In the years upon years since I last approached this story, I have determined a number of things about Kafell and his influence on the plot, as well as the plot himself. There will be a revision at some point to reflect this.

The important thing to understand is that, like House Elves and other creatures, Kafell's magic—while extremely powerful, especially compared to humans—has limits. Very strict limits. They'll come into play later. I'll explain myself fully within the next few updates. My intention is to publish one chapter each week until the story is complete.

I'm sorry that it took me so long to come back here. There are a whole mess of reasons for that, but I think you can probably guess a bunch of them. Not least being, though, I'm 37 now. I'm a whole different person compared to when I started this story.

I only hope that I can do justice to the idea I had in my head back then.

One.

Sirius had a glum expression on his face, but it would have taken a particularly obtuse observer not to notice the amused little sparkle in his eyes. He was a picture in mixed signals, both irritated and delighted, frustrated and amused, at the same time. He sat just straight enough that he couldn't be accused of lounging, but no straighter.

He tapped out a pattern of clicks with the heel of one shoe; Dumbledore was, perhaps, the only wizard in all of Britain who would have recognized it as Morse Code. The headmaster sent a sly glance Sirius's way, but otherwise said nothing; he gave no indication that he even noticed.

"Do you understand why we are having this meeting, Mister Black?"

Sirius, just barely, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I believe I do, yes," he managed to say in a reasonably neutral tone, "but . . . for the sake of argument, and to be sure I'm best able to follow along, why don't you explain to me, anyway?" He held out a hand in a welcoming gesture.

The Ministry official, whose name Sirius never even tried to remember, settled his robes and sat up straighter; it was quite possible he was trying entirely too hard to contrast himself against the wizard sitting across from him.

"There have been concerns regarding the curriculum you have elected to pursue in your time as an adjutant professor at Hogwarts."

Sirius, again, resisted the urge to be dramatic; he glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, steadying himself. "I have been teaching for two weeks," he muttered. "I find it difficult to believe that the Ministry has made any solid conclusions about my ability as an instructor. My own students barely know my name."

"This isn't an official performance review," said the nameless official. "We are following up on complaints from concerned parents."

"I bet I can guess which parents," Sirius mumbled under his breath.

"I beg your pardon, Mister Black?"

"Which parents?" He put on a chipper, almost manic, tone and twisted his face into something pleasant. Nameless flinched. "This is very important to me, I can assure you, my good man." Sirius rested his cheek against one fist and crossed his right leg over his left. He'd combed his hair back, pulled it into a braid, and touched up his beard specifically for this meeting. Although Sirius still wore an utterly nonmagical suit, which he'd picked up at an equally nonmagical boutique some months ago, he had donned a simple black cloak.

All in all, he thought he cut a pretty impressive figure; far from the rebellious ruffian he'd been not so long ago. Sirius was still scruffy, yes, but that was simply in his nature. No one could have accused him of being unpresentable.

Judging by the unfortunate expression on Nameless's face, the Ministry wasn't impressed.

Sirius took this as a good sign; he was quite sure he wasn't supposed to.

"I can provide you with a list, Mister Black, but that's—"

"Professor." Dumbledore's voice cut through the air, possibly to remind Nameless whose office he was sitting in.

"I . . . I'm sorry?"

"Professor Black," Dumbledore said. "You have made this mistake several times now."

Nameless grunted, then cleared his throat. "Ah . . . yes, of course. Professor Black."

"I'd appreciate that list very much," said Sirius, offering Dumbledore a wink.

"I . . . yes. Well." Faced with stern, silent stares from professor and headmaster both, Nameless suddenly realized that he was outnumbered. "L-Let me see here."

Sirius glanced over the sheet of parchment Nameless handed over; there wasn't a single name that wasn't from a pureblood, "respectable" wizarding family. He wondered if any Muggleborn parents had good things to say about Sirius's work so far, but he would have bet several years' salary that the pile of notes Nameless was shuffling so studiously didn't have anything like that.

"Now, then." Nameless shuffled his parchments around and squared his shoulders. "As I mentioned, we've received a number of very concerning . . . concerns since you've started teaching. It's been determined that action must be taken."

Sirius twiddled the fingers of his free hand, in something vaguely resembling an invitation. "Naturally," he said. "Only doing your due diligence. I quite understand. Do tell, please, if you would. What do these proud and illustrious witches and wizards have to say about me?"

Blood traitor. Crackpot. Muggle-lover. Nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart.

Sirius flinched, falling back into his chair with a sudden shock of . . . what? Guilt? Anger? Grief? His heart was seized with the icy grip of dread, and he had no idea what could have prompted it. Glancing around the headmaster's office, he saw nothing but Dumbledore's usual assortment of devices. He remembered this office from his time as a student. Forever ago though it seemed, it wasn't that long ago; Dumbledore hadn't seemed to have changed a thing since the last time Sirius had been called here for a little chat about his behavior.

Why did it feel so . . . unfamiliar, all of a sudden?

Sirius grimaced, blinked away tears that he didn't remember shedding, and he forced his attention back into the present. Nameless was rattling off his notes, while Dumbledore eyed Sirius solemnly. Sirius, for his part, pretended to yawn into his hand and sent a dreamy little smile Nameless's way.

". . . your history of, ah . . . eccentric behavior, which is well-documented in the community and certainly by the Ministry, I trust you can understand why."

