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Chapter Text

"'But you, Peter—I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after you, didn't you? It used to be us...me and Remus...and James...'"

- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 38

When Orion opened his eyes and felt a sharp, stabbing pain behind one temple coupled with the antiseptic light that could only be found in a hospital, he knew the next voice that he heard would be neither his gentle mother nor his affable, enigmatic cousin.

"Oh. I see you are awake."

No, indeed. Quite a different voice.

"Is that a surprise?"

"It is, in fact. The healers weren't sure if you would ever wake up."

He blinked again, and the world slid into focus. His wife was in the midst of tucking a brocaded coverlet over the hospital blankets. She was very pale, dressed all in black, except for the enormous emerald pendant at her throat he recognized as one he had given her on their honeymoon in Scotland. He hadn't seen her wear it in at least five years.

An odd thing to think of, in such a moment. He started to lift his head.

"Fawcett says you're not to try to do that."

Orion let his head fall back on the pillow with a thud.

"Where are my sons?"

"One is there." She pointed to the corner of the room. Regulus sat slumped down on a chair, gently snoring. The grip on Mr. Black's chest loosened by half. It was obvious the boy had been given sleeping draught and the conversation Orion imagined was about to take place would not wake him, no matter what volume it reached.

He turned his eyes back to his wife.

"What about the other one?" he asked, bracing himself for the worst.

His wife's eyes flashed with irritation which she quickly masked with deep for concern for the plumpness of his pillows.

"I don't know," she said. "I think your father sent him on some errand."

"Damn my father! Is he here?" Orion blinked as her previous words sunk in. "And what errand?"

She shrugged, as if it was of no interest or consequence to her, but the stiffness in her shoulders and neck told a different story.

"I don't know," she said. "You would have to ask your sister. Or Cygnus."

"Is there any member of our family who isn't here?"

"Most of them are. That reminds me—Burke is coming, I sent for him. I need you to look over some of the particulars of the marriage contract before meeting the girl's parents."

"The girl's—" It took him a few seconds her words to register—another few for him to comprehend them. "Pardon me, but is that likely to happen in the near future?"

"They're in the hospital as we speak, expecting it. As is Eulalie Fawley." He had never seen her so intently fold a blanket. "I had Burke draw up a marriage contract a few days ago. It's just a starting point, but I thought you could look it out before we present it to them in case you spot anything that you imagine wouldn't suit. I was wondering about the provisions for younger sons. Do you think I should put in a clause for two or three? She's very young, there's no reason they couldn't have at least half a dozen."

She said all this with perfect matter-of-fact bluntness, but it took her husband a moment to formulate a response in the proper tone.

He cleared his throat, trying to adopt a businesslike attitude himself. It would be better to not telegraph was he was actually thinking at the present juncture.

"You've been busy in my absence," he said, finally. "How did your elder son take the news of his nuptials?"

Mrs. Black did not answer for a moment, instead busying herself with some decorative pillows, which had appeared from God-knew-where.

"May I take it from your silence that your well-conceived plan did not go off, as the vulgar sometimes say, 'without a hitch'?"

"It happened just as I said it would," she said, stiffly. "He really has no choice in the matter. Especially now that the mother knows how much he's worth."

"I'm sure that's a great comfort to your son, whose reaction to the marriage you so painstakingly arranged for him you continue to prevaricate."

"You know precisely how he's behaving." She shoved the plumped pillow under his head with unnecessary force. "He's in quite a sulky pet over the whole business."

"I don't wander. I imagine most men would be upon learning the girl they had spent a week courting was only doing so at the behest of their mother."

"Of course that's not why she was doing it!" Walburga snapped.

"Well, you could hardly expect him to think otherwise. Or be surprised when your son, who values honesty as a cardinal virtue, should find his sweetheart being forced into subterfuge by his mother a bit distasteful."

"It will all come right in the end." She stopped her ministrations and gave him a sharp look. "So long as I continue to have the support of all parties involved."

"What does Sirius say?"

"I don't know," she said shortly. "He isn't speaking to me."

Orion could tell that this bothered her—not that she thought she wouldn't ever speak to her son again, for they both knew him to not be able to resist an argument, but because their son's reaction had exactly confirmed the suspicion and warning he had given her several nights before. It did not seem in the spirit of the moment for him to crow, nor was it in his character to do so, so Orion refrained from pointing out what surely must be both obvious and vexing to her.

"I must say," he said, after several minutes of silence. "I am surprised. Are you sure you're my wife?"

"What sort of question is that?"

"A very reasonable one, under the circumstances. You don't seem like her. This sort of placidity was the last thing I expected upon waking. I'm wondering if I'm still hallucinating."

"You've taken a potion for that. You shouldn't have any symptoms anymore. And—" She hesitated, suppressing some supreme irritation, and a flash of anger which he recognized well. If he had had any true doubts about her identity, they had been quashed then and there. "—The healers say that you can't be disturbed or agitated. It might kill you."

He took this news in. Given what he had just gone through, it was far less disturbing to his peace of mind than his wife evidently thought it ought to be.

"But surely the healers don't think a thrashing from my wife would stimulate or disturb me. After twenty-five years of marriage such things are as commonplace as discussing the weather is for other couples. In fact, the absence of such strictures is more likely to disturb me. I feel my heart in danger of giving out the longer I have to wait before you start screaming."

She didn't crack even the tiniest of smiles.

"Do not be sarcastic with me, Orion Black. Have I been such a poor wife to you that I deserve that?"

"No, indeed," he said, softly. "Any defects of yours are directly attributed to my wretchedness as a husband I should think."

Her nostrils flared—but not her temper. She seemed too tired. Orion noticed a faint redness around her eyes and felt a stab in his chest that had nothing to do with any illness.

"…Don't be absurd," she said.

"I didn't mean to tease you," said Orion. "I only meant to give you permission not to hold back. If there was any moment where I should think you deserve to give me a drubbing, it would be now."

Having been given permission to let loose upon her husband seemed to have the opposite effect. All sting was taken from her.

When she at last brought herself to speak, all Walburga could manage was to say was, "What were you thinking?"

"Of myself and no one else. Can you forgive me?"

She stared at him for a long moment, and even allowed the censure of the world for being a fool enough to allow herself to be seen with glassy eyes.

"I shall—consider it," she said, in a clipped voice.

"That is all I can expect, Madam. I thank you for consideration."

His wife sat down on the chair next to his bed and stared at him for a moment. The serene, calm look on his face clearly annoyed her. He tried to look more chastened, but could tell from the crease between her eyebrows that the look of penitence had had the opposite effect on Walburga.

"I can't decide who I should tell you're awake first," she said. "Your father or your sister."

"If this debate arises from a desire to know which would be a greater punishment to me, madam, I advise you to send them in together."

She considered it.

"I couldn't do that." Her humorless mouth quirked into a small and deceptively sweet smile. "It really would finish you off."

He let out a weak chuckle.

"Who knows? Perhaps if you think better of it, you might prefer that outcome."

His eyes drooped, and the last word turned into a yawn. There have been no raised voices, but he had been sapped of strength all the same. Orion felt the weight of something on his arm—

Her hand.

"You must never speak that way again, Orion Black."

"If—that is what you wish."

She murmured something about letting the healers know of his condition and made towards the door. Her hand rested on the door knob for several long moments, as she wrestled with something only she could understand—and even then, not well. Certainly not well enough to put it into words.

"Orion—"

When Walburga turned around, he was fast asleep again.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Sirius tapped the knob on the door to the library and looked up at his cousin. She stood by the green damask sofa in the center of the room, arms rigid at her sides, wand pointed straight at him. Any attempt to mask her indignance with ladylike fortitude was forgotten.

"Are you deaf?" Sirius followed her into the room, unperturbed. "I just explained. I'm on an errand for my dear grandpapa."

"I didn't believe a word you said."

"We both know that's a fat lie." He leaned against one of the high-backed chairs. "You just don't want to believe any of it. Come on, you know there's no other reason I'd come to this damn house."

"You weren't carrying a letter for Arcturus the night of his birthday party," she said, coldly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow—newly interested in the conversation.

"That's a fair point." He pretended to be interested in a drab set of antique spell books. "Who told you—your husband?"

"That's neither here nor there—"

"—Was it Colette?"

Narcissa expression turned even icier—if that was possible.

"She's never mentioned anything to me about your acquaintance with her."

"Well, she wouldn't, would she?" Sirius, suddenly evasive, picked up a carved china angel from a shelf and examined it. "I—asked her not to."

"How nice for you that she keeps your confidences," she said, stiffly.

He set the angel back down and let out a sigh.

"Don't get in a pet about Colette Battancourt, Ciss. When you hear the whole story, you'll see I've been just as much a fool as you."

There was a long moment of silence while each cousin sized the other up. Mrs. Malfoy adopted an air of cool superiority that Sirius remembered well from their overlapping school years. Narcissa had made it her personal mission to tell him, whenever their paths crossed—a blissfully rare occurrence—that she planned to write Aunt Walburga a letter about his disgraceful conduct.

He had a hunch that it was an act she was putting on, in this case.

"So you figured it was me in the house all on your own, did you?" Sirius shoved his hands in the pocket of his robes.

She gave him a look that was almost defiant.

"What's that to you?"

"Just this—word of friendly advice. If old Lucius tries to feign ignorance on that score—don't believe him. I have no doubt he knew it was me in this house that night. He saw me talking with my associate at the Ministry a day later. Total snoop—how very déclassé of him."

