Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use.

this could get lonely.

The thing about his wife was… well. It was hard to say. They didn't meet when Sirius first saw her, or the time after or even the time after that. The very first time he saw her she was sitting alone and there was just something about her, it was the curve of her neck, the way she held herself, but Sirius felt like she was important for some reason, so he actually took the time to watch her. He saw her stare down anyone who got too close, how her shoulders went stiff when someone laughed a little too loud and the careful way she sipped her drink, and Sirius thought he knew what to expect.

And no matter what she said, Sirius wasn't a stalker. He just liked to build to this shit, okay? So after all his observations he expected her to be this guarded, but shy wallflower, to blush prettily when someone offered her a compliment, who read books in bars because she was actually smart and not trying to impress a guy, and that maybe she wore giant scarves because she knitted them herself and had two rescue cats at home, and okay, Sirius was kind of reaching with that one but she was fascinating. She probably wore flats because they were more sensible than heels, uncaring that every other woman in the club wore heels, and she probably worked at a library and read to children during her lunch breaks or, hell, volunteered at the homeless shelter.

In his usual fashion Sirius turned out to be spectacularly wrong. His wife was none of those things, she was so much more. She was fire and ice and jaded in some ways but full of such hope that it made him dizzy sometimes, plus sarcastic and slightly insane and maybe a little genuinely brilliant. Sometimes she made him so mad that he wanted to tear his hair out. And then Sirius would open his morning paper to the crossword to find love notes scribbled in the boxes, or she'd bring lunch to the club during his practice sets with a put upon look like she had better things to do, but she'd stay for the entire session until his performance that night laughing and cheering along with the audience like it was her first time. She never missed a show.

That was the thing about his wife. She had this look like she could take on the world, like she was this invincible super woman and nothing could touch her, and her aloofness did the Black name proud. That was one side of her and the other took you by surprise, it was the fire to that ice—a righteous passion and a spark for justice left you reeling. She read books about Russian Futurism and collected maps and rooted for the underdog and took long hikes in the middle of the day just for the fresh air.

Sirius thought, as his wife crushed his hand and screamed bloody murder, as he panted into her sweaty temple, "You're doing great, love. That's a girl, come on!", that she was kind of wonderful. And then he laid eyes on his child for the first time all pink, wailing and head full of dark hair and undeniably beautiful.

"It's a boy!"

But that's getting ahead of the story.

.~.

Dying sucked.

Or at least that was what everyone assumed. Sirius wouldn't know. He kind of wished he did. In his mid (late) thirties and losing to his cousin Bellatrix in a duel was just embarrassing. And okay, she was the Dark Lord's pet assassin, but come on they called her Busty Bella at school. She used to play dolls at his house when she was a girl for Circe's sake, so maybe she'd twist their heads off and set them on fire—still, embarrassing.

He could feel James's judging stare from the Afterlife. Falling through the Veil was just the icing on the cake. The very artifact he studied as an Unspeakable was his ultimate doom. Such a kick in the balls. Especially considering he knew what the thing did.

The Veil, otherwise known as the Outer Gates, was an ancient artifact built by Merlin the Wanderer. The secret texts said, Merlin came from a place that was never too far away and never too close, and he used a staff to spill magic into the world, et cetera et cetera, and it was very lovely and poetic, really. The Unspeakables broke it down into the simple facts.

Merlin was a being from a different plane of existence and after a great battle he was lost here for a very long time. He used a staff instead of a wand and he helped wizardkind form the basis of their school of magic. And then he created the Veil to return home after his goodwill tour. It was an anchor to the furthest reaches of reality, and it didn't just lead the way back to his home. The Outer Gates was a doorway and with the right sequence one could summon forth monstrous entities that dwelled in the darkness beyond. Merlin called these beings Outsiders and warned them that these Things from Beyond mustn't ever be given a way in. They hate humanity's light and their warmth. First they would use them as food and then for other purposes that were perverse and horrifying.

So after Merlin's leaving, all records of how to activate the Outer Gates was burned from paper and memory. Over time the doorway became simply known as the Veil and it remained in the safekeeping of the Department of Mysteries. What most people knew was once you step through, you didn't step out. You were dead. Plain and simple.

Sirius studied the bloody thing, he knew better.

