THE GLASS ORPHAN

By Miss Mysteria

29th of December 1981
Svart Slott, Oslo, Norway

"Master Black! Master Black, please, Tippy is not knowing what to do if Master Black doesn't wake up! Mistress Cassie tells Tippy to do a good job of caring for Master Black, but if Master Black does not wake up then Tippy has done a bad job! A very bad job, indeed!"

Sirius groaned at the squeaky, squealing voice howling into his left ear and with great effort peeled his eyes open to reveal the all too familiar white patterned ceiling for the third time. If he had his wand - or any wand, really - his first thought was that he would fire a bombarda right at it and smash a hole through those motionless birds.

His eyes fell out of focus randomly and his vision blurred for a moment, but a consistent poking at his shoulder forced him to blink the haziness away and turn his head to the side, ignoring the pointless irritation he felt towards the ceiling.

For now.

When he turned, neck creaking with the effort, he was met with the face of a house-elf two centimetres from his own; bright, bugging blue eyes the size of tennis balls stared into his own dull grey, and enormous bat-like ears flopped as they were being tugged and twisted at nervously by diminutive, dainty fingers. Small puffs of breath were exhaled onto his face and Sirius closed his eyes again so as to not dry them out.

"Hello?" Sirius rasped, his voice scratchy and weak and he inwardly scowled at the sound of it. The elf wailed loudly again, and though this time the noise wasn't directed straight into his eardrum, it was just as jarring as before.

"Master Black! Master Black, Tippy thanks you! Master Black is awakening and Mistress Cassie will be ever so pleased with Tippy!" The elf, who Sirius was assuming was called Tippy, sobbed again.

"That's... that's... you're welcome." He finished eventually, risking a peek between a small gap in his eyelashes to find that the elf was staring down at him, positively shining with elation. Sirius opened his eyes warily and cleared his throat, wincing at the sensitivity; it felt as if, while he'd been sleeping, someone had used a knife and sliced down his larynx before performing a shabby healing charm afterwards. "Do you... would you tell me what time it is? Please?"

Tippy's flapping ears shook rapidly as he nodded, eager to please. "The time is being eleven o'clock pm, Master Black! Master Black slept for a very long time, yes he did."

Eleven? What time had it been when he woke up the first time? "How long is 'very long', erm... Tippy?"

If possible, at the sound of his name, Tippy's beam grew wider and displayed his full set of thirty-eight teeth. Had Sirius felt the sudden desire to count them all, he could have done so considering the lack of personal space the elf had; their noses were almost pressed together and the electric blue of his eyes bore into Sirius' own earnestly.

"Lots and lots of hours, Master Black. Lots and lots." said Tippy, simply. Sirius watched with slight interest, and much more suspicion, as the elf then turned on his heel and skipped over to the wicker bench that sat at the end of the king sized bed. Into his small arms he gathered a pile of clothing and some other knickknacks, as well as a thick wooden box that looked to be engraved with writing which was too far away for Sirius to read.

Tippy turned back to face him and bounded back over to his bedside. Sirius resisted the urge to move away as the elf invaded his personal bubble once again and instead occupied himself with looking over the items.

When Tippy placed them on the bed, Sirius got a good look at the clothes; a dark grey cable knit jumper, black crew-neck t-shirt and khaki trousers. There were soft socks tucked into some navy moccasin slippers he had missed before and a pair of underwear. He decided to forgo inquiring how the elf knew his size and resisted the urge to lift the jumper up to his nose to inhale the scent of the fabric. It wouldn't smell like anything he wanted it to; biscuits and chocolate frogs, lavender and a citrus perfume, broomstick polish and treacle tarts and not smelling it could give him that sense of plausible deniability he was craving.

Distracting himself, he continued to pursue the rest of the items Tippy had let fall onto the bed, but did pull the jumper onto his lap, hugging it close against his body. There were a pair of leather gloves, a woollen beanie hat, a backpack and an empty water bottle. There was also a small keyring that read 'Norway' and he recognised it from one of the many tourist huts he had passed on his way to Svart Slott.

For the first time in a long while, warmth curled at his stomach and he looked up at Tippy, mirth fizzing in his eyes.

"Kicking me out already, Tippy?"

Despite his evident amused tone, Tippy looked distraught. "No, Master Black! Tippy would never, ever, dream of doing such a thing! Master Black is good and kind and-"

Huffing a laugh, Sirius rolled his eyes. "I was joking." Then he paused. "Call me Sirius."

