Author's Notes:
A quick note: It is strongly recommended that you read the previous four arcs of the Lionsnake Chronicles, lest you get confused by the events following this note.

This is a Slytherin!Harry AU(ish) fanfic and will be updated monthly. I cannot update it any faster. The story's first chapter was postponed for a month because of external circumstances.

May you enjoy your reading adventure.

Outside the summer had grown, but within the dark interior of Grimmauld Place the only thing flaring hot was Harry's temper.

"You can't seriously think I'm alright with this or you would have mentioned it weeks ago," Harry growled to his godfather, not caring that he had an audience. It was breakfast time after all, yet this argument couldn't wait for his two recently adopted cousins to vacate the kitchen. Considering that the obscenely large party was slated to start this evening, Harry's first priority was to get it stopped as soon as possible. At the sight of Sirius' stubborn set to his jaw, Harry leaned firmly on the solid wood table. "If you insist on the party, then you can't make me go. And you know it."

"Please be reasonable, Harry." Sirius said with that slow and easy tone better used for a child's tantrum, but his godson could hear his weariness and knew that if he pushed the matter a bit more Sirius would cave to his demands.

There was a small sigh from Harry's right where black-haired teen sat with a biography about the Weird Sisters, the same band which played during the Yule Ball last year. Nor did Harry miss the pointed looks coming from the Hufflepuff classmate on his left, who lazily stirred the eggs on her plate since the argument began.

The wiry man with tired eyes continued, "I only arranged this because you've seriously insulted several of the families who were once allied with the Potters. Had you not reacted negatively to their dowry notices, we wouldn't be in this position. I was simply—"

Harry's green eyes flashed behind his round-framed glasses. "It was your idea to invite their daughters over when I wasn't interested in the first place! I am not the one overeager to marry. Don't pretend that this party is anything more than an attempt to have me engaged by my fifteenth birthday." He held his tongue before he began to accuse his godfather of wanting to be rid of him now that there were heirs to the Black lineage. It wasn't his godfather's fault that his best intentions could look sinister to someone used to being passed along relatives. When Sirius let out a low sigh, Harry knew he had accomplished his goal.

His godfather sat down across from his recently adopted son and daughter. "Kreacher!"

With a loud, obnoxious crack, the Black family's bald house elf with enormous, severely bloodshot eyes appeared. His ears were bat-like, much larger than Dobby's, and had patches of white hair poking out of them, while a fleshy snout protruded above his wrinkled lips. His outfit consisted of a fraying, yet clean tea towel, which may have been pitch black in its far past. It hung around the middle of his scrawny frame much like his loose skin did with the Black family crest proudly stamped to the front of it. The house elf shuffled to the side, turning his head to mutter, "Oh my poor Mistress, what would she say after swearing he was no son of hers? Allowing filthy halfbloods into the house…"

"Kreacher," Sirius warned.

Completely ignoring the other two seated at the table—one of which was scowling at him—the house elf shot a look of loathing at Harry before bowing towards Sirius. A deep voice croaked as if it had been emitted from the throat of a bullfrog. "Yes, what can Kreacher do for the Master?"

"Have you sent out the invites yet?"

He peered at Sirius nastily. "Kreacher would have made it his first priority if Master would have demanded it." He clucked his tongue in distaste. "Master does not see how it would wound the Mistress to invite such scum into the Ancient and Noble House—"

"I changed my mind. Get rid of the invites, Kreacher," Sirius said darkly.

Kreacher stood up a bit straighter, obviously surprised. "Very well." Then he muttered under his breath, "Who would accept an invitation for that spawn of dirty blood—"

"Enough, Kreacher!" Sirius bellowed. "Away with you!"

"As Master commands," came the sullen intonation. With a snap, the old house-elf vanished with another crack.

The page being turned by Sirius' son broke the suffocating silence with a scraping hiss. Sirius tapped his fingers on the oak table worn by the hands of Blacks before him, frowning in deep thought. If there was one thing Harry wished he could change about their interactions, it was that Sirius would take his duties as godfather less seriously. Harry could do without the instruction on how to best impress witches or the constant digging into what 'traits' he preferred.

Harry had been—still was, really—raw and tight-lipped about the events of the awful tourney. Heaped onto that, the announcement of the formal adoption of two half-siblings into the Black family had left him shaken. He had spent three years living in strangers' homes. The ray of hope that Sirius represented, that he would provide Harry with a home with an uncomplicated guardianship always seemed on the verge of disappearing like a mirage. He wasn't sure how to rid himself of the uncertainty either.

At the instant of his cousins' introduction, Harry had wondered if he was not the godson Sirius had been expecting, so unlike James and Lily despite wearing a mixture of their likenesses. Nevertheless, he was also aware that it was selfish to expect Sirius to lavish attention on him when it had been Harry who pulled away whenever he was called 'James' one too many times. The Slytherin would remain defiantly in his room when meals were called thereafter, frustrated and grief-stricken that the adult he so trusted and cared for was mentally unwell from his thirteen-year ordeal in the bowels of Azkaban; oftentimes, Harry wished his father was alive to be the close friend his godfather plainly needed, since Harry could not.