His body went catapulting through time and space, his soul screaming as his universe fought to retain its ties. His magic, his soul, everything that he was stretched between the planular domains and excruciating pain became his entire existence.

He careened through the dimensional ether for what felt like centuries when a blazing white light accompanied with the sound of a thousand voices grabbed him tight and ripped him from that eternal torture.

"I have work for you."

That voice whispering into his ear was the last thing he remembered before merciful black overtook him. But that was then and this was now.

And frankly, he wasn't doing too shabby for a bloke who just three years ago randomly awoke in the muggle filled city that was Chicago, with no money, no ID and no bloody wand, cratered in the middle of a park.

From performing shitty wandless magic on street corners for money and going on to perform at a crappy timeslot at an entertainment lounge in the okay part of town, he was a regular rags to riches story. Fugitive, homeless street performer turned stage illusionist—he was living the American dream. If only his old man was still alive to see his firstborn now.

Exile, prison, and insanity, oh how the mighty Blacks have fallen.

The piéce de résistance of this tale was, Sirius currently was locked in a dark box covered with paper stars and moons and enough glitter to bring a tear to Dumbledore's eye. He waited a few beats and turned in the cramped space, tucking his elbows in and he apparated on the spot.

On cue, Zoey opened the trap box set on the stage, and his assistant showcased its empty contents to the crowd. A crack echoed through the main room and spotlights zeroed in on Sirius standing at the back of the main room. He gave little wave and winked for show. The audience burst into applause and Sirius sauntered between the tables, smiling, as he jumped back on stage.

Aw bless. You'd think that he just resurrected Morgana with their unbridled amazement. He loved these muggles they were so twitchy when it came to his rubbish magic, so easily thrilled by the little tricks.

"Thanks, I love the lot of you! You've been a fantastic crowd!"

He thanked them for coming out and made his way backstage. The stage lights made him feel all sweaty and exposed like a death eater in a muggle studies class. Zoey handed him a towel as he parted the curtains.

"Good show, Boss," she said, grimacing as he tried to hand the used towel back. She continued talking like she didn't see it. "So I'm going need an advance on this week's check. My roommate is dating this guy from Sigma Ki, and she thinks because she sleeps at his place all the time she shouldn't have to split bills evenly. So that's dumb, right? Right? So yeah, I told her look—you can get the fuck out if you're-"

Sirius stared at her wide eyed, watching the five foot nothing girl chat his ear off like he was her diary. If she didn't have a great rack that was jiggling generously as she flailed her arms around, he would've been decidedly disinterested. She filled out her corset gorgeously and she knew it.

"I'll talk to Rick," said Sirius tearing his eyes from her chest, to her smirking face. He rolled his eyes. "Trying to give me a nosebleed again, dear?"

Zoey flipped her hair brown hair over her shoulder. "I'm a Marketing major. I know how to work people."

Sirius folded his arms in front his chest. "And you didn't just ask Rick because?"

"He's gay, he's immune to my feminine wiles," admitted Zoey staring darkly at the floor, like this was some personal affront to her.

He snorted. "The nerve of him."

Rick told Sirius, often and drunkenly, he resembled his teenage lover Vincenzo, much to his silent bemusement. There's only so many times Sirius could bear to listen to the drunken ramblings about hooking up at drama camp that one unforgettable summer. Merlin spare him.

Sirius being the wizard he was righteously took advantage of Rick's love for his past boy crush. You could burn his name off the family tree, but he was still a Black—and he exploited Rick's fondness of his old lover and pretended to be related to the bloke. The story had a lot of kinks in it, but since Rick hadn't seen the man in over a decade it was not like he could follow up. So for all Rick knew, Sirius was Vincenzo's third cousin from London.

This was the reason Sirius was employed with shady identification. Let's not forget the fact Rick let him live in an old apartment he was trying to flip for a profit. It wasn't particularly swank, but Sirius wasn't paying rent, so he couldn't complain.

"Do you need me to do anything before I take off?"

"Aw you're a doll, but that's quite all right." Sirius shook his head. "See you tomorrow. Go on. Off with you now."

Zoey laughed and smiled, not quite hiding her relief to get the all clear. "Goodnight, Boss."

He gave a lazy wave and headed into his dressing room. Calling it that was being nice. There was barely enough room to take more than six steps across. Sirius wasn't positive, but he figured it used to be a janitor's closet. There was a weird smell that he couldn't get rid of. He tossed his tuxedo jacket on the back of the chair standing in front of the vanity.

