Author's note: If you are interested in what happened between Phineas Nigellus Black and Hedda Ablai, the completed work 'Memories of yearning' details their short-lived relationship and its downfall, brought on by Phineas's bigoted views. However, the work is not that important to know in order to understand everything that is happening in this work, as anything important will be summarised or slightly retold.

—

"I don't think you should go alone."

"Remus, mate. I love you like a brother. You know me best of all." he gripped him by the shoulders, and patted him gently. "But this is something I need to do by myself. Merlin's beard, I know that twisted place like the back of my hand. I know what my father did to it. Plus, you look dreadful. Get a stiff drink, go rest, after this Austria affair… to forget about Greyback, to forget about what happened there. As for me, I think it's just time for the prodigal son to prepare for his return, and make some choice people spin in their graves when they find out why."

He wished he could have had a drink as well before he left Remus's house. At least to toast for better times.

Better times would surely be awaiting.

Better times, in which he did not have to figure every single protection his father could've possibly put on the house, and see whether that vile little House Elf was still kicking around.

Would he have preferred Kreacher dead, and trying to figure out those protections all by himself? Or have him grumble throughout begrudgingly following his orders about how precious and perfect the entire Black family had been, and how he, Sirius Black, was the scum of the Earth?

The first rays of sun were already hitting the filthy windows of 12 Grimmauld Place by the time he had entered the house. He raised his wand, using his other hand to lift up the large, oversized cuff of the cloak Remus gave him, to his nose. Murmuring to himself, he tapped the wall next to him, and the gas lamps lit themselves. Through the grime accumulated on both the inside and outside of the glass encasings, he could see the derelict walls he hoped never to have to return to.

His ears were numb by now to Kreacher's complaints and insults - practice makes perfect after all, and he had had enough practice for many years before he decided to run away. His nose, however, was not numb to the putrid, sickly smells emanating from, well, everywhere, including the House Elf. He'd have no time to do much cleaning around the house- not before he'd have to return, see to Harry being brought here, and arrange to meet with Dumbledore, whichever order did not matter much. It would take weeks, or rather months to make this place actually livable. But it had to do for now, even if it meant making only one room fit for the purpose of having a human being there.

For all intents and purposes, It was the best location he could have, one that he did not have to rely on Magdalena for. Unplottable. Untraceable to anyone, and most importantly, as of right now, as the only male heir on the main line, he was the only one with access.

What was more, Harry could come, spend his winter holidays close to him, perhaps even the next summer... Of course, when it would be livable enough not to make anyone pass out after five minutes of breathing in all of this dust.

"Have you done no cleaning in all these years, you useless being?" His voice thundered as he turned around to face the House Elf, still covering his nose with the back of the sleeve.

And that was when he heard it. Covering Kreacher's hurling of insults, or rather, accompanying it, Sirius turned to face a life-size portrait of his mother projecting a stream of unending abuse at him, perfectly mimicking many a scene that he could remember from before he ran away. In unison, other portraits were starting to wake up from their many years of slumber, each of them unleashing torrents of words that they must have been saving for him for what must have been about two decades.

Touching, really, Sirius thought briefly, hand gripping his wand tightly as he removed the sleeve from his nose.

"Alright!" He turned to the large portrait of his mother, and looked her in the eye with a flash of anger, before turning slowly to the others' portraits. "I am back, yes! Marvel and wonder! Let's take it one at a fucking time with you all, and get some peace and quiet in here!"

There must have been something in the look of his eye that made Kreacher disappear from his sight, and he wished he knew exactly what it was, so he could permanently emulate it. With a deep sigh, he went over to each and every one of the portraits, flicking his wand as the voices of his ancestors and relatives died down one by one.

Finally. Quiet.

And with Kreacher out of sight, he could finally set around doing some work.

He went up the stairs and opened each room, inspecting it closely just in case any of them would host a nasty surprise, of whatever kind. None of the rooms, save for his mother's bedroom, were locked, and they all seemed to host nothing but mould, disrepairs, doxies, and whatever else a decade of being uninhabited must have brought.

The peace and quiet, unfortunately, did not last for long, as in the moment he used his wand to unlock his mother's bedroom, a loud crack manifested itself next to him, and the quiet of the house was replaced by assorted medley of Kreacher's insults and protests. To his own surprise, he engaged the house elf and gave him a piece of his own mind on what he thinks exactly of his family's place.

His voice raised through the hallway, and soon enough, a third voice arose from the ground floor, reverberating through the staircase until it reached them.

"I will turn you into a pile of ash and mould yourself, if you don't disappear from my eyes now - now, leave me be!" He barked his orders at the house elf, who let Sirius know one last time what he thought of his return, before disappearing from his sight.

With a deep groan, he opened the door to his mother's bedroom and after inspecting it quickly, he closed the door and rushed back downstairs.