"How do you know Lucius was—" She caught herself. "—That he saw you there?"

"A very reliable source informed me of your husband's spying and information-gathering with his Ministry cronies." His eyebrows went up in recognition of Narcissa's slip. "Oh, so he let that drop, did he? What was he doing, fishing for information about me under the guise of concern that your disreputable blood traitor relations might embarrass you?" She blushed. "What a cynic you've married, Ciss!"

"You're one to talk," she shot back. "Were you really using our family name to try to get a Ministry job?"

"It was a mere pretense to get in the door and have a conversation with a friend of mine. You should ask your husband about pretenses, he apparently knows all about them."

Not wanting to open herself to more attacks on her marriage, Narcissa let this insult of her husband pass unremarked upon. She marched over to the sofa and sank down in the cushions. She reminded Sirius so much of her teenaged self that he half expected her to lob one of the decorative pillows at his head.

"I should have known you were the one turning my friend against me," she said, at last.

Sirius sank down in a chair across from her.

"If you wanted her to stay on 'your side', Cissy, you shouldn't have made her spend a week with your friends and our family. That's enough to sour any friendship. As it is, all I wanted was to save her from an arranged marriage with Reg or Rabastan Lestrange."

She rounded on him, indignant.

"By getting engaged to her yourself?"

"You think that was my idea? The whole thing from start to finish is my mother's scheme. Don't be offended Colette spent last week ditching you for me, she was acting on my mother's orders."

"Aunt Walburga—"

"—Remains as insane as she's ever been." Sirius glowered at her. "You know, I blame you for this, Ciss. You spend the whole of Christmas shoving your protégée at my mother, extolling her virtues as a possible daughter-in-law—it never occurred to you she might have a different son in mind to get shackled, did it?"

Her delicate features contorted into a look of haughty disbelief—the trademark Black female look of incredulity.

"Why would I ever think she would consider a worthless and disgraceful blood traitor like you?" Narcissa exclaimed. "When did she get her claws back in you, anyway?"

He slouched down into the chair.

"It's a long and tedious story that I've already had to tell once in the last twelve hours—I'm not going to bother again. Ask your parents, next time you see them. Or don't, I don't care."

"And how long have you been sneaking around with Colette Battancourt?"

"Since that night. Don't get your knickers in a twist, it wasn't her fault. My mother was blackmailing her into it. She seems to think marriage is the answer to her 'Sirius problem'. Why d'you think she took such an interest?" Narcissa made a displeased little noise in the back of her throat—one her cousin remembered well. "What's the matter? I thought you wanted Colette to get a rich husband. She scored the jackpot with me. I'm the ten thousand galleon drawing of eligible men."

"A pity about your personality," said Narcissa, acidly.

"Luckily, that's not what respectable witches go in for. You're living proof."

Narcissa gripped her wand tightly—knowing full well that it was unseemly for a witch to lose her temper in such a situation and dearly wishing there was a socially acceptable way to curse his nose off his face.

Sirius sighed and sat up.

"Listen, Cissy—I told you there's no need to be cross over Colette Battancourt. We're not getting married."

The fingers around her wand loosened. Mrs. Malfoy let her wand hand fall into her lap. Sirius had lost his insolent manner, and had instead adopted an air of resignation that blunted all the disagreeable emotions Sirius had always inspired in her.

"That's not what you told Abraxas."

"Arcturus gave him the family line, in the hopes that the news spreading will make it stick," said Sirius, flatly. "And I didn't much feel like confiding the fact that my supposed 'fiancée' threw a curse at me in front of her entire family and ours before announcing she never wants to speak to me again. I believe for a marriage to take place both contracting parties have to be willing."

Both of Narcissa's eyebrows went up.

"Is she the unwilling party?"

He realized his slip too late.

"That's—not what I said."

"But it's what you meant," said Narcissa, her sharp eyes missing neither his stutter nor the faint color in his cheeks. "And you don't like that she's unwilling."

"I'm not interested in a marriage arranged for me by my mother."

"But it's a bit different when it's the girl's decision to cry off, and not yours."

Damn women, Sirius thought. So blind about so much, but able to grasp on any personal detail and extrapolate whatever wild fancy they wished.

"That's really—besides the damn point, Ciss," he grumbled.

"Is it?" She narrowed her eyes. "I think it's very interesting. She's not at all what I'd have thought a blood traitor like you would go for. I can't imagine what you find to talk about."

"That's not shocking. You've never exactly been renowned for you imagination, have you?"

Never one to rise to the bait, she passed over his insult without comment.

"Why does Arcturus care whether it comes off or not?"

"Who knows why that vampire does anything?" he snapped. "By the way, I really appreciate the heartfelt concern you obviously feel for my father, still at death's door. Really warms the heart."

Mrs. Malfoy recoiled, stung by his words—and the genuine feeling of righteous anger beneath them.

"Of course I—" She hesitated. "I am sorry. Is Uncle Orion really—"

"—Yes." Sirius looked down at the damask-covered arm of his chair and picked at a loose thread. He resembled the awkward, gawky teenager she remembered again—all arms and limbs and unseemly emotion bubbling just beneath the surface. "Fawcett seems to think he'll pull through. Arcturus refuses to believe anything else, of course."

Narcissa looked at him in silence for a moment—before standing up and walking over to the sideboard. She picked up one of the bottles of amber liquid sitting there gathering dust and poured it into a rocks glass. Mrs. Malfoy crossed back over the room and wordlessly handed the drink to her cousin.

Grateful, Sirius took the glass from her hand.

Mrs. Malfoy stood over him, looking unsure of what to say for the first time since the conversation had begun.

"What really happened last night, Sirius?"

Sirius looked up from his drink and over Narcissa's shoulder. His lips twisted into a humorless smile.

"Why don't you ask your husband?"

Narcissa turned around with a start. Lucius stood at the opening of a doorway that was hidden behind one of the bookshelves, his pale eyes narrowed into slits and fixed on Sirius.

"That thing's quiet," Sirius observed. "You must have it oiled regularly."

"Black," Lucius said.

"Malfoy." Sirius gave him an unpleasant smile. "Were your ears burning?"

Lucius stepped into the library. The bookcase slid back into place behind him, neatly concealing the secret passage again.

"I've just seen my father," he addressed his wife. "He told me the—unfortunate news about your uncle. I was shocked."

"Were you?" Sirius interjected, coolly. "I'd have thought you'd know more about it than he did."

Malfoy looked back at Sirius, his expression a cool blank—though his eyes glittered with unmistakeable dislike.

"Narcissa—go wait in the hall."

She took a step towards the door—then stopped herself.

"There is absolutely no reason for my cousin to leave his room—unless she's going to make me that cup of tea her father-in-law mentioned."

"Go to hell!" said Narcissa.

Sirius let out a low whistle.

"The domestic standards for women in this generation are down the toilet." Sirius set his glass down on a side table. "I think you should stay, Narcissa. You'll want to hear this."

She looked at her husband, then back at Sirius—and to both men's surprise, she remained where she was standing.

"Lovely little to-do at Lestrange Castle last night, Malfoy. I don't recall seeing you there—but then, there was such a crush. Perhaps I just missed you."

Narcissa sat back down on the sofa across from Sirius.

"What were you doing there?" she asked, glaring at him.

"I had a personal invitation from the hostess," he said, with a shrug.

"Bella invited you?"

"Does that surprise you?" Narcissa didn't answer. "She would never leave you off the invitation list, being so—sisterly. Leaves me wondering why you two didn't show."

"I don't owe you any explanation for my whereabouts, Black," said Lucius, coldly. "Last night or any other night."

Sirius put up his hands in a gesture of placation.

"This is a casual conversation between gentlemen—not an interrogation. You're as touchy as a woman, Lucius—is this Cissy's influence?"

Lucius's face relaxed, slightly—though it seemed to take him effort.

"My wife wasn't feeling well. We decided to forgo the festivities and stayed here, instead."

Sirius looked at Malfoy, long and hard—then he turned his face towards his cousin.

"An innocent explanation. And you can confirm that, Narcissa?" he asked. "That your husband was here all last night with you?"

She glanced at her husband and then bit her lip.

"Well, that was a—forgive the phrase—pregnant pause." He gave Malfoy a knowing look. "You'd think an evening in would be an easy enough story to corroborate."

"I thought you said this wasn't an interrogation," said Narcissa, her voice tight.

Sirius let out a single, unpleasant 'ha.'

"She's not giving you the ice princess treatment already, is she, Malfoy? You're lucky she's carrying a son—at this rate it might be the only child you ever get from her."

"Shut up!"

"Incidentally, Cissy—'Draco'? Out of what nineteenth century novel did you pull that tripe?"

"If you speak to my wife that way again, Black," Lucius said, in a low voice. "I'll ensure that your tongue is cut out."

The cruel smile dropped from Sirius's face.

"I see how it is. You'll protect her wifely dignity quick enough, but when it comes to telling her the truth, you're reticent." Malfoy clenched his jaw. "Give your wife some credit! I'm not capable of puncturing her vanity or pride—she can give as good as she gets."

His cousin gave him a cold, imperious look that would have put Walburga to shame.

"How do you know about Draco?"

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Still your fluttering heart—I have no interest in your spawn, Ciss. My mother mentioned it, that's all. I wondered why you were giving the future scion of the Malfoy family a Black name. Then I remembered—" He addressed Malfoy. "She's always had a bit of a complex about not being saddled with a stupid constellation name like the rest of us. Her sister used to tell her their mother had an affair with an undertaker and she wasn't a real Black. I never understood why you let it bother you, Cissy. You have that special blend of vanity and contempt I only find in women in our family. There's no doubt from whence you came."

