I'm working out a day that might be best to update this story. The middle of the week doesn't seem to work too well. Distractions abound. Gone are the years of my life when summer-time meant I have nothing to do. Nowadays, it just means I have the time to catch up on the various activities that were neglected during the semester.

I'm working out various kinks with how to approach this story. I think the month off was important for a number of reasons, but it's also put me slightly off my game. Nonetheless, I'm regaining my feel for it.

Something I wanted to mention, in regard to certain reviews I've gotten espousing dislike/hatred for a given character. Molly Weasley and Dumbledore are two of the most mystifying targets of criticism for me, if only because I've always found them fascinating.

I should be clear: I don't claim that they're perfect people. None of them are. Everybody has faults, and that's what makes them good characters to me. Molly is sweet, good-natured, protective; she is also opinionated, controlling, and prone to overreaction. This is what makes her human. If she were purely good, that would be boring (not to mention fake).

And as to Dumbledore…well. Powerful people tend to be manipulative, not to mention arrogant. Did he make mistakes? Of course he did. Were they huge? Absolutely. Does that make him a bad person? Does that make him evil? No.

It makes him human.

Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox. Let's get to it, shall we?

One.

"You've been spending a lot of your time here," said Professor McGonagall, eyeing Sirius suspiciously as they crossed each other in the hallway. She didn't sound particularly disapproving, at least not really, but she did sound as though she expected an answer this time, and wouldn't brook with the last Black's usual deflective impertinence.

"It's safe," Sirius replied. "As safe as anywhere can be right now. And Harry seems to have taken a liking to castles."

"For a man who made such a bother out of taking care of Harry, you seem to spend a disproportionate amount of time away from him." Sirius had always viewed his old head of house as a stern orphanage matron, the kind who could scare grown men into quailing with nothing more than a stiff eyebrow and a clearing of the throat.

Sirius grinned at her. "I'm easing my way into this, Professor. Contrary to what you might think, I am fully aware of my own faults." Was this true? He wasn't sure. Some part of him felt aware of certain…abrasive parts of his personality. But it didn't feel entirely genuine. As usual.

"Mm."

"In any case, Hagrid is looking after him at the moment. I have a…ahem, meeting."

"With the Headmaster?"

"Maybe. If instinct proves me wrong and my first choice fails as miserably as I secretly hope he will." Sirius blinked, and quirked his head. "Huh. Not much of a secret if I go around admitting it to people." He shrugged. "Anyway, I want Harry to spend time with people other than me, or Remus. He spends so much time around the two of us, running around for no good reason and acting like spies, and Heaven only knows what he'll pick up from us. I figure it would be good for him to have exposure to…you know, responsible sorts."

"So you left him with Hagrid."

Sirius frowned. "…Huh. Should've thought this idea through a bit better." Then he shrugged. "He's resourceful. He'll manage."

He turned away, the grin on his face just barely revealing that he was having entirely too much fun ignoring Minerva's stunned, almost disgusted expression.

Two.

Severus Snape's expression was stunned and thoroughly disgusted as his (former?) nemesis sauntered into the classroom.

"Bit dingy down here," the exile said, running a hand through his long black hair and waving animatedly at the students as they filed past him, intent on having lunch. "Did I catch you at a bad time, Sev?"

Severus's jaw flexed as he resisted the urge to grind his teeth. "…I doubt that it would matter," he hissed, each word coming out deliberately, failing to hide his anger and, dare he admit it even to himself, discomfort.

The aspiring potions master was not so delusional as to say that the men he'd since grown to hate—all four of them—weren't…talented, in their own way. Potter had been nothing if not charismatic, able to win any detractor into his good graces if given enough time; hadn't Lily Evans been the ultimate proof of that? Lupin was brilliant, in his homespun way, and was dedicated tooth and nail to defying all expectations of his breed. So far, just by not turning or even attacking anyone when he turned, he'd done just that.

Pettigrew was, perhaps, the perfect example of why judging a book by its cover was a stupid, and fatal, show of arrogance…if the rumors Severus had heard were true, anyway.

