A.N.: Another update for you all!

Eldest of the Pleiades

Progressive Chaos

The inaugural meeting of the Order of the Phoenix lasted hours. Sirius wasn't the only one with a headache; too much tea and coffee, the weather too hot and muggy even after sunset, too many tempers running high, too many people afraid, reliving too many painful memories dredged up by the new faces peppered among the old ones, reforming the scarred and brutalised Order. Few stayed for the duration: As soon as they understood the lay of the land, and their tasks, witches and wizards excused themselves from the overcrowded kitchen and got to work.

More than a few arguments broke out, concerning the way forward.

The most immediate concerns were the safety of Harry Potter; and Madam Bones, who had painted a bulls-eye on herself when she led Magical Law Enforcement out of Ministry control, to deal with Lord Voldemort's return head-on.

She was a powerful enemy and Voldemort wouldn't ignore the threat she posed. She had already upset his plans by removing the most powerful arm of the Ministry from London and a malleable, cowardly Minister's control, and declaring themselves on the offensive against his return, no matter what bluster Fudge was feeding the Prophet about 'warmongering'.

Scrimgeour confirmed that they were to set into motion plans to trap the disloyal, filtering false information through the grapevine to catch out informers. They would question anyone who had once been suspect. Thanks to the Wizengamot vote on Veritaserum, they could gather the information they needed legally.

The Auror Office was putting together evidence, tailing the Death Eaters Harry had named; they were going to strike, soon, but only after the Dark wizards thought they had gotten away with it.

"Let them sweat," Madam Bones said coldly. "And see how much they value their own skins over that of their master."

"What about deals, this time?" Sirius asked, glowering. He knew half the people who would go over to Voldemort this time had wormed their way out of Azkaban when he fell, because they had sold information for their freedom. Karkaroff was one, but he wasn't the only one.

"The deal is this: they give us information, and they go to prison," Scrimgeour said. "At the very least."

Sirius' eyes narrowed, but it was Remus who asked quietly, "The very least?"

"Was it wise to allow the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange to live?" snapped Scrimgeour, who had become more and more irritated as the night wore on by Remus' quiet but very astute comments. "We saw what she was capable of and that was before a decade in Azkaban… If she were to return as You-Know-Who's most trusted lieutenant… Surely the Unforgiveable Curses deserve a death-sentence."

"Would you have sentenced my husband to the veil, too, Rufus?" Ellaria said coolly, a frisson shivering up and down the table. Sirius looked at Ellaria…her husband. He hadn't been called that in a long time…

"Bellatrix Lestrange was convicted of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank and Alice -"

Ellaria bristled. "I know what she did. And she confessed with prideful arrogance during her trial. If he hadn't been thrown into Azkaban, you would have condemned Sirius to be executed without trial," Ellaria said, with cold passion in her voice, rage seething under the surface, glacial and detached. Unshakeable. "We cannot take it for granted that we know exactly what is going on, with anyone."

"You confuse the issue," Scrimgeour told her, narrowing his eyes, sneering disrespectfully at Ellaria.

"War is confused, or perhaps you have forgotten the phenomenon. I have spent more time inside warzones than out of them the last decade, Rufus, while you've been working your way up management. We cannot permit the use of mortal curses against our enemies, when we have no idea whether they are cursed or whether they are acting under blackmail, or whether they're working both sides, working for us," Ellaria said.

"So we ask our enemies to politely lower their wands?" Scrimgeour said snidely.

"We do everything in our power to bring them in, so they can be questioned, and the truth uncovered. We chose to become Aurors; if you cannot be bothered to take the time to pick apart every angle and every detail, and use your wands like clubs instead of tools to tease out the truth, you should have become a Beater," Ellaria said coldly. "I will not use lethal force except in the gravest circumstances. And I will not condone the death-sentence."

"On your head be it, then, when the Death Eaters torture our friends to insanity."

"On their heads be it, Scrimgeour, not mine. I take no responsibility for the actions of others, only my own," Ellaria hissed, and under the table, Sirius lay a hand gently on her thigh.

