says Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see."

Margaret bit into her apple and watched from the side of the kitchen as an ugly flush covered Snape's pale face. Harry was sitting in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table.

"I was supposed to see you alone, Potter," Snape says, the familiar sneer curling his mouth as he glimpses at Margaret and then at Sirius, "but Black and Xenakis-"

"I'm his godfather," Sirius declares loudly and matter-of-factly. Jotting a thumb back, he adds, "And she already knows what you're here to say."

"Word," she says, raising her apple as though toasting. Sirius shot her a subtle wink over his shoulder.

"I am here on Dumbledore's orders," Snape snaps, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel... involved."

"What's that supposed to mean?" says Sirius, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs with a loud bang.

"Merely that I am sure you must feel - ah - frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful," Snape adds delicate stress on the word, "for the Order."

It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry, and Margaret rolled her eyes.

"The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

"Study what?" says Harry blankly.

Snape's sneer became more pronounced. "Occlumency, Potter. The magical defence of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

Harry's eyes widened behind his circular glasses and his face lost a considerable amount of colour.

"Why do I have to study Occlu- thing?" he blurts out.

"Because the Headmaster thinks it a good idea," Snape answers smoothly. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

"Yes," says Harry. "Who's going to be teaching me?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I am," he says.

If possible, Harry turned even whiter in the face at the notion of having extra lessons with Snape of all people. He looked quickly around at Sirius for support.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?" asks Sirius aggressively. "Why you?"

"I suppose because it is a Headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," says Snape silkily. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He got to his feet. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them."

He turned to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.

"Wait a moment," says Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair. Snape turned back to face them, sneering.

"I am in rather a hurry, Black... unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time."

"I'll get to the point, then," says Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who had balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what was undoubtedly the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."

"How touching," Snape sneers. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?"

"Yes, I have," says Sirius proudly.

"Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape says sleekly.

Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand tip to his face.

Harry was halfway out of his chair when Margaret took it a cue to intervene.

"To be honest, I'd take that as a compliment," she comments, examining her half-eaten apple.

Sirius and Harry turned to her with matching looks of incredulity. "What?!"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," she says, nodding to herself and moving closer to the table. "You see, it's quite a talent letting unnecessary opinions of people bounce off you. Unlike some others," she gives similar delicate stress on the word as Snape had, "who hold on to the grudge 'til years later and attempt to frighten those much younger than them, instead of dealing with it like the adults they are... Pity, truly."

There was a beat of silence where Snape looked entirely livid, flushed an ugly purple, his wand hand shaking as though he would like nothing more than to curse Margaret's tongue off.

Then Sirius barked out a laugh, pocketing his wand and even going as far as to pat Snape on the shoulder - prompting Snape to throw his hand off.

"Touché, Margie," says Sirius, shooting her a wink as he settled back on his chair.

"It seems as though certain company has been resulting in your loss of sense of what to say and what not, Miss Xenakis," Snape hisses through clenched jaw.

"I'm only giving an example, sir," she says, keeping the innocent look on her face as though she had no idea what he meant by that.

"Perhaps it would do better to keep shut when you are not invited to chatter," Snape sneers.

"That'd be counterproductive, sir," she answers simply. "It's a free country."

Snape's glare on her was positively venomous. "Five o'clock, Potter. I will take points for every second you are late," he barks without turning to Harry.

Snape swished around just as the kitchen door burst open and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pyjamas covered by a mackintosh raincoat.

"Cured!" he announces brightly to the kitchen at large. "Completely cured!"

He and all the other Weasleys paused on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them.

"Professor Snape?" asks Mr Weasley, confused.

"Snivellus- Er, Severus," corrects Sirius as Snape turns back around with a look of utmost contempt, "was just leaving. Weren't you Sni- Severus?"

Snape stormed to the door and passed the Weasleys - who parted for him - without a comment.

"Just a friendly chat between two old school friends," says Sirius, getting to his feet. "So you're cured, Arthur? That's great news, that is!"

"Yes, isn't it?" says Mrs Weasley, leading her husband forward into a chair. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?" she added, rather menacingly.

"Yes, Molly dear," Mr Weasley replies meekly.

Margaret had a hard time keeping her mouth shut about Kreacher, who had, it seemed, been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, saying that he was no doubt looking for more relics of the Black family to hide in his cupboard.

Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood on his reappearance, his bitter muttering had subsided somewhat, and he submitted to orders more easily than usual, though once or twice Margaret had caught him uttering her surname under his breath.

It was later that afternoon when she heard him talking to Walburga Black's painting while she was heading up the stairs to find Sirius.

"-had no idea... Kreacher must tell Miss Xenakis-"

"No, you fool of an elf! We made a mistake trusting that squib once and look what he did to poor Lucretia - you know it well, Kreacher. Tell her nothing if you want to keep your head-"

"Tell me what?"