And Black? He epitomized the word "gifted." He took to magic the way a hawk takes to the hunt. He hadn't studied a day in his life, had cheated and cajoled his way through every written exam, and yet never once had he stumbled in a practical test. He knew, instinctively, how magic worked. He could feel it, sense it, manipulate and seduce it.

A dark and seething hatred seeped through Severus's eyes as he watched Black slowly and meanderingly approached his desk. "Have an office hour to spare? Got a favor to ask you."

"Wait a moment while I dance away my joy," Severus muttered.

Black smirked and leaned against the edge of one of the students' tables as though he intended to do just that. His hands were, as always, in his pockets. Black was completely at ease, supremely confident, and Severus willed his own anger away. He refused to let this disgraced aristocrat make a fool of him.

"You were always…keyed in when it came to mental magic. Reading emotions and sifting through thoughts. How versed are you on dreams?"

Severus blinked. "…What?"

Black sighed. "Say you're looking for a place to stay. Can't be seen in one place for too long. So you're on the lookout for anywhere and everywhere that's halfway comfortable, defendable. Somewhere you can make a stand, if…something goes off."

Severus did not respond, but he leaned unconsciously forward.

"You set your sights on a castle. There's something romantic about that idea, so you jump on it. And what do you do in an place like that, except explore it for a while? Not only is it tactical, to scope out the perimeter so you know what you're dealing with—escape routes and all that. But it's fun. It's an old, abandoned fortress. That's just…appealing."

Severus frowned.

Black continued: "At some point during your explorations, you're…caught by something. You don't realize that you're dreaming, but all the same you have to be. At some point, you've just…fallen unconscious. You meet someone, in this dream. Someone who tells you things that are…well, too crazy to be made up. You know, somehow, that nothing you could ever conjure up would have added up to this. Is it really a dream? Or at that point, is it a hallucination?"

"You'll have to be more specific, Black."

He sighed again, lifted himself up onto his feet, and began to pace about in front of Severus's desk, looking as though he wanted nothing more in the world than to continue speaking. Now he looked unnerved; now he looked uncomfortable. Severus didn't bother to hide the sinister grin rising on his thin lips.

Black shook his head. "I found a tower where I was staying with Harry and Remus. I climbed it. There was a man there, saying he wanted to talk to me. He said everything I've been doing, everything I've experienced in the past few years, has been an illusion. Or…something like that. Then he…he…turned into me."

"What?" Severus leaned forward again, his brow furrowing.

"Except he was…older. He had grey in his hair. Looked like he hadn't shaved in a month. Telling me, 'You know you're dreaming, right?' He…asked me what happened, when I found Harry. What happened with Lily…and…and James. Then he said not to trust anyone about Peter, and that…Voldemort isn't dead. That he's looking for a body, and that he'll come after Harry for revenge as soon as he finds one."

Severus stood up. "When did this happen?" he asked, unable to hide the sudden interest in his voice or his face.

"A week ago. After he said all this, I woke up in that tower, and there weren't any traces of anybody but me, and Harry, and Remus in that castle." Black looked almost pleadingly at Severus. "Was this just…a dream? Or was somebody…?"

"…What do you know of legilimency, Black?"

"Enough to have thought of it."

"Occlumency."

"I know what it is."

"Then it is, perhaps, possible that this dream of yours was a vision." The scientist nestled deep within Severus's ambitions came out, and he rounded the desk to approach his enemy. For once, Black did not respond physically or verbally. "The question, of course, becomes…who would create such a vision? Who would send you such information? I have my doubts that this was anything more than a simple dream. Though your ability to remember it so long, and so vividly, speaks to the contrary." Severus did not bother to hide the snide edge to his tone. "What, exactly, did this vision of yourself say to you? Verbatim."

After a beat of silence, Black replayed an entire conversation, word for word, without a hitch of hesitation. The more he spoke, the more nervous he became, and Severus thought for a moment that he might attack.