To have survived so long among dementors was a Wizarding marvel; Sirius had even agreed to multiple interviews to compile biography about his experience there, despite how the mention of Azkaban tormented him. Yes, those hideous beings of darkness had a lesser effect on transformed Animagi, but it was still an incredible feat to have retained any mind at all. Harry had at first supposed he had continued living to exact vengeance for Pettigrew's transgressions, but the more he got to know his godfather the more he realized it was plain bullheadedness. Harry truly was grateful for his godfather despite their difference of opinion, considering he had few options left to live with a proper blood ward beyond a Weasley or Tonks household.

"What did you want to do for your birthday?" Sirius' daughter, the Hufflepuff, ventured to ask in the strained silence between Harry and Sirius. Next to her, Rigel turned another page, not appearing to pay any mind to the entire conversation though Harry was not fooled for one second.

"I wanted to spend the morning with my cousins and godfather. Maybe open presents and letters. Nothing fancy, Gertie," Harry answered, facing his cold porridge as he felt a sense of shame for interrupting their normally peaceful breakfast routine.

Gertrude Lewis, his year-mate from Hogwarts, had been less than enthused in speaking upon her formal introduction, which Harry attributed to already knowing one another. Within Grimmauld Place, she was referred to as 'Nysa Black', but Harry never missed the grimace that appeared whenever she heard it. The other cousin was a lanky Ravenclaw by the name of Rigel Black, formerly of the McCormack family. He kept to himself most of the time, but seemed largely unaffected by the adoption as if it were something that happened every day. Harry found his lack of emotional response and his fondness for reciting entire conversations in which he was uninvolved to be unnerving at times. Otherwise, he seemed like any other thirteen year old wizard.

Gertie looked slightly pained at Harry's discomfort and she turned to Sirius with wide, brown eyes. "Oh, Papa, can we do that? It would be something fun to do in this gloomy house."

"Of course, Nysa."

Heavily setting down the silverware, she swung off the bench and bolted from the table. "I have a present to go fetch!"

Harry watched Gertie sweep up her petticoats and race out the room.

"Rigel," Sirius said and was subsequently ignored. With a good-natured huff, Sirius waved his wand and nonverbally summoned the book his son was so engrossed in to his hands. "Rigel, did you get anything for Harry?"

The teen raised his eyebrows. "We hardly know each other, and being the last scion of the Potter family I'm sure he has piles of gold. What would he need from me that he can't get for himself?"

Sirius gave his son an annoyed look, but didn't pursue the rhetorical question. "Dobby!"

With a crack, a younger house elf appeared with a ratty sweater hanging down to his knbby knees and outlandishly striped socks pulled high like tights. He wrung his ears worriedly, large eyes darting from Sirius to Harry and back again. "That no good Kreacher never sent the invitations for Harry—"

"Dobby. I am aware—"

Dropping his hands from his ears and clenching them into fists, Dobby shook them angrily. "But now he burns them and cackles! He's too mean—"

"I told Kreacher to get rid of them," Sirius nearly yelled and the house elf shrunk back, tugging on his ears and apologizing profusely.

Harry tried not to grit his teeth at his godfather. Glancing at Harry nervously, Sirius murmured an apology and inspected the cover of the leatherbound book in his hands. Meanwhile, Rigel had closed his eyes with his hands clasped on the table in front of him as if in a trance.

"Thanks for looking out for me, Dobby," Harry said with some exasperation. "Stop punishing yourself. You've done nothing wrong."

Dobby stiffly pulled his hands away from his ears and held them tightly together. He turned once more to Sirius, "What does Harry's godfather need?"

Sliding the book across the table back to his son, Sirius sighed deeply. "Cancel all plans for the party tonight. Harry doesn't want it. Gather up the presents and letters and place them in the drawing room."

"But the cake, sir! What will be done with it?"

"We eat it, but let's not spoil our appetites for lunch yet," Sirius said as he cracked a grin at Dobby. "I wouldn't let your excellent baking go to waste."

Dobby grinned broadly. "It will be done!" With another crack, the house elf disappeared.

Sirius breathed in deeply and rubbed his eyes. Harry nibbled at the cold porridge which had obviously gone without a Warming Charm by Kreacher, while his cousin continued to read in silence once more.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs adjacent to the kitchen, alerting them to Gertie's reappearance. "What are you waiting for? Up, up!" She rushed away again, clopping against the floor as noisily as possible, likely in the misguided idea that it would scare away most Dark creatures.

"Don't want to leave her disappointed do you?" Sirius said with a wink, tousling Rigel's hair as he passed him. Lost within the pages of the biography, the Ravenclaw remained where he was, not bothering to straighten the mussed hair that now stuck up in odd angles.

Inside the old house, it smelled musty and old, regardless of Dobby's attempts to freshen the air up every other day. The place had only been made habitable since Sirius was let out of Azkaban, so the house-elf could be forgiven for not succeeding in removing the last traces of years of neglect.

Leaving Rigel behind in the kitchen, there was a coat-room immediately to Harry's right next to the long staircase which his other cousin had so enthusiastically run down. It had a wall lined with the mounted heads of the previous house-elves who had served the Black family. Harry rather wished Kreacher would stop putting the grisly unseeing heads back when Sirius wasn't looking. The corridor was lined with sleeping portraits, including one of Harry's parents, and its faded green carpet looked ancient. Old-fashioned gas-lamps lit the narrow corridor with a cool warmth and a sparkling chandelier above him cast light onto the white, artistically molded ceiling. Travelling down the well-worn carpet, he turned to his left into the drawing room.