The elf gave him a stern look and Sirius' lips twitched. "Master Black is not funny."

"I think I'm funny." Before Tippy could dispute his claim, Sirius quickly pointed out the box in his hands. "What's that?"

"Mistress Cassie gave Tippy the box to give to Master Black, but Mistress Cassie is not telling Tippy what is inside."

"Sirius, Tippy. Call me Sirius." There was a short moment of silence before Sirius held out his hand, palm open and waiting. Tippy looked hesitant, but relented when he wiggled his fingers impatiently. The box was cool to the touch, though it seemed to radiate a kind of pulsating warmth from inside.

Then it hit him.

Looking at the box in his hand, Sirius wasn't sure how he hadn't recognised it on sight by the wood alone. It was marbled cocobolo with dark and smooth groves carved into it in delicate swirls. Along one of the carvings were the words that had both haunted his existence and given him reason to live.

Que Notre Magie et Notre Sang Soient Toujours Purs.

May Our Magic and Blood Be Always Pure.

It had been the family motto in the early days of House Black, later shortened to just Toujours Purs, however all heirlooms from the original House members were engraved with the full motto. Sirius had always preferred the entire adage to the abridged version; it suggested to him that the earlier members of their House didn't care so much for blood, or perhaps that they cared more about harbouring magic.

The nine words twirled around the very centre carving, following the line up through the wood and finally stopping on a small unlocked latch. Sirius ignored the way that Tippy had turned his back on him; he knew it was a sign of respect. When a wizard was handling magics unknown to his elf, that elf was to show submission in their own individual way. By allowing Sirius to see his back, Tippy was vulnerable and weakened. Not that Sirius would ever attack Tippy, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

He ran his thumb up through the curve, debating in his mind, before landing on the latch and fiddling with it.

He knew what the box contained, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to see if any of them accepted him. His own would have been snapped the moment Hit-Wizards arrived on the scene all those months ago in that Muggle village after his confrontation with Peter.

Although, if his Aunt Cassie, who was no doubt the one who had chosen this selection in particular for him, thought that he should make use of one of them, then he should. Sirius was not stupid; he knew the gifting of the clothes was to comfort him and make him feel safe and that the bag and keyring and water bottle was to make it seem like he could leave the castle if he wanted to, to give him that sense of freedom he'd lacked over the last three months. The addition of this box was not a surprise as he knew that in Cassie's position he would do the same, but it made the situation he was in all the more real.

All the more... well, serious.

His first wand had been snapped and then thrown into a furnace at the Ministry; there was no doubt about that.

When training to become a Hit-Wizard, one of the first lessons you're taught is to subdue any threat before it happens. If it had been Sirius apparating onto a scene like the one in that Muggle village, he would have snapped his wand too. So, with this knowledge, he was confident that his wand was no longer available to him.

His wand had been the only wand he had ever used, other than James' or Remus' for the odd prank or two in school. His 9½", dragon heartstring, red oak wand that Ollivander had called a 'powerhouse weapon'. Perfect for transfiguration, duelling and charms. It had served him well in the war; casted household charms with the same ease it did curses.

Using another would not feel the same, he knew.

But it was better to have one than not.

He flicked his thumb up, the latch following the movement and the box lifted open of its own accord from the centre carving.

Inside was a sea of deep blue velvet, each crevice and cranny filled with effortlessly fluid rich fabric, making it seem more abyssal than it actually was. Sirius was surprised by the heavy pulse of magic he could feel reverberating from the inside of the box, perhaps there was a concealment charm on the outside to prevent the chance of robbery or another person not of House Black trying to access the prizes inside.

Not that Sirius would regard these particular items prizes, considering their previous owners.

There were five holds inside, each labelled with a bronze plaque that read a name and date underneath. Two were empty, indicating the owners of them were still alive and in need of them, but the other three were full, indicating their owners were deceased.

Sirius stared down at the familiar names; eyes expressionless.

Arcturus Black III (1901-)

Lycoris Black (1904-1965)

Regulus Black I (1906-1959)

Pollux Black (1912-)

Orion Black (1929-1979)

Two of the deceased were recognisable to him; his great Uncle Regulus Black I, and his father Orion Black. Both men died before 1980, and both the same way; by choking on their food. It was fitting in a way, Sirius thought, seeing as the two men had been vicious and disgusting in their purebloodean world domination spiel and had died in such a mundane way.