"Frank didn't condone the use of the Unforgiveables," Sirius reminded the leonine Auror, who was growling under his breath, making his resemblance to a battle-scarred lion that much stronger. "He never did. Even when Crouch passed the order, he and Alice both refused. They wouldn't sink to the Death Eaters' level. They knew war is always more complicated than curse first and ask questions later - or worse, to realise the truth and regret it for the rest of their lives."

"The rest of their lives - you mean the lives they're spending in St Mungo's," Scrimgeour needled. "Insane, unrecognisable -"

"Don't," said Ellaria, very sharply. "I will not let you use them to get what you want. You dishonour everything they fought for. We fought for."

A moment's silence crackled in the air, uncomfortable, charged; Madam Bones finally sighed. "It may yet be put to the Wizengamot for a vote. The idea of You-Know-Who out there is one thing; but his most brutal soldiers languishing in jail, ready to return to him… It may come down to the argument that the public would feel safer…without the possibility that the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange can ever target their children."

"So one life is sacrificed for the peace of mind for thousands of others? The Death Eaters would say the same thing - only those lives would be Muggle, or anyone who can't prove their blood-status," Sirius frowned. "That is a question that can never be put to the public - we need to be united now, more than ever. This would cause catastrophic damage without Bellatrix ever having to set foot outside Azkaban."

"I would suggest," Remus said quietly, and several people turned to him, listening; he hadn't spoken often during the course of the meeting, but when he had, it was a poignant observation, "that Barty Crouch Senior's amendments to Wizengamot law regarding the capture of Dark wizards be re-evaluated. We are no longer in peacetime, and people would sleep more soundly in their beds, knowing the Aurors who have taken on the responsibility of protecting them can use every weapon in their arsenal - even if it is the Auror's personal choice whether or not to use them… Alastor has always held the respect of the public because he never sank to the Death Eaters' level, even when he had permission, was even encouraged to use lethal force."

"What about the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"I am certain Lord Voldemort never trusted anyone in his life," Remus said, glancing at Dumbledore, who sat sanguinely, nursing a glass of wine, observing everything from behind flashing half-moon spectacles. "But even he had to confide certain details in some of his best generals… I would imagine Bellatrix has a wealth of information to give us, reluctant though she may be. The Wizengamot ruling on the use of Veritaserum could do more to destabilise Lord Voldemort's return than anything else."

"And the death sentence?" Madam Bones asked, peering at Remus with something like appreciation mixed with respect.

Remus took a sip of wine, mulling his answer, before he flitted a glance at Sirius, holding his gaze, and said, "By our very natures, witches and wizards are equipped with the ways and means to manipulate truth and circumstances to our benefit. Fourteen years ago, had you asked me, I would have condemned my best-friend to death, based on everything I thought I knew… And I would not have been able to live with myself, when the truth came out about his innocence… I do not wish to be asked to condemn another to death, when our legal system is, to its foundations, corrupted. Ellaria found the Lestranges and Crouch with their wands on Frank and Alice, their son crying in his cot - the evidence of what they did is irrefutable, as were their motives; their confessions were undeniable, and given without any coercion. Theirs was the rare case that was open and shut."

Sirius stared at his old friend, his hand tightening on Ellaria's thigh. He knew what had happened to Frank and Alice, of course, he had picked things up in Azkaban, knew why his cousin had been brought there with her husband and brother-in-law…but he hadn't known it was Ellaria who found Frank and Alice - her friends, her mentors. They had taken her under their wing, they had fought and laughed together. They had come to Sirius and Ellaria's wedding-breakfast…

"What about the werewolves, Remus?" asked Perseus, Ellaria's surviving brother. During dinner, Sirius had learned from Maia that 'Uncle Purr' worked high up in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - continuing the family obsession with magical creatures, and doing his utmost to alter and amend legislation to benefit the protection of magical creatures and their territories and sanctuaries across Britain.

Remus stared at Perseus across the table, distractedly tracing the stem of his wine-glass. "It all depends. It depends on what Voldemort offers them…and what wizards can be convinced to offer them instead… The Wolfsbane Potion may have changed a great many things… As it is, I am one of a handful of privileged werewolves in the British Isles with access to it. Even if I could afford the ingredients, I could not make the potion myself, it is…very complicated. I am very fortunate that I know someone who delights in the challenge."

