In which Sirius did not see a picture of Peter Pettigrew until Harry's fifth year. BAMF!Sirius

"Interesting," a surprisingly lucid prisoner remarked, cold blue eyes studying the front page of Fudge's newspaper. POTTER CLAIMS HE SAW HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED? the blaring letters, two inches tall each, questioned.

"Indeed," Fudge said contemptuously. "What's it to you?"

"The rat in the boy's pocket," the prisoner said nodding to the paper. "It looks like one of my old pals' animagus form. May I see?"

The portly man's eyebrows rose in question, but handed the newspaper over wordlessly. If Black was willing to rat out—and out ironic was that idiom?—some of the old crowd…then even though he would deny until the day he died that You-Know-Who was back, he could be seen doing something. Heck, if this tip turned out to be real, he could let the Aurors have a little bit more funding, if only to shut Amelia up. The blasted woman had hounded him for almost four years about upping the DMLE's budget.

The bedraggled prisoner studied the newspaper intently. Fudge felt cold fingers creeping down his spine. Who was this man to dismiss the effects of the Dementors so easily? Was it some part of being a Black?

He was startled out of his musings by a low hum. "Well?" he asked.

"Definitely him. Missing that right pinky." Black snorted. "Only guy I knew that could cut off his own finger with the wand that he held in the same hand. Idiot."

Fudge suppressed a smile. An incompetent Death Eater? This he could work with. "Thank you," he said, "for your cooperation."

Black gave him a twisted smile. "Make sure he gets a cell right next to me? It gets so lonely around here with nothing but the screams to keep me company."

A strange request, and one that, in the coming months, he would understand with a sense of horrified fascination, as one might a car wreck in the making. Of course, our esteemed Minister Fudge did not know exactly what a car was, but the sentiment was very much the same.

The prisoner's mind, lucid and yet oh-so-jaded, calculated just what would happen. Would he get to simply terrify Peter-Peter-Pumpkin-Eater or would he be able to stand on the other side of the bars and wave cheekily?

For all his Gryffindor tendencies, the prisoner was still quite the Black, complete with the full set of cunning, calculating, and knack for the polite bashing of heads (both literally and figuratively) into solid stone that his entire family carried.

Sirius Black, gaunt, pale, with long, matted, raven black hair and beard, smirked as he watched the Minister walk away with a thoughtful look on his face, cold blue eyes sparking to life with the first vestiges of hope that he had had in a very, very long time.

His hope would bring the Wizarding World to its knees, and he would have the gleeful help of many.

LINE BREAK

When the dark man had appeared in the hallways, Harry knew that he would be in for the fight of his life.

Looking back, he could never pinpoint what made his godfather seem so Dark with a capital 'd' in broad daylight. He hadn't been in prisoner's clothes—nay, he was in the finest robes of Acromantula silk. He had washed and cut his hair, and shaved off the beard, so it wasn't the curtain of matted, greasy hair it had been. The small bit of smile he'd had on his face couldn't have possibly facilitated the image of Darkness.

Perhaps it had been the hollows of his cheeks, shrouded in deep shadow, Harry would muse later on. Perhaps it had been the cold, icy blue eyes with shadows of a war that never ended for a young man at the tender age of twenty-one. Perhaps it had been the way his godfather had held himself, not of a godfather, but perhaps befitting of a Godfather, as in Sicilian-mafia, Godfather. This man was dangerous, ruthless, and without mercy, Harry's instincts screamed.

And his instinct had been right. For Sirius Black had been the most feared Auror of the British ranks, fourteen years before. Sirius Black had been the most fanatic of bringing Death Eaters in, and he had been the best, second to none, with Alastor Moody coming in second only by one. Sirius Orion Black, the son of a bitch that his initials aptly proclaimed him, had survived fourteen years in a hell-on-earth and had come out with his sanity completely intact.

Though, for who we are talking about, that was slightly questionable. He was a Black. All Blacks were at least a little bit out in the left field.