"I get it, you crazy old hag, stain of your womb, filth from filth, etcetera and so on. Fucking' switch it up for a change!" he talked to himself, trying to drown her whirlwind of insults directed at him. He used his wand to affix an old velvet curtain from the dining hall in front of her, enchanting it with a Silencing Charm.

With Kreacher gone and not able to see what he was doing, he tried to remove the portrait, burn it, or shred it, before he retorted to putting a permanent Silencing Charm on the curtain and calling it a day. His mother must have known that surely, no one who would have inherited that house would have wanted her mug on it, and the shrewd witch must have gotten herself quite a powerful Permanent Sticky Charm on. Perhaps Dumbledore would be able to help, when he'd come…

But he hadn't even gotten to mention the trouble with his mother's portrait. With Harry waking up from his slumber and recuperating in the Hogwarts Infirmary under Madam Pomfrey, pretending that he was recuperating from a nasty bout of whatever-Dumbledore-claimed-he-had, with Dumbledore looking over and reinforcing the protection of 12 Grimmauld Place, putting in place a Fidelius Charm over the house, and checking that the Floo connection worked between his office at Hogwarts and the house, they barely had time for much else.

By the end of the day, the house was ready. Well, technically ready. In this state, it was less livable than the Shrieking Shack, but it was ready. And safe. Which he outlined to Dumbledore, however, his response remained the same.

Harry could still not live with him.

"I promised him, on that night-"

"Harry cannot leave his family." Dumbledore simply said, looking at him through his half-moon glasses. "At this moment, the protection his family is giving him allows him to be the safest he could possibly be when he is not at Hogwarts."

"You've said it's the house, with everything we've done, this house is as protected as it can be."

"Not the house per se, Sirius. Not even Petunia herself. It is the blood relation between Lily's sister and Harry that offers him protection from Voldemort, and from his followers."

"Wouldn't Harry have all the protection he needs right here?"

"Sirius." Dumbledore's voice softened as he spoke, placing a hand on his shoulder, in the same manner he himself had done to Remus mere hours ago. "You've seen how involved he wants to be. He did the ritual. He has access to the information on how to defeat him. But that is a lot of weight to place on him, and we still have a lot of planning to do without him. And with recent events that have been occurring, as well as from certain sources of mine, I am quite worried that whatever is left of Voldemort is growing in strength. Our planning needs to be as swift as possible, and done with as much precision as possible, and with as less people involved as possible, in order to ensure success. Even Harry, I am afraid, cannot be fully involved, just as he was not involved in Greyback's murder apart from being a mere messenger.

And knowing Harry like you know him, do you think he would want to sit aside, all while, a room away from him, we would be planning Voldemort's final defeat?"

He did not respond, and waited for Dumbledore to let go of his shoulder and change the subject. Sirius knew that he was right, but did not want to voice it or admit it yet.

Harry had awoken from his days-long slumber with a voracious appetite, and some amount of information, but not as much as they had hoped he would return with. According to the instructions from the ritual creature, first of all, they had to figure out how to get close to Voldemort, and no one knew how. Sirius's impression, as Harry relayed the conversation between them, was that the ritual creature seemed to have thought this aspect was beneath it to explain.

As for how to defeat Voldemort… Well, to his chagrin, it seemed that this was something to be shared only between the creature and his godson, but Harry did not seem quite sure of himself when Sirius asked him just how clear the instructions given were as to what he was supposed to do when he would face Voldemort. He simply looked off into the distance, to the window.

Which, Sirius told Dumbledore, Remus and Magdalena later, did not match the notes from Hedda's notebook. According to the notebook, the deal was that there was supposed to be a deal. And they have done their part, and had slain Greyback, risking their lives for it. Remus and Magdalena seemed to agree with him, however, Dumbledore appeared just as lost in his thoughts as Harry was, before asking Sirius if he could, by any chance, obtain entry to 12 Grimmauld Place, and whether he could locate the other portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black in there.

And day later, here they were indeed, the two of them.

"And where is Phineas's old portrait?" Dumbledore finally asked, changing the subject from Harry.

"Upstairs." Sirius answered, nodding his head to point at the specific room. "Not that he's made an appearance yet."

"I believe he will, after the chat I have had with him earlier. Shall we?"

Unsure what Dumbledore meant, he led his former Headmaster up the stairs and towards one of the rooms on the second landing, using his wand as a light source. He raised his wand to the empty dark canvas that he knew very well whose portrait it was hosting, and called out for his great-great-grandfather. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Should've destroyed this portrait ages ago, since he doesn't even bother…"

"There will be no need for that, Sirius. I believe your great-great grandfather's portrait may come in handy. Phineas." Dumbledore's voice resounded in the empty, dilapidated room, yet there was only Sirius to answer back. "I know you can hear me, Phineas. We've talked about this, and you have agreed to it."

"We may have agreed to one thing, but I was expecting only you, Dumbledore, not my worthless great-great grandson as a witness."