Kreacher squeaked, pressing himself in the corner and away from Margaret. Walburga's curtains spilt open, but she did not start yelling her head off.

"Tell - me - what?" Margaret repeats slowly, ascending the rest of the stairs to get closer to the painting.

"Keep your voice down, you silly girl," snaps Walburga. "Have you got no manners?"

Margaret scoffs, "Would you like me to curtsy to a painting?"

Walburga Black seemed to be glaring daggers at her. Her voice turns increasingly waspish, "In my time, we would cut that tongue off easily with a Cruciatus-"

"Unfortunately, you're too dead for that, aren't you?" Margaret cuts her off, having a hard time believing that she was arguing with a painting.

"Miss Xenakis ought to respect Mistress, Miss," Kreacher speaks up, not looking up at Margaret when she turns to him. "Mistress only means well, Miss..."

She frowns, "Since when do you call me 'Miss Xenakis'?"

"Since I told him to," says Walburga, lifting a hand to examine her nails. "Although I am beginning to think you do not deserve it, just like your filthy scums of friends."

Margaret huffed in annoyance. She had not forgotten Walburga Black recognising her last name on her first day in Grimmauld Place. Ever since Kreacher returned two days ago from the Malfoy Manor, he had been avoiding Margaret's eyes. She did not pay much attention to it as there were not many occurrences where she had to address him, but she had a feeling that something was up.

"Tell me what you know," she demands. "I know you know something. Who's Lucretia? What's she got to do with Xenakis?"

"How dare you speak her name so casually?" Walburga grits out. "How dare you speak her name with your surname in front of me-?!"

"All you do throw temper tantrums and snore behind a moth-eaten curtain, forgive me for not quaking in fear," Margaret responds sharply, ignoring the look of pure fury on the painting's face and turning to Kreacher who was cowering behind the curtain.

"You insolent, little squib! You impudent spawn of demon-!"

Kneeling, she gently pulled the curtain away from the elf who let out a small yelp. Ignoring Walburga's yelling she gave the elf a wry smile.

"Kreacher... You might not know this but, I know about your Master Regulus and what he meant to do with the Dark Lord's locket," she says softly, pretty sure that Walburga was too loud for anyone, including herself, to eavesdrop. Kreacher's large eyes became wide and he convulsed greatly. "Hey, no, I'm not insulting him! I think Regulus was very brave for what he did... and so are you," she says comfortingly.

Kreacher's old eyes became watery and his shrivelled hands trembled. He seemed to have found Margaret's words genuine as a moment later, he braced himself and looked up at her with determination.

"Miss Xenakis does not know the true power of her bloodline," says he, his tone naturally snappish. "Miss Xenakis does not know the true purity of her blood and magic alike, Miss."

"Do you know, Kreacher?" she whispers urgently. "Are you aware of who my ancestors were? Can you tell me?"

He shook his head shakily. "Kreacher has not been permitted, Miss. Kreacher serves only the House of Black, Miss... Kreacher cannot tell, else Kreacher'd have to punish himself-"

"No, okay, no don't do that," she tells him quickly. "What about Lucretia? I keep hearing that name but I can't seem to remember when..."

"Madam Prewett was a kind woman, Miss," Kreacher pronounces lowly. "Madam Prewett was nice to Kreacher... oh, yes, but Madam Prewett made a grave mistake... She had been noted along with all members of noble and most ancient House of Black..."

"Dinner's ready!" Remus announces from the bottom of the stairs before seeing Walburga's painting whose shrieks at the sight of him.

"FILTHY HALF-BREEDS IN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! DIRTY SCUMS-"

"Ah, she's at it again, isn't she?"

"The usual," Margaret answers as Lupin ascends the few stairs to for the curtains close. Kreacher took the chance to disappear with a pop, and Margaret stood to her full height help Remus.

"It's all good, I'll handle this. You can go get Sirius, I think he's in the lounge," Remus says to her over Walburga's screaming.

Margaret gave him a small smile and nodded, leaving him to struggle with the curtain.

"My mother did that after I ran away... I was sixteen," says Sirius, pointing at the singed off portrait on the Black family tapestry. "Charming woman, as I'm sure you've seen."

"Where did you go?" Harry asks.

"To your dad's," he answers with a small smile, "I was always welcome at the Potter's. I see so much of him in you, Harry. You're so very much alike."

"I'm not so sure..." Harry disagrees. "This... connection between me and Voldemort - what if the reason for it is because I'm becoming more like him? I just feel so angry all the time. And, what if after everything that I've been through something's gone wrong inside of me - what if I'm becoming bad-?"

Sirius stepped forward to hold his godson by the shoulders. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry... You're - not - a - bad - person. You're a very good person whom bad things have happened to, do you understand?"

Margaret leaned back on the wall outside the partly open door to the tapestry room, Sirius's words momentarily making her forget why she was there in the first place.

"The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the path we choose to act on... That's who we really are."