"I could say the same thing about you," said Narcissa.

Sirius laughed.

"I hope you mean that as an insult. I'd have more respect for you if you did."

Narcissa tossed her head. Sirius's lip curled up.

"Perhaps you weren't there last night, Malfoy," he continued, calmly. "Perhaps Lestrange got away on his own steam—I really don't care. But I do think Narcissa ought to know which of you lot had a motive to target my father, and why."

"I don't know what you're accusing my husband of—"

"—If you'd been with the family last night, you would know, Narcissa, that your sister is the Death Eater who attacked my father and put him in the hospital." The color drained from Narcissa's face. "I thought it would be a bit indelicate to mention that fact in front of your esteemed father-in-law, not least of all because Bella couldn't have done it without your husband's help."

"You're lying," said Narcissa, standing up again. He watched her wand hand tremble with a studied nonchalance.

"You sound like your father. It didn't take him long to be convinced, though. You and Bella are in such black books that Cygnus has been put in the supremely awkward position of having to not only take Andromeda back, but acknowledge the existence of her daughter and her husband. Imagine it, Cissy—your father shaking the hand of Ted Effing Tonks. I could have laughed, if my father hadn't been dying in the next room."

Lucius managed to keep his face an impressive blank throughout this speech. Mrs. Malfoy turned to look at him—but her husband would not catch her eye.

"Nothing to say, Malfoy?"

When Lucius did break his silence, he kept his voice low—but with a hint of dangerous, barely leashed anger just beneath the surface.

"My supposed involvement in this affair aside—on its face, that's a very far-fetched story. Why would Bellatrix attack her own uncle?"

"She was having a 'heated conversation' with my brother. I'm afraid my father made the mistake of sticking his oar in. One thing leads to another, and someone's bleeding out on the floor. Not the person she was aiming for, but a worthy consolation prize all the same."

"If what you are saying is the truth," said Lucius. "Which I doubt—it would appear to me that Regulus is to blame for the night's unfortunate events."

A shadow crossed Sirius's face.

"He did what he felt he had to. So did she."

"Contrary to popular belief, Bellatrix does not attack without provocation. One wonders how Regulus provoked her."

"Does one? I think the real question is who tipped her off on how to get him out in the open. She was out of town until the twenty-third. Someone who was around must've been making a real effort to suss my brother out for her."

Lucius smiled, as if he was humoring Sirius.

"You are mistaking me for someone who confides in my sister-in-law. If I knew anything valuable, she'd be the last women I'd tell."

"Oh, I never imagined for a minute you let her find out on purpose. She just wheedled what she wanted out of you—no doubt against your will and probably your better judgment." He expression darkened. "And don't bother denying it, because if you must know, that crazed bitch admitted the whole damn thing under the influence of truth potion she took just to put me at my ease. Discretion isn't really her bag."

Malfoy kept his composure, though anger flickered behind his eyes. Narcissa made no effort to hide her shock, though the more Sirius said, the less visibly surprised she became.

"It doesn't seem to be yours, either," said Malfoy, softly.

"No—I prefer directness. It's something she and I have in common."

He stood up and walked over to Lucius. The two men were almost the exact same height, though Sirius held himself in a way that made him seem taller, in spite of being five years Malfoy's junior.

"Tell me, Malfoy, what's it like to be such a colossal fuck-up that in a single night you manage to turn a family like ours against your master? I've never met a more sympathetic pack of pureblood fanatics than the Blacks—it should have been easy to drum up their tacit support. You let the one thing they can't abide happen—you couldn't keep a leash on Bella. You turned one of their own against them. They'll all be baying for your blood—and the rest of the pureblood pack won't be far behind. They'll say—'if He-Must-Not-Be-Named would send one of our daughters after her own uncle, who's to say who's next? And Arcturus Black's son, of all people—is nothing sacred?'"

Lucius blinked his pale eyes and shrugged.

"It's the word of a blood traitor against mine."

Sirius stepped back from Malfoy and glanced at his cousin. Though she kept her emotions in check, the muscle in her neck tensed up.

"I don't suppose you've paid much attention to the marriage settlement of your wife's parents, Malfoy…but then again, knowing your family, a known horde of money grubbers, you might have all the details memorized."

Lucius sneered.

"The house that Narcissa's parents live in was given to the Blacks by the Rosier Family upon Druella's marriage to Cygnus. Part of the marriage settlement included a clause stipulating that the head of our family could allow the house to be let to whichever family member he chose. I imagine that if his only son should be killed by your sister-in-law, my grandfather will take great and savage pleasure in turning your in-laws out on the street. And since Cygnus would rather die than work to earn his keep, they'll have to move in here with you. A cheery thought, I'm sure."

Mrs. Malfoy had heard enough. She stepped in front of him, wand raised, her gray eyes as flinty as steel.

"How dare you threaten my family," said Cissy.

Sirius turned on her with a look so scorching Narcissa flinched.

"You forget that it's my family too," he said, voice dangerously low. "You should be careful how you speak to me, Narcissa. As the future head of the Blacks, you owe me at least some pretense of respect. I would hate to have to cut the exorbitant allowance you enjoy. No doubt it's been a contributing factor to your marital bliss."

Her face flushed an ugly red.

"Get out of this house!"

"I will leave this house when I'm done speaking to your husband—and not before." He turned to Lucius again. "By the way, Malfoy—where is he?"

Malfoy looked between his wife and Sirius—unsure, in spite of himself.

"Come on—don't hold out on me. Is he here?" Sirius pretended to look around the room. "You'd tell me if he was, wouldn't you? I mean, strictly speaking, he's not worth anything to you now. If anything, he's a liability."

Malfoy kept his face an implacable blank.

"What are you talking about?" said Narcissa, glancing between the two men. Neither seemed interested in filling her in, though she could tell Lucius understood her cousin's meaning perfectly.

Sirius gave her husband another searching look before turning to address her again.

"You know, Ciss—it's very ironic, you telling Colette that all my friends are underbred fifth you wouldn't dream of associating with. It doesn't seem to have stopped your husband."

Narcissa turned to look at Lucius, but the expression on his face stopped the entreaties dead in their tracks.

"From doing what?"

"Your sister said something very interesting to me last night," Sirius continued, in a casual tone of voice. "She said she'd prefer information from me to the vermin she's been getting it from. Unusual word choice, 'vermin'—Bella's not usually that verbally creative, so it stood out. It could be a coincidence, but it got me thinking—you know we call him 'Wormtail', right?"

"Who are you talking about?" demanded Narcissa. Lucius kept his eyes fixed on Sirius.

"Peter—my friend, Peter Pettigrew. A schoolmate—not the sort of person you'd be able to pick out of a crowd. He can turn into a rat," Sirius explained, helpfully. "He can crawl under doors, into tight places—and out of them. And of course, there's nowhere a rat doesn't fit in. The world's a filthy place, after all—and getting filthier every day."

"I couldn't agree more," said Lucius, in a soft and mild voice.

"Dead useful, being able to turn into a rat. We'd have him spy on people for us at school. Funny—it never once crossed my mind he'd use that trick to spy on me."

"Perhaps you should have chosen your friends better," said Malfoy.

"True. Of course, I was twelve. What's your excuse?"

Narcissa stepped between the two men, her expression as blank and impassive as her husband's.

"She got to him first, you know—" Sirius continued, in a low voice. "Got what she wanted out of him, and used it to scare Regulus out of hiding. And now she's blown everything up, run off and left you holding the bag. But I don't need to tell you that's what you get for trusting Bella."

Lucius's face broke into a polite—and even gracious smile.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're speaking of, Black."

"Naturally. But of course—if you did, you'd never let on."

The comment hung in the air between all three of them.

"Just do me a favor, would you?" asked Sirius, after a moment. "On the off-chance he crosses your path—pass on a message from me."

"That seems…unlikely."

"A one in a thousand chance, I'm sure. All the same—if you do, tell him the next time I see him, I'll make Bellatrix look like Florence Fucking Nightingale. The allusion won't be lost on him."

Lucius raised one eyebrow in faint amusement.

"I'll be sure not to mince my words."

Abraxas appeared at the door, holding a sealed letter in his hand—and a mild and imperturbable expression that did not betray whether he heard the last remarks that had been spoken in the room—or understood them.

"My reply, Black."

"Thank you, sir."

Sirius walked over to him and took the letter.

"Of course you'll want to return directly. Narcissa—" Abraxas continued, his voice smooth. "Why don't you…see your cousin out? There's an apparition point in the garden."

Always gracious and feminine, Narcissa bowed her head to her father-in-law in a sign of respect, then walked out of the room. Sirius following after her—and did not even give Lucius a backwards glance.

"I would be careful of that one," Abraxas remarked, when the door was shut behind him.

"He's nothing."

"He's a Black," said Abraxas, as if that explained everything. "And very like his grandfather. I have no doubt he'll make anyone involved with his father's attack pay a price—with interest."

"He has no proof."

"That is the last thing that would matter to a Black," his father observed, wryly. "You married into a dangerous family, Lucius. I wouldn't make enemies of them."

"It's not a concern. Aren't you always saying a man has to make his own way in the world, with no other consideration but his own fortunes?"

Abraxas gave his son the universal look of pity that all elders and wiser men reserve for the folly of youth.

"Having only experienced domestic felicity, my boy—you may find a reversal of fortunes on that front more trying than you could imagine."