"Maia adores you. You're her poppet," said Ellaria, smiling fondly at Remus, who gave a half-hearted smile.

"How could the werewolves be convinced not to join Voldemort, as they did in the last War?"

"The older generations, you would have a difficult time of it, while Fenrir Greyback roams free, convincing other werewolves that it is their right to revenge themselves upon normal wizards who have turned their backs on them, deprived them basic rights, dignity…" Remus admitted. He sighed heavily. "During the War, Greyback targeted many young children, to punish or persuade their parents. From what Professor Dumbledore tells me, I am still the only werewolf to ever have attended Hogwarts."

"But there are child werewolves?" frowned Mrs Diggory.

"Many more than is usual, since the War. Greyback made a habit of positioning himself near his chosen targets at any full-moon; he wished to create enough werewolves to outnumber regular wizards…" Remus sighed. "Voldemort gave him what he craved… There are those children that did survive his attacks, who would now be school-aged…"

"Those children need to know they can live a normal life, with fulfilling relationships, that their dreams can be made reality if they're willing to put in the work," Sirius said, frowning. How could so little progress have been made in the last ten, peaceful years, to prevent such a catastrophic war ever happening again? Had they learned nothing? "Nothing should hold them back."

"There are laws, Padfoot; the Wizengamot has passed more laws in the last decade than the last century against part-humans," said Remus, very grimly. "It's Fudge's Senior Undersecretary; she's been forcing through legislation since he gave her the job. Frightened of us. And for good reason."

"Yes, but that was before Wolfsbane," Sirius frowned. "You said it allows you to keep your own mind during the full-moon." He had never known Remus under the influence of Wolfsbane Potion; it was their influence that had affected him while they were at school, his and James's.

"How effective is it?" Madam Bones asked.

"It does nothing to diminish the pain of a transformation, but I retain control of my own mind during the full-moon," Remus said, something flickering across his face. "It makes werewolves harmless, unless they make the choice not to be. And many of the older generation take Greyback's line; they would refuse the Wolfsbane Potion on principle… They believe it further denies them their nature, rather than seeing it as a way of improving their lives."

"When you were teaching at Hogwarts, how did you cope?" Madam Bones asked curiously.

"The Potions master provided me with the Wolfsbane Potion every month; during the full-moon, I locked myself in my office - ensuring no students could get in, of course," Remus said. "My lessons next-day were covered by another teacher, if I was too frail to do it myself."

"The transformation takes that much out of you?"

"Yes. Usually, when it is well-planned, and when the full-moon occurred over a weekend, it made no difference to my ability to teach. Winter, of course, with the longer nights, took its toll; when the full moon rises at noon in Scotland in November, I could not take lessons that day, or the next, with the delayed sunrise," Remus sighed heavily. "But the Wolfsbane…it ensured that I could not harm anyone, even if the older students had been very intent indeed on entering my study, getting past the securities I put in place."

"So it is possible, then, to manage your condition and maintain a normal life?" prompted Madam Bones.

"Not without work. And it is next to impossible for a werewolf to find paid work these days…"

"But if we could repeal the laws, and educate werewolves and wizards alike…?"

Remus gave a small smile. "You have some lofty aspirations, Madam Bones."

"Confronted with a bully on the playground, the wisest course of action is always to befriend him," said Madam Bones, very shrewdly.

"So far Umbridge hasn't touched on laws forbidding werewolves from attending Hogwarts," added Perseus, "but she hardly needs to, with the attitude of parents of werewolf children…"

"If you'd had Wolfsbane Potion when we were at school…" Sirius shook his head, sighing. "It wouldn't have mattered that I'd told Snape where to find you… Well…you wouldn't have hurt him, at least," he added, glancing at his old friend. The memory of the aftermath of James pulling Snape out of the Whomping Willow tunnel had played through his mind on a loop; it wasn't that Snape had almost died. It was that Remus had been utterly, utterly betrayed that Sirius had used his worst fear against their classmate. Remus hadn't spoken to him for weeks…it was one of the handful of worst memories that played on repeat through his mind when the Dementors' influence got too strong…

"Do we know who…?" asked someone down the table.