Inside the spacious room was dark furniture carved with serpentine shapes and another chandelier—this one nearly took up every inch of the center of the ceiling and had snakes holding the candelabras upright with their mouths. The heavy curtains over the windows were a deep olive green. The wallpaper was the same as it was everywhere else in the house, a deep forest green with intricate black squiggles on it, likely alluding to snakes. The skirting boards, dado, and floors were polished blackwood. Honestly, everything about the Black residence screamed Dark Wizarding Family to Harry, but he didn't care as long as he could open a window to get some fresh air.

While Sirius rambled about going to the shopping district to buy another dress for her, Gertie fussed over the arrangement of presents.

"You liked the necklace I bought for you, didn't you?"

"I like it… Thank you," Gertie responded awkwardly, her movement not ceasing as Sirius continued to carry the conversation.

"You never wear what I purchase for you. I can't imagine a pretty girl like you wouldn't want to wear it."

Gertie cleared her throat. "Harry, did you like my gift?" As awkward as Harry felt around his godfather, the Hufflepuff appeared more so. He couldn't begrudge her reaction since Sirius lavished gifts of silver and silk upon his daughter without much thought. From Harry's time in Hogwarts, he'd never thought of Gertie as a fashionista, and she had yet to wear any of the gifts beyond the silver locket holding a picture of her mother.

He palmed the rose-colored stone. "What is it?"

"A worry-stone. I thought you might like it since you fret so much. You rub the top with your thumb to keep yourself occupied."

"Thanks," he said flashing a smile as he slowly rubbed his thumb against the smooth depression.

Sirius glanced at it and chuffed. "It's a Muggle trinket, better used as a paperweight if you ask me."

Gertie's expression stiffened but that was the only reaction she gave.

"Well, I like it," Harry said. "What's it made of?"

"Quartz," Gertie said, beaming, all traces of discomfort evaporating for the moment.

In that stifling room, a restless Harry opened his birthday presents and cards as Sirius continued to try to hold a conversation with the stubbornly quiet Gertie. Harry slit open an envelope addressed to him and a folded piece of paper dropped out. He carefully unfolded it, eyes reading Hermione's neat handwriting.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! I hope my present made it to you in one piece. To answer your question, I am enjoying my stay in Bulgaria, thank you very much. It's really no business of yours who I'm spending my time with, but I will say that I have a proper chaperone and the blessings of my parents.

I know it must be frustrating what with your godfather breathing down your neck about marriage. I've read into some of the nonsensical traditions expected of pureblood lines in that regard. There was something that piqued my interest, however, that could temporarily solve your problem. It's called a Marriage Contract. Now, before you worry about the permanence of this type of contract, the fantastic thing about them is that the terms are expressly outlined. Should one or both parties decide not to marry within a stated amount of time, this particular magical contract dissolves without fuss or muss as long as the terms are unmet.

Anyway, I hope you haven't been paying too much to the news. They've had nothing good to say about you or Dumbledore. They act like you've made a storm in a teacup. I hate how they haven't thought out the ramifications of ignoring your warnings. I fear the Ministry response will be too slow, if it hasn't been completely taken over by the time Voldemort's been well-proven to be alive and kicking. The situation is ripe for infiltration after all. How can one defend against something one doesn't even believe is true?

In response to your questions about a resistance group started during the First War against Voldemort, I've heard mentions of an Order. It's all very hush-hush, but Ginny's written to me that she knows a few members that belong to it. She's also warned that there's a fair amount going on about You-Know-Who that has yet to make it into the Daily Prophet. People have started to disappear. Not a lot, but enough to make me think it is no coincidence. Please be careful.

Best wishes,

Hermione Granger

Harry folded it and placed it back into its envelope to peruse later. He reached for Hermione's gift and began to unwrap it as Gertie stood up with a vicious air.

"I have enough things, Papa," Gertie declared, "I'm not so spoiled that I need a new dress every day like some empty-headed Purebloods I know!"

"Of course, Nysa. I only meant to make you feel welcome—not… well, not overburdened."

Not having anything to say to that, Gertie busied herself by collecting pieces of used wrapping paper.

With a strain to his face that hadn't been there before they sat down, Sirius clapped a hand to Harry's shoulder. "I've some letters to write. I'll see you both during lunch."

"See you," Harry murmured.

"And don't slip out, you know it's dangerous outside," Sirius scolded with a lighthearted twinkle in his eyes.

"Only an idiot would sneak outside the Unplottability perimeter," Harry huffed. "I'd like to keep myself in one piece, thanks."

Sirius chuckled and winked at Gertie, who still had not turned to face him as she smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress. Once her father had left the room, she clicked open her locket and stared at the picture inside.

She didn't appear upset as she closed the locket in her palm, but lost like a misplaced shoe.

"Gertie, when do you get to visit your mum?"

A pain-stricken expression lit across her face, and she turned away from him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Er, sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset." In a flurry of petticoats, her dress swished behind her as she stomped out of the room. Harry saw the damp parting glance begging to differ with her account, before she disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.

Her mother was still alive, so Harry wondered why it was a touchy subject. Setting aside Hermione's gift, he decided to seek answers. When he found the kitchen empty, he assumed Rigel had retired to his room. Harry ignored the mounted heads as he climbed the steps to the next floor, passing Gertie's room, and knocked on Rigel's door.