Harry had never heard of a man named Sirius Black, or of Peter Pettigrew, though Harry had seen him during Voldemort's resurrection. He had heard of Remus Lupin and James Potter, and the Marauders through the Twins and the massive prank war between the two in his third year. He had no background to go on, only appearances, and he was still coming off his high of teaching some highly destructive spells for the DA.

He had Neville at his back and Ron at his side. Hermione was off at the distance, eagerly discussing Confringo with Lisa Turpin and Justin Finch-Fletchley, occasionally glancing over at him to make sure that he was alright. Luna chatting with a painting. The Twins were plotting with Lee Jordan, and Katie, Angelina, and Alicia were keeping an eye on them while hotly debating Quidditch strategies with Ron. The rest were all split off into their own little groups, Houses mixing with abandon, mostly talking about the lesson, but a couple (Lavender, Parvati) were gossiping.

Harry slid his hand into his pocket, gripping the DA galleon and sending a pulse of heavy magic into it. Heads snapped over to him, feeling the galleon heating up in their pockets, and then switched their stares to where he was staring and drawing his wand. Almost as one, they drew their wands at the sight of Harry pulling his out and the Dark man in front of them, shifting into battle stances and almost flying into a defensive stance around Harry.

The man looked impressed, and slightly surprised. "Peace," he said. His voice was low, soothing. It did nothing but raise the hair on Harry's neck. "I have come to see Harry."

"You and every other person in the world," Neville bit out.

Harry snorted.

"Very well," the man said calmly, and addressed Harry as if no one else was there. "Harry, I am your godfather. The Headmaster has allowed me to sleep and eat at the castle until my home is suitable for living once more. I would like to get to know you as a young man rather that you as a toddler."

More than one set of eyebrows lifted skeptically, as well as a couple bits of laughter from the Muggleborn at the first part, but Harry looked like he was trying to remember something, scrutinizing the man's face. "You did a pretty shoddy job at taking care of me. I have no family except for the one I've made here."

"I actually do have a rather good explanation," the man said airily.

"Oh?" Harry prompted.

"I've been in jail."

The formation tightened, shoulders tensed. Mouths opened slightly in preparation, incantations on the tip of the tongue.

"Oh, that's such a relief to know," Harry said sweetly. "Oh, fourteen years in prison. No big thing." His expression darkened, his face falling into shadow. "Except for which the Wizarding World assigns no longer stint in prison than a decade unless a life sentence, and the only thing that one can get a life sentence for is murder."

Ruby: Alrighty! I tried out a new writing style and I'm not sure if I like it yet.

Prompt: Using (or not using, I don't care, but it'd be awesome) the above thousand words (give or take), create a minimum length fanfic of 40K words.

-Harry must be at least Grey.

-Dumbledore can be ranging anywhere from good-but-seriously-got-caught-way-too-much-in-his-own-hype, to I-think-Dumbledore-has-lost-his-marbles. No Evil!Dumbledore.

-Remus gets in serious trouble with Sirius for never telling Harry about his status as a good friend of Harry's, and is ostracized for a few months while Sirius's temper cools off. (suggestion, as a reason for the next scene)

-Sirius must feature in a mid-air fight on his flying motorcycle and is seen by someone else when he stalls right in front of a huge full moon.

-Sirius can continue in this haughtier-than-thou persona for as long as you want-but make it clear that this is a coping mask, not his actual personality. When it fades, provide a good reason. Kind of duh, but I had to put it there.

-Loki features in this as the reason why Sirius is still as sane as he was before he was drop-kicked into Azkaban. (Extra credit)

-The story as a whole fixates upon how Sirius and a few other adults help the teenagers kill off Voldemort and his Marked.

-Story extends beyond the killing of Voldemort to showcase the battles (political, physical, and mental) to finally smother the Blood Purist movement once and for all. (Extra Credit)

Any questions? PM me!

Toodles!