Sirius changed into more casual clothes, trading his typical magician outfit for khakis and a plain black tee. He hummed under his breath as he tidied up the room. He thanked Merlin, as he dry swallowed a Vicodin, because finding the stash of prescription drugs in his flat's medicine cabinet was like finding treasure. The old tenant who died must have been permanently high. And it was not like he had a problem, but a little pick-me-up now and again did wonders for the creeping depressing waiting at the edges to swallow him whole. Since Blacks tended to lean toward the psychologically unstable, it seemed to be for the best.

When Sirius entered the main lounge again his set was taken down and the jazz band was on stage. He was pleasantly buzzed and everything was lovely. He took a seat at the bar and Jack placed a pint in front of him without prompting. Bless him.

Jack was built like a footballer and was kind of always smiling. It usually put people in a good mood.

"Hey, buddy. Your favorite girl's here."

Sirius raised the glass to his lips and looked over to where he knew she'd be. She sat at the same table every time she stopped in. It was against a wall and held a good view of the entrance. It was also close to the exit. Yeah, Sirius noticed. He took careful notice of everything she did. There was something absurdly fascinating about her. She wasn't gorgeous, but there was a striking attractiveness in her cold features. She reminded Sirius of the Slytherin purebloods back at school. That was what initially made him watch her thinking for one heart stopping moment that one of his people had found him, that was he was finally going home.

Sirius glanced at the clock in the corner. "Almost midnight. She's a little early tonight." He silently studied her watching the band play. There was a look on her face, like maybe… "She looks so sad."

Jack chuckled. "Why don't you go on and finally talk to her then. Cheer her up by pulling a quarter from her ear. Show her the Abra Kadabra."

"Yeah, maybe," Sirius replied, hiding his wince behind the glass. Muggle words or not it sounded too close to Avada Kedavra for his comfort.

Sirius could feel the cold glass in his hand make his hand even clammier as he observed her across the room. He tracked the lines of her shoulders with his eyes, a mane of dark hair flowing over them, and occupied himself with imagining the sound of her voice or what she looked like with the sun shining down on her all warm and bright.

Another beer slid across the bar and Jack leaned against the counter, looking particularly smug. "Here's your opening move. Tell her you bought her a drink and boom, let the Guinness do the rest."

Sirius eyed the beer. "You didn't put anything in here did you?"

"Like a roofie?" said Jack, affronted. He sighed. "You have cool tricks to pick up ladies and you don't use them. You're like a unicorn. A very sad, European unicorn."

"You have a very odd perception of the British," Sirius deadpanned. His eyes gave him away though, they were all crinkly at the corners and his amusement shined through.

Jack pointed at him. "Get over there, or I will start charging your ass. We both know you can't afford any future bar tabs."

"My next magic trick is pulling a stick out of your ass."

"Go."

Sirius slid off the stool and picked up the two beers. "Such a curmudgeon."

"I don't know your fancy European words. Start walking, Houdini."

"Honestly," Sirius tsked under his breath. "So bossy."

Sirius waded through the sea of tables. He nodded and smiled politely at a few of the people left over from his show. When he neared her table he was dreadfully nervous, like there was a weird swarm of pixies fluttering around inside his stomach, and he couldn't stop thinking of different ways to introduce himself. See, Sirius was good at flirting. He really was. It was a fact in his schoolboy days. But that was before Azkaban, before the Veil, before his exile. He wasn't the wizard he used to be. James would hardly recognize him. He might look like he had it together, but most times he felt uncomfortable and awkward so immersed in the muggle world.

He was born and raised around magic. It was what he knew. Sirius read about the witch trials. He was taught how the muggles feared his kind, so he constantly felt watched, like the world was waiting for him to put one foot out of line. It was agony sometimes being here and feeling like his skin was stretched too tight and put on backwards. He was a stranger in a strange world.

Dark eyes looked up and found him before he was to the table. She watched him with an unreadable stare. There was a sense of intimidation in that stark stare. Damn, she could probably give the women in his family a run for the money with her haughtiness. It was refreshing.

Sirius sat down and put the drink next to her book. "Hello, I hope you like Guinness. It's the best stuff in the house."