"Yes, come in."

Opening the door, Harry stepped into the room, so different from his own. It was filled with lanterns of light which glowed against the sheer white curtains crisscrossing the walls. It brought an airiness to the small room that Harry hadn't thought was possible.

"What is it?" From behind a black, silky fringe, a pale teenager looked up from his book when Harry entered the room and then went back to reading where he was seated on a large couch. As usual, he was wearing all black with a multitude of silver-wrought ear piercings.

"Why won't Gertie talk about her mum?"

Rigel chuckled darkly, slapping the book closed. "Our mothers gave us away for a piece of the Black fortune." At the cross look that came upon Harry's face, Rigel raised an eyebrow. "Sirius did father us, you know. The Paternity Scroll proves it."

"That's rotten," Harry said darkly. "Bartering your own child for money. I don't know how anyone could give their child away or accept them under those terms."

His cousin's eyebrows rose in a serious manner. "Don't think poorly of Dad. This family has been validating bastards for centuries either as bargaining chips in gainful marriages or to continue the bloodline. It's the most practical way to keep it going with a family so obsessed with being pureblood. Just look at the plight of the Gaunts. They refused to recognize bastards and see where that got them."

"The Gaunts?" Harry's brain tickled as he recalled where he'd seen the name. "I had no idea there weren't any surviving members."

"I'm certain there are surviving members in one form or another. Simply in a form that the Gaunts wouldn't have considered a Gaunt." The Ravenclaw waved a hand. "Their official bloodline died off not long after the Pureblood Directory was published. So much inbreeding between cousins gave insanity a chance to take root. They bragged that Death liked them the most and that was why they had no need to adopt. Absolute nutters they were."

Harry thought on that for a moment before asking the question that had pressed him from the moment he had been introduced to 'Nysa'. "So, why did Gertie's name have to change? What was wrong with Lewis?"

"No member of the House of Black would be allowed to carry a Muggle name. Her middle name was Nysa, so her mum must have known there was a possibility that she would inherit something from this family." Rigel gestured dismissively. His rapid-fire words clearly showed that he didn't like to waste time mincing words, not that he lacked sympathy for his half-sister. "Nysa's not a half-blood or else her mum's petition would have been tossed out like the other dozens made. Of course, I don't think they were all legitimate considering Dad was in Azkaban for a year by the time their children were conceived. Though, come to think of it, it's possible that someone could have collected his essence and placed a Stasis Charm on it. I doubt most people think that far ahead, really."

At Harry's puzzled look, Rigel continued at an even quicker pace, "I don't suppose you know anything about the number of petitions Dad received since you avoid the tabloids like the plague. That's probably why he's so intent on getting you accustomed to the idea of marriage as soon as conceivably possible. Then the messy matter of inheritance takes care of itself." At Harry's affronted look, Rigel grinned. "Please, by all means, continue dragging your feet. I imagine once he's done with you he'll fixate on me as heir to the Black line, and I particularly enjoy that he doesn't smother me like Mum." Without batting an eye, an open book with a winking picture of the vocalist from Weird Sisters came up between them and effectively ended the conversation.

Momentarily forgetting about his unopened presents downstairs, Harry left the Rigel's room deep in thought. He traveled over the creaky floor boards passing the Lineage Room and went to his own that had a silver nameplate inset into the door with the letters HJP.

Though his room was a bit gloomy, it was comfortable. The floor was dark ebony and the walls were a bright green, trimmed with silver. There were built-in shelves into the walls holding all the books he'd ever been given and a broomrack where his Firebolt was placed. Harry's four-poster bed was made of varnished black walnut and took up nearly half the room. The cover was made of black silk and had a huge Slytherin crest on it. Harry traced his fingers over it, remembering how Sirius had spoken about it belonging to his little brother, Regulus. A large rug took up the space between an ostentatious chest of drawers covered in carvings of serpents and a writing desk on the other side. Dobby had placed his school trunk somewhere after emptying it, but would no doubt return it when Harry had need of it again.

Since his first conversation with Rigel, Harry knew that this particular third cousin was direct to an extreme nor did he ever spend time softening his exit out of social interactions. Harry wasn't entirely sure if it was because of impatience or a complete disregard of good manners, though he hardly let it bother him. Whenever he needed a good laugh, he entertained the idea of how Augusta Longbottom would react to such an impertinent youth who kept odd hours and habits. She would have tied buckets of water to Rigel's hands simply as a reminder. Thinking of this hit Harry with a pang of worry about Neville. Was he faring alright under his grandmother's intense smothering? They had exchanged letters, but Harry felt much less involved in the Gryffindor's life now that they were living apart. If Rigel's approximation of inheritances and dying bloodlines were anything to go by, Mrs. Longbottom's over-protectiveness of her son's direct heir made more sense. Harry still didn't have to like her over-strict childrearing method.

He sat at his desk and opened the thick letter from Hermione once more. His eyes wandered across it over and over again, pulling out the scant details. Dumbledore's mysterious band of operatives was obviously the Order which stood against Voldemort. It had to be active if Ginny knew members who belonged to it. No doubt it would include members of her own family, known enemies of the Dark Lord.

