It was a cold Autumn evening, the day turning into night much faster than it had in the summer as a married couple ate a late supper, their youngest child sleeping.

"Honestly, sometimes I wish I could steal Ron from the shop," said Harry Potter, shaking his head tiredly. "It's as if a quarter of my force refuses to acknowledge they're too old for our work and the other quarter is so new they might as well still be training!"

He sighed at the tiny bit of chicken and mushroom pie left on his plate, his vivid emerald eyes still showing his irritation.

Ginny, his wife, moved to rub his shoulders lightly as she kissed his cheek, her red hair brushing Harry's ear as she leaned over. "You're a good teacher, Harry. Even if they aren't experienced, with you as their mentor, I know they'll be fine."

Harry smiled, looking embarrassed at such praise even now; despite his career as the Head Auror and his fame, he had not lost his distaste of the spotlight. He tilted his head backwards to look up at Ginny, who looked back at him, their noses touching. They shared a gentle kiss before both paused, hearing what sounded like a knock on the door.

Their ears did not deceive them as it sounded again.

"Are you expecting anyone?" asked Ginny, looking at the front door curiously.

"Not that I was aware of," admitted Harry. "I hope nothing's happened…"

"Finish your dinner, I'll get it," said Ginny decisively. She walked out of the kitchen, Harry watching her go. She walked into the other room, past the fireplace with its flames crackling merrily and its mantle, full of the many pictures that were happily waving at them or playing around of their large family.

Those photographs always put a smile on Harry's face. His children were far from perfect, but to him, they were marvelous. He had just put the last forkful of his dinner into his mouth when he heard Ginny.

"Harry, could you come here, please?"

Sighing, Harry stood up and quickly drank some water before moving into the other room. The sofa, cozy and inviting, made him want to just rest there, but that thought was erased from his mind when he saw who was at the door.

Two beings, identically cloaked in all black dragonskin armor stood there; the coats they wore over the outfits flapped slightly in the wind, revealing more than a few spare holsters for more than just wands. The two carried Muggle weapons as well. What looked like gas masks were on their faces, with red lenses completely covering their eyes. Etched on the upper arm sleeves of the coats was a basic symbol: the earth with various languages that stated I.C.W. around it.

The only difference between the two on his doorstep were their heights of perhaps an inch.

Harry knew who they had to be: Regulators, the Law Enforcement branch of the International Confederation of Wizards. It was extremely difficult to become a Regulator, even more difficult than it was to become an Auror. Harry had worked alongside Regulators before, when British and International issues had been one and the same, most especially after the war. Dementors had still been all over, having bred to form multitudes.

It had been Harry's team of trusted Aurors, those whom had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts with him, and the Regulators who had ended up wrangling the foul creatures in. They had been returned to Azkaban with spells to ensure they could never leave. The prison that had once been there moved to another Unplottable isle; the Ministry no longer associated with Dementors and did not use them to guard their prison.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," said the taller Regulator. Like all Regulators, it was a disembodied voice with a hollow, mechanical sound to it. Harry knew it was to protect their identities, much like their masks and armor.

"Good evening," said Harry, wondering what could have happened to bring them here. "Come inside, please. Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

Both Regulators shook their heads, but took his invitation to come inside. Harry shared a look with Ginny, who gave a shrug, obviously just as surprised as Harry was.

"The Commander has a request of you, Head Auror," said the taller Regulator without preamble. "He was wondering if you would be so kind as to lend the ICW some of your possessions. In particular, a few notes of importance."

Wondering what he could possibly have that anyone in the ICW, let alone the Director of Law Enforcement would want, Harry spoke, "I'd have to know what the items in question were before agreeing first, of course."

"Of course," said the taller Regulator.

The other Regulator spoke, "They would be items belonging to the Detcro Black."

Strangely now, both Regulators spoke hurriedly, obviously a ritual of sorts, but there was a very real undercurrent of what seemed to be fear mingled with respect even in the disembodied voices. "May his eternal slumber be ever undisturbed."

Harry had absolutely no idea what the Regulator was talking about. A glance towards his wife showed the same confusion, which made Harry a bit relieved; it wasn't something that anyone who had grown up completely in the Wizarding World would know.

"We didn't know a Detcro Black," said Ginny softly, moving towards Harry.

"She's right," agreed Harry. "I knew Sirius Black. He was my godfather."

Sometimes his oldest son reminded him so much of his reckless godfather that Harry could only shake his head. He missed the man even now, but he knew Sirius would be glad that he was alive and had such a wonderful family... even if sometimes the children and work made Harry want to jump out a window.

The two Regulators turned to each other. Harry could not see expressions, of course, but they turned back to him.

"My apologies," explained the shorter Regulator. "Detcro is a title, Mr. Potter. We are seeking information that may be found in the notes of Alphard Black."

"... What exactly is the title for?" asked Harry slowly. He had not known Alphard Black personally, but he knew the name since Sirius had only mentioned two members of his family in a positive light. And those two had been Andromeda Tonks and Alphard Black, his favorite cousin and his uncle.

Alphard had left things to Sirius, who had left them to Harry. It was not hard to see why the ICW would approach Harry for his belongings.

It was hard to see, however, why they would do so after so long. Alphard Black had died long before Harry had been born, after all. So why now? And why would both Regulators still show obvious fear and respect for someone so long gone?

"Detective," said one Regulator as the other said, "Necromancer," simultaneously.