"Who the afflicted children are?" Remus said heavily. "I have a few names; I imagine Professor Dumbledore may have more."

"I have had occasion to visit those parents who saw fit to withhold their children from Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "It is their right, of course; but one does like to be sure."

"Could they be persuaded, Dumbledore, to send their children to Hogwarts?"

"No parent wants to subject their children to the blatant prejudice that werewolves endure," intoned Remus. "And they would not want to risk that their child may be responsible for harming others."

"But to embrace them into our society, to do everything in our power to make it easier for them, to have normal, stable lives, to ensure they do not have to worry that they will hurt others…?" Perseus pressed.

"I'm not saying that it is impossible, I'm just warning you that it has never been attempted before," said Remus. "And werewolves like Fenrir Greyback will certainly do everything in their power to disrupt everything you attempt to do to benefit werewolves."

"How is it that Greyback still walks free?" Sirius scowled; he knew Greyback was the one who had bitten Remus. He still remembered the day Remus told them he had found out; he had been undercover for the Order, and learned the truth…

"No-one wants to get close enough to attempt to bring him in, Padfoot," Remus said quietly.

"And so children the length and breadth of Britain can be targeted by him?" Sirius scoffed, disbelieving.

"The way forward seems quite clear," Madam Bones said, glancing at Perseus, and for some reason, Mrs Diggory. "As many werewolf children as can be convinced should attend Hogwarts. The public will see that it is possible for their children to coexist with werewolf children happily, without incident, because of the Wolfsbane Potion, and education. Those children will grow up together; they will respect each other. The Wizengamot can move to repeal Umbridge's laws - they lay the foundation for all You-Know-Who's arguments to encourage werewolves and other disenfranchised part-humans and magical beings to join him. Even those who dread a werewolf attack fear You-Know-Who far more, and will do what they can to stop him."

The discussion went on; it went on for hours. Not just werewolf rights, Death Eater hunts, prison restructuring and educational reforms but housing - the Muggle housing market was such that now, it was nigh on impossible for most Muggles let alone wizards to climb onto the property ladder. Muggle homes were simply too dear; their population was aging but new homes were being built that were unsuitable except to those willing to take out extortionate part-ownership schemes and hefty mortgages. Unless they inherited, wizards were simply finding it too difficult to find places to live. There was now only one entirely non-Muggle establishment in Britain, and that was Hogsmeade, which could not support an influx of residents.

McGonagall informed them that over the last three years, the number of students admitted to Hogwarts per annum had grown exponentially; this was due to the defeat of Voldemort, but also of heightened mobility in the Muggle world, free movement across the European Union and the relationships within the Commonwealth of Nations.

The wizarding community needed to address the seriousness of a housing shortage, and the lack of protection all-magical communities once afforded them. This was perhaps, it was admitted during the meeting, a longer-term issue, but it did raise the question of whether the Statute of Secrecy could be upheld when they were being forced more and more into the Muggle world, when there was no structural support within the wizarding community to nurture and provide for an expanding community.

Gradually the discussion was brought back to the most immediate concerns: Harry; obtaining precious information from Voldemort's lieutenants; and utilising Dumbledore's invaluable insight to chart out what they believed would be Lord Voldemort's likeliest course of action.

Dumbledore had thoughts on the subject.

And, because they were immovable on the subject, he had confided a couple of them with Ellaria and Sirius.

It was Ellaria who had pointed out something very shrewd, and reminded Sirius that he had fallen in love with her throbbing intellect as much as her cool ferocity, her goodness and her beauty: Voldemort had taken Harry's blood. Lily's blood. Her blood ran now not only in the veins of her still-living sister Petunia, but in Voldemort's, too.

Without even thinking about the consequences, Lord Voldemort had stolen his enemy's blood, and in doing so had reignited the protections Lily passed to her son.

Instead of weakening Harry, it had strengthened him. Instead of making Voldemort invulnerable to Harry, it had ensured that as long as he lived, Harry could not be touched.

The two wizards were bound not just by wand-cores and obscure prophecies Sirius wished he had never heard, but by Lily's blood.