Pollux and Arcturus were still alive, as their dates and the absence of their wands showed, but Sirius didn't know much about the last man. Lycoris Black.

Actually, he knew nothing at all.

He'd never heard his name mentioned before, never met him, never even seen his face on the tapestry back at Grimmauld Place. Though, as Sirius thought now, the absence of Lycoris' name throughout his childhood spoke well of the man, whoever he was. If you were at all mentioned by Walburga and Orion Black it was either due to your views on Muggleborns and Purebloods as a culture and how you despised all who were not 'pure', or because you had abandoned your family and your House and were spoken about in shame by everyone. And since Sirius had never heard of Lycoris Black in either situation, it made Sirius wonder what he had done to be so... unspoken of.

Perhaps he had been disowned; when Andromeda and Sirius had been disowned by their parents, their names had been banned from being uttered in their individual households.

Pushing the thought of the unknown man out of his mind for now, Sirius stared down at the wands that sat in their velvet casings. Even without the name indicating whose wand was whose underneath, Sirius recognised his father's on sight.

Orion Black's wand had been powerful and terrifying, just as the man himself had been. Ebony wood with a dragon heartstring core.

Sirius stared at it and tried to block out the deafening, muted screams that flowed through his mind. He couldn't count the amount of times this very wand had been pointed at him, tip first and glowing with a promise of injury.

It was jet-black and bared an impressive appearance; a square-like handle with magical runes depicted along the wand that Sirius couldn't decipher (Remus and Lily were the only ones out of the lot of them who took Ancient Runes in their third year and Sirius had always fallen asleep whenever either of them tried to explain some to him). He could almost feel the power thrumming off of it, but knew it wasn't right for him. Of course, as little he knew about Wandlore, he did know that you probably had to hold a wand in your hand first before you decided, but Sirius quickly moved on to the next one.

He would rather go without a wand than hold his father's in his hand, than make use of the same weapon his father used on him.

The next was Regulus Black's; his dead brother's namesake, just like Sirius Black I was his own namesake.

Sirius ran a finger down the wood, not feeling anything wrong with it per se, just perhaps an odd feel about the wand. It could be an Elm, Sirius considered. It looked a similar colour to other Elm wands he had seen in the past, and during the time period that Regulus Black I would have received his wand, it had been believed that only purebloods could wield an Elm wand.

Sirius picked it up and squeezed it in his palm. There was a warmth there, it felt comfortable and pleasant. However, Sirius recalled how it had felt holding his wand in his hand for the first time; he had felt an electric heat and seen the sparks fly out of the end of the wand. Of course, he wasn't expecting sparks to shoot out of any wand he tried as an adult now as he was much more in control of his magic and wasn't prone to dramatic outbursts. But he did think that it was crucial for him to feel like the wand he was using belonged to him.

He gently placed the suspected Elm wand back into its hold; despite not liking his great Uncle personally, the wand had done nothing to offend Sirius itself.

Finally, he moved onto the last wand. A feeling like anticipation built up in his stomach as he stared down at it.

A blackthorn wood; that was obvious in the colour and the way the wood was layered.

Blackthorn wands had a reputation, and despite knowing to not judge a hag before you saw under the hood, Sirius couldn't help himself.

Blackthorn's were mostly wands owned by warriors; which didn't necessarily mean someone who practiced the Dark Arts, because many Aurors and Hit-Wizards he'd known during his time with the Ministry in the midst of the war had cast with them. But so had many Death Eaters. He knew he shouldn't prejudice, after all there had got to be at least one Death Eater out there with a...a dogwood wand, right? Just like there had been Gideon and Fabian Prewett with dogwood wands.

As Sirius hovered his hand over the wand, gearing himself up to take it, he thought back to an unassuming man, a friend even. A friend who'd owned a chestnut wand, of all things. Known for having owners who were gifted in herbology and almost Hufflepuffian traits.

And he had been the worst of all of them.

Sirius shook his head back and forth and decided to push the prejudice out of his mind. It was just a wand - hadn't that been what he had said to himself about Regulus Black I's wand? But there it was again, that wispy voice in the back of his mind.

The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Black.

And what did he know about Lycoris Black anyhow? If he had been a Dark Wizard, surely Sirius would've heard of him by now. His parents obviously hadn't been fans, the man hadn't married nor had he sired any kids because then there would be a line on the family tapestry.