Margaret took a deep breath before moving into the view and lightly tapping on the door to get their attention. She offered a small smile.

"Dinner's ready."

Sirius nodded, guiding Harry to the door. "When all this is over, we'll be a proper family. You'll see," he smiles at his godson, both unaware of Margaret's slight wince, the words passing through her like several thin needles.

She looked away as they shared a familial embrace, gritting her teeth to keep her face void of any emotions.

As Harry left, Margaret turned to Sirius.

"Yellow," she greets. "Sorry for interrupting..."

"Not to worry," he replies. "I'm not that hungry anyway."

"Neither am I... Erm, if you don't mind, can I have a look at the tapestry?"

Sirius looked confused but nodded, gesturing her to come inside. "Not that I care about this thing, but can I ask why? Are you trying to search for Xenakis?"

She thought of the answer quickly but carefully, not wanting to get Kreacher in trouble or reveal secrets that should stay hidden for a while.

"Something like that, yeah. I've been coming across this name a lot, you might've heard of her - Lucretia... Prewett, I think?" she says, scanning the various names on the tapestry around the middle ages, slightly annoyed because Kreacher had not told her a specific part to search in.

"Here she is," Sirius speaks up, pointing at Lucretia Prewett née Black. "She was my aunt."

Margaret walked over to him, inspecting the name of Lucretia's husband. "Ignatius... Where have I heard it before..."

"Why the sudden interest in dear old Lucretia here?"

Margaret gave him a confused smile. "'Dear old?'"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't have many memories of her though I can sympathise with her, I suppose. My father, Orion Black over here, wasn't very fond of those who did not abide by the cultural norms. From what I heard over the years, it was because she refused to have children."

"Was that her mistake?" Margaret asks incredulously.

Sirius chuckled. "She was a woman. My family was deranged. They viewed it as her inability to carry out her only duty."

"Oh boy... I know all about deranged families," she mutters, seeing Lucretia's name in a different light. "My family too was very... fond of having sons. They didn't dislike daughters... but they all had an obsession with our surname being 'carried on'. In their opinion, girls couldn't do that. My parents hit the jackpot on the first try" - Sirius chuckles at her words - "they got both a daughter and a son. My uncle and his wife, on the other hand, had seven daughters before they had a son..."

"Blimey, I feel bad for aunt," Sirius cringes.

"Nasty piece of work, she was," she admits. "But she passed away during childbirth of her son last year- or, well, 2018. So... I kinda feel bad for holding a grudge against her now."

"No offence, but your family sounds messed up enough to be pureblood... unless this was common where you are from."

"I don't think there was ever any family who was so obsessed with producing an heir," Margaret says thoughtfully. "I mean, sure we were rich but in the end it was madness. Sometimes I don't blame my mother for taking the first chance to get out..."

"Don't tell me she-"

"She left, yes, two weeks after my brother passed," Margaret chuckles humourlessly, getting the same empty feeling she always got when she thought of her mother. She gives Sirius a sincere smile, "I don't really care anymore. It helps, I guess. If I can never go back to my world... I wouldn't feel bad 'cause there's no one waiting."

"What about... your Dad? I'm not trying to pry or anything," says Sirius seriously, "But didn't he lose everybody?"

"I suppose so," she frowns at the tapestry before shaking her head to clear the mind. "At any rate, I've got a job to do here and I've got to focus on it. Which is why I need to find out who my ancestors are, why they left this world, and... see if I can begin to understand my strange magic."

"Oh, speaking of which - and don't answer if you can't," he says, changing the topic, "but how much do you know anyway?"

Margaret's eyebrows furrow, "What d'you mean?"

"I mean this morning when you defended James - I owe you a thanks, by the way - it made me wonder, is future the only thing you know?"

She took a moment to consider the question, turning her head to look at him. Sirius stared back simply. She gave him a small smile, deciding on the truth.

"You don't owe me anything. And no," she says finally. "The future isn't the only thing I know..."

He nodded as though it was the answer he was expecting.

"So you know about us as the Marauders... and Snape..." he trails off, looking like he was contemplating the best way to ask something. "And, say, what about our... extracurricular activities in school?"

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had always taken her knowledge of the wizarding world to be just that - knowledge. She knew the chronological order of when things happened whether they were in the past or the future, even noted them down in her journal. But she had never put much thought into the fact that people might feel uncomfortable about her knowing their past even when she was not going to blabber about it.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess that you don't mean Quidditch," Margaret jokes slightly, receiving a sheepish smile from Sirius. "Well, if you mean your and James's complicated history with Snape," she continues softly, "then yes... I do know about it. I'm sorry if that, erm... makes you uncomfortable..."

"Uncomfortable?" he repeats, confused. "Not at all! Curious, maybe, but not uncomfortable. I mean, I'm not proud of what we did to him, neither was James. But that doesn't mean Snape was a perfect human being either."

"He still isn't," she sighs. "I believe people can change though."