Lily, who had defied him three times, once before she ever left Hogwarts, Lily, whom he had murdered, Lily, who protected her son from beyond death, was even now ensuring no harm would come to the son she had died to protect.

It was a heart-breaking irony that it was Lord Voldemort now keeping the protection of Lily's sacrifice alive.

But it also meant that after arrangements were made to remove him, Harry would never return to the abuse he endured at the hands of his mother's relatives.

Harry never mentioned it - had grown up with it being normal, so why would he - but Sirius had observed a lot during the time he had skulked around Little Whingeing two summers ago; and Ron and Hermione had told him a good deal out of Harry's earshot, things they suspected even if Harry never mentioned them. They had told him things Harry had never mentioned in his letters either to him or to Moony. The bars on the windows; cold tinned food through a cat-flap in the door; they had made him sleep in a cupboard. He was bullied by his cousin; malnourished and neglected by his aunt; physically abused by his uncle.

It was truly extraordinary that Harry had not grown up an Obscurus.

As fiercely as they tried to stamp out his magic, Harry's magic had protected him against his relatives.

As soon as he could get Harry out, Sirius was going to make sure Harry learned what having a family truly meant… They had become a family in spite of the war; and the war had destroyed their family. James, Lily, Moony, Sirius and Ellaria, the babies, they had chosen to be a family, after all they had suffered, all their losses, as they fought for their lives, and for the lives they wanted for their children.

The same war that had brought them together as few things could bind people so strongly had left them fractured and isolated, devastated.

It had left James and Lily murdered; Harry orphaned and scarred and abused. Frank and Alice, broken, their son growing up to watch them endure a fate worse than death, and understand exactly what had happened to them, far too young for any child to learn the harshest realities of the world. And Moony…next to the full-moon, he had dreaded the loss of his friends more than anything. He had been left utterly alone - and because of what he thought Sirius had done, he couldn't even turn to Ellaria, who had been abandoned by almost everyone, forced to raise their children alone, because of her marriage to Sirius, the betrayer, the mass-murderer, Voldemort's right-hand man. The innocent man who had spent nearly twelve years in Azkaban blaming himself for someone else's cowardice.

Head pounding, the first time he had truly had to use it in years, Sirius gripped his skull and groaned as they let out the last stragglers; Remus flicked his wand, and the many locks and deadbolts slid into place. Additional security had been put in place by Dumbledore, beyond the Fidelius Charm - spells and enchantments and counter-curses that would protect the residents from even the most violent assault.

Grimmauld Place would be second only to Hogwarts in security, to anyone fortunate enough to seek sanctuary there, and be accepted.

It was a kinder way of saying that it was the perfect place for Sirius to hide.

"We should assemble the horde," Torin murmured, eyeing the dank ceiling, as if he shared Moody's magical eye and could see upstairs into the drawing-room above them.

"It's a bit late," Ellaria sighed, looking exhausted; she rubbed her face tiredly, her rings glinting. "We might as well let them camp out here."

"They'll be passed out by now, surely," Sirius frowned.

"Don't put money on that," said Torin, grinning, and they made their way upstairs, the house muffled and groaning as it settled in the cool of the night. Crookshanks appeared, and Sirius bit his lip at the vengeful expression on his face; someone had forced him into a baby-bonnet, and his fur shimmered and sparkled with glitter. There was also a splodge of bright-green goo that glinted with tiny nuggets of something dark that Sirius desperately wanted to touch but knew better. Crookshanks had a Doxy dangling from his mouth, and purred loudly, brushing up against Sirius' ankles, escorting him upstairs, stalking the corridor like a Big Cat hunting prey and reminding Sirius a lot of Mrs Norris, Filch's beloved kitten, who had dobbed them in more times than he could count.

Sirius opened the drawing-room door and was struck by a blast of noise and light as strong as a Shield Charm. Raucous laughter, the fizz and screech of fireworks, music blasting from a wireless, infectious giggles, light and sound and beautiful chaos.

The children had not passed out. It was two a.m. and they were having a party on the first night of the summer holidays.