The regularly rule-abiding Hermione must have been warned to keep mum by Ginny without a very good reason as to why she should. Having gotten to know Rigel more and evidenced by Luna's inquisitive personality, Harry knew that a Ravenclaw's Achilles' heel was their curiosity. While Hermione had been sorted to the house of lions, it was no wonder that she had had a hat stall as she exemplified both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw traits. Secretly, Harry was glad she had been placed in Gryffindor. Otherwise, she might not have involved herself in the tomfoolery of their earlier years at Hogwarts.

Hermione's curiosity in particular was the unquenchable kind that couldn't be assuaged by simplistic commands. Pique her interest in a mystery and she wouldn't have to be persuaded to dig for information. Yet, combined with her strong sense of justice and fairness and it was obvious to Harry why she ultimately had been sorted into Gryffindor. No matter the honor code she followed, it was flexible to interpretation if it was for a righteous cause. The delicately worded slip-up in the card she had sent from Bulgaria was her small act of rebellion to someone who expected blind loyalty. Maybe she wasn't telling Harry everything, but it felt good to know she continued to believe in him and cared enough to warn him about the disappearances that Auror Tonks had warned Minister Fudge would start again.

Considering that every day since the end of school term had consisted of a cycle of ceaseless visions, Harry felt lucky to be surrounded by family who didn't hate him. Otherwise, the expectation of Voldemort breaking his peace with visions coupled with the mounting tension and temporary relief when nothing happened for weeks may have driven him to extreme measures. Sadly, even with the liberal use of standard sleeping potions, Voldemort drew Harry to possess Nagini whilst Harry slept and then the ruddy blighter would torment him when Harry could not escape his clutches.

Obviously, the Minister of Magic would refuse to believe that Voldemort had returned, disappearances or no disappearances. This was compounded by the Daily Prophet and its smear campaign against both Harry and Dumbledore, the most credible sources of the Dark Lord's reappearance.

Harry had been livid at first that the paper's lead editor had run several articles disparaging his opinion piece about You-Know-Who coming back. People simply didn't want to believe Voldemort, the scariest Dark Lord in recent memory, was back. Of course in a political climate like this, Harry would become the butt of a joke, a punchline that had started with Rita Skeeter's articles about him last year. Though Skeeter was no longer behind the current campaign, other critics had taken up her mantle. Their opinion held him as being no better than an attention-seeking fraud. The Death Eater in charge of their little reunion is behind bars where he belongs, they had more or less written. Why go around stirring up fear with your ridiculous exaggerations unless you have a love of the attention that comes with being a tragic hero?

Denying that he was telling 'ridiculous' stories or that he had a love of attention would have fallen on deaf ears. No matter what Harry said or wrote most wouldn't believe him without more concrete proof. It was infuriating.

He shivered as cold encroached along his skin and pocketed the cryptic birthday card. He drew his arms against his chest. It felt like ice was slipping down his throat, numbing his stomach. Bugger this, he thought and slid open the window in his room. He quickly climbed down the side of the brick wall with old, crumbling mortar, gouging enough finger-space between the bricks.

Harry shuddered as cold chilled him even with the sun beating down on him. He took a deep breath of hot muggy air to little effect. He hopped down to the tiny patch of grass in front of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

It seemed to be the hottest day of the summer and it wasn't even noon yet. A drowsy stillness lay over the large apartment block. Cars that usually gleamed stood dusty in their parking spaces along the street beneath wilting city trees. Hanging gardens from poles lining the street had been taken down once the greenery had been reduced to yellowing clumps in the baking sun. Even near the heart of London, cicadas were thrumming their song in the late day, pulsing like a giant's heartbeat.

Harry's eyes scanned the stretch of cobbled road. The inhabitants had retreated into the shadow of their cool apartments. The only person left outdoors besides him was the occasional pet-sitter. He sat in the baking sun that hardly seemed to touch him, pressing against the warm stone of his godfather's flat.

He knew what he looked like, skinny with the pinched look of someone who had grown a lot in a short space of time due to a modest growth spurt. His denim trousers were torn and dirty with rust from the downspout and his shirt faded from Kreacher's over-washing. If anybody could have seen him, they would have said Harry was homeless or a runaway. Harry Potter knew he was neither.

Lying back onto the grass, he stared up at the blue, cloudless sky for a moment and then closed his eyes. There weren't any Monitoring Charms on the third-floor window leading to his bedroom, but Harry thought that oversight had been done deliberately. It was not very comfortable lying on the dry, brittle grass, but the cold seemed to be receding away from the buzzing waves of insects.

Voldemort's power was on the rise, while Harry stagnated in his godfather's house. To be honest, he was only fifteen. There really wasn't much he could do besides rescue books on Dark Arts that Sirius had ordered Dobby to torch. Dobby had come to Harry very upset over the destruction of said books by the way he was clutching his ears. He had told Dobby to hide them in the unused wardrobe, so he could study them later. By doing so, some of the ever-present tension he had carried with him since that blasted tournament finally receded. Harry hadn't been expressly forbidden from reading them, though he knew Sirius would be angry if he found out. If he was gaining advanced Dark Arts theory and practicing wandforms to counter the foulest and nastiest of them, he highly doubted that his godfather would blame him.

