"What an entirely unwelcome surprise."

"And what an entirely unsurprising welcome, Andromeda," Sirius shot back, standing by the door. It had been the better part of two decades since he'd laid eyes on his estranged cousin. In fact, this was their first encounter after her sudden and hasty decision to run away from home and get married.

"That would be Mrs. Tonks to you," the older woman replied tartly. "Aunt Walburga would have a conniption if she heard you engaging with a blood traitor on a first-name basis."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. It was no secret that Andromeda resented Sirius for his lack of support back when she had eloped with muggleborn Ted Tonks. Not that he had any problems with that — anything to piss off the Black family was a plus in his book — but he'd always thought of the former Hufflepuff to be a little too spineless for his taste.

"Still angry about the old days?"

"You mean those days when I was fighting the infamous Black family all on my own, while my favorite cousin was off gallivanting?"

He winced. Yup. Definitely still angry.

It had been two days since he'd admitted Harry to St. Mungo's. Two days of watching over him, waiting for him to wake up from the induced healing coma when they detoxed his blood from the doxy venom. But when he showed no signs of waking up, the medics had shifted him to the 'Dangerous Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites' for further treatment. Sirius had requested to take Harry home for private treatment, which was when the Healer-In-Charge had pointed him to the Department for Bites and Poisons.

It had been a complete surprise to find Andromeda Tonks née Black as the Department Head.

"You are," Andromeda continued, falling back into her professional demeanor as she looked down at her notes, "requesting to take Harry Potter for private treatment at your personal residence?" She paused, looking up at him questioningly. "I didn't know Harry Potter was staying with you."

"Of course he's staying with me. I'm his godfather."

"A godfather who's been in Azkaban for the past twelve years."

"For a crime I didn't commit," Sirius retorted. Frankly, this whole parent thing was still new to him. Back when James had offered him the position of godfather, Sirius had likened it to being a fun uncle— someone who'd be like a best friend to the little guy, teaching him all the ways to get into trouble and drive his parents insane. Then when he went to Hogwarts, he'd have taught the tyke all the awesome ways to break rules and prank people and impress girls.

But finding himself in the role of an actual parent was… odd. And having people question him every step of the way wasn't helping. At all.

Andromeda raised her hands in surrender. "Far be it for me to challenge your authority over your godson." Picking up a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray, she took a long whiff as she flipped through the document laid out in front of her. "Harry James Potter. According to his report, he has a broken arm, shattered femur, multiple lacerations, contusions on the back and arms, and severe doxy poisoning. Among a litany of other minor scrapes and bruises." She looked back up at Sirius incredulously. "What was it? A final aptitude test for Hit-Wizard candidacy?"

Sirius paled from the descriptions. "He— he got attacked by a swarm of doxies."

Andromeda just stared at him. "And wherefrom, may I ask, did this doxy infestation come from?"

"Our— my ancestral home."

She dropped her cigarette in shock. "Doxies? In Grimmauld Place? Did Kreacher finally die?"

Sirius sighed. With everything that had happened, he'd spent the last two days sitting and sleeping on the couches of the hospital as he waited for his godson to wake up. He still hadn't found the time to look for the ruddy elf.

"It's a long story."

"Must have been," she murmured, looking over the report once more. "This also states a severe case of magical exhaustion, albeit… momentarily. Are you sure your godson hasn't been mucking around in the Black Library? There are some nasty tomes in there."

"He hasn't even been there for an entire day," Sirius weakly argued. "I just left him for a few hours to finish up an errand. And when I came back, I found him like that, next to a floor full of dead doxies."

"And now you want to take him back to the same place."

Sirius opened his mouth, but no response came to mind.

Andromeda shook her head. "Anything else?"

He considered the question. "Well, when I arrived, the wards were completely drained of their power. The house was practically falling apart."

"I see." She took another long whiff from her cigarette, before exhaling a plume of smoke. "He's shown a rapid exhaustion of magic, followed by a sudden influx of raw magical power. Most likely, his body was unable to process such rapid magical changes and shut down."

"Are you insinuating—"

"I'm telling you what the results say, Sirius," she sharply interjected. "Whatever might have transpired at Grimmauld Place in your absence affected Potter's magic greatly. As it is, his body is still trying to adjust to what happened, which is why we put him in a healing coma. I have asked the healers to keep a constant check on his vitals and magic. Naturally, I hope you aren't surprised when I tell you your application to take your godson home is rejected."