"Sirius will be more than a witness, Phineas. After all, introductions have already been made between him and-... ah, here you are." he put on his usual assured smile from under his white moustache, and Sirius could have sworn that the Dumbledore winked furtively at him as the figure of Phineas Nigellus Black finally made his appearance inside the portrait frame.

Sirius watched his great-great grandfather look at him in the dimly lit room, and rummage through his robes, raising his own wand and making his portrait frame shine brightly, as he examined him back with a repulsed look.

"Unbelievable, that this is all that remains of the noble, ancient and proud family of Black."

"If that is the best you've got, you should take some pointers from your great-grandaughter two flights of stairs down." It'd do me a great pleasure to throw you there myself, Sirius thought, but decided to take the moral high ground and not continue.

"Comb your hair at least, show some decorum for the company you'll have. Unbelievable… the nerve, children these days have absolutely no modicum of-"

"Phineas." Dumbledore interrupted the verbose stream of Phineas this time, just as Sirius was preparing to lay another Silencing Charm. They were becoming second-nature at this point, really, and he would not have minded it one bit. "Where is the portrait?"

"If I can even remember." Phineas's lips thinned under his beard, and he appeared to be rethinking whatever agreement he had made with Dumbledore, before finally relenting and explaining where the portrait was in the attic, and instructing how to open the trunk it had been in. The moment he finished, he disappeared once again from the canvas, without as much as gracing them with a goodbye.

"And he has the nerve to talk about his modicums of respect, or what have you…" Sirius grumbled, exiting the room and going upstairs. "What portrait is it even, anyway, that's so important? Don't tell me that it's the creature from the ritual, although it wouldn't surprise me that a Black family member would have something as dark as that."

"Not quite, although I do admit it would be quite helpful. No, Sirius, what I found out only very recently myself is that your great-great grandfather may have the official Headmaster portrait of the one witch that advised you of the ritual. And that he apparently has had it for many, many, years."

Sirius's brows furrowed, and suddenly, it all came back to him. How she looked at him, how surprised, but not quite that surprised, she was when she saw him and how she called him 'Phineas'.

"Why does my ancestor have a portrait of Hedda Ablai, a Headmaster of Durmstrang? I've never heard of Headmasters exchanging portraits."

"Because we most certainly do not. It would be an interesting idea , however…" Dumbledore chuckled.

The two continued walking to the attic, and looked through the dust-layered trunks for the one marked as per Phineas's instructions, and the both of them got to unlocking it. There were quite a few layers of spells interlocked to keep any intruders away from it, and Sirius slowly realised, as Dumbledore spoke, why exactly it was under as many spells as the house itself.

Why, unlike Hedda's trunk, that could have been opened by Muggles and no one else, this trunk could not have been opened by anyone, save for Phineas or those he instructed specifically on how to do it.

"I will not breach too much of what was said to me in confidence, but what I can say is that your great-great-grandfather has paid handsomely for a portrait of Hedda Ablai, without her knowledge of it. This was all before she was married, I believe. And portraits like this one, and like the ones of previous Hogwarts Headmasters that I have in my office cannot be sold or bought, not without a great deal of trouble." The two of them finally found a large canvas wrapped up in a moth-eaten yellowed linen, and Sirius took to finding an appropriate frame in the attic, before mounting the canvas on it with a quick spell.

To Sirius's surprise, the canvas was just as empty as his ancestor's. They waited in silence for a few seconds, before Dumbledore cleared his throat, continuing his story of the painting.

"He did tell me, however, that while he knows she has to be there, he never saw Hedda herself in the portrait frame… Unfortunately, unlike I could in the case of your relative, I do not know how to bring her out."

"Albus? Is that you?"

A deep, yet feminine voice resounded from a side of the frame, and the two of them listened quietly, as a jingling noise of jewellery made itself heard, and a dark eye made itself seen from a corner, inspecting the both of them. The eye seemed content with what it was seeing, and slowly, a tall and lanky woman, with angular features made her appearance from the frame, holding a sceptre as tall as herself in one hand, and balancing an enormous tome against her hip with the other. She wore ancient-looking clothing and a long, gold-threaded headscarf, reminding Sirius of old Etruscan paintings.

It was certainly an official portrait, especially as above her were written words in cyrillic that must have had some significance to Durmstrang.

A young Hedda Ablai looked at the two of them with inquisitive eyes, moving her head slowly from one side to the other as she examined each of them. Finally, her dark eyes seemed to have rested onto him. He wondered if it was the formality in which she was painted that made her demeanour seem different to her portrait, however, that formality soon cracked as she etched a slight smile.

"I know you." she finally said.

"I know you too." he responded, trying to mimic the smile. Sirius felt it was a bit uncanny, how much she resembled a member of the Black family, and he wondered what exactly happened between Phineas and her. Were they related? Was he related to her? Her face turned from him to Dumbledore, and her smile brightened even more, and upon hearing her next words, Sirius realised that no, she certainly couldn't have been a Black, not with how much warmer her voice had gotten at the sight of Albus Dumbledore.

"Albus, my dear! It has been far too long."