A sticky summer breeze grazed the fringe of Harry's hair pulling him from his self-absorbed thoughts. Watching a sole bird soar by on thermals, he let out a long, slow breath as he stared at the vast blueness above him. Honestly, the additional occupants to Grimmauld Place didn't bother Harry that much. As if sensing his poor mood, they kept to themselves unless they wanted to borrow Hedwig to deliver letters. Neither of them trusted the tiny and excitable Scops owl, Ruffles, to make deliveries on time. Only Sirius treated the official Black family owl like any other, which was kind of him but impractical.

Before Hermione's letter, Harry had assumed that his friends were having such an eventful summer that they had little time to write. It had been odd that nobody else had even hinted about Voldemort's activities to Harry in any of their letters, not even Draco, whose father mysteriously allowed correspondence to recommence between the two; Harry reckoned it was by Voldemort's direct command and the thought soured Harry's feelings about the letter exchanges.

Though in hindsight, Harry should have realized that even the son of a Death Eater would censor himself, especially if Draco thought Harry would run off like an impulsive Gryffindor. Of course, Harry didn't discount that Draco's father would deliberately tamper with his only heir's letters in case Draco tried to pass sensitive information. Voldemort was well-known for the gruesome torture of spies if The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts could be believed.

Then the summer heat ceased to exist. Harry ran his icy hands over his chilled forearms, after sitting up to look around. His breath wasn't coming in puffs though nor was there a dementor in sight. He didn't know why he would get so cold, but he hated it. He hated how cold his godfather's house was. Then the cicadas grew louder, and the sun's heat seemed to finally slide into his skin. Shifting so he could lean back against the warm brick wall again, Harry grew drowsy once more.

A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot and a couple of birds flew out from under a tree into the bright sky. It was a frequent sound in London, but usually not that close. Harry was undisturbed by the sound of Apparation because it was likely another hopeful, well-dressed girl; he didn't try to sit up, though he kept his hand near the sheathed greyish white wand in its holster. He didn't care that Sirius would raise his voice about insulting prospective brides again. There was another crack of Apparition, likely the escort of whoever had come for dinner. Someone had to be given the Secret in order to see Harry on Unplottable land, so he wasn't that worried that it was an enemy. However, it didn't hurt to remain on guard.

A tall shadow fell over Harry, dipping him in unwanted cool shade. "It sounds lovely, doesn't it?" came a teasing tenor voice, nearly drowned out by the insects.

"Yes, but I wouldn't say they're lovely," Harry said, referring to the call of the noisy insects, "more like comforting." He cracked open an eye. It was sandy-haired Theodore Nott, dressed in very fine dress robes, the same set he'd worn to the Yule Ball. "What the bleeding hell are you doing back so soon?" He said as he sat up. His friend had a shadow of a beard and looked much more solid than Harry had seen him last.

"I'm your play date tonight," Theo said with a voice deeper than Harry remembered. Little wonder that he hadn't recognized him when he first spoke.

Harry laughed, shifting to the left to give some room for his best mate. "Our plan worked? Unbelievable."

Theodore crouched in the small space beside Harry. He'd grown too much to fit on the green, but he didn't seem to care as he leaned back against the old brick outer wall shading his face from the sun. "Beautiful day, not a cloud out." He smiled at Harry. "I guess you love summertime, since you were outside in this miserable heat last time I visited. Good thing I convinced Da to put a Cooling Charm on my suit."

Harry chuckled. "It's my favorite season."

The werewolf closed his eyes, tilting his chin up as he breathed in deeply. "Most people prefer the spring or fall when it's actually nice to be out."

"Well…" Harry murmured.

His friend tilted his head in question, until Harry had gathered enough courage to speak.

"Summer means peace to me," Harry admitted slowly. "Dudley often left me alone when he roamed the surrounding neighborhoods with his gang. Aunt Petunia didn't like gardening much so I was stuck outside digging in the dirt. I think she meant it as punishment, but I loved it. There was plenty of sunlight and fresh air."

"What do you suppose they are?" Theodore said, gesturing to the air.

"What?"

"The noise. They're typical summer visitors, aren't they? That's why you're sitting outside to listen."

"They're cicadas. I have no idea if they've a different name by wizards. You don't hear them out often since they hibernate underground for many years and then crawl out in droves. I've never found one before, but they're large insects in the Encyclopedia pictures I've seen. They really carry on."

"Ah, yeah. I've seen them before. Not around here though," Theodore said with a wry grin. "Do you always greet your guests in torn Muggle clothes?" When Harry smirked, his friend laughed, pushed himself off the ground, and then helped Harry to his feet. "Bet it drives your godfather barmy."

"I've learned that if I dress nice and act polite, my prospective suitors will take… liberties with my personal space when the chaperones aren't looking." Harry scowled, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. "This way they know where they stand."

Theodore's eyebrows had risen. "I suspect they have been encouraged to take the initiative with you, then. Some wizards are shy."

"I'm not shy," Harry said angrily, "I really have no desire to snog or get fondled, but Sirius doesn't seem to get that. He's halfway convinced that I fancy blokes."

"Which is why we've taken that assumption to our advantage," Theodore said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Let's go have dinner and sneak off to your bedroom to play Exploding Brag, while—"

"Exploding Brag?" Harry queried.

"It's a game I've devised based off that Muggle card game. I've the rights to it and an exclusive agreement with Fred and George Weasley to sell it in their mail-order catalogue this year." Theodore's grin grew even more. "I never miss an opportunity to turn a Knut."

