Up To No Good

Chapter Twenty-Six

The owl arrived promptly the next morning, addressed to Sirius. Exhausted from the night before, James and Lily sat at the table while Sirius unwrapped the letter from the owl's leg. The elegant bird gave a low hoot before taking off into the patchy gray sky.

As Sirius's eyes moved over the fancy, embossed, parchment, James instantly knew that something was horribly, horribly wrong. 

Sirius began to shake. The letter slipped out of his hands and onto the floor, causing James to rise to his feet in an instant.

"Padfoot, what's wrong?"

"Read it." Sirius's voice was deathly quiet.

James hesitated; Lily joined him as he fished the letter off the floor and began to read. It was addressed from the Ministry.

To Mister Sirius O. Black,

As the closest living relative of the departed, we regret to inform you of the passing of Regulus Black. Though the circumstances surrounding his death are uncertain, we shall provide you with all the documentation you require. As a result, the residence of Number Four, Grimmauld Place, along with all property, will be allotted--

He set the parchment down, not caring to read the rest. Sirius's face was in his hands, and though his expression was covered by his dark hair, it was clear that he was crying.

He suddenly looked up, and it wasn't just grief that shadowed his face, but anger. "HE WAS JUST A KID!" he screamed. Every inhale seemed painful, every shaky breath full of emotion. "HE WAS EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD, AND VOLDEMORT KILLED HIM!"

Neither of them spoke; they were rooted to the spot. There was nothing to say. Nothing they had to say would do much good.

"HE WAS MISGUIDED BY THOSE HE TRUSTED!" Sirius went on. He swore loudly, finally allowing himself to sit at the table and bury his face in his hands once more. James and Lily could see him heaving with every sob, but they both stood frozen, unsure what to do.

James thought of the small, dark-haired boy he'd met at Grimmauld Place, the boy who looked just like Sirius but much quieter, far more compliant, far more loved by his parents than Sirius ever was: the boy who had placed Slytherin, the boy who had made his parents proud as a pure-blood by becoming a Death Eater and joining the Dark Lord himself. Perhaps that was the most humiliating part of it all, that he'd died in Voldemort's service. But that was not something that would be included in a Ministry letter. Yet it was all Sirius needed as confirmation.

"He didn't deserve this," Sirius breathed at last. "I loved him. He was the one person in my family who didn't hate me, even if he couldn't see things the way I did." His voice was muffled, but the pain in it made James himself feel like his heart was about to break.

There were not many things in this world that could shake Sirius Black. But he knew that this was something that might have broken something deep within him.

Regulus's death meant that his childhood home would be left in Sirius's possession. That would be exactly the opposite of how his parents would have liked it, which he took as one small victory, at least. However, James wasn't sure he would be read to leave anytime soon. For now, the wounds of loss were too fresh.

Despite this, it didn't stop the one Black house elf, Kreacher, from appearing at the Potters' that afternoon. James wasn't sure if he knew this by some sort of magical family tie, or because they had somehow notified the elf, but it didn't matter. Sirius was locked up in his room most of the day and refused to speak to the elf. This didn't seem to make much difference to Kreacher, who made it very clear that he despised Sirius as much as the young man despised him, and that he only appeared there out of duty.

That being said, it quickly grew very stressful: the combined wails and moans of the distraught house-elf and the utter silence that was Sirius's absence of usual cheer created a strange new environment. He wanted, badly, to try and go comfort his friend, but he had no idea where to start. James had lost his own parents, yes, but Sirius had lost his only relative that had ever treated him with respect, his younger brother at the age of eighteen, to Lord Voldemort himself. And that was something that he simply couldn't come to terms with.

It was difficult to be excited about their pregnancy as well. Sirius's grief affected them almost as much as it affected Sirius himself. Remus and Peter arrived in the afternoon, although Sirius neglected to appear.

Sirius left for Grimmauld Place sometime in the early evening. He and James had not exchanged a word since the owl's arrival. So instead, he Apparated there. Normally, it would have been considered poor manners to Apparate directly into someone's house, but he and Sirius had long moved past formalities as he felt his feet touch the wooden floor.

The old house was as rickety as ever, although it was about half as quiet: someone was shrieking, and it sounded like Mrs. Black. He was taken aback for a moment as he entered, but suddenly heard Sirius' voice from somewhere beyond the dining room.

"It's a portrait." He sounded exhausted. "Put there by a Permanent Sticking Charm."

Sirius was slumped in an old armchair, his dark hair draped around his face. He looked gaunt, ghostly. Rarely had James ever seen Sirius so humbled before, and it was almost frightening.

In spite of it all, he managed a slight smirk. "I see she's still found ways to drive you mad."

"That, and her bloody house elf."

James sat across from him. "Don't sweat it, Padfoot. One day he'll join his ancestors in the hallway."

The corners of Sirius' mouth turned up ever-so-slightly. The hallway was full of beheaded house-elves; it was a Black family tradition, once the elves became too old and feeble to do much good around the house. In Sirius' opinion, it was past Kreacher's time, and although he'd threatened him multiple times he wasn't sure he'd be able to make good on the threat either way.

"By the way," James began softly, "I hope I'm not barging in... I thought, maybe since you live here now, that--"

"Not at all," Sirius cut him off. "I cared for Regulus, truly. But you're just as much my brother as he was, how I see it."

James felt lost for words. For several long minutes, they sat in complete silence, the crackling of the fireplace from which he'd entered the only sound in between Mrs. Black's cries beyond the grave. Although he hardly listened to the words, it sounded like she was screaming about being a disgrace, which hardly could have helped Sirius' mood. 

"There's something I wanted to ask you," James went on. "I know this isn't the best of times. But it's something Lily and I have been discussing."

"Go ahead."

"We've been thinking about godparents for our child," he explained. "We wanted to extend that offer to you."

For a moment Sirius didn't speak at all. But then he raised his head, something brightening in his expression.

"Prongs... I'd be honored. I don't know what to say. Are you sure?"

"What do you mean? We trust you, Padfoot. After all, you were my best man."

For the first time in awhile, a genuine smile crossed Sirius' face. "I guess I find it hard to understand why you'd consider me a good influence on a kid," he joked. "Are you sure Moony isn't a better choice?"

"I'd trust Moony and Wormtail with my life," James responded. "But we chose you."

He didn't really remember standing up, only that Sirius had pulled him into a tight hug. For the first time that day, Sirius seemed to be himself again.

"I won't let you down," he said. "I'll protect your child with my life."