But apparently he had been what this wand classed as a 'warrior'. Blackthorn wands were known to be prickly in their choices; very selective. Before the war it had been classed as an honour to be chosen by a blackthorn, but after duelling so many Death Eaters and magicals who had dabbled in the Dark Arts with blackthorn wands by their side, it was now almost a taboo.

What did it say about you if a tainted wand chose you?

Did the wand class Sirius as a warrior? He had fought during a war, faced prejudice all his life because of his name and family, pushed the boundaries of his own magical core to the extreme. Did that make him a warrior?

Did he want to be a warrior?

When Sirius' fingers finally made tentative contact with the wand, a set of bright and blazing golden sparks barrelled out of the end of it, causing the bedsheets beneath him to burst into flames.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius sensed Tippy whirl around and vaguely heard him screech at an earsplitting volume about "Bad Masters" and "Mistress' bedsheets" and "Disobedient weapons", but he couldn't bring himself to care as he stared down at the blackthorn wand which had once belonged to his unknown ancestor.

It seemed that it deemed Sirius to be enough of a warrior to accept him as its owner.

Unbeknownst to him, a mad grin stretched across his face.

And fuck if that wasn't a confidence boost.

29th of December 1981
Nigellus Mansion, North Oxfordshire

Cassie tried her best to not stumble as she fell forward out of the fireplace and into the entrance hall of Nigellus Mansion. A difficult feat considering her heels, which had been transfigured from kitten into a pair of purple ankle strap's to fit with her glamoured persona, and her dizziness due to her time spent in Doge's mind.

Looking around the entrance hall, Cassie had to fight to hide her grimace; she'd always hated this old mansion. Four fireplaces lined the far wall opposite the open archways that led into the mansion, on the floor was an ornate carpet sitting atop dark mahogany wood. There was atrociously outdated wallpaper to match the rug and every three metres a lantern was hung from said wallpaper, these lanterns would light automatically when they sensed a persons arrival into their vicinity.

The word irritating didn't cover her feelings about those godforsaken lanterns. They made sneaking around completely impossible and from the footsteps that she could hear echoing down through one of the archways that led off of the entrance hall, they were about to give her away before she could right herself completely by accessing their potions store and downing a rejuvenation potion.

"Who's there!?" Cassie winced at her sister-in-law's shriek and held out her hand to steady herself against the fireplace as another dizzy spell took hold. "I'm warning you, I'm famously known for my unforgivables!"

"Merlin above, Irma, is that really something you should be boasting about to unknown people in your home?"

The footsteps stopped and a smirk pulled at the corners of Cassie's mouth despite her sudden lightheadedness. She heard a small curse, a clearing of a throat and then Irma Black, nee Crabbe, finally rounded the corner wearing her signature sneer.

Irma paused just inside of the archway, her wand was clenched tightly in her hand and although she teased her for announcing it in such a manner, Cassie knew that Irma Black was infamous for her unforgivable's in the same way Melania was for her cutting curses. "If you are anyone but Cassiopeia Black underneath that disguise you will be on the receiving end of a crucio."

"What a warm welcome." Cassie tilted her head to the side, considering the other woman. "You look nice."

In her cream camisole with purple hair rollers and smudged mascara, Irma did not look nice and judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she knew it. Confirmation of Cassie's identity flared like fire in her brown eyes and the sneer on her lips curled into something that exhibited a depth of hatred.

Irma stalked through the archway, clutching her wand so tightly as though wishing it were Cassie's neck. "When you get notified by your husband in the middle of the night that someone has broken into your home and then pushed out of your bed and onto the floor and your house-elf doesn't answer when you call her, then you may talk about my appearance, Cassiopeia."

"I'm not judging, Irma. I feel it reflects your personality well."

"If I were a lesser woman I would curse you." Irma hissed and Cassie bit back a smile.

Cassie removed her hand from the fireplace and straightened up. The other woman's dark eyes latched onto this action and her brows furrowed. "I thought we'd covered this, you are a less woman. By the way, I was not breaking in."

Irma's face smoothed out and she scoffed, stopping five feet in front of Cassie. "And how was I to know? An unauthorised floo into my home in the middle of the night? Pollux nearly had a heart attack."

"From the shock or the endless cigars and bacon grease?"

"Would it matter?"

"That's rather the pot calling the cauldron black, sister, seeing as on a good day you yourself could resemble a chimney."

Both women startled at the sound and turned to glare simultaneously at Pollux who had just entered from behind Irma.