"Narcissa is my wife," Lucius said, more defensively than he intended. "She's loyal to me."

"I'm sure," his father replied, his eyes lingering on the spot where the young Black had been standing. "But—all the same—I wouldn't test it."

The gazebo which the Malfoy family used as an apparition point meant that Sirius and Narcissa had to walk through a light snow and past the old orchard, much neglected since Lucius's mother had died.

"So," Sirius broke the silence. "Are you going to be in a snit with me for the rest of my life, or is that too much to ask?"

Narcissa harrumphed with great dignity.

"I would hate to say anything that might jeopardize my future allowance," she replied, coldly.

"I only said all that to get your husband's attention. Do you think I'd actually foist Cyg and Dry on you? Your father and my mother nearly killed each other last night, I don't need more troubles between them."

"You—humiliated me in front of my husband."

Sirius stopped walking.

"That wasn't my intention," he said. "Though I do think a good setting-down can occasionally have a desultory effect. Just look at me—you'd never know over the last fortnight I've been blackmailed, coerced, tied up and attacked by members of my own family."

"That's different," sniffed Narcissa.

"How?"

"You bring it on yourself." Sirius laughed at that. "And you ruin everything."

"I haven't ruined things for you—today, at least. Yet."

"What do you mean?"

Sirius considered whether he should tell her. You couldn't really trust Narcissa. Then again, you couldn't really trust anyone in their family.

"I haven't told anyone in the family about Lucius's involvement in this."

"What?"

"When Arcturus asked me what I knew, I didn't mention your husband."

Sirius cleared his throat.

"Of course you wouldn't," said Narcissa, slowly. "He's not involved."

"Very good. Always play stupid. In your case it's a sound strategy."

"If you're even telling the truth," said Narcissa, in a voice that said she very much doubted it. "I can't even imagine why you did it."

"Perhaps I just feel sorry for you, being married to such a prick." He paused. "Or maybe—I thought I owed you a good turn."

"What have I done for you?"

"Nothing on purpose, don't worry—you just saved my life, that's all. After a fashion." She scoffed. "You gave Colette Battancourt that portkey to Lestrange Castle. She used it—with a friend of mine, and ended up—sort of—rescuing me."

"From what?"

"From the dungeon your sister locked me up in. Of course, Colette thought she was saving Regulus. My father and I ended up having to do that—and now you know the result."

"Colette was there last night?" He nodded. "But why would she have thought Regulus was in danger?"

"Because she was afraid your husband had read something in her diary that might've got him into trouble with your husband and the rest of his Death Eater friends."

She turned to look at him—and gave him a look of unusual sincerity.

"What—has Reggie done, exactly?"

"Come on, Ciss—even you're not so naive that you can't guess."

She didn't reply. The two walked in a heavy silence. Somewhere, in the distance, a thrush sang.

"I have something for you," said Sirius. "I was hoping to get you alone." He took a letter out of his pocket. "It's from your father."

She snatched it out of his hand.

Narcissa read the letter quickly. When she finished, she crumpled it into her fist. The arm hung at her side—a strangely defeated pose that touched Sirius, in spite of every natural impulse he had. She didn't deserve his pity—anymore than he deserved hers.

"I'm surprised he even wants me to come," said Cissy.

"Why? You're the only one who can handle your mother on the best of days. It's Andi who wants you." Narcissa looked into his face. "She hasn't spoken to your parents in a decade, can you blame her? She's out of practice."

"What should I do?"

"Come to see them."

Narcissa glanced back at the house. Sirius found her expression the typical unreadable blank slate that was the trademark of their family, though he was sure he could guess what she was thinking.

"You know it's not that simple."

Perhaps, he thought, he understood his family better than he'd been willing to admit.

"You're not like me or Bellatrix, Cissy. You wouldn't enjoy being the family pariah."

"It doesn't look like I have much of a choice." She laughed at herself—a pitying laugh, but one that showed she had a sense of humor somewhere, deep inside. "Did Bella really invite you to her party?"

"Yes."

"Did she say why?"

"She wanted me on her side, in the end." Sirius said. "She wanted to trade Regulus for me."

Narcissa laughed.

"Is that funny?"

"No. Just typical Bella. Awful taste in men. I'm not surprised—she always liked you best of all of us."

Sirius's lip twitched.

"That doesn't give me comfort."

"It wasn't meant to."

Andromeda watched her father pace up and down the small hospital waiting room with an impassive detachment she was rather proud of. She didn't think she'd ever seen Cygnus exert himself such energy, apart from hunts. He reminded her of a wind-up rhinoceros toy Dora had had in nursery school—his corpulent form wizzed back-and-forth across the room with unnatural speed.

"Fag?"

Her father stopped and looked around at her, then at the outstretched hand which held out the pack of cigarettes.

"What the devil are you doing with those?"

"I smoke them."

"Since when?"

"Since I was fifteen."

Mrs. Tonks lit one, to demonstrate. He snatched the pack out of her hand.

"Does your husband know about this?"

"'What they don't know won't hurt them.' Isn't that what you always say?" She took a drag. "It's certainly the maxim you live by."

Her father lit up a cigarette with the tip of his wand and started to smoke. There was something very incongruous about the sight of him holding a cigarette. She had only ever seen him smoke cigars, or on very rare occasions, a pipe.

"I don't see why you're so anxious," said Andromeda, yawning. "Fawcett says he's over the worst of it."

"Whether he lives or not, what's the difference? I'll be ruined just the same."

She frowned.

"If it's just the same, you might as well wish him to live. Uncle Orion has never done you a bad turn in his life."

"He married my sister, didn't he? I wouldn't call that a good turn."

"Oh, well, I don't suppose there's any accounting for taste."

He gave his middle daughter a sideways look and a perverse smile.

"No, you're proof of that."

"So is mummy," she shot back.

Cygnus grunted. He was not so obtuse as his sister or his parents, and so her flat dry sarcasm did not go unnoticed. She gave him a sideways glance—he was making short work of the cigarette.

"You should take that up as a full-time habit," remarked Andromeda. "It might help you lose weight."

"You might hold your tongue, girl."

"Or what? You won't speak to me for another ten years? I think I can manage that."

"If today is anything to go on, you're right," said Cygnus, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Even your husband wouldn't speak to me with such disrespect."

She stubbed her cigarette out against the wall.

"His grandfather was in service, I suppose the deference for the aristocracy hasn't totally been bred out of him yet."

Cygnus cleared his throat. Now that they were on the subject of her unfortunate choice of a spouse, her father seemed determined to keep at it, though he was obviously struggling to come up with something to say that wouldn't offend her anymore than he already had.

"He seems—clever enough. For a mud—"

She shot him a filthy look.

"—for a…Hufflepuff," Cygnus finished, awkwardly.

"He's not so clever. He's over the moon about this."

"About what?"

She gestured vaguely at him. Her father raised an eyebrow as he understood what she was driving at.

"...Is he?" His voice turned both sly and suspicious. "Why?"

"He's been angling for years to meet you. I think it's in rather poor taste, considering I gave you up to marry him, but that's not the sort of thing he was brought up to care about."

"Why should he be interested in me?"

She looked up at him.

"Natural human curiosity. I'm his wife, it would be strange if he had no interest in the man who raised me." She hesitated. "I think he wanted to see if I exaggerated."

"About me?" He dropped his fag on the floor. "You talk about me?"

She sniffed, carelessly.

"In a decade it was bound to come up once or twice."

Sirius walked into the room, an interruption for which Andromeda was grateful.

"Where the devil have you been?" asked Cygnus.

"Malfoy's," said Sirius, curtly. "Why the hell did you let her marry that idiot?"

Cygnus curled his lip.

"She was in love," he said, ironically.

"As if that's an excuse. Standards really have gone downhill in this family."

"Your father woke up, Sirius." Sirius's eyes brightened, but he otherwise kept his demeanor calm. It was odd—he usually had no control over his emotions, and broadcast them far and wide. "He's asleep again, now. He spoke to your mother. Walburga said he was lucid—I think she went off to fetch Fawcett."

He nodded, stiffly.

"...Regulus?"

"My mother's dogging him somewhere in this hospital. Burgie seems to think he might leave. And she couldn't have that."

"She's right. If we don't have a watchdog on him, he might do something stupid. Stupider than he already has been."

"It's hard to top picking a fight with You-Know-Who," remarked Andromeda, dryly.

"I was thinking of picking a fight with my mother, actually."

He made as though he was going to go into the other room, and Andromeda caught him by the arm.

"…Cissy?"

"Give her a minute," said Sirius. "She's got to make up her mind."

He went through the door to his father's room. Andromeda turned to look back at her father. He suddenly looked very tired. He sat down and ran his fingers through graying hair.

"You'll say this is my fault, Andromeda," said Cygnus, in a hollow voice. "That I deserve this."

She sat down next to him.

"I would never say anyone deserves this, Daddy."

The second time he woke up Orion saw the curtains had been drawn, but he felt no piercing shrewish eye from the chair beside the bed.

What he did feel was something pressing on his knee.

He turned his eyes to the end of the bed.

"Oh," he remarked. "It's you."

The large black dog who had been resting his head on Orion's knee raised his chin. Its silver eyes glittered with an unusual intelligence for a dog.

"When did you get back?"

The dog's ears perked up. Orion frowned.

"I suppose it's too much to expect rational conversation from you in this state," he said, dryly. "But when you are feeling up to it, pray, tell me—did you or did you not put me, Orion Arcturus Black, in the sidecar of one of those Muggle contraptions I have told you time and again I abhor?"