His lips twitched toward a smile, even in his shock. If there was a way to show their defiance of Lord Voldemort, it was in their younger generations. Two of his nieces were dancing energetically on top of the grand-piano, which Rigel was playing with extraordinary enthusiasm, battling against the painful volume of a record-player pounding out a high-pitched Muggle dance song. A raucous peal of laughter echoed as a handful of Billywig darts appeared six inches from Sirius' nose, missing by feet the game-board that had been stuck haphazardly to the wall over painfully vivid paint; someone had sent off paint-bombs that glittered and pulsed with light, and his youngest-looking nephew was licking the paint, which was drawing rude signs on the peeling wallpaper. Across the room, a vibrant Muggle film was somehow being projected onto the Black family tapestry, loud and musical, colourful; popcorn, sweets, Filibuster fireworks and Doxy eggs littered the floor, and adult Doxies flitted about the room, dodging jinxes, darting at the kids, trying to bite the unwary.

A small-scale battle was going on, the sofas turned with their backs to each other, joke-jinxes and hexes fired at each other like snowballs from behind the barricades, just missing Opal, who was shuddering with giggles with another cousin, decorating one of the teenagers, who appeared to be under the influence of a Full Body-Bind Jinx, with conjured fairies and tinsel and cosmetics stolen from another cousin's bag on the coffee-table, which was littered with magazines and Chocolate Frog cards, sweeties and toys, books and someone's pet Puffskein, and the goo that had made its way onto Crookshanks' fur.

Dung-bombs and Dervish & Banges' finest were flung across No Man's Land, light and sounds exploded - honks, ear-splitting screeching, siren wails and a tumult of parrots trained to swear incessantly - and scents - a mixture of dragon-manure, overripe cheese and a touch of ginger, strawberry jam and freshly-baked bread, so pungent it made him gag - and, glancing up, he saw one of his nephews swimming through the iridescent bubbles that undulated over the cracked, peeling plaster of the ceiling, yelling over the music, "Mai, let me down - I need a wee!Hello?! That's it - forget April - there's gonna be July showers! You were warned!"

Two teenagers zoomed into sight, one of them with toy broomsticks lashed to their feet, Antiope wearing Muggle roller-skates and a violently violet mouth-guard; she tripped over a knot in the carpet, and slammed into the wall, groaning and laughing hysterically, as she ricocheted and caught a Tickling Jinx, covered in paint, and started to levitate, flailing her limbs inelegantly as her sister laughed and continued to dance rambunctiously on the piano, dodging a lit Filibuster firework that was being shot between cousins using Badminton rackets, laughing raucously. The glowing gobstones orbited the room, absorbing everything - the cello playing a familiar concerto ferociously, a young boy with riotous natural curls stuck with goo frantically yelling, "We need more gravy!" as he and his brother chased after a charmed voodoo doll that was toddling about, sweeping everything off the coffee-table and screaming like a demonic gingerbread-man baby, and Maia, who fired a Jelly-Legs Jinx at Antiope as soon as her roller-skates touched the carpet.

Sirius sighed, smiling to himself. Such beautiful chaos.

His stomach hurt.

Had things been different - had he chosen differently - he would've been the one slipping them joke-shop products; and Harry would have been in the thick of it, with the kids he had grown up with as brother and sisters, his cousins. Happy - and confident in the knowledge he was loved, unconditionally.

"Guess we chose the wrong room," observed Torin, who grinned and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his cousin with the toy-brooms lashed to his feet squawk, catching a very interesting jinx that made pustules of lightning crackle over his dark skin, grab hold of the chandelier as he lost one toy-broom to Transfiguration - he screamed as a pygmy hippopotamus roared, lashed to his foot. Crookshanks hissed as a small monkey scampered across the floor, toward one of the small cousins, whose head had been Transfigured into a cockatoo's, plume included, and puffed up as Elvis started playing; he was dancing away, completely unfazed. A small Muggle camera flitted about, snapping photographs.

Sirius stepped back, and closed the door, Crookshanks bristling at his ankles, the sudden silence in the corridor unnatural.

"Is that normal?" he asked Torin.

"That's tame," his nephew answered, as Ellaria muttered.

"It always ends in tears," said Okoye.

"Usually ours," Perseus muttered.