"Okay, you both just gave me two different titles," said Harry, frowning.

Ginny, on the other hand, looked surprised, "Necromancers can be detectives?"

"Only in very extreme cases, madam," explained one of the Regulators. "When we have no other trails. They are very proficient and many also conduct private investigations."

"I won't make any promises," said Harry, thinking on the matter. "Do you know what your Commander is hoping to gain from the notes, presuming Sirius didn't toss them like he did all his other family things?"

Harry tried to think of what he knew of Head of the ICW's Law Enforcement. Commander Timothy Gagnon was a man who seemed carved from stone. He was from the Yukon, dark, short and thin, with hair that had long turned white and dark brown eyes that seemed to burn holes when anyone held his gaze too long. It was Gagnon who had given authorization for the assistance against the Dementors and though Harry knew little about the man, he respected him.

He also had a strong suspicion that Sirius would not toss anything his uncle, one of only two relatives he liked, had left him. But Harry wanted to look through these things first before turning them over to any other law enforcement agency.

"Intel states that the Detcro is believed to have the last known whereabouts of a powerful but extremely dangerous artifact," explained a Regulator. "The Commander seeks to ensure the object is found and placed in a safe, secure location."

Harry nodded, not voicing his question; why had it taken roughly forty years for anyone to want this artifact? If they had waited this long, surely his few days of looking into the notes would not hurt.

"I'll let you know what I find," said Harry.

"Thank you." With that, the two Regulators bowed their heads politely and Harry walked them to the door. Once they had walked off far enough into the cold night, they Apparated.

Closing the door, Harry looked at Ginny.

"Why wait so long?" he asked, frowning.

Ginny was frowning too, "The only things I can think of is they need it for something, but the Regulators just said it was dangerous so that's doubtful. Maybe…" she looked nervous and Harry walked to her. She sighed and looked at him, "You'll laugh and tell me I'm channeling Moody."

"Just don't shout 'Constant Vigilance,' or lecture me about how I might lose a buttock," said Harry, unable to hide a smile.

"Wait, what about your buttocks?" Ginny grinned deviously. "Moody enjoyed the view too?"

"No!" said Harry, making her laugh. "But what is it? What's wrong?"

"... Maybe they waited so long because they wanted to be sure nobody that knew him, really knew him, was still alive," suggested Ginny quietly. "Did Sirius ever mention him?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Alphard was his uncle who left him some stuff. He was disowned for it."

"Do you have any idea where to look?"

Ginny looked around their living room, as if half-expecting to see something there.

"Yeah. I'm going to check Sirius's room after work tomorrow," said Harry decisively. He hated going to Grimmauld Place but he had kept it instead of selling it because of the memories and because it could be useful one day. It had served him well in the war, after all.

"I'll make sure that your supper stays warm then," said Ginny, smiling at him.

"Thanks," said Harry, going upstairs with her to retire for the night.

Work the next day was busy as always, and the quiet of Grimmauld Place was a welcome reprieve after the hectic day. Not much had changed since he had stayed here during the height of the war with Ron and Hermione. It was cleaner, at least, but still gave Harry a sense of foreboding and sadness.

Harry continued up the stairs until he reached the topmost landing where there were only two doors. The one facing him bore a nameplate reading Sirius. He entered, looking around the room with amusement. Posters of motorcycles and bikini-clad Muggle girls and the photograph of the Marauders surrounded him.

He walked towards the bookshelves; he had never really looked at the books on it, but on the top shelf was a slim, black leather-bound book, perhaps as thick as Harry's hand. Next to it was a neat pile of parchment that had Sirius's handwriting on it.

Things that save me from boredom-induced death:

Feeding Buckbeak

Seeing other people

Harry

Uncle's notes

Harry found himself softly chuckling. He could practically hear Sirius venting and he looked through the parchment. There were maps and names and what looked like strange phrases.

Curious, Harry opened the book, flipping through it, but finding nothing. He shrugged and went back to the very first page, flipping so quickly that he gave himself a papercut.

"Ouch!" He yelped, jerking his hand away and shaking his head as a drop of blood sunk into the first page. He had just healed his small, annoying injury when he frowned.

Words, in a far neater handwriting than Sirius's, had appeared on the page.

Sirius,

If you are reading this, then I am no longer around. Be of good cheer; Death is an old friend and from all I've been told, it's even easier than falling asleep.

But not all methods of death allow for such peace. And I have found something in one of my cases that I fear may swing various balances that are already fragile.

I have also written this as a precaution. I believe the ICW has been tainted from the inside. I fear it is as corrupt as the Ministry, if not more so. And if that is the case, then this book absolutely cannot ever be allowed to reach them or the Ministry. Burn it if you must, if it ever comes down to it, but do not turn it to them.

My cases are logged in here, both ICW and personal. Hopefully, information in them will help you one day.

Take care of yourself, little star.

Your Uncle,

Alphard

Harry frowned and looked through the book. He expected to see words but instead he simply saw boxes with dates written over them. His stomach plummeted uncomfortably; this reminded him very much of a certain diary he had never wanted to think about again. Slowly, holding the book, he sat on the bed.

He was not a child and this was not Voldemort's horcrux. Sirius would never have kept a book that would harm himself or anyone in the Order.

Reassured, Harry raised the book to press his eye against the little box and as he expected, he was tilting forward; the window was widening, he felt his body leave the bed, and he was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.