His companion flattened his ears.

"That thing goes straight into the fire, do you hear me?"

The dog gave a single defiant yip. He then turned his large gray eyes towards his father. It was a pitiable expression on an animal, and would have melted even the stoniest heart—apart from Orion. He had seen that look too many times before.

"Is this form supposed to gain my sympathy? If you think I'm going to pet you and spoil you like your mother—"

A long snout nudged under his hand.

"—I am not, do you hear me?"

Almost without thinking, Orion began to gently stroke the dog's head. The creature leaned into his touch. He scratched behind the silky ears, feeling warmth and a slight tremble.

"There, there," he murmured, in a quiet voice. "There's no need for that."

The trembling increased. If someone had walked in the room at that moment they would have wondered if a dog was capable of sobbing.

"You're fine, boy," said Orion. "All will be well."

The dog vaulted with his back paws and launched himself onto the bed. Orion sat up in surprise at the invasion.

"Sirius Orion Black, what the devil are you—"

Orion's son pressed his face up against his father's chest. Mr. Black told himself later that he had only been trying to stop the beast from mauling him when he put his arms around its shoulders to steady it.

"Now, now," he said, in a firm but gentle voice. "What have I always told you about foolish sentimental displays?"

Nevertheless, he ran his hands along the soft fur and felt relief when the trembling beneath his fingers quieted. The dog nuzzled his head into Orion's chest, and on instinct he pulled him closer. Mr. Black thanked God and the fates that no one else was in room to see the two of them carrying on in this ridiculous way.

And yet…he didn't stop the smooth, placating movement of his hand down the soft spine. Up and down…up and down.

"Don't think," he scolded, quietly. "That this is going to make me soften on that contraption of yours."

The fur disappeared, replaced with a leather coat, and there was a boy sitting on the edge of his bed, clutching the cloth of the sheets and buried in his father's chest.

No, Orion thought, Not a boy. A man.

"I'll have you know," Sirius said, in a muffled voice. "That that 'contraption' saved your life."

His father scoffed, quietly.

"Have you ever heard the turn of phrase 'better off dead'?"

Sirius pulled himself out of his Mr. Black's arms and rubbed his face with the back of his hand, to little effect.

"From you, all the time. Apparently it's your favorite sentiment."

Orion eyed Sirius's face. The dried blood from where the chandelier had scraped his cheek was still visible.

"You should have that cut looked at."

"Somehow," replied his son, dryly. "I don't feel that's the most relevant medical issue in question right now."

Orion glanced over at the corner where Regulus had been asleep before. Empty.

"Where is your brother?"

"Somewhere in this hospital, I'd wager," said Sirius. "She's not likely to let him out of her sight. Granny's been set on him. You know she slapped him across the face."

"Your grandmother?"

"No, your wife. And I'm sure your current state is the only reason why you are not getting the same treatment. She knows all about Mr. Reckless Self-Endangerment falling on the sword."

"How?" He frowned. "I can't imagine he would volunteer that."

"He didn't. I told on him."

Orion took a moment to soak that in before smiling.

"What a role reversal. I've never known you to tell tales. It seems decidedly beneath you."

"I've decided to embrace the petty spite of my heritage."

Mr. Black sat up straighter.

"I hear I am to—" He buried a laugh. "Offer you felicitations on your betrothal."

He almost managed to get the words out with a straight face. Sirius scowled at him, comforting his father by becoming the boy again.

"Oh, how droll of you. I cannot believe you let her play me like that. All that 'you can pick your life for yourself' garbage you fed me, when all the time you knew she was plotting to marry me off."

"I am hardly your mother's accomplice. I have long since learned there is a little point in interfering when your mother gets an idea in her head."

"You sound like Andromeda. You could at least pretend to be on my side for once."

"Are you in need of an advocate?"

"It's not me I'm worried about. It's Colette."

"It seems to me that you would be better suited for that role than me. I'm loathe to point this out, lest you accuse me of thinking you were simpleton, but you do realize that your mother is not actually capable of forcing you to marry anyone."

"I'm well aware, but that's not the point. She's arranged it all so if I refuse, I look like a jilt."

"Why should I mere matter of convention be of concern to my son?" Orion raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I thought you said Miss Battancourt 'needed looking after.'"

Sirius's face turned pink.

"Don't you use my words against me. You were drawing me out to assuage your own guilt at being party to this scheme."

"I wasn't consciously doing anything of the kind."

"Of course not! For you snakes it's second nature." Sirius sighed. "Look, I'd just appreciate your support on this."

Orion's managed to keep a straight face, though his eyes danced with wicked humor.

"And how exactly would that be in my interest?"

"If you could stop being a bloody Slytherin for one minute—"

There was a knock at the door. Sirius transformed back into a dog.

"Orion?"

Arcturus came in the room without waiting for permission. Orion glanced down just as a black blur slipped under his bed.

The younger Black made a half-hearted attempt to look as though he were still asleep.

"Don't take me for a fool, boy."

Orion opened his eyes. The look Arcturus was leveling at him from the door was glacial.

"…Sir."

He sat up as his father walked slowly into the room.

"I suppose," muttered Arcturus. "That's all the greeting I am to expect."

Orion stiffened.

"I'm not in the habit of receiving people from my bed."

"And I'm not in the habit of conversing with invalids," said Arcturus. "But if this is the only way I am to get my son to see me, then so be it."

He settled himself in a chair next to the bed. Orion glanced down—the tail poking out from beneath his hospital bed disappeared from sight.

Arcturus's gnarled fingers tightened over the silver snake head on his ebony cane. He and his only son sat in an uncomfortable silence for over a minute.

"Those whelps of yours," said the elder, at last. "Had quite the story to tell."

"I'm sure there's very little they told you you hadn't already figured out for yourself."

Arcturus curled his lip.

"Your faith in my intellectual capacity is meant to be flattering, I'm sure."

"I was thinking of your talent for knowing when you are being deceived."

"It's not something I relish using against my own children."

"I thought nothing gave you more satisfaction," Orion replied, coolly.

Something stirred behind the patriarch's eyes—this chilly man was still capable of running hot, it seemed.

"You thought I enjoyed finding my only son turned martyr for the cause of his self-pity, hm?"

Orion didn't know what to say to this, so he remained silent, his face a characteristic blank. Normally this expression would have pleased Arcturus—today it seemed to annoy him.

"I never realized before this day how little respect you felt for me," continued Arcturus. That stirred Orion's anger.

"I did what I had to do for my wife and my children—"

"—Who very much took it all in stride, let me tell you."

Orion tried to sit up straighter, to meet his father's hard look. It was difficult with his chest feeling as though a manticore was lying on top of him. The presence of the urchin under the bed listening into the conversation gave him strength, though.

"I was put in a tenuous position. I believe I made the best of it. If you don't believe me, you can ask Dumbledore."

"I intend to, when he bothers to show up. No surprise a mudblood lover would have no sense of urgency about upending the life of a respectable wizard and his family."

His son smothered a laugh.

"I don't suppose your pleasure is much what he's thinking of."

Arcturus curled his lip in contempt at the thought. He then gave his son an autocratic look that reminded him of some rather nasty conversations they'd had in the study over his less than stellar Transfiguration marks.

"You're to do whatever those healers tell you to, do you hear me a Orion?" said Arcturus. "Everything. And if I hear otherwise, I'll make you sorry."

Orion gave his father a level look, considering the not-so-veiled threat.

"Are you ordering me not to die, sir?"

Arcturus scowled.

"Don't be insolent! You've been spending too much time around that eldest whelp of yours." The hard look on his face softened. "I'm not—accustomed to living without you, boy. That is—I've come to rely on you, 'Rion."

Orion's eyes widened. It wasn't obvious which of them was more embarrassed by the remark.

"When you were chasing after those whelps of yours trying to save them from their own idiocy, you never once thought of me losing a son, did you?"

"It never crossed my mind."

"Well, it ought to have."

"I suppose I just thought—that you have Lucretia."

"Precisely! Do you think I want to be left with that hoyden on my hands, and no one else to help me check her?"

"She has a husband."

"As if he's of any use," Arcturus scoffed. "You should've seen her on Christmas, the way he lets her run roughshod over him. It's pathetic."

Orion smiled.

"She learned from a master."

"I don't appreciate the tone of that comment," he snapped. "I suppose you take more after your mama. I know when she died I put too much on you. God knows you had enough of your own troubles without taking mine on in the bargain."

"You're too hard on yourself, Papa."

"I think that's the first time that accusation's ever been leveled at me. And speaking of your troubles—"

With a speed that belied his age, Arcturus pointed his wand under the bed. The black dog shot out like a rocket and yelped before transforming back into his human form.

"What was that for?" Sirius groused, rubbing his backside.

"A test of your reflexes, which apparently are lamentable."

Sirius rubbed his shoulder and retreated to the other side of the bed.

"I wasn't expecting to be attacked by you—my mistake." He eyed his grandfather with dislike. "How long did you know I was there?"

"I may be old, but I can hear and smell well enough. Haven't I always told you that if you're going to be vulgar enough to eavesdrop, you better not be caught?"

"That seems to be a favorite lesson of this family. In this case, I was just trying to avoid this conversation."

"Well?"

Arcturus held out his hand.

Grumbling to himself, Sirius dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment which he handed to Arcturus. His grandfather slit the parchment open and read the note enclosed. It apparently met his satisfaction, as he was, if not smiling, at least not grimacing as he tucked it away in his cloak.

"You did well."