He reached out. Not with his hand, or his wand. No. Severus Snape was not so crass as that. He knew, as easily as he knew how to breathe, that the last Black would make a pathetic occlumens. He was a Gryffindor, trained by decades of example to celebrate his emotions. He tried to hide his feelings, this one, and was markedly more successful at it than Potter had ever been, but he was in no way guarded.

Severus did not need incantations, nor a catalyst, to sift into another person's mind.

He fell into the ease of that old routine, expecting at least to find something halfway interesting, something he might be able to use, even if he did not find an answer to this strangely perplexing question.

He found…nothing.

It was like leaning against a wall, only to realize too late that the wall wasn't there.

Severus stumbled, nearly fell, and stared—almost horror-struck—at Sirius Black.

"…Your mind…" he whispered, "…is closed."

Black responded to this with an odd expression. "What?"

"When did you learn to block it?" Severus asked. "No. No, you can't have. Not even the…no, no, this isn't occlumency. This is outside interference, beyond even…quickly! This must be reported! Now!"

Three.

Dumbledore listened intently as Snape and Sirius both explained the situation. As was his way, the old wizard asked questions that neither expected. Nonetheless, by the time the two younger wizards reached the end of their narrative, Dumbledore had not reached a conclusion of any form. He said, "Regardless of whomever may or may not have delivered this message to Sirius…it is perhaps more important that we take the warning of it in mind. Severus, have you not claimed the belief that Voldemort is still alive, and is simply biding his time until the opportunity to revive himself becomes apparent?"

Snape nodded.

"This…vision of yourself, Sirius. You say that it wanted to know about Peter?"

"He…Kafell or whoever, wanted to know what happened to him," Sirius said. "When I told him the Potters' hideout was tortured out of him, he didn't believe me. Said I didn't believe it, either, and that I shouldn't trust anyone about Peter anymore. Said I should trust my gut."

"And what does your gut tell you?"

"…You're going to make me say it, aren't you? I think Peter gave up the information willingly. That he was tortured to make the story convincing. I don't know if he was manipulated, interrogated, threatened, cajoled, possessed…but I don't think they had to torture it out of him."

Dumbledore considered this for a long moment, but didn't respond. He turned his attention to Snape. "Severus. In your studies and practice, have you ever come across a mental…wall, such as Sirius seems to have?"

"No," Snape replied confidently. "This magic, if it's magic at all, isn't human. It didn't just block me. It repelled me. See for yourself." He gestured dismissively.

"That's fine," Dumbledore said. "I trust your judgment. Sirius, I think it might be best for you and yours to stay here at Hogwart's for the time being. I'm sure that we can find a spare room for the three of you. I should like to study this further. In the meantime, we will assume that this warning about Voldemort's continued existence is genuine, and prepare ourselves accordingly."

The two men nodded, rose, and turned to leave.

"Sirius," Dumbledore called. "Can you think of anything else about recent events that might pertain to this situation? This…Kafell?"

A part of Sirius wanted to feel indignant. Wanted to ignore the question with a grin and a flippant comment and just walk away. But another part of him did remember something, and realized with some surprise that he didn't want to reveal it.

But again came that spark of intuition, something that said, Don't. Lack of communication was the first nail in the coffin. Tell him. Even if it doesn't do any damn good, it's better than setting a precedent for lying. You're not a student anymore, idiot. Act like an adult.

Sirius turned.

Act like a father.

He said, "…A while back, I found this book."

I've started a new project, called "The Cottage at the Edge of Forever." This Blogspot blog is dedicated to my original fiction, and is updated on weekdays. I have 10 stories up at this point, in varying degrees of length and completeness. If anyone would like to see how I handle my own worlds, and my own takes on fantasy, I'd greatly appreciated if you took a trip to the cottage. You can find it by clicking on the homepage on my profile, or by heading to ib-fantasy (dot) blogspot (dot) com.

Also, you can find me on Facebook now. Look for the "Iced Blood" from Lodi, California. This has taken the place of my first blog, the now-dead "In Cold Blood," and I post any and every update pertaining to my work on there.

See you next week, folks. Have a good one.