Cassie took a deep breath to settle her drifting mind and let her eyes drift over her brother.

Despite being eleven years his junior, Pollux looked much how Arcturus should at his age, with his lanky frame and quiet sort of grace and poise that spoke of their mother's thorough lessons of decorum in their childhood. Smoothly bald, with a neatly kept beard of light grey, he was not strikingly handsome as men of House Black were known to be; his hollow cheeks and low brows were a significant nod to his lifetime of concerns for his two sons and daughter (Cygnus, Alphard and Walburga), but a somewhat redeeming quality were his keen, sparkling grey eyes that warned intelligence and wit were never far from the surface.

Instead of his usual black suit with a pinstriped waistcoat, he was dressed in emerald green silk pyjamas, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbow and in his hand was his wand, held loftily but Cassie knew he could strike like a snake when least expected.

Perhaps they had actually thought someone would dare to break into Nigellus Mansion.

Despite public opinion, their trio of siblings had never been close. Pollux was a few years her senior, with Dorea bringing up the rear five years after her birth and of course between herself and her little sister there had been Marius; that was an incident in which was not to be discussed or thought about, or so fifteen year old Pollux, twelve year old Cassiopeia and seven year old Dorea had decided all those years ago after finding their squib brother's deceased body bobbing in the lake at the bottom of the gardens at Ophiuchus Hall.

Morbid, but a decision that had not been taken lightly.

Due to their differences in age, the three of them had never been friends.

Pollux had always his own merry band of pureblood boys, even from birth when their parents had pushed them all together, and by the time Cassie arrived at Hogwarts she had already created a name for herself which separated her from her older brother. By the time Dorea had stepped onto Hogwarts grounds and was sorted in Slytherin, Pollux had graduated and gone on to shadow their father in his political duties, Cassie was fifth-year prefect with a perfect record and questionable rule over their House and despite their obvious lacklustre relationships, the media had chosen to portray the three of them as 'best friends'.

It wasn't until Dark Forces began to arise in support of Grindelwald in the 30's and Dorea firmly placed herself as a neutral witch by becoming betrothed to Heir Charlus Potter of House Potter, Cassie up and moved out of Ophiuchus Hall without informing her family members and Pollux took a stance with his father, who was desperate to become a headstrong player in these purebloodean politics, that publications realised they were not a close-knit group of three who stood side-by-side through anything and everything.

Apparently it had come as quite a shock to them all, and spoke volumes of how well House Black managed to keep a lid on family affairs.

Cassie raised a brow and Pollux entered the room further, coming to stop in line with his wife. "And good evening to you as well, brother. Is this how we greet each other now - in our nightwear?"

"I could say the same to you; why is it that you are wearing a terribly applied glamour?" His voice was croaky and raw; either from being forcibly awakened or from old age. A mixture of both, she thought.

Irma snorted. "And shoes that belong on the feet of a woman thirty years younger."

Pollux sighed deeply, resigned, as Cassie bristled opposite them both. "Irma, dear-"

"Don't patronise me, Pollux. Your sister has broken into - yes, broken into, Cassiopeia - our home in the middle of the night wearing a glamour and started insulting me the second she could."

Cassie lifted her eyebrows innocently as her brother stared at her accusingly. "I can't help myself. It's a compulsory action."

"A disorder, perhaps? Wouldn't surprise me; let's add it to the list."

"Ladies, please-" Pollux tried again, though not very hard as even he knew it was to no avail. Even before he and his wife had been betrothed, Cassie and Irma had clashed from the second they met, which meant he was used to their biting insults.

"Pollux, silence." Irma snapped. Pollux's mouth shut instantly.

"Yes, Pollux, do be quiet so that we can hear your wife list off all of my disorders, shall we?" Cassie turned to Irma, her grey eyes like daggers in the low, warm light from the lanterns. "Do we need to give you a moment to find the parchment you've no doubt written them all down on?"

Irma gave an airy, extremely fake laugh and waved her hand superciliously. "Oh no, don't be silly, dear. I have no need to waste parchment like that; I take one look at you and they all come rushing back to me."

Cassie crossed her arms stubbornly, though it was more because it aided her wavering balance than anything else. "Rather sounds like old age is getting to you. Forgetfulness is the first sight of becoming an old women, Irma, though looking at your neck I would say that wrinkles were."