Sirius, who has never received anything approaching a compliment from Arcturus, was left momentarily taken aback by the experience.

"It's not exactly alchemy, handing somebody a letter," he said, finally.

Arcturus ignored him, turning to Orion, who was still watching them both with one of those studied blank expressions he was famous for.

"Your son impressed Abraxas Malfoy," he said, as if this was an equivalent feat to painting the Sistine Chapel.

"Oh, great, there's a dream realized," muttered Sirius. "Fantastic."

Orion frowned.

"You sent him to Malfoy Manor? Alone?"

Orion did nothing to hide the note of disapproval in his voice. Arcturus tapped his cane against the floor impatiently.

"There's no sense in coddling the boy, Orion. Besides, Abraxas wouldn't let your whelp get murdered under his nose. If he wants him dead he'll do it with a bit of finesse."

"How reassuring," said Sirius.

Arcturus turned his eyes back on his grandson with shrewd interest.

"Well? What about your hunch?"

"Let's just say that I strongly suspect Lucius will keep his distance for the foreseeable future."

"Is that all?"

"At present it's all I feel compelled to say."

Arcturus narrowed his eyes.

"Orion—you can tell your son that he needn't restrain himself with me."

"Look, Arcturus, we both know you don't need proof from me about Lucius Malfoy's involvement. For whatever reason you suspect him and even were I to deny it, you wouldn't believe me."

"Malfoy is not my concern."

"Then what is?"

Arcturus gave him a pointed look. Sirius looked to his father for support—and found that Orion was giving him the same look. He turned back to his grandfather, eyes steely.

"I gave him the business, if that's what you want to know."

"How?"

"I know what you would've done. It would've all been suggestion, hints. Threats disguised in suave approbation. I'm not saying that strategy isn't effective, Merlin knows you've turned it into an art form, but it's not exactly my style. I prefer the direct approach."

"Which means…?"

"He knows I know what he did, and that I won't let him get away with it. A show of force seemed the way."

"The way to what?"

"To make it clear that next time I catch him will be the last time he does anything."

Arcturus raised one craggy eyebrow.

"And was this message you gave Malfoy supposed to be in your interest or the interest of the family?"

"Is there a difference?"

Arcturus gave him a long look, then, to both his father and son's surprise, smiled with a grim sort of satisfaction.

"Apparently not."

Sirius was alarmed to see just how pleased his grandfather seemed by his answer. It was almost as alarming as Bella looking chuffed. He hastened to remind Arcturus that his decrepit lizard of a grandfather didn't like him.

"Look, Arcturus—"

"—Orion," Arcturus cut Sirius off, with an impatient snap. "Can you inform your progeny of how one speaks to an elder in this family?"

Orion leveled a placating look at his son.

"Sirius—my father is right," he said. "He is your grandfather and you will address him as such—with respect."

Sirius opened his mouth to argue—then shut it again.

"Yes, sir."

There was no sarcasm in his voice at all. That alone seemed to satisfy Arcturus—at least for the present.

"I want to speak to your brother, Sirius," said Orion. "Go and fetch him, will you?"

"Yes, Father." Sirius looked between them. "Is there anything else?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Then I'll go." He nodded at Arcturus. "—Grandfather. Father."

He bowed and left them. Arcturus stared at the door after his wayward eldest grandson, his expression thoughtful.

"Good work," he remarked, idly. "You finally took that boy in hand."

"In a matter of speaking."

"I mean it," said Arcturus. "You have his respect—and his loyalty. There's nothing more important than that from a son."

"I count esteem for something," murmured Orion. But his father wasn't listening—he was considering the crest ring on his gnarled hand, thoughtfully.

"I always said that boy was the black sheep of this family. But now I see I was wrong." He smirked. "He's more of a black sheep dog."

Arcturus laughed at his own joke.

Regulus had just managed to shake off Irma by pretending he needed to use to lavatory. He doubled back into the anteroom where Andromeda's daughter had been sleeping under a coat hours before and slipped inside before Irma noticed he had given her the slip. Regulus considered his possible escape routes—his granny couldn't stand like Cerberus in front of all exits of St. Mungo's. If he could get back up to Scotland and see Dumbledore first—

The door opened—Regulus jumped with surprise, expecting a deaf and elderly biddy to wack him about the head with her wand.

Instead he saw his brother.

"Did you know?"

Sirius shut the door behind him, wearing an unsmiling and unsympathetic expression that made him even more the spitting image of their dour father than he already was. It was quite unlike what Regulus was accustomed to—and he didn't like it.

"Where they hell have you been?" Regulus asked.

"At Malfoy's, doing damage control," he said. "Did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

"When you arrived at my house that night, did you know that Peter Pettigrew was passing information onto the Death Eaters?"

Regulus actually had the temerity to look surprised, even abashed.

"How did you find out?"

"Suffice it to say, I am certain it's true," said Sirius, acidly. "Did you know? For certain? You obviously suspected. That's why you told Dumbledore you didn't want anybody else to know about you. You said the entire Order, but you were referring to my friend specifically—weren't you?"

"I didn't know for certain."

"But you suspected him," repeated his brother, with more insistence.

"The real question is, how could you not? He's always been such a wormy little stinking snake."

It was obvious that Regulus was trying to provoke Sirius into a defensive posture, but for once it didn't work.

"Can you answer something for me?" asked Sirius. "Why did you come to me that night? You could'v gone to anyone's house—you could've gone to Dumbledore directly. We're not close. We don't like each other. Why bother showing up at my door?"

Regulus stuck out his chin. He looked very much like he would like to turn his wand against his brother again—this time, face-to-face and without an apology. There was a part of Sirius that wished that he would.

"I ask because it's obvious you don't trust me."

"Sirius—"

"It never occurred to you to share that suspicion with me? Given the information you were passing along—given my friendship with him? He followed me to the Hog's Head the night of the party. He told Bellatrix about Colette coming with me to James and Lily's on Christmas Eve. He's turned up at my flat at least five times since you started living there, he was clearly trying to get in. He knew I was hiding something from him. None of this could've happened if I had know that it might be a bad idea to offhandedly mention what I was up to in front of him—"

"—Would you have even believed me if I had told you?"

Sirius fell silent again, considering the question. He couldn't be sure, if he were being honest with himself. Regulus knew it, and he knew it.

"Being brothers requires some modicum of trust," he said, at last.

"Mutual trust. You're the elder, why don't you start by setting an example?"

Sirius had nothing to say to that. Regulus stared at Sirius, he at the wall—an impasse, which was their typical mode with each other, and in its own way, comfortable.

"Where is Pettigrew now?"

"I don't know. He may know the game is up, he may not. If he's clever, he'll have gone underground."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Just Malfoy."

"You told Lucius?"

"I only asked him to give me Peter if he had him. Malfoy won't tip him off, there's nothing in it for him. He knows Peter's useless now. Best case, he takes care of the problem for me."

There was an ominous silence as Regulus took in the full implication of his brother and his 'problem.'

"What exactly are you planning?"

"…Nothing."

Sirius had paused a fraction too long to be believed. Regulus gave him a long and fixed look, trying to determine how serious his brother was.

"You really are like grandfather," he said finally.

"I dare you to tell him you think so. He's the only one whose more insulted by the comparison than I am."

"I doubt that. He likes you better than me. He always has. He never fancied me as Father's heir over you."

"Do you even want the job?"

Regulus smirked.

"Not if you're around to do it." He frowned. "Well. If I'm just going to be cleaning up after you again—"

"—Shut up, will you? You're such a runt."

Regulus laughed.

"Dad wants to talk to you, by the way." Sirius gave him a nasty smile. "Good luck with that."

"Your father should be more concerned about what I'm going to do with him than Reggie."

They both turned. Lucretia stood at the doorway, fully dressed and looking herself again and in complete control. Funny how Sirius had never realized how much her careless, breezy attitude was an affectation before now.

With infinitely more dignity than his elder brother, Regulus rose and crossed to the door. He stopped at the threshold.

"…The reason I went to you," Regulus turned around. "Is because you're the only one I trust. You always have been."

He walked past Lucretia and out into the hallway.

Sirius's aunt, much to his annoyance, did not follow after Regulus to leave him in peace. Instead she shut the door behind her and came into the room.

"Did you hear? Your father woke up, heard that Papa and I were here, then promptly went back to sleep."

"Smart man." Sirius looked hard at her. "Don't worry, he couldn't avoid Arcturus forever, you'll catch him out soon enough. How long were you standing there?"

"Let's just say that you're not the first Black to listen at a keyhole."

He let out a sigh and sat down in Regulus's newly vacated chair.

"I know what you're going to say. I really don't need to hear how right you were."

"I would never crow. Besides, you were correct in your assessment of your mother's motives, and the fact that I was helping her."

"I'm not talking about that. I mean about Peter." She gave him a blank look. "Pettigrew."

"Oh. Do you mean your fat, underbred friend—"

"—That you warned me about."

Her smile dropped.

"Just an instinct, I suppose," she said, quietly.

To his surprise, she didn't use the moment to crow or offer one of her patented flippant remarks on the subject of trusting one's aunt. Instead, she just watched him.

"I don't know what to do," admitted Sirius.

"It seems to me you've already made a decision." He looked up. "Or did you tell Malfoy so he'd do your work for you?"

"I suppose I wanted to make Peter sweat. He's probably in the hold of a steamer bound for Timbuktu by now."

"And what if he isn't?"

Sirius didn't really want to entertain that thought—at least not aloud, to her.