"Sounds fun," Harry said as Theodore pulled away so he could open the door. They entered through the majestic dark wood door. Harry missed the cicadas as soon as the door closed, placing a barrier between him and the deep warmth of summer.

"So any luck yet with the powdered wand?"

"Ollivander wasn't kidding when he told you that she wanted to be exactly re-purposed. I've tried divining this several dozen times, but…" They took a sharp right, passing by a set of thick velvet curtains hanging on the corridor wall on their way through the sitting room. Theodore sighed when he didn't have the words to describe his frustration. Harry's young cousin sat in a plump velvet-lined chair, reading as usual.

"Hi, Rigel," Theodore called out.

Rigel's dark eyes lifted momentarily, but didn't respond otherwise.

The two Slytherins walked past the open ebony door with a serpent-headed door-knob and into the adjoined dining parlor. The door swung shut behind them. It appeared that Sirius would forego chaperoning them.

Theodore turned. "Is Rigel always so quiet?"

"Most of the time, but once he starts he'll carry on all by himself," Harry said. "He's at his loudest when he practices his guitar playing or when he turns the volume all the way up on the WWN during Weird Sisters' concerts."

"Has Gertrude been better after her friend was over?"

Harry let out a sigh as they walked towards the table. "No. Dunning stayed for several weeks, but it didn't work. I invite Gertie to play chess with me every other day, but most times she stays locked up in her room and won't come out. Dobby says she hardly touches the food he brings her. I really think she needs to get out of this house."

A frown marred Theodore's face. "She could miss her mum."

"Yeah. Only found out today that they aren't allowed to communicate with their mothers for another year, and then they only get to exchange letters." Harry shook his head at the harsh adoption stipulations into the Black family. "I don't know why Sirius can't fix the rules so that they aren't as harsh."

"Traditions of families like these are steeped in blood magic. To reverse a directive would require a sacrifice equivalent or greater than what laid the original framework down. He probably isn't willing to pay the price."

Harry didn't ask what the price could be. He stared up at the magnificent chandelier hovering over an already set table.

"Well. As far as I can tell your old wand doesn't want to be made into a powerful talisman or amulet against Dark energies," Theodore continued the previous line of conversation, "which is just strange. I've done this before, and the others were more than happy to be made into something that could protect their master."

"Well, you've made it farther than I have. I only ever hear a humming sound." Harry pulled out the chair for Theodore from polite habit and then took his own across the table, ignoring Theodore's amused look. Harry picked up the bulbous glass and slurped the cold water down thirstily. He'd been out in the sun nearly all day today. If it wasn't for the Sunburn Salve that Harry used consistently every night, his skin would've likely been bright red instead of sporting a golden tan.

"So, do your dreams still bother you?" Theodore knew that the visions that Harry was plagued with were no dreams at all. However, Sirius didn't know anything about them, and Harry wanted to keep things that way. He doubted the Sirius would deliberately eavesdrop with magic, but in a house this old it wouldn't be that surprising if the Head of the Black family had less invasive methods. The magical espionage book had detailed the kinds of passive listening wards that could be keyed into one's estate. That was an idea, Harry thought grimly. Perhaps Sirius expects me to loosen my tongue without a chaperone around to actively listen in.

"I haven't had one in the past month…" Food appeared on their plates, and Harry picked at it. He was disinterested in the slice of beef wellington, the sautéed sticks of asparagus, and scoop of chive-laden mash that came with it.

"Ah." Theodore sawed through his rare beef wellington with practiced ease. "When we leave the parlor, I need you to act a little furtive as we're going up the stairs," he said.

"You want me to tiptoe past the kitchen?" Harry chortled.

"I simply wish to cement our very close fondness to one another so your godfather will continue to invite me over." Then Theodore winked.

Harry let out a loud sigh. "Well, I suppose maybe that will mean he'll lay off the suitors…"

"Doubt that," Theodore said before he crammed a large piece of the pastry-wrapped bloody steak in his mouth.

Frowning, Harry took another gulp of his water.

"Mr. Black told my father that he'll allow my dalliances with you so long as I don't interfere when he does find a proper match for his godson."

Harry snorted water down his front.

"I, of course, agreed."

Wiping his face and trying to sponge some of the liquid off his clothes with his cloth napkin, Harry shot Theodore a glare. "I thought the plan was to stop my godfather from ruining the rest of my summer with prospective brides?"

"I have stoically agreed to sacrifice my Monday and Saturday nights, excepting full moons, to the cause, your Grace."

"Oh, shut i—" Harry cut himself off when the door opened.

In walked Sirius Black wearing a nice suit, his face clean-shaven and his long black hair drawn back into ponytail. He had the gravest expression on his face than Harry had ever seen. In his eyes was that hollow look, the one he had whenever he thought of Azkaban. Behind him, Remus Lupin in his usual shabby jacket closed the door quietly.

"Sorry to interrupt your dinner date, Harry." Sirius smoothed down the front of his clothes and patted his knuckles against his thighs in a habit that his godson readily recognized as Sirius' gloominess. "I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Theo, could you wait—"

"Whatever it is," Harry interrupted, "He can hear it with me."

Running a hand down the front of his robes again, Sirius conjured a chair and sat upon it. "Your—how should I…" His godfather took a deep breath. "Remus. I can't."