Irma's eyes widened, her free hand rose of its own accord to her neck before she came back to herself and dropped it back down to her side. Her eyes sparked with hatred. "Suppose I was becoming an elderly woman, it would be the perfect time for me to forget about a little House rule, would it not?" Irma raised her wand and before Cassie could snap out a response or bring up her own in defence, Pollux stepped into the space between them both.

His eyebrows were pulled down into what she supposed he thought was a stern expression. It really only made him look like he was having issues digesting something. "Ladies, can we not? It is almost midnight and I have a meeting with Gregory tomorrow."

Cassie's lips pulled into a sneer. "Goyle? Why in Merlin's name are you meeting with him?"

Pollux looked slightly uncomfortable then, his eyes shifting towards his wife and then back to Cassie. Irma scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I'm going back to sleep. Cassiopeia, next time do use the door."

"I'm not vowing anything." Cassie sniped back and both her and Pollux watched Irma shoot her a glare before turning on her heel and walking out, calling out for a house elf as she went.

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound being Irma's disappearing footsteps and echoing shouts for her elf, before Pollux cleared his throat. Cassie raised a brow inquiringly. "Well?"

Pollux slid his wand into his pyjama pocket and clasped his hands in front of him. "Arcturus has asked me to look into members of the ICW-"

"Goyle is not in the ICW." Cassie said quickly. Pollux glared at her for the interruption. "Merlin help us all if he were. Mind of a donkey."

"Gregory might not be, but remind yourself of who his allies are, Cassie."

She took a moment, thinking deeply, before the wand lit. "Selwyn."

Pollux inclined his head. "Stewart Selwyn."

"So, what? You're meeting with Goyle to get in a good word with Selwyn?"

"Precisely. Once I have an in with Stewart, I will go back to Arcturus with information concerning his pull within the ICW." He sighed. "Though with Dumbledore in charge I doubt there is very much."

"Well," Cassie said, a mischievous tilt to her voice and Pollux recognised it instantly, and leant in with his eyebrows raised, "Dumbledore might soon be losing his chair."

Pollux pulled his hand out of his pocket and gripped onto her forearm, nails breaking skin with his desperation to be brought into the loop. "Tell me everything."

"I'll do you one better, you can join me on my quest if you answer me one question.; what do you know of a woman by the name Arabella Figg?"

29th of December 1981
Svart Slott, Oslo, Norway

"Tippy - no, I don't need - damned elf - sorry - no-"

Tippy shoved the metal spoon further against Sirius' pressed together lips stubbornly. "Master Black is ill. Tippy takes care of Master Black as Mistress Cassie told Tippy to and then Master Black will get better."

Sirius clenched his jaw and twisted his neck to the side to avoid another attack with the spoon. In his hand was the blackthorn wand, he hadn't let go of it even when Tippy had tried to rip the 'bad weapon' from his grip. "First of all, it's Sirius. Call me Sirius. And second of all, I don't need to be fed like a baby-"

"Master Black will do what Tippy tells him to do."

"I'm your master, Tippy! You're supposed to do what I tell you to, not the other way around."

Tippy shrugged and tried again with the spoon. "Mistress Cassie tells Tippy to take care of Master Black, so Tippy does."

"You call me Master Black. What is that if not my title over you - a nickname?"

"Master Black is being rude."

Sirius held up his hands innocently. "No, no. Not rude. I'm being... argumentative."

Tippy shoved the spoon right up against his mouth and Sirius grumbled in protest. "Tippy knows that Master Black thinks he knows best, but Master Black should listen to Tippy. Tippy knows best."

"Yes, I'm sure you think-"

Suddenly, the spoon was no longer near his mouth and Sirius blinked in surprise.

Tippy was stood slightly away from him on the bed, a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup in one hand and the dreaded spoon in the other. His face was pulled down and his already large eyes stretched even wider and were rapidly filling with tears. "Tippy has cared for Master Black for hours and hours and hours, feeding Master Black potions and drinks and food and washing Master Black and pulling sharp things away from Master Black and cleaning up hair from Master Black's body and healing Master Black's cuts and making sure that Master Black does not light himself on fire, and Master Black is unhappy. Tippy has failed Mistress Cassie!" The elf wailed and Sirius' eyes widened.

He shot forward in bed, ignoring the pain shooting through his empty stomach at the sudden movement. "No, no Tippy! I'm very happy, extremely happy, even. I've never been happier-"

"Master Black is mad at Tippy!" Tippy howled, some of the tears that had been swimming in his eyes slipped down his face. Sirius winced and held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture.