"I should tell Dumbledore."

"But you haven't," she observed. "You might—but you haven't made up your mind to yet."

Astute—she was too astute for comfort.

"What would you do, in my position?" Sirius asked.

"He would already be dead," Lucretia said, without hesitation. "But I would never be in your position. I would never allow myself to be betrayed by somebody outside of my family."

"You know, I think I believe you."

"I certainly wouldn't entrust the task to a Malfoy, in any case."

"That's not why I told him."

"No? I wonder why you did. Perhaps you're not even sure yourself."

Sirius rubbed his forehead and groaned.

"How could I have not seen it?"

"You're guileless, it's part of your charm."

"Weak, in other words."

"That's not what I said."

He looked over at Lucretia, gaze suddenly piercing.

"You don't think I could do it," said Sirius, slowly.

"You are a Black—and you are your mother's son. I imagine if that vermin were here in the room with us you would make short work of him soon enough. You're probably fantasizing about it as we speak, calculating where he might be, debating the merits of pursuit."

"You paint quite the picture," said Sirius.

It was one that he could see in his mind's eye, too.

"The only difference between us and you is that none of us would feel the smallest bit of conscience after it was through."

"And you're unimpressed with that."

"I view it with complete indifference," she admitted, bloodlessly. "It's simply something I would hate for you to forget."

"I'm not so sure you're right about me."

"Oh, Sirius—in this family you are an object of exasperation, envy, bewilderment, and spite. The only thing you can't elicit is indifference. Do you know why that is?"

"Because no good deed goes on punished?"

"You are an original. Wholly an original. There are so few of those in these over-bred pureblood families—in our family at least. I used to think it was because you were a freak of nature, but now I think it's because there are moments in life when one needs someone wholly original. This is that moment."

She squeezed him on the shoulder and left him to his thoughts.

That was where his mother found him a few minutes later.

"Oh. Sirius Orion. You're back." Walburga sounded brisk and as if she was pretending to have simply stumbled upon her eldest son—he was sure both Lucretia and his brother had pointed her in this direction.

"Yes, I am," he said, blandly. Neither of them looked at each other—they danced around each other's edges, which was very unlike them both. All distant politeness, no anger.

Both of them at almost the same moment became acutely aware it was the first time they had been alone together since the family scene Sirius was sure would be known for generations to come.

He was comforted by the fact that she looked almost as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Your father woke up."

"I know. I've just seen him. And Arcturus."

She looked taken aback by the news, but quickly recovered her composure. Sirius wondered if she was debating whether to ask him about what he'd discussed with Orion.

"I see. He's resting again—when he does come to, I think he'll want to speak to the Battancourts." She glanced at him. "It would be better if you were—presentable. I picked up a set of your robes from your flat."

"How thoughtful of you."

"You could change in this room." She began walking to the hall. "I'll bring them, it's the emerald set I gave you—"

"—Mother," Sirius interrupted her. "How long are we going to do this?"

Walburga stopped at the door and turned. She had waved her wand, and a set of neatly pressed and handsome dark green robes lay in her arms.

"Do what?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"This—thing we do." She didn't find that clarifying. "You know. This game we play."

"I cannot abide people speaking in riddles, Sirius Orion."

"I just think it's poor sportsmanship on your part to act as though we're still playing when it's obvious you've won. It's a bit like crowing, you know."

For however obtuse she may have pretended to be, in that moment at least, not even his mother could fail to understand him.

"What's it going to take—a formal concession speech? A white flag?" Her eyes flashed with something, though she remained very still. "I'm not—going anywhere, Mum. I'm here. So you don't have to focus your tremendous energy and ingenuity in securing a marriage you think will tie me to the family."

Her lip trembled.

"Don't you dare presume to understand my motives."

"I don't need to presume! I know exactly what your motives were. They aren't subtle. You aren't subtle." He eyed her with bemusement. "You can't turn sore winner too."

"If that were my motive, you have an odd impression of what me winning looks like," Mrs. Black said, voice icy. "When one Christmas Day spent with us had you fleeing the country for North Africa."

"I was upset about Dad, which I hope you can appreciate," said Sirius. "And it's ironic you've got it in your head marrying me off to Colette Battancourt will keep me pinned down, when she was the one I tried to abscond with."

"If she was the sort of girl who would have said yes to such a scheme, I would have sent her packing a week ago."

"Colette is not is your puppet any more than I am," said Sirius. He shook his head—though there was the hint of a smile on his lips. "That was a nasty trick you pulled on me in the flat the day after you caught us. Just because I fell for it doesn't mean I deserved it."

Her expression softened.

"Perhaps," Walburga conceded. "But it seems to me you've enjoyed your social calendar this last week plenty."

"Don't change the subject! We're talking about principles, not the underhanded means by which you'll rationalize anything as long as you get what you want in the end."

He sighed and looked away from her—towards the door. He was exasperated, annoyed, tired beyond words—but not angry. For Walburga, a mother who was so used to explosive emotional outbursts that mirrored her own, his self-control was unsettling.

"Look, I—appreciate all the trouble you went to. It was quite elaborate—and almost flattering. You made your point." He looked at her. "You know me better than I give you credit for. You know I can be goaded into doing rather stupid things at just the prospect of annoying you. Can you just—drop this whole—you know, and let Colette alone?"

"Certainly not," said Walburga, with a snap. "You have ruined the reputation of a respectable witch, Sirius Orion. Actions have consequences. What did you think would happen when you trifled with a girl like that?"

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"You know better than anyone nothing—untoward—happened between us. You had Kreacher spying on us and making sure of it the whole time."

"Even were that true, an elf is hardly what I would call an appropriate chaperone."

"This plan of yours is not foolproof. Your position is not as strong as you pretend to think it is."

Only a single eyebrow raised indicated that she thought his idea interesting.

"Why would you say that?"

"The mother might snap at me as a marital prize, but the grandmother's not stupid. She can smell your desperation to have this come off—it makes your bargaining position weak."

"In what respect?"

"If you're flinging the goods in her face she's got to figure they're somewhat—defective."

Walburga considered this for a long moment.

"Perhaps you're right," she conceded. "But it's not her I'm relying on, anyway."

"If not her, then who?"

She didn't speak for a prolonged beat.

"I do not believe you would ever willingly inflict pain upon that girl."

It took Sirius a moment to understand her meaning.

"You think I'm a real soft touch, don't you?" His mother didn't answer, though Sirius found her expression of certainty nearly as unbearable. "I can be just as cold and bloodless as anyone else in this family, I'll have you know."

"Don't be absurd," she said mildly, as she straightened his collar. "You couldn't if you wanted to be. It's not in your nature."

"What isn't?"

"To be ungallant." Sirius laughed. "Or unjust."

"I don't think refusing to marry a girl I've known for a week who my mother manipulated into a convoluted scheme of entrapment is quite the injustice you're painting it."

"If you do not marry that girl, Sirius Orion," Walburga said, sternly. "You are condemning her to a life of childless spinsterhood."

He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"She's not going to die a spinster. She's young and pretty. She can get anyone she wants—"

"—No girl who could have had you for her husband could ever settle for anything less."

Sirius flushed, embarrassed.

"Colette Battancourt is not the sort of person impressed with position or gold."

"I'm not speaking of money or position. I'm speaking of you."

Her voice shook. She was not being glib, Sirius realized—she meant it sincerely. Something inside him twisted painfully.

"Everyone can see that girl is besotted," Walburga continued. "I don't believe you'd break her heart just to spite me."

"That's not the only reason not to let you stampede over us like a damned herd of griffins," Sirius shot back. "It goes against everything I stand for—and you humiliated us right here in this hospital."

"I didn't force you to make a scene."

"What was I supposed to do, act like I hadn't noticed and let you get away with blackmailing and coercing your prospective daughter-in-law?"

"I don't see what difference it makes. The outcome is the same—except now your betrothed is cross with you."

"She is not my—" Sirius stopped himself. There was no point in getting sucked into that argument with her—in fact, it was probably what Walburga wanted. He considered taking a different tact.

She watched him, wary of his next move.

"What I don't understand yet," Sirius said, finally. "Is why you're so hellbent on this—of all things. What's me getting hitched get you?"

"I told you weeks ago that we always intended to find you an appropriate bride, when the time came."

"Well, that time sure came fast!" Sirius snorted. "You can tell me that this was for my own good until you're blue in the face—but I know it's your interests being served here."

"Why shouldn't your good be in my interests?"

He gave her a sour look.

"Well, that would be awfully convenient, wouldn't it?"

Sirius went over to one of the chairs and sat back down. It should have been obvious—the answer must be staring him in the face, just out of reach—

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Black. "You can't admit that I know what's best for you."

He turned around, lighting quick.

"Tell me what you think you'll get from this. I'd respect you more for your candor—"

"—Sirius Orion—"

"—And you know I could never agree to something you want this badly unless I understood your motives."

There it was—the small but crucial admission. 'Unless.' It was out there. Sirius felt like he was putting his life into her hands.

From the look on her face, his mother seemed to understand that's how he felt.

"You always assume the worst of me," she said, stiffly.

"No, I assume you don't want to tell me because it's admitting some sort of weakness that you think might be used against you. So I suppose I'll just have to guess and gauge you for a reaction."

"That is absurd—"

"—Perhaps you think you'd have a puppet in Colette. A pliant little doll to make use of when it suits."

"If she were a puppet, you could just as easily pull the strings as I," his mother pointed out, dryly. "And besides which—I would never promote a match for you with a girl who could led by the nose."