"But—"

"But I'm used to aristocrats claiming to know better than healers in circumstances like this," she scoffed. "So if you're willing to file for a discharge against medical advice, I can direct you to the—"

"Andromeda," Sirius begged, his body beginning to tremble in fear. "Harry— he's gonna be alright, isn't he?"

The woman steadily glared at him for a moment, before sighing. "Honestly, I have no idea. At this point, the wounds are healing and the poison has somehow receded on its own. All we can do is sit and wait for him to wake up." She stood up from the chair. "We did try to augment the healing, but his body has somehow rejected any foreign magic. This is an unprecedented case, Sirius, but we're doing everything we can."

For the first time since the conversation began, Sirius noticed the state of his cousin. Stains of what he assumed were a multitude of fluids coated the front of her white healer robes— with a start, he realized the majority of those stains were a deep crimson, blood. Her normally pristine black hair was tied into a frazzled bun, as if she'd been repeatedly and nervously tugging at loose strands. The bags under her eyes were prominent, indicating a lack of sleep combined with long hours of work and stress. Overall, her entire posture radiated an aura of someone who wished for nothing more than the warmth of their bed.

"Andi." His cousin shot him a curious look at the use of her nickname. "When was the last time you got any rest?"

"Thirty-six hours ago," she admitted. "There's just too much work to be done. And this is Harry Potter we're talking about. Regardless of the current Ministry stance, I owe him. Everyone does. If not for what happened at Godric's Hollow—"

She shot him an emotion-filled glance, and Sirius understood. It was during moments like these that the full truth of the Boy-Who-Lived hit him. Not because Harry was his godson. Not because James and Lily Potter died to save their child. Instead, it was the subtle reminder of what could have happened to their society had the Dark Lord not been vanquished that night.

"Have you thought of what to say to the press?"

Right. The press. Truth be told, he'd all but forgotten about it. But this was the Boy-Who-Lived who was admitted to St. Mungo's. Sooner or later, someone would gossip about it, healer-patient confidentiality be damned.

"The official statement is he was attacked," Sirius replied, suppressing the grimace that threatened to overtake him. "The last thing I need is the Ministry trying to pry Harry away from me for his own 'safety," he indicated the last word with air quotes. "Director Bones has offered him full-time Auror security. Until the trial, if necessary."

"Ah," Andromeda muttered. "So that's what it's about."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, just a hunch," she shook her head. "Judging by his vitals, he should be conscious by tomorrow at the earliest. If we can heal most of his major wounds after he wakes up, I have no issues with you taking him home."

"Thanks, Andi," he replied gratefully. "You have no idea how much that means to me. I'll—"

"That is, on the condition you bring him in for check-ups every week for the next two months. I want assurances that there isn't any lasting damage to him."

Sirius vehemently nodded. "I promise."

Three Days Later…

Emerald eyes snapped open.

The first thing Harry noticed was the cold sweat drenching his body. Then it was how his heart palpitated like an overworked engine. Next was how stiff his body was, stunned in fear. Fear of—

He frowned. Fear of what?

He didn't remember, almost as if it was unimportant.

Feeling no real desire to move, Harry remained in his resting state for a while, curious at the strangeness of the ambience. The entire place felt… cloudy, for a lack of better words. His fingers could feel a soft, silky texture not unlike warm covers.

Oh.

He was in bed. Sleeping.

In this cloudy place.

Heh. Sleeping among the clouds. That'd be something.

"I see you're awake!"

The voice was unfamiliar. Harry pushed himself up. Or at least tried to.

That's odd.

His body felt fresh. Supple. Healthy. It was almost like—

"Don't overexert yourself!" A shadowy figure congealed from the mist, slowly forming into a slender, feminine shape. As it came closer, Harry was finally able to recognize it to be a woman. A woman he didn't know.

What is happening—

He closed his eyes, wondering if this was all some kind of strange dream. His head felt like it was about to split in half, and the strange unfamiliar voices didn't help any. Taking a deep breath, he carefully opened his eyes a second time.

Nope. The strange woman was still there. Same dream.

"This must be confusing for you," the woman chuckled, before pointing at herself. "I'm a healer, and you're currently undergoing treatment."

Treatment? What for? Everything was so— so blurry. And it hurt to remember. But still, strange images flickered across his mind. Light, strange screeches, running, doxies— hundreds of— a wraith trying to MURDER HIM—

Harry jerked up with a start, his heart beating like it was going to explode out of his chest. The room had now come into better focus. Whitewashed walls, plain bed and curtains, and the faint, familiar smell of medicine—

"Is this—" he croaked. "Am I in a hospital?"

