Author's Notes :

Hello,

This is the first fanfiction I finally decide to publish (except for a few one-shot published 10 years ago in french). English is not my first language, but I realized that it was easier for me to write it in English (reading mainly english written fanfictions), I hope I will not make too many mistakes, I apologized in advance for it.

As of today I have written 20 chapters (+Prologue) which represents about 50 000 words, it is not close to be over in my head… so be ready for a long story. I think I will publish about 1 or 2 chapters a week until I catch up with my writing (I do not always have an internet connection at the moment so I cannot promise a regular schedule)

I'll try to keep this fic as canon compliant as possible (I do not plan on being compliant with the DH epilogue though). I try to do as much research as I can to stay in the canon, although there might be some mistakes or details I choose to change for the sake of the story (nothing major hopefuly).

Thank you so much for reading me. I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I like writing it. Please do not hesitate to give me your impressions.

PS : Obviously, I do not own anything.

July was almost over. The streets of London were horribly hot. It was the middle of the afternoon and nobody could be seen outside. People were hiding away in the cool shelter of their house.

It was not because of the heat that Harry Potter was hiding inside. He simply could not face it. He could not face the outside world. He could not face the acclamations, the congratulations. He could not face the happiness and the endless celebrations. There was nothing to celebrate. Voldemort was dead. It was a much needed death, but it was still a death. Death was not cause for celebrations. To many had lost their life during the war. To many had died for absolutely nothing. Whatever side you had chosen in the war, deaths had been pointless. Voldemort did not transformed the world like his followers hoped he will. Harry Potter had not saved the wizarding world like everybody expected him to. He had killed a man. Or whatever was left of it. And the wizarding world was far from saved. It was broken.

Harry Potter was broken. The war had drained him of everything. He could not leave Grimmauld Place anymore. He spent his days mourning in the dark rooms of the Black house. But he grieved for hundreds, thousands of people. There were too many to account for. To many to be able to keep living like if this was over.

Ron and Hermione were not doing much better. They sometimes came by and they would all stay silent around an awful cup of tea. The fabulous golden trio, the one acclaimed in every paper, was not so bright and shining any more. Everyone was mourning. Butthe three of themhad lost so friends, their families, their childhood, their innocence. No, Ron and Hermione were not doing much better, but they had each other at least.

Ginny had tried. She had so much to grieve too. But she had tried to be the shoulder he could cry on. He had not let her. He could not. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

That day Harry had had the strength to get out of bed. He did not eat though. While going down to go to the library he passed Sirius' old room. The one he had lived, the second time he inhabited Grimmauld now, he had never been able to go inside. But that day, he did.

The room was a mess. It had been searched by Ron when they were looking for the Slytherins necklace, Harry had not been able to enter the room at that time either. He suddenly felt so angry about his best friend. How could he have made such a mess about Sirius' room ? He tried convincing himself that it was Ron. At that time he probably did not even realized what it could mean for Harry. He was much more aware of others feelings now, when he was not drowning himself in his sorrow. Hermione was lucky to have him.

He wandered around the room. Looking for pieces of Sirius. Searching for something to hold on to. Now it seemed that his godfather death was such a long time ago. But the pain had not eased just one bit.

He saw it on his way out. A folded piece of paper, almost hidden under the unfolded it carefully. The minute he saw what it was, he had to sit on the bed, not able to stand anymore. His eyes filled with tears.

It was a wedding picture. His parents' wedding. His finger moved to trace circles around his mother and father. They were laughing. So happy, so young, so beautiful. He knew they had been married in the middle of the war, but they seemed so innocent and so carefree. He moved his eyes to his godfather, standing at his father's side. His left arm around James Potter's shoulder, the right one was busy trying to dishevelled his bestmate's hair, even more that it was already that is. He had never seen Sirius like that. He was not the thin and ghostly man he once met. He was not the shadow of himself Harry could remember. He was everything people had told him about Sirius. Confident, strong, shining with joy, incredibly good looking.

Harry realized his eyes were filled with tears. He wondered why he had never seen this picture, if Sirius had it with him. But then he saw the look in the young Sirius' eyes. And he noticed her.

She was standing next to the newly calledLily Potter. She was not as relaxed as the three others. It was as if she was trying to restrain from smiling to much. His mother was whispering something to her ear. Then the mysterious woman raised an eyebrow at her, apparently amused. She was standing straight,her head high. She was truly one of the most beautiful woman Harry had never seen. Fleur's veela family was not even close to being as magnetic. At one point during thescenerepeated over and over, she was looking at Sirius. And it was the same moment Sirius was turning his eyes to her. The picture was old and it looked like it had lived in Sirius' pocket for too long. It was worn out as if it had been open and folded countless of time. But time could never erase what Harry saw in both their eyes. It was so strange for him to see Sirius like that. Love. Undeniable, powerful, unconditional love.