"I could never be mad at you Tippy! You're too good of an elf."

Tippy stopped crying and stared at Sirius unnervingly. "Tippy is a good elf?"

"Yes," Sirius sighed in relief and leant back against his pillows, clenching the wand tightly in his hand as the elf went through emotions in the blink of an eye, "you are. Really top notch."

As though the meltdown hadn't happened, Tippy made a happy noise and instantly began his attack once again with the spoon, catching Sirius off guard. He squirmed uncomfortably as he felt the hot soup travel down his throat and into his stomach. Tippy levitated the bowl of soup haphazardly next to him and held Sirius' mouth open with his free hand as the other forced more soup down Sirius' unwilling throat.

"Tippy is a good elf. Master Black is a good Master." Tippy called out over Sirius' displeased groans.

House elves were too unnaturally strong, Sirius decided unhappily as his stomach rumbled, opposing the food that was entering his stomach after a long time without any.

29th of December 1981
Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

"You're sure she lives here?"

Pollux lifted his eyes to the darkened sky once again as Cassie repeated her doubt in his abilities for what had to be the fifth time. "Yes. Arabella Figg lives at Number Twelve."

"And how did you find this information out so quickly?"

"My contacts must be better than yours."

Cassie scowled at him and he ignored her, making sure to pick the correct house they were calling on. "Let's bear in mind I haven't lived in Britain for a while, yes?"

"That is no excuse."

"I think you will find it is a verifiable excuse, actually Pollux."

Pollux hummed, eyes flickering over each number of the houses that lined Privet Drive. Cassie rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand, casting a silencing charm on the heels of her shoes as she was beginning to get irritated by the click clack of her heels on the road.

Pollux's eyes caught the spell and dragged her wand arm down, hissing in disapproval. "This is a Muggle neighbourhood, Cassiopeia."

Cassie narrowed her eyes at his hand on her arm and he sighed, but released her arm. "I'm aware of the nature of the occupants of Privet Drive, Pollux. I'm not dim."

"Debatable, clearly." He ignored his sister's derogatory mutterings under her breath next to him as he spotted a shiny bronze number twelve sitting next to a white painted door a few houses down from where they were now. "There," he said, motioning toward the house with his hand and Cassie's grey eyes seemed to spark to life as she picked up her pace and walked with silent heels towards the house.

Pollux moved quickly to keep up and lowered his voice as they approached. "Why are you and Arcturus so desperate to speak to this squib?"

"She's a squib?" Cassie's steps didn't falter as she asked and Pollux's brows furrowed.

"Yes. She was married to Abraham Figg, a wizard who used to work with Dumbledore at the Ministry."

"Was?"

"He was killed in an accident at Appleby Market a few years ago."

"Accident, you say."

He sighed. "Death Eater attack, most likely. But his death is registered as an accident in the records."

"I'm assuming she is in Dumbledore's pocket for some reason." Cassie sneered at him, "Did your contacts tell you why?"

Looking smug, Pollux nodded. Cassie rolled her eyes and focused back on the house. "Squibs cannot access vaults at Gringotts so we can only assume she had a friend in high places help her receive her deceased husband's gold; Albus Dumbledore I'm assuming." His mouth lifted at the sides and Cassie shot him a suspicious look as she stepped up the curb and he relented. "She runs a kneazle business."

"Morgana help us." Cassie sighed as they passed over the boundaries of the house. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and she couldn't sense any wards as they walked up the front path, the grass could do with a water but nothing else. Though it was dark so all she could do was trust her instincts and not rely on her sight.

"I don't know, perhaps the two of you could bond. You still have your way with the creatures, yes?"

"Silence, Pollux."

They stopped in front of the door and Cassie pulled out her wand, casting a small glamour over Pollux to shake his facial features slightly and fixed her own. She had never met Arabella Figg so the woman wouldn't know what she looked like, but Pollux was very often photographed in political magazines and it would take an idiot to not recognise her next to her brother, they shared too many House Black attributes.

Her brother's eyes shifted from grey to green as they shone with mirth at her displeasure at him finding a comparison between herself and Figg.

Cassie shot him a stern look from the corner of her eye even as she plastered a smile on her face. "Knock."

As Pollux lifted his hand, he spoke to her quietly out of the side of his mouth. "I suppose you won't tell me what we are doing here until it's done?"

"You suppose correctly."

He humphed and rapped his knuckled thrice against the window panes that sat embedded in the door.