The woman raised one thin eyebrow. "I don't remember giving you permission to sit at my table, and I don't want your beer. You didn't pay for it anyway, so don't pull that card. You didn't pay for that one you have in your hand either, so run along. I know you're extremely anxious to get home to pop another pill. What is it hydrocodone, morphine, vicodin?" She placed both palms on the table and leaned in close, her whole face lined with an intense focus. "In fact, why don't you just take it right here? I'd be delighted to watch you overdose."

Sirius stared. He felt a strange, alien buzz underneath his skin. Sweet Circe, was he blushing? "How on earth would you know all that?"

"I noticed it. You drink the same beer without fail, and I've never seen you reach for your wallet ever. It's probably because you and the bartender are coworkers. He gave you extra beer on the house as a favor so you could get on my good side. So, you're friends then." She said all this in a self-assured rapid fire. She barely paused to take a breath. "Then there's your pupils they're blown wide. I know the signs. Which drug?"

"Vicodin," Sirius replied, half amazed and partially terrified. "How?"

"I told you; I noticed. Just like I noticed you sit at the bar every time I'm here. Watching me."

"I'm really not a stalker," he countered, weakly. Because damn, he didn't know he was dealing with the bloody Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was a regular Amelia Bones. "I'm—"

"I don't care what your name is, English."

Sirius shrugged and then nodded. "I can live with that. What's your name then?"

"Ghost," she said, flatly.

Sirius smiled and lifted his glass to his lips. "That's a terrific fake name. Reckon it'll do you just fine, love."

"You're persistent aren't you?" she asked, smiling a little. But there was nothing really behind it. She looked worn thin, and there wasn't enough makeup on her face to cover up the circles under her eyes.

Sirius heart automatically went out to her. "I've been told it's my best quality." He tapped the corner of her book on the table, reading the author's name out loud, "Dostoyevsky. That sounds positively Russian."

"Nothing gets by you, champ," she replied, miming a gun and pointing at him.

An exaggerated gasp left Sirius' lips, and he clutched at his chest. "Pray tell, was that an actual joke?"

"I will set you on fire."

He nodded and put on his poshest accent. "I dare say it was!"

"I just want to be left alone," said Ghost. She hadn't met his eyes yet head on, and Sirius wondered at the weariness there at the edges.

Sirius held up his hands. "I just thought you could use a friend. You look like you need one."

Ghost's lips twisted into a bitter frown. "Friends aren't my thing. And trust me you're better off."

He shrugged. "Then just how about some pleasant company. I'm a fantastic listener."

"Do you expect me to start spilling my guts to a stranger?"

"Don't be thick," he said, pushing the untouched glass closer toward her. "We've already established I'm no stranger. And I don't want to hear your life story. If you want to talk that's fine. If not, well you can just listen to me jabber on, then."

She let out a loud exhale. "You think you're really charming don't you. Does this attempt at romance ever work?"

He laughed. "You must think I'm a complete tosser. I promise I'm being honest. I just think you're genuinely interesting. I can just tell, you know? I have to tell you, I quite enjoy this Brontë theme we've got going."

"You are so British."

The comment was thrown so backhandedly that it surprised him. Sirius let out a howl of laughter that sounded close to one of his Padfoot barks. The comment sent him right back to Hogwarts, to Remus and Lily trying to drag the Marauders into books clubs, Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice took the castle by storm that sweet spring of '77.

The band took a break and conversations in the lounge rose in pitch. A minute later, the beginning cords of Non, je ne regrette rien began to play from the speakers, and Édith Piaf's beautiful voice filled the room like a breath of fresh air. For one true moment, Sirius saw the way Ghost's shoulders loosened and the slight smile that pulled at her face as the French words washed over her.

"Do you fancy this song?" asked Sirius, and the expression on her face closed up tight. "My French is crap. I just know a few words and stuff to get by."

She smiled sweetly. "How do you say, your shoulders are dainty like a girl?"

"J'veux ton amour, et je m'en fous d'après."

"Why do I get the feeling that means something else entirely?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

He smiled secretly and mimed zipping his lips closed. "Maybe, maybe not. And by dainty I assume you're pronouncing 'manly and magnificent' wrong."

Ghost traced a finger through the condensation gathering on the table around the glass. "You know most guys would've cut their loses and took a hike."

