Heir Sirius Black took a deep breath. He looked one last time at the ruins of the Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow before apparating to his childhood home. It had been over five years since he had last stepped foot in number 12 Grimmauld Place. Five years since he had been unofficially disowned by his mother. But when he landed on the doorstep, the house was the same, standing tall as it always had through the years. Sirius wasn't sure how his mother may have changed the wards of the house after he ran away to live with the Potter's at fifteen. It felt like he just wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He was 21 now, and Lily and James were gone. He felt broken. So broken and the only thing he wanted right now, besides his best friend and Lily back, was the encompassing warmth and comfort of the Black family magic.

His parents were right. Dumbledore was lying, manipulative, and murderous beyond anything Sirius had ever even read about. And with the Black family library, that was saying something. It was because of Dumbledore Lily and James were dead, and his sweet godson was taken from him.

James and Lily were gone. But Harry lived. Harry lived but he wasn't with Sirius like he should have been.

Sirius had the classic features of a member of the House of Black: his slightly aquiline nose, strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and thick wavy black hair. There was no doubt just whose family he belonged to, and it was as much a blessing as a curse at times. Just a few days ago even, he loathed how much he looked like a son of Black. He loathed looking into the mirror and seeing a younger version of his father in the sharpness of his cheeks and the bridge of his brow, seeing his mothers sharp eyes boring back into him. He remembered loving how he escaped the dark, hooded eyes that featured in the Black line for stormy grey eyes instead. But now? Now that two of his best friends were killed on the order of the same man he turned his back on his family for; now that his godson, his blood-adopted child, was hidden away from him, stolen and out of reach; now he was thankful to look in the mirror and see generations of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black staring back at him.

Hagrid had demanded Harry on the orders of Albus Dumbledore. Shell-shocked, Sirius had known that he stood no chance of fighting off the half-giant-especially without risking harm to Harry in the cross-fire-so all he could do was hand him over and begin to plot how to get him back. Permanently.

So here he was. Former white sheep of the Black family, ready to beg on his knees for help.