He didn't. He knew that there must be, of course, but this man seemed to know more. "It can only turn back a certain amount of time, of course. And to affect the future takes much in the way of effort. Time is a ravenous beast, you understand, and it does not permit meddling. It does all that it can to prevent such things."

"…Harry and one of his friends used one to save my neck two years back," Sirius felt compelled to say.

"Indeed," Kafell said, nodding. "One could say, though, that that was meant to occur. What I intend to have happen is…most assuredly not. But then, that is why we are decidedly lucky that I do not intend to use a Time-Turner. I intend to bypass its rather pedestrian limitations."

"What are you, Kafell?" Sirius asked.

Kafell chuckled again. "Your race would call me a 'magical creature with near-human intelligence.'" He winked conspiratorially at Sirius. "Allow me to inform you of a secret, however. I…" He seemed to grow several inches taller, and Sirius blinked again, and reached for Firewhisky that wasn't there anymore, "…possess a power the likes of which you witches and wizards could not conceive of replicating. Do not deign to hold to the laughable delusion that humans are at the top of the…ahem…food chain. You are most assuredly not."

"I gathered that," Sirius muttered. "And anyway, I gave up the idea of human superiority the day Peter Pettigrew…" He stopped, growled incoherently, and shook his head. "Arrogance does not become me anymore. I assure you."

Kafell nodded. "Good. You've proven yourself quite…capable, then. Allow me to inform you of my plan."

I know that things are going a bit slow right now; I beg forgiveness and patience. I'm new to writing Harry Potter fiction, and I'm still feeling my way around and figuring out what works and what doesn't. I want to make sure that I do this story the right way, and that it's worth reading for you all.

I'll see you next time, when Kafell establishes the reason for his own existence.

Sort of.