"I'm not most guys."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

He couldn't fight the smile from blossoming across his face. "Is it too soon to say I find your whole aggressiveness ridiculously endearing."

She made a face. "Do you have some type of power kink?"

He choked on his beer. She watched him cough and splutter with disbelief as he got himself under control. "No. I just—you remind me of home. Girls like you are what I'm used to. I've always fancied the wild ones."

"Right," she said dryly, eyeing his attire and short hair. "You wouldn't be out of place working at a bank."

"I'm serious. I used to have a motorbike, leather jacket, the ponytail and everything. I was a badass. Trust me."

He laughed madly at the skeptical look on her face and surprisingly it pulled a tiny one to her own face. Sirius smiled like the sun when she smiled back. Her knees brushed his under the table, just once, and Sirius thought it felt something like progress.

She didn't outright crack, but when he talked there wasn't that look like she wanted to bludgeon his head open. So yeah, progress. Sirius kept the conversation focused on mundane things because that was the only thing that got him positive replies. Trying to delve deeper awarded him stony silence or a vacant stare.

Impulsive. It was one of those stupid words that followed Sirius around his whole life. It was whispered over his head during family dinners at Black Manor that he hated, cold and clinical, Sirius it simply won't do to be so reckless, impulsive, such a shame we can't beat it out of him, over and over, and when he was at Hogwarts, there it was again, the annoying voice of the Sorting Hat singing through his mind, look like one you do, but you're too stubborn, too eager, no no impulsiveness just won't do in Slytherin's house, and thank Circe for small mercies. He had always been like that. He was too impulsive. He let his instincts guide him, he thought last and acted first, and fuck everybody because he damn well liked it that way. It was him, wholly and truly. It was the secret fire that made him a fighter, a survivor—and without it Azkaban would've cracked him open and sucked the marrow from his bones. He was a risk taker and proud of it because it all made him a better wizard, made him love harder, pushed him to be better than his name, the best of the Blacks.

So when he opened his mouth and asked, "Why are you so sad all the time?", he really wasn't surprised when she abruptly stood up.

"Look, I told you I wasn't going there with you," She zipped up her leather jacket and threw a couple of bills on the table for her wine. "Here's some advice, mind your business. I'm out."

She took off through the nearby backdoor before Sirius could get a word in. He dropped his face into his hands. Bugger bugger bugger. Damn it all. Jumping ahead and ruining it all before it even began—typical. He was a bloody mess at this.

"Great big idiot," he said, thumping his head against the table and finally laying it there. He made quite the pathetic picture. He was sure of it.

There he went rushing ahead again. Of course she ran out on him. It was too much, too soon. Baby steps, Sirius. He forgot about the middle ground. The worst part was that he should know better. He watched her all this time, he knew her aloofness was for a reason—he recognized a survivor, like him.

He must have laid there for a long time because the sound of music eventually faded and conversations followed soon after. Sirius heard the jingle of keys before he saw him.

"Great author, I've read this one before," said a voice from behind him.

Sirius turned around and found a little old guy in a dark blue coverall whose stenciled name tag read, JAKE. He was pulling behind him a janitor's cart with a trash bin and the usual assortment of brooms and mops and cleaning products. He had a round belly and short, curling silver hair that matched his beard, both cropped close to his dark skin.

"What?"

Jake pointed to the table. "Your book, pal."

Sirius's eyes went crossed as they landed on the discarded book. The hardcopy of the Village of Stepanchiovolay lay in front of him like some great miracle. In that moment Sirius was certain this was his second chance. He snatched the book up and sprinted toward the exit.

The back door slammed shut behind him. Immediately he was hit with the cool autumn breeze. The full moon provided a good amount of light to see by in the alleyway. To the left was a dead end, and to the right the alley made a sharp left turn leading out to the streets.

What was that noise? He heard it again only this time it was followed by a scream. Sirius ran to the right and didn't have to look far. He skidded to a halt and stopped cold in his tracks. Three women dressed in skintight biker gear moved with unbelievable speeds around Ghost, darting in to strike her and jumping back. Their skin was strangely pale and burning silver eyes made his heart stop. They weren't human.

That wasn't possible. There was no magic here. Shit, that was obviously so wrong.

"Ghost, watch out!"

"Get out of here, you moron!" she screamed back.