"Their aim is improving," said Torin fairly. "And that bottle-rocket wasn't entirely Hector's fault; Siobhan paid him to set it off. She just…didn't exactly specify where."

"Come on," Ellaria sighed, squaring her shoulders. "I hunt Dark wizards…our children aren't that terrifying en masse."

"Ours aren't," Melanthe corrected her pointedly, and Ellaria smirked as she opened the door. Crookshanks' fur stood on end as noise exploded again, gagging scents drifting out - now, blue shimmering smoke followed it, tangible and causing Torin to jump away - but too slow; he started itching his exposed skin, which had turned bristly, covered in coarse orange hair.

"Not again! MAIA!" he bellowed, slowly Transfiguring into an Orang-utan, and the portraits started to wake up, competing with the hysterical giggles inside the drawing-room; Remus dashed off to Stun the paintings, and Sirius followed Ellaria into the drawing-room, where parents were trying to settle the civil war, un-Transfiguring Hector and untangling the pygmy-hippopotamus from Bertie's foot and letting Edmund down from the ceiling.

"What happened to Sandor?" asked Torin thoughtfully, gazing at the young teenager covered in tinsel and fairies and glowing baubles and makeup, trussed up like a party-tree, and promising bloody murder with only his eyes, which were narrowed on his youngest sister, Yasmin, and Opal, who had a crocodile-skink clinging to her hair, which was now midnight-blue and glittering and sticking out from her head as if she had been struck by lightning, a fabulous glittering fuchsia moustache on her face and a psychedelic swirling monocle pinched in front of her eye. She unpeeled the case of a small cake loaded with pink icing and sugar-pearls and gazed up at Sirius with innocent, now-mismatched eyes, leaving a trail of tulips whenever she let off wind, which propelled her forward a foot and made her giggle lethargically.

"Crucifixion," said Antiope, as if this should have been very clear.

Sirius choked as Opal, wandering past, looked him in the eye and said, completely deadpan, "The weak don't survive."

She paused, beamed at him, let off a little fart, scooped up the tulip and handed it to Sirius, blushing coyly.

"Thank you," Sirius said graciously, holding in his laughter, and she latched on to his hand, watching the adults attempt to return the drawing-room to order - the voodoo-doll attacked; the cello went haywire, vengefully playing a distorted Mozart concerto, the bow whipped at anyone who approached; Vulcan and tiny Drax started crying when Okoye approached 'Thomas' - the pygmy hippopotamus; Perseus pirouetted as Doxies descended upon him with a subtle flick of her wand from Ellaria, who bit her lip, unable to resist jinxing her favourite brother, and a full-grown Orang-utan barrelled into the room and went straight for Maia, who grinned and bent to kiss his face.

As they watched the chaos, Ellaria murmured names to Sirius, allowing him to learn the names of his nieces and nephews born after his arrest. Sandor, Jory, Vulcan, Malkom and Drax had followed Siobhan, Letitia and Antiope, the sons of Perseus and Zimbabwe-native Okoye. Ellaria's youngest-surviving sister Melanthe had just married blonde athletics-obsessed Neil and been pregnant with Edmund when Sirius was arrested; after the war had ended, Benjen "Bertie", Hector, Megara and little Yasmin had followed in quick succession.

Yasmin started crying as Melanthe tried to separate her from Opal and Drax, who apparently all adored one another, close in age and delighted to be able to play with each other again; Opal was a rare treat, as she only showed up in Britain once a year. As the Orang-utan signed furiously to Maia, who feigned ignorance, Melanthe frowned at the Muggle film, still projected onto the curtains - and Perseus yelled as his youngest sons giggled and watched him struggle against the Doxies.

"That's Muggle - I recognise the actors from the posters splashed all over London. Did you charm some Muggle device so you could watch one of their films?" Melanthe exclaimed, shooting her husband a frown: Neil caught Maia's eye across the room and grinned, whistling guiltily.

"No!" Rigel laughed, shaking his head. "Of course not!"

Maia, flicking her wand at a very Muggle-looking black box and levitated a stack of iridescent silver discs to a black folder full of flimsy sleeves, added chidingly, "That's illegal, Auntie."

A.N.: Please let me know what you think!