Harry's once-teacher nodded. "It's about your Muggle relatives…"

"The Dursleys?" Harry hadn't really thought of them since his second year at Hogwarts. "What about them?"

"They were attacked," Lupin said gently.

His skin turning ashen, Sirius took in another deep breath. "By dementors," he croaked out.

"Dementors?" Harry got up from his chair so fast that it was knocked to the floor. "Dementors in Little Whinging?" Harry knew. He positively knew what had happened. His hands were trembling. "Did they... Was someone able to repel the dementors?"

Sirius swallowed, dropping his head forward until his hair covered his face. "I'm sorry. They're…"

Lupin stepped forward, squeezing Sirius' shoulder when he could say no more.

The silence was so thick that Harry's ears were ringing. He knew that no one could have been around with his godfather looking as ill as he did.

"The souls of those in the house were gone, Harry," Lupin said quietly. "Even the dog's."

Harry responded weakly, "Dog?" His heart was hammering and the smell of burning potion came to him. His eyes aimlessly scanned the room as his breaths came more quickly. He tried to break the panic's hold before he succumbed to it by remaining present and aware no matter how terrifying it seemed. Someone noisily righted Harry's chair, breaking the memory's hold on him. Theodore guided him to sit down in it. Harry's knees seemed to be the main culprit of his tremors. "But the Dursleys don't own a dog. At least they didn't when I—" Harry realized quickly who else might have died. "Aunt Marge?"

Sirius nodded.

"Your mother's sister is in St. Mungo's," Lupin said. "And your cousin—"

"She's not dead?" Harry said, horrified. To be soulless yet alive was a prospect he had not imagined. How could that happen?

"It… well, in a way. The specialists don't know why. Like the bodies of wizards and witches, the bodies of Squibs can keep living after their soul is removed. It isn't common, but it's known to happen."

Harry stared at Lupin. His brain wasn't working properly. He thought he'd just heard that Aunt Petunia had been a Squib. If so, then—

"You didn't know, did you?" Theodore whispered beside him. "That Blood Wards don't work with Muggles."

Shivering, Harry found that he was having difficulty breathing. Everything was cold. "Why?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Why would there be dementors in Little Whinging?"

"We don't know," Lupin said. "There wasn't any Death Eater activity around the Dursleys and Arabella Figg said—"

"Why would you know her?" Harry was reeling even though it hadn't yet sunk in that his closest living relatives had been murdered. All he had left was a Great-Aunt and innumerable distant cousins.

"She was placed in the Muggle neighborhood to keep an eye on you when you were growing up," Sirius said, sounding strained. "Fat lot it did you."

"But she… I never saw her cast magic."

"She's a Squib, Harry," Lupin said, "The Ministry wouldn't allow a witch or wizard to move into a Muggle-only sanctioned zone. And if she hadn't been there, we wouldn't have known about the dementor attack as quickly and summoned Aurors and Obliviators to contain the Muggle law-keepers and medics who had been called by your cousin." When Harry made a strangled noise, Lupin nodded. "Yes, your cousin Dudley is the only survivor. He had stumbled on the scene when he came home later than normal and rung out for help when none of them were responsive."

Fear sunk into Harry's gut as he imagined the shock of walking into a room of your loved ones doing their best imitation of a screaming corpse.

"He doesn't have to live here," Sirius cut through Harry's racing thoughts.

Harry drew in a deep breath, torn. A part of him wanted nothing to do with his nasty cousin. Then again, four years is a long time to be away and Dudley wouldn't remember him. The Court Obliviators had made certain of that when Harry was removed from the Dursley home. Harry flattened his lips. "He's the closest family I have left. Don't take that from me."

Wearily, Sirius nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "I had a feeling you might say that. He's at St. Mungo's until they clear him."

So many things coursed through Harry's mind that he couldn't focus on any one of them. "How did the Death Eaters find them? Didn't the Ministry think it was important to protect them?"

Both adults had a momentary flash of guilt. "The current Ministry is in the habit of a clean break when dealing with Squibs who have broken the law and ignorant Muggles. After their Obliviation, the Dursleys were relocated to a new home in a neighboring town as a security precaution, but they quickly moved back to Little Whinging despite the Ministry's best efforts to stop them…"

Theodore made a noise of disgust. "If a mole in the Ministry didn't ferret it out, anyone who read Harry's biography knew that his uncle worked at a manufacturing company that specialized in drills. It wouldn't be difficult to hunt them down from that information alone."

"Why now?" Harry said, his tight voice cutting. "Why kill them now instead of right after the tournament? If he has control over Dementors and it was easy to pop them over there…" Harry clenched his hand into a fist. "What was the point in waiting?"

With a grave expression, Lupin opened his coat and pulled out a blood-red envelope. "Dumbledore was hoping you could tell us."

The envelope had already been opened. Harry could see that much. He pulled out the thick bone-white card and dropped it on the table when his skin crawled with the sensation of a charm activating. As he stared at it, he realized the paper was the precise shade of Voldemort's skin. On it was a very accurate rendering of the Dark Mark complete with an animated snake whose tongue flicked out, tasting.

Below the symbol, a message was appearing, faint at first but growing darker. In crisp slanted lines of dried blood was written,

Happy Birthday, Harry.

"No," Harry snarled lowly. His vision wobbled in front of him, thick with rage.

His scar burned and then all went black.