Sirius closed his eyes, opened his mouth, stopped, then started again.

What the hell did he say?

"Forgive my impatience," Sirius grumbled, feeling that old rush of adrenaline he'd always felt when wheeling together an excuse for why he hadn't been paying attention, "but my job is to teach the students at this school. None of the fine and upstanding people on your list are students at this school. Therefore, so long as Headmaster Dumbledore finds my performance acceptable, and my students aren't offering complaints of their own which prompt him to find it unacceptable, I'm afraid I must continue my current course."

His eyes narrowed. Nameless looked surprised, affronted.

Sirius continued: "I have a certain suspicion that the fine and upstanding people on your list know this is how I would react. This would be why they've come to the Ministry, in an attempt to force my hand, rather than sending their 'concerns' to Headmaster Dumbledore."

"A thousand pardons, M—Professor Black, but these people have attempted to deal directly with the headmaster."

"That they have," Dumbledore affirmed. "I have been quite clear in my response. It would seem as though these . . . fine and upstanding people, to borrow my colleague's turn of phrase, are not content with how I have handled things. However, I think you will find that the Ministry has little jurisdiction over my choices of staff. The law is . . . quite clear."

Something heavy, and cold, visited the old wizard's eyes. Sirius remembered all at once, right alongside his latest adversary, that Albus Dumbledore hadn't always been a doddering old trickster; he was, in many and more ways, a warrior.

Just as dangerous now as he'd ever been.

"That being said," began the next Ministry-approved argument, "it's been determined that these concerns must be addressed. We have four separate accounts of you deliberately spreading inflammatory rhetoric, teaching in direct opposition to what these impressionable young witches and wizards have been taught at home. The suspicion—and I think you will agree with me when I say that it is a reasonable one—is that you are injecting a highly Muggle-biased agenda into your lectures."

"This has been addressed already," Sirius said. "Just because you don't like how doesn't erase that fact."

Nameless was definitely insulted now. "This isn't about me, Professor Black."

"As a representative of the Ministry . . . yes. It is." Sirius's eyes flared. "Listen to me. The class I share with Professor Quirrell is called Muggle Studies. Ostensibly, that should mean that the students attending the class I share with Professor Quirrell are going to study Muggles. Is that not correct?"

Nameless frowned. "Yes, but—"

"And since," Sirius cut in, "it's rather dangerous and, frankly, rude to head out into a non-magical community to study them like we're at a zoo, the next best thing would be to bring their culture to the classroom. This class is an elective. Ignoring for the moment that it shouldn't be, it's criminal that learning about people other than ourselves is considered optional," here Sirius shot a glare at Dumbledore, whose face now was as pleasantly placid as it usually was, "the fact remains that the students attending Muggle Studies have been determined old enough to learn things which contradict what they've learned at home. It's important for them to hear these things. Agenda. Listen to you."

"Be that as it may, Professor Black, we believe that a compromise is necessary—"

"I won't compromise the truth," Sirius snapped; Nameless flinched. "It's been two weeks. I've barely even begun to teach. Half the lectures are still given by my superior. The fact that I'm sitting here in this office, after having spent less than six hours actually speaking to my students, hearing that I have to compromise is rather painfully transparent, don't you think?"

Nameless grumbled. He tried, halfheartedly, to return to his talking points.

"This isn't about me causing trouble at home." Sirius stood up. "This is about me challenging magical supremacy. Let me be perfectly clear: no. I will not change my curriculum. I will not compromise. If that's what you came here to facilitate, too bad. Get to work drafting legislation to get rid of me if you're so much of a coward that you'll bend to the whims of concerned parents too weak in their own convictions to fight for them. I wish you, and the Ministry, the best of luck with that."

Sirius stood, bowed so low at the waist that even the most charitable observer would know that it was an insult, then offered a curt nod to Dumbledore before sweeping out of the room.

Two.

"You look horrible, Moony."

Remus Lupin grunted, growled, and that seemed to be the limit of his social skills at the moment. He looked like he was fighting off a heavy sickness; which, to be fair, was accurate. The Wolfsbane potion was powerful, to be sure, and Remus was getting better and better at brewing it; all the same, he still had to rely on Severus Snape more often than he didn't. While Remus appreciated being able to care for himself without chains and padlocks, he never looked particularly thrilled to be alive once he came back to himself after a full moon.

Sirius flopped onto the couch next to his oldest friend. "Yeah," he said, "I hear you." He stared at the ceiling. "Ministry stooge came to the headmaster today. Concerned parents. It's a crock of trash, is what it is."

Remus quirked an eyebrow. "Meeting went that well, did it?" he asked, his voice rasping against his throat like a weapon.

"How well does any meeting with those idiots go? I'm injecting a Muggle-biased agenda into my classes."

Remus reached over and patted Sirius's shoulder. "There, there, Professor Padfoot."

Sirius snorted. "Professor. What even is my life? Giving lectures, handing out homework, grading essays. If only my parents could see me now." He frowned. "They'd probably die from the shock of it, right on the spot." He glared in the general direction of his mother's portrait, off in the front hall. "Isn't that right, you old bat?"

"Keep talking like that, Kreacher is going to poison your soup again."

"Good," Sirius said. "It had a fun little kick of flavor last time."

Remus closed his eyes and covered his face with a pillow. "I swear, you will be the death of me."

Now it was Sirius's turn to pat Remus's shoulder.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not going to stop."