Harry looked once more at the picture above the fireplace. He had framed the used photograph. And he had spent hours and hours staring at it in the past few weeks. He had no idea who that girl was. He thought she reminded him of someone, but it could not replace who. Hermione and Ron did not know either. And it was not like he could ask many people about her. Everyone was dead. Everyone who could have known who was this mysterious girl. Dead. He had asked the Weasley's but they did not recognized her. She was not in the first order apparently, she had not been in the picture Sirius had shown him all those years ago. Molly admitted, with what felt like guilt, or maybe regret, that they were not close to Sirius during the first war, and that she never knew he had someone in his life.

He gave a last look at the picture before heading to bed.

For once, it was not a nightmare that woke him up. He was sure he had heard something. He had woken up holding his wand tightly in front of him. His forehead damp with sweat. He cast a Lumos, grabbed his glasses quickly.

The room was empty. There was no sound or anything on the floor that could have fallen. Maybe it had been a nightmare then. After a few minutes he laid again in his bed, trying to find sleep. He was on the verge of taking the dreamless potion on his bedside table when he heard it again. Steps.

He silently jumped out of bed. His wand ready to fight. War was way to fresh and reflexes were still intact. Trained by months of nightmares now. The sound had come from somewhere else in the house. He opened his door as silently as possible and scanned the corridor. Empty. Then he saw a flick of light on the floor beneath him. He turned off his lumos and followed the stairs to reach the light.

It was coming from Sirius' childhood did not let any chance to the intruder, slammed the door open and shouted his powerful signature "Expelliarmus" toward the light. But whoever it was was fast. He dodged the spell and turned to him in flash, the tip of his wand casting a soft light on his face and in the room.

Harry felt his knees starting to wobble. His wand fell on the floor and before he had time to realized he was crouching next to it. Unable to stand, his eyes filled with tears. He looked again at the man in front of him. His chest was tight and his voice was shaking and unsure, but he manage to whisper before passing out :

- Sirius ?!

He woke up in the living room. The room lit by the fireplace. It took him a few minutes to remember what happened. When he did remember, he jumped out of the couch and scanned the room :

- Sirius !

That time his voice was clear, shouting, pleading. He heard noises in the kitchen, and quick steps hurrying back to him.

At first he thought his dreams had indeed finally came true. His godfather was back. He seemed even healthier, younger than he had ever seen him. Except for that picture on the mantelpiece. But after a few second staring at the man in front of him, Harry realized something. It was as if he had been plunged and drown in glacial water. This was not Sirius. He looked like him. So much that it hurt. But it was not pain he managed to draw his wand.

- Who are you ?

- Hello Harry, I am sorry for waking you up. I was not really supposed to...

Harry draw his hand higher.

- I asked you a question. Who are you ? And how did you enter the house ? Nobody is supposed to be able to get in without…

- Without being invited by a black or their rightful heir. I know that, the stranger cut him.

- Sirius left me the house. And there are no black alive anymore.

The man repressed a small laugh, so faint it almost sounded like a sigh.

- Are you sure about that fact Harry ?

Harry frowned. A second ago he was sure about it. But looking at the man, the spitting image of Sirius… As if the other read his thought he moved a step closer and presented his hand.

- Hi, Harry. I am Regulus.

Harry had to sit in the armchair. His head was spinning. Regulus Black. Regulus black was supposed to be dead years and years ago.

- You are dead, he managed to say.

- Well… obviously not.

- But you disappeared, no one ever saw you after you went to the cave. The inferi, Kreatcher…

The man pretending to be Regulus kneeled in front of him, smiling softly. He was so gentle and seemed so harmless than Harry did not even draw his wand up again.

- I did disappear, no one ever saw me again after the cave. That part is true. Actually, the inferi were there too… not the greatest moment of my life really. But I am not dead. I was hiding, abroad.

-Kreatcher said…

- Kreatcher said what he was told to say. But we also modified his memories for the sake of it.

- Why ? And why are you back now ? Harry asked, and after a silence he added, and you said we ?

Regulus Black looked at the clock on the wall. He was already late. He looked at the boy again. He was the spitting image of James Potter. Regulus had never liked James. But seeing his son reminded instantly brought back images of James Potter and whenever Potter had been somewhere, Sirius had be there too. He felt his chest getting tight. He had to go. She was waiting for him. She would not hesitate to come and get him if he was too late. And that was not a great idea.

- Listen Harry. I cannot explain it now. I don't have the time. I hope we will be able to come back soon to England. I believe in her.

He turned to leave but the boy's voice stopped him before the door. He sounded so hurt, pleading for some answers.

- Who is we ? Who else are you talking about ?

Regulus closed his eyes. She would be really mad at him. But Voldemort was dead, Dumbledore was dead. They did not have to hide anymore.

- Cassiope, he answered.

Harry blinked. Was he supposed to know who that was ?

- Who is that ?

Regulus looked surprised.

-They never told you about her ?

Seeing Harryshaking his headand his interrogative expressionhe added :

- Cassiope Elezy. I thought you have a picture of her on your mantelpiece…She is your godmother.

Before Harry had any time to answer or react to the bomb he had just dropped, Regulus exited the house. A distinct "Crack" told Harry he was gone before he had any time to chase him.

He looked at the picture above the fireplace. His godmother ? He had a godmother ? Who the fuck was Cassiope Elezy ?