Turned out she didn't need his warning. She had the situation well in hand. Literally. Her left hand swept out flat along its knife edge, cutting the inhuman creature with a nearly invisible line of pressurized wind. Steaming organs and guts spilled out in a hot mess as the wind blade bisected the creature clean in half, upper torso landing a foot away from the lower half.

Bloody bleeding hell. She was some kind of ninja witch!

"You can tell him I'm not going back!" she snapped, stepping clean away from a strike aimed at her throat. The maneuver missed and she slashed at the attacker with her hand. What looked like a miss blurred the air as the creature was separated from her head.

Sirius was awed. There wasn't a wand in sight. She was doing that with her magic alone. Merlin's ghost that was impressive and kind of frightening. But mostly bloody impressive.

"Burn in hell, you fucking vampire," Ghost said, extending that same hand again. Only this time she let loose a lance of vicious red energy.

The vampire attempted to dodge, but the attack flew downrage at the speed of light. The lash of raw, scarlet force hammered into the creature and there was an explosion of gore as her body exploded, reducing her and the ground she stood upon into component pieces.

Sirius ran over to her once the coast was clear. "What—how did you even—"

"Can we just forget you saw this," she broke in. Her eyes were pleading with him. "This is for you own good. Don't ask me any questions."

Yeah, right. Sirius shook his head. "You don't understand. I didn't know it, but I've been looking everywhere for you."

Ghost laughed a little breathlessly. "Seriously? A line at a time like this."

Sirius ran a hand down his face because he couldn't stop fucking grinning. He probably looked a bit mad. He couldn't help it. Magic was here and she was a witch or something close enough, and everything seemed a little bit better. He took a deep breath and finally felt like he could breathe again. It was like he had been holding his breath this whole time and didn't know it. Sirius looked up at the sky and said a prayer—and saw the group of vampires jumping down from the fucking roof.

"Shit!"

His curse startled Ghost into looking up and whether it was the grim anger on her face, or something else but his protective instincts went into full blown overdrive. He grabbed her arm ignoring her reactive jerk as he turned on the spot and disapparated. There was a long moment of darkness as they slipped between time and space.

They landed on the floor of his living room in his flat. The landing stole his breath and Ghost pressing down on top of him didn't help either. She stared down at him with equal parts shock, distrust, and so much confusion.

"Stars and stones, what the hell was that?" she said, shaking her head. "Who are you?"

Sirius smiled a huge, sloppy smile and gave her the name he'd been going under since he came here. "Malcolm Dresden." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Magician."

She narrowed her eyes and leaned back so she was straddling him, bottom completely sitting on his lap. "Who are you really?"

Sirius was acutely aware of what those hands could do that were dangerously close to his throat. "Tell me your real name and I'll give you mine."

She went still, just looking down at him, eyes unreadable through her bangs. She dragged her tongue across her bottom lip and then said quietly, "Margaret."

"Beautiful." His smile turned a little softer, more real. "I'm Sirius Black. And like I said before I've been looking everywhere for you."

.~.

That was their beginning. It was weird sometimes how they got from there to here. So much happened in that between time that it felt surreal sometimes, like someone else's life. The things they saw and the things they did to make this all happen would come back to see his son through in the years to come. Sirius understood how cruel life could be and knew the day would come when he wouldn't be there for his child. Margaret knew it, too, and they planned accordingly. He would be brilliant, glorious in his inheritance, with a power that could topple gods.

"Do you have a name for him?"

Sirius looked at the nurse and back to his tired, beautiful wife holding their son. Margaret smiled softly down at the wrapped bundle in her arms. "Harry, after your godson—Blackstone Copperfield Dresden.

"Wonderful, love," he agreed, kissing her forehead.

It really was a fantastic name. Blackstone after the Black family and the third name was for Jack Copperfield. Without him Sirius would've never worked up the courage to talk to Margaret that night. It changed their lives.

Sirius took his son's tiny hand in his, utterly and blissfully happy. "You're going to do great things, Harry."

[end.]

Author's Notes; this is all based on the fact that Harry Blackstone reminded me of Harry Black and I ran with it. And Malcolm Dresden sounds like an alias if I've ever heard one, so.

j'veux ton amour, et je m'en fous d'après; i want your love, and i don't give a fuck about after.

If you recognize the janitor you'll realize who saved Sirius when he was lost in the Outside.