"Why not?"

"You couldn't respect a woman like that. The union would not be a successful one, and you would not be happy."

The answer had him momentarily taken aback. Sirius studied his mother's face—he was surprised to see that she meant it.

"A marriage," said Sirius, slowly. "Ties me down. But not necessarily to you. What's to stop me from marrying her and carrying her off to Morocco after all?"

"She isn't the sort of girl who would allow herself to be cut off from her family."

Sirius couldn't argue with that, so he didn't try. His mother's expression changed—she was wrestling with something, he knew.

"Were you really planning on running off with that girl?" Walburga asked, finally. "If she had agreed to go with you, would you truly have left the country?"

Her son shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. Perhaps I would've lost my nerve. I suppose we'll never know now."

She trembled, reminding her son of a rumbling train car, recently derailed and grinding to a hopeless and undignified stop in the middle of a country slough. Walburga clenched her fist—and he realized with a clinical lack of surprise that she was fighting the urge to raise her hand.

"Don't," he said gently. "You won't be nearly as satisfied by it as you think, and you may be very unsatisfied by the results. It certainly won't hurt me as you imagine it will. That's more a punishment for yourself."

She lowered her hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know from personal experience. When you want to hurt someone, success is usually an empty venture. I wanted to hurt you when I ran away from home, and I see now that I had more success than I could've dreamed of."

Her eyes flashed with anger, sudden and fierce. It was like looking in a mirror.

"Do not speak of that."

"I think we need to," said Sirius, unbearably gentle. "Besides, I would've thought you would want an apology."

"What I want is for you should never done that," she snapped, coldly. "That is what I want."

Once he might've risen to her bait and snapped back—but he had no desire to now.

"I can't change the past. If I could, I'm not sure that I would change what I did. I might've changed how I did it."

"If that is how you feel then there is no coming to an accord on this matter, and it is better left forgotten."

"That's what this is about, isn't it? You think if you bring me in line, if I do what I'm supposed to do, it'll be easier to pretend like it hasn't been three years since we've spoken to one another."

She turned away from him—yes, he had hit the mark.

"Look, it's the hippogriff in the room, so I think we should just—have it out, once and for all. Lay our cards on the table."

"I don't know what you mean by all these ridiculous Muggle metaphors."

"Be honest with me, for once. I swear we never have to talk about it again."

She turned her head away from him, busying herself with the cuffs of the robes she had in her arms.

"And if I do this…you'll agree to the marriage?"

He smiled, ruefully.

"Let's just see how this conversation goes, first."

Mrs. Black gave him a tight, furtive look—she didn't nod, but she didn't turn away, either. Her son decided to loosely interpret this as an acquiescence to his terms of engagement.

"You said a lot of awful things to me that night," said Sirius.

He did not need to clarify which night he meant.

"I don't remember."

"I envy you that. I wish I could forget what you said."

She had no answer—she was struck dumb, and suddenly seemed young, almost naive.

"All I can ever think of," Walburga said, finally. "Is you not coming home."

"I was afraid to come back."

"That's nonsense," said Mrs. Black. "You've never been afraid of anything in your life."

"That's not true. I've been afraid loads of times."

"Of what?"

"You, mostly. And Dad. Not being good enough for you. Not being—loved by you."

He forced himself to look her in the face as he admitted this—this secret shame he'd kept buried in his heart for so many years. Sirius didn't see the contempt he'd always, in his heart of hearts, been afraid of. All he saw was surprise.

"How could you—how you have ever thought there was a danger of that?"

"When you told me I was the 'shame of your flesh', and a thankless wretch you regretted giving birth to—that's what gave me the idea."

He tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but it cracked. Sirius attempted to recover his emotions.

"Have you—any idea what it's like to hear something like that from your own mother?"

She looked at him for a long time before she spoke. Mrs. Black weighed the wisdom of her next words—which was a curious thing for her. When she felt deeply she never thought—Walburga Black in a state of anger or pain could be just as impulsive as her son.

"As a matter of fact," she admitted, in a quiet and embarrassed voice. "I—do."

Sirius blinked.

"You mean—your mother said that to you?"

"Yes. More or less the same thing."

"When?"

"I…don't remember. There were—several instances when the subject came up."

"She said it to you more than once?"

Sirius stared at her—his mother's forehead reddened. It felt like the first time he'd ever looked at her in his life. She was the one who was ashamed.

"So, what—just because Granny is a total bitch to you, that gives you free license to be the same way towards me?"

She turned her head sharply.

"Sirius Orion!" Walburga scolded. "Do not refer to your grandmother as a…a…"

"An unpleasant hag? A bitch of the first order?"

Her face flushed. He could tell there was at least some small part of her that wanted to laugh but knew she shouldn't.

"Yes," Mrs. Black replied, sternly. "That. It's vulgar and—ill-bred."

"And true. Between her and Arcturus it's a wonder you and your husband are as sane as you are."

"I was not the easiest child to raise," admitted Walburga.

"That doesn't justify her speaking to you that way," said Sirius. "Though I suppose it does explain a few things."

The admission hung in the air between them for a long moment, before—

"You make it so difficult…" said Sirius.

"To do what?"

"To love you," he said, simply. "We all do, of course, idiots that we are. Not that it's all that obvious to anyone, because the minute you get an inkling you'll hold it over us like a knife to the throat. Poor Dad…he gets it worst of all. You could at least put that sod out of his misery."

She demanded to know what he meant. Sirius was only too happy to provide his mother an explanation.

"Your husband thinks you don't love him and never have. He's under the impression you've been holding a torch for Lysander Yaxley, of all people. I tried to point out the absurdity of the idea, given that Yaxley looks like a desiccated porpoise—"

"—What do you know about Lysander Yaxley?"

Sirius told her that Orion had confessed about his proposal all those years ago and what she had said. She looked embarrassed and angry at this moment from her past being laid open to him.

"He had no business speaking to you of that."

"I'm glad he did," Sirius replied. "How come you never told me about your 'rebellious phase'?"

She looked as though she wanted to deny that any such phase had ever taken place, but instead opted for the truth.

"Why would I speak with pride about something for which I only feel shame?"

The honesty momentarily disarmed her son. He was not used to it—least of all from her. She was the least reflective person Sirius believed he had ever met.

"I just thought, you know—it might've helped me understand you," said Sirius, hesitantly. "And I would have—I might've known earlier that you understood me better than you let on."

She snorted.

"Of course I understand you. You're my son."

"That's not—"

"—And you're like me."

"…That's what my father always says."

"He would know," Walburga said, dryly. "I spent years fighting my mother and father's wish that I marry Orion. And for what? The satisfaction of my own stubbornness in defying them. Who does that sound like?"

"That is not why I do what I do!"

"Really."

She raised an eyebrow and he colored.

"Well, it's not why I do all of what I do. It's not why I'm pushing back on your arranged marriage scheme."

"Don't you like her?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?" Mrs. Black asked, a touch of exasperation in her voice.

Sirius sighed. He couldn't explain it to someone like her—practical in the face of everything.

"If you want her at all," Walburga wheedled. "You know you'll have to marry her in the end. She's not one of your mudblood trollops you can roll about with in filth."

"There haven't been any trollops, Mother. And what I want is for her to be—happy."

"Why should that be an obstacle?"

"I've never been able to make you happy, have I? I don't know how to make women happy."

"I think," she touched the side of his face, grazing the cut on his cheek with her thumb. "That you're very capable of that—you just have to try."

He leaned into her touch. For her it was gentle—almost tender.

"Look—I'm, I'm—sorry that I hurt you. I didn't mean to do it. That is—I guess I didn't realize how much I had until—I saw you again. And then I didn't want to face it."

His mother said nothing. She started at him with one of her imperturbable looks. Sirius waited.

"…This would be perhaps the natural point where you say, 'I'm sorry, too Sirius—for calling you filth and a disgrace and cursing the day you were born—'"

She pulled away from him.

"I'm not going to grovel for favors from my own child," said Walburga, angrily.

"No one's asking you to!" he laughed. "You talk about stubborn."

She crossed the room, suddenly the need to get away from him was too great. Sirius followed his mother.

"You've never had to grovel for anything from me—it was free for the taking, but you never seemed to want it."

Walburga obviously wanted it now, though Sirius doubted that she could ever bring herself to admit it. She seemed almost like a little child, afraid of losing her favorite toy. He decided to put her out of her misery.

"All I ever wanted was for you to love me, Mum. If I'd been certain of that, nothing else would have mattered."

She didn't know what to say. Instead she began to cry again, and both mother and son turned away from each other, embarrassed. Sirius let her dry her eyes before meeting them again.

There was something different about her. Forgiveness, perhaps? Except he knew that in his heart of hearts, that was his gift to her.

"You should forgive your brother," he said. Her eyes flashed with familiar anger and disbelief.

"After what Bella did—"

"I'm not talking about Cygnus—though you should cut him a break, too."

Walburga eyed him with beady suspicion.

"It's not like you to be soft on your uncle."

"I might've turned to drink and women if I'd had to raise Bella, too. I meant Alphard."

Her face hardened—but Sirius would not be deterred by her scowl.

"I know you tried to fight me getting his money. He didn't give it to me to hurt you. He didn't even want me to leave home. He warned me it wouldn't work."

"What wouldn't work?"

"Running away from what I was born. He believed I would end up back in your power—one way or another. He seems to have had a very fatalistic view of personal choice—just like everyone else in this family."

"'Man plans and God laughs,'" said Walburga, softly.

"Him—or the stars."