"Yes and no," the woman replied, softly smiling. Now closer, Harry could recognize more facial features— the blonde-haired woman had angelic face, with a slightly upturned nose and thin lips. "You're in Grimmauld Place. Your godfather decided you required private treatment, so he set up a similar environment at home." She pointed towards the curtains. "I can call him if you'd like. He's downstairs."

"I— Sirius—" Harry was finding it difficult to comprehend her words. He faintly remembered seeing Sirius's face after— after the doxy attack, but everything was so fuzzy. Why was it so hard to focus? "Who— who are you?"

The woman smiled. She seemed to do that a lot. "My name is Emmeline. Emmeline Vance. I am a practicing professional at St. Mungo's, and your private healer for the past two days."

"My—" Harry tried to voice a coherent thought. Difficult, since his mind was literally all over the place. "Where's Sirius?"

The woman— Emma? —frowned a little. "He's downstairs. Are you having trouble remembering things, Harry?"

"It's a little difficult to— to focus. Did I get hit in the head?"

"You don't remember?" The alarmed tone in the woman's voice was apparent, even to him. "Tell me Harry, what is the last thing you can recall?"

Harry put his palm to his forehead. "There was this wraith. And doxies. Hundreds of doxies. I lost my— my—" His eyes lit up. "My WAND! What happened to my wand?"

The woman didn't react to his outburst at all. "Your wand is downstairs. Would you like me to fetch it for you?"

"Ye— please!"

With a silent flick of her wand— a summoning charm, based on the wand movement —his own wand came flying through the curtains. With the unerring skill of a seeker, Harry caught it in midair, feeling a strange warmth surge through him at being reunited. It was nothing like his old holly and phoenix feather wand, but the feeling was definitely still there.

"I thought I'd lost it," he mumbled, clutching the magical apparatus tightly. "The explosion—"

"Harry!"

He looked up and found Sirius standing at the door. The man looked like he could do with a few days of proper sleep, if his unkempt and gaunt appearance was any indication. He wondered if that was because of him. That reminded him of the fight with the doxies and the resulting—

Explosion. The resulting explosion. Not to mention, extensive damage to the house.

Great. Not even a day, and I've already started causing problems for him.

"Sirius I'm—"

"Harry—"

"—sorry!"

"—I'm sorry!"

Both of them stared at each other with utter incomprehension.

"Wait!" Sirius was the first between them to recover. "What the hell are you sorry for?"

"I caused so many problems in your home," Harry solemnly began, mentally steeling himself. "I know you told me you wanted me to stay with you, but after all this, I understand if—"

"Let me stop you right there," his godfather interrupted him. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't supposed to be attacked. At all. The fact that you were in danger at all is a fault that lies with me and me alone!"

"But Sirius—"

"Ahem!" Emmeline cleared her throat, reminding everyone of her presence.

"Um, right," Sirius looked at her, his expression a bit sheepish. "I'll leave you to your patient, Miss Vance." He glanced towards Harry again, an earnest smile on his face. "If you need anything kiddo, just call for me okay? I'll be downstairs."

He owlishly blinked, but nodded.

"So," Emmeline drawled as Sirius deserted the room, "what's all this about a wraith?"

Harry swallowed.

Albus Dumbledore looked around at the half-dilapidated Black townhouse. When Sirius Black had informed him that his wards had drained completely and caused the spatial charms responsible for the enlarged interiors to collapse, he had been more than a little skeptical. After all, houses such as Grimmauld Place were built at the intersection of multiple ley lines. And even a single ley line was more than enough to host an expansive magical dwelling for eternity.

Thus, it was only natural he'd brought in their resident warding expert— and the Weasley family's eldest son —William with him for the inspection.

"This is rather surprising, Headmaster."

Albus glanced towards his young accomplice. "What is?"

"This," William replied, gesturing around himself at the wreckage. "Magical wards don't get exhausted like this. They just don't."

"Surely that is an exaggeration—"

A sudden pop of apparition gave him pause as Sirius black appeared in the room.

"I assume there is news?" Albus queried, arching an eyebrow.

"Harry's woken up," Sirius swallowed. "He's exhausted and…"

"And?"

The former Hit-Wizard looked down at his shoes, his expression morose and contemplative. "He was apologizing, as if afraid I was going to send him away because of all this. He— he literally had to fight for his life while under my care, and he still—"

Not for the first time, Dumbledore cursed his own powerlessness when it came to young Harry's placement. Even now, he still didn't have the complete picture of how much he had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys.

Just how much had he broken the boy he'd been striving to protect?

"Is he…" Albus began.

"He's mostly alright," Sirius said. "Mostly. Emmeline's taking care of him."

"I'm truly glad Miss Vance was available for the job," he murmured. "It's quite opportune you came, Sirius. Young William here was just—"

"Bill, please," the young man interjected.

"Bill," Albus corrected softly, "was just explaining something interesting about the warding scheme around your manor."

"What about it?" Sirius asked.

Bill looked slightly peeved. "I spent some time inspecting the wards of your manor. Frankly, the results are confusing."

"Is something wrong with them?"

Bill shook his head. "Mr. Black—"

"Sirius."

"Sirius," Bill repeated, "I'm a goblin-trained warder who deconstructs wards for a living. The thing is, there are two ways to shut down a ward. The first is a comprehensive analysis of the ward schematic to find potential weaknesses in the ward lattice, before slowly undoing the enchantment from those points. It's a time-consuming approach, but generally the safest way to go about it."

Sirius pursed his lips. "And the other?"

"Overpower it," Bill grimly smiled. "Usually, it's through powerful bursts of elemental magic. I mainly stick to fire, but some of my colleagues prefer lightning-based spells. Despite it being a team effort, it's an incredibly tiring and risky process. If something goes wrong, you get blown to bits."

He gave a smirk at Sirius's dour expression.

"That sounds like a hell of a risk," the Black replied.

Bill merely shrugged. "That's why we usually pay an evocator to do the nasty work. That's the one profession that even goblins are willing to pay the big galleons for."

"An evocator?"

"The commonly used term is 'Sorcerer' actually," Albus jumped in. "It describes a person proficient in raw magic manipulation. Unlike wand-based magic, which is far more sophisticated and subtle, evocation is loud and… primal, for lack of a better description."

"I call it the Kaboom style of magic," Bill grinned.

Albus returned an amused smile, before glancing at Sirius, who was still sporting a confused visage. As an educator, he was always happy to impart lessons to the willing and curious. Notwithstanding the lack of a Hogwarts classroom.

"A wizard channels magic from his own body to alter reality to his intent. A sorcerer, on the other hand, channels the natural energy of the world itself to perform powerful feats of magic."

Sirius's confusion didn't seem to ebb, if the expression on his face was any indication.

Albus hummed. "Consider a stunning spell. Any arithmancer would tell you that a standard stunning spell requires around thirty units of magical power. If you were to use a compatible wand, you would probably use thirty to thirty-five units of your own power to fuel it, depending on your proficiency with the spell. Now, with an incompatible wand, it would instead extract sixty units, with the surplus being discharged into your surroundings."

"Right, that's why wand compatibility is so important," Sirius nodded along.

He returned the nod. "Now if I were to perform the stunning spell wandlessly, it would likely cost me more than seventy units, which is why most wizards worth their salt avoid performing anything without their wand. But in all the cases listed thus far, it is the wizard that fuels the spell. Out of his own magic."

"And evocation?"

"Precisely the opposite. An evocator gathers energy from outside of themselves."

Sirius frowned. "How is that possible? Where do they get it from?"

"Well," Albus felt his mustache quiver, "it can come from a variety of things. It may be a supernaturally powerful place like Stonehenge. Sometimes, it may be the power of one's emotions and feelings, like the Patronus charm. Other times, pure mental effort and willpower. They are all lumber for the proverbial fire."

"And you channel these… energies into a spell?"

"Mostly the explosive kind," Bill said. "Evocation is the noisiest and most direct form of expressed magic."

"And often powerful," Albus added.

"That too," the eldest Weasley grinned. "Quick and dirty magic. And powerful. And dangerous."

"Channeling the power of the world around you…" Sirius muttered, lost in thought. "I'm assuming that includes ley lines?"

"That is correct," Albus beamed. It wasn't a particularly well-known fact, but wardstones themselves were created through evocation by dragging magic through ley lines to power the structure.

"How come we don't learn this stuff at Hogwarts?"

It was a fair question, one he himself had asked back when he'd been a student of the illustrious institution. "Because the Wizengamot declared the knowledge to be dangerous and illegal back in 1947."

"Typical," Sirius scoffed.

He looked at the other man, slightly amused. Now this was familiar ground. The Black family, like many of the 'Dark' families, was infamous for their use of archaic magics, most of which were classified as Dark and dangerous by the British Ministry of Magic. Sirius may have been the black sheep of the family, but it was unsurprising to see the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

He chose to omit that it was, in fact, his own proposal as the newly instituted Chief Warlock that added these measures. Best not to stir the cauldron too much.

"With due reason, Sirius," Albus chided. "Us wizards, like other human beings, are emotional creatures at heart. Evocation relies heavily upon emotions and our ability to keep them leashed. Can you imagine what could happen if youngsters gave into their anger and used powerful evocative magic on each other?"

Sirius nodded.

"Evocation, like many other branches of magic, were removed from the Hogwarts curriculum because of their overdependence on the mental arts. I believe you and I once had a discussion on this very subject?"

The Black uncomfortably looked away.

"Professor," Bill questioned, "you hold the position of Grand Sorcerer, don't you?"

Albus bit his tongue, well aware of what the eldest Weasley child was asking.

"Can you…"

"Perform evocation?" Albus finished softly. "Yes. The title of Sorcerer exists in the ICW, and every practitioner needs to register himself on their list."

It was also a large source of reproach from the Ancient Houses of the Wizengamot. At the time, they'd thought he had done it to suppress the knowledge of ancient and powerful magic, hoarding it all for himself. If only they'd seen the horrors the war had inflicted on the rest of Magical Europe, perhaps they would have judged him less harshly.

"Grindelwald," Sirius muttered. Dumbledore glanced at him, flecks of annoyance and approval warring in his mind. Trust Sirius Black of all people to catch on quickly. "He was a sorcerer too, wasn't he? The Lestrange Mausoleum incident… That was evocation at work."

Albus couldn't help but wince. The Lestrange Mausoleum incident in Paris was his worst failure to date. It had been the closest that the ICW regiments had come to capturing Gellert, thanks to Newt Scamander's priceless aid.

And it was also the night Gellert proved why he was truly the greatest Dark Lord in the history of Magical Europe.

Drawing power from two ley lines crisscrossing beneath the mausoleum floors, Gellert had summoned the accursed flames of hell. Flames so dark and twisted in nature that all mentions of it were removed from magical texts and all information about them declared as forbidden knowledge. If not for his old friend and mentor Nicholas Flamel, Paris would have become a haunted graveyard that night.

"He was," Albus finally admitted. "And not a day goes by without me repenting ever having taught him the art." He looked up and met Sirius's gaze. "Though, I suppose your family remembers that night a bit differently."

"That won't work on me, Headmaster," Sirius chuckled. "Everyone knows that grandfather Arcturus was one of Grindelwald's chief supporters and grand-aunt Cassiopeia was one of his generals. My House's history is as black as its name."

And yet you decided to bring Harry Potter into the fold, Albus didn't say.

If he were honest with himself, it was one of the reasons why he had never quite trusted Sirius Black, and why it was so easy for him to believe in the falsified events of that fateful Hallow's Eve. Peter Pettigrew easily capitalized on that mistrust, forcing an innocent man to be locked up in Azkaban for twelve years.

In the end, Sirius Black's only crime was being born in the wrong family.

Not for the first time, Albus's heart hung heavy with regret.

"My apologies," he shook his head. "Old men like myself often get lost in our own thoughts. Where were we?"

Bill gave him an oddly sympathetic look. "You were talking about the wards."

"Indeed," Albus smiled. "The wards here were not systematically deconstructed, nor was there any evocation performed from the outside."

"Then they were drained from within," the Weasley supplied. "Maybe using some artefact to drain power from the wardstone. But—"

"The wards weren't tripped," Sirius quickly caught on. "So it had to be an insider."

"An insider allowed by the wards," Albus added, looking at him meaningfully. "A Black."

Sirius drew himself up, his visage twisted in anger. "If you're insinuating that I'd do anything to hurt Harry—"

"I'm merely telling you what is plausible," Albus replied firmly but gently. "The spatial charms within the household depend on the wardstone. With them exhausted, they collapsed, along with parts of the home."

"The only people inside allowed by the wards was that blasted elf Kreacher and—" Sirius paled. "And Harry."

Dumbledore frowned. The more he thought about it, the less everything made sense. Young Harry was inside the safety of the wards. The boy was then attacked by a group of doxies. Harry was poisoned, and that was how he'd been found by Sirius. And in the middle of all this, the wards were suspiciously destroyed by a third party even though no intrusion was detected—

Albus froze.

It was like looking through a kaleidoscope. A single moment stretched out to what felt like hours, and everything seemed like strange, disconnected bouts of color. But then a simple memory rose to the forefront of his mind. A seemingly offhand event he'd forgotten about.

A certain Philosopher's Stone.

Harry had been rendered unconscious because of sudden magical influx, while the Stone, an object of immense alchemical power had been reduced to dust after the boy had killed—

Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes.

Somehow, it seemed he had continuously failed the child he had come to see as a grandson.

"Dumbledore?" Sirius asked, curiosity and concern evident in his tone.

No. He needed more proof. He couldn't act on something so grave without any further evidence. And fortunately for him, there was a way to gather some.

And it was standing just before him.

The wardstone.

Magic, no matter how subtle, always left impressions. All it took was someone knowledgeable and skilled enough to trace it back to its source. He would find answers. For Harry.

"Dumbledore?" Sirius repeated.

"I need to try something," Albus finally spoke. "It may help me understand what caused the drain in the wardstone."

"Uh, alright..."

Albus reached out and touched the wardstone, feeling the raw power of the ley line slowly siphoning into the piece of enchanted rock. Taking a deep breath, he thrust his mind forward and sank deeper into the power source.

A rush of images and alien sensations immediately overwhelmed him, tapping into a power so intense and coherent that it felt like it had its own awareness. In a single moment, he saw the ponderous dance of continents clashing against one another to form mountains. He felt the slow sleepiness of the Earth, its dreaming shivers felt as disasters by the ephemeral things that lived upon its surface. He saw wealth and riches beyond mortal imagination, gold and silver flowing hot in rivers, precious gems by the millions being born and formed.

Albus fought hard to contain the images, to control and channel them as they rammed against his psyche. He focused all those sensations into a well he could only see in his imagination, a point deep below the gallery of crumbling old stone that rested next to the pitifully temporary mortal structure on the surface. With the enormous energy of the ley line, he focused the pull of the earth for miles around into a circle a few hundred yards across and spoke a single word, unleashing the torrent of energy bound firmly by his will.

All into a single tracking spell.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.

His heart and mind were plunged into a feeling of existential blankness. There was nothing. No love, no hate, no joy, no guilt. Just the understanding of the finality of it all. The allure of Death. The need— no, urge —to cause death without any rhyme or reason.

Still, Albus fought. And the emptiness fought back.

He could feel pain and agony and a terrible darkness seeping through the walls of the very house he was standing in, and then the complete and utter wrongness showed its face. Albus's head spun as he lost control of his senses and swooned backward, ejecting himself from the wardstone.

"Dumbledore!" he heard Sirius cry out in alarm as the man rushed towards him.

Quickly, Albus raised a hand to forestall all questions as he caught his breath. Using Occlumency to clear his mind, especially from the shock of his latest discoveries, he did his best to compose himself. Though, judging from the shifting expressions on young Bill and Sirius's faces, it was not thorough.

"Professor," Bill hesitantly asked, "are you alright?"

It would have been easy to brush the question aside. To simply pass it off as a side effect of the experience itself rather than what he saw. And then Albus remembered all the things he'd done concerning young Harry. All the self-assurances that the boy would remain innocent and protected. All the measures he'd carefully set in place, only for everything to fall apart time after time.

All because of his own hubris.

It would no longer do. He could not do this alone.

Drawing in one deep breath after another, he squarely met Bill's gaze, then Sirius's. "I'm afraid plans regarding young Harry will need to change. He must start receiving instruction on a more personal basis. In fact, I believe young William here may be instrumental in his tutelage."

"Me?" the young wardbreaker pointed at himself in surprise.

"Dumbledore," Sirius narrowed his eyes. "What aren't you telling me? And why are you telling me so much?"

"Forgive an old man for his secrets, Sirius," Albus sighed. "But I've realized it does far more harm than it does good. Here I was, latching onto the delusions of something…" He sighed again. "Forgive me. It is imminent that Harry receives proper tutelage in… certain branches of magic."

Bill shot him a sharp look. The eldest Weasley had most likely caught onto his train of thought.

"Sirius, I have a proposition for you. A transaction, if you will." Albus pulled himself to his fullest height. "With William's aid here—" he ignored the sudden 'Bill' that was exclaimed, "—I will restructure the wardstone and bring the defensive wards here back to maximum capacity. In return, could you find it in your heart to allow the use of your premises as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix?"

